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asshlyyyy · 2 years ago

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It's Only Love

Thank you so much for this request. I was actually writing something similar to this, and I still will. I want to try and get my request box cleared, and I really want to get back into writing.

I wanted to have this more on the happier end, considering I will have one that will be extreme sadness and angst. I hope that the comfort you wanted is present? I didn't do too much, more like... understanding and knowing Elvis.

Masterlist

Pairing: Elvis (or Austin!Elvis) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Death, Sadness, Greif, Fluff, Spelling and Grammatical Errors Mostly Likely. Let me know if I missed any!

Word Count: 1.6k

"Could you do a fluff with Austin. Where the reader’s brother passed away and it’s his birthday and he just comforts her and they go to visit his grave"

In life, everyone had a mental priority list. If somehow you don't know what a priority list is, it is as simple as it sounds. It is a mental list that everyone has that shows who is the most important. Whom you rather be spending most of your time with. Whom you'd want to take the most care of. For some people the first person is themselves. For other people, it can be their significant other.

Your list was quite simple actually. First things first... the first person was your husband. You lived with him and breathed the same air as him twenty-four-seven. No matter his crazy ass schedule. You followed him everywhere he went, even if it meant you suffered just as much as he did. He was the love of your life, and you would do anything for him. Hell, you would risk your life if it meant saving him.

Next on your list came yourself. Just like your husband, self-care and self-health were very important. Being able to be openly available for your husband, and not have him have to deal with your own weight... just makes things quite easier. Not to mention, it's good to have a good self-care and self-love system. Because then you're less stressed, and your husband doesn't have to hold stress for you.

Third, on your list came your family. Now, this excludes your husband considering he is number one on your list. This includes the family you were born into. So, your mother... your father, and your brother. It was a small family, but it was your family. You loved them all very much. Nothing could lose your love for them. They all meant something to you and they all brought you something.

Your mother was an absolute angel. She always tended to you when you cried and made sure you knew how to understand your emotions. She also taught you how to care for others and how to understand their feelings. Your father taught you how to be tough. He taught you how to be rough. Your brother taught you almost everything else. When your parents were working, he took care of you. He taught you the things your parents didn't want to teach you.

Everyone else was below number three. Your friends, other relatives, Elvis' friends. They all appeared lower on your list. You wanted to focus your breath on people more important than those you hardly saw. Plus, you were sure that your friends were just using you at this point to get close to your husband.

A couple of weeks ago you got the worse news of your life. Your best friend, your older brother, passed away. Death affected everyone differently, and while someone like my husband can’t feel what I feel towards him, he still feels sad. He was a friend of his, and you were glad the two got along. You two were home when your mother phoned you. You broke down right there and couldn’t get the words out.

It wasn’t until later that night Elvis found out the news. So, while you dealt with the hard details of his death, Elvis took time off. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one. Especially a brother. He may have not known his, but still went through the same situation.

As you woke up, you felt your whole body fall apart. You knew what today was, and you’ve been dreading it since his passing. A birthday is a time to celebrate getting old int. Taking in a new age, but he was stuck at the age he died in. How do you celebrate something so happy, when they are no longer around? Do you just stop celebrating their birthday?

You were new to this whole death situation, and you didn’t like it. You didn’t know how you were supposed to do anything. Did you still celebrate their birthday? All these questions and you got no answers…

You stared at the ceiling blankly and shook your head. You turned to look at your husband, but instead, you just found his pillow and no body. You let out a sigh and pushed yourself up into a sitting position and heard the door open. You turned your head and watched as Elvis walked in.

“Good mornin’ darlin’.” Elvis said as he noticed you were awake.

“Morning,” you replied tiredly.

“I figured we could go to the cemetery today?” He suggested as he opened up a few of the blinds. You looked at him confused. He wanted to go to the cemetery.

“You want to go…?” You confused. He let out a hum and nodded.

“I always visit ma mama on her birthday. Figured we could visit ya, brotha.” You smile softly and nodded.

“I would love that.” You replied.

You got yourself up out of bed and made it to the closest. You two get dressed and soon you two went downstairs. You decide it would be best to eat before you two leave. Of course, you two were going to stop to get some flowers. Why wouldn’t you? You couldn’t exactly buy anything for him to use, so get him some flowers to show that you care.

“What kind of flowers do you get someone?”

“Usually ones that remind you of them.” You replied as you looked at the selection of showers the shop had. Elvis hummed and looked around also.

Elvis picked up a bouquet of flowers and looked towards you, “what about their favorite flowers?”

“That too, but when its cases like this… well… it’s always best to go with ones that remind you of them.” You replied and looked at the flowers in his hands. You smiled and nodded. You didn’t know if he picked them up on purpose or not… but either way they were perfect.

“Yeah, these remind me of him. They hold that sense of… look I’ll fucking kill ya, but I’ll also love ya.” You rolled your eyes playfully at his explanation.

You took the flowers from him, “of course they do.”

You two went to the checkout and paid for the flowers. You then made your way over to the cemetery where your brother lay for the rest of time. It wasn’t that far of a drive, but it sure felt like forever. It felt like it did so long ago. The first drive out here was a painful one, and Elvis had to make many stops.

You’re still pained by his loss, but you knew that he was still around. He was up in heaven giving his advice now to those who need it. You smiled softly as the gates appeared in front of you. Maybe today wouldn’t be as bad as you thought it would be. You had your husband by your side and your brother.

“It’s not too bad outside,” you commented as you guys came to a stop.

“Not too cold, not too hot,” Elvis replied in response. You nodded and got out of the car.

Being in a cemetery can be quite frightening. There are hundreds of dead people, and not to mention these places can be sort of like a maze at some points. Never knowing where you are, or where the person you’re looking for is. It is all one big place to get lost in.

“You ready?” Elvis looked over at you.

You nodded in response, “let’s go.”

The two of you made your way over to his grave. Being here in the cemetery reminded you just how real this was. It always feels like a fever dream, but when you’re standing here… it is reality.

“Hi Aiden,” you said softly and laid the flowers down. “Happy birthday,” you smiled weakly.

Elvis wrapped his arms around you and held you close. “Happy birthday man.”

“You would’ve been thirty today. Ya old man,” you chuckled lightly

“‘M turnin’ thirty soon.” Elvis pointed out.

“And then you’ll be an old man,” you poked his chest lightly. You pulled away from him and sat down on the grass.

“Great, just great.” You laughed gently at his reaction and shook your head.

“Elvis picked those out for you, so if you don’t like it haunt his ass.” You talked to your older brother.

“Hey now, I didn’t sign up for a bullying class,” Elvis commented as he sat down beside you.

“You signed up for it when we got together. Don’t make this about yourself either, it’s Aiden’s birthday.”

“Oh, of course, my apologies. Go on,” he motioned his hand out. You chuckled lightly and rested your head against his shoulder.

“I thought today was going to be hard. Instead… it’s easy… It sucks that you’re stuck at twenty-nine forever… but at least you got to experience everything. Who wants to get old anyways? I think it’s overrated.”

“You think everythin’ is overrated,” Elvis spoke up.

“I don’t think you are.” You smiled at him.

“Mhm, just kissin’ up to me now.” You chuckled once more and closed your eyes gently.

“I miss you Aiden… we all do… but I know you’re here with us each and every day. Mostly because I know you would want to haunt us all.”

“Is that why my toothbrush is always downstairs?” Elvis started to question.

“Maybe,” you giggled and pushed Elvis lightly.

While a couple of hours ago today may have seemed like the hardest day… it turned into an easy day of remembrance. You got to spend it with your husband, and the two of you spent some time with Aiden. You really wished things turned out differently, but God had a path for everything… and he just reached the end of his.

Original Ask: "Could you do a fluff with Austin. Where the reader's brother passed away and it's his birthday and he just comforts her and they go to visit his grave."

If you don't know, my taglist is broken. While I work on figuring out a different method, I am just tagging mutuals. I hope to get it up and running in a little while.

Mutual Taglist: @babyhoneypresley, @emmymaehereeeeee, @venus-haze, @austinstyles

#asshlyyyy writes #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis film #elvis fic #elvis fluff #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley imagine #austin elvis x you #austin elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x reader

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merakiui · 3 years ago

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I just had a thought... but imagine that, maybe after so much effort on your part, you manage to crumble Sebek's walls and made him fall in love with you, just as much as he unknowingly swept you off your feet with his brash but funny way how he conducts himself.

Sebek always speaks about the others with a little of belittling in his tone, whenever he spits the word "human"... unless it is directed at you, of course. But after so many years of living under that mentality, he can't help but feel a little ashamed of himself; after how he acted against any mortal in the name of his waka, now he finds himself under the spell of some from the same species he speaks of so patronizingly. He tries really hard to keep his strong and stern self even while alone with you, to at least salvage a little of his pride, but how can he, when you act so cute and lovable? Sebek will first be caught being gentle towards other humans before admithing loving how small your hands are compared to his, when he catches them after a couple of your attempts at snatching his cap from his head. You will always giggle and bat your pretty eyes, asking if he can lend it to you and, like the fool in love that he is, Sebek will relent at the very first try.

It should worry him how easy he can forget about time, his duties and dream of serving his lord. He will never forget the first (and hopefully) last time he handed a poorly-done homework for Professor Trein, badly redacted and filled with lots of grammatical errors so notorious that Trein actually required him, publicly, about the reason for such mediocre work the next time they had history. Sebek will never live down the murmurs of all his classmates trying and failing in being subtle about their gossiping, since the shame made him more aware of his surroundings. A blush coated his cheeks due to a brief flash of a couple of nights ago in his bedroom, where he was supposed to be seated with his books and paper on his desk, focused on getting homework perfectly done as that is his job as a student. But instead, he had you laying on top of it, hands pinned either side of your head, lips red and swollen with a glinting in your eyes so charged with feelings, enough to almost make him weak on the knees with yearning and love.

At least he was conscious enough in remaining quite, because he wouldn't have been able to make a lie right then and there, only deepening the situation for himself if he actually did.

Funny how you are the one without magic, yet every moment spent with you feels as such.

And that's why, Sebek was so adamant in you meeting his waka and master Lilia. He knows his feelings for you are beginning to turn into something more serious, he wants to make sure everyone gets along before thinking further about your relationship and how he could add you to the equation of his dream of becoming a knight (not that is that hard tho).

Master Lilia was quite easy. The two of you already knew about the other, so you hitted it off with bonding over Lilia's mischievous nature and retellings of all of the pranks and jokes he pulled on poor, gullible Sebek. He wished the interaction had gone without the need of that, but at least he basked on the sweet harmony that is your laugh.

Now, for Malleus...

Sebek admits he was a little bit apprehensive about this one. He is aware of how people react when in the presence of Malleus, but He is confident in your ability of making friends is fine enough to capture his waka's attention, altough deep in his heart, he knew the two of you will get along as well as how it went with Lilia.

He remembers to perfection the firsts moments of the, in his perspective, encounter number one. When the minutes passed and none of you said anything, the pit in his stomach grew with dread. But after what felt like an eternity, the faint smile you wore suddenly turned into a full toothy one, a hand raise and pointed straight towards his waka. This definitely caught Sebek off guard, as the blatant rude gesture rubbed him the wrong way even worse since it came from you. Clearly, your presence brought a new side of him, throwing him out of his loop of waking up and working hard to achieve his purpose in life. Is not that it was strong enough to dull his fast reactions, far from it, but he certainly grew comfortable in your presence, as he wasn't quick enough to swept you in his arm and bolt out of the common lounge once he caught the naughty glint in your eyes when they briefly broke contact with Malleus' to look at him.

You opened your mouth and he knew, that from that moment, he was going to regret whatever you were about to spill past your lips.

"I remember you! You never heard the nickname I made for you...--

'REMEMBER...? ...NICKNAME!? '

"--it was actually Grim, but details. Now, as agreed, I hereby proclaim you: Horntorn! Nice to officially meet You, Horny!"

...

Yeah, Sebek doesn't remember anything after that. His mind simply shut down and left the lounge in autopilot, completely missing the small amused smile on his waka's face.

Putting that aside, everything unfolded just as how he expected. The person he loves is in good terms with the ones he respect and trusted his life with life, this actually worried him more than he used to let on, as his schoolwork also improved... that is, if there's a wall or a chaperone between the two of you, he will guarantee a perfect score.

So high and happy at his current idilliac reality, that his eyes fell prey to the pretty and enthralling pink and gold of which dreams are usually made of.

It was weird for Malleus to act like he does around you, but Lilia is just over the moon seeing him getting along and accepted by someone that isn't from Diasomnia, so no one spared a second thought to their housewarden always claiming the only spot available next you, always seeing themselves scarce when engaging you in a conversation and Malleus' aura gets too much to handle. It reached to the point of people actually thinking that Malleus was your boyfriend instead of your sweet but so dumb aspiring knight. Sebek failed to see all of the increasing worried looks you sent him, the small hands he loves so much reaching out to him, just to be engulfed by his waka's hands to drag you somewhere else in the dorm, more private and just the two of us.

He missed to view these actions as what they are: another man trying to get his darling. Sebek even was quick to surrender the tickets to a movie you insisted a lot to go with him, wanting to have an actual date with your real boyfriend that is not interrupted by the dark fae. He even waved the two of you off with a smile on his face, too happy by how well all of this actually turned out to be.

You could only wish for a miracle, that Sebek would finally notice everything before it was too late.

But you also are in fault with such naive thinking...

There is no hope, or happy endings in a land living by the legacy created from greedy and malicious minds. Have you forgotten, the name of the land you awoke to many months ago?

Of course the reality of all came to Sebek one night, like a lighting rod stricken by lightning in a storm. Each struck of energy in the form of your screams and sobbed pleads of stop, it hurts.

He was supposed to meet with you in his bedroom after his study session at the library, finally taking into account of how little time the two of you have spend lately.

A dull, rhythmic thump thump could be heard from behind The door to his waka's personal chambers. For some reason, said noise brought back the interaction he not too long ago had with Lilia, asking if you have already arrived. The usual smile on Lilia's face dropped slightly and his eyes had an shine that Sebek couldn't decipher before Lilia turned around and answers 'Yes. Malleus is entertaining them as we speak.'

The clouds cracked once again as they charged another bolt, flying out without warning and landing with an earth shaking force on him.

"I want Sebek!"

For a second, the thumping stops, but is follow by the rustling of sheets and a soft gasp from you. Sebek awoke from any type of daydream he fell into the moment his brain realised what is his dear Waka doing to his love.

There was another sound, fainter, like you were struggling but the grasp was so strong you barely had space to move. Your cry of pain tore his heart apart, his left hand shakely raise to float above his open mouth, unable to complete the action as your sobbing raised in volume freezes him.

"Don't cry. There's no reason for that"

'Wakasama...'

"Even if he knew, he would do nothing"

...The worst part of all? Is that Malleus is actually right.

Tl;dr: Malleus cucks Sebek.

Holy shit, sorry if it gets trash in certain parts, I was falling asleep and lost the thread a couple of times *cries*

Omg omg!! This ask is so perfect and *chef’s kiss* that I don’t think I could add anything else, lest I spoil how delicious of a thought this is!!!! >_<

Sebek really would let it all happen, wouldn’t he? 😟

#twisted chit chat #tw: cucking #n/sfw #slight n/sfw #meraki thirsts #yandere twst #this was an absolute treat to read omg #send in more twst thoughts orz #i will give you many hugs <3

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remsmoonlight · 3 years ago

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— title : sweeter than candy

— word count : 3k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : daryl is good at keeping things buried, but when the thought of words left unsaid do you both realise you have both been thinking the same thing about the other.

— warnings : mentions injuries, mentions of death

“ hi!! OMGG I came across your account and I’m obsessed with your writing!! I was wondering if you could write a Daryl Dixon x Reader following candy coated promises. Where Daryl has developed feelings for reader and following an errand run she gets injured and has to stay in bed. And Daryl find out! If that makes sense! Thank you!!! “

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* requests are open ! / requested by anon *:･ﾟ��*:･ﾟ✧

A deep desperation of yearning to be useful has led you to forget the risks involved in the interminable list of things that wish to cause you harm and are able to on such an intense scale. Luck had been on your side for so long, the illusion of life’s greatest ally refusing eluding your group for this long has proved itself to be just that — nothing more than an illusion. Once the burning of fear had dulled to nothing more than a dim ache, all you now feel is the one wound that does not run red yet pours into your veins as if it does. Stupidity. You’d volunteered yourself to go on a run with a small group, you’d spent enough time before the barbed wire fences, that you felt yourself becoming trapped.

A deep regret that would follow you even in death would be if any of your group would, too, meet their chapter’s end too soon by an immense error made on your part.

One thing that lays dormant in your mind, yet unable to completely fade is the fear of becoming too settled in safety. Spending too much time wrapped in a blanket of comfort that provides refuge from the grit the outside world revels in only hands you a vulnerability unsuitable for a reality submerged in death that roams freely. You don’t want to forget how to survive, you’ve come too far for that.

Part of that is how you have ended up being put to bedrest.

Your brain is yet to sort through and file the fleeting images that blend together into one disorientating image instead of a folder of what had occurred picture by picture. In one instance the group and yourself had been rummaging through the shelves that still contained some stock and the next, you’re rushing Maggie out of the way and pushing over shelves onto a growing horde of walkers. Though in the next second, your heart fell a thousand feet below as you lost your balance from the liquid coating the floor from where they’d tumbled and smashed to the floor, with the shards of glass forming a bewitching hazard.

“ your ankle still givin’ you trouble? “

The voice pulls you out of your thoughts, your sight settling on Maggie.

“ I don’t know if that hurts more or if these scratches do. “ You complain, your fingers lightly tug at the bandages that cover the fresh wounds that coat both of your palms, you take note of a number of loose fibres from the material.

“ Glass’ll do that to ‘ya. “ She chuckles, slowly moving into the room. She grabs a chair from the metal desk on the side and moves it next to your bed. “ I never got a chance to say thanks. “

“ You don’t have to worry about it. “ you refuse, shaking your head in turn.

“ I feel it’s my fault you’re like this. “

“ If we’re going to blame anyone, let’s blame my eyesight. I should have seen that wet patch. I should have been more careful. “ Frustration that burns bright in your reply as you turn away from her. Perhaps you’d spent too much time concealed from the harsh reality that constantly claws at you all as it takes refuge in a thick coat of a hauntingly isolating fog as it waits to drag you down with it further into the depths.

Mistakes are synonymous with fatalities now, one moment you’re on top of the world and in the next you can be in a free fall clutching the thin air as if it should be your saviour. Never have moments been promised, and this fact has never shone clearer than when the dead claimed the Earth for itself in an effort to void it of life wholly.

“ Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. “ Maggie brings a hand forward to squeeze your shoulder momentarily, a comforting smile packaged with it easing some of the self loathing you could feel weaving itself into your being.

“ I don’t have much to do in here by myself, I have to keep myself entertained somehow. “

“ Well, I got an idea.. “ She trails off, a mischievous grin lifting her lips.

“ Maggie.. “ You utter a strict warning, already knowing where the conversation is about to lead.

She pauses for a second, laughter bouncing from grimy wall to grimy wall as she reacts to your cautionary tone, the light in her eyes bursting with the power of a thousand stars as it illuminates her features. Gratitude for the fleeting moments of rare normalcy that reflects a past occurrence in the old world runs deep, for a fraction of a second you can pretend you’re simply two friends joking about something goofy and foolish. For a minute, you’re not sheltering in a decrepit prison as you run from walkers, it’s a perfectly average afternoon.

“ You can’t tell me you don’t realise the way he looks your way now? I know you’ve been lookin’.. “

“ Okay, I think I'm tired now. “ You huff, shifting your body as to your ability with your injured ankle to face the wall that has an array of stains permanently painted into its surface.

Maggie only laughs in response, the sounds of steps dulling into nothing more than a ghost of an echo that informs you of her departure. Her words have pulled a string you’d not wished to pay attention to until it would be absolutely necessary. Needless to say that as much as you’d tried to bury the budding seeds of affection into the dirt, they’d only bloomed in force into a sea of colour with the evidence left to coat your fingertips for everyone to see.

Never had it been your intention to entertain this idea, when anything positive you’ve managed to seize with both hands can be ripped away so unexpectedly that you are left to nurse the empty space left behind of what once had been, grieving the idea of what could have been. However, there’s a dim curiosity that softly grows in size that envelopes around you, compelling a desire to reacquaint yourself with a human intimacy that fell to the back of the queue as the instinct to survive overwhelmed it. You don’t want to fear living, you don’t want to fear connecting to others on a deeper level, but you can’t help but simply.. be afraid.

Had you been in a different reality where the world continued on as normal, you would have probably fallen under his spell sooner.

