#i did tried to keep things civil for a minute by first asking the ladies themselves if they were ok (they were)

[thesmokinpossum]

when you get in a crazy screaming match with some rabid misogynistic freak who was harassing women on the subway and who responds by insulting your physical appearance and telling you to kill yourself but then exits the train at the next station

[doe-eyed-fool]

Prey | Chapter Ten

Alastor x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): Murder, Stabbing, Blood, Blood Consuming

First thing in the morning, you made your way to Alastor's home. If wasn't going to answer your calls, then he will answer you face to face. Normally you wouldn't be so confrontational, but Alastor had you worried sick all night.

You needed some answers, now. You stormed up to his door and knocked, crossing your arms as you waited for him to answer.

Within a few minutes the door opened, Alastor greeted you with a warm smile. "Y/n! A wonderful sight to see this morning!" When Alastor noticed your frown, his smile lessened. "Is there something wrong, my dear?" He asks.

"Is there?" You said, a bit sharp. "Alastor Thurman, you had better have a good reason for lying to me yesterday." Alastor tensed slightly, but his tone remained calm and collected. "Lying?" He repeats.

"That's right." You nod. "I had to hear it from Joe Martins of all people!" Alastor's calm facade began to crack at the mentioning of Joe's name.

"Joe Martins? And, what exactly was he mouthing off about?" Alastor asks, a slight twitch in his brow. "You said you would be working late. And yet, Joe says you left early." You tell him. "I tried calling you last night, and you didn't answer. I was up all night worried sick!"

"What were you doing with Joe anyhow?" Alastor questions, his eyes narrowing. Alastor was not...fond, of Joe. In fact, his distaste for the man borderlines full on hatred.

Not only did Alastor know Joe had the hots for you, but he wasn't the best "gentleman" around. Joe was a bit of a player, and a known drunk in the past.

As of late he's seemed to quit those habits, but only surface level. Just to keep a good image of himself for the public eye. Alastor would occasionally catch a glimpse of him at the bar with a few ladies at his side. Alastor didn't want someone like that anywhere near you. Alastor didn't even want Joe looking at you, much less breathing the same air as you.

Joe wasn't good enough to be in your presence. He was nothing more than a filthy lowlife, a waste a space, just another body to be fed to the gators...

You scoffed, snapping him from his daze. "He was walking me home from my show last night. I know that must be thrilling for you to hear. But you could have been there in his place, had you not been doing whatever it was you were doing." You then sigh, and spoke with a much civil tone.

"Alastor, you are your own person, you have your own life. And if there are things that you want kept private, that's fine. But you don't have to lie to me. It's just...You've been acting so strange lately. I just want to know that you're ok...Are you ok?"

Alastor let out a sigh of his own. "Come inside." He says gently, stepping aside for you to enter. You walked inside, and Alastor led you to the living room. The two of you sat down beside each other, you remained quiet. You've said all you wanted to say. Now it was Alastor's turn.

"You are very observant, you know that?" Alastor asks with a weak laugh. You still didn't say a word. "I guess anyone would be, had they known me as long as you have. You do know why I keep this smile on my face, don't you?"

You nod your head, expression softening. It was so much more than keeping his public image flawless, so much more than his radio persona. You remember the day he started smiling almost non-stop like it was yesterday.

You would never forget that day. You would never forget how broken and lifeless Alastor was then.

The day his mother died. She was so sick, and Alastor was so afraid. His mother was all he had in this wretched world. A light of hope in the endless black void of his mind.

And now she was slipping away. Alastor had no reason to smile, seeing his mother like that. So frail, so tiny, so weakened. She was dying. She knew it, Alastor knew it. So what reason could he possibly smile?

'My baby...Why, you look so underdressed! Won't you smile for your mama? You're never fully dressed without one....To see you smiling, makes life worth living, baby. So please, won't you smile for me?'

She was the reason. His mother was one of the toughest people he knows. She put herself through hell, day after day, just to keep Alastor happy and well. Even when money was tight, even when food was scarce, even when she was beaten almost every night by that heartless monster of a man.

She always put Alastor first, made sure he was happy and as safe as he could be. She put on such a brave face for her son, because she knew how much he needed her.

She never once complained, she never once gave up. And all for the sake of her baby boy. If she could put herself through such torture, and all with a smile on her face...

Then Alastor could too.

Alastor only allowed himself to cry one time since he became a grown man, and that was when his mother eventually passed. He cried for what seemed like eternity, but he could not allow himself to loose himself to despair.

The day after the funeral, Alastor wore the smile he wears to this very day.

"I can't have anyone seeing me without this smile. It's quite the powerful tool, a smile. It's so much more than a happy face. Though, it seems I've backed myself into a corner. Everyone believes me to be this persuasive figure, who's smile inspires others. And while that has gotten me so far in life, it is also...exhausting." Alastor explains further.

"Every now and then, I'd find ways to be alone to...work up the will to continue this persona I've created. Last night, being one of those times. I did not want you to see me so...unlike myself. I worry that you might see something that scares you away. Though, I would not blame you if you did..."

You place your hand on Alastor's as you speak softly. "There is nothing about you that scares me. If anything, this constant smile, the need to be perfect for others. And to see what kind of effect it's has on you...that is what scares me." With your free hand, you gently place it on his cheek, making sure he looks at you while you spoke.

"You never have to be perfect around me, you know that right? I love you for who you are, and I loved you for who you were all those years ago. Simply put, I love everything about you, flaws and all. And if you ever feel like life is too much, don't hesitate to come find me. No persona, no fake smiles, just you."

You lean forward and kiss him on his cheek. "And I promise, I'll never leave you."

Alastor sighed shakily as he brought you into a hug. "You are far too good for me..."

"Not at all. I'm the luckiest woman in the world, to call you mine." You whisper as you pat his shoulder. 

Alastor hated to lie to you. He really did. But what else was he suppose to say? Was he to admit to what had been doing in secret for countless years? Yes, that will go over quite smoothly with you. You'll just love the idea of him being a serial killer.

Well. Serial killer, and now, possible cannibal. Possible. Only a few thoughts had crossed his mind, about committing such a heinous act.

With his latest kill, some stranger who would not be missed by many, while disposing of his body, a thought crossed Alastor's mind. The way he chopped up this man, reminded him a lot of how he would prepare a deer to cook. 

They bled the same, the corpses smelled the same, the meat and muscles looked the same. Would they perhaps...taste the same? 

Alastor nearly dropped the cleaver he held. Eyes wide, shocked by what his own mind conjured up. "Of course not." Alastor muttered. Humans and deer were nothing alike. That aside, the very idea of him consuming another human being, it was...it was just so...

Alastor's eyes traveled to the lifeless eyes of the deceased man, laying before him on the table. Alastor swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away only for a moment to grab a near by rag.

With shaky hands, he covered the man's face, and set the cleaver down. He then reached for a butcher knife, and held it tightly. 

Alastor remained frozen, eyes locked onto the man's torso. He could hear his heart pounding in his head, his chest ached with every uneven drag of breath he took. 

Why now was he so paralyzed? He's brutally murdered plenty of people before this, not one time did he ever flinch. Well...at least, not after the very first time. It got easier.

Soon, he found himself addicted to the fear in his victim's eyes. He relished in the screams of agony. He reveled in seeing the light drain from their eyes, as he towered over them covered in their filthy blood.  

So why now, was he hesitant? 

Suddenly, that same loud static filled Alastor's ears, causing him to wince. He reached for his head with his free hand and groaned as he shut his eyes tightly. The noise grew louder and louder, intensifying the swelling, throbbing pain in his head. 

Alastor gripped the knife tighter, as the static grows louder. With a cry of frustration, Alastor slammed the knife downward. His eyes shot open as he felt blood splatter onto his face.

He took hold of the knife with both hands, and brought the knife down again, and again. Over and over, yelling and screaming for the noise to stop.

As he continued to stab at the corpse, more and more blood shot up and painted his face and clothes. With another stab, blood was sent flying towards the corner of his mouth. Alastor then froze in place. He could feel the blood trickle down from his lip, to his chin. 

And before he knew what he was doing, his tongue slowly poked out of his mouth, and licked at the blood at his lip. 

Then, almost instantly, the noise stopped.

Alastor backed away from the corpse, and walked out of the shed, slamming the door behind him. He sank to the ground, and brought his hands to his head. A light chuckle left him, which soon turned into a fit of laughter. 

His laughter died out with a long sigh, his head fell back to meet the wooden door of the shed. Alastor wiped up what blood was left on his chin with his finger, and licked it clean as a lazy smile formed on Alastor's face.

Tags-

@martinys-world

@sirens-and-moonflowers

@catticora

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I read your fic Anhedonia a couple days ago and lemme tell you IT STAYS ON MY MF MIND. How she gives him absolutely nothing and he’s begging like ‘wtf can I do to get a reaction, a sound, anything’ I’m hhhhhh; obsessed, to say the least.

So I just basically wanted to know what it was like for Ghost and how he reacted when he was finally able to catch her before her morning diddles and really get a reaction out of her?

(Please I’m hungry, I’ll take crumbs at this point)

Aahhh I'm so glad! That fic is one of the meanest things I've written 🫣 Crumbs below the cut!

As almost always in my stories, we only see reader's pov but it's quite clear Ghost is just smitten with this soldier lady.

When she gets injured, it rips Ghost apart because even if he appears cold and calculative, he wants to ensure that no one gets hurt under his command. It pains him as a leader to see that his subordinate came so close to death; it pains him as a man to see that the woman he has a soft spot for almost got killed.

We can see Ghost's true feelings in his behavior: he tries to protect her, visits her when she's recovering, asks how she is, mourns how hard it is to get to know her and quite literally offers himself to her. He actually begs her to become his sweetheart and pet.

But what does she do? She returns the favor by hurling insults at him, playing games with him, telling half-truths etc. I think reader in this story is almost like a woman version of Ghost: she doesn't show weakness, doesn't show her cards, is cold and even mean, keeps everyone at a distance... but on the inside, she's suffering. And Ghost sees that. I think in some way, he's trying to redeem himself by saving reader from her own cruelty.

So, when Ghost sees what her "trick" is and what a petty, stupid thing it is to do in the first place, he's riled. And not just riled; he's fucking PISSED.

Why the fuck did they have to go through all this fuss when all he wanted to do was cherish her and make her feel good? She could've just surrendered to his command, on the field and in the bed – everyone would've been happier! So why in the bloody hell did she make them both go through all this stupid bloody mess?

His reaction is summarized in this line: “-- he pleasures himself, angry as fuck and as relieved as anyone could be when they find out that their heartthrob is just a delightful little minx instead of a cruel, heartless woman.”

Ghost has tried to be nice and gentle with her, but she makes it so damn difficult. He finally retaliates when she’s helpless and leaves her on the bed in a degraded and humiliated state - he's been played long enough and thinks it's only fair that he gives her a taste of her own medicine for once. (A good call because it works like a charm!)

The SECOND she calls for him and shows some fragility, the minute those walls crumble, Ghost returns. That’s the actual shift in the whole story, I think. She finally confesses that he’s a good leader, and he returns her authentic kindness tenfold. The first time they share a bed together is not to have more mad sex but to have a hug, some cuddles and a civil, adult conversation. She falls asleep from exhaustion and relief, and Ghost couldn’t be happier that this firebrand of a woman has finally stopped fighting (because that means he can stop fighting too).

When reader wakes up, these two are finally able to meet each other without pretenses. I'm sure they will have the most emotional, intense, slow, sloppy, tender sex, perhaps even share a laugh or two! And I just know Ghost will tease her when she surrenders to him – literally lies under him while he pushes himself inside.

"Why did you have to be so bloody difficult," he might say, followed by "Could’ve had all of this days ago, you silly little minx..." And she can see he’s smiling because he’s lifted the mask just enough to kiss her in between the thrusts – and there’s no more competing, no one’s on their knees, there’s no mirrors and no toys, there’s just them being wholly present. She might answer something like "Guess I had to make you work for it…?" (which of course turns Ghost into a grunting puddle, but this time, he’s not angry, only very much in love ❤️)

[ariel-seagull-wings]

FICTIONAL CHARACTER ASK: KING ARTHUR

Tagged by @themousefromfantasyland

@superkingofpriderock @amalthea9 @grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales @softlytowardthesun @ardenrosegarden @angelixgutz @faintingheroine @princesssarisa @giuliettaluce @the-blue-fairie

Favorite Thing About Them: He is a person who, while still phisically strong and knowing how to fight, doesn't like to hurt anyone, favours using dialogue and diplomacy and sees the use of violence as a last minute resource.

Least Favorite Thing About Them: That basically he lets his knights make moral and public court judgements over Guenevere and Lancelot rather than personally going to solve the affair situation with them.

Three Things I Have In Common With Them:

*I don't think mighty makes right

*I am curious to learn new things

*I befriend people from older generations like he befriended Merlin

Three Things I Don't Have In Common With Them:

*I am not royalty

*I don't know how to fight with swords

*I am a single woman

Favorite Line:

I love this soliloquy he gives in Camelot when discovering the affair between Guenevere and Lancelot:

I love them and they answer me with pain and torment. Be it sin or not sin, they have betrayed me in their hearts and that's far sin enough. I can see it in their eyes, I can feel it when they speak, and they must pay for it and be punished. I shall not be wounded and not return it in kind! I'm through with feeble hoping! I demand a man's vengeance!

[Calming down]

Proposition: I'm a king, not a man. And a very civilized king. Could it possibly be civilized to destroy the thing I love? Could it possibly be civilized to love myself above all? What about their pain? And their torment? Did they ask for this calamity? Can passion be selected? Is there any doubt of their devotion to me? To our table?

And these lines he says, also at the end of Camelot:

All we've been through, for nothing but an idea! Something that you cannot taste, smell, or feel; without substance, life, reality, memory.

Don't let it be forgot / That once there was a spot / For one brief shining moment / That was known as Camelot!

brOTP: Merlin, the Lady of the Lake and his sisters Morgause and Morgaine le Fay (in versions of the story where they are siblings with a friendly relationship)

OTP: Guenevere and Lancelot

nOTP: His sisters Morgause and Morgaine le Fay

Random Headcanon: His return will not be trough one encarnation in an individual person. His ideals of peace, love and justice are meant to be carried on by a collective of people, who must unite to help one another in times of plight. Just as he once intended his knights to do.

Unpopular Opinion: I think people forget that Arthur was a human being who made mistakes and tried to be acountable about them while carrying the task of being the leader people needed in a complicated world. The appeal of his story isn't really a golden age where everything was fair and perfect. On the contrary: it was precisely because not everything was fair and perfect that he becamed King. He wanted to fix what was wrong in Camelot. His heroism is not the fact that he was powerfull enough to keep everything alright and happy. Is the fact that he kept trying to be brave, kind, compassionate and just to help people, even when the odds were against him, and he knew he likely would loose the battle. He was brave not because he knew no fear, but because he continued to fight for his ideals while still afrayed.

Song I Associate With Them:

The Legend of the Sword in the Stone/A Dark Age and Life as a Fish/That's What Makes the World go's Round from Disney's The Sword in the Stone

Camelot and What do The Simple Folk Do from Camelot

Favorite Picture of Them:

This Trina Schart Hyman's illustration for the picture book Merlin and the Making of a King

Young Arthur (nicknamed Wart) in Disney's Sword in the Stone, my first portrayal of the character

William Squire in a stage production of Camelot

Richard Harris in the 1967 filme version of Camelot

[itsallyscorner]

Baby’s First Heartbreak

pairing: marvel cast x teen!fem!reader, Scarlett Johansson x reader, Elizabeth Olsen x reader

prompt: the youngest member of the marvel cast experiences her first breakup.

warnings: not much—crying, a break up.

A/n: Tom is 19 here because this is set during Civil War. He was such a baby omg🥺

You were always a firm believer in having hope. No matter what the situation was, you knew that you had to at least try before fully giving up. You were only 18, but it was the mindset you grew up with. You were taught to face things with bravery and confidence, you faced things head to head with all your might. Though some things never went the way you planned, you were still the ray of sunshine you were, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eager to learn and explore the world.

You had the same mindset going into your first relationship. Love was something you���ve always wanted to experience. Sure, you received it from your friends and family. But you wanted the different kind of love. The special one that was shared between two people. The one that made your heart skip a beat and made you breathless. Where staring into that special someone’s eyes felt like you were being transported into another world where it was just the two of you.

You’ve found that kind of love in a boy from your hometown. The two of you had been friends since pre-k, growing up along side each other, and being there for each other’s success and failures. You’ve known him all your life but the feelings didn’t come till sophomore year of high school. It all just clicked all of sudden; that one day where he said you looked cute in his jumper and the next moment you knew you were seeing him in a new light. Junior year, you were both beating around the bush; constantly pining over each other with longing stares and fingers always brushing against each other. Though you didn’t see him all the time due to your job as an actress. You spent half of the school year in your hometown and the rest at Atlanta. Of course he knew of your job and as much as he hated to see you go, he knew you were doing something that made you happy. So he spent as much time as he could with you before your time together came to an end. A few days prior to your flight to Atlanta, under the night sky of your backyard, he admitted his feelings for you. By senior year, the two of you had been dating for half a year. It had been the best moments of your life, you were in love and high on happiness, it was like nothing in life could ever go wrong.

Now here you were, in your trailer on the set of Captain America: Civil War, sobbing you eyes out. You knew loving could hurt, but not this much. You still felt your heart skip a beat, but it was clenching in heartache. You were still breathless, but because you’ve been trying to catch your breath after every sob that wracked your body. You felt broken. The boy you loved had ripped your heart out of your chest and threw it onto the floor, stomping on it till it stopped beating.

You hiccuped as you stared at yourself in the mirror. You were nothing but a fool. A fool who had hope in something that was never going to work. You sniffled as you snatched tissues out of the box on your bathroom sink, dabbing the material onto your eyes and blowing your nose. Your eyes were red and your cheeks were puffy. A sigh of frustration releases from your body. There was no way you could walk onto set without people asking you what was wrong.

You debated asking your assistant to ask your designated makeup artist to do your makeup in your trailer, you didn’t want to be a bother. But your thumbs were already shamefully typing away the request on your phone. A few minutes later Eleanor, your makeup artist on set, arrives at your trailer with her supplies in hand.

She doesn’t directly question you, but she has the look of a concerned mother once she sees your face. You lie to her and tell her you weren’t having a good day and chalked it up to being homesick.

You dreaded going on set. You weren’t sure if you could face anyone without bursting into tears. The moment you felt like you were okay, your heart would clench, reminding you of the ache it was feeling.

You were in your costume, sitting on the sidelines of the set while you rehearsed your lines. The dialogue from the script acted as a distraction from the current pain you were feeling. The tears had stopped but your eyes felt dry, making you blink multiple times to keep them wet.

“Hey, sweetheart.” You look up and meet the stunning blue eyes of Chris Evans. That typical goofy smile of his was etched onto his features. Usually you would reciprocate that smile, but today you just couldn’t find it in your heart to do so. His smile falters when he sees your face.

“Morning.” You greet him, forcing a smile. Concern shadows on his face as he shifts a bit closer to you. “You alright?” He asks, eyes softening at you. Being the youngest of all the Avengers cast members, everyone had a soft side for you. Especially Chris, who saw you as a daughter.

“Y-yeah, I’ve just got—allergies.” You lied, another fake smile forcing itself onto your lips.

“Well have you taken something to help your allergies? Do you need Allegra? Claritin or something?” He looked around ready to call one of the runners on set to get you some meds.

“No! I took some already, a few minutes ago! It probably hasn’t kicked in yet.” You tell him. He eyes you reluctantly, not knowing if he should believe you. He decides to let it pass and nods, “Ok, tell me if you need anything though.”

You hum in response and tilt your head down back to your script.

The day goes on and everyone had caught on to your lack of—being you. The infamous smile everyone knew you by was barely on your face. You didn’t crack jokes with Anthony or share a giggle with Elizabeth. Instead you were quiet, a frown was on your face as you stared blankly at the floor. You didn’t interact with anybody, keeping to yourself and walking off set whenever one of the Russos called cut.

Anthony and Sebastian watched as you walked off the set. You have all finished a sequence of the airport scene and the Russos had given everyone a break while they rewatched the scenes they shot. Anthony’s brows furrowed while he watched your figure go further and further away. He had tried to cheer you up, telling you a joke about how Seb’s arm lube kept leaking out his fake arm. Your response was nothing but a fake laugh—it wasn’t even a fake laugh, more like a huff of laughter.

“She didn’t laugh at my joke.” Anthony thought aloud. Sebastian quirked an eye at his friend, “Does she have to laugh at all your jokes?”

“No, but even if I tell her a corny ass joke, she’ll still laugh at it.” He expressed, throwing his arms up. Sebastian’s lip pouted as he thought back to your behavior on set. You were acting unusual. He turns to Tom (Holland) and asks, “Hey, has (y/n) said anything to you? Like anything bothering her?”

The Brit shakes his head, “Um, nope. Besides filming, I haven’t spoken to her today.”

Anthony crosses his arms, approaching Tom, “Have you tried speaking to her? We’ve been trying to figure out what’s been going on with her today and you’re the closest to her age here.”

“I—I tried to talk to her, but she didn’t seem in a talking mood. I thought I was bothering her so I just stopped.” Tom answered. He gestures to the direction of the trailers, “I could check up on her right now? Maybe I’ll get her one of her favorite snacks from crafties, it might cheer her up.”

Half of a smile makes it way onto Sebastian’s face at the boy’s efforts. Though you were clearly upset and he felt like they were all prodding at your privacy. “Maybe we should give her some time alone.”

Tom frowns at the older man, “But (y/n)’s upset. Shouldn’t we do something?” Anthony agrees with Tom and looks at Sebastian.

Seb raises his hands up in defense, “I’m just saying—maybe she wants to be alone. She went back to her trailer away from everybody. She probably doesn’t want us shoving our noses into her business, we should respect that.”

Chris joins the group along with Scarlett and Elizabeth. He had overhead the group talking and urged the two ladies to join him in on the conversation.

“You guys talking about (y/n)?” Chris asks, hands on his waist.

“Yeah, Seb says we should leave her be.” Anthony fills him in.

“She told me she had allergies.” Chris starts. “She’s an amazing actress, but kid’s gotta work on the lying.” He finishes. Elizabeth and Scarlett glance at each other.

“Well has anyone talked to her at all today? Besides Chris?” Elizabeth asked the group. Everyone shakes their head. Elizabeth sighs while looking around at anyone else who could’ve talked to you. She spots Eleanor hanging along the sides with her makeup belt on, ready for touch ups. Elizabeth calls her over. Eleanor has her brush ready to powder her down, but Elizabeth politely declines.

“You do (y/n)‘s makeup right?”

Eleanor nods, “Yeah, I do.”

“How was she this morning? We’re just a bit concerned since she’s been acting different today.” Eleanor sighs, knowing if she told them it would be an invasion of your privacy. Although, they were all concerned for you and so was she.

“I got a text from her assistant telling me to do her makeup in her trailer today.” She began. “I walked in and her eyes were red, cheeks puffy—“

Chris apologizes and interrupts her, “Because of allergies?”

Eleanor shakes her head, “No, she never mentioned anything about allergies. But she looked like she’s been crying. She was wiping her face when I arrived.”

“Did she give you a reason for why she was crying?” Scarlett questions her.

“She told me she was feeling homesick.” Eleanor answered. Scarlett turned to Chris and shared a look. Elizabeth thanks Eleanor then turns back to the group.

“We need to check up on her.” Anthony says. All the men nodded and began to make their way to your trailer. Suddenly, they were stopped by Scarlett and Elizabeth.

“But (y/n)—“ Tom said pointing to the trailers. Scarlett shakes her head, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Lizzie and I will go. You guys are gonna overwhelm her with all your questions.” Scarlett insists, much to the men’s dismay. They wanted to be there for you, but maybe a mother figure might help you open up with what’s bothering you. They agree and let the two women go to your trailer. Before they can get to you, they get some snacks from crafties for you.

As soon as you shut the trailer’s door behind you, the tears welled up in your eyes again. It only took a matter of seconds until they fell from your eyes and down your cheeks. You heard some people walk by outside and cover your mouth to muffle the whimpers that came out your mouth. You slid down the door and shoved your head into your hands. You leaned forward against your knees as you cried into your arms. You felt pathetic, embarrassed, anger; you were feeling so many things and the only way to let them all out seemed to be crying.

They heard your cries from behind the door. Scarlett sends Elizabeth an alarmed look as she rushes up to your door. She knocked on it repeatedly, causing you to jump from behind the door. Your cries come to a stop while you try to wipe away the tears as best as you can.

“(Y/n), honey, please open the door.” You hear Scarlett say. You remain silent, getting up and dusting your legs off. You stare at the door, debating whether you should open it or not.

“(Y/n), everyone’s worried about you. We just want to help.” Another voice coaxes you behind the door. Elizabeth. “Please let us in.”

Outside, the two women had their ears pressed up against your trailer’s door. Scarlett tries to get you to open the door again, “It’s only me and Lizzie. I promise.”

There was some shuffling heard behind the door. The door pushes open slowly, making Scarlett and Elizabeth back away. A worried expression appears on Scarlett’s face once she sees you. She cups your cheeks, her thumbs gently swiping away some tears that fell from your eyes. The two of them shuffle inside your trailer. You burst out into tears once again when Scarlett wraps her arms around you. She moves you both to sit on the couch that was in your trailer. She lets you shove your head into the crook of her neck while her hands smoothed your hair. Elizabeth sits behind you rubbing circles onto your back. Your cries broke both their hearts. You were a fairly happy girl, to see you in such pain and heartache was hard to watch.

Scarlett rocks you back and forth, trying to calm you down by whispering comforting words into your ear. She presses a motherly kiss onto your forehead once she sees you start to calm down. Elizabeth waits patiently beside you waiting for when you’re ready to talk. When your whimpers turned into hiccups, Scarlett pulls your face away from her neck to look at you. She frowns when she sees your tear stained cheeks.

“Are you going to tell us what’s going on or are you going to keep bottling it up to yourself?” She asks you softly, tucking strands of your hair behind your ears. Elizabeth chimes in from behind you, “You know, sometimes it helps to tell others what’s bothering you. You don’t have to keep it to yourself, (y/n), you could talk to us.” She gathers your hair together, splitting it into two parts as she began to fish tail braid your hair. 

You take a moment to compose yourself before eyeying the two women. You knew you could trust them. Scarlett was like your on-set mom and Lizzie was like one of your aunts. If you could tell anyone on set what was going on, it would be them.

“He broke up with me.” You confess, eyes trained on your lap. Lizzie’s fingers stop braiding your hair, “What?”

“Peyton, he broke up with me.” You whined, not wanting to say it again. You fiddle with your fingers while a tear falls to your lap.

“Oh honey.” Scarlett cooes pulling you back into her chest. You sniffle and wrap your arms around her torso. Silently crying into her shoulder.

“Did he give you a reason why?” Lizzie asks softly. You move away from Scarlett’s hold and lean against the couch with your knees to your chest. Lizzie wraps an arm around your shoulder for comfort.

You glanced at your phone that was on the coffee table, “H-he texted me earlier this morning. He said he couldn’t do the long distance thing anymore and that he has feelings for somebody else.”

Anger flashes in Scarlett’s eyes, “He broke up with you over a text message?” You nod in response.

“What a dick.” She mutters glaring at your phone. It’s quiet for a few minutes. Until you ask them, “Am I not worth trying for a long distance relationship?”

Lizzie shakes her head, “No, don’t you ever think that because you are.”

You sigh and throw your head back, “Then why did he break up with me? Is there something wrong with me? Am I not pretty enough?” Scarlett interrupts your questions by shushing you.

“There is not a damn thing wrong about you. Don��t you ever let a man, let alone a boy, make you question your worth.” Scarlett advises you a stern look on her face. “You are the most sweetest and loveliest girl I have ever met in my life. You’re kind, you care about the people around you—you even laugh at Anthony’s stupid jokes.”

Lizzie snorts beside you and squeezes your shoulder, “And his jokes are the worst.”

Scarlett continues, “You are a talented young woman already making it big in the movie industry and you did it all on your own. You are beautiful inside and out. You’re perfect, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Then why did he leave me?”

“Because he’s an idiot that doesn’t know your worth.” Lizzie answers resting her head on your shoulder. “I know it hurts now but these things happen for a reason. He wasn’t meant for you and you weren’t meant for him. Maybe somewhere in the future you guys will meet and try again. Or maybe you’ll move on with someone new. That’s just how it is. It may sound harsh, but it’s the truth.”

Scarlett nods at Lizzie, “Take it from me, I’ve been married twice. When it seems like you found that special person, sometimes it’ll all come crashing down. And it’s not an easy thing to go through. It’s full of pain, heartache, self doubt and a bunch of other heart wrenching things. But in the end you come out a stronger version of yourself.”

You stare at Scarlett, “How did you do it?”

Scarlett softly smiles at you, “Well, I had lots of friends who supported me every step of the way. But most importantly, I valued myself. I did things that made me happy and took care of myself mentally and physically.”

You bite your lip in thought as you stare at the ground.

“Listen to me.” Scarlett urges you, “You’re young, (y/n). You’re going to meet so many more people in the future that’ll bring you so much happiness and love in your life. Don’t beat yourself up over one boy who decided to leave you because he wasn’t committed for a long distance relationship. You’re going to be okay.” She assures you, cradling your face. Your lips form into a tight smile while you nod in response.

“You have us and the rest of the people outside of this trailer to support you. We’ll always have your back, whatever it is, I promise you that. You’re not going to go through this by yourself.” Lizzie promises you, taking your hand into hers. You hum and rest your head on her shoulder. You pull on Scarlett’s arm to join you and Lizzie. She chuckles and hugs you from behind.

“Thank you guys.” You whisper, genuinely grateful that you had them in your life. Lizzie pecks your temple, “Anytime darling.”

[jimlingss]

Moirai [1]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

➜ Words: 5.8k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

➜ Notes: Isekai is a popular manga and light novel genre in which characters from Earth are transported into a new world.

This is the end.   “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”   The Prince stands tall, the very furrow of his brows jarring against the cold, cordial expression he maintains — the one she had always tried to shatter. All she desired was something other than courtesy. If not affection then frustration or misery. But she supposes that anger suffices.   Anger. The first time he’s ever looked at her with an ounce of any true feeling.   His shadow looms over her, his status powerful as the countless eyes are narrowed in around her — he is as powerful as the people who stand behind him. Every word he speaks booms through the ballroom, a grand timbre that has long replaced the mellifluous violins.    The Prince is as noble as he is righteous. He is the hero of this story.   “You choose to answer your crimes with silence?!”   The corner of her lips curl and cackles rasp from her throat. The noise is discordant and shrill, a mocking irony when it causes him to pull the woman in his arms closer. Even when she’s in this position, downcast head, knees burnt on the carpet, all she does is drive them closer together.   “The only sins I have ever committed was loving you until my last breath.”   “Guards!”   Murmurs spark across the room and the knights armour clank as they approach in heavy steps. She knows these are the last moments. “The only crime I have is looking out for the empire! But you chose her.” She looks upon the girl he holds, the one who has the same contempt on her visage. And as the knights rip her away from her place, she spits venom-laced words, “A lowly baron’s adopted daughter to make your wife. I am the duke’s daughter. I am educated. I am your fiancée—”   “No longer.” He condemns, “You have committed treason. Conspiracy against the crown. Attempted murder. Forgery. Harassment. Using your status to oppress the vulnerable—”   “Let go of me!” she shrieks as the guards drag her down the room. It’s undignified. Degrading.   “—Daring to entangle yourself with the dark arts. And you will answer to these crimes whether you choose to confess or not.”    “Let go of me!” she struggles, yet no one chooses to hear.    Their eyes have pierced into her, those who aren’t scandalized are snickering behind their feathered fans. But in the last seconds, status has no place. She looks to the person who matters most, the one she had spent her childhood idolizing. Her beliefs hold true. He will make a great ruler.   But she will never be the one to stand beside him. She knows now.   That position has long been stolen away from her.   “Everything I did,” she cries, “I did for yo—”   The grand doors slam shut with her pitched screams resounding.    Moments later, the lively music continues, violins and trumpets crescendoing to life once more. As if her life had just not been taken away from her. As if the denunciation was merely an intermission of tonight’s festivities.   Her heinous exterior is shattered by tears that no one would have sympathy for. She is limp when she is thrown into the stone jail cell within the depths of the castle. The knights twist on their heel and she is surrounded in pitch darkness with the sound of a scurrying rat echoing beside her.   The only time there is light is by the dim flame of the torch, a guard accompanying a frightened servant who carries a bowl of spoiled oats. It’s not enough to satisfy the grumble of her stomach, but enough to keep her alive for the execution day. Without a silver fork or spoon in hand, a handkerchief placed in her lap, seated by a candlelit table, she resorts to using her fingers to scoop the food into her mouth.   Sometimes, she thinks they forget about her.   Or perhaps time is simply drawn in darkness. A second made into a minute. A minute is an hour. She is merely left leaning against the molded stone, wasted away and drunk on memories of better places.   Punishment does not come in the form of her stripped title or even her head rolling away from her neck. Punishment arrives in the darkened loneliness. That loss of sanity that whisper she has failed to capture the attention of the only person she ever loved. That she failed to make him love her.   Everything she did, it drove him away.   Every act of love placed distance between them.   Everything.   Liberation comes back with the music of trumpets muffled by the stone walls. “What’s going on?” her voice is hoarse through her parched throat. The servant screams when her arm reaches past the bars to tug on the girl’s dress. Her eyes are bleary as she looks up at the girl. “Why is it so noisy?”   “T-The civil war’s over.” The girl backs away and the celebrations become more distinct with the realization. “The villain is dead.”   The girl withdraws into the cell and cackles rip through her lungs, resounding across the empty chambers. The servant scurries away as the knight huffs out through his nose and shakes his head. But it’s the best news she’s received since she’s been stowed away.    And a smile still graces her features when she is dragged out and jostled by the knights, taken up to where the sun blinds her vision.   “On the eve of the Solar Festival, we rid our empire of yet another villain and free it from treachery!”   There are cacophonous cheers in the crowd. Her eyes are hurt by the sunlight and she shuts them tight. Her legs are kicked and she’s knocked onto her knees, head being shoved against wood. She wishes she didn’t have to face the sun rays. There’s no decency to give her shade.   But the discomfort is over by the blade slicing through the air. She lives and both dies as the villainess — an inevitable legacy.            ❇ End of Royal Romances Chapter 7 -Prince Route- ❇

Headbeams.   Fuck.   You never thought it would be like all those cheesy movies — the third Batman film, Grey’s Anatomy, the Simpsons, hell even Attack on Titan. But nope. They’re right. Time really does slow and your life really does flash by your eyes when you’re in the moment of your death.    But instead of feeling grief for yourself, all you can think about is what an absolute idiot you are.   You really shouldn’t have jaywalked at night. That cheesecake in the fridge was supposed to be yours! And holy shit, your parents are going to be really fucking mad that you died at only twenty—   The truck slams into you before you can finish your thought.   …………... ……….. ……. ….. ... .. .   Strangely, it doesn’t hurt. Maybe because it happened so fast. Maybe the initial impact was already enough to end your life. But you’re left feeling an empty void inside of yourself. An overwhelming agony that this is the end. That you never got the chance to fulfill your dreams, enjoy the fruits of your labour, that you never got to reach the happiness you wanted.   You have regrets.   Not for the things that you did. But for the things that you didn’t do.   But well….you suppose there’s no use in lingering in it.   Death is the end.   This is the end.   ……. ….. ... .. .   “—ook...t ...er...!”   “..hush!”   What?   Why are you hearing noises? Why does your face feel warm?   Are you in...heaven? Some sort of afterlife?! Oh man, you knew you deserved this! Fuck yes! You might have kicked that kid’s shin in the fourth grade and totally lied to your manager that one time that you cleaned the ice-cream machine when you didn’t, but your wrongdoings aren’t that bad.   You open your eyes.   Unusually, your vision is blurred. All you can make out is a fuzzy figure looming over you.   Your mouth opens—   “Waah!”   What the fuck. You can’t speak. Each time your lips part, drool dripples onto your chin.   In a panic, you try to move your body, but quickly find yourself heavy and practically stuck. You cry out and swing your arm, and that’s when your hand flashes before your eyes.   Your pupils focus and you realize that your hand is tiny. That you can barely curl and uncurl your fingers together. Holy shit. Holy fuck—   You’re a baby.   Wailing sobs burst out of your tiny lungs.    You don’t know where you are or how this happened. Your last memory is being hit by a truck!   The figure looming above you comes closer. “What is wrong with her?!”   The woman sounds annoyed, but it’s not like it's your fault. This is just a lot to take in.   Your mouth is blocked by a pacifier being shoved in. Immediately, you spit it out and the woman sighs. “Why is she being so fussy?”   That’s not the issue, lady! Christ, you wish you could communicate with her.   You feel yourself being picked up and she angrily mutters, “If the Devereux household wasn’t paying me so much, I would’ve just thrown you out the window.”   Wait. Say what now? Devereux?    Why does that sound so familiar?   You hear another woman’s voice, one that’s higher pitched and softer. “What’s wrong with little Anastasia?”   “Have you finished hanging the laundry yet?”   “Yes, I have.” You’re being passed on and your sobs subside in favour of a frown. Anastasia?   Anastasia Devereux.   You remember cursing that name out loud before, but where was—   Oh my god. Oh my god! It’s impossible, but the truth is right in front of your eyes. You’re living through it right now. This isn’t a dream. No. It’s your game, Royal Romances.    You’ve been reincarnated into the fictional country of Ashea. And of all people, you’ve been reborn as the villainess, Anastasia Devereux.   You burst out crying again.   //   A man in a coat and frilly shirt enters the room. Your head adjusts to see through the wooden bars of your bassinet, vision becoming clearer by the day. You know who he is without an announcement.   Your father. At least he’s supposed to be.   “How is the child?” he asks the maid.   “She is healthy, your grace. She may be a bit fussy at times, but she sleeps and eats well.”   He hums and leaves shortly after, never once coming to personally see or even hug you.    What an asshole. This entire world is fucked. You’re fucked.   Royal Romances is a love story game between a heroine and several potential matches depending on the route you take. Yet in every route, the main protagonist's rival, the Marquess and the Crown Prince’s fiancée, ends up co-conspiring with the villain and dies because of his crimes. Or exiled. Two options.   And you’ve taken her place.   But now that you think about it, that’s so unfair! You didn’t care much about Anastasia while playing, other than wanting her to get the fuck out of the picture for your OTP ship to sail. But why should the villainess shoulder the villain’s crimes?! If anything, it was him who coerced her! All Anastasia wanted was to be with the Crown Prince! He was the only person who ever showed her an ounce of kindness!   Oh god.   All you know now is that you don’t want to die.   You died too early in your past life.   “Anastasia.” You’re shaken awake from your thick slumber by soft cooing. A quiet woman’s voice calls and when you open your eyes, you’re able to focus on a woman you’ve never seen before but is familiar at the same time. She smiles and picks you up. “Good afternoon.”    Instead of fussing around like you usually would, a triumphant smile spreads into your face.   Fucking finally. It’s the first time you’ve seen your ‘mother’. Maybe she’s just been recovering from the birth these past few months. After all, there’s no way the family would actually just abandon you to a bunch of maids—   “Oh my goodness, Elanor!” A shrill voice has your senses tingling. There’s another woman sitting at the rounded table fanning herself with an orange, feathered fan. “What a lovely daughter!”   “Yes, she really is. She hardly cries.”   Now that’s a big fat lie.   You’ve probably cried a thousand times since you got here. It’s not your fault the maids don’t know how to put you in anything other than scratchy dresses and forget to change your underwear after you’ve shit yourself.   Another stranger approaches you and practically digs their nose into your face. Her floral perfume almost has you retching and spewing out an entire bottle of milk in her face. “She is simply too delightful! She has Herrick’s eyes and your nose.”   “Really now? I think she’s growing up to look more and more like the Duke each day.”   “Oh she’ll grow up to be a beauty. You are truly blessed, Elenor.”   Cordial laughter fills the room.   Motherfucker. She’s just using you as a decor! You’re a prop for her to show off at her tea party! She doesn’t care about you whatsoever.    But fine. You can play along with her. It’s not like you have any choice.   You muster an enormous gooey smile, channeling all the cuteness you know you must have and instantly, several of the ladies swoon. It’s an overwhelming victory! But one that requires a lot of energy when you were just awakened from your nap — and squeezing your butt cheeks results in the grumble of your stomach.   Being a few months old, you have poor control of your digestive system. So it’s no surprise that smiling so hard makes you shit your pants.    Oops.   The lump falls into your cloth diaper and instantly, your mother’s brow twitches.   The stench reaches her nose and the nostrils of the lady intruding into your space who immediately draws back in disgust. But what the hell are they expecting?! You’re a baby! All you do is eat, sleep and shit!   “Edith!”    Your mother’s shrill cry has the maid coming into the room. “Yes, your grace?”   “Take Anastasia.”   She passes you off without even looking and you’re swiftly taken away from the room, hearing the laughter and conversations resume the moment the doors close. So cruel!    “Ugh. I’ve never seen a baby who cries so much,” Edith complains and plops you into the bassinet instead of comforting you. If you had limb strength and mobility, you’d slap her for being so rude.   The younger maid with the higher-pitched voice looms over you. “Maybe it’s because she knows the Duke and Duchess never come to visit. She’s missing the comfort of a mother and father.”   Thank god someone can sympathize with you! As incompetent as Joan is — to the point where she’s checking your pants for the tenth time when you’re really just crying because you’re starving — at least she’s not a Karen.   Clearly, the bar is quite low.   “Well, it’s expected.” Edith steps away to fold the basket of your dresses. “The Duke and Duchess tried having children for years and the only child they have is a daughter who can’t even carry the family name. If it was a son, it would be different.”   “I don’t understand.” Joan rushes to the head maid’s side. “Usually daughters are treasured in noble families.”   Edith looks around and lowers her volume. “Don’t you know?”   “Know what?”   “Keep your voice down! If you say this outside, even I won’t be able to help you.” There’s a pause. “The Duke and Duchess aren’t real nobles, they don’t have any noble blood. The Duke’s late father, Arnold, fought heroically in the war and that’s why the King granted his family the title.”   “Oh…but...what does that have to do with anything?”   “Noble society is different from how we know it, you naive girl. No matter what you do, hundreds of eyes are constantly on you. It’s full of scrutiny and someone in power today might be exiled tomorrow. Having a son would’ve made it easier for the Devereux household to maintain their title and prestige.”   Joan sighs, finally realizing why things are the way they are. She comes to you and leans over the bassinet. “Poor thing. It’s not even her fault.”   She gives you her finger and you happily wrap your entire hand around it. Hell yeah! Finally someone’s feeling bad for your shitty situation.   But the older woman with wrinkles around her eyes scoffs. “There’s no use worrying about her. You should be more worried about yourself. If the House of Devereux fails to keep their power and wealth, we’ll be out of a job.”   Joan hums and pries her finger away from your grasps.   You frown and the next time the head maid feeds you, you puke all over her.    But you know what she said is true. It’s the reason why the real Anastasia felt like she needed to become the crown princess, why she tried so hard to make everyone around her approve of her. Aside from loving the Prince, she was desperate for recognition, desperate to fulfill her family’s wishes, and to maintain her family’s lineage without slipping from the status quo.   But you’re different.   You don’t care about those things. You’ll prove yourself on your own and do whatever it takes to survive.   Quickly. Quickly! You want to grow up and walk on your own two feet so you can protect yourself.   After all, no one else in this house will.   You stretch your arm in the air, curling your fingers together, staring up at the starry mobile.    But it’s hard in the body of a mere infant and you fall asleep in the midst of your exercise session, succumbing to the temptation of slumber with heavy lids.