Only after that one night you’d spent on watch together after he’d gone out of his way to bring you such a simple gift illuminated him in a way that your sight would often lean towards him. Many times you would find yourself analysing his actions on a deeper level, a coy warmth burying itself in the pit of your stomach when realising he’d included you in his thought process. From the chocolate bar, to you being the first person he’d check on if you needed anything before heading out on a run, to even the simple act of being there just to talk when life felt rough. A shape of one Daryl Dixon had been carved out by the man before either of you had realised.

A thunderous groan erupts from your lips as you turn onto your back to stare at the bunk on top with the realisation hitting you like a train threatening not to stop. You completely adore the Dixon.

About an hour away from the Prison Daryl secures the last of the rabbits caught, they swing side to side with each of his calculated movements. All Daryl finds himself wanting to do is to get back to the Prison, unable to push down the inclination of being back to the comfort the life behind those metal fences bring. It’s been a long day and all he’s interested in is getting back to those he holds dear.

That thought is when a fleeting frame of your face crosses his mind. Though he speaks not of which he truly wishes to share, the time you do spend together is something he cherishes more than a billionaire would with all of the money and rubies in the world if they had them in the palm of their hands. The darker side of him, the side that would always listen to those who preferred to taint his waters with their gloom, doesn’t allow the emotions constantly swirling within him to be touched by the burning sun rays as they are laid bare.

Heavy breaths fall without grace from his chest as he’s let through the gates, the stony expressions etched deeply into Carol’s features. No words need to be uttered to know it’s to do with you, Daryl doesn’t even allow a thought before he’s making his way on a path he has walked a thousand times and will walk a thousand times more. Creaks that echo in the darkening corridors that are not lit by the comforting flames of candles, the prison sounding as if it’s more in pain than it appears — still, he pays no care. His only goal is to check on you, he’d be unable to forgive himself if anything were to happen to you and he’d never be able to see you one last time. His brain conjures a number of horrific scenarios and tainted pictures to accompany them as it runs wild in a sea of dread.

The crossbow that had been secured in Daryl’s grip is lowered gently to the ground as he scans your form, a grateful sigh when he sees the slow movement of breathing.

He lowers himself into the chair next to your bed, trying to pinpoint the moment he’d stopped gazing upon your form as a friend to replace it with an aura of starlight — no longer did he see the colour of your eyes, but galaxies full of life and wonderment. Daryl allows himself a few seconds to chase each other by as he considers his next action, though deep down he’s aware his decision had already been chosen, as he threads his fingertips into yours to allow your warmth to comfort the panic that had been raging at the thought of your demise. His thumb traces a circle that is light enough to keep you tucked away in a slumber and as a comfort technique for him, where his mind allows him the time to placate himself.

Before he’s aware of it, the sky blends into itself once more as the pastel hues paint it with dashes of gold from the sun as dawn breaks and he’s hunched over with your hands still connected as one — the position held the entire night. Nothing can be heard in the confined space except a symphony of soft breathing from you both, the serenity only the early hours in which no one is awake brings comfort to the sleeping forms of you and Daryl.

A lengthy yawn escapes your lips as your eyes fight to open as they blink heavily to adjust to the light that invades as much as it can. The weight of something lying comfortably in your hands confuses you, as you distinctly remember there had been no pressure previously, the image before you washes your entire body with the icy grip of shock as you scan the trail leading from the hand within yours to the person it belongs to. Teeth grip your bottom lip as you bite it, attempting to battle away a smile that wishes to break free, you can’t believe the sense of humour that the universe has. Not an inch is moved by any part of your body, you seek to savour the intensity that such a simple action bears, your eyes positively glowing in adoration as a softer side to the man is revealed. Moments like these are few and far between, it leaves you wanting to bottle it up and pocket it forever.

A squeak of displeasure cuts through the serenity the early hours have worked so hard to cultivate as you inch your injured ankle to the side, clearly different positions prove to be the opposite of beneficial. The noise is enough to wake Daryl, his sudden alertness makes you doubt whether he’d truly been in a deep rest, but it’s the least of your worries as he realises he spent the night with his grip connected to yours. The warmth that brought a grounding comfort to your being now is a phantom touch you crave again once an eerily coolness now surrounds your empty palm.

“ ‘M sorry ‘bout that. “

“ There’s nothing to apologise for, Daryl. It was nice. “ You confess, your volume touches the air with a softness of a feather that descends to below in an elegant waltz.

“ Mhm. “ He turns his gaze to the floor, a thumb is chewed upon lightly as he’s wondering what he should say next. “ ‘Was worried about ‘ya as soon as I got back. “

“ Yeah, things just kinda happened. “

“ ‘Ya gotta watch y’self more out there. “ He scolds you with a light scorch of misplaced anger that almost lays eternally with him, a wave of anxiety at the thought of losing you are twins in a realm of horror he never wants to bear witness to.

“ I know, Daryl. “

Poisonous words full of fire and fury born out of dread of your existence in his life being cut short itch to burn your indifference to the situation. As he settles his gaze upon you, all he can see are the stolen moments you both have shared away from the group, where the person he’d created in his head built without even speaking to had been smashed into shards the more he got to know — you’re a fresh breath of peace in an unstable world that thrives on chaos. Quiet moments where all he can hear are the flickering embers of the fire are the memories he finds himself kicking for, all that lost time to never be recovered due to his preconceived notions.

“ Do ‘ya? “ Daryl shakes his head in frustration, his soul a pot of swirling emotions and thoughts blinding him to the point he can��t see straight. “ I can’t lose ‘ya. “

His voice is so low you barely hear it, your brows thread together in the slightest form as they’re unused to the window of Daryl’s vulnerability being so widely open.

“ You won’t. “ A faint twitch of your lips means well, you try to comfort the man. Your touch is delicate as your palm overlaps his with warmth.

“ Y’can’t promise that. “

“ But I can try! “ You argue lightly, a bounce in your response.

“ Forget it. “ Daryl sighs harshly, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts that run circles around his mind.

“ Daryl! Wait. “ Your voice falls on deaf ears as he’s already halfway towards the exit of the room, for a moment you forget your injury and a burning sensation flies with boundless wings up your protesting muscles and you land in a heap on the floor. The bandages do nothing to cushion your fall, you cry out in pain from the intensity of the throbbing plaguing your body.

“ Why can’t ‘ya be careful!? Damn it. “

Before you know it, Daryl is level with you as you feel his touch grazing your skin — ensuring you’d not injured yourself further. Guilt pools in his stomach at the thought of your current suffering being his fault, his ire now directs itself brightly towards him.

“ Dar — what’s going on? Why are you acting like this? “ You quiz as your expression contorts into a grimace. You’d not seen him behave like this for what feels like a long century, even more so when directed towards you.

“ Like what?! Huh? “

“ You’re being crazy! “ You state, your finger jabs into his chest.

“ Ain’t it obvious? “ Daryl asks suddenly.

Your head shakes, confusion clouds your features as if it’s an angry storm that has waited long enough for the calm — nothing can be seen through the darkened skies. All you want is for the sunny rays of truth to shed light upon this mess.

“ ‘Ya mean more to me than you should. “

“ Daryl? Do.. do you — ? “

He nods suddenly, unable to hear the words out loud no matter how true they ring, because as real as it is. There would be no taking it back then. Your lips purse as a sad smile lifts itself with no help from you, your heart hurting as you realise this could have been avoided entirely since you both appear to be on the same page. You acknowledge the fact that actions would speak louder than words in this scenario, your fingertips brush through darkened strands of hair as if they play a sheet of music with the aging competence of a commanding pianist. This is one of many songs your mind finds itself conjuring, a burning hope of this forging something more between you. It’s not long before your arms are wrapped around his neck, with Daryl unable to believe the scene in which he finds himself in, you’re a sky full of stars that he finds himself wanting to get lost in.

“ We can take this one step at a time, yeah? “ You question softly, not wanting to be witness to the fleeting images of a set of angel wings.

He agrees silently, a warmth spreads outwards from your cheeks and treks outwards to cover your completely. The moment is sweet, as it concludes with a honeyed kiss on his tanned cheek. In one frame you both are thinking the same thing, just how lucky you are to have fought through your fears of living and given in to taking the plunge into unchartered waters that Maggie and Glenn have already found themselves navigating.

In a world full of the dead, you both agree that to love shouldn’t be a reason to cower and hide.

#daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon oneshot #twd imagine #daryl fic #twd oneshot #daryl dixon imagine

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dolliedarlin · 4 years ago

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Hi I’m one of the anons who’s obsessing over the P.A series!!!!! For some reason my brain has been full w diff things that could happen IDKKK! Hope u don’t mind if I dump a few....

TW: this is A bunch of rambling and some grammar errors LMAO sorry

Idk y I c y/n having a stalker💀 this prob sounds rlly weird but hear me out. (To add drama, also I Lowkey wanna c Mina,Sero and kiri get mad idk y-)

Since we all know y/n is the baddest most sophisticated b*tch (sorry idk if I’m allowed to cuss or not LMAO) her Ex lover is still obsessed w her and thinks that they are soulmate even tho they obv aren’t. I feel like y/n knows he stalks her but she ignores it until it gets worst. Like he found out where she lives. (He finds out where she lives while she’s sick which is now loll)

Anyways I feel like Mina would be over at y/ns place and since she’s getting better they are In her living room talking abt who knows what and y/n gets a knock on her door she goes to open it and admittedly closes it looking shocked. Mina being a pro hero is supposed to be able to read body language. Mina ask her if everything is Alr and y/n OFC (stupid a**) says yes. Mina didn’t want to keep pressing the issue so she dropped it until it became a reoccurring thing with y/n and it’s not just her that noticed. She (y/n) is extremely hesitant to open the door and when she does she opens it a little bit. (And then idk her EX does crazy like breaks into her apt and scares the sh** outa y/n) THIS IS WHERE MY BIG IDEA STOPS 😭😭😭😭😭😭 that was a lotta rambling my apologies

Have a great day dollie!

oh no! please don’t feel bad, it’s always fun for me seeing what you dolls would want to happen next

although i don’t plan on bringing any psycho exes into ‘the p.a’ series, as a writer and an avid daydreamer, i can’t help but play around with this idea

warning: there are brief mentions of violence ; this is not a part of ‘the p.a’ series but is just a little thought that i just couldn’t help but try my own hand at also ; i didn’t edit this either 😂 so kindly forgive any grammatical/spelling mistakes

continuing on from your idea...

⏤mina, having the sneaking suspicion that something bad might happen to you that night, notifies the rest of the group later on that day

⏤usually, bakugou was in charge of you during the night and always sat in a chair beside your bed on high alert, ready to serve your every need...

⏤BUT!

⏤now that mina told them about your suspicious behaviour, all of them were put on high alert.

⏤they all agreed to keep you unaware of their intentions by having bakugou take care of you like usual but they made sure that when on the night patrol, they were close by with their radios on and constantly being hyper aware of the shortest route to your residence from wherever they were situated - just in case of an emergency

⏤naturally, they trusted bakugou with keeping you safe but that didn’t mean that they had no worries for you at all

⏤seeing as you usually feel asleep before bakugou switched with the sero, who took care of you in the late evening, you were under the impression that you were alone at home

⏤your current condition disallowed you from comfortably staying awake so you were constantly tossing and turning in bed, brows furrowed and sweating more than usual

⏤”what is she dreaming about?” bakugou utters in frustration as he continues to wipe away the vastly accumulating sweat rom your wrinkled brows

⏤he wasn’t frustrated at you no no, he was annoyed at the fact that he couldn’t make you comfortable no matter how many wet towels he uses to cook your forehead or wipe your sweat clean off your skin

⏤as the night progresses, you eventually fall into a dreamless sleep, far too exhausted to continue stressing over your ex with the added burden of your fever on your body

⏤nevertheless, bakugou continues being on high alert at all times except for when he momentarily leaves to room so as to go to the toilet

⏤this was the perfect opportunity for your crazy ex to sneak into your room via the window bakugou left ajar so as to help cool you down better

⏤your ex was a creepy and disgusting man - someone that you had grown to dislike the more you got to know him and naturally left as quickly as you were able to

⏤what followed was harassment to the highest degree, thankfully you were able to protect yourself due to your self defence training and quirk, however, it didn’t take away the shuddering feeling of being watched constantly

⏤you grew paranoid and extremely fidgety over time and eventually filled for a restraining order. unfortunately, that didn’t work and left you to deal with the situation yourself

⏤you were naive enough to think that you had shaken him after a particularly horrible beating he took from you in self defence. he had come at you with a knife but you were able to disarm him and send him limping home with a dislocated arm, a black eye and a bruised ribcage

⏤over time, you got busy with work and slowly forgot about him, it wasn’t until today that you were reminded of his crazy obsession with you and were thrown into a panic

⏤believing that you were alone at night and in your most vulnerable state, you didn’t feel safe and sought to deal with the situation however you could, even in your dreams

⏤all attempts were in vain, however

⏤bakugou, returning from his momentary break to the toilet came back just in time to see your creepy ex hovering over your sleeping figure. as if you sensed the unpleasant existence stalking you, your body stiffened under the blankets and you began to breathe uncomfortably, beginning to sweat bucket-fulls once more

⏤not wanting to disturb your sleep as rest was the top priority for you, bakugou crept up from behind the unknown figure and instantly went for his neck, choking him into silence as he dragged his thrashing figure outside, far away from you all the while sending a emergency signal to the rest of the squad

⏤in no time at all, the rest of the squad arrived and had your crazy ex cornered. at this time he had already been tied up by bakugou and was ready for a quick chat

⏤”what the hell were you doing with our yn?” kirishima began, sharp teeth grinding together as he clenched his jaw

⏤silence

⏤”speak up, we can’t fucking hear you,” bakugou spat as the others glared on from beside him, their eyes piercing through the moonlight and darkness of the night

⏤”y-yn isn’t yours - that’s the first thing,” your ex finally cracked, giggling creepily in between

⏤”you’re right,” sero began, “yn doesn’t belong to anyone so why were did you break into her house,” it took everything in sero not to lash out but they needed answers

⏤”wrong again!” your ex sang, “she doesn’t belong to you, she belongs to me! i’m her boyfriend!”

⏤”yn doesn’t have a boyfriend,” kaminari spoke up

⏤”that’s right! and if she did, we would have known,” mina agreed

⏤“that’s because she doesn’t know it yet, we broke up but we’ll get back together again soon” the tied up man giggled to himself, “it’s only a matter of time before she realises her mistake and she comes back to me,”

⏤the team of heroes didn’t know what to say, they were so shocked and appalled at what they were seeing and hearing that they couldn’t bring themselves to utter a single word of response, they only listened further

⏤”i hoped she’d come back soon, anyway...but i was getting impatient so i had to try and convince her a little more. she’s been ignoring my love for her all this time, she can’t continue rejecting me for long...” he laughs, “i bet she misses it”

⏤“miss what...?” bakugou didn’t want to know but it had to be said

⏤”i bet she misses being with me. she’s so beautiful and so soft to the touch, she always smells good too and she has such a lovely voice - i want her all to myself, she doesn’t deserve to be anybody else’s”

⏤it was then that the team of heroes just about lost their minds. the creep before them didn’t say anything explicit but the madness in his eyes and the harrowing smile he was displaying was off putting. they dread to imagine what a lowlife nasty sob like him put you through but they saw flashes of unforgivable scenes that sent all of them into insanity

⏤someone so precious to them didn’t deserve any such treatment. you may not have disclosed anything to them strict on being professional but if this man was willing to break into your house...they were fearful to think about what else he was capable of

⏤he deserved a beating from that act alone, actually, and a beating he got

⏤they could’ve killed the guy - they were more than tempted to and it would have been so easy...but he deserved to suffer in jail for his crimes against you so they held back no matter how painful that was for them

⏤the very next day, under their authority and recommendation, the man was locked up for as many years as they could tally up and seeing as they were heroes, they were able to look into his past documentations and found you had filed a restraining order for him under harassment, assault and a number of other things they grew all the more furious at the more the read

⏤they would prefer it if you didn’t realise what they did that night but the media couldn’t let the story of 5 high class pro heroes sending a singular, beaten man to jail for life

⏤your creepy ex’s battered photos were all over the news and you were so incredibly grateful

#love; dollie #precious anon #not part of the pa series #just a little imagining #this was fun

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soft-boi-eli · 3 years ago

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Ok ok! Good uhm.

Ok since body dysmorphia has been kicking my butt lately i wanted to request something with Schlatt where basically the reader Starts getting really insecure because of their body. Pushing and pulling on their stomach etc. They also start binding unsafely with like really tight bras because they can't afford a binder and they end up fucking up their ribs really bad. They end up in the hospital and a very worried Schlatt visit's them and lectures them about how they shouldn't have done that and about how worried he was. So when they get back home there is a gift on the bed, turns out Schlatt bought them a binder.

The reader would be Non-binary and afab.

Also a little message for pretty much anyone who is insecure about their body/has body dysmorphia because of their chest, don't bind unsafely. That can really fuck up your chest and make you actually being happy with your body even harder.

Hell yes. I love this idea thank you icarus! Writing has been rude to me lately and I needed inspiration. This has hit it exactly.

Pronouns:nonbinary (dont think any were actually used in this so yeah.)

Tw: AFAB reader, swearing, insecurity, mention of surgry, mention of blood, mention of hating self, pain. Again angst to fluff. It is reflecting on how I have felt about my body before because I needed to make it seem kinda real.

PSA: please dont bind safely. It's dangerous and can lead to serious health consequences. I know hating your body sucks but I dont want anyone to get hurt because they dont listen to their lungs, they dont take off their binder, or if their bras are way too fucking tight. It can and will hurt you. So please bind safely!!

Happy birth-what the fuck?!

Lately your brain was giving you more dysphoria then ever. Telling you your body was too big, your boobs were too noticable, and you hips are too feminine.

What brought this on? Someone simply said your dead name. It made your dysphoria hit you like a truck.

After that day everything went down hill. Your stopped streaming, telling your followers that you were going on a mental break, you didn't really talk to friends, your brain could put words together. And you most importantly barely texted your loving supporting boyfriend schaltt, not wanting to break down in front of him.

You never had the time or thoughts of getting a chest binder. It was your biggest mistake honestly.

Deciding against chest binders and wearing alot of tight bras to flatten you. But it didnt work. So you got tighter bras. And they did work. But you didnt read up on how to bind safely.

This lead to the predicament now. In front of your mirror you were pinching and pulling at your skin. There was too much. All you wanted to do was cut it off with scissors. But decided against it due to the fact of all the blood that you would loose.

Your chest, smaller then it was yas, was still visible after your 3rd bra. You decided to add a 4th and tighter one hoping it would completely hide your boobs.

Your body made you want to puke. It made you feel disgusting. But you never told schaltt that. Afraid that he would say that you looked as gross as you thought you did.

Only 5 minutes after the 4th bra you felt excoriating pain in your ribs. And worse of all a harsh pop. That immediately brought red flags. It hurt to breath. Your head fuzzy and light headed.

Your only reaction, to call for an ambulance. Dialing the three numbers as you whimpered in pain you held onto your lungs. "911 what's your emergency?" "I cant breathe. It hurts so bad. Please help." "Are you by yourself?" "Yes. I need help please." "Ambulance, firemen, and police are on their way. Ambulance is 2 minutes out."

You didnt know if you had 2 minutes. "They can break the door down if I dont answer." That's all you said after collapsing.

Next thing you knew your door was busted off its hinges and you saw two paramedics. They were quick to transfer you to the ambulance, cutting through the four bras that held your chest.

It help get air to your lungs but it barely helped.

"We have a collapsed lung. ETA 2 minutes." The paramedic back there with you spoke to the walkie talkie.

Collapsed lung? Was that the harsh pop? God, was the bras that bad of an idea? All that was going through your mind was how you possibly could get worse. The instant you got into the trauma bay was way worse. With no time to numb you and your O2 stats dropping they had to cut between your ribs and shove a tube right next to your left lung. Draining air and excess blood blocking your lung from inflating. And before you knew it you were off to emergency surgery for getting a shard of bone out of your chest cavity.

The last thing you remember was counting down and falling asleep.

When you woke up your boyfriend was next to your bed, hands engulfing one of yours.

It looked like he had been crying before falling asleep on one of your legs. Taking your free hand through his hair you smiled lightly. "I'm sorry for all of this ram boy." He grunted lightly and moved his head back into your hand. His messy hair was thick and nearly matted. It made you wonder how long he's been sitting there. You loved him and felt so selfish for doing this to him.

"I cant believe I did all this and for what? To cause you and everyone pain? All because i couldnt afford a chest binder and deciding that I might as well try another way. I should have been safer huh?" You didnt expect an answer back. Just his quite snores.

"Yeah. Not really fuckin selfish more like kinda dumb. Your body doesnt show who the fuck you are (y/n). Your heart does. And your heart isnt say boy or girl. Its saying you are you. A person who uses pronouns they them. A person that love everyone and cares for their friends. A person who love me and jambo so deeply."