Four years later.   “Are you colouring, my lady?”   “Nooo.”   You’re writing. And it’s not just anything — it’s battle plans.    To anyone, it’s merely incoherent scribbles, a result of poor motor skills you have yet to refine. But it’s actually your life or death.   You don’t need status or power. Living in the countryside and living fruitfully is good enough. All you want is to live a long, peaceful life.   In the original story, after Anastasia’s eighteenth birthday, she was condemned for countless crimes, thrown in prison and then executed within the matter of weeks. All because of three people: the heroine, the Crown Prince, and the villain.   To avoid the effect, you should avoid the cause. Therefore, you need to do whatever you can to avoid these three!   It’s genius! Truly, if anyone knew how your four year old brain operated, you would be hailed as the next prophe—   “Get ready.” Edith interrupts your train of thought, coming into the room and swiftly shutting the door behind her.   “Why?”   “You’re having lunch with the Duke and Duchess.”   “But I don’t wanna,” you whine, especially when Joan starts collecting the crayons. You stand up before Edith can drag you and you stomp your feet. Why would you want to go have lunch with them when the amount of times you’ve seen them in four years can be counted on both hands.   “Don’t be spoiled. Come here.”   You stick out your tongue instead and the moment Edith’s fingers come to snag you, you swiftly dart and run as giggles squeak out of your body.   “My lady,” Joan sighs, at a loss as well.    The two of them try to corner you, but you dive to the left when there’s a chance.   The original villainess was always quite upright and strict, especially with herself. It’s reasonable considering the way she was raised and the massive burden placed upon her. But kids can get away with a lot more than adults and you’d prefer to take advantage of that while you still can.   “Stop playing around!” Edith finally snags the back of your nightgown and you laugh, still thrashing against her hold until she plops you down on the vanity chair. “You’re such an unruly troublemaker,” she mutters as she grabs the frilly dress you’re about to be changed into.   And just for that comment, you undo the pins she puts into your hair when she’s not looking.   It drives her crazy.   But your little antics are stopped the moment you’re sitting at the dinner table. The height of said table reaches your collarbone and the chair you’re sitting in overwhelms your form. The atmosphere is stiff and tense, your father sitting at the head of the table and slicing into his meat while your mom’s posture is upright and she chews gingerly.    Unlike the maids, you won’t test your luck with the Duke and Duchess. God knows they might send you to some kid ranch for the next ten years to reform yourself.    But you also know you can’t get any cuter than this.   You’ve seen yourself in the mirror — soft skin, big eyes, a button nose and chubby cheeks.   Who knows what puberty might do to you someday, but for now, you’re as cute as a four year old can get. And why not use that as a weapon in your arsenal?   “Momma.” You interrupt the silence and your mother across from you looks up. You give a full smile with teeth, quirking your head to your shoulder and open your arms as wide as they can go. “I like you this much!”   Oh. Hell. Yeah!   You can feel it. You’re totally gonna win them over—   Her head swivels over to the Duke. “Don’t you think it’s time to teach her manners?”   Wow. That’s cold.    Stone cold.   “Edith.” Your father glances over his shoulder and the head maid steps forward. “How’s Anastasia’s development?”   The older woman clears her throat. “She’s a bit wild, your grace.” You glare at her for exposing you like this. “However, she can write the alphabet and read through storybooks on her own. She seems to be a bright child.”   Damn straight. Of course, you’d be able to pick up the language of Ashea quickly. You still have the memories of your past life.   The Duke hums. “Then she can start training to be the crown princess.”   You nearly choke on your broccoli.    But you hastily compose yourself and look up at your father. “What’s that?”   “Don’t ask questions,” your mother quips and the room simmers down to the uncomfortable silence again.   It’s so ridiculous — the very definition of jumping the gun. You aren’t the Crown Prince’s fiancée, but they’re already considering you a candidate before you’ve even lost your baby teeth.   Not to mention, it’s all useless anyway. The original Anastasia never became the princess and you have no plans of even meeting the Prince.    “Do you know what happened in the year 921, my lady?” the tutor asks later on, pushing up his rounded spectacles up the slope of his nose.   You’re slumped over the table, one arm rested with your cheek squished in your hand, focused on twirling the quill with two fingers. God forbid Edith or your mother witnesses your awful posture, but no one’s ever interested enough to sit in on these dumb tutor sessions. They’d fall asleep instantly.   “The war of Winter,” you mumble and the tutor’s eyes light up and he enthusiastically nods.   “Yes! The most momentous moment in the history of Ashea. A great dragon rose from the mountains and in the war of Winter, great King Baek, the light priestess and fierce knights of the royal palace came down the lazy brook from Stoughsby Peaks next to the then Canary district which sold fabrics and spices up until the year 914 when the famine of 914 came—”   The tutor drones on and on.   But one thing grabs your attention. You forgot there was magic in this world.   “Ummm,” you interrupt him in the middle of his tangent. “Did King Baek kill the dragon by magic?”   “Great question. King Baek in the summer of 896, seven years after he was born, started to learn the art of swordsmanship through rigorous training with the fierce knights of the royal place who was then under the rule of King Ennik—”   You don’t know why you asked.   “How do you start doing magic?” you interject again.   “Well, magic is part of everyone and it’s everywhere. But some are more attuned to it than others. It requires vigorous training, the most talented magician was Ruffus Dolores who dedicated his life living in the Magician’s Tower and wrote most of the magical texts we have today.”   You look at him, curiosity finally alight in your eyes. “Can I do magic?”   There was never magic on Earth in the twenty-first century aside from Harry Potter or Twilight, if Edward’s sparkling constitutes as magic. But if it’s anything like those movies, then you’re psyched! You can wingardium leviosa yourself and yeet out of here.   Unfortunately, your excitement is short lived.   “The House of Devereux isn’t very magically inclined,” the tutor says and your eyes dim again. You’re not completely surprised considering Anastasia was never much of a fighter in the game. She just splashed water on the main character’s face a lot and made players like you curse her out. “However, while magic is an inborn talent and comes naturally, skills always have to be honed. There’s still a chance you may have magical abilities. We’ll just have to see as you get older.”   You hum to yourself.   //   Edith pulls the curtains together haphazardly, the moonlight crisp where the gap is and sheds a silver sliver onto the carpet. Joan takes the tray with your finished glass of milk, nearly toppling it over and shattering the glass, but finding balance in the nick of time.   “Goodnight, my lady.”   “Night night.” Your hand peeks out from the covers and you wave.   “Don’t get out of bed or else,” Edith warns in a low tone. “The Duke won’t be happy to hear if you’re found wandering in the halls or sneaking into the kitchen again.”   You giggle. “Bye bye.”   The door shuts, darkness engulfs your bedroom and you count to ten within your head. The moment the seconds are up, you throw the covers off of you and slide off the high mattress.   You come to your desk, grasp the heavy duty textbook off of it and lug it over to the windows.    The enormous book sits on your lap as you lean against your bedpost. The moonlight illuminates the cover and you flip to the magic section at the back, the noise of the pages soothing in the quiet space. Magic — not only is it interesting to you but it could be a great defense mechanism if worse comes to worse. Who knows. It might just add to your battle plans and help you survive.   Your pointer finger underlines the sentences and traces the words as you read the introduction slowly.   After reading, you learn that magic is more intuitive, rather than a particular procedure.    You push the textbook aside and hold your hands out. Shutting your eyes, you try your best to envision light. You try to imagine light engulfing your figure and form, causing your skin to glow.   Peeking with one eye open, there’s—   Absolutely nothing.   Well shit. Maybe the tutor was right. Maybe there is no real magical talent in your bloodline. But there’s no harm in trying to dabble in it a little more.   You conceptualize fire in your brain. And when you look in your hand, you’re ecstatic to see a tiny flame actually flickering in mid-air. Oh shit! It worked!   But it smothers out a blink later.   You try to visualize water next to see if your magical expertise lays within the element. When you open your eyes, your breath hitches at the water droplets floating in your palm. And for once, it doesn’t completely vanish within a second. A grin spreads into your face. But as if Lady Luck wants to slap you, the moment you get hyped, the water splashes into your lap.   It looks like you peed yourself.   “Really?!”   You sigh, ready to give up.   Maybe you don’t have a knack for magic after all.    You turn to grab the textbook, but the heftiness is awkward in your grasps and your thumb slips, accidentally flipping over the next page. The page’s heading makes you stop.    Oh yeah. Dark magic exists.   Might as well give it a shot while you’re at it.   Like all the times before, you shut your eyes and hold your hands upwards. You try to imagine darkness — the similar kind that’s already filled your bedroom, or like the empty void that you were plunged in after being hit by that truck. That abyss of nothing, of pitch black.   Suddenly, you feel a pressure on your shoulders. It’s heavy. Comforting. Eerie. All at the same time.   Your lashes flutter open and your breath is plugged in your nose. Darkness has overwhelmed the room. It bleeds out of you, consuming your form like smoke, the hue of ink spilt on oil. It covers the silver moonlight, erasing the sliver casted on your carpet and what was translucent through the curtains. Exactly like the empty void, the abyss of nothing.    It’s trying to consume you.   There’s a shriek from outside your room. “All the candles just blew out!”   Panic drains blood from your face and you drop your hands, flailing your arms as if you can dispel the black before it wraps its hands around your throat and submerges you completely.   It fades, the moonlight traveling back onto you again and you shove the book underneath your bed.   You’re still shaking as you climb back into bed.   God knows you’re never going to try that again.   //   So you might not have an aptitude for magic after all. But the grief is short-lived after the realization that it’s not a toy or something that comes out of a magical wand for you to fight Dementors with. But there’s still a lot of ways you can protect yourself. You just have to get creative.   “I wanna do that!”    Your nose, forehead and palms are pushed against the glass window as you peer outside.   Joan frowns and peeks out. “You want to go flower picking, my lady?”   “No!”   The useless maid finally looks to the two guards sparring with one another out by the field. “You want to sword fight?”   “Uh-huh.”   She bursts out laughing and you whirl around in irritation.    “I wanna! Pretty please?” How else are you going to protect yourself? If you can’t use magic, then you need to go the melee route and pick up a sword or at least a bow and arrow.   “You would have to ask permission from the Duke himself, my lady.” Joan turns away to make your bed, expecting you to give up. When it comes to asking your parents, it’s too much of a hassle to get involved with them. But this time, you don’t concede.   She’s surprised when you tug on her dress. “Okay.”   The Duke’s study doors are imposing on their own. Without needing to open them, the twisting ornate patterns on the wooden surface are enough to eerily remind you of exposed arteries. It feels like you’re approaching the principal’s office — a nervousness of the impending doom.   You’ve always been careful to steer clear any place your mother or father might be. The study on the third floor, the gardens, their bedroom. And any time you passed, your steps would quiet.   It’s not like you’re scared of them. Frankly, you’re just annoyed at how nit-picky they are.   But you remind yourself you’ve been through worse — you once spent an entire summer in customer service serving food in the twenty first century for god’s sakes!   With that in mind, you throw open the doors.   Joan, behind you, practically flinches.   Your father’s sitting behind his oak desk, quill and parchment in hand, and he looks above his rounded spectacles. You give your most charming smile. “Hi, papa!”   He looks to the older girl and deadpans, “What’s the matter.”   The maid clears her throat, clearly distressed that she’s been dragged into this. “Uh, well, your grace, my lady, uh, she…..well…”   “I wanna do sword!” You tottle towards him and round the desk to come eye to eye with his knees. C’mon, as uncaring as they are, they gotta at least care a little for their daughter, right? You’re too cute to ignore all the time. You flutter your lashes for good measure. “Pretty please?”   The Duke’s brow quirks. “You want to learn swordsmanship?”   You enthusiastically nod. “Uh-huh!”   He stares at you. You stare at him.   The older man sits back in his chair. “It wouldn’t hurt to learn an interesting skill or two. It might make you stand out.” Those two lifelessly said statements alone are enough to make you happy. Even when he resumes his paperwork. “I heard from your tutor that you’re a fast learner.”   You’re surprised the old fart said something good about you, but of course you are! You’re technically twenty four now. Mathematics is truly universal when you can recall the basics and the language is easy to pick up. You’re already dumbing down everything to not make it weird.   “Maybe you’re not so useless after all,” he mutters from the corner of his mouth, no longer sparing you a glance.    You hold back a scoff. Instead, you force a smile and a sweet giggle. “Thank you, papa! I like you too!”   You wonder if this is why Anastasia tried so hard. The only time she gains recognition in her family is when she’s focusing her time and energy into studying and proving her worth. If so, it’s depressing. You wish you had more sympathy for her when you were playing from the heroine’s perspective. But you’re beginning to understand her better and better.    Why she did what she did.   How she became the female villain.   “Fight me!” You point your wooden sword at the knight whose eyes are wide. You bet he didn’t expect to be sparing with a four year old when he was assigned to protect the Devereux house, but this is a matter of life and death for you. “Hurry!”   “Y-Yes, my lady.”   You smile, gripping the handle tighter. He comes up and weakly slashes you and you’re able to root your feet into the ground and keep yourself from stumbling back. He’s obviously not trying very hard, but it’s good enough for now. Slowly but surely, you’re finding a rhythm into things.    In your spare time, you learn the history of Ashea, read books and plan the next steps in your battle plan of avoiding all main characters of the game at all costs. You’ll protect yourself no matter what it takes.   And you’ll survive no matter what happens.

[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

Part 6

masterlist

Arms wrapped around her waist tugging her back from the window sill before she had the chance to take the final step out of the room and away from him.

“No!” she screamed thrashing in his arms as she tried to escape his hold. “No!”

RM cursed tugging her further back into the room despite the wildly flailing limbs. “Are you insane!” he yelled throwing her onto the bed before stomping back over to the window to slam it closed and lock it in place as she sat up and watched the very clearly furious man. He whipped around to face her his displeasure abundantly clear. “What were you thinking?” he shouted rushing back to her and gripping her shoulders so tightly that it hurt, but she stayed silent. “What were you thinking?” he repeated violently shaking her.

“I wanted to leave.” She whispered slightly shocked by what had just occurred combined with the man screaming in her face.

“You wanted to leave?” he repeated eyes wide in disbelief. “You wanted to leave?” she remained silent knowing anything she said would only make things worse for herself. “And you thought throwing yourself out of a second story window was the best way to do that?” she looked up at him with wide eyes of her own knowing full well that she had fucked up.

He released her shoulders with a shove pushing her back down onto the bed again as he began to aggressively pace in front of it. She sat up again her limbs trembling as she watched him pace back and forth. He was muttering something to himself in Korean as he moved the meaning of which was lost ­to her, but she had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t good at least not for her.

In all the times she had met RM she had never seen him so blatantly angry before. He had always maintained a restrained dignity. Even when she knew she had upset him during their previous meetings the reaction had never been like this. If she had been scared of him before, she was terrified now. And there was nowhere else to run. She was trapped in an enclosed space with the most dangerous man she had ever met, and he was furious with her.

Her breath hitched as he abruptly stopped his pacing. His back was to her with his head bowed and his breathing harsh.

“You.” He hissed whipping around to face her. “You idiot girl. Did you think that you can escape me so easily?”

The anger was still very much present but there was a mask of control slipped back in place. She wasn’t sure which scared her more, the yelling or the cold rage she saw now. Hot anger burned away. It exploded. It was terrible, but it burned away. Cold anger lingered, and made life hell for everyone in its path.

“I’m going to attribute this moment of… insanity to the concussion and the shock.” He informed her his mouth set in a hard line, his eyes dark and burning with controlled anger. One of his hands came up to grab her chin in a bruising grip forcing her to meet his gaze head on. “I will not allow such an action again. It won’t go unpunished again. Do you understand me?” she remained quiet gazing at him with wide fear filled eyes. “Do you understand me?” he questioned again tightening his grip and raising his voice just a little.

She nodded wincing at the tight grip he had on her.

“I need words, jagiya.”

“I understand.” She whispered trembling in his grip.