He took a breath.

"You normally are quite smart. Saving up for one would of been a better idea instead of doing such a stupid thing. Asking for my help. Because if I knew I would of helped. I would of found one just right for you. I would help you remember to take it off after 8 hours. Even would of found a way to make you feel more like you."

You could hear his heart break.

"But now you're here, four broken ribs, a healing lung, and stuck in the hospital for another week at least."

You felt so guilty. He was right. You should of told him. He would never have seen you like you saw yourself. He never cared about how you looked. He only cared for your heart.

Tears falling down your face you continued to massage his scalp. "I could of lost you. You are my rock. When I cant keep up my normal antics and feel like I'm at an all time low. You are there to pick me up." You had to stop the sob from coming up. "I'm just so happy youre alive." He looked up.

His red eyes were making your heart ache. "I wont do it again I promise. But I cant just ignore the feeling of dread whe. I look down and realize I present so much like a girl. I dont wa t to be one." Schaltt nodded and kissed the hand he was holding. "Then let me help you. I wont let this happen again. Just please. Come to me. Talk to me. I'm here like you are for me."

You gave a small nod.

This man knew his way to your heart. He was so sincere about this. "I will. But promise me you wont look down on me if I end up feeling like that." You just needed to make sure you knew he would never but you needed his words. "Mever sugarbabe. Never in my life have I looked down on you and never will."

God the week was long, him and the doctor explaining safe binding that you cant fully bind for at least 6-8 weeks. Schlatt telling you his reaction to finding your apartment swarmed with police and firemen and you no where to be seen.

He was practicing on saying happy birthday to you. But was cut off. "Happy birth-what the fuck?!" He was so concerned and even more so when you were in hospital.

When you did go home he helped you through the door, and watched you as you saw the small package on your couch.

Opening it you saw a chest binder. Specifically the one you were looking at. Looking over to schaltt with tears in your eyes you walked up and hugged him lightly minding the pain in your left side. This was the best gift.

The only gift you had been wanting for the past week or two. "Now you can be safe. But no binding till your doctor says so or I swear to god I will personally smite you down." You had to try so hard no to laugh or the pain would of been hell. Kissing his cheek you smiled.

"Of course schaltt. I will make sure to not wear it till I'm healed dont want to get blood on it ya know. Also it would hurt like a fucking bitch."

He chuckled and ruffled your hair. "Alright now go sit down. I'll get you some soup ya dork."

This was going to be a great time. That was until the pain fully came back. And then this is going to be a mediocre time.

Please pardon spelling errors. I havent proof read. And I am on mobile for almost all stories. But thank you so much for requesting this became something that I could write and it helped me alot. Now I might take a while for other things too and i apologize that's cause i am starting school soon. Also family issues. So yeah might take a bit. Dont know how long though. I'll try to keep them coming but if not you know I'm studying or helping my mom and grandma.

Eli out.

#jschlatt x reader #mcyt fluff #schlatt x reader #mcyt #mcyt schlatt #dsmp schlatt #schlatt fluff #schlatt #please bind safely #non binary #tw: body harm #tw: body dysphoria #tw: body dysmorphia

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lorei-writes · 3 years ago

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Impression of Infinity

Vincent x Reader Fluff (?) Fantasy AU

Word Estimate: 1.5k

I blame @cheese-ception for this. Also, excuse typos, I literally wrote the last parts with closed eyes, because I can’t see anything just regardless - it’s all blur.

Content Warnings: none Disclaimer: Reader & Vincent are of the same age, Vincent just found himself in a very peculiar situation

Vincent’s finger twitches – and green grows between the rows of students, translucent, reaching up to the very ceiling. His wrist twists the brush by what could be an error margin, the swing of his arm summons purples, invites them alongside violets, to rest between the stars – and you watch very carefully, although you know you should observe his work, not him, that you should listen to his words, not the thumping filling your head… Yet how could you, if he has you charmed, if you cannot turn your eyes away? Vincent nearly dances, his cheeks growing redder from exercise, the canvas he chose being much greater than the body he inhabits. To paint it must be tiresome, you reckon, although your concerns vanish, the spark in his eyes causing something inside of you to sting. Clearly, he is not the same boy you used to know, not the one sentenced to the fate of failure due to his inability to enchant with his voice alone. Yet… Is there anything wrong with that? After all, his greatest flaw turned into what made him a prodigy, as you always claimed.

The heat does not hold against the chilly air of the corridor, you think, the soles of your shoes clacking against the granite floor. The air vibrates outside, kept ablaze by merciless sun, the dreaded celestial body refusing to set even at night, its halo extending from one end of the horizon to the other – and even as your eyebrows furrow, you cannot stop and stare through the tinted-glass windows for even a moment, a steady stream of humans behind your back pushing you forward. In this world of yours, rather secluded from the outside realm, it is another sort of movement that agitates the air, lively chatter lifting in clouds, further replenished by curious students.

The lecture theatre is a marvel in its own right, rows of wooden benches and bookrests refusing to fall apart despite all the centuries passed. You take your seat, in the very front row – and although you try to, you cannot help wondering who sat there before you. Have… Have they discovered anything? Gained some fame? You cannot tell for sure, that much is certain, yet… It would not be unthinkable, it would not be impossible in any way. The Seventh Century University have had quite a number of excellent graduates.

Your hands beginning to hurt, you forcibly unclench your fists, your gaze lifting up from the floor. Right in time, as the chatter stops abruptly, killed by the shriek of the walnut door. A man, no taller than average, steps inside – and something perhaps stings inside your chest, just a little bit. His robe is somewhat crooked, just the way you remembered it to be, the traditional pointy hat (much dreaded by any student, in all fairness) seemingly glaring at him from its place in his arms. He looks around, as if lost, mildly dishevelled blonde hair appearing not to have grown any more obedient the past year. Your throat tightens. He is already at the lectern. “Good evening,” he laughs awkwardly. “My name is Vincent van Gogh and I will be your Practical Astronomy professor.”

The room grows dark, obsidian seemingly crawling over all stone spaces and consuming them whole. Your jaw tightens. Was it truly just a year? To think, so much would have changed… For you both to start at the same time, and then…

It happens as if a sea of fireflies was released into the room, a single twitch of the brush in his hand colouring the nothingness anew. “As we all know, Tralangea is located within the Galatos triad, in the galaxy of Saana. Little is known about the outside universes, however, the most recent findings indicate the remaining splatter points present different variants of the reality known to us. As you should already known after going through Analytical Divination, it would align well within the still-standing model of inter-crossings. In this moment, I want you to imagine the infinite number of elements, circulating through space and interacting with one another. I will give you a second.” The light dies down again, the previously invoked golden specks splashing against the ground. “How does it look?”

No one dares disrupt the silence. How can he ask? It is impossible to answer, of course – and you are very well aware of that. How to picture an infinity? Is it… A trick question, perhaps? You go over the possibilities in your thoughts. A void? The light? You do not know. Something completely abstract, the end of all times? For all you know, it may be just that, and your fellow students seem to agree, confused whispers beginning to hum behind your back. The hushed voices growl, a sea of flies united in mere human distrust. “Professor?” some brave soul asks. “Yes? Do you have an answer?” “I… I think this is impossible.” “Oh? Why so? I might have given you too tough a question at the start,” Vincent laughs, seemingly mildly unease. “It is infinity, professor.” The room quiets down, the concern of all having been spoken out loud. “It is impossible to picture infinity with a finite mind. It would fry it up!” A smack, a couple steps. “I see, you are not aware,” Vincent muses, something swishing in the air. “Your life already is an infinity, in this very moment.”

The room begins to glow, the brush in Vincent’s hand seemingly coming to life with a mind of its own, streaks of navy blue and petrol painting below the dome, swirling and tying with shades of orange, lined with golden dust. “We do not need perfection. We need a model,” he explains softly, almost tenderly, his gaze focused.

Vincent lifts his arm over his head, a halo emerging above him. His lips move, a barely audible charm seeping out of his lungs and pulling his creation into a newly created sphere. The room lights up again, granite having conquered the walls. You blink fast. Is it over already? “We have a little more time, so allow me to repeat myself. It is not about creating perfection, but much rather… An impression,” Vincent laughs, perhaps a little shy of what they have just witnessed. “The universes are infinite and so are their interpretations. With our current state of understanding, we cannot provide an accurate depiction. However, different stances on them can be beneficial in certain contexts. Do you know what my model could be used for?” “Map of the stars!” somebody shouts in the back. “Exactly,” he agrees, nodding happily, his lips curled into a smile. “It is what I focused on. By the end of the year, I want you to be able to process an infinite amount of information and take only a fraction of this information. Starting next week, we will be deconstructing our universe. Any questions?” Silence. “You’re free then, thank you.”

The seats around you empty at a gradual pace, some pooling around the lectern (it appears the shyness is quite infectious, you note) while others speed out of the hall, seemingly terrified of classes which are yet to come. You, however, you stay still, as if unable to move, although there is nothing holding you back. Is it you? Is it a mean spell somebody has cast? You do not know, although it seems it is not your day for knowing anything, Vincent, the very Vincent you knew so well, emerging right before you, from who knows where. He graces you with the brightest smile you have seen in a year. “Hello. I didn’t know you were taking my class,” he says, a trace of laughter in his voice. “I saw you listed as the professor and could not believe it, so of course, I had to see it for myself,” you reply, shaking your head, perhaps mildly amused. “Congrats! That internship must have been so hard, you skipped so many years! I hope they didn’t torture knowledge into you there, professor Van Go –” you stop before you finish the word, Vincent scratching his head, his eyes drifting way from you. “Vincent?” “Well, emm… I didn’t skip any years,” he laughs. “It is just those models. The rest, well…” “You still need to pass them?” “Please, tell me you have not chosen my subject over Astral Projection this year,” he forces out of himself – although you barely hear it, laughter shaking your arms violently. “I haven’t. How does this even work?” “I don’t know. I don’t think they know either.” “Oh, Vincent. Well, professor van Gogh, get ready for failing Astral Projection, Miss Szajna took over it this semester and I do not see anything painting in bright colours, unlike your models.”

You get up, the both of you walking to well, the next class. How does it all work? You have no clue. However, it does not matter in the slightest, a weight having been lifted off your heart. You can still tell him those three words. You have not lost your chance.

Tag List: @cheese-ception, @kisara-16, @nad-zeta, @rikumorimachisgirl�� @bestbryn If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, do remember to specify fandoms (and characters, if you are interested only in some) :D If it ever happens that you wish to be removed from my taglist, for any reason, do let me know. I will not ask why, it’s all fine ^^

#vincent van gogh #ikevamp vincent #ikevam vincent #ikevamp #ikevam #ikemen vampire #ikemen series #my ff #my writing

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blitheringmcgonagall · 3 years ago

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My Gallant Lad - Part 2

A wonderful anon told me this is their favourite Lily Rescues James fic, it’s part of my canon marauders fic We Can Be Heroes. But it works as a stand alone, so I’m posting it in four parts here. I hope you like it (Lily is very BAMF here but James here is the bravest I have ever seen as well as very clever so I think they are both fantastic), set during First Wizarding War during an Order mission gone wrong...

Read part 1 here :

TW: Lots of angst and violence...

Part 2...

Previously...

“Leave it to me,” he whispered.

Taking a deep breath, he turned and locked eyes with Severus Snape.

“Fuck you, Severus Snape! You absolute bastard! Stay the fuck away from my wife, do you hear? Don’t you dare go near her, you fucking piece of shit! I despise you, Snivellus! You fucking coward! Bastard cursed Death Eater! Stay the fuck away from her or I’ll kill you with my bare hands!” James screamed.

Voldemort had now reached them and was looking between Snape and James in confusion, and with not a small amount of displeasure.

“What do we have here then?” he said, turning to Severus Snape and smiling thinly. “Someone who is not a fan of yours, Severus? How very interesting. These two Dumbledore followers are clearly not aware whose presence they are in, or they would shut up and keep their heads low unless spoken to!”

Lily made a disbelieving noise at Voldemort. What the hell did that bastard think he was playing at, pretending never to have met them before, she thought.

James elbowed her sharply just as she was about to speak.

“Silencio!” hissed Voldemort, his face contorted with rage as two spells shot at lightning speed towards them. “I am the Dark Lord and I do not recall giving you permission to speak!”

Voldemort looked up at Mulciber, still wrathful, his wand pointed towards the Death Eaters in the room.

“My Lord,” Mulciber said immediately. “They clearly have no idea who they have been captured by.”

Voldemort’s face darkened.

“I am most displeased,” he hissed, so quietly that they had to strain to hear him. Who are these two?”

“I have never seen them before in battle, my Lord,” Mulciber answered quickly. “But I do recall seeing them in Hogwarts, both in Gryffindor, I believe they were Head Boy and Head Girl, graduated in ’78, James Potter and Lily Evans, blood traitor and mudblood.”

Mulciber was obviously lying, Lily thought, in order not to embarrass Voldemort. It was as though Voldemort had rewritten history, their previous capture and escape wiped out of their collective memories. Perhaps he had.

“I see,” Voldemort turned towards Snape, with a bored expression. “Lily Evans? Was that not the name of the mudblood you coveted, before you realised the error of your ways? Still do desire, somewhat, as far as I can recall?”

Snape’s face remained impenetrable, but he nodded his head minimally. James’ face blazed with fury.

“Oh dear, I think that the mudblood’s friend is upset by this fact, Severus, am I correct?” Voldemort smiled at James and Severus in turn.

“Potter has always detested me, my Lord,” Severus said, keeping his voice steady.

“They are married now, my Lord,” said Wilkes, interrupting the conversation.

Severus’ eyes widened for a split second. Long enough for Voldemort to notice. Voldemort’s smile grew.

“Oh Severus, how delightful!” he said, laughing lightly, and turning to look at James again. “I suggest you spend some time showing your friend, Mr. Potter, what happens to those who join Dumbledore’s side and fight against us? And afterwards, if you would be so kind as to visit Mrs. Potter in her cell, and do likewise, I’m sure she would love to see you?”

James looked like he was about to explode.

“Wonderful!” Voldemort said, pocketing his wand and giving Severus a forced smile. “I’m exceptionally pleased, Severus, I do hope you arrange an entertaining evening for us! We are sadly very bored at the moment, and your mudblood has provided us with a lively diversion! Don’t disappoint me, Severus!”

“I will strive to live up to your high expectations, my Lord,” Severus said, bowing low.

“Excellent,” Voldemort’s eyes gleamed as they rested on Lily’s white face. “Wilkes, Villiers – take the mudblood and lock her into one of the holding cells, they are currently empty. Mulciber, Rosier – escort Mr. Potter to the oubliette.”

Lily looked at James in confusion and terror, as Wilkes and Villiers began dragging her away.

“I fear the mudblood does not yet know what an oubliette is, Mulciber. Would you care to enlighten her?” Voldemort said, with a wide smile. “I have other more interesting and pressing matters to attend to.”

All the Death Eaters bowed low in front of him, and Voldemort strolled out of the room.

“Certainly, my Lord,” Mulciber’s eyes glimmered cruelly. “It is a dungeon that has only one escape route — through a trap door in its ceiling. Escape is of course pretty much impossible. In this castle it also doubles up as our torture chamber.”

Lily’s wide eyes flew to James’ face, both still unable to speak. What if this was the last time she saw him alive? She had never gotten the chance to say she was sorry about their stupid row, to tell him how much she loved him, she couldn’t lose him now, they couldn’t hurt him, anything but that. She felt unable to breathe. A single tear tracked down her cheek. James looked back, a determined look on his face, she knew that look.

I’ve got this, I have a plan, his face said.

His eyes were burning, burning through to her very soul.

I need you, beautiful, I need you safe, she thought, her own eyes heavy with dread and fear.

James closed his eyes for a brief moment, and when he looked at her again, they were shining brightly, a warm smile, and almost imperceptible wink. She knew that smile.

Alright, Evans…

She tried to smile back.

I trust you, she thought, I trust you, James.

Then Mulciber and Rosier jerked James backwards, and her captors pulled her in the opposite direction, and their eyes remained locked until James reached the stairs leading into the dungeons, and Mulciber lifted his booted leg and pushed James down the stairs, hard.

“Stop it!” Lily screamed, unsure how she had overcome the spell so quickly, pulling so hard that she was momentarily free from the Death Eaters holding her.

They grabbed her again, looking stunned.

“A fall like that down stone stairs could kill him! If anything happens to him, God forgive me, I’ll come after whoever is responsible and-“ Lily was still screaming.

“How the fuck is she able to talk?” stammered Wilkes.

“No idea,” Villiers said, concentrating on trying to hold onto Lily, who was twisting violently in his grasp.

“James!” shouted Lily.

As they dragged her kicking and screaming into the holding cell, she heard the creak of something metal opening and after a few seconds, the sound of a sickening thud as something heavy hit the floor.

“Welcome to the oubliette, Mr. Potter!”

She could hear the cruelty in Mulciber’s voice.

“Wake up, Potter, stop being a drama queen, as usual.”

Snape’s nasal tones, filled with contempt, floated into his consciousness as soon as he awoke. He opened his eyes slowly, intense pain racking his body, making him wish he could sink back into oblivion. As his eyes accommodated to the dark, he noted he was chained to a freezing cold, damp wall, arms outstretched and unable to bear any weight on his feet, he guessed correctly that he must have fractured both his ankles when he was thrown down feet first. He was slumped forwards as a result. It was painful to breath, probably due to a few broken ribs. The difficulty in breathing appeared to be also due to the effort he had to make to lift his ribcage against his own weight. His shoulders were killing him, he wondered vaguely had they been dislocated. His glasses must have fallen off and he could feel bits of glass sticking into his face. There were torches in the corners of the room. And it was freezing cold, his jacket and muggle clothing gone, his teeth were chattering and his body shaking. Mulciber and Rosier were standing behind Snape, looking bored, leaning against the wall. Snape was standing next to a small table, wand in his hand, with a mask-like facial expression, revealing nothing. He concentrated on trying to breathe for a moment. He knew immediately that they had already used the Cruciatus on him a number of times, although he couldn’t remember much, if anything.

“The Dark Lord wants to know what you and Lily Evans were doing here today, Potter,” Snape said, curling his lip as he spat out his surname.

“My wife and I were going for a walk, before we were rudely interrupted by your friends, Snivellus,” said James, smirking openly as he saw Snape’s eyes darken at the mention of wife.

“Hardly credible, Potter,” Snape said, looking livid as he gripped his wand tightly.

“What Mr. and Mrs. Potter do in their spare time is frankly none of your business,” James laughed, his breathing laboured as he shot Snape a condescending look.

Snape’s nostrils flared.

“Sniv, you should keep your abnormally large nose out of this. Try to remember that Lily Evans hates your guts and that she never once returned your affections. You disgust her,” James said.

Snape appeared speechless momentarily. James saw his fists curl as he stepped closer to him.

“Do I need to remind you who’s in charge here, Potter?” Snape murmured through his teeth.

“You can’t make me tell you anything, Sniv,” James’ teeth were chattering so hard he could barely get the words out, but the utter contempt was clear.

“I can do what I want to you!” Snape’s voice was full of rage as his wand tip touched James’ right shoulder. “Crucio!”

The pain flashed through his sinews and his chest and ribs, stopping his breathing. All remaining colour drained from his face. He couldn’t even cry out with the pain, until Snape moved his wand lower and James heard himself scream in agony as he gasped for air, the pain in his legs intensifying dramatically. He couldn’t breathe and scream at the same time and he began to feel panicked, his pupils dilating.

“What were you saying, Potter?” Snape laughed to himself, glancing back at the two men who were now looking mildly entertained.

As the spell wore off, James looked up at Snape through the hair that had fallen over his eyes, dripping sweat and melting frost, every inhaled breath a struggle.

“I said… you can’t read my mind, I won’t tell you… anything,” he gasped, with a derisive eye-roll.

Snape’s face lit up.

“Wrong, Potter, I suggest you do your research a bit better the next time you say that to a Legilimens, but then you were always infinitely arrogant and stupid,” Snape was wearing the biggest smile as he plunged his wand into the base of James’ neck and intoned the spell.

The unpleasant tingling sensation behind James’ forehead, painful so closely following on from the Cruciatus, confirmed the spell was working.

Took you long enough, James thought, glaring at Snape.

Snape narrowed his eyes, his expression somewhat unsure. He could now read James’ mind completely.

Oh for Merlin’s sake, man, I’ve been hinting you use that spell for bloody ages. I need to talk to you, alone. It’s about Lily.

Snape’s mouth shut tightly as he listened to James’ thoughts, his wand now pushing against James’ Adam’s apple.

“Why would you possibly think I would be interested in doing that?” he said quietly.