He released her with a smile as he took a step back from her. God how she hated those dimples. “Good. Now, I’m going to send Miss In back in to help you get ready.” He explained straightening his collar and acting as though he hadn’t been enraged less than five minutes ago. “I’ll be back when you’re finished, and then we are going to sit down and speak like civilized adults. Alright, jagi?” She nodded keeping her eyes focused on the bed spread beneath her. “Words, jagi.” He reminded her sharply.

“Yes.” She hissed a bitter taste filling her mouth.

His hand returned to her cheek in a gentle caress. “Good girl.” He hummed stepping back to head for the door.

As soon as the door closed behind him she was filled with an overwhelming sense of nausea. She made a mad dash to a door on the other side of the room grateful to find an en suite on the other side before she lost the contents of her stomach. That was where Miss In found her hunched over on the polished tile floor of the bathroom tears streaming down her face.

The older woman clicked her tongue and came over to help the woman up from the floor. “Come now, bu-in. We need to get you cleaned up, yes?”

She didn’t say anything, but she did allow the older woman to help her up from the floor though she was still had a tremor in her hands and her face was white as a sheet. The older woman fussed over her guiding her to sit on the little ottoman placed in front of the sink.

“I’ll run a bath for you, bu-in.” the older woman hummed mainly to herself as Y/N wasn’t really listening to her. “And we’ll call for the doctor to check on you again now that you are awake.” She decided nodding to herself as she went about her tasks. “You were asleep for a long time, and the doctor needs to check your head again.”

That caught her attention. Her head whipped up to stare at the other woman. “How long was I asleep?” she asked almost frightened to know the answer.

“You were asleep for a full day, bu-in. Sajangnim was very worried for you.”

“What happened to the man who was in the car with me? Is he here? Is he alright?” the questions flowed from her before she could stop them, but Miss In had no answers for her.

“Man? What man?” she asked her brow furrowed in confusion. “There was no man with you, bu-in. Sajangnim brought you here alone. You had a cut on your head. He said there had been an accident.”

“There was a man in the accident with me. Is he alright?” she asked again desperate to know what had happened to her companion. She knew full well that he had taken the most damage from the crash.

“I don’t know about any other man, bu-in, but your bath is ready. Try not to get the bandage wet.” The older woman motioned her into the tub before leaving her alone to soak in her thoughts as she went to go about her other duties until Y/N was ready to get out of the tub.

The lack of answers along with the stress of the day had left her tired. The bath helped her to relax, but it left her with far too much time for her thoughts to wander. What had happened to Eun-ho? What did RM want with her? Who was RM? How long was she going to have to stay here? If RM wasn’t going to let her go, how was she going to escape? She had a bad feeling that she wasn’t going to get the answer to most of those questions, or at least she wasn’t going to get answers any time soon.

All too soon, Miss In was back to collect her from the bath room ushering her into a robe and sitting her down on the ottoman again to dry her hair before escorting her to the ridiculously large closet that was attached to the main room. The entire closet was bigger than her bedroom back home had been and had clearly been decorated with a woman in mind. The wall paper was a muted shade of teal with a cream tree pattern across it. And all of the furnishing were set to match. Everything in cream, or like the great round ottoman in the middle of the room, a muted shade of teal.

Miss In was quick to ferry her into a pair of undergarments and settle her in front of the vanity to do her hair and makeup. Overall, Y/N felt like a child or perhaps a doll as the other woman styled her hair into loose curls before she moved onto her makeup, and Y/N let her unwilling to do anything that would incur RM’s wrath again, not after her spectacularly failed escape.

In hindsight she really should have known better. She should have known that the bedrooms would be on the second floor, and that jumping out a window would be a futile plan. It was a stupid plan one that had been fueled by panic and not actual foresight. It had been doomed to fail from the beginning. Even if she had managed to throw herself out the window she probably would have sprained something at the very least. And then there was the fact that RM’s estate was gated. She knew that. She’d learned that the first time she’d been here or at least where she assumed here was. She didn’t actually know. That was the downside of waking up in strange places after being unconscious.

Even if she was like a doll at the moment, Miss In was gentle at least. Her touch was light and maternal almost as if she knew how traumatized her charge was. Her tone was always soft, and her smiles were gentle. She was a calming presence in an otherwise panic inducing situation.

“Bu-in.” the lady spoke placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I have a dress prepared for you, but first, sajangnim has prepared these for you. He would like for you to wear them.” She was presented with a pair of stunning earrings. They had a pearl at the top and two strings of diamonds that dangled down from them elegantly. And it made her sick to look at them.

“I can’t wear these.” She shook her head gently placing the box that contained them on the vanity.

“You must, bu-in. Sajangnim has requested it.” The touch on her returned to her shoulder, firmer this time but still gentle, a gentle reminder that she didn’t really have choice in any of this.

She reluctantly put on the earrings hating how they looked dangling from her ears, hating that they were a gift from her kidnapper. She hated how lovely she was made to look, RM’s doll. But the bandage on her forehead served as a reminder that everything was not as lovely as it seemed.

“Come now, bu-in. We must get you dressed.”

With a reluctant nod, Y/N allowed herself to be pulled up and guided into a blue sundress far finer than anything she had in her own wardrobe at home, and she hated that too. What was worse was that every single thing that Miss In had placed her in was in her size. It was here pulled from the drawers and wardrobes of the closet, and it was all pre-prepared and in her size.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” She whimpered sinking down to sit on the ottoman her head in her hands.

“I’ll bring you some ginger tea.” The kind woman tutted fussing over her as she helped her up and slipped her into a pair of house slippers before leading her back out to the main room and helping her down onto one of the sofas. “Sajangnim will be here in a moment, bu-in.”

“No.” she whimpered. “Please no. I don’t want to see him.” she begged grabbing onto the other woman’s hand and looking up at her with big doe eyes.

“Everything will be alright.” The woman placed a kind comforting hand on her cheek before leaving her alone in the room to await her captor.

When RM returned it was as though he were never angry with her to begin with stepping into the room with a charming grin on his face.

“You look lovely, jagi.” He took a leisurely seat on the sofa across from her completely relaxed.

“Thank you.” She murmured through gritted teeth knowing she had to be polite at least for a little while, until she had answers.

“Miss In told me you were feeling unwell. I’ve sent for the doctor. He’ll be here later to look you over and change the bandage on your head.” He announced eyes flitting up to the bandage before they moved to the earrings she had been forced to wear. “I see you got my gift. They suit you.”

“Was all of this necessary?” she asked fiddling with her fingers in her lap refusing to look at him as she did so.

“Of course. Only the best for you.”

“But why?” she questioned her brow furrowing. “Why am I here?”

He paused almost contemplatively. “You are here because I want you to be here.”

“Why?”

“Why does anyone do anything? I did it because it pleases me for you to be here.” was the easy reply that fell from his lips.

She sighed in frustration ready all but ready to throttle the man when he had only been in the room a few minutes. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

He sighed leaning back in his seat as he spoke. “I would have waited to bring you here, waited till you were more comfortable, but you do get so easily spooked, jagi. I didn’t account for you being a flight risk quite so soon. Luckily I already had preparations in motion. I am sorry though that you were hurt. That was never my intention.” The apology was strangely genuine as he frowned at the bandage decorating her forehead as if it had offended him in some way.

“Till I was more comfortable…?” the implication left her stunned. Till she was more comfortable. “How long were you planning this?” she whispered horrified. “How long were you planning to kidnap me?”

“It’s not kidnapping, jagiya. I simply removed you from a bad situation.” Her eyes were wide completely horrified by what she was hearing. He was delusional, completely delusional.

“The only bad situation I’m in is this one.” she hissed. “I was going home.”

“And what was there for you there?” he scoffed. “You’ve said yourself that all that was waiting for you there was a fat cat.”

He was about to continue when a knock on the door interrupted. “Enter.” He called over his shoulder never taking his eyes from her.

Miss In glided into the room carrying a tray of tea with her placing it on the coffee table between them with a respectful bow. She picked up one of the cups and handed it to RM before picking up the other cup and handing it to her with a smile.

“Drink this, bu-in. It will make you feel better.”

“Thank you.” She took the cup with a shaky smile. Watching wistfully as Miss In left the room leaving her alone once more with RM.

She turned back to her captor placing her cup of tea back on the coffee table. “You can’t just kidnap people.” She groaned in frustration glaring at the cup of tea though it had done nothing to her.

“Jagiya,” he grinned leaning forward and placing his cup on the table as well. “I can do anything I like.”

“People will look for me.” she argued.

He grinned the expression almost vicious. “And who would dare go against me?”

“I would.” She hissed.

He laughed, a full bellied laugh full of mirth, and it did nothing but sent her teeth on edge. “I know, jagiya. You are a rare bird. It’s why I like you so much. You’re too good for them, jagiya. You’re better off here.”

“You’re insane.”

“Not at all, jagiya. I’m simply a man who knows what he wants.”

“I don’t even know you’re name, and you plan to keep me here for God knows how long?” she scoffed looking up to send him a heated glare.

“Of course not, jagi. I know exactly how long you’ll be staying here.” He smiled bringing out those damned dimples in full force though something glinted in his eyes that sent a shiver of unease down her spine. “You see, you won’t be leaving. Ever. And as for my name, I’m Kim Namjoon.”

part 7

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Red Witch

Jasper Hale x Reader Part 5

A/N: Part 5 is here my lovelies! Bon apetit! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. 💕

Summary: Imagine being an immortal witch from the Middle Ages and being the previous love of Jasper before he was turned. You two were separated under certain circumstances and cross each other’s path once again, years later in the present era.

Warnings: Language

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

It was the year 1862. You were sitting in the private carriage of the train that early morning, on the route to Houston. This was your first time in America and you couldn’t help the excitement in you as stared out the window at the vast lands before you. Unbeknownst to Charlotte and some others, you were a countess at the time, in courtesy of your father, Count Balthazar, who was long dead. But you tried to keep your family history as confidential as possible, considering your father was a sorcerer and your mother a witch. When you grew into a young woman, you left your family castle and went your own way, leaving behind everything that reminded you of your cruel father and donated all his wealth to charity. As for your mother, she was a beautiful sea witch. After the death of your father, she was able to gain her freedom and now lives happily in a humble cottage on the coast of Scotland, close to her beloved sea, and married to the local clocksmith who loves her more than your father ever could.

The reason you were traveling to Houston was because you were recently invited out here to preform at the local theatre for charity, to which which all the funds would go towards the families affected by the war. You were a known opera singer at the time and people fell in love with your clear and soft voice that held all the emotion and sadness behind it which was beautiful to their ears. You were also quite an exceptional pianist. It originally started out as a hobby, something you decided to test the waters with, but you didn’t know it would grow into something serious, eventually venturing you out into having a strong passion for the arts like singing, acting, and even painting. When your father was around, you were never able to pursue such things. He believed they were nonsense, a complete and utter waste of time. While these activities were useless to him, they were your whole heart and soul for you. You breathed for the arts. You guess you had your mother to thank for that, she used to sing you a lullaby every night when you were a child to calm your nerves because of the visions you would have. Thankfully, those visions ceased to happen as you got older.

The gentle rocking and sound of the train had lulled you to sleep as you currently had your head leaned against the window and your feet thrown up on the seat of the train. Your hair was tied up in a bun with a peridot green ribbon while a few loose pesky strands fell about your face. A leather bound Wuthering Heights book was tucked neatly in your hands on your lap. You were wearing a simple grey long sleeved gingham linen dress with delicate black lace trim at the sleeves and your collar. A peridot green velvet ribbon was tied around your waist, your neckline sat at the bottom of your neck and covered your collarbone, and a few black buttons ran down the front of your bodice.

Your dear friend at the time was sitting across from you with her fiancé. Her name was Charlotte Griffiths, the daughter of a governor. And though she was mortal, you absolutely adored her, for she took you in when you nearly did not have a home and cared for you as if you were her own sister. Then again, you always adored mortals. This was before you had known Melanie whom you had only met in the 60s. Charlotte’s fiancé was Lord Ernest Thompson, the owner of a estate and a businessman. He was a kind, charitable, and respectable young man, and you thought he was the perfect match for Charlotte. They both were kind and gentle souls.

“Isn’t this exciting (Y/N)?” Charlotte squealed, waking you from your nap.

“Hm?” You opened your sleepy eyes to look at a blur of what most likely was your friend. “Oh of course.” You yawned, giving yourself a minute to adjust your eyes and mind to reality. “Technically you’re the one who begged me to accept the invitation for performing here and practically dragged me along.” You smirked.

“Oh admit it. I saw your face light up when you received that invitation. Anyways, isn’t this a wonderful little adventure for us? You’ve told me how much you liked to travel.”

“Well I wouldn’t quite call a civil war a wonderful little adventure.” You snarked lightheartedly, letting out a scoff before starting to dwell upon what sort of mess you’ve just gotten into.

“My god woman.” Ernest chuckled playfully, lifting his eyes from the newspaper he was reading, his glasses sitting at the bridge of his nose as he glanced at Charlotte. “Can’t you see (Y/N) was asleep?”

“Well I....I’m merely excited my love.”

“Merely?” He raised a brow.

“Oh you’re being harsh on her Ernest.” You joked along, smiling to yourself as the lovers started to lightly quarrel.

You stared out the window again, watching the scenery blur past. You have seen many lands in your time, how they have changed over the course of years, how some have come and vanished to dust. You have seen kings rise and fall. But you haven’t been here, to America. This was all foreign to you.

The train finally came to a stop at the train station and you quickly grabbed your things, desperate to get out and stretch your legs. You hastily threw on your matching bonnet, not caring that it sat crooked on your head. You rushed towards the door and hitched up your skirt, struggling with the petticoat and making sure not to go past the ankles of your boots and expose your stockings or else Charlotte would have a heart attack. You grabbed the handle and stepped down from the train and onto the wooden platform as Charlotte and Ernest followed suit.

Right when you stepped out you could feel the hot and thick damp air surround you, and you couldn’t help but bring out your fan and fan yourself vicariously.

“My goodness it’s muggy. It’s like the devil’s bollocks out here.” You breathed out.

“(Y/N)!” Charlotte exclaimed, smacking you gently with her fan. “Mind your manners!”

“Sorry.”

“You forgot your parasol by the way.”

“Oh. Right.” You took your parasol from her hands and opened it up, putting your fan away. “Wouldn’t want to forget my complexion guardian.”

You were so used to London weather, now you had to get used to this, and your corset was not helping either.

“Would you look at that Charlotte. The sun.” You made a point to her, only making her shake her head.

Once you were all settled and had your things you all headed to the nearest bed and breakfast and checked into your rooms. You and Charlotte shared one while Ernest had his own. You had just set your belongings inside before Charlotte decided now would be a good time to go to the local tea house, despite your slight dismay as you would much rather be taking a nap. You were sitting out on the tables in front of the local tea house, your head propped up by your hand and a cup of tea in your other, while chatting with Charlotte as you watched the local people pass by.

“My goodness. This heat, it’s nearly disgusting.” Charlotte fanned herself as she wiped her forehead.

“I’m sweating in places I didn’t know I had. I might as well be stripping myself bare to the bone.” You added, fanning yourself with your hand.

“I told you to wear a crinoline.”

“What? Those ghastly looking cages for your legs? Never.”

You stared off into the distance in a sort of dazed state, thinking about your comfortable bed back home, and your collection of books you left behind. You were also starting to miss your mother, wishing you were in Scotland watching the waves with her, before noticing that Charlotte had gone awfully quiet.

“What’s gotten into you?” You asked her, seeing her stare at something behind you. “Charlotte?”

“My my, I think you have an admirer.” She giggled, her youthful face lit up with giddiness as she tried to contain her laughter.

“What on earth are you babbling about?” You turned to follow her gaze and saw a tall stranger wearing a military uniform staring in your direction. You straightened up in your chair, your face firm as you started to feel yourself get anxious. You were silently hoping he wouldn’t come over to your table to strike up a conversation.

“Oh! He’s a rather fine looking gentleman I must say. Annnd he’s an officer.” Charlotte was now leaning in to whisper noticeably in your ear. You can practically hear her next you, trying so hard to contain her giggles.

“You’ve gone daft Charlotte. He’s obviously fancying you. You’re the pretty one.” You turned back around, completely disinterested.

“I think not! You know I’m engaged!”

“And how would he know that detail? Hm? A man who sees a pretty woman without any knowledge as to who she is, is most likely to approach her, without any assumption as to whether she is engaged or not. To which he’ll find out sooner or later I must add.” You ran on before taking a sip of your tea.

“Oh come now (Y/N). You know I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know, you seem to be a little too excited upon seeing other men. I don’t hear you speak of Ernest as such, as I might recall, a rather fine looking gentleman.”

“You know I love my dear Ernest more than anything. I’m just trying to find you a suitor.”

“I honestly wish you wouldn’t.” You sighed inaudibly. “What I’m trying to say is, that gentleman over there does not know that. So just.....oh bloody hell. I don’t know. Just be prepared to decline his advances towards you.”

“You lack faith my dear.” She gave you a pitiful look before looking behind you once more. “Oh look! He’s coming this way!”

“He’s what?! Charlotte!” You hiss as you lightly slap your hands down on the table as to not draw attention. “Don’t just invite him over.”

“Ladies.” You heard the man now standing beside you as he took off his hat and lowered his head in a polite greeting.

You had gotten so nervous in the mere matter of a minute that you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out the next word that slipped your tongue. “Fuck.”

There was a brief silence as Charlotte and the stranger stared at you in utter disbelief at what a proper lady like you had just uttered. A few others who sat at the other tables near you in earshot stared at you in displeasure before looking away.

Oh just wonderful. You wanted the world to eat you alive right there so you could escape their peers.

You locked eyes with the officer for a brief moment before turning away and fixing your gaze on something else, doing your best to seem preoccupied. You wished you brought your book with you so you could bury your face in it.

Charlotte let out an uneasy laugh befor turning to the man. “Well hello officer! I’m Charlotte Griffiths.” You caught your friend extending her gloved hand out to him, to which he kissed lightly.

“Pleasure to meet you.” You heard him say in this thick southern accent you were definitely not accustomed to.

“This young lady here is my dear friend (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Charlotte. Stop this instance.” You leaned closer to her only for her to hear.

You were starting to feel embarrassed more than anything.

“Ma’am.” He now turned to you, to which you gave a short reply without making any eye contact.

“Good day.”

“You know (Y/N) here has come to preform for the opera tomorrow night. You should come!”

Charlotte you did not just.

You sat there with your arms folded and glared at her. She loved getting you into these predicaments, innocently enough. If only she knew how much it bothered you.

“Really?” He turned to you now, smiling. “I thought I heard that name somewhere.”

“Oh, well she’s only one of the best sopranos in England.”

“Ehem. Charlotte that’s quite enough. Thank you.”

You almost felt ridiculed at the moment as you felt the stares of everyone around you weighing in on you. And then that sensation started to creep on you. The same one you felt when you were a child. You glanced around, seeing and hearing the blood flowing through everyone’s veins and their hearts beating in their chests, glowing like a red ruby. You squeezed your eyes shut and pinched the bridge of your nose, silently muttering to yourself and remembering the meditation your mother taught you. Earth, fire, water, air, and spirit. You glanced up from underneath your bonnet as the sensation died down and you could finally hear Charlotte calling out your name.

“(Y/N). Are you alright?” Charlotte was reaching out a hand to clasp your gloved one, gently shaking them.

“I’m fine.” You breathed out while rubbing your temple. “It’s just a migraine.”

“Do you need anything for it?” Charlotte questioned you.

“No. God no. I don’t need any of that poison.” You got up from your seat and dusted yourself off before grabbing your parasol. “I’m going to head back to the inn if you don’t mind Charlotte.”

“Do you want me to walk you back?” The officer asked you, his voice laced with concern as he took a step towards you.

You took a step back away from him in response, still avoiding his eyes. “No. I’m quite alright. I’m pretty sure I can walk back to the inn without any assistance thank you.”

“Good day.” You nodded your head at him before turning away and heading back to the inn.