Because you’re interested… in Lily’s fate? Because you don’t… want her to die?

Snape watched as James’ breathing became more difficult, as the man pursed his lips together tightly while exhaling through his mouth and inhaling through the nose with his mouth closed.

“Of course not!” Snape said, dread and fear making his fingers shake as he grabbed hold of James’ hair and lifted him upwards roughly.

James gasped a lungful of air as he watched Snape, knowing the other men wouldn’t know what he was thinking.

Please, talk to me… alone… for a few minutes, that’s all I ask… you can bring them back in… any time you want…

Snape let go of James and watched as his body slid downwards, groaning in pain, his weight hanging from his shoulders, his neck hanging down. Snape looked back at the two Death-Eaters, regarding him with mild interest.

“What did you find out, Snape?” Mulciber asked, stifling a wide yawn.

“Not enough,” Snape demurred.

He looked back at James, unsure.

“I need to question him, alone,” he said eventually, sounding displeased. “Leave this room, I shall call you if I need anything.”

“Are you sure?” Mulciber asked.

He sounded disappointed.

“Yes, for now. Stand guard above the trapdoor,” he said, his wand still pressed to James’ neck. “You shall be needed again shortly.”

James’ breathing seemed shallower once more.

Please hurry… we don’t have much time…

“You have very little time and talking to me will do nothing to change that!” Snape snapped back, as soon as he heard the trap door swing shut.

“Talk!” he ordered, removing the wand from the other man’s neck but keeping it levelled at him.

“Of course it won’t change that,” James’ voice was barely a whisper. “We both know I’ll be dead soon.”

“Obviously,” Snape said coldly.

“And if you don’t do something, Lily will die later today too,” James said, lifting his head with difficulty and looking straight at Snape.

Snape’s mouth went dry. He had been trying to avoid thinking about that possibility, probability, but it was true. And it terrified him.

“I…” he said.

Fuck you, Snape, if she dies, I will hold you entirely responsible!

James was making a strange noise as he breathed in, Snape could see that talking was too difficult for the other man.

“I won’t be the one killing her!” Snape whispered, his dark eyes molten. “You killed her, allowing her to be part of your futile resistance group! What kind of husband were you? Did you want her to die? Were you sick of her already?”

“Pah!” James made a dismissive sound in his throat and spat out some blood. “If she dies… it will be… because you failed… to rescue her!”

Snape looked at him furiously, his heart racing, feeling unwell. He didn’t want to hear any more, wanted no part in this entire awful scenario involving the love of his life. Wanted this to be a nightmare that he could wake up from. Most of all, he wanted James Potter to shut up and stop appealing to his conscience.

“I’m going to have to Crucio you again,” Snape said, placing the wand back onto James’ chest.

“Are you now? How astonishing,” James rasped, looking vaguely bored.

“It will appear suspicious otherwise. Wouldn’t want the others to guess what you’re trying to do, would you?” Snape said.

James’ face immediately changed, and he nodded.

“Do it,” he ordered.

Snape hated being told what to do, by Potter, as though he was Head Boy again, in this situation – how was that even possible?

Snape’s Crucio was excruciating and longer than the previous spell. By the time it wore off, James was flitting in and out of consciousness and shaking like a leaf.

Please…

Snape stared back at him.

Please…

“Please what?” he whispered irritably.

I’m going to tell you how you save Lily.

“I cannot ask Voldemort to spare her! Not now, not in these circumstances!” Snape hissed, swallowing hard.

Not the plan…

He could see James was wilting rapidly, his mind becoming progressively emptier.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake!” he said, throwing a powerful healing charm at James. “What are you talking about?”

James opened his eyes and took a few deeper breaths.

“I want you to go directly from here to Lily. Tell her I’m dead. Tell her you’ve had a change of heart and want to leave Voldemort’s forces. Tell her you’re going to save her, that you’re doing it because you love her. She has a portkey on her. Bring her to whatever part of the castle is accessible by portkey and get both of you out of here. You can decide on longer term plans after that. If you approach the others with Lily, looking for help, they will accept you. Lily will never agree to join Voldemort. Ever,” James whispered.

James was wrong, Severus was sure of it, if there was no option, Lily would cave and join Voldemort. But having Lily Evans at last? He was willing to risk everything.

“And you?” Snape said. “You know I can’t-“

James looked at him blankly.

What do you mean?

“You stay here,” Snape said.

“Obviously,” James said, mimicking Snape’s earlier statement and tone.

“Which means you-“ Snape said, narrowing his eyes.

Yes, I’m quite aware, Snape.

James lips had turned a bluish colour.

“Will she agree to… you know?” Snape said after a pause.

I can’t mind read, elaborate…

Snape tossed his head.

“You know exactly what I mean, Potter!” he whispered irritably. “Do I… have I any chance with her?”

He could see James struggling to think, his eyes closed.

“Maybe, yes,” he gasped. “But tell her… tell her you tried to save me… that I convinced you… to swap sides… she needs to believe that…”

Snape’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t imagine himself saying that to Lily.

“Snape!” James’ voice was fading but urgent. “You have to…”

She won’t go with you unless she thinks… you have… please…

The man’s thoughts weren’t even making sense now.

“If I do this, I shall be risking my life. If Voldemort finds out, I’m a dead man,” Snape’s words were clipped, anxious.

I know… but it’s Lily… your only hope… with her…

Snape stayed quiet.

If he finds… Blame me… Occlumens…

Snape vacillated. He was an excellent Occlumens. He could blame Potter, a trick he had fallen for, and then an opportunity to play Dumbledore? The fact that Voldemort knew about his past infatuation made it more credible, but also more dangerous.

She’s dead otherwise, Snape, dead!

Snape nodded slowly.

“Do you have anything I can say to her if she doesn’t believe that we discussed this? Any secret code or words?” Snape said, leaning down.

James’ whisper was barely audible.

��Graham’s number.”

Disbelief written all over his face, Snape turned to leave.

Snape!

He turned back.

Be good to her. Please.

His dark eyes widening slightly.

Get her out of here, Severus, I’m depending on you…

It was ridiculous and stupid and laughable. What would he have done, in the same position? Would he have sacrificed himself to save Lily if it meant Potter won in the end? She was better off without Potter. Lily would see that, she’d come around, she would come to love him, he knew it deep down, especially if she thought he had tried to save her husband. Potter was right.

Would he have done the same, though?

He shivered, impatient to rid himself of these thoughts. Get her out of here, Severus, always telling him what to do! Still, there was no denying the man was brave, braver than he had expected, if you valued that. He found himself compelled to look at James Potter one last time – shaking violently with the cold, his lips blue, his body covered in the pinprick rash of the Cruciatus, his breathing ragged, his face grey, unable to stand. Potter’s eyes made his stomach twist uncomfortably – there was pain there, and that glazed look that prisoners got. But there was fire still in his eyes, desperate light, and he knew why they burned.

“For Lily,” he said to Potter, nodding his head.

For Lily… Thank you.

Potter was unable to talk now. Without answering, Snape aimed his ebony wand at the trapdoor and intoned a spell to pull himself upwards, holding onto the rope ladder.

“Get Hugo Avery,” he said brusquely to Rosier and Mulciber. “Tell him he can have Potter. You can help him, of course.”

Mulciber looked mutinous.

“The Dark Lord’s wishes,” Snape said.

Mulciber stormed off, cursing under his breath.

Snape flew down the corridor towards the holding cells, his heart racing furiously, wand out. He had thrown a silencing spell at the oubliette. He hadn’t forgotten anything. This was a dangerous game. But he loved Lily Po- Evans, Lily Evans, with all his heart. It was worth it, if it meant he got to be with her for the rest of his life. He stood in front of the door to her cell, taking deep breaths and flicked some dandruff off his dark robes, before entering the room.

***

Severus pushed the heavy door slowly, almost reluctantly, now that it came to it. He looked uncharacteristically agitated, his waxy cheeks flushed. Relief swept over him as he looked at Lily. She looked upset but safe. She was shackled to the wall, her hands above her head, tied together. She was trembling and pale. There was no sign of the Cruciatus, or other dark magic.

“Are you alright, Lily?” He said, hurriedly throwing a potent heating charm at her. “What are you doing here?” Lily’s husky voice surprised him, he hadn’t heard her screaming.

“What happened? Did they hurt you?” Severus said, moving closer to Lily and regarding her anxiously. “They hurt me by hurting him,” she whispered.

Tears tracked down her cheek, and Severus wiped it with his thumb. “I’m so sorry, Lily,” he said, his voice trembling – he was slightly scared of her, and then there was unexpected guilt - guilt about lying, guilt about how James was going to die. “I tried to... I tried...”

He stopped and took a few breaths, looking at the ground.

“I tried to save him, I tried some healing charms and... and I sent the others away. I wasn’t sure what to do, Lily, but then I was called away and Avery had... I was too late, Lily, I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t look at her.

“No, Sev, please, not James, please,” Lily’s broken whisper made Severus’ heart ache.

“I’m so sorry, I’m... you don’t know how sorry I am,” Severus whispered back. “I’m desperately sorry.”

Lily didn’t say anything, silent tears streaming down her face.

“He... James and I, he spoke to me, he thanked me for trying to save him, before he... he asked me to save you, to get you out of here. I promised him I’d do it. Do you understand Lily?” She was looking at him blankly, through her tears, her mind far away in some distant time or place. “Lily!” Severus whispered urgently. “Lily, he wanted you to be safe! He insisted I save you! He told me a code word - I’ve no idea what he meant, but he said to tell you - Graham’s Number.“ “Graham’s Number,” Lily repeated quietly, as though dazed. “James.” “Yes, James,” Severus said, trying not to sound impatient. “We have to leave now, I promised him I’d get you out of here! Do you understand?”

Lily nodded, still crying.

“My beautiful,” she said. “My gallant lad.”

“Yes, yes,” Severus said, eying the door of the cell. “We need to leave! Now! If Voldemort finds us, we’re both dead!”

Lily stared at him intently. After a few seconds she smiled vaguely.

“I’m so sorry Sev, let’s go, I just... it’s so much to take in, you know? I can never thank you enough, for trying to save him, for being such a noble person?”

Severus squirmed.

“It means everything to me,” she said, her red-rimmed eyes looking into his soul.

“It’s nothing,” he said firmly, refusing to hold eye contact and pointing his wand at the chains. “Frangit!”

The chains broke, and Lily collapsed into Severus’ arms.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Can you help me? I don’t think I can walk?”

***

He heard the trapdoor groan, one at a time he heard the light footfall of young men jump down the rope ladder. He wouldn’t let himself think of her. She was safe. Lily - the kindest, bravest, truest person he had ever met. Their baby was safe. He had managed to keep Snape’s Legilimency away from those thoughts. Voldemort’s reaction to his rant, his own interaction with Snape - both had played out exactly as James had predicted, practically word for word. In another world, another future - he could see Lily and their two children, all four of them, standing in that field surrounded by wildflowers and joy. It was not to be. Not in this lifetime.

He looked up at Avery, ready. “Fancy meeting you here? I knew we’d get you in the end, Potter!” Avery laughed. “Looks like today is my lucky day!” He was rubbing his hands together with glee, his laughter loud and erratic, his eyes wide. He had changed drastically since James had last seen him in King’s Cross Station all those years ago. There was no trace of boyishness left in him, despite his laughter - his eyes were cold, lifeless, bitter. “What a pitiful way to die! This is how traitors die, Potter! How your friends will mourn! When I’m finished with you here, I’ll move on and kill your little mudblood. It will be reassuring for you to know what sort of death awaits her, won’t it?” Avery’s shrill laughter echoed around the dungeon. Please, if there is a God, let her be safe, he asked, closing his eyes. “Scribo per Ignem!” Avery cried, as a dark, liquid, ink-like substance poured out of his wand and floated in front of James, suspended in the air, shimmering as though molten. “Proditor!” Avery said, with a slash of his wand.

The liquid rearranged itself into the word “traitor”, that seared into the skin of James’ chest, sizzling as it burned, unbearable. “Crucio!” said Avery, placing the tip of his wand inside the burnt flesh.

James blacked out with the pain. He flirted in and out of consciousness, each time the pain overwhelmed him and he felt everything fade into blessed darkness, one of the three men threw a powerful healing charm at him, which kept him awake long enough for another Crucio. Mulciber and Rosier joined in, Sectumsempra one of the many spells they used.

He could feel his body weakening with the blood loss. Lily would have their child, a boy, Harry. Thinking about Lily would only endanger her safety, in case she felt his presence. His parents would be proud of him for saving Lily, and they would have a beloved grandchild. Sirius and the Marauders would make the most excellent uncles. Nobody was a loser. For a moment he thought of Sirius losing his blood brother, then losing him too. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his brother, ignoring the pain. I’m fine, Sirius old chap, this is how it ends. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m too weak to cope with losing any of you. You deserve a long life with Moony, the best man we have ever known.

He opened his eyes again and saw Mr and Mrs Evans standing beside him, smiling.

“I kept my promise, Sir,” he tried to say.

When he blinked, they were gone. He fought it, yet as he sank into darkness, all he could think about was Lily.

Lily, Lily, Lily…

#OUCH #canon jily #first wizarding war #canon marauders #WCBH one shots #lily recues james #BAMF Lily #BAMF James #fuck Sn*pe #not for you if you like sneep #jily angst #tw: violence #you haven't seen what Lily does yet...#happy to post next part whenever you want me to

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harrysgloves · 4 years ago

Text

Let Your Hair Down (chapter ii)

Get caught up with the Let Your Hair Down Masterlist!

word count: word count: 1,515

summary: Harry gets more than he bargains for when he falls not only for you but your little girl as well.

warnings: language (cause I really cannot write without curse words). Smut in future chapter just not this one. Sorry, we’re getting there but it’s a slow burn.

a/n: Hopefully you guys like this one as much as the last but honestly I think chapter 3 is my favorite so far. It’ll be up tomorrow! And as always my grammatical errors and my spelling is atrocious so please ignore... xx

>>><<<

The day couldn't have ended more perfectly. The sun was starting to set as you sat curled up in one of Mitch's hoodies by the fire outside. The food was already packed up and put away. Now it was just time to drink your glass of wine with Sarah as Mitch and Harry wrangled your kid out of the pool to start making s'mores.

You laid your head against Sarah's shoulder. Your hair blew back gently from the swaying motion of the swing they had by their fire pit and you couldn't imagine things being better than they were right now. You were finally happy. You were finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and as the next season started to creep up on you, you knew you had even better things to look forward to.

"Wow that kid has a lot of energy." Mitch said as he walked up towards you guys from the house, slipping on a shirt.

"Yeah imagine how bad it is when you shove her full of sugar and send her back to me after sleepovers here." You glared at Mitch. You knew full well he was the one who gave her the ungodly amount of sugar the last time she was here and she ended up sick.

"Hey, I'm the fun one not the responsible one." He smiled as he took a seat across from Sarah. His hands folding behind his head as he relaxed into the seat.

"Where is she?" You questioned leaning your head up off Sarah and looking around the yard. You couldn't see her and even though you knew she was probably fine, you couldn't help the mommy dread filling the pit of your stomach.

"Oh, calm down, Harry has her."

"Jesus, Mitch, you can't leave her with someone she doesn't know very well." You huffed and started to stand up before you saw them walking back outside. An old shirt of Mitch's now covering her. It was almost dragging the ground as she walked hand in hand with Harry.

"You were saying?" He smiled smugly and Sarah chuckled from beside you. You couldn't help the huff of annoyance that passed your lips.

"Stop trying to set us up. It's not going to happen." You said as you kicked off your high heels and curled your legs up beside you when you sat back down.

"Whatever you say Y/N" Sarah mumbled beside you. The smile on her face not fading as she took a drink from her glass.

"Momma! Momma!" Thea yelled as she let go of Harry's hand and ran toward you.

"Guess what!" She bounced excitedly in front of you. The smile on her face so wide it showed the one front baby tooth that had fallen out the previous week. It was the first one she had lost, which made your heartache at the thought of her growing up. You felt she was too little to be losing teeth yet but the frantic call you made to the pediatrician made you feel stupid when she assured you it was completely normal for a kid about to turn five.

"What baby?" You asked as you pulled her onto your lap to sit with you.

"Harry has his nails painted too and he said he liked the color mine are." She rushed out excitedly as she held her hands in front of her to look at the color they were again.

"He said I could paint his nails sometime. Even though I told him I wasn't very good at it and that you did them for me, but he said I could practice on him." She said turning to you but your eyes fixed on the man in front of you. Your heart wanted to fall out of your chest and turn into a pile of mush at the thought of her curled up on the couch painting his nails as he mused about how well she was doing. You quickly pushed the fleeting thought to the side but the smile it caused stayed on your face as you looked at him.

"Well baby that was very nice of him." You kissed her on the cheek and pulled her back further and hugged her.

"Sucker." Mitch coughed out into his hand and Harry turned around, hitting him in the back.

"Got a bit of a bad cough there mate." He said irritation laced through his voice but it still sounded angelic to you. You tried your best to hide your small laugh as he sat down beside Mitch directly across from you but his green eyes shot directly to yours when he heard it. A soft smile formed at the corner of his full lips and you had to immediately look away before you started debating in your mind what they tasted like.

"Go make some s'mores with Uncle Mitch before we have to go Thea." You said as you put her on the ground. She walked carefully around the fire and went to sit on Mitch's lap as he started putting the marshmallows on the roasting stick.

"So, Y/N, when do you start your fancy new job?" Sarah asked as you leaned your head back on her shoulder and took a sip from your wine glass.

"Next month. Not sure how well it's going to go. I've never managed a hotel that big before." You were a bit nervous to start a new job in a new city but you craved the fresh start. Somewhere, where walking down the street didn't remind you time and time again of your ex.

"Oh shut up." Mitch groaned. You were going to give a smart ass remark back but the look Harry shot him was enough to make you stop.

"I'm just saying," Mitch said more to Harry than you, "She's great at managing people. She shouldn't be worried."

"Which hotel is it?" Harry questioned as he held his roasting stick loaded with marshmallows over the fire.

"The Pembroke. I'm just the Assistant Manager but hopefully in a few years if it all works out the way I want it to then I can move up." You shrugged. You weren't 100% sure how you got into hospitality but it was just something that seemed to stick with you. Meeting and talking to new people every day from all over the world was fascinating. You liked getting to learn about different cities and countries without ever having to leave your state, but this new job came with a pretty big move, into New York City. It wasn't that bad considering you were already on the outskirts but you'd never lived in the actual city before. Something you weren't 100% sure you were ready for.

"'ve been there." He said, turning his marshmallows before they burned. "'S nice. Just a few streets over from my flat actually."

You swore you could have choked on your wine the second that sentence left his mouth. You had no fucking idea where he lived and preferred to keep it that way and now he knew where you worked and it was close to where he was at when he was in New York? No. No way. You turned to Sarah who had a shit-eating grin across her face.

"Well, maybe you can show Y/N around sometime." She said turning to face you with the biggest, most infuriating smile on her face. "I'm sure she would like the help getting used to the city."

"Oh, no, really I couldn't--" You started but were shortly cut off.

"That means that you can come over and sing my song to me Harry." Thea said with so much excitement that you paused. She really did seem to get on with him better than most people and she loved his music. She said 'Golden' was her song and made Mitch play it for her all the time. It was heart-wrenchingly adorable.

"Course I can sweetheart." He said to Thea as he took off a marshmallow and placed it on a Graham cracker lined with chocolate. Handing it to her before starting to make his own.

"Well she should have your number then." Sarah beamed from beside you and it took everything in you to not strangle her.

Fucking trader.

Thea was already over to you and taking your phone in the blink of an eye and handing it to Harry. She was telling him how to put his number in your phone before you even got a chance to protest.

"You've got to take a picture so it shows up next to your name." She said as she took the phone back from him and turned on the camera app.

"Get in here with me then." He said pulling her in. They both cheesed up to the camera, big smiles wide on both their faces and your heart completely melted when you heard her giggle and ask to do a silly photo.

"Call me anytime you need help love."

Guess you had his phone number now. So much for staying away.

#Harry Styles #Harry #Harry Styles x Reader #Harry Styles x Y/N #Harry Styles x You #Harry Styles Fanfic #Harry Styles Fanfiction #writing #mine #fanfic #LYHD

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clinioelerrante · 3 years ago

Text

The house elf

Lovingly dedicated to the director @divagonzo and participants of romioneficfest 2021 ( @romioneficfest ) posted on Tumblr.

Finally, in English.

All my appreciation to @headcanonsandmore, without whose help the realization of this translation would have been impossible.

He did an OUTSTANDING job revising the original, something I can never thank him enough for. Any errors or inaccuracies in the text will be my fault, not his.