The officer was the most surprised at this situation if anything. He never received this sort of reaction before. Growing up, he always appeared to have a way with words and an influence over people, they always seemed to like him. His father called it charisma. And yet here you were, this woman he had barely just met, and you didn’t have the slightest sway from him. He was a bit perplexed at this, since he was now the one that was drawn to you.

You on the other hand, you found him to be rather bold. This had happened plenty of times before. Charlotte would bring over someone to introduce to you and it always ended up with you turning them down since everyone of them had been a cocky arrogant arshehole. But the one thing you didn’t want to admit to yourself was you were scared of falling in love. The last time you did, it didn’t end well. Ever since then, you tried to keep your distance and your emotions locked up. After all those years of isolation, you eventually led yourself to believe your curse made you incapable of love.

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[reinerispretty]

rotations. (zuko x f!reader) ch. 11

hello hello hello!! thank you all so much for reading my fic, it really means the world to me! i never thought i’d see this many people enjoy something i wrote, so i want you guys to know that i appreciate each and every one of you and i see every single one of your comments and they make me smile so big!!! i hope you’re all having a great day :)

pt 1

pt 10

pt 12

The door to her cell opened and she had to squint against the bright light of civilization. It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the change before she recognized the shadowy figures that stood in front of her. “Mom?” She asked. “Dad?” 

The cement walls of the cells were covered in years of dirt and dust. The little light that filtered through the window at the very top of the wall illuminated the room just enough so that one could see their hand in front of their face. The floor of her cell was dirt, which she supposed was a benefit, as she didn’t have a bed. 

(Y/N) spent most of her days in solitude. Occasionally, a guard would come in and toss her meals on the floor. They had no problem being unkind to her. They reminded her that she was a traitor to her people, a worthless and groveling little girl that used others for her own advantages. They called her names, threw food at her, and reminded her that she would be spending the rest of her life in this wretched place. 

After Katara fled with Aang, she and Iroh had been captured in Ba Sing Se. Their hands and feet were placed in shackles to prevent them from bending. Azula herself had thrown her into her cell on the ship that they would use to travel back to the Fire Nation. The girl spit at her from outside the cell bars before shutting the door behind her. That was the last time (Y/N) had seen anyone she recognized.

She wasn’t sure how many days she had been in prison. They all melted together when she tried to think about it. The only thing she knew was that the guards woke her up when it was time to wake up. 

It was a long time before she received her first visitors. She was sat at the back of the cell against the wall, replaying all the good times that she had had with her friends in her mind. Pushing Aang into the river on accident, teaching Toph how to do a cartwheel, and hunting and making dinner with Sokka and Katara were just a few of the things that popped into her mind. 

The door to her cell opened and she had to squint against the bright light of civilization. It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the change before she recognized the shadowy figures that stood in front of her. “Mom?” She asked. “Dad?” 

Her parents looked down at her. She scrambled to her feet to come closer to the bars. She reached her hands out to touch them, but neither of them reached out to her. Her father’s face was one of anger and disgust. Her mother, surprisingly, just looked sad. 

“When I found out that you had betrayed us--betrayed your nation, I was in disbelief. You had always been such an obedient young girl. And then I find out that my daughter had released prisoners and run away with the Avatar.” Her father turned his nose up at her. “You deserve every single thing that has come to you. You’re lucky Fire Lord Ozai hasn’t imprisoned us all for your treachery.” 

(Y/N)’s fingers curled around the bars of her cell. “You’re in far too deep to ever understand,” she said. 

“What I understand is that my own daughter is a traitor and that I have no choice but to disown her from our family.” 

She stared at him in disbelief. “You would put the Fire Nation before me?” 

“I will always put the Fire Nation before you.” For the first time since she arrived at the prison, (Y/N) felt an emotion besides sadness overcome her: anger. 

“That is what’s wrong with you! Throughout my entire life, you’ve chosen everything but your wife and daughter. You think it’s for the good of the Fire Nation, but it’s not! The Fire Nation isn’t good. What they’re doing isn’t good! I’ve seen the destruction we’ve caused with my own two hands. I’ve watched it happen. You’re just a puppet who blindly follows the orders of a tyrannical monster. So fine, disown me! I haven’t wanted to be part of this family since Zuko’s Agni Kai.” 

Her father chuckled. “I had a feeling that’s where you had gone wrong. Your affection for the boy made you weak. You didn’t understand that that’s what needed to be done.”

“And my father needed to make me watch it, right? My father needed to hold my head to make sure that I didn’t turn away while I watched my closest friend--a child--be scarred by his father?” She shook her head. “You’re just as sick as the rest of them.” 

She moved away from the bars and sat down with her back against the wall. “You know, Dad, I actually feel sorry for you. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be so poisoned on the inside.” 

Her father had had enough. He was a man who hated pity and she knew this. Her words had dug deep. He turned and stormed out of the room. Her mother remained. 

“Are you going to disown me too?” She asked. 

Her mother stared at her for a long time. (Y/N) was surprised to see that as she moved closer, her mother was crying. She couldn’t remember her mother expressing any sort of emotion before. 

“My sweet girl,” her mother said, grabbing her hand through the cell bars. “I love you. I wish there was something I could do, but-” 

“It’s okay,” (Y/N) said softly. “I can keep myself safe. You do the same, okay?” Her mother nodded and kissed her hand before leaving the room. 

The encounter with her parents, although horrible, gave her hope. She would make it out of this prison if it was the last thing she did. And if Aang hadn’t survived, she would get rid of Ozai herself. 

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

(Y/N) had been sleeping when she heard something fall to the floor. 

She sat up immediately, looking in every direction to see the source of the noise. The moon was high, but provided very little light into the cell. After feeling around for a few minutes, her hands finally scraped against a brick. She walked over to where it had fallen from and peered inside. 

“Can you hear me?” The voice almost made her scream in surprise. She covered her mouth before leaning close to the hole. She could see another cell on the other side, but she couldn’t see the person. 

“Who’s there?” She whispered back. 

“It’s me,” said the voice, a bit louder this time. She instantly recognized it. 

“Iroh!” She sighed happily. “You can’t understand how happy I am to hear you. How’d you know I was over here?” 

“There’s a nice guard lady who told me about you when I asked. She said you were doing well.” 

“As well as I can be, given...y’know.” Iroh hummed. 

“Listen. I have a plan.” (Y/N) felt her heart begin to race. “The Day of the Black Sun is in two days time. It only last for eight minutes, but we are going to break out.” 

“How are we going to do that?” 

“Follow my lead. And trust me.” 

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

The evening before the Day of the Black Sun, (Y/N) received another visitor. The door shut just as quickly as it opened, so she wasn’t even sure if there was anyone inside with her. Normally the guards left the door open if there were visitors. 

“Hello?” She called out. 

“(Y/N),” Zuko said. 

“Get out.” She didn’t hesitate to say it. “Get out right now or I’ll blast you to pieces.” 

“I know your bending doesn’t work in here.” 

“Fine. Then I’ll tear you to pieces. Leave. Now. I don’t want to talk to you.” 

“Would you just listen to me for a second?” 

“No! You don’t deserve my time. I thought you had changed.” 

“I have changed--” 

“Obviously not, Zuko, because one of us is in this cell and one of us isn’t.” She sat up the actually face him. He sat in front of the cell bars. He was wearing an imperial cloak. “I see you’ve been living fancy in the royal palace.” 

“If you would just shut your mouth for two seconds--” 

“Why? So you can tell me how awful I am? How horrendous it was of me to betray Azula to protect my friends? You want to tell me how good it is now that your Father doesn’t absolutely despise you anymore?”

“I didn’t come here to say any of that.” 

“Then why did you come here?” 

“I...Remember when you came to the tea shop in Ba Sing Se? And we talked and you told me all of those things about how despite everything I’d done, you still missed me?” 

“I take it all back,” she said decidedly. “That was back when I thought you were different. But you’re the same boy who’s let me down time and time again.” She turned away from him. “I trusted you, Zuko. I let myself believe you could really be different. And you know how I hate being wrong.” 

Zuko stood and walked out of her cell, slamming the door shut behind him. (Y/N) held in her tears. She would not let herself cry over Zuko anymore. 

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

(Y/N) tried her hardest to wait during the Day of the Black Sun, but she was too excited. She tried her hardest to see out the window of her cell so that she could tell where the sun was, but it was impossible. Instead, she just paced along the dirt floor. 

She wondered where her friends were, at this very moment. How would she get back to them? She hoped they weren’t far. 

Suddenly, her cell went dark. She heard a commotion happening to her left and then the door to her cell was kicked in. A very buff-looking Iroh entered and bent her cell bars apart just enough so that she could slip through. “I see you haven’t been wasting your time here,” she commented, before the two of them darted down the halls of the prison. They encountered a few Fire Nation soldiers, but without their bending, they were absolutely useless against hand-to-hand combat. (Y/N) and Iroh quickly overpowered them and made their way outside. 

“Don’t look up!” Iroh shouted at her. He grabbed her hand and they ran as far away from the prison as they could. (Y/N) looked around and saw that the royal city had been completely emptied, no doubt to the bunker that extended underneath it. 

She and Iroh climbed over a hill and finally stopped to catch their breath. The clanging of swords against armor caught her attention and (Y/N) looked down to see Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe warriors fighting below them. She figured out instantly that this was the invasion and that meant that her friends must not be far away. 

“Come with me!” (Y/N) called to Iroh as she made her way down the slope. She turned to find him still standing at the top of the hill. 

“I must go another way. I will be alright. Go, reunite with your friends.” He gave her a big smile before disappearing on the other side of the hill. She didn’t hesitate. She ran down the hill, nearly breaking her ankles multiple times in the process, and ran up to the crowd surrounding the big hunk of armor that was undoubtedly Appa. 

“Hey!” She called out, waving her arms wildly. “Guys, it’s me!” 

Aang was the first one to notice her. He squinted his eyes to see who was running towards them. Once he realized, his face broke out into a big smile. “It’s (Y/N)!” He shouted. 

“(Y/N)?” Sokka exclaimed. He ran toward her and their bodies collided into a tight embrace. 

“You almost knocked me over,” (Y/N) laughed. Sokka pulled away and kissed her quickly. 

“I’m never, ever letting go again.” (Y/N) felt her face get hot but she had no time to hide it as she started getting bombarded by her friends. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Katara sobbed into (Y/N). She held her friend tight, her own eyes pooling with tears. 

“Katara, it’s okay. I don’t blame you one bit. I’m the one who told you to go.” She turned to Aang and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have this guy around!” 

“You’re all squishing me!” Toph exclaimed. Somehow, the small girl had gotten herself in the middle of the group hug. (Y/N) grinned, pulling Toph close. 

“Toph! I thought I’d never be able to smell your stinky feet again!” Toph smiled and wrapped her arms around her midsection. 

“Don’t go getting imprisoned ever again,” Toph said. “You hear me?” 

(Y/N)’s cheeks hurt from how big she was smiling. “Alright Toph, but only since you asked.” 

---

I KNOW WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE. JUST KEEP TRUSTING ME.

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[vexing-imogen]

death of a gentleman 1/5

Babenon Dosal has had many thoughts about his own death over the years. He has long since learned not to fear it. Death is inevitable, an early death even more so in his profession. In fact, to have lived as long and become as well established as he has is somewhat of a miracle. Still, he is not immortal, and he’s always known his death would come eventually.

He never expected to go to it willingly.

He walks into the Crow’s Nest unchallenged. The barkeep smirks when they see him, opens the trapdoor behind the bar without a single word. Ashar is expecting him, then. Good.

He passes no less than a dozen of Ashar’s men as he descends the stairs, none of whom make a move to relieve him of his weapons (a scimitar from his Revelry days on his hip, the blade coated with poison. a pistol in his left hand, fully loaded.). They know his reputation, think he’s far too clever to gamble his life on such heavy odds. They don’t realize he doesn’t plan on walking out of here.

Desmond Ashar is the sole occupant of his underground bar, lording over his space with a lazy confidence. Cold blue eyes meet Babenon’s from across the room, his dimpled smile almost masking his hatred. The man is fairly new to his position of power within the Myriad, only half a dozen years under his belt. His youth and inexperience are only outmatched by his cruelty and blind ambition.

“Babenon Dosal,” he says, voice heavy with false cheer. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

He keeps his face impassive, his voice flat. “Let her go.”

Ashar frowns, cocks his head to the side. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, friend.”

The cocking of his gun echoes through the empty room. His voice and expression remain unchanged. “Let. Her. Go.”

Ashar has the gall to laugh. “You’ve managed to jog my memory, Dosal,” he says. “Let’s negotiate, then. What can you offer me that might be worth your little gem’s freedom?”

“Me.”

Ashar’s careful façade drops along with his jaw. He’d been expecting the usual; information, money, threats. “I don’t understand...”

Babenon allows himself a smirk at the man’s expense. “My life for hers, Desmond,” he says. “Those are my terms. She goes free, and I’ll be yours to do with whatever you wish. But, it’s a limited time offer,” he says, aiming his pistol at the man’s forehead. “So, I suggest you act fast. Friend.”

Ashar considers him for a moment, licks his lips, then nods to one of the men that’s been slowly trickling in behind Babenon. “Very well,” he says. “We have a deal, Dosal. The lady goes free, and you stay.” He chuckles. “I’ll admit, you’ve surprised me. I didn’t quite believe the Jagentoth boy when he said you’d gone soft for some whore.”

He refuses to rise to the bait, determined to keep things civil until Marion is out of harm’s way. His resolve is tested when she’s brought out in manacles, sporting a split lip and a gash above one eye. He keeps his pistol trained on Ashar, even as she runs to him and sinks into his embrace.

“Did they hurt you?” he whispers in Infernal, kissing the top of her head.

She shakes her head. “Only when they abducted me,” she says. “I think...I think they were waiting for you. To make you...watch.”

He has to bite back a snarl. “You’re free to go,” he murmurs, holding her closer, breathing her in for the last time. “Jester and Fjord are waiting outside. They’ll get you home safely.”

“What about you?” she asks softly. More insistent when he doesn’t respond. “Babenon, what about you?”

He brings his free hand up to stroke her cheek, tries to smile. “I think it’s high time I pay the piper.” He watches the realization dawn. Her heart break. “I’m sorry, love. One more broken promise.”

“No!” she cries. “You can’t leave me again.”

But he has to. It’s the only way he can keep them safe. “I’m sorry.”

She grabs him by the collar and kisses him, fierce and punishing. “I love you. I never stopped.”

“Neither did I,” he admits. “Now go. They won’t wait forever.”

He listens for the trapdoor to close behind her, waits for the fainter sound of the tavern door closing. He counts to ten, just in case, and then he fires his first shot.

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

Jester spies her mama first as she steps out of the tavern and into the evening rain. She calls out to her, sprinting out of the alley to meet her in the middle of the street. She hugs her tight, a few tears escaping down her cheeks.

“Are you okay, Mama?” she asks. “Did they hurt you? Oh my god, we were so worried.”

“I’m not hurt,” Marion says, and there’s something off about her voice. The way she didn’t really answer Jester’s first question.

“Mama,” she whispers, her heart sinking with every passing minute, “where’s Dad?”

Marion’s only answer is a broken sob, and Jester’s tears start falling freely. “No. Nononononono...”

She sends her dad a message, praying the entire time that it gets through to him. “Dad, is everything okay? Where are you? Why is Mama crying? Do you need me to come help? Please answer me. Please, please, please.”

It takes a minute, but his strained response finally comes through. “Don’t worry about me, just get somewhere safe. Jester, I love you. And I’m so-”

His message cuts off, and she screams. Desperately tries to contact him again. “Dad? Dad are you there?”

There’s no answer, so she tries again. Keeps trying until she’s run out of spells, and is on the verge of fainting with exhaustion. She doesn’t get another answer.

She’s vaguely aware of Fjord, his arms around her and her mama, keeping them both from collapsing. “Jester,” his voice is soft, concerned. “what happened?”

She hiccups through her tears. “I think...I think my dad is dead.”

[divinerivals]

This is based off a post from @nestaarcher0n. @thewayshedreamed you replied asking for it too so here ya go!

I wrote this drunk and I'm on mobile. So any errors are my fault. Enjoy!

Cassian sat on an elongated chaise that curved with the alcove within the massive library. Sunlight beaming through the high windows, casting a soft glow in the silent space. Nesta laid out on the velveteen chaise with him. Her head resting in his lap. One wing hanging over the side, the other hovering slightly above her. Blocking out sun rays, so she could read easier.

Since being sent off to the Illyrian camps, this was the first time either had returned to Velaris. Rhysand had a matter to discuss with Cassian, which had to be explained. The High Lord and Lady of the night court had news for Nesta. In the letter, Feyre stated it was news needed to be told face to face. 

Now here they waited. Nerves rippling through Nesta like an underwater current treating to drag her down, down, down. Reading became difficult. Cauldron breathing felt difficult at the moment. Knowing in a few minutes her sister would show. No sisters and most likely the Inner Circle. For Cassian though, not Nesta. Never Nesta. She couldn't decide what was worse. The awkward reunion or Cassian, her mate, reuniting with them. 

The aching thought of seeing him happy with them and leaving her alone in this library. Only surrounded by rows upon rows of tomes and books. It reminded her of last Winter Solstice when he stepped away from Nesta to see Mor. How he paid the oldest Archeron no mind until she left. Nesta's chest felt heavy at past images in her mind. A vile churning in her gut thinking of him smiling and laughing at Mor. She tried to swallow the fire of rage building within. True they were friends, but Nesta and Cassian were mates. Nesta repeated it in her head, it did nothing to quell how she felt.

"Cassian, do that thing," she requested. Settling her book. Meeting the tender gaze of hazel eyes.

"You're gonna have to be more specific than that sweetheart," he teased, "You like a lot of things I do. Several of them I'm not sure we have the time for," he winked down at her.

"You're a prick," Nesta picked up her book. Playfully slapping him in the arm. 

He only laughed. The sound light and airy, like a soothing lullaby to her very soul. 

"And yet you cooked for me and accepted the bond," Nesta glared at him. Cassian only smiled at her. The one that made his cheeks rise and hers blush as red as his siphon, "What the thing do you want?"

"Play with my hair, unbraid it."

"Say please."

 Nesta rolled those stormy blues, "please," she said through gritted teeth.

He smiled again, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on her forehead. As he expertly worked his fingers through the put together braid, she did that morning. His hands undid her coiled style, strand by strand. Battle worn fingers ran through her silken tresses, like the first soft fall of snow. Cassian massaged deep into her roots. Nesta closed her eyes as she hummed her contentment.

"I know you're nervous-"

"I'm not," she argued back, fixing him a pointed look. 

"Nes, I'm your mate, in case you've forgotten, I can tell. Besides you kept your book on the two same pages since we sat down," he spoke with care and love in his tone. Continuing to brush her hair with his fingers.

Her only response was a deep-seated sigh. Damn him for knowing her so well. Too well in fact.

"We both know the last time you were here. Things...well, they weren't great. But you've grown and began to heal," he let out a breath before continuing, "You are the most important thing to me. At any point, you want to leave just say so. This is a big step. No one will blame you if you need to go."

She chewed her bottom lip. Meeting his warm, protective gaze. Swirls of amber, green and flecks of gold, like that of the finest jewels she'd ever seen.

"What if they don't?" Her tone was harsher than intended. If he caught it, Cassian didn't seem to mind it. 

He only continued to stroke her hair, reaching down to softly kiss her crimson lips, "Then I'll handle it."

Both of them were too preoccupied gazing at the other, to smell or hear the oncoming of all the footsteps moving throughout the library. Until they heard a whistle. Nesta froze in her position. Sure she planned to get through this day. Being caught in such an intimate way wasn't something she planned. To Cassian’s credit, he did not move. Only shifted the hand in her hand.

"Well this is surprising," Mor commented looking at the two of them. Her expression remained unreadable until Amren pushed between everyone. The Morrigan whipped her head at the smaller woman.