Even after reading @headcanonsandmore's annotation and, because the text is basically the interaction between a male character and an elf, I will using using he/his/him would perhaps have given the text a lack of freshness, as it was continually making 'notations' to clarify which of them is speaking. I hoped this would make it easier for the reader. I apologise if this may offend anyone in any way.

The home elf

When the first rays of sunlight broke through the windows of Grimmauld Place, the sapphire eyes of Ronald Weasley greeted them open.

He hadn’t slept much that night and there was a good reason for that. In a few hours Hermione, Harry and himself would infiltrate the Ministry to try to obtain Slytherin’s locked.

The first of the Horcruxes they must locate and detsroy brought with it the real meaning of what they were getting into and the terrible dance that they would be facing from them on.

Not that he had been unaware of it before, but he had always felt protected under Dumbeldore’s magic and presence. It was the attack on his own home that reminder him what that protection was over.

Just once, he had felt like this. So exposed, so vulnerable, so insignificant, so useless and scared. It was when Hermione had been injured in the Department of Mysteries. If it were up to him, he would have hidden Hermione with her parents on the other side of the world. This was a nice dream to find solace in but he was aware that without her, the mission would be doomed to failure.

The night when the first lights of dawn were coming to an end had been a constant succession of lucid nightmares in which he had envisioned the thousand and one dreadful fates they might face once they passed through the Ministry’s atrium, and all but two of these nightmares had as their protagonist a witch with thick bushy hair and chocolate-coloured eyes.

For a moment, resentment against Harry nested in Ronald Weasley’s heart. He had no problem sharing the fate of his best friend. If Harry asked him, Ron would be able to go down to hell with one hand tied behind his back, which in fact was exactly what he was about to do! Ron wasn’t stupid. The experience of previous years had given him a realistic perspective of the war. The price that was paid day by day and the price that was still to be paid, but that price should not include a stubborn witch who was wise, crazy and with a mouth he wanted to kiss. Harry should have insisted and forbid her to endanger herself by traveling with them.

As if you or he could have stopped her! A voice whispered in the back of his head causing a hint of a smile to play on the redhead’s lips as images of a platinum blonde ferret getting a superb punch to the nose replayed in his mind.

Besides, you know that if it weren’t for her, you’d both be perfectly dead and He-who-not-to-be-named would be walking the land of Merlin long before.

A brief growl escaped Ron’s smile at the thought that the little voice seemed to have the echo of a too familiar ‘I told you so’.

Even so, he could not refute that claim. Had it not been for Hermione and her prodigious beaded bag, their situation at this very moment might have been very different. They would not have had the supplies to survive until they had reached the Sirius’s residence and had been able to carry out all the surveillance of the ministry...

A thunderous grumble from his stomach put an end to all that introspection.

"I wonder how she’s arranged the food thing? She’s been reminding me of Gamp’s laws for six bloody years," he muttered as he sat up.

Knowing that he was unable to stay in bed for even minute longer, and hoping to calm his nerves and nightmares with a good cup of tea, he started towards the kitchen when he found the light leaking under the door of the room in which he had left Hermione the night before.

This had not ended in one of their famous arguments because he had preferred to bite his tongue rather than go to bed with both of them angry at each other, but he had been very close to grabbing her by the hip, throwing her over his shoulder, and throwing her over the nearest bed to force her to sleep, when she insisted on staying awake, going going over the details of infiltrating a Ministry dominated by Voldemort to the point of exhaustion. The rage he had barely managed to control returned with full force when he realised that she had to keep working on it.

With typical Weasley outburst, he burst into the room ready to end this madness and force her to rest for the few hours that remained, when he froze in the doorway while all the anger that had once made his blood boil evaporated as if it had never been.

Under the flickering candlelight, a sound-asleep Hermione, rested her head on a book on the theory of magic and a countless number of scrolls scribbled with diagrams and plans of the Ministry.

Ron needs to lean against the doorjamb when he feels his legs turn to jelly as he watches the flickering candlelight catch infinite shades of copper from the petite witch’s hair, how, despite the small trickle of drool that escapes from between... Oh, merlin; her lips! They look softly pink and absolutely adorable. The long lashes, blessing eyes that would be able to get anything from him just by looking lovingly at him, and the seven little freckles she has on her nose. He never told her, but he learned the configuration of the constellation Orion when he saw it perfectly represented on that little nose. But above all that, what touches his heart is to see the look on her face completely relaxed, as if for a moment, sleep has blessed her with a few hours of peace, oblivious to all the madness that has been raging around her.

For a moment he tempted to take her in his arms and take her to a bed where she rest properly. H is arms tingle at the mere thought of touching her, but he knows that if she wakes up, she will insist on continuing her crazy review, losing the little rest she so desperately needs, something he will not deny her. Although a part of his heart cries out for the set image of indulging in what has so far been only one of his craziest dreams like taking her to a marriage bed like a bride, the rest of her whole being makes him close the door slowly while casting a soundproofing spell her to prevent any noise from disturbing her sleep.

Only then, as he resumed his journey to the kitchen, does he allow himself to wonder. When she became so important to him? What at point did she become his whole world?

Surprisingly he couldn’t find a specific moment. Somehow, Hermione had been infiltrating his heart without him being fully aware of the stealthy invasion. Evidently, he had realized that what he experienced in the fourth year was a storm of jealousy, so big! That seemed to have turned his brain into jelly and incapable of thinking. But only when he faced the possibility of losing her at the end of fifth year did, he realized the “the sheer extent” of emptiness his had inside if she wasn’t in his life.

And while his mind is lost in the memories of a bossy little girl who scoldes him for having a dirty nose, with a young girl who looks amazing meanwhile she glides majestically through the great dining room with the hand of a pumpkin-headed arse with a ridiculous goatee; Ron finds himself in the kitchen just as he sees the old Sirius’ home elf, stirring between pots and pans, probably anticipating the housework of the day that begins with breakfast for the three tenants of the old Black House, while the Regulus’ locket hangs around it neck.

Well. Not ‘Sirius’’. It’s Harry’s elf now, he rectifies in his mind as he remembers that Harry’s godfather had been the biggest victim of that fateful night...

“Good morning, master”, the broken voice of the old servant interrupts the thoughts that again caused a shudder in his spine. “Perhaps Master Weasley woke up too early? Can Kreacher help his lordship with a cup of tea? ”

“Yes, Kreacher. Please.” He thinks he’ll never get used to the elf’s sensitive ears. Somehow, the little servant always seems to sense what is happening around him, even if it was turning its back on him at the time. Ron’s heart still comes out of his chest when he remembers the time he sneaked into the kitchen looking for something to eat at midnight, and when he closed the cupboard door, he found a pair of bulging eyes within an inch of his face staring suspiciously at him.

“Master would like something more substantial to go with his tea?”

Ron has not gone unnoticed by the change that had taken place in the Elf’s attitude since Harry had given it the Regulus’ locket. Its previous hostility towards Harry had turned into a quasi-devotion after that small act of kindness. He wondered, what would have happened to Kreacher, if all of Hermione’s ideas about S.P.E.W. and dealing elves with dignity and kindness had been applied by Sirius? Perhaps the tormented elf wouldn’t have found the flaw that allowed it to alert the Deatheater. In a twisted way, the last of the Black had forged his fate by treating his servant miserably.

Then, perhaps, he thought, Sirius could have stayed alive and Harry could have had a real family, where he could have felt the love and warmth of a real home.

“Master?”

“No Kreacher, thank you very much”, he replies kindly and with a smile when he returned to the present. Here is another one of Hermione’s crazy ideas for the magical world and which, however, she is right; he thought. “Tea will be enough.”

"As Master Weasley wishes. Should I to prepare breakfast for the other guests, perhaps?" A furry eyebrow rose with doubt.

“I don’t know. Have either of them woken up?” Ron wasn’t about to let either of them lose moments of sleep, so he considered finding out what his friends’ current situation was first before the elf mistakenly interpreted that it was time to wake them both up.

“Master Potter is still asleep, though he hasn’t stopped hanging around in bed and grumbling all night,” Kreacher seemed to know where Ron’s thoughts were headed, “as for the mudblood...”

“DON’T EVER! NEVER! YOU WILL NEVER CALL HER THAT AGAIN, KREACHER. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? DON’T EVER!”

Ron was not even aware of his reaction, until he saw the terrified eyes of the elderly elf as he lifted his arms in an attempt at self-protection.

He was unaware that the chair on which he was sitting slammed against the wall when he stepped abruptly, nor of his agitated breathing, nor how his fist looked white like snow leaning on the table, nor of how he had projected his body towards the elf like the wolf that stalks its prey.

Ron had not been aware of any of it, until he saw an elderly house elf, trembling with terror and with the certainty of supreme punishment in his eyes. That’s when a cascade of revelations is triggered in his mind, like if they had always been there, only now they seem to fit perfectly together.

To see how a being, with a magic infinitely more complex and more powerful that human wizards is so shackled by his social conditioning and fear, to the point to be unable to react even only to save its own life or the lives of its own, to become less than vermin in the eyes of it oppressors. And as he gazes into the terrified eyes of the elf, before her mind’s eye is the image of other eyes. The sweet chocolate eyes full of love and compassion for any living thing of a girl with big front teeth, who wears a hideous S.P.E.W. badge on her chest and that makes him feel so vile, unworthy and miserable that he feels nauseous of himself.

“Kreacher,” his voice sounded harsher than he intended with the try to control the gags that haunt him, causing the elderly shudder before him.

“Kreacher,” he repeated, this time with much more warmth. “Please, have a seat.”

The elf is so scared that it went like the victim of the ‘Imperius’ curse, to the nearest chair to sit, ignoring all the social conditioning that prevents it to sitting under the presence of a wizard.

“Kreacher,” Ron took a deep breath, as if he wanted to draw from the air the inspiration he needed to face the task before him. “I’m sorry; please forgive me. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, or frightened you.”

If previously the elf’s expression was one of absolute terror, it was replaced by one of utter shock.

“Is… Is Master apologizing to Kreacher?” Its voice sounded like a frog’s and his eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets as the thought finally pierced its skull.

“Yeah. You see,” the redhead graded his hair trying to focus. He had a difficult problem before him. On the one hand, he couldn’t put into crisis all the old servant’s beliefs at the stroke of a pen. That would only cause the elf to close itself to listen to him, but on the other hand, he had to make it see or at least consider, the abomination of belittling the mere existence of a sorcerer for the simple fact of his magical origin. “I didn’t mean to hurt or frighten you. Just don’t use that word again when you mean Miss Granger. She really doesn’t deserve it. ”

The elf’s stupor had not disappeared, but a glimmer of curiosity appeared in its gaze.

“Look, I know how all that purity of blood crap goes, but I’m asking you to disregard it for once, okay?” Kreacher’s face implied without a shadow of a doubt/beyond a shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t understanding a word Ron was trying to explain.

“Kreacher. Imagine for a moment that you didn’t know Miss Granger’s origin. That you didn’t know her at all, and that the first time she had set foot in this house, instead of appearing in Muggle clothes and accompanying a handful of outlaws and bloog-traitors, she would have come at the hand of Master Regulus, dressed with fop’s elegant tunics and looking absolutely beautiful and relaxed, as if this had been her social environment all her life.”

“Master Weasley,” the elf looks absolutely desolate, “Kreacher can’t do that. Kreacher can sense the magic of the wizards. Its origin, its intensity. It is impossible that Kreacher would not have realized that she had been a charlaton.”

Ron felt his jaw clench and his back tended to stiffen with pure stiffness as he heard it refer to Hermione as a fake. Getting his point across seemed like an impossible mission. The elf’s behaviour seemed to be conditioned by the first impression of perceiving the origins of a wizard’s magic in conjunction with all its training. Once the conditioning of a lifetime, nay, a whole dynasty, intervened! There was no room to look at anything else....

“… Anything else…” he whispered, “Anything else. There is no second chance.” Ron’s eyes opened like plates.

“Is Master right?“ Kreacher had left the chair and cautiously approached the wizard who seemed unconcerned.

“There is no second chance,” he whispered again, and on his face appeared the smile and glow in her eyes that her opponents in chess they knew so well. “KREACHER! ”

The unsuspecting elf jumped backwards so much that stumbled upon the chair it had previously occupied and began to stumble with its own feet until the fall proved imminent, only to be taken in scooped up and gently placed on its original chair by freckled and plenty scarred arms.

“Are you okay, Kreacher? Ron’s voice had genuine concern. It was not only because of the continual jolts to which he was subjecting the old heart of the weak elf and the fear of destroying any bridge of understanding that might have been created between the two, but that he might have really suffered some injury.

“What did the master just do?” The elderly’s eyes were locked on Ron’s.

“I... I, I’m sorry Kreacher. I’m not good at mastering my impulses. I didn’t mean to scare you again.” Ron’s eyes turned to the ground as shame flooded him again. It was the second time he had frightened the elf. It was only logical that it would never trust him again. Any chance to make it understand the human greatness of the curly-haired witch had gone out the window thanks to his blatant and never well-measured combination of stupidity and impulsivity... “Shit!“ He moaned.

“Did Master help Kreacher?” its eyes widened like saucers. “Master protected Kreacher!”

“Errr...? “ Ron’s face was the manifestation of absolute astonishment.

“Master protected Kreacher! He didn’t forbid Kreacher to punish itself, no. He protected it.” Ron’s face clearly showed that he still did not understand what the servant was telling him. “Only Master Regulus did something similar once.”

“Hermione does it all the time” Oh Merlin! If that’s not a good opening, I don’t play chess.

“What?” Poor Kreacher looked as if it was being carried away by a stream of revelations that prevented it from being able to structure its thinking properly. It had been days since a half-blood Master who it hated had given it the treasure that had belonged to the best Master a house elf could wish for, at the same time forbidding it to punish itself even when it had betrayed him and alerted his enemies. Kreacher knew that it was a mere technicality that it could justify its actions on the basis of Master Harry’s vague instructions. Kreacher was aware that any action taken by a house elf that could directly or indirectly harm his master, could be severely punished, even with life and, in any case, a master did not need much justification to punish his servant if he chose to do so. Now a pureblood had used his own body to protect it, he had apologised for his action and was now letting it know that a mudblood was in the habit of protecting other house elves all the time. Its brain could not quite take it in and the question had slipped from his lips unconsciously.

“Ms. Hermione does it all the time. She loves every magical creature. She’s not worried about its origin. She always says it’s the actions that give greatness, not the origin. Kreacher, is it true that you can sense magic?“ He asked hopeful.

“Kreacher can, master.”

“And is it true that you can feel the intensity of a wizard’s magic, Kreacher?”

The elf nods.

“Then: How do you perceive the power of Miss Hermione’s magic?

The elf blinked, as if had never stopped to properly evaluate that point.

“Magic is very strong with her. Kreacher can remember only one witch with such intense magic, though the muggleborn witch’s might be stronger.”

“Who was the witch, Kreacher?”

“IS. Lady Lestrange, Bellatrix.”

An icy finger runs down the Weasley’s youngest son’s back cutting off his breath.

“She’s nothing like Bellatrix, Kreacher,” Ron can feel, almost physically, as if his heart is being squeezed out of his life. “Hermione has sweet eyes, full of curiosity and affection. They don’t exude hatred and madness like that motherfucker,” there is a dull anger growing in Ron. A roaring fire of anger, fear and hatred.

“It was she, the one who tortured Neville’s parents to madness. Two purebloods whose only sins were to defend innocents people who had never harmed anyone or anything from her madness and hatred. It is people like her who are responsible for Neville and Harry not having parents. It is people like her who drag sensitive people like Regulus down a path from which there is no return Kreacher. It’s people like her who bring pain and suffering into the world just because they think they are superior to everyone else,” he says as he tries to pull himself together.

“The point, Kreacher, is: Hermione...” there is genuine passion, there is a palpable devotion in every word that comes out of his mouth... “not only she is the most brilliant, studious and beautiful witch of this generation, but she is the best person you can imagine. That she’s a witch is a fucking blessing because, instead of the Muggles being the ones who have the opportunity to benefit from her privileged intelligence, her bravery, her desire for justice and her infinite love for any creature, it’s the magical world that has that opportunity because of “He-who-must-not-be-named” and People like Bellatrix, we’re being assholes refusing to accept that gift and all that magic that far surpasses the rest of the three of us and...”

“That’s wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“Her magic is not the most powerful of the three of you.” The elf’s narrow eyes remain nailed into the ocean of the youngest of Weasley’s men, like if they were contemplating something only they can see.

“Right. Obviously Harry has to be a hell of a wizard if he has to face the Dark Lord”, he says, looking away from the elf as he feels a pinch of envy in his heart for not being good enough and losing missing the surprised look Kreacher gives him, “but I’m sure her magical power must be very much like Harry...”

It is then when the emotional teaspoon that is Ronald Weasley is aware of how this crucial game of chess is unfolding.

Kreacher himself has just breached its own defence when the idea of a muggleborn can be as powerful as the most abominable Deatheater in the host of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But that is not enough. That may have shocked its brain, but to win the game, to truly win it, Hermione must win the heart of the tormented being.

“She’s the smartest witch I’ve ever met, to the point where not even that smug git Snape, someone who enjoys making everyone look like fool , has been unable to keep her from scoring less than Outstanding on all his tests.” He proudly recalls all the times Hermione managed to get a pure curl of irritation out of the pitiful professor. One for every time she gave him the right answer even when that wasn’t the lesson of the day. "Continuously defeats any pureblood by doing a magic they aren’t even capable of dreaming of. By sheer intelligence she solved a lethal riddle in her first year and in her second she brewed an NEWT level potion that only master alchemists are capable of performing, discovered a fucking basilisk crawling through the castle’s pipes and survived an encounter with the damn thing using a simple hand mirror."

Ron can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine when he remembers the image of a little girl in a bed too big for her, stiff, limp and cold as snow. It was then that he realized there was something different about Hermione. He didn’t know what it was, but something was bloody wrong with him if she got hurt.

“You should see her when she’s studying, Kreacher. She’s quite a sight to behold. When she’s studying a particularly difficult subject she frowns adorably, her eyes sparkle with determination and she leans over whatever she’s reading so hard she looks like she wants to get inside the book and when she’s about to master all that new knowledge, she bites her bottom lip so hard I sometimes fear she’s going to hurt herself, but there’s an immense joy in her gaze. Just like when she is reading something she particularly likes. Then, she starts playing with one of her crazy curls by twisting it around her finger. I think she must be the only person in the world who flirts with a book while reading it,” there have been so many times watching her study in the library that Ron doesn’t even need to concentrate to conjure up such images. They are so deep in Ron’s heart that they are already a part of him, and the memory of them brings a smile to his freckled face.

“She is also courageous, determined, and just, like the day she shook a superb punch at the ferret’s nose in her third year...”

“Did she hit a ferret?” The elf’s jaw dropped as listened to the redhead.

"What do you mean...?" Ron’s initial surprise is quickly replaced by wide eyes as comprehension washes over him, given way to a thunderous laugh. "Not at a ferret, Kreacher. ‘The Ferret one.’ She gave a fucktastic punch to the only and genuine heir to Malfoy’s House," he completes with a chuckle meanwhile he watches the poor elf’s eyes pop out of their sockets as it imagines how she attacked a renowned pureblood with something as mundane as a punch to the nose. "Oh come on, Kreacher! That was great and she looked awesome. Besides...” his face suddenly turns serious as he looks at the elderly servant who still doesn’t seem to have come out of its stupefaction. “She was only defending an innocent creature from a spoiled child willing to gloat over its death just because it hurt his self-centred pride. She spent sleepless nights searching through old treatises of magical law for some way to save the life of a creature that wasn’t even human. Only because it was the right thing to do. Only because it was innocent.” A weight settles on Ron’s soul when he remembers that she was alone all those nights and he wasn’t there to help her.

“I’ve seen her support for her best friend and almost lose her life for it even knowing that he was wrong,” the lump in his throat threatens to keep him from talking. “I have seen her risk losing that same friendship just to protect him, and I have seen her be taken for eccentric or crazy just to defend that creatures like you, should be treated with dignity, regardless of race and origin.”

In his troubled speech, Ron feels the moisture flood his eyes and he wipes it away by running his sleeve over his face, unaware of how the elf has cocked its head slightly to one side and is watching him intently.

“She is also kind, sweet and loving.” The weight of his heart disappears when a warmth envelops him. “At eleven years old and not knowing him at all, she helped the shyest, most insecure guy look for his lost pet. Even if she wasn’t a prefect, she was always willing to take first-year tadpoles under her wing, to look after them and guide them when they were stunned by how great Hogwarts is. She helps them find their way around the castle, helps them complete their homework, hugs them when they miss their parents and tells them incredible stories that only she knows from the thousand and one books she has read,” she says as her eyes sparkle with pride in her best friend, “and she will do it with each and every one of them. To all of them she will give her incredible intelligence and her boundless love regardless of any other condition”.