"It's not surprising. If you had eyes girl," Amren walked to a bookshelf, grabbing a tome half her size with ease. She looked over at Cassian and Nesta, "Took you two long enough," with that she was gone mumbling about longing. 

Nesta and Amren had yet to mend the relationship. If that fierce woman acted the way she used to around Nesta. Perhaps they could repair the friendship. 

Elain pushed past Mor running to her sister. Azriel standing in the shadows watching the seer as she wrapped her arms around Nesta. He said nothing, only giving Cassian an approving nod. Nesta squeezed her sister against herself. Taking in the floral scent that was naturally Elain. Elain noticed how healthy her older sister looked. Gone were the sunken eyes, sallow skin, and frail body. Nesta was glowing. Her eyes bright like ocean waters touched by sunlight. She regained a healthy weight. Honeyed hair was no longer brittle. Voluminous and full of life as it fell past her shoulders.

Elain pressed a kiss to her sister's cheek, "I've missed you. I saw you in my visions. You're happy now."

Nesta spared a glance at Cassian, "Yeah, I am," returning her attention to Elain," I've missed you."

Elain smiled bright and warm, moving to Cassian. Kissing his cheek as well, "Thank you for saving her when she needed it most."

"You're welcome, but she saved herself. I only held her hand," he replied still running fingers through her hair stopping occasionally to rub the pads of his thumbs into her scalp.

"Still. Being there and," Elain motioned to his movements, "loving her. It helped in ways you couldn't imagine. I'm glad you're her mate," she chuckled at Cassian’s shocked expression, "Seer remember. I had the vision."

Rhysand and Feyre approached behind Elain. Nesta felt her heart race watching them. The shouting between the three before she left was less than civil. She had been dreading this reunion since the day she left. Sitting up next to Cassian, his hands left her finger-combed strands. Opting to slip between her fingers. Offering a reassuring squeeze, which Nesta returned. One of Cassian’s wings rested around his mate. Acting as a security blanket of sorts.

"Hey, Rhysie, " Cassian said, flashing a charming grin. Keeping his thumb running ministrations over Nesta's knuckles.

"Brother," he commented in greeting, "I would say I'm surprised just as Mor. However, Elain told us of the vision. So we knew and we're happy," Rhysand turned his attention to Nesta offering a genuine smile, "The both of you. We can talk over lunch. For now, Feyre has something to say." 

Feyre approached, with a gown Nesta noticed was far looser than what she usually wore. Nesta recognized the same time as Cassian that her sister's scent was different. Feyre first hugged Cassian, thanking him in the process. Before sitting on the Lush violet chaise next to Nesta.

"Nesta I'm sorry for sending you away how I did. I didn't know what to do. I worried for you," she reached for the hand unoccupied by Cassian, " Rhys and I arranged a private lunch for us four to talk. If you don't want to…" Feyre trailed off.

"Is that the news?" Nesta questioned in a challenging tone, "Lunchtime?"

Rhys tensed behind Feyre. Cassian shot him a warning glance. A silent speech telling him to be patient and wait. Meanwhile, Feyre laughed shaking her head, "No. It's not. Nesta, I'm with child."

Nesta blinked several times, her voice rising in pitch, "I'm going to be an aunt?"

Feyre nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. Rhys nodded to Cassian, who kissed the top of Nesta's head, before following. Azriel and Mor trailed behind them. Leaving the sisters alone to catch up. It was Nesta initiating the hug with her sisters. Emirisissing herself in the solidarity of them. She looked from the corner of her eye as Rhysand clamped a hand on her mate's shoulder saying, "Archerons huh?" 

To which Cassian chuckled, turning back at Nesta. For once, since becoming fae, Nesta felt assured that things were looking up.

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[mdotmaro]

Winging It

Author's Note: This story is set right after Vacation with Derek. Casey is going off to New York to like her dream as a dancer in a musical. But what if things are not what she expected? What if her dream was wrong? What if the most irritating person in your life is the only one that can talk some sense into you

And so the summer of 05 was coming to an end. The Blue Heron Lodge wasn't going anywhere, and Broadway was calling Casey's name. She sat at the dock, letting her toes dance across the surface, careful to avoid her heels getting wet. There were slight thumps on the floorboards of the dock.

"You know it's not much of a party if you go to brood off all alone. Maybe save the dramatics when you get on stage." Derek commented while he took a seat next to Casey. She chuckled quietly.

"You heard, huh?" She asked with a wistful smile on her face as she stared up at the stars.

"Hard not to when Nora and her hormones keep crying about it every five minutes; Casey laughed at that and wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. Derek eyed her and then recoiled at the sight of tears.

"Oh, come on, not you too. Jeez, I can't wait to be in University without all the estrogen seeping through the walls." He said and nudged her lightly.

"I am fine, really just taking it all in. My dream is really coming true, and I just have this light feeling in my chest that makes me want to laugh and cry all at once." She explained; he smirked at her.

"Well, if that feeling spreads to your right arm, let someone know because you might be having a heart attack," Derek said, and Casey shoved him.

"Yeah, I'll miss you too, Der, " She said, and Derek scoffed at the insinuation.

"Whatever, all I am saying is that New York is far enough away that it would be too much of a pain to Dad and Nora to go fly over and save you from whatever crisis you have; so" He cleared his throat and looked up at the sky and pointedly not at Casey. His ears were a tad pink.

"So, call me instead. But you're paying for the plane ticket." He added abruptly, but it was too late. Casey began to pout her lip and stare at Derek with tears in her light blue eyes.

"Aww, Der. You do care. Come here," She said and went to hug the young man that back peddled away from her.

"I take it back, don't call me. Don't touch me. Casey, I mean it," He said in a mock deep tone that made her glossy eyes glitter with amusement. It was a two-second pause between them before Derek sprinted up the dock with Casey close at his heels.

"Oh, come on, Derek, you love me, just admit it," Casey shouted and laughed after him. He blitzed away from her just as she was about to catch him by shirttail. Her fingers barely brushed the fabric. Derek thought he could lose her at the dock because there was no way she would risk falling off, Right? Wrong, one rolled ankle, and down she splashed into the dark water. Derek burst out laughing and continued until he realized Casey didn't resurface.

"Casey?" Derek called out and scanned the surface for any bubbles. A twinge of panic left his voice when he called out again. "Casey!" Still nothing. "Oh for the love of Peter" He grumbled before taking off his fancy shoes and jumping in and searched the water for any sign of her. He saw a dim image of a figure struggling against something. Derek swam over and saw it was her heavy wedge heel stuck between two pieces of driftwood. Casey was trying to yank her foot out; Derek broke the buckle and dragged her up. They both gasped, and then Casey hit Derek in the chest.

"Der-rek, those were my favorite shoes!" She panted and supported herself up by his arms until she could regain her breath. Derek stared open-mouthed at her.

"Fine. I'll just let you drown next time," He said and then smirked, and Casey's eyes widened before Derek dunked her head underwater. She swatted at him until he let her go, and then there was a splashing war. At one point, Casey was able to wrap her legs around Derek's waist and pushed down on his shoulders to dip him under.

"Casey, you are not allowed to drown Derek," Nora said passively as she waddled with her large belly to the bunkhouse with George. Derek picked Casey up and flung her back into the water.

"You heard her." Derek laughed at the haphazard hair plastered to her forehead. Casey dipped her head back to smooth out her hair.

"Let's get out of here; the water is freezing," Casey said and wrapped her arms tightly around herself; the dress she was wearing had stuck to her skin in a less than modest way than Casey was comfortable with. Derek unbuttoned his vest and handed it to her. She smiled and accepted the vest, and quickly buttoned up the middle. Jessie saw Casey from across the lawn and jogged over.

"Hey, Casey, a great night for a swim, eh?" He said while grinning at the waterlogged step-siblings. Derek nudged Casey's arm before heading out to the brunette waiting by the jet ski. Casey watched him go before turning back to Jessie. I guess you could say that. Want to go for a walk?" She asked while looping her arm through Jessie's.

"What happened to your shoes?" Jessie asked, indicating to her bare feet. Casey laughed

"It's a long story."

Six months later

The blaring car horns were surprisingly easy to adapt to. Casey particularly loved the little shops and cafes that seemed to flower at every corner. The organic wheatgrass and lemon zest smoothie was a favorite routine of hers before taking a run in central park. Rehearsal wasn't until 10 am, and Casey had to make sure to keep up her stamina for the demanding routine involved in the Jazztap Tango on Mango Street.

Casey was the roommate and unrequited love interest, Mindy. Jessie was the lead Georgio. He was taking his role as the Mainstreet casanova to heart. Whatever began at the Blue Heron Lodge was soon forgotten after there was so much research to do with so many women.

"I just need to get a better feel of the character. You understand, don't you?" Jessie explained at Casey's studio apartment. She stared at him and tried her best to stay civil. It was an act she had seen many times with Truman and certainly with Jessie. He wasn't exactly nonchalant about his veracious flirting as a waiter, and it only increased in New York when his charming shyness faded away.

"Of course, see you on set. K?" She said before gently closing the door. The apartment was basically a shoebox; she could barely practice her routine, and Casey was starting to get restless. There were a few framed pictures across the headboard of her twin bed. She picked up the last picture the entire family had taken together. Simon was just born, and they were all huddled together at the hospital. She smiled at the image that had been taken four months earlier. Simon must have at least doubled in size by now. Casey sighed at the knot in her chest and stared at the phone on her bed for a long moment before giving in and dialing.

"Yo, You've reached Derek Venturi. Leave a message, and I may or may not get back to you. Later" Casey rolled her eyes at the voicemail, but she still waited for the beep.

"Hey, It's Casey. No, I am not having a crisis. I just wanted to call and see how you were doing and to see if you had flunked any of your classes yet. Call me back when you can," She said, and that was two days ago, and she had not heard back from him since. The musical was supposed to air at the Radio City Music Hall for the first time that night at 8 pm. It was too short notice for any family or friends to be able to see it live, but they promised to come to the next showing in two months in Buffalo.

Casey quickly dressed and went up to the stage. "Alright, Casey, go up to the balcony and start from 'Carry On, '" The director Bernard Blue instructed from the front row. The prop balcony was just reinforced after a near spill last week that had Casey hanging on for dear life by the railing. Margret, the leading lady, had teased that Casey shouldn't have had that extra slice of pizza at rehearsal wrap-up. Derek said that she was being "Black Swanned" when she had called that night to vent her frustrations.

"You've seen The Black Swan?" Casey scoffed.

"Uh Yeah, Natalie Portman 'finding her sexual nature' on screen. How could I not?" He said.

"You're disgusting," She said, but they ended up laughing anyway.

Casey stared into the spotlight and let out a deep breath.

"Carry on, sweet dear. My mother always told me.

Carry on through these tears. Let them water your garden.

Soon the flowers will bloom and shade your views of the unkindness of this world." Casey's voice carried sweetly through the theater as she watered the small prop flowers on the balcony. Below Jessie danced and caressed Margret while Casey was made to gaze forlorn at them from above.

"But sometimes the flowers bloom is not enough.

Never enough." Casey sang with more force, and she flew down the stairs to meet the lovers, but before she descended, they were gone.

"Just living and watching you fade from me.

Even if you're happy, it will never be enough for me-" She ended with the saddest halt of her voice. The lights faded, and then she was shuffled backstage for the next scene. It had become just a monotonous cycle in her life. When did her dream become the very thing she dreaded each and every day. Maybe when it was when her dream became a job, and the freeing feeling she had when she danced was now controlled by someone else. She looked at the glittering face in the mirror. Casey had the opportunity to give into a secret desire to be a blonde for the role, but there was something different in her eyes. They seemed dull.

The play was a moderate success. There were no screaming crowds or cries for an encore like the director had predicted. Casey was honestly just glad it was over. When she went to the dressing room, she found someone in her chair. With a well-timed spin, Derek grinned at her, appearing quite at home.

"The real star is here," He announced, lounging in the makeup chair like a throne. Casey laughed and all but launched at him. She squeezed him in a hug.

"Chillz, Case. Can't breathe." Derek said but still gave her a gentle squeeze back. Some of the other girls began to mill into the dressing room and took in the scene of the two step-siblings.

"Aww, Casey, I didn't know you had enough time for a boyfriend." Eloise sneered. Casey gave the petite redhead a withering look.

"This is my step-brother, Derek. Derek, this is Eloise, Jasmine, Cossette, and Jamie." Casey said, milling off as the women eyed Derek with a predatory look. Casey wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Oh, and is Derek single?" Eloise asked while batting her massive costume lashes at the man. Derek chuckled and got out of the chair, but before he could say anything.

"Oh, he is, but sorry to tell you, girls, he is gay. Come on, let me show you the city." Casey said before half dragging Derek out of the dressing room. Derek protested the entire time he was very much straight. Once they were on the street, Derek shook her off his arm.

"Jeez, Casey. Possessive much?" Derek complained. Casey shook her head.

"Please, Derek. Those theater girls would have eaten you alive." She teased. "Anyway, what made you come all the way over? How did you like the play? How is the family?" Casey rattled off as they walked down the street, the park was coming up, and they had a night market to celebrate the change into spring.

"Take a breath, Casey." Derek teased and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Casey closed her mouth and made a locking motion while throwing away a figurative key. Derek rolled his eyes.

"You are such a dork," He mumbled, and she put her hands on her hips. "Well, I heard your voicemail, and you are still a terrible liar; you are obviously having a crisis." And he held a hand to stall her protest. "Yes, you are, but I have to go down the list before you go on this verge of denial." He smirked

"The play was sappy but good, I guess. And the Fam is fine, I guess, you can reach out to them too, you know." He said and then lingered over to a hotdog vendor and ordered a dog with all the fixings, even relish. Derek took a huge, messy bite and then offered some to Casey, who gave a quick shake of her head.

"I know, and I try too, but these hours are so long with the play and rehearsals and the gym to stay in shape." She sighed. Derek sized her up.

"What's wrong with the shape you're in now?" Derek said through a mouth full of meat. Casey grimaced and offered him a napkin.

"Chew, swallow, then speak, you, Neanderthal," Casey said and then looked down at her thin, toned arms. "The costume designer has been complaining about having to use extra material for my costume because I am not a size two like the other girls," Casey said and crossed her arms in frustration.

"You'd look weirder than usual if you were super thin like them," Derek said after finishing his hot dog and wiping his mouth. They passed a beadwork station where Derek tossed his trash in the nearby bin, and Casey looked intently at the necklaces.

"I agree, but that's showbusiness. I don't have enough curves to be plus-sized and not thin enough to be seen as a regular dancer. It's exhausting," She admitted while touching a deep jade necklace like one her mother would wear.

"So, quit," Derek said simply. Casey turned away from the necklace and stared at him incredulously.

"I can't just quit on my dream, Derek. I have sacrificed too much for it not to work out." She said hotly. Derek gave her a bland look.

"I saw you up there; there is no passion in you." Derek accused. Casey scoffed.

"Please. What do you know about passion?" Casey asked, and he shrugged.

"I have been playing hockey since I was twelve, and I have never felt like getting up to play was ever work. You have been complaining for weeks about this, and it is just not what you expected. And that scares you." He accused. Casey shoved him.

"I am not scared!" She hissed, but it wasn't convincing. She gave into his penetrating look and slumped her shoulders. "Okay, fine. I thought it would be amazing to dance on a stage in front of hundreds of people every night, but it's not the same when the choreography is the exact same, and I don't have the creative liberties I would If I did my own choreography." She admitted—Derek tutt at her before lazily throwing his arm across her shoulders.

"Well, you can always modify your dream to fit your life." He said and then eyed a street band performing under a massive tree filled with string lights. Casey gave him a confused look, and then her eyes widened at him when he dragged her towards the band, and he twirled her around. "Like dancing in the park without any stuffed shirts of catty girls criticizing you." He said before joining her in a faced paced swing dance. Casey's face lit up with the biggest and most beautiful smile. She laughed and tilted her head back when Derek picked her up and spun her.

A small crowd of dancers joined in, and the band picked up its pace, and Derek let Casey down so she could take the reigns. This was her, Casey free and alive.

The two left the park with a little more pep in their step and laughing. Derek dragged them to the closest bar and ordered them whiskey shots. Derek started to sweet talk to the bartender and didn't even get carded. They were legal in Canada, but at nineteen, were not yet legal in the states. It helped that Derek had a bit of a blonde stubble beard going on. Casey just shook her head in amazement.

"I am the one supposed to be showing you around the city. I am the one who lives here," Casey said before clinking her shot glass with Derek's and downing it in one go. Derek laughed at her grimace as the whiskey burned down her throat.

"It's called confidence Casey, maybe you'll know all about it after a few more of these." He said and waved at the bartender for another round. He handed Casey another cool shot glass, and she met his determined gaze with one of her own. He leaned close to her ear and said over the loud music.

"Oh, and you're paying, by the way." He said, and before she could yell at him, he downed his shot and pulled on her hand to the dance floor. Casey refrained from his pulling to shakily downed her whiskey shot. Derek released her to the thumping music while he made eye contact with a blonde in a tight purple dress. Casey felt her limbs become loose and cool and began to sway to the beat. The writhing bodies pressed against another was not the type of music she was usually used to, but there was something hypnotic about it. A pair of arms snaked around her waist, and Casey flinched to see a handsome stranger with mint green eyes that shone against dark skin. He leaned close to her ear.

"Want to dance?" He asked, and she nodded nervously. He led her in a slow sway, lightly pressing his hips into hers. Casey bit back a gasp and ran her arms up and through her own loose waves. This was heaven. She followed the handsome stranger step for step and rolled her hips in a way that made him hiss. His hands began to drift from her hips to the back pockets of her low-ride jeans. It was only when he squeezed her bottom that she squealed and jumped away. The handsome stranger raised his hands up in surrender. He mouthed "sorry" to her, and she shook her head and smiled at him before moving more towards the center and dancing by herself. At least she was until Derek came over with another two shots, and she gladly accepted, now getting more used to the burn.

"You okay?" Derek shouted over the music. Casey nodded.

"Better than ever." She said and wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him into a more lively song. Derek put both their glasses on the nearby counter and began to sway along with Casey. This was much closer than they had ever danced before, and Casey was giggling and biting her bottom lip as she spun and gyrated onto Derek. Oh no, Derek thought. He had created a monster. He would have always thought Casey would be a lame weepy drunk, but it turns out she is a flirty drunk. Derek wasn't exactly sober either, and the night was still swinging along. He held for the ride with his hands firmly on Casey's hips. She spun and then wrapped her arms around his neck. She swayed back and forth with her eyes half-closed.

It's hard to say who moved; first, one moment, they were forehead to forehead, and then Casey whispering huskily, "Thank you for saving me, Derek" Derek chuckled and asked, "From what?". Casey's fingers ran through his smooth hair before leaning to his ear and whispering, "From myself" Maybe he was going to give her a reassuring kiss on the cheek. Maybe she only turned to put her head on his shoulder. Whatever their possible intentions, what happened was that their lips met for the briefest moment. They had enough sobriety to freeze and look into each other's eyes. Derek searched her baby blue eyes for any fear or concern but only found her doing the same, and a flicker of want glazed over her eyes. That was all each other needed for permission.

While the first kiss was sweet and innocent, this kiss was desperate and sensual. Derek pressed Casey closer and cupped the back of her head to deepen the kiss, and Casey let her hands trail down his chest to the hem of his shirt. In the course of their kissing, the song had changed to something slower; Casey and Derek took the opportunity to come up for air. Casey nuzzled into Derek's neck, and he held her close.

"What are we doing?" Casey asked and pulled back to look at Derek. She half expected a sarcastic remark like, What does it look like? We were making out, and now we're not. Not that big a deal, Case. But Casey had never seen Derek like this before. His face was open and vulnerable.

"I don't know," He said and shook his head. He smoothed some hair out of her face and smiled down at her. Casey smiled back and leaned up to kiss him lightly. She rubbed her hands over his arms.

"Well, whatever this is, let's wing it," Casey announced confidently. Derek laughed at that and shook her lightly.

"What?" Casey pouted. Derek shook his head and slung an arm over her shoulder, leading her out of the dance floor towards the bar to pay their tab.

"'Let's wing it,'" He imitated her in an absurdly high pitch tone. "You are still such a Keener," He said. She elbowed his side.

"Der-rek," She whined as he pat her head in a condescending way.

"It's okay; you're a cute kenner." He said with a wink. She forked up the cash for their tab and joined him out in the New York nightlife.

They stared out at the buildings from Casey's fire escape. Neither said anything for several minutes until Casey broke the silence.

"I have to drop out of the play," Casey announced, and Derek smoothed her hair in response. "Yeah, you got me thinking."

"Oh no," Derek said and snickered when she lightly slapped his knee. Casey was sitting between his legs and leaning back into his chest.

"I want to go back to school, but not for Law. I want to own my own dance studio." She said, and Derek put his chin on top of her head.

"So, Casey Macdonald found a way to make a career where she is in complete control. Shocker." He whispered the last part into her ear; she smiled and then turned around so she was facing him.

"Plus, going to university will give us time to figure out whatever this is." She said as she placed her hands on his shoulders. He smirked at her.

"Yeah, sure, let's 'wing it,'" He said, and Casey slid her hands up to his neck and kissed him until the sun began to rise, and they both finally succumbed to exhaustion.

[orderoftheavengers]

Scarlet Legilimens

House: Ravenclaw

Species: Human/phoenix hybrid (formerly human)

Blood Status: Pureblood

(Pointless) Wand: Cherry, 13 inches, phoenix feather  

(Pointless) Broom: Firebolt Supreme

Patronus: Red-billed firefinch

Specialty: Legilimency, Occlumency, Flying, Dark Arts, Wandless Magic

Sorting

Wanda Maximoff is a living example of how the traits of Ravenclaw House may be applied to the most heinous villainy, and the most self-sacrificing heroism. As a villain, she is crafty and manipulative; as a hero, clever and intuitive. Her fighting style, for good or evil, is always more sneaky and innovative than “bold.” Ironically, her mind is also her weakest point as well as her strongest, as poor Wanda continuously ends up as the manipulated as often as the manipulator. A born Legilimens, her abilities, strengths and flaws are all mind related.

Note the “cleverness” and “ready mind” mentioned by the Sorting Hat needn’t always come in the form of a bookish nerd, as Luna Lovegood, Sybil Trelawney, Profeesor Quirrel and Professor Lockheart are all Ravenclaw. Wanda may not spend her free time studying or watching the Discovery Channel, but she does spend much of it experimenting with her powers, and letting her imagination loose. When faced with unbearable loss, she wasn’t immediately able to face her grief head-on, like a Gryffindor; nor, as a corrupt Ministry leader lied, did she try to resurrect her lost lover; instead, she escaped into her own mind, imagining up an (almost) complete fictitious life for herself and Vision, in a matter of seconds, without even realizing she was doing it.

Wanda is capable of impressive courage, ambition and loyalty, to be sure; but all of those things have wavered, when her reality was turned upside-down. She shed years of indoctrination after reading Ultron’s mind and seeing the grim truth. (And yes, she can read a machine’s mind! That’s a Ravenclaw right there.)

Durmstrang Experiments

Wanda and her twin brother Pietro were born to wizarding parents, in the tiny European nation of Sokovia. Wanda was a born Legilimens, like Queenie Goldstein, able to peek into others’ minds without having to perform any spells. A poor family, their father made ends meet by enchanting posters and lobby cards of old Muggle sitcoms to play out entire episodes, which he then sold to Muggle-enthusiasts in the wizarding world. Their home was decimated by a spell invented by Tony Stark, who never intended for it to end up in the claws of banshee terrorists. The twins ended up in a crap Muggle orphanage, which only intensified their prejudices. By the time they entered Durmstrang, a school infamous for professors that supported Dark Magic and even Voldemort, they were ripe for indoctrination and radicalization.

Due to Wanda’s being a Legilimens, the twins were selected for a dangerous experiment by their headmaster Professor Beowulf Von Stucker. Using the Mind Stone, the twins were to be fused with their wands. Wanda’s first name suddenly became very appropriate, a la Remus Lupin. Wanda merged with her phoenix-feathered wand, transforming the born Legilimens into a powerful human/phoenix hybrid. Her telepathic powers were enhanced, and she gained many powers of a phoenix, including flight, inhuman strength for her levitation spells, and being nearly indestructible. Being part wand also made her able to do wandless magic with no effort. Pietro, meanwhile, was merged with his Veela-hair wand, making him a human/Veela hybrid, and gifting him with a Veela’s dancing speed and silvery hair.

(A very special thanks to AlasterBoneman for the idea about Wanda's wand being integrated into her body.) Order of the Avengers Wanda and Pietro are finishing up their first year when they cross paths with the Order of the Avengers, and they don't exactly make a good first impression. Their vitriol against the Avengers and Tony Stark makes very little sense, especially given that Wanda is a telepath, and should easily see they aren't the villains (not to mention how much she has in common with Natasha, whose life story Wanda personally digs up). But, the twins are still only about eleven, and kids that age can be pretty stupid. The Avengers trace Loki's confiscated broom-scepter to Durmstrang, where the dark wizards from the Order of Hydra are keeping it. Wanda, having recently studied with a Boggart, uses her Legillimency to make the Avengers relive their traumas. Tony's fear shows Wanda that he clearly wants to protect the world, and yet she makes the very un-Ravenclaw decision to keep pursuing "revenge." Her plan inadvertently leads to Tony and Bruce accidentally creating a dangerous and ear-bleedingly-irritating gargoyle named Ultron, who the twins personally work with. Wanda even shocks Bruce into green-wolf form, and sends him on a rampage through one of the dormitories at Durmstrang (but it's not her or Pietro's House, so she could care less). Finally, after much too long, she puts her mental powers to some use, and reads Ultron's mind. That's when she puts two and two together. By then, Ultron has unleashed an army of Cornish Pixies to levitate Durmstrang Castle miles into the air, planning to drop it in an explosion of magic that will alert the Muggles to the existence of wizards. Huddled in a swaying castle tower, she confesses her guilt to Hufflepuff Clint Barton. Clint invites her to redeem herself by joining the Avengers. Durmstrang is saved, but sadly, Pietro takes a killing curse for Clint and another first year. wrought with grief and guilt, wanda begins her second year of schooling at Hogwarts, where--after an unusually long time on the stool--she is sorted into Ravenclaw. Her lonely mood is raised slightly when she finds the attractive new Golem, Vision, hovering to the Ravenclaw table alongside her.

The Scarlet Witch Hunt

Perhaps living on her own for a while is what finally helps Wanda regain the confidence to think for herself. When Vision suggests that they both drop out of their respective schools and just run off together, she urges him against the idea. When Vision senses a disturbance in his Mind Stone, she inspects it for him, but reports, “I just feel you.”

They are interrupted by a rude crowd of Trolls under their window, calling for Wanda’s blood. She’s fine to ignore them, but Vision—ever the logical Ravenclaw—is compelled intellectually argue with the Trolls in his lady's honor.

“Wanda is a redemption-seeking-antihero like Tony, who she has not expressed any hatred for since the Ultron fiasco—not even during the whole ‘Civil War’ calamity! In fact, of everyone on Team Cap, she was the least awful to Tony! The only verbal exchange between them during the whole drunk Quidditch match was a brief pout about being 'locked in her room,' which she had no problem with until Hawkeye came and pressured her. She was literally the only person in the Squid prison not insulting him! And just a few minutes ago, when I wanted her to run away with me, she was telling me to keep my loyalties to Stark, and when the news reported him missing she was visibly scared for him! Seriously, where are you Trolls even getting that she still hates Tony?”

One Troll with particularly long horns shouts back, “Well what about that cleavage and slutty red leather? Tony Stark was never a slu—er, wait…”

Vision is now standing in the window frame, unbuttoning his fly.

“Vision?” Wanda asks nervously. “What are you doing?”

A glittering, purple stream poursd out from her boyfriend’s “better wand,” threatening to deface the crowd below.

“Vision no!” she cries, quickly containing the violet river in an energy ball.

Steady hand…    she carefully lifts the ball of glistening liquid higher and higher into the air. …Not gonna screw this one up—

“I say Wanda, is that a giant flying donut?” Vision asks curiously.

Wanda glances up, and there is indeed a gargantuan space donut in the night sky, coming right for them. The strange sight distracts her, causing her hand to slip—just as she’s levitating Visions liquids right over said donut.

This enchanted pastry is in fact the vessel of some of Thanos’s most vicious minions. And Wanda has just drenched them in Vision’s you-know-what.

While Wanda gasps behind her hand, Vision suggests, “Let’s go for a walk.”

On their way down the quiet lamp-lit streets, they are soon stopped by a group of Thanos’s putrid goblin children, currently slightly more putrid than usual.

A blue female goblin roars, “Now you’ve really succeeded in pissing us off!”

Before she can stop herself, Wanda blurts out, “Pissed off? Smells more to me like you ‘been pissed on!”

Somewhere, a boxing bell dings, and a badass wizard’s duel begins.

Just when Wanda and Vision are cornered, a train passes by, causing all parties to freeze dramatically for no apparent reason. Wanda tries to make her body move, to take this opportunity to blast her opponents, but some force has her glued in place, as low music hisses theatrically throughout the night. The train passes, to reveal a shadowy figure, posing heroically. Instead of shooting the figure with a hex, one of the goblins simply throws a spear, which the figure catches expertly. Wanda and Vision both know that there is only one person on the planet would could make an entrance with this much ham and cheese.

Steve Rogers dramatically stepped into the light, revealing his fluffy new beard, and the duel gets a bit more epic.

Oh Snap

In the wizarding nation of Wakanda, Black Panther’s brilliant sister Shuri does her damndest to save her fellow Ravenclaw, and safely remove the Infinity Stone from Vision’s forehead. Sadly, Thanos’s forces overwhelm her, and Wanda is forced to kill her lover--the last family she has left. Many would assume only a Gryffindor would have the resolve to do this, but a Ravenclaw’s wisdom and pragmatism can go a long way.

Ever the sadist, that purple f*ck Thanos uses the Time Stone to resurrect Vision and kill him again, in front of Wanda, and even has the gault "comfort" her in a patronizing manner.

And yet, she’s not so distraught when Thanos’s Dusting curse comes for her. It could be that she’s so despaired by now that she welcomes death. Or maybe the half-phoenix simply doesn’t react to dissolving into ash the same way other beings might…

…in any case, she is resurrected over the summer by Bruce Banner. Vision, sadly, isn’t. In her grief, Wanda accidently traps herself and the entire school of Hogwarts inside the Mirror of Erised, but that's another story entirely. 

Wand, Broom and Patronus

Cherry wood is associated with some of the most powerful and lethal wands.  Phoenix feather wands are considered to have the widest range of magic, and are among the post powerful, yet also the most difficult to tame. 

The red-billed firefinch is one of the few bird species where the females sport some red coloring. These birds are tiny and quiet, but very active. They are flexible about where they live and with whom; they can mix with other bird species, and can live in the wild or captivity, provided they always have plenty of space. Their nests are different from other birds', having a dome shape and being low in bushes. Not unlike the hidden fortress Wanda creates, to hide her family. These crafty birds also build mock-nests to fool predators.  

AN: This has undergone some changes in both the story and image, since the release of "WandaVision." If anyone is for any reason attached to Wanda's old broom, the previous version is saved in my Stash. I plan to reuse that fire design somewhere else, possibly for Harry's Firebolt in my more serious Potter art.

[loving-all-for-loki]

Voiceless Love Chapter 9: Evermore

(Bucky’s route)

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2264

Warnings: fluff, some angst, SMUT (unprotected sex, you know better).

Tag List: @caffeineoverloadandstudying @zizzlekwum @daddysfavoritesexkitten @magicalpieex @buckylokisimp @lokiyoulittle

A/N: So, because I originally intended for this to be a Loki x reader, I couldn’t bring myself to write a ton of more Bucky chapters. I kind of got bored with it and I don’t know how to write Bucky well for long so this is the last Bucky chapter. I want to thank everyone who made it to the end. I feel very blessed for how well this series was accepted considering how new I am to writing fanfiction. 

There’s this old Bruce Lee quote that goes, “Love is like a friendship caught on fire. In the beginning a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love becomes as coals, deep-burning and unquenchable”. It’s completely accurate. 

When you first met Bucky, it was a friendship. He took you under his wing as a friend and as a mentor, one newbie to another. He was quiet and civil. It’s what drew you to him, but after months you became infatuated. Neither of you left each other’s side, until Loki came around.

That’s the flickering, or your flickering. He swooped in like a knight on the back of a donkey. He was unlikely, a rare and unstable love. You remember when you first met him. Quiet like Bucky, he had a strong presence, one that was to be noticed. Unlike Bucky, he wanted nothing to do with you at first until he got to know you. He realized you were more, but he left. His light flickered out and your flickering like with Bucky vanished. It returned full and brighter than before.

It became unquenchable. You were once again glued to him and him to you. Bucky was there through heartbreak, injury, joy, and accomplishments. After some convincing, Tony eventually let you join the team on missions and help heal on the battlefield. Had it not been for you, Steve, Bucky, and Sam would have died multiple times. Every time healing them sent you to the hospital, Bucky would stay by your side until you were dismissed.

Bucky at one point fought for you, telling the team you couldn’t keep giving them all of your life. They decided to keep you as an emergency or slight injury medic. If they barely got scratched, you would quickly heal them or if they were about to die as well. You stopped healing broken arms and pulled muscle, letting yourself recover from missions.

Now, going through your boxes to put away, you find photos of when you first joined the team. Photos of you with Bucky on late nights, you with Nat and Wanda drunk, you with Steve, Bucky, and Sam drunk. A lot of photos of you with the team drunk. You laugh at Bucky’s expression in some of the photos. Happy. Tired. Drunk.

“Why do you have so many photos of us drunk?” Bucky laughs. 

He turns to see Bucky looking over your shoulder at the photos. You chuckles as you hand him some more of you and the team. 

“Man, we had some fun.”

“Had? We still have fun with them?”

“Not as much. Do we forget who wanted to be on “emergency mode” for the team?”

“I see it as temporary retirement.”

Bucky laughs at your comment as he hands you the photos back. He goes back to putting dishes away into the cupboards. Had anyone told you that two years after you met the super soldier, you’d be moving into an apartment with him while engaged, you’d smack them and chuckle. If anyone told you that you’d be talking to someone as if you’ve always talked, you’d laugh even harder.

But here you are with Bucky, unpacking boxes into the new places and cleaning the surfaces. You set up an old record player he had bought for you last Christmas and put one some old records from Bucky’s childhood. Every so often, he’d stop what he’s doing and make you dance with him. Most of the time it would be a slow song you’d waltz around to, him kissing your neck and making you giggle.

After hours of unpacking, Bucky and you sit down on your new couch. You both take in a deep breath and fall on each other’s shoulders, laughing. Bucky wraps an arm around you and pulls you into him, you laying your head on his lap. He runs his fingers through your hair and looks out the window. The scenery of New York is so calm and familiar. You two debated between moving somewhere far or staying in the area, but knowing how the Avengers are always getting themselves in trouble (and how Bucky still goes on every mission with them), you decided to stay in New York.

You’re not complaining though. It’s such a beautiful sight and it’s home. Having lived in New York for two and a half years now, you feel at home here. It’s almost as if it’s always been home, but now Bucky is home, too. Your heart lies with him and this city. Sure, Loki took a piece of your heart with him to Asgard, but you remind yourself that muscles can get stronger.

You try not to think about Loki often. It only depresses you and puts Bucky in a bad mood, but you can’t help it. Losing a love is hard and sometimes you wish you could forget him entirely, as if it would be easier, but you know you can’t. Bucky has respected your feelings for Loki throughout the time. When you two moved and were packing your things, Bucky didn’t make you throw out the photos of Loki. He never made you get rid of the memories. You kept them in a safe box in your new closet.

But seeing your whole new life, the photos with Bucky, it reminds you why you moved on. You knew you couldn’t hold onto Loki forever, especially after you found out Thor was no longer fighting Odin for his freedom. It was hard, but you knew to save your heart, you had to. Bucky made it easy. He let you talk about him. He let you cry and rant about Loki. It broke his heart to see you in so much pain, but he knew it would pass.

It did pass after a while. You found a new yet familiar love in Bucky. Something warm, comfortable, easy. Bucky’s quietness and security made it easy to love him. He was a man of few words, except with you and you were a woman of none, except with him. It’s a dynamic you can live in and a dynamic that works. Anytime you were out of words or didn’t feel good, you didn’t speak and he was okay with that. He doesn’t take it personally anymore.

“I love you,” he mumbles. “I love you, too.” 

He smiles at your words, knowing how much they mean and how much sentiment they hold. After so long, he lingered on every word of yours, not wanting to miss a single one. Even the avengers quieted when you spoke. You eventually got comfortable enough in front of everyone to say a few words. They managed to coax a couple ‘yes’ and ‘nos’ out of you and then a little while after, they got a few ‘thank yous’ and ‘no problems’. Steve watches Bucky whenever you speak, seeing the smile spreading on his face.

Getting engaged to Bucky brought the greatest smile and that changed Steve’s opinion on everything. Even after dating Buck for a year, Steve wasn’t sure about your relationship with the soldier. He still thought you two were too dependent and immature, but he saw the way you grew together and he knew. He knew you both were good for each other in the long wrong. 

“You want to get Mexican or Chinese?”

“How about Japanese?”

“Sushi?” You ask with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’ve never had it.”

“I’m shocked.”

“Well, Hydra wasn’t one for non-mush paste foods and all Stark ever bought was shawarma.”

“I never understood his love for shawarma.”

“Neither did I.”

You both laugh before order yourself some food. You continue to unpack as the food is delivered. When Bucky opened the door for the delivery woman, he was stunned to see her drop the food and walk away fast.

“I think the food lady was scared of me,” he chuckles.

“Well, do remember what the whole world thinks of you.”

“You’re right, but I hate it.”

You sit down to eat and put on some show. After eating all the sushi at record speed, you find yourself yawning and falling asleep on the couch. Bucky watches you as your chest rises and falls in your deep exhaustion. He can’t fathom how beautiful you are and how lucky he is that you are his. He continues to watch you for ten more minutes before picking you up and sets you down on your shared bed. 

Bucky crawls in behind you, wrapping his arms around your body and holding you close. You rustle around and push yourself closer to him. Bucky tries to swallow the feeling he gets when your butt rubs against him, knowing now isn’t the time to start anything with you, but he can’t help it. He thrusts into you, startling you.

“Bucky, what the-”

“Shhh.”

Bucky gets on top of you and kisses you hard.  You tangle your fingers in his hair as you deepen the kiss. You can feel his smile against your lips, making you internally giggle. His metal arm rests on your cheek, his thumb brushing against it, as his other hand strokes up and down your waist. It leaves bruises as he goes, squeezing you, getting closer to you. You buckle  your hips against him, drawing out a moan from his lips.

He leans back for you two to take a deep breath, stripping yourselves of your clothes as you do. You admire Bucky, who sits shirtless in front of you. His scars and bruises mark him perfectly, depicting a man of strength. Bucky’s eyes can’t leave your body, the way it curves and rests. He sees you as this goddess of grace and beauty, something to be worshiped.

And he does worship you. He leaves trails of kisses down your neck to your stomach, stopping right over your mound. His hot breath fans over your fold, sending chills down your spine and making you want more. Your whining begs him to get closer to you, which he teases with kisses on your inner thighs. Your wetness drips on to the bed, capturing his attention, which he replies with by capturing your slickness. His tongue presses against you, sweetly and warmly. Your moans encourage him, but he stops coming back up and hover over your bod.

Bucky slides his pants off and holds the base of his cock. He’s thicker than you imagine and for a brief second you think he won’t fit until he slowly slides into you. You can feel your walls stretching around him as the sting settles in. 

“Move,” you command.

He starts thrusting slowly until he sees the way you whine, bursting into a gruesome pace. You scream out in pleasure, gripping his biceps as he hovers over you, pounding relentlessly into your wet.