That’s when he realizes that Kreacher is staring at him with its eyes and mouth wide open, like if it can’t believe what it’s seeing.

“Errr... ahem... This... This doesn’t mean she doesn’t have flaws, she does. She has a temper worthy of an explosive potion,” he says as he rubs his tingling arms, “So many times she’s so convinced she’s right, she forgets that the people concerned also have a say for themselves. Like that time when as prefect she sent extra homework to the OWLs students because she thought they weren’t preparing them,” a smile creeps onto his face. “Kreacher, you should have seen when McGonagall found out. She asked her if she wanted her position as head of Gryffindor house and Hermione turned so red she looked like a real Weasley.”

He doesn’t know why he said it, but as soon as he finishes saying it, the image of the most beautiful Hermione, dressed in a flowing white satin robe at the beginning of a hallway and holding a small bouquet in her hands, suffices that her heart seems to have lost the ability to beat properly.

“Kreacher”, he says softly looking at the elf with the intensity of one who is trying to convey the most important message of his life and fears that his words will fail him, “It’s not that she wants to offend you. Not you or the rest of the house elves when she wants to give you freedom. Freedom is a divine gift, yes, but it’s like a good roast rib. It may be tasty and crunchy, a fucking delight to the palate, but you can’t force it through a baby’s gullet. That way all you can do is to kill him with almost complete certainty.”

“It is simply that she loves you too much. She loves you so much, she loves every creature in Merlin’s green fields so much that, she cannot wait to give you what you all deserve. That is why she is wrong. She does not yet see that you are not ready for freedom, “he says to the servant’s curious gaze.“ No... I don’t mean to belittle you, the house elves, I mean, “he completes in a stammer, raising his hands in peace. But it is true nonetheless. Freedom frightens you, it breaks the scheme of things and the rules of your world. She cannot see it yet, Kreacher, but in time she will, and you will have no better ally and no better friend than she.”

“Is that her greatest flaw, Master?" It seems impossible, but Ron would be willing to swear to Merlin that the elf is leaning towards him as he looks deep into his blue eyes, as if it wants to discover something hidden deep within the troubled red-head.

“Well, not really," a sad smile creeps across his freckled face. “She has a pitiful interest in pumpkin-headed wizards with horrible accents and pompous nasties too full of themselves, as long as they’re great quidditch players."

“Still, Master is very impressed by Lady Granger.” The elf’s eyes are practically flashing before him and yet Ron can’t find a shred of contempt, mockery or hostility in his voice, if anything... recognition? And then something breaks in Ron when he realizes that the little bastard has just called her ‘Lady’ for the first time.

“So much that I would gladly give my own life so that she would have a full and happy magical life. Away from all the horror and war, away from the absence of her parents and the fear of being killed at any moment just because they are Muggles. Even if she was married…” his voice breaks,” she was married to either of those two bloody gits and their kids were...

Maybe it’s from years of involuntary training trying to save his life or their other two very best friends, maybe it’s from the keen senses of a quidditch keeper or maybe it’s just instinct, but Ron feels a tingling on his back on his neck, a feeling of a presence behind him just before he hears the crackling of the wood of the floor behind him and Ron can see how, for a moment, Kreacher’s eyes abandon his own eyes and turn to the space behind the redhead to open like plates when they focusing one specific point behind him. It may be again for all those years lurking around death, for all the trainings that have sharpened your reflexes or just warrior instinct, but without waiting to the command of his brain, he right hand goes to his wand, his body shrink to minimize as target and he moves around looking for a twist to shield midway between the servant and the place where the sound came from and, when he does, he does it in such a natural way, so instinctive, that seems that protecting a little body was often his only goal in life. And it’s when his head is close to complete the turn that will lead him to face the threat, when he feels a rough hand holding his wrist tightly enough to unbalance it and stop the rotation of his body. Even so, the arm with his wand continues its trajectory to point to the space that a few moments ago was behind him and one nonverbal ‘Protego’ unfolds from it while her eyes search for the owner of the hand that has stopped his movement to meet, face to face, with other eyes. Bulging, wrinkled eyes, gazing intently at him and glowing with the light of understanding.

“Master loves her.”

“With all that I am and with all that I will be, Kreacher. With so much intensity, it hurts. It hurts as much as hell itself.”

It is not a question. It is a truth revealed and as such it can no longer be shrouded in the shadows nor can it be denied, but needs to be proclaimed because it can no longer be contained.

And the elf nods. Once again, her eyes turn to the space behind Ron as he feels that the prey that the little character exerted on his arm gives way, allowing him to regain full mobility. That’s when Ron turns his head to face whatever is behind him just for his eyes can see an empty door.

“This damned house and its creepy noises are going to drive me bloody mad”, he says as his shoulders sink as all the tension he has been building up escapes from him.

“She didn’t know”, he murmurs. “Master hasn’t told Lady Granger.” Kreacher ignores the insult to Black’s ancestral meanwhile its inquisitive eyes turn to the tormented redhead.

“No, Kreacher. Not yet, and I can’t do it now. What’s at stake is too important and much bigger than us”, he says, shaking his head, as if he was trying to get some thoughts out of his brain and clear his own ideas. “When I confess to her and she tells me she doesn’t share my feelings, I’d have nothing left to fight for except to keep them both safe and sound, and leave if we win them. And if by some miracle she shared them, I couldn’t fulfill that mission. I could endanger Harry because when it came to protecting them, she would always be my priority.”

It is when the rays of sunshine flood the old kitchen that Ron realizes how far the morning has gone and the dreaded moment has come. It’s time to complete the final preparations to infiltrate the Ministry. With a snort of resignation, he heads for the door to wake up her friends when he feels the elf’s hand again on his arm, only in this case it is a gentle grip. Very similar to the touch of a friend who’s just trying to get your attention.

“No”, he says in a calm but determined tone. “Kreacher will take care of waking up the rest of the wizards.”

“No. Kreacher must to insist. Master Harry and fellows have a long day ahead.” The little servant surrounds the tall figure of Gryffindor’s old guardian while gently pushing him towards a chair in front of the large kitchen table. “Master Weasley will finish his tea and then Kreacher will return so that all of them can have a proper breakfast.”

Resigned to the now familiar elderly elf’s stubbornness, Ron nods and takes a seat in the chair as he lifts his cup of tea to his lips and watches it leaves the kitchen.

As soon as it has crossed the threshold of the door, the last servant of the ancient and honourable Black House turns towards the bedrooms, passing by the figure who leans against the wall, tries to keep herself hidden into the shadows while holding her hands over her face, trying to silence the desperate sobs that make her small body shake all over.

“Now Lady Granger knows”, it whispered as it turned to face the young woman.

Between sobs and shudders, a slight nod of her head is her only response.

“Perhaps it is time Master Weasley knew too."

The elf’s voice sounds firm, but there is a decided edge of pleading in it.

A head full of curls sharply denies, sending the wild locks flying in all directions, while the hands covering the face wipe away the tears that run down it.

“It is not possible, Kreacher. Like Ron said, the stakes are too high. Much higher than the two of us, and I can’t let Harry stop being Ron’s priority. Without Harry, there’s no future for anyone. Without Harry there’s no future for both of us.”

“Master Harry is not the most powerful magician under the roof of this house”, says the elf as if it had not heard the prodigious witch’s answer as its eyes turn to the kitchen door.

“I know,” she says in a sob as a sad smile insinuates over a face that is once again, streaked with tears and whose eyes focus on the same point the elf is looking at as if she expects to be able to see the redhaired man on the other side of it at any moment.

“However”, Kreacher’s eyes now turn fixedly to Hermione’s eyes, “he is not the most self-confident wizard either.”

“I know that too, and I curse myself every day for what I have contributed to his self-loathing.” The girl’s eyes briefly meet the elf’s and then search the threshold of the kitchen again, like has unwittingly become the border between the will and the duty." But we’ll both have to wait Kreacher," and her eyes, now full of fire, meet the elf’s again. "Though right now, my whole being is crying out for the desire to walk through that door and on the kitchen table, make him my own like only a woman can make a man her own to seal the deal. Because I’ve been his, forever.”

“That’s not fair to him.”

“Nothing in this war is fair, Kreacher.”

It nods in understanding and just when it seems that he is going to resume its path in search of its rightful master, it stops and looking carefully at the muggleborn, makes its fingers snap making Hermione feel a rejuvenating freshness running through her red eyes and her eyelids swollen by tears.

“Master Weasley doesn’t need any more worries at this time.”

“Thank you, Kreacher”, she smiles, “and thank you for not giving me up earlier”, she says, pointing to the treacherous loose piece of wood on the floor, just outside the kitchen door.

And for the first time in its long life Kreacher, the last proud servant of the ancestral, noble and elitetist pureblood House Blacks, gives a genuine smile to a muggleborn witch.

“It will be our secret Lady Granger”, it says as it completes a graceful bow and leaves the place to look for its rightful master, even though it feels that something inside its has changed forever.

Months later:

“Hang on a moment!” said Ron sharply. “We’ve forgotten someone!”

“Who?” asked Hermione.

“The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?”

“You mean we ought to get them fighting?” asked Harry.

“No,” said Ron seriously, “I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want any more Dobbies, do we? We can’t order them to die for us —”

It only takes a moment, but for Hermione Granger it’s as if she’s been hit by the ‘Arresto Momentum’ spell. A lifetime of feelings and images flashes through her privileged mind so real, so sharp and clear, it’s as if she were reliving her own memories in a pesieve...

Terderness

A beautiful boy with a stain of dirt on his nose...

Loyalty

A rough stick falling over the head of a mountain troll...

Nobleness

Slugs vomited in a bucket...

Courage

Badly wounded, covered in dirt, sweat and blood, standing, with a broken leg, like a bulwark between two teenagers and a serial killer…

Jealousy

The broken arm of an action figure at the foot of a bed...

Devotion

A male figure with horribly scarred arms, who watches over her when she wakes up with a terrible wound in her chest...

Excitement

The smell of parchment, freshly cut grass and a soap with scents of wood and clove when hug that glorious body...

Hope

A broom that materializes in front of the burrow driven by a metamorpagus witch...

Confort

Hands joined, just before sleeping at Grimmaud Place...

Love

Blue eyes that watch over her when she wakes up at Shell Cottage...

Fear

A small boy, with a large head wound on a chequered floor...

Panic

A freckly face, as white as a sheet, on a bed surrounded by a bunch of redheads who look scared...

Terror

A mangled arm that bleeds so much that it is impossible to believe that a human being can contain so much blood...

Desperation

A soaked figure, with his face crazed with pain and anger, just before disappearing in the pouring rain on an autumn night...

Everything is a stormy maelstrom that consumes her, takes her breath away and threatens to blow her head up incapable of bringing together so many emotions at once, and that’s when a picture emerges above all that emotional explosion. A scene watched sneakily from the half-light, under the threshold of a door in an old manor house.

The image of a humble old house elf listening Ronald Weasley’s confession of love for her.

And the feeling that neither can, nor wants to be hidden any longer, breaks through. The imperative need, greater than breathing, to take what is rightfully hers and which she has been denying herself for far too long.

She is barely aware of what is going on around her, drunk as she is, of the emotion that envelops her. She does not hear the sound of fangs striking the ground, nor does she see a lightning-shaped scar warp as the eyebrows above green eyes rise as they widen, nor the movement of her own legs, nor the surprise reflected in a freckled face. Her heart is all she feels, the love overflowing from it and then the trembling of her own body and the feeling of to be at home when she jumps up and embraces the impressive hunk before her. The tremor in the core of her belly as she attacks lips that seem to have been made just for her. The vertigo she feels when Ronald Weasley, "Ron", her first, one and only true love, makes her flutter like a schoolgirl in the embrace that envelops her as he kisses her back with such intensity that she feels her toes curl and the shudder of her centre becomes so intense it burns. It burns like the very fires of hell within her.

He loves her.

She loves him.

And both will fight like hell, against any power in heaven or on earth that tries to separate them again.

The End.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33865393

#Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Ron/Hermione #ROMIONE #Kreacher

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kl-writes · 3 years ago

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One thousand words a day is too much!

How many times do you have to tell a story before it consumes you and becomes redemption? 1001.

There’s nothing funnier than being told the twentieth “only right way to do something.” Particularly when the only difference is a step there or shifting your weight here. It teaches you things about the world you never had to think about in school, where there really was only one right answer. Supposedly. At least, you could count on there being only one right way to advance. Even the more open-ended arts and literature gave way to easily-graded grammar, symbolism, setting, spelling.

At the same time, there’s nothing worse than someone who is always responsible for when the right thing happens and never responsible for when the wrong thing happens. Even if it’s subjective who’s right or wrong, a three year old can spot that pattern.

When I was eight, I caught a basketball wrong and broke my finger. When I went into the living room of my grandparents’ house to show my parents, my mom asked my dad to set it back in place. I didn’t trust him to do it in a way that wouldn’t hurt, so in my arrogance I set it back myself. So my pinky finger will always be a little bent. Maybe I should wax poetic about how I’d rather hurt myself than trust someone else and get hurt. Or maybe I was a dumb eight year old who knew it would hurt either way, but would rather risk doing it wrong than have an adult do it. I’m almost twenty-five and I still don’t trust the notion of “adults.” “Adults” are awful people.

In middle school, my friend R- and I talked about keeping our middle names secret so that we couldn’t be True Name’d or impersonated. We shared our middle names readily. We worried about our parents, who already knew our middle names. It wasn’t a very good secret.

I would get frustrated with myself in middle school for not having the drive to finish knitting a simple scarf. I made a few bookmarks and coasters. I never considered that maybe the problem was that knitting was boring. These days, I have no issue finishing scarves, so long as the knitting is accompanied by a particularly long and dry class.

I used to plan conversations, sentence by sentence, before I had them. It avoids any freezing-up you might do on the phone, and helps you make it through the conversation. Nowadays, I still hold useless conversations in my head and in my dreams, but I no longer need them. The army’s made me almost too brash.

I hated creative writing lessons in middle school because the teachers always wanted you to write about real life. Nothing was less interesting or more stale and putrid than my life. I think I made up what happened and exaggerated for the assignment. I still dislike that I had to do it, since it bothers me to no end when my mother lies for the sake of a good story. I never had any issue writing or reading fiction, when people knew it was escapism.

I forget the names of second cousins and neglect to ask the names of people I sit across from at lunch for months. I don’t call anyone, and my facebook messages to my sisters are more to show my own excitement for whatever video game or image I’ve found engaging or funny. I dread getting calls, but I don’t despise calls from my Grandma Z- like my mother claims to. I don’t know if she does anymore, my mom isn’t the same person who raised me anymore. That’s a good thing.

I want to connect to people, to scream when I’m mad, to cry when I’m sad, and to spread my joy to those I care about. But I don’t like dealing with problems or obligations that arise from relationships, and I prefer that everything fades away and that I am forgotten. People wouldn’t like “me,” But “I” have a very judgy and spiteful personality. I know better than to sling barbs at others, so I hold my tongue and bury myself ever deeper. Till we’re nothing but pins in a sewing tomato of needles.

They say that Terry Pratchet wrote 400 words a day! Less than what most writing blogs and advice says (1k words, 1.6k if you’re on nanowrimo), but I bet that Pratchett was more prolific than all of them combined! Writing’s a marathon, not a sprint. So that’s why I’m following his sage wisdom, and writing 400 words a month. Absolutely nothing to do with my own lack of discipline, self-imposed sleep deprivation, or general flakiness.

Maybe it’s a problem when things that bring you joy turn into products. There’s a number attached to everything on the internet these days, and I scrutinize even what little heuristics I can squeeze from my AO3 fics. I used to delete unfinished fics all the time, back in middle school, since I only managed a chapter or two and then got bored and moved on. I shamed myself. I’m better now- I no longer delete fics, since I no longer risk writing anything that long and publishing it. My record word count on any work is 18k, and that one was encyclopedic in nature. Pretty much useless, too, but at least the journey was fun.

It’s far easier to spend money on fancy writing books and fancier typewriters than it is to actually write. That’s why I love my AlphaSmart 3000! It was cheap, so it doesn’t hurt as much that I don’t write on it often! (Plus, I bet it’d survive a nuclear fallout)

I gotta be careful not to send to computer too often, though. Then I start psychoanalyzing the word count, pitifully smaller than all my estimates. Writing may be one task where you want to train to time, not to task. But that’s just the pessimism and lack of ambition speaking! Battery life’s pretty Gucci tho…

The strangest thing of all is that the stories I want to read aren’t the ones I enjoy writing, when everything’s said and done. I love the prep, I love the planning, but actually sitting down and going for it after all that work? That’s a no-go. And seat-of-the-pants writing for me leads to incoherent-to-semicoherent blobs of nothing. Word count ain’t anything. So if I like twists, and mysteries, and all sorts of odds and ends, should I break all conventional wisdom and seek to surprise myself with the ending? Should I produce a murder victim with no murderer? I still think the goose was behind everything in Hot Fuzz, so maybe everything’s reasonable if you do it with style.

I like weighty stories, too, but I loathe to write my own weight.

The best fancy writing book out there is Elements of Style, no shot. Stephen King’s “On Writing” is the worst since 12 year old me was irritated that there was no writing advice, and 12 year old me skipped the intro where he talked about how the book wasn’t really about how to write. Intros and prologues annoyed me, since I read a lot of pulp fantasy with useless introductions. Eragon got me into the habit of skimming large blocks of text (My apologies to Paolini), so when I read denser stuff I would miss things and have to go back and reread, lest I frustrate myself with the text. Back then, useless introductions and unimportant blocks of text were just things that books had, they weren’t the subject of critique or judgement. So I wonder why I treat my own works with a judgement I never extend to others? It’s all or nothing with me. Either a sentence is perfect, or the entire passage is barely decipherable but free of spelling errors.

Did you know that you could do warm-ups for writing? Just write nonsense, and then when you run out of nonsense the rest of what you write that day will be fine. I don’t know a better way to hit daily wordcount goals and still feel like you’re doing something meaningful.

#writing #on writing #1364 if you count the title lets goooooo

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spaceorphan18 · 4 years ago

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Author Spotlight: Kuhlaine Day 3

Author: @kuhlaine

How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

It depends! My first draft is always just a rough 'get the words on the page' type of draft. If it's un-beta'd, I'll transfer the rough draft to a new document and do a fresh pass through the following day to fine tune, then work on formatting and do one last pass through for spelling errors after giving myself a break from looking at the material. If it's a beta'd project, I'll go through and start adding my comments/concerns and shoot them off to my beta. Once we've worked through all of theirs and my comments I do one last pass through for any last minute changes and I'm good to post!

tldr: two and a half-ish drafts for un-beta'd works, closer to four drafts for beta'd projects!

If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

I'd revise Cross the Line, which was the first fic I ever posted! I took a 9 month hiatus before posting the last chapter (which I'm so, SO sorry about, I promise I won't do it again), and I always worried that it felt like there was a distinct shift in the tone of the story once I posted that final chapter months later. I'd want to do a proper outline for that fic and draw out the last few chapters a little more. I had originally wanted things to go down slightly differently, but I felt like it was too late to scrap that draft when I was already months behind posting my latest chapter.

What do you look for in a beta?

I've been working with my beta, Adri, for my past two multi-chapter fics and my next WIP, and honestly I'd say I'd look for someone like her, as shameless as that is to say! She's amazing - none of my work would be what it is without her guidance and influence on the writing process.

Usually, my greatest concern with my work is that the logic is always sound. Sometimes things that make sense to me don't make sense to someone else - likewise, I created these characters, and I control their thoughts and actions. Sometimes I may know why they chose to act a certain way, but the reader might not - so having someone who's able to call things like that out, for clarity and context, is SUPER helpful! A great memory is also amazing because I have a bad habit of forgetting some of the more minute details in my fics (and also forgetting that Adam exists).

If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

Oh gosh, that's so tough... I feel like most of my favorite fics end in really wonderfully fitting ways. I think it'd be fun to take a crack at a Little Numbers sequel - the fic is absolutely astounding on its own, so this would just be a shameless chance to get to try out writing in that very unique format.

Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

I definitely take liberties! I like to weave in nods to canon throughout my fics just for fun, and because they make for intriguing plots when put into a new setting/context, but I'm really not one for canon compliance - since I'm not a huge fan of some of the details in canon.

Talk about a review that made your day.

Lots of reviews make my day! I'm very easy to please, honestly. If you say you like it, it makes my heart swell.

One review that particularly stuck with me was someone who said it had been years since they'd read a newer fic, and had taken a chance on one of my fics. When I first rejoined the fandom I was definitely hesitant to read newer works, and wanted to stick with the classic fics that I knew and loved at first - knowing that someone took a chance on me as an author who was very late, and very new, to the fandom really meant a lot to me!

Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

Not really! This is a wonderfully supportive community and I've never gotten anything but kind and lovely comments.

I'd like to think that if I got a negative review I'd leave it be and forget about it - but realistically I'd probably obsess about it for a long time, forget about it for years, then it'll come back to me in the middle of the night years later.

As for critique/constructive feedback - I welcome it! My writing is critiqued/workshopped pretty much every day at work, so it's something I'm always very open and welcome to hearing!

What advice do you have for people just starting to write?

Don't be discouraged if the kudos/comments are slow to start! When I first started posting fic, it took me quite a bit to start getting kudos/comments, but I kept going because I had this thing I really wanted to write, and figured I might as well share it regardless of whether anyone was reading, because I knew I was going to write it either way. I posted (somewhat) consistently, and eventually readers started to come along!

And write what YOU want to write! Don't write something that you're not passionate/excited about or that you feel like you /have/ to write, it'll just make the writing process unnecessarily difficult for you.

Which fic do you most like to discuss with other people? Why?

I'll talk about The Sidhe to anyone who will listen - it's one of my favorite fics of all time.

As for my own fic, I don't talk about many of them very often to others! I'm generally very vague when talking about my non-work-related writing to my friends. Though, I'm adapting Even Then, Especially Now into an original work, so that's the only project I've talked about a little more explicitly with them.

What's one aspect of writing fic that gets you really excited?

Creating worlds! I don't write fantasy or sci-fi, but I think you still do a great deal of world building with any story - you're creating characters and friend groups and social constructs and settings. I love those first few chapters when you're really setting the scene, introducing your cast of characters and what their world is like and how they operate.

I also LOVE finally getting to the climatic point in a story and just writing my heart out! It's the moment I've been waiting for as a writer, and usually the moment the reader will have been waiting for, and it's so exciting to do all this building and just dive right in to this insane, emotional, rollercoaster of a moment.

***

Check out Kuhlaine’s Fics

The First of Many - Kurt Hummel is overworked, exhausted, and desperately needs a drink. Or two. Blaine Anderson is underpaid, heartbroken, and dreading the thought of heading home for the holidays. When the two meet at neighboring bachelor/ette parties in Las Vegas, they wake up with more than just hangovers - a sky high room service bill, and a pair of wedding rings.

My Personal Hell - Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson have never been able to get along, much less stand to be in the same room alone for more than 10 minutes. When their petty rivalry causes them to miss their bus back home to Lima after a glee club competition in Middle of Nowhere, Illinois, they'll have to do more than just spend 10 minutes alone together.

You've Got Kudos! - In which Blaine gets tipsy and posts fanfiction about himself and Kurt on Archive of Our Own.

#author spotlight: kuhlaine

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chick-from-nz · 4 years ago

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Paper, Scissors, Rank (Ch: 2)

CHARACTER/PAIRING: Modern!Carrillo x Army!OC (eventually)

WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, military slang, spelling and grammatical errors. Could be very OOC/AU for some. Flippy, floppy point of views (if it can be called that?)

AUTHORS NOTE: ok so last chapter went down ok so here's some more, bit more establishment, still no first names, nothing too exciting i guess. There is a slight easter egg from my life in here, kudos to anyone who picks up on it.LT. is short for lieutenant, i got a lil lazy sometimes.

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

CHAPTER: 2 OF ?

TAG LIST (OPEN) : @girlpornparadise @1zashreena1 @xxidontwikeitxx @nicke0115 @allalngthewtchtower @lettherebrelight

The following day dawned far quicker than any of the cadets would have predicted, especially Greyson. Having barely scraped through with an hour’s sleep, she was beyond exhausted and unusually grumpy, sure that her day couldn't get any worse; she hurried to get dressed and make it to the formation point before half of the platoon. Today was the worst day of the assessment week, the longest day as it had been dubbed by many a cadet before her.

This day consisted of gruelling runs that took cadets over hilly terrain, beaches and rivers that lasted for kilometres, a brutal obstacle course that consisted of dark tunnels, water filled trenches and meters upon meters of barbed wire to crawl under followed by clambering up and over a ten-foot wall. Each cadet had only three chances of completing the wall, by this time they were beyond pushed to their limits, struggling to find footholds and places to grab, and just when they thought they were to clear it, instructors would make distractions and try and get them to fail.

Many cadets had failed to complete the final obstacle, although they were never allowed to view the other cadets completing the course due to being forced to run down a steep slope that led to a shooting range. Where they would complete a rifle strip and assembly, followed by a long-range shoot where each cadet had to hit three specific locations on the human shaped target before returning back to the top of the slope, only to run more laps while waiting for their turn on the obstacle course.

Little did the cadets know that today was the day they were to be assessed by the Columbian officer, his presence unknown to all. All but one it seemed. Unbeknownst to cadet Greyson, she had been spotted on her little escapade the night before, the colonel silently admiring the courage of the one he had spotted from a distance. He was yet to pinpoint the exact cadet that he had seen slinking back into the shadows and away from the instructor’s campsite the night before but he was determined to find out exactly which recruit it was, for they had unknowingly impressed the Colonel and were now a prime candidate for a future role on his team.

After completing the exhausting 15 kilometre cross country run, and having near perfect precision on her rifle assessment, cadet Greyson was the next in line for the obstacle course. This would be a test of her determination, skill and brute strength. Although tired she breezed through the first half of the course, minor obstacles such as a rope bridge, balancing beam and tires barely made her flinch. The next obstacle, the barbed wire crawl was going to be tough. thirty meters of rough sand that she had to crawl through as flat as possible, as each time she touched the wires she would lose points. Greyson made it a good twenty meters before she made the first mistake of the course, rising just a smidge too high in the sand to make it round a tight bend in the track.

“Cadet Greyson get that ass of yours down or I’ll have you running laps till daybreak tomorrow” Lieutenant Colonel Sinclair all but screamed at her.

The sudden sound threw Greyson off and she made a further two touches to the wires before finally making it out of the sand trap. Grimacing at her loss of points she had no choice but to push on, least the LT. Colonel think she is quitting, although she wouldn’t put it past him to deduct a few more points for convenience sake. Greyson powered up the hill towards her next obstacle as fast as her tired legs would carry her. The cargo net was next on the agenda. This particular barrier was going to be a tough one. Requiring mass amounts of lower and upper body strength that she wasn't sure she had left to give.

The daunting net was around fifteen-foot-tall, filled up with broken ropes and fake footings which required the recruit to take a few seconds to plan a route before attempting the obstacle. Greyson briefly scanned the net, not really clocking a path in her tired state and launched herself as high as she could onto the net, trying to make the vertical climb shorter if possible. She was nearly at the top when her left foot came up short for placement and she slipped down the net, hanging on by only her right arm.

Dangling there her mind began to race, she was dog-tired, each muscle in her body wound so tight with tension she was sure something was going to snap. It occurred to her that this was why today was marked as the hardest day for any cadet, officer or otherwise, in the force. Having been up for the last 11 hours and being pushed towards her breaking point, she knew that she had to pull herself up and keep moving forward with the net, if she didn't, this could be the deciding factor that would have her discharged before she even made it to graduation. She may have been at the top of the cadets in the numbers game but nobody was safe.

Pulling herself together with the thought of the placement on the Intel team at stake Greyson gave one final heave of her tired muscles and reached the top of the cargo net. Waiting a few seconds to catch her breath and assess how much of the course was left, in doing so she inadvertently glanced to where the instructors were standing.

As usual Major Benn and Lieutenant O’Connor were down there silently cheering her on and bantering between themselves, LT. Col Sinclair was standing there with his trademark smirk, surrounded by the most perfect five o’clock shadow she’d ever seen on a man, looking mighty proud of something. But unlike the usual line-up there was a fourth person amongst them, his face betrayed no emotion, other than the fact he looked mildly bored from the banter happening around him by, what Greyson assumed, would be lower ranks to himself. It dawned on her suddenly. Those broad shoulders and arms were familiar. It was the unknown officer she spotted last night while snooping. Given he was standing with the instructors Greyson took it upon herself to deduce that this was, in fact, the mystery officer from Columbia.

And damn if he doesn’t look twice as delicious in the afternoon sun Greyson[BW1] thought to herself.

With a renewed purpose and an officer to impress she made quick work on climbing down the adjacent side of the cargo net, being more careful of her footing now, lest she fall flat on her ass in front of the handsome sir below. Dropping from the net and becoming briefly disorientated Greyson took a moment to gather herself before tearing off towards the second to last barrier between her and the finish line. The dark tunnels that dropped into deep water filled trenches.

Climbing through the pitch-black tunnel that led towards, what she considered to be, the most algae water she had ever encountered, Greyson inadvertently counted up her penalties she was sure to have incurred so far. Dropping roughly five meters into freezing cold, murky water, the thought was quickly dispelled from her mind as she fought to steady her breath and make her way towards the light at the end of the not so proverbial tunnel.

Breaching the other side and adjusting to what was now a too bright afternoon she took a deep breath of the crisp air. Greyson thanked the gods that she only had one more obstacle left of this wretched course. The cold water had seeped deep into her muscles, down to the bone, and she was struggling to fight off the shivers that came with it. Making her way towards the dreaded last obstacle as fast as her waterlogged boots and now exceedingly heavy uniform would allow her she took some time to come up with different ways to get over the ten foot barrier that stood between her and a well deserved hour of rest and food.

Deciding to use the supporting beams for the wall as a way to bring herself closer to the top, Greyson carefully pulled herself up onto the beam, gripping the edge of the wall for support, before taking a few steading breaths and stretching out her limbs one by one, being careful not to slip back down to the ground and forfeit her first chance at the wall. Each of her limbs seemed to free up from the tension of the day, and, with great care, Greyson made her first attempt at making it over the wall. Gathering all of what remained of her strength she pushed up with her legs and reached as high as she could, managing to just barely snag the top of the wall with the fingers of her right hand. Now with a grip established she heaved herself up towards the top of the wall, swinging her left leg up as high as she could to gain a steady position on the wall. Having hooked her foot on the wall she heaved herself to sit atop it. She felt more than accomplished sitting on the wall, she wasn’t sure how she had the strength to complete the course that was now just one dismount away from being in her past.

Getting up on the wall was one thing, getting down the other side when all the energy in your body has dissipated, that is another thing. Or so cadet Greyson was about to find out.

Swinging her right leg over and hanging off the side of the wall, her grip failed, sending her promptly to the floor in a not so graceful heap. Gathering her senses Greyson sat up, looking around and assessing herself to see if she had sustained any injuries from the drop. Deciding that she was, in fact, perfectly fine, she bolted to her feet and jogged over to the finish line before collapsing in a heap of over exerted and aching limbs. Laying on the ground and looking up at the bright blue sky was almost worth the last twelve hours of pain she had been through, so much so that Greyson almost forgot where she was, or at least would have if it wasn't for the pristinely polished combat boots interrupting her brief moment of respite. Without looking up she knew who it was, LT. Colonel Sinclair.

Greyson looked up, clocked the hand being held out to her and begrudgingly let the officer help her to her feet, she swayed as her body was finally back to being upright. When she finally gained her bearings she realised she was still clinging to the LT. Colonels hand for dear life. blushing she dropped his hand like it was made of fire and came to attention, saluting him as per rank and giving a brief: “thank you sir”

“I would like to commend your efforts on the course Greyson, you have far exceeded everyone's expectations of you, being the first cadet to accomplish the full confidence course today. And..” he trailed off, leaning closer that strictly professional to whisper “i would expect nothing less from my favourite cadet”

Greyson noted the way his voice dropped an octave lower than usual, taking on a tone that screamed danger for her career but drew her in hook line and sinker. Which she suspected was his goal. She dared glace up to gage his reaction and instantly regretted it. They were barely an inch or two apart, a compromising situation at the best of times, but even more so between a lowly cadet and a LT. Colonel such as himself. Catching his eye for a brief second Greyson had no choice but to quickly avert her gaze. His pupils were blown wide and that stupidly handsome smirk was back on his face. She regretted the fact that she was unable to hide her obvious attraction to the man who was far too many ranks above her to ever return the feeling.

The LT. Colonel noticed the flushed face and embarrassment but also clear attraction in the cadets posture, chuckling lowly to himself, but loud enough for her to hear, he blew out a low breath, drawing back he assessed her posture once again. She seemed to have relaxed a small amount now that there was some space between them. Deciding he’d teased her enough for now he grabbed her shoulder softly, drawing her eyes upwards to his own, and what pretty eyes they were

“I want you to go back to the campsite, have a dhobe and rest till the last recruit returns back to the campsite tonight. You’ve earnt this Greyson” he threw one last wink in her direction, his usual smirk only growing wider when she blushed a deep red from the neck up. And without so much as another word he spun on his heel forgoing any argument or obligatory salute from the cadet and headed back to the start of the obstacle course to wait for the next recruit to start their assessment.

Cadet Greyson let out a shaky breath, glad that that interaction was over, because god knew that man was trouble. But she was attracted to the authority that came with it. She glanced up quickly to see if anyone and overseen one of her and the LT. Colonel’s strange, but frequent, intimate little conversations. If they could be called that. By the looks of it, the coast was clear. Or thats what she thought until she turned to look in the direction of the last obstacle of the course.

Standing there, shoulder set and posture somewhat relaxed but humming with authority, was the Columbian Colonel. She was close enough to see the way his whole body seemed to be singing with tension. Daring to gage the reaction on his face she trailed her eyes up his body. Starting at the impeccably polish boots, up his long, strong legs that were caged within a pair of military fatigues that clung to him like a second skin. She drew her eyes across that wide chest covered by, yet again, clothes that looked painted on but made him look oh so desirable. The tan skin of his arms that was exposed by the green t-shirt he was wearing was a sight to behold, his arms strong in a way that makes you want to be held in them in all different kinds of situations.

Glancing just that bit higher she took in his face for the first time in good lighting. Strong jaw that was clean shaven, strong nose encompassed by defined, but not overly so, cheekbones. Eyes, that even from the distance between them, she could feel commanded attention in any space he occupied. And an eyebrow that was arched in her direction.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, not you Greyson thought. That was the last thing she wanted, her hopefully future boss, thinking that she fucked her way to top spot on the cadet course. Without giving so much of a second thought to the senior officer, mainly due to the slightly overwhelming panic she was feeling, Greyson turned on her heel, and surprisingly in her fatigued state, manage to maintain a quick pace back to the campsite, where she knew she could comfortable rest for the next few hours while the rest of the cadets finished the assessment day.

Hopefully, tomorrow the new Colonel will be introduced so i can attempt to clear my name from that embarrassing act he just witnessed Cadet Greyson muttered quietly while reclining on her sleeping mat. Wishful thinking worked well at the best of times.

#horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x oc #horacio carrillo x reader #paper scissors rank #chapter 2 #narcos fanfic #modern au

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eirist · 6 years ago

Text

Little Bits and Pieces of Heaven

THIS FIRST NIGHT

One-shot #: 8

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot. PWP (not the M one).

Rating: T (Suggestive. Slightly.)

Note: This was supposed to be an entry for a challenge but RL got in the way as usual. I’m trying to get writing back in my system, so bear with me.

Summary: The swordsman and the navigator and their first night as a couple.

“Hey,”

Nami glanced up from the map she was currently working on. Her move was so sudden that her eye glasses slipped down to perch precariously at the tip of her nose.

Peering over their rim, she turned and stared at the tall figure of their swordsman as he stepped away from the ladder of the Sunny’s bathhouse.

How he was able to get inside the library and the bathhouse without her knowledge is way beyond her. But then again he IS Roronoa Zoro. He can be stealthy when he wants to… despite being a large man standing almost six feet tall.

That or she was just too engrossed with her maps and measurements to the point of being oblivious.

"Staying up late?" He asked as he casually strode towards her mapping desk where she spent the last three hours hunched over, drawing.

Nami nodded, watching him approach while lazily running a hand through his still wet hair.

She felt her hand twitched slightly as the urge to replace it with her own coursed through her.

The corner of her lips quirked up at the familiar sensation she felt. Oh, she was used to this sudden compulsion of wanting to touch him at random moments. He had that effect on her for quite some time.

She replaced her quill on the ink bottle before lifting a hand, beckoning to him to come closer.

He responded by reaching out to clasp it on his own before planting a kiss on it.

“I’ve got maps to finish,” she murmured. The smile never left her face as she looked up to him. He was now standing beside her with one hand resting behind the chair while the other remained holding her own.

“So I’ve been told,” Zoro mumbled against her hand, his breath tickling her skin.

“By who?”

“Usopp,” he answered, nonchalantly leaving another kiss on her palm before releasing her hand.

“Oh?” Nami chuckled, resting her elbow on the desk and cradling her cheek on her hand. “I take it you were looking for me then?” She asked in an amused tone.

Zoro nodded his head in assent. “Yes,” he answered, moving his face closer to hers. “But he said you’ve holed yourself up here and no one was to disturb you. Or interests will sky rocket.”

She leaned back on her chair with a laugh; mindful of the bare skin of her back touching his hand lightly and sending pleasant warmth all over her body. “Yes, no one,” she lifted her head a bit to plant a kiss on his chin, the one place she can easily reach.

“Not even the boyfriend?”

This time her laugh was full of delight as her eyes twinkled with mirth at the word she never, ever in her wildest dreams thought would come out from the mouth of one Roronoa Zoro.

“Well it seems to me that the boyfriend was just as busy,” she countered. “You were holed up in the Crows’ nest yourself, I’ve been told.”

A corner of his mouth lifted slightly at that. “And who told you? Usopp?”

“The one and only.”

“Looking for me too?” He straightened up to lean against the mapping table, folding his arms across his ever delectable chest.

“Yes,” she admitted. She reached out to play with the knotted string of his pants, touching the bare skin above it absentmindedly. He was only wearing his favored dark green sleeping pants and to Nami, nothing was more enthralling to look at than her half-naked swordsman.

He looked—undoubtedly—amused, both in what she said and what she was doing. “I was training woman,” he explained. “You were busy with your maps.”

“And you busied yourself with your weights.”

He chuckled at her come back. “Well we both have things to do.”

She nodded in agreement. They stared at each other for a few seconds, before Zoro scratched the back of his head. “So...” he began, looking a bit uneasy. “This feels a bit weird…”

Nami swore she could see a red tinge on his cheeks as he looked away. She removed her glasses and set it down the table carefully, frowning. “How so?”

Zoro opened his mouth to speak only to clamped it shut again. He can’t seem to put his thoughts into words.

It was so much easier when they were both still unsure of what they were feeling for each other; even when they finally realized it and were both trying to figure out what to do with it. They could just easily hide behind their constant fights and disagreements or the endless bickering and shouting matches.

Well that was until that unexpected kiss in front of Nami’s mikan trees after a long and loud argument. About what, he can’t remember. But it was worse enough to drive some of their crewmates away from the Sunny for a few good hours just to escape them (though the cook had to be dragged away forcefully to prevent him from adding fuel to the fire); and almost prompted their captain to intervene when he got back with the doctor and the sniper and saw that they were still going at it.

A gentle reminder from Usopp was the reason why Luffy chose not to be involved. Zoro might relent but surely Nami won’t. Not when they started fighting from the Crow’s Nest and miraculously managed to locate themselves at the upper deck of the ship while still shouting at each other. Nami is in for the kill and surely Luffy has this goal to achieve, ne?

So their captain and the others left them alone in hope that they will eventually tire out. After ten minutes, the yelling suddenly stopped and silence reigned in the Sunny. Usopp and Chopper glanced at each other in dread. If a fight like that suddenly went into a standstill someone probably—NO—definitely got maimed! Even Luffy had an unreadable expression on his normally goofy face.

There was loud bang that almost made them jump out of their skins. A few seconds later, a totally pissed off and red-faced Nami emerged from the kitchen, stomped down the stairs and marched across the lawn deck towards the girls’ room as the others held their breaths, trying not to make any sound. When Nami slammed the door close, the three youths exchanged concerned glances but no one moved to approach the navigator’s room to inquire what happened. They like their heads attached to their necks after all.

Zoro was still on the upper deck, rubbing a hand on his face exasperatedly. Well that ended it.

Honestly he wasn’t sure what possessed him to kiss her. All he could remember is how radiant she looked with the setting sun glinting against her hair and her cheeks flushed red from anger and shouting. He barely registered what she was yapping about. At that moment it did not matter.

She looked irresistible—angry and exasperated—while chewing his head off. And then he realized a normal person should not find enraged people who are in the middle of their tirade endearing in anyway.

And that was when he immediately knew.

He had taken a step towards her and in one sudden move he had both of his hands on each side of her face, his lips pressed against hers in a light kiss.

That shut her up. Shut her up for a good number of days because she absolutely refused to talk to him. It took almost three weeks, a crazy adventure in a random island and a bit of man-handling before they were able to find a common ground. All because she stubbornly refused to acknowledge what happened and what she was actually feeling for him.