“Fuck,” he moans, “feel so good.”

He leans down further and places a hand on your throat, gently squeezing. A smile spreads across your face as he does.

“Kinky little girl,” he chuckles.

His grip becomes tighter until you can feel yourself struggle a little. There’s a buzzing feeling in your lower abdomen, signaling the closeness of your orgasm. Bucky can feel you clench a little on his cock which is now buried deep in you. He stops his fast pace and changes it for a painful beating. He thrusts long and hard, surely leaving bruises from where your bodies collide. You feel your orgasm coming closer and Bucky can tell.

“Don’t cum, yet.” “B-Bucky, please.”

“Not until I say so.”

He continues to choke you as his hard thrusts become unbearable. It’s impossible to hold the orgasm back as you let it go, cumming all over his thick cock.

“Bad girl,” he growls. Bucky pulls out of you despite your complaints and flips you over so your ass is in the air. “I didn’t say you could cum.”

You feel a hard sting on your ass after Bucky smacks you. He smiles when the red mark on your skin appears, matching it on the other side of your cheek. There’s no time in between the spanks. Your ass turns bright red.  

All of a sudden, you feel an intrusion as Bucky slams into you unexpectedly. You cry out in pleasure and pain as he thrusts as hard as he can. The bed shakes and hits the wall in time with Bucky’s thrusts, as well as your moans. They only spur him on, drawing another orgasm out of you.

He doesn’t stop to let you recover for a second. He grunts as his orgasm comes close, his hands gripping you harder and leaving bruises on your waist. The pace starts to stagger.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Cum for me, Bucky,” you order in a sweet tone.

Your words put him over the edge as he cums inside of you, his dick twitching against your walls as he paints them white. He lets out a large deep grunt as he releases, making you even wetter. Pulling out, Bucky takes a deep breath and disappears.

You fall foward on your stomach and breath as he returns with paper towel. He smile and shrugs, you both knowing it’s the only thing you have while unpacking. He cleans you both up before getting in bed next to you, pulling you close to him. You rest your head on his chest as he wraps his metal arm around you, kissing your forehead.

Laying here, you knew you made the right choice, moving on with Bucky. He was home.

[transsexualhamlet]

sherlock holmes reactions part six (aka me losing my mind over the final problem)

Hi, I am once again reminding you all that I've formed a parasocial relationship with the crackhead detective 👍 This made me overly emotional for the fact that he didnt even die

But like

hhhmmmmmmmm those were certainly an interesting 14 pages

Yeah, I already made a post about how the final problem relates to yuumori's final problem and how incredibly sexy it is but yes now I'd just like to relay to you how absolutely heart brocken i am over this lol I will eventually get to reading the post hiatus stories i just. I haven't emotionally recovered from this yet

Yelling below the cut somehow this reaction feels longer than the story itself. but it's about half cracking jokes and half sobbing so be prepared

I mean, starting off strong with "well yknow since i got married my and sherlock's Very Intimate Relations had to be modified and all but we hadnt seen each other in a while so it was kind of jarring to see him crawling in my second story bedroom window clutching Wounds and closing the shutters absolutely fucking wasted losing his mind over some dude named moriarty"

We've been over this but. Oh my god why are they gay

I just like????? Imagine how fucking bizzare that would be to just see your old homie crawl into your window bleeding on your floor and asking to exit the other way in case he's followed like "hey bro can we Talk i hope you're not busy" WHAT IS HE SUPPOSED TO DO, SAY HE IS? Imagine watson just like "no dude I'm fucking busy go get killed"

But legitimately. That's certainly something. And like, I see a lot of books starting like this lmao but. Holmes's stuff usually starts off kind of easily with watson going "yeah so lately ive been Experiencing Sherlock Holmes" and spend 20 minutes on exposition with them having a Conversation but no. mans just fucking escaped a hitman and went directly to his boyfriend's house having apparently Never Before In His Goddamn Life mentioned his actual nemesis to this guy. How the FUCK has watson never heard of him before.

And how sherlock starts talking about it isn't any less funny he's just like "UHHH SO THERE'S THIS GUY. THIS ABSOLUTE MAN. AND HES REALLY IMPRESSIVE I MEAN HES LIKE SUPER FUCKING SMART AND HES LIKE DOING CRIMES????? SO I LIKE. I NOTICED AS I DO BUT HE NOTICED THAT I NOTICED AND I MIGHT HAVE MADE A LITTLE FUCKY WUCKY DUDE CAN YOU HELP ME LIKE. FLEE THE COUNTRY" and watson's like my dear sherlock What The Fuck

Im also loving how he calls moriarty a "mathematical celebrity" awhi;grih;oaewhhta;ioh;iaewh;ii;oewh;eh;rg mans just. ok lol hes a Math Celebrity that had to quit his math teacher job because EVERYONE JUST KNEW HE WAS A CRIME LORD LIKE THEY TOOK ONE LOOK AT HIM AND WENT MANS DEFINITELY HAS BODIES IN HIS BASEMENT I DONT WANT HIM TEACHING HERE

But yeah, it was interesting to see what the big deal about og moriarty was... especially since the deal simply did not deliver. There was not really a big deal. It's like reading the first chapter of a book and immediately skipping to the climax. Everything is so hyped up and clearly having been building for years and you just get like NO CONTEXT. I swear Moriarty wasn't goddamn mentioned any time before this. He's just suddenly the big guy and watson has just never fucking heard shit about this guy.

What's so funny about this whole situation is that I just. Cannot objectively know anything about Moriarty at all because sherlock just... does not go into what this dude's alleged crimes even were, other than. The fact that he like. Does them. He's just really involved in crimes. How? Why? For how long? In what way? For what purpose? NO FUCKING CLUE HE JUST. HE JUST DOES. And there's nothing to really suggest that Moriarty was honestly a really evil guy. They're all like trust me he was just. he was just really bad but show absolutely No examples of being such. The most evil thing we saw Moriarty do personally was call sherlock stupid for letting him get into the apartment. And even then he immediately followed it up with complimenting him lol

yeah, my impression of Moriarty was like. I expected him to be worse, honestly. I expected him to be like a cartoon villain because he was kind of made out to be one and then he's just honestly a really polite and refined guy?? Mans strolls the fuck into 221B like hi shawty and it is Not like yuumori obviously man's holding a gun but like. What the fuck they are just. They have never met before but They Clearly Have and it's. its so weird

Like honestly I don't dislike og moriarty. He's really what william tried to be (and fucking failed, but beside the point) but like. Dude's so powerful and for what. He just walks into the apartment with No Pretense like why sherlock holmes is that a revolver or are you just happy to see me oh my goodness you are a dolt why would you hold the gun that way. disgusting. disgraceful. dreadful. Oh my god. I love him I'm sorry

abngnahhghifeah;iewh and Why does sherlock describe him like that hes like "MANS A REALLY REFINED LIZARD /pos" HIEHIFEHW:HGIHOEWFEEW FOR WHAT. FOR W H A T

baaaaaaaaghhhhhh but likeeeee they went STRAIGHT to "you know what I'm here for" "you know how I'm going to respond" "well then" "yeah" "mhm" "damn well it really do be like that sometimes" "ur really smart by the way" "im fucking aware let's kill each other as we both Thought in our Minds" "yes lets" AHDHDHDHDFS WTF THIS IS INSANE

But damn uh. mutual destruction my beloved this is very different from sherliam but im not. im not. opposed to it tucks hair behind ear

I just. Holy shit they really went "if you destroy me I will ensure that we both go down hand in unlovable hand" "I wouldn't mind that"

Annnnd I just noticed that the actual lines for this part kind of. that kind of happened in chapter 31 when sherlock was like i would Gladly die to take down the lord of crime and william was like. hahahah yeahNO NO NO NO

BUT SERIOUSLY THO IM LOSING MY MIND OVER HOW SHERLOCK SAYS THIS WHOLE THING TO WATSON AND HES LIKE DAMN SHAWTY HES LIKE THE REASON FOR HALF THE CRIME IN THIS CITY BUT HES SO NICE THO??? LIKE I EXPECTED HIM TO BE TOUGH AND EVERTHING NO HES JUST SOME POLITE PROPER UNDERSTANDABLE MAN WHO JUST HAPPENS TO BE VERY DIABOLICAL shawty is having a Crisis

And then watson is like wowww that was cool you wanna spend the night and sherlock is like "UNFORTUNATELY BESTIE I AM BEING FUCKING TRACKED DOWN ID LIKE YOU TO NOT DIE WITH ME"

This bit gave me a Moment Moment because oh my god. Then watson is like "no shut up i'm coming with you i don't care" and i just had to Take A Minute because THEY SWITCHED PLACES AAH SHERLOCK IS TRYING TO KEEP WATSON SAFE NOW AND WATSON IS NOW MORE RECKLESS BC OF HIM AND. AHHHH

Completely random but. How sherlock still refers to 221B as "our rooms" to watson even though watson hasn't lived their in years........ shawty i am emotional.........

SO THEY GODDAMN FLEE THE COUNTRY TOGETHER BC WATSON SAYS THEY HAVE TO STICK TOGETHER AND SHERLOCK HAS A MOMENT WHERE HE'S LIKE YEAH NEVERMIND PLEASE GO HOME WATSON AND WATSON IS JUST LIKE. NO. AND HSERLOCK IS LIKE. DAMN OK I HAVE NEVER HEARD YOU SAY THAT BEFORE

But. Ok as funny as this is. They have this fucking Conversation on the train to switzerland where sherlock is like "I have not lived in vain" and watson is like "YOURE NOT DYING" and hes like "i have not lived in vain. like i said. this will not be a bad way to die" UHHHHHH DAMN SHAWTY

hhhhhh and it just Gets. it. it. it Gets. These fuckers get to switzerland and they stay in a hotel and then leave for reichenbach but watson gets this goddamn letter telling him that hes needed at the hotel to basically save this lady's life. And he doesn't. Like. he doesn't even want to go he's like FUCK IT SHE CAN DIE IM NOT LEAVING YOU but sherlock convinces him to go fULLY KNOWING THE LETTER WAS FUCKING FAKED BY MORIARTY JUST AS A PLOY TO GET HIM ALONE

AND THEN HE JUST. WENT ANYWAY AND WATSON HAD TO WATCH HIM JUST LIKE GODDAMN WALK OFF INTO THE SUNSET LIKE "LITTLE DID I KNOW THIS WOULD BE THE LAST TIME I WOULD SEE HIM BUT IT JUST. IT HAD THAT VIBE YKNOW"

God I just. Wow sherlock really did that huh. He really went and did that. And I went over it in the post about this compared to yuumori but it just RUINED me how watson just. Never saw what happened and there's just so little information about it that all they have is these assumptions and pieces that just suggest that these guys met up, walked up to the goddamn waterfall having a nice civil conversation about how talented and smart they both were at this and how they revealed their methods to each other and complimented them because of course they did

And they just sat up there talking to each other so long and Moriarty legit waited politely or even possibly was the one that suggested he write a letter to watson in which sherlock just went "damn lol moriarty's pretty nice actually anyway uhhhh sorry watson ily ✌" and just like. left it up there in his damn cigarette box

But just like. damn the insinuation that moriarty just sat there and watched while he wrote that entire goddamn letter, sealed it up, and then got up and went alright buddy let's go but it makes no goddamn sense if they wanted to actually kill each other and assure they themselves would survive I could name like 23 different ways they could have managed it so easily and they Didn't. they were really set on mutual destruction huh. There's no way they were even trying to do anything but Die Together at that point and that's Something huh

It absolutely baffles me how they could say that these guys had plummetted like, holding each other tho. Like. ok lol but How Do You Even Know

It was certainly a ride. But the fact that Watson had to actively try to think like Sherlock to figure out what happened in the scene was just. The cherry on top. Especially after they'd consciously started to switch roles in this i just. Damn.

In conclusion uhhhhhhhh gay people real I suppose

[whereflowersbloom]

Little boost

It had been a hectic day, working on some detailed written reports Batman asked him to investigate and patrolling with Nightwing, Damian was exhausted, more than usual, he could use a strong drink. There were certain things he had to think about, things he had pushed To the back of his mind while working, but there was a constant mental reminder that they were still there, which is exactly why Damian found himself sitting next to a slightly squiffy Dick Grayson, at the rooftop, looking at the stars and passing back a small bottle full of liquid that burned in the right way from his hair to his toenails. The relief his body demanded after a long stressful day. He thought about the bothersome hangover and the way his head would throb the next day as he took his second sip but he shrugged it off. It was nothing he couldn’t handle. Brother bonding, they had been intensely busy to have a casual brother-to-brother chat, out of all his siblings he felt the most comfortable with Grayson. He was lost in deep thoughts when his brother caught him off guard with a question.

“Have you discussed your feelings and intentions with Raven?” There it was the question he was dreading to answer. He had asked himself when he would finally muster the courage to speak with her about these new emotions surging inside him.

Damian’s heart jumped just enough at the mention of her name, nonetheless his familiar unreadable expression didn’t change. After another sip of the drink he felt loose enough that he didn’t hold back the low heartfelt groan, even as his sensibilities reminded him that he didn’t have anything to groan about. He hadn’t made his intentions clear after all this time. A part of him wondered how Dick might know he had feelings for Rave at all, as if the amber and intoxicating liquor was some kind of truth serum that made everything plain as day. Perhaps he had underestimated Grayson’s observation skills, his father trained him after all. He wasn’t Batman’s first son and right hand for nothing.

“She’s an essential component of our team.” Damian muttered lowering his voice as if to make himself sound as sober as possible and convincing. “The Titans wouldn’t be the Titans without her.”

“That’s certainly true, but also...” the older man nodded in agreement and took a mouthful of the amber drink. “I have noticed you two complement each other well, both in battle and out…” Richard gave Damian a playful feline smirk. He didn’t want to pry, he was only concerned for his brother’s unresolved romantic involvement, he can practically feel Damian’s hostile glare on him, studying his intentions silently. Anyone would understand what he was referring to. So he noticed Damian concluded. Richard didn’t ask to gossip with his other siblings about his personal affairs, he knew it. Maybe it was time to trust Grayson. He certainly had earned it after all those years working side by side.

“It’s not what you think, rather complicated.” Damian said quietly into his drink, and though his eyes are elsewhere, he knew Dick was listening to him as a friend and brother. It was something he’d been trying to avoid thinking about, with no help from the dark-haired man sitting to his right. They had something, Dick was absolutely right. And even when Damian had tried to keep his distance at first, the pull to Raven magnetic and frustrating as hell. Unstoppable. He had no control over it. But what was holding him back? The uncertainty? “We’re simply friends, I think.” It wasn’t a lie. Friends who wanted to engaged in rather intimates activities and explore boundaries.

“Teammates.” Grayson whispered remarking the word. Knowing well Damian’s aversion towards it.

“Exactly. Not any different than how I stand with you or any of the other team members.” Damian said with a tint of bitterness gracing his voice. He didn’t have to explain himself to anyone. Not Grayson or his father. His relationship with other teammates could be described as civilized. He cared for them. They were his family too.

“And yet you are intimate with Raven in ways that you aren’t with your other teammates.” A teasing expression crosses his face. Now Grayson had the guts to mess with him. His eyebrows furrowed at the comment, naturally making thin lines appear on his forehead.

“It’s intellectual compatibility, Grayson. We are teammates who have similar interest in common.” Damian remarked with hot anger. He considered taking his frustrations out on his brother. He wanted to punch someone, maybe Dick or Jason. He visualized the face of Conner Kent though, who had touched Raven unnecessarily too many times today with his filthy hands. His green eyes narrowed.

“If you hold no claim over Raven, surely you are both able to enjoy the company of others. So to say if Conner wanted to spend some time with her, it wouldn’t bother you. Right?” Richard commented taking another sip of the raw drink. His humorous blue eyes watching Damian’s reaction attentively, the man next to him was his family, his brother, he only wanted the best for him. For fuck’s sake, it was pretty obvious they had a thing going on. Deliberately Provoking him would have the reaction he expected. He just had to mention Conner or Garfield and voila his stubborn little brother would get himself a girlfriend. His job as older brother was to meddle in his ‘personal affairs’. O,us, Damian could use a little push to take the next step.

He thought about it for a whole minute, considered the suggestion Richard made that Raven was available to have a romantic or physical relationship with anyone. Looking into Dick’s ocean eyes, he knew that Dick was so clearly baiting him. Because, of course, Richard was absolutely right. The idea of Raven with anyone else made his blood boil but if they were just friends who were close, friends who were evidently physically attracted to each other but didn’t speak about their attraction or romantic interest, he had no right to demand exclusivity. Deny her the possibility to see someone else. It irritated him. He was her ‘friend’ but who was to say that she couldn’t be close with anyone else, for instance Conner. Tsk. Over his dead body. Not Kent or anyone else. He was irrevocably doomed. What the hell was happening to him? He didn’t want to push Raven asking for more, fearing her answer would dig up the ghosts of his past pains that he’s worked so hard to bury. His mother’s betrayal and he was Ra’s Al Ghul grandson. Did he even have the right?

“Just friends.” Damian repeated with displeasure at the term that defined his relationship with the young woman he loved? Did he love Raven? What did he know about love? It wasn’t a exact science, he could read thousands of books and they wouldn’t give him the answer he was searching for. Just had to look at his own Father, involved with a criminal, on and off. Didn’t have to bring up his mother. The answer lies in your heart, it was as If the cold east wind whistled those words. He didn’t want to see Raven with anyone other man, it made his insides turn and his jaw clench involuntary. He wanted her for himself only. And waves of clarity seem to crash down on him, slowly dissipating the feelings of confusion and helplessness that he’s been plagued with ever since he discovered he had strong feelings for Raven. People used to say that love is like wildflowers, it grows everywhere even through the debris, truthfully he didn’t understand it at first, at the image of Raven’s face clear as a painting in his mind, as the countless hours he has spent drawing her alluring features, he finally understood what they meant by that. That smile, her smile. She had bewitched him.

“Does repeating it enough times make it so?” Dick asked arching a brow at him with a sly smile curving his lips.

“Fuck you, Grayson.” Damian uttered annoyed at his older brother, for being foolish and falling right in his trap. Probably it was the alcohol talking but Dick could take it, Dick’s response was a open throaty chuckle. He wouldn’t admit he was thankful out loud though. Damian smiled instinctively. “Thank you for the overly emotional conversation about my romantic affair.” He mentioned to his brother, looking at him straight in the eye. His eyes silently whispering a ‘thank you, brother.’ He had enough alcohol doe the night and with the first ray of sunlight he was waking up for training. He couldn’t help but imagine it, waking him next to her, soft sheets and even softer skin, inhaling that characteristic lavender smell first with the sunrise. And here he was wasting precious time, getting drunk with Grayson. He shook his head before getting up slowly and marching towards the door of the Titans building.

“Where are you going?” Dick asked curiously, suddenly intrigued what his little brother would do about this situation. At this point he knew how to handle Damian and make him see what he refused to acknowledge. Damian was incredibly smart for his age but at times too obstinate. This required of his assistance. He was growing up fast, too fast for his liking. The snarky, short-tempered kid Bruce brought years ago, was long gone. Richard Grayson thinks it is indeed a privilege to be Damian’s brother and mentor. He was tremendously proud of his younger brother. His job was done and he smiled broadly.

“Hopefully it’s not too late to discuss my emotions and intentions towards a certain lady.” Damian flashed him a confident smirk, only barely aware that he might have slurred the last words, effects of the alcohol no doubt. It wasn’t too late for him, walked a bit unsteadily towards the door, his destination the room of his soon to be girlfriend he hoped. He had to speak with her. This was his last chance. He waved goodnight to Dick before disappearing in the darkness of the night, leaving a pleased Richard drinking on the rooftop alone.

Undoubtedly they would have fun explaining to Batman how his biological son was romantically involved with a half-demon. Dick decided that conversation could wait a few weeks...perhaps months.

Have there a brother bonding moment 💜💜💜💜

@audieoddity @niahti @chromium7sky @deep-in-mind67