And now here they are. Together. Officially.

And… truth be told, he doesn’t have any idea what to do from here on.

Nami suddenly flicked his nose to get his attention. She had stood up from her desk and was right in front of him.

“Oi. What was that for?” He complained, rubbing his nose and glaring at her.

She had the gall to smile cheekily. “You were spacing out. Getting lost in your own thoughts?”

“I was just thinking you witch.”

“What are you thinking about Zoro?”

He made a gesture between them. “This,” he replied.

“This?” She repeated, pointing at herself, then at him and back again. “Us?”

“Yeah.”

Nami’s brows furrowed at that. “What about it?” She stared at him as he gazed back at her so seriously. The mapmaker drew back a little with a look of apprehension on her face. “Don’t tell me you are having second thoughts?!” She almost shrieked.

“Huh?” Zoro dumbly reacted to her outburst.

“Do not give me a damn good reason to electrocute your ass right now,” she snarled at him.

“What?!” The ex-pirate hunter looked at her incredulously. “The hell Nami!” He let out an exasperated sigh. “I was just thinking—”

“Are you thinking you don’t want this?” She cut him off, glowering at him with hands on her hips.

“Oi!” Zoro retorted immediately. Talk about jumping to conclusions. “That’s not what I was thinking.” The navigator glared daggers at him. He reached for her hands so he can pull her closer to him.

“I want this Nami,” he stated firmly. His hands rubbed up and down her arms in an attempt to pacify her simmering temper. “Don’t get me wrong. This is new for me alright? I just... don’t know how to...” he seemed to be searching for the right word to use. “How to... be a boyfriend.” He finally admitted albeit glumly.

The clenching feeling in Nami’s stomach loosened and her hand flew to her mouth when she realized what he meant. Oh Kami! It was not easy for a man with an immense pride as Roronoa Zoro to admit his faults or insecurities. Heck, he would rather be dead than outright confess on how pathetic his sense of direction is.

But here he is... willingly voicing out how clueless he is when it comes to relationships.

He wrapped both of his arms around her waist. “But I do want this. I would not have dealt with all that trouble if I didn’t.”

Nami felt relief wash over her after his revelation. She cupped both of his cheeks in her hands, looking straight into his unscarred eye. “Oh Zoro,” she murmured. “You are such a lost boy. You are getting lost even in this.”

The swordsman scowled at her obviously teasing remark and released his hold on her.

The orange-haired in turn, stood on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his scowling lips. “Don’t worry I still like you,” she smiled at him affectionately.

“Hmph!”

Nami sniggered. Can he be any cuter than this? And Kami, cute is not a word you associate with Zoro. But somehow seeing this formidable man turn to a naïve, 21-year-old who is still on his first brush with romance… it was just too hard to resist.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Though to be honest,” Nami whispered. “I’m kind of expecting this is what being with you is gonna be like. Complete with awkwardness, uncertainty and getting lost somewhere.”

“Really?” Zoro asked, sarcasm evident in his tome. “I think you don’t know what to do either.” He callously pointed out.

Nami smirked at his statement. “Well, it’s not like I have time for romance, pirate hunter. I was busy surviving and stealing in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I haven’t.”

“But I, at least, have an inkling somehow,” Nami continued, tapping a finger on his chest. “While you are absolutely zilch. Besides what’s important is, I do know what I want to do to you,” she murmured suggestively, winking at him and making his face heat up at the insinuation.

“Na-MI,” he growled with warning in his tone.

“Well, since you are this clueless, why don’t we ask Sanji-kun for tips?” She suggested flippantly, looking too mischievous for his liking.

“Hell NO!”

She laughed at his reaction.

“That ero-kappa’s not allowed anywhere near you from now on,” Zoro snarled. Trust the swordsman to lose his cool at the mention of his rival’s name.

That only served to make Nami laugh harder. Kami, so the usually stoic Supernova can get jealous after all. “Sanji-kun’s not a threat and you know that.” Nami assured him.

Zoro gritted his teeth. That shitty cook may not be as Nami was his now, but he can’t help but think that when it comes to wooing, attending and flattering women with flashy gestures and flowery words, that stupid swirly brows takes the cake.

The navigator decided that that is enough teasing seeing how Zoro’s jaw was clenched tight. “Relax Zoro,” she murmured. She planted a kiss on his chin, making sure to let her lips linger longer. “I chose you. Even if you made me think that you are thinking twice about us.”

Zoro leveled his gaze at her. “When did I ever made a decision half-heartedly Nami?” He asked with so much seriousness that it stopped her.

When did he ever? He was always so strong-willed and steady. And she admired and respected those traits of his. She knows that once he makes up his mind, nothing can stop him. And he doesn’t make any important decisions out of whim. When he finally decided to pursue her, she realized that he seriously wanted to be with her, if she was willing to take him.

She stared into his lone, grey eye. He was looking at her so intensely that she can feel delicious shivers running up and down her spine.

A smile appeared on her lips and she softly ran a thumb on his lower lip, tracing it before answering. “Never,” she murmured looking deep into his unscarred eye. “You were always so decisive Zoro.”

The corner of his mouth lifted at her answer—just right where her thumb rested—before he pulled her close for a kiss to which she eagerly responded. His mouth moved gently against hers; taking his time to enjoy the softness of her lips, the taste of her mouth. It was a far cry from the usual brash and dominating way he’s been subjecting her to during their previous encounters.

Drawing back a bit, Zoro raised an eyebrow at her. “I hope that ends those weird thoughts you are having,” he muttered. He had known Nami long enough to be familiar with her uncertainties and insecurities. And he had realized a few weeks back that sometimes, the navigator needs assertion to put those to rest.

He tucked an orange strand that escaped her ponytail behind her ear and Nami wrapped a hand around his wrist. “I could say the same regarding Sanji-kun,” she countered. “Remember who I chose.”

“It’s not like you really have a choice in that matter,” Zoro answered back with his trademark smirk.

She quirked an eyebrow at that.

He stooped down a little to whisper on her ear. “You are already way deep into this,” he said smugly.

The navigator bonked him on the head.

“Damn it Nami!”

“You deserve that,” she huffed. “You are so full of yourself.”

Zoro rubbed his head, saying nothing. But the cocky smirk that reappeared on his lips again says a lot about what he is thinking.

That would have earned him another knuckle on the head but Nami decided that that would enough for tonight. She can always whoop his ass some other time. For now…

“Say, it’s quiet tonight don’t ya think?” Zoro suddenly pointed out.

Nami blinked, processing his observation. “Now that you mention it, yeah it is.”

“Probably why it feels a little bit weird for me… no noisy nakama around.” He muttered while looking at her a bit suggestively.

“Come to think of it, this IS the first time that we’re alone together. Our very first night alone together.” Nami sing-songed winking at him.

Zoro’s grin was huge. “Then maybe we should drink to that?”

Nami snorted at his answer. “Good to know that some things don’t change and that we’ll keep on doing the same things as before.”

“And some more,” Zoro whispered nudging her towards him. He planted a quick kiss on her lips.

“So what do we do now,” Nami murmured against his lips. “No nakama around?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to just randomly jump you.”

“Why not? Feel free to do it. I’m not gonna stop you.”

This time her amused laughter echoed around the Sunny’s library. She didn’t know he had it in him. Heck, from now on, she’s gonna see a different side of the swordsman and the thought exhilarates her.

She hooked a finger on the waistband of his pants and pulled him closer to her as possible.

“What a greedy witch,” Zoro said with a sneer.

“Why yes I am.”

She squealed in surprise when he suddenly lifted her up in his arms effortlessly and guided her legs to wrap around his waist.

“Zoro!” She yelped out his name in a chastising tone, though her arms automatically wrapped themselves around his neck.

“What?”

She opened her mouth but no words to rebuke him came out. He was looking at her with one eyebrow raised, waiting. She merely settled into sticking her tongue out at him childishly.

He laughed, albeit lowly, his chest rumbling against hers. It was always amusing to get under the navigator’s skin. Old habits die hard after all. Just because they’re together now doesn’t mean they’d stop grating at each other’s nerves. “So what do you want to do now Nami?” He asked his breath tickling her ear.

Nami bit her lower lip to keep herself from answering you. A chuckle escaped Zoro. He must’ve realized what she was thinking. She grinned and kissed the tip of his nose. “Well we can do something that we enjoy best.”

“You mean, drinking?” Zoro answered with a shark-like grin. “Or fighting each other?”

“Ha-ha,” Nami responded sarcastically. “I can’t believe you! Is that why you always get on my nerves?!”

“That and you are actually a bitch sometimes.”

Nami turned her nose up at him. “I beg to differ we do have moments when we are not on each other’s throats. Like tonight.”

Zoro stared fondly at her. “Heh,” he replied. “Tonight’s different.” He said capturing her lips with his.

And she closed her eyes, delighting at the sensation of his lips on hers. She wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck as his hands lifted her up a bit to deepen their kiss.

When they pulled apart for air, he pressed his forehead against hers, while she hummed a bit in contentment.

“Just stay here with me Zoro,” Nami murmured. “I just want to be with you.”

He smiled at her. An unspoken understanding passed between them as they gazed at each other’s eyes. For now they will just bask in this rare, quiet moment where they can finally be spend time together and revel at their newly found connection.

Zoro brushed a kiss on her temple. “How about you go finish your maps?” He suggested. “I can clean my swords while I keep you company.”

Nami’s smile is unrivaled. They are still first and foremost the swordsman and the navigator of the Straw Hat Pirates. She’s got her maps, he’s got his swords. And the thought of doing what they both take pride in while so near to each other is somehow just as intimate as any other physical interaction they can share with each other.

“Then maybe after that we can…”

There was a sudden, impatient knock outside the library door.

“Uh Zoro? Nami?” The unmistakably shrill voice of their sniper called out. “Can I use the bath now? I’ve been waiting for my turn for like an hour!”

Nami and Zoro stared at each other with wide eyes. So much for no nakama around. It seems like they would have to kiss their first night alone together goodbye.

“I hope you two are done with whatever you’re doing in there.” Usopp’s voice was a bit loud for their liking. “I don’t want to see anything that will defile my eyes!”

#zoro x nami #ZoNa #roronoa zoro #nami #zonami #zonalove #zona one-shots #zoro nami fanfiction #one piece fanfiction

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arazialotis · 6 years ago

Text

Moto Grand Prix - Part 1

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: Around 3000

Warnings: swearing

Summary: A request from @acortez82 An idea I liked so much I decided to to a little series out of it. Jared invites Jensen to not just any motorcycle race but the biggest one of all. The final race of the grand prix happening in Valencia, Spain. A hot rival between seasoned veteran Suarez and new to circuits Esposio makes the excitement buzz in the air. Although knowing nothing about the sport, Jensen can’t help but root for the rookie. And just perhaps, he will leave Spain with more than just the love of the track.

Everything I write is beta’d by the wonderful and pristine @misguidedconqueress I couldn’t do it without her!

I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time. This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

Let the race begin!

----

As soon as the clapperboard snapped down, marking the end of filming and the start of winter break, Jensen raced to his trailer; bags already packed, wanting nothing more to run back home to the warm sunshine in Austin. While the rest of the cast and crew were celebrating with champagne, he was putting together the last bits of his travel details. A knock on the trailer door startled him from his thoughts and he went to answer, dreading anything that could keep him at work longer. Jared appeared on the other side, bundled up from the chill up yet still beaming with delight.

“I was hoping to catch you before you rushed off.” He laughed, his breath fogging in the air. Jensen nodded his head, directing him to come in. The wind slammed the door shut behind them. “Man, I am so sick of this weather.”

“You and me both, brother.” Jensen chuckled. “When I signed up to become an actor, I thought it’d be palm trees and beaches. Had I known they were going to ship us off to Canada, I might have thought twice. So uh, you doing anything fun with your time off?”

“Actually that is what I wanted to talk to you about.” Jared started. “But first let me give you an early Christmas gift.” He said, handing Jensen an envelope.

Jensen eyed him suspiciously before taking it from him. “With it still being over a month away, I’m afraid I can’t yet reciprocate the gesture.”

“Would you shut up and just open it.” Jared playfully ordered.

He ripped open the seal with his thumb and pulled out its contents. His eyes widened with shock as he tried to process what he was seeing. He looked at Jared for clarification but received nothing other than a smile. He held two tickets in his hand, one for an airline and the other for some type of sporting event.

Jared couldn’t contain his excitement any longer. “I scored tickets to the MotoGP!” “The what?” Jensen asked, still confused.

“Dude.” Jared chastised. “Grand Prix motorcycle racing. The last race of the year… In Valencia! To determine the winner. Esposio is so close to taking the lead…”

“Wait. Wait. Hold up. So you are taking me to Spain?” Jensen clarified.

“I’m taking you to Spain!” Jared exclaimed.

“Dude!” Jensen went in for a quick bro hug. “This is going to be awesome. God, how can I repay you?”

***

A few short weeks later, both Jensen and Jared had ventured to Spain. Seeing sights, experiencing local cuisine, and breathing in the glorious ocean air revived their spirits after months in the desolate Canadian winter. But the main event had yet to take place. Jared couldn’t keep his mouth shut the entire time. Naturally it caught Jensen up to speed. Apparently, many people were rooting for the racer named Esposio. It was his first tour and he was neck in neck with a long seasoned veteran of the tracks, Suarez. Esposio needed to place first to take the championship, and on top of that Suarez had the home track advantage.

Jared had made a vast understatement when he said he had scored seats. The VIP Lounge which they had access to was positioned right over the Ducati and Yamaha garages and just past the finish line, allowing them a great view of all the action. Jared was already schmoozing with other high rollers in the lounge but Jensen prefered to keep quiet, leaned up against the railing and watching the commotion in the pits. Part of him even wished he could be down there, working in the trenches, but knew he’d screw something up.

Anxiety and excitement heighted as the time for the race drew nearer and nearer. Jared pointed out Esposio, on a Ducati bike numbered 34, decked out in a grey and red uniform. The rider appeared nervous, looking back and forth between other drivers, checking and rechecking his bike’s mechanics. Jensen could understand why. From what Jared had explained, everything for him counted on this last race.

Before the crowd could even realize it, the race had begun. The bikes whizzed passed the stands; already heading into the first corner. Jensen gulped against a lump in his throat, realizing how close the bikes were to each other and how low they got at each turn, the drivers’ knees literally scraping the edge of the track. He kept a sharp eye on 34, dreadfully anticipating a crash at any moment as the bike weaved in and out, skillfully attempting to move closer to the lead.

The bikes drove out of sight, but the crowd could still make out the whirring of the engines. They grew distant, the seconds drawing out, the roar slowly building up until the bikes were visible again. A few made their way closer to the line and flew by once again. The crowd roared, Suarez already taking a place in the top three. Another large group sped past with Esposio caught in the middle. Finally a few stragglers joined the rest, and just like that the first lap was over.

Jensen felt a slap on his shoulder, which drew him from the trance.

“So first lap over, what do you think?” Jared boomed, energized from the action.

“Man. It is crazy. You think they’d let us test run after they are finished?” He playfully questioned.

Jared chuckled. “Dude, you would die before you even got to the first corner.”

“I know how to ride a bike.” Jensen rolled his eyes.

They watched the group take another corner, darting low to the ground. “Not like that.” Jared remarked.

“Not like that.” Jensen agreed.

The racers took each lap at incredible speed, the entire thing couldn’t last over an hour. He had trouble keeping track of the leaders and laps as most everything was conducted in Spanish. So instead he found himself keeping his eyes fixed on Esposio. He was sure tactics and strategy were involved but to what extent he had no idea. Esposio seemed to keep in third or fourth place a majority of the race, weaving in and out, darting dangerously in between other bikes. Jensen was simply amazed.

When it came down to the final two laps, a hush seemed to come over the crowd as everyone waited with anticipation to see if Esposio would be able to pull ahead. Even Jared’s bubbly expression was replaced by intense concentration. Almost as if Esposio had been holding back on the gas pedal, a burst of speed gave way taking him to second place.

The distance between first and second was noticeable and they were both going full speed, Esposio persistently chasing Suarez. The final lap sounded and Suarez quickly glanced behind. Both took the first curve tightly and little by little Esposio was gaining on him. Jensen was practically holding his breath.

Coming up on the fifth turn of the track, they were neck and neck, fighting for control of the inside corner. Suarez beat him to it, pulling a bit further ahead. Esposio had caught back up by the eigth curve, and again started the dance for control. Jensen watched on the screen as Suarez seemed to jolt his bike towards Esposio, almost as a threat. Esposio backed off, taking the outside of the curve, but then came speeding up on Suarez taking advantage at the ninth and tenth.

With only four more turns left, the crowd began to hold their breath with Jensen. Esposio held the lead but not by much. Both riders were so focused on the track ahead, yearning so badly for the win. With only a few more nail biting minutes left, the gap between Esposio and Suarez began to grow and grow as did the hope for victory. Finally, Esposio crossed the finish line and the crowd erupted with a roar. Esposio continued down the track throwing his hands up in the air. His hands came back down on the bike before popping a wheelie, gaining more cheers from the crowd.

As he made his way around the track once more for the victory lap, celebrating with the crowd, it was clear some Suarez fans were leaving the stands with sour faces. Esposio went to the Ducati pit and joined in dancing with the crew, jumping up into the coach’s arms and being lifted into the air.

During the time between the initial celebration and the podium, Jensen finally was able to part with the track to do a bit of schmoozing and grab some hors d'oeuvres. By the time he made his way back, Mayer had already took his place in third and Suarez on second - sporting a clenched jaw that raged with jealousy. As the announcer continued Jensen could barely translate, something about a new driver making history, Clelia Esposio, and the crowd erupted again as the racer made his way to stage.

The red and gray helmet came off with a flow of long hair shining in the sun and Jensen was struck. Time slowed as she made her way to the middle, accepting a medal and trophy. She kissed the announcer on the cheek and laughed before throwing both her hands up into the air with a yell. Time came back to speed as her team raided the podium with shaken up champagne bottles spraying her. She continued to the laugh and joined in the riot as Suarez grudgingly left the stage.

“So we coming back next year?” Jared asked Jay.

“You never told me Esposio was a girl.” He said breathless.

“Didn’t I?” Jared seemed confused. “I’m pretty sure I did. You interested?” He teased.

“Shut up.” Jensen shoved him with his elbow.

Jared chuckled. “Good, less competition for me.”

Jensen pleaded with any powers-that-be he’d be able to meet her.

***

The following morning, after a brisk morning bike ride, Jensen was heading back to his room for a quick shower before he planned to meet Jared for brunch. The hotel was classical romantic, filled with red stone floors and archways. Yellow lanterns hung from the ceiling and vibrant plants decorated the lobby. Sounds of birds echod along with the chatter of guests. Jensen made his way to the elevator, pushing for the doors to close.

“¡Espera!” A voice called before a hand then, an arm appeared; stopping the doors from closing.

As you made your way into the elevator, Jensen caught his breath. Despite the lack of helmet hair or a uniform, he recognized you immediately.

“Lo siento y gracias.” You spoke in your broken middle school level Spanish.

You pushed your button before looking to meet the stranger; both of you staring at each other, his soft green eyes invited you in. You looked away, blushing for the moment that lasted too long.

“Oh, um… No hablo Espanol.” Jensen stumbled.

“Oh.” You laughed, picking up on his accent. “Me neither, at least not well, but I am picking it back up little by little the more time I spend here.”

Both of you remained silent glancing at your feet, waiting for the elevator moving slowly up.

“So um…” Jensen dared to speak again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but uh, you look very similar to Clelia Esposio.” He kicked himself for asking a question he often was asked by fans. He knew you could easily blow him off if you weren’t interested.

You smiled and bit your lip, but excitement won over and you widely grinned, the victory of yesterday still resonating with you. “Actually that is because… I am…”

“Wow.” Jensen sighed. “You had an amazing race yesterday. I was there, watching the entire time.” “Hopefully not rooting for Suarez, that pig. Oh, don’t tell anyone I said that. Could cause a huge PR Scandal.” You laughed still getting used to all the publicity.

Jensen clearly understood. “You have my word.” He sincerely promised.

The atmosphere was suddenly interrupted as the elevator unexpectedly jolted down and then up again. You yelped and clung to the sides. The doors partially opened showing a concrete wall and then shut again. The elevator halted, the lights went off with only a dim light flashing. Jensen came from the corner he held steady to, to test the doors but they refused to open.

“Jeez.” He complained, taking a phone corded to the wall. “Hola. Ah yes, um… the elevator.” He looked at you desperate. “I have no idea what he is saying.” He whispered.

You gritted your teeth. “I can try.” You took the phone from him. “Hola Senor. Si, el ascensor no trabajar. Si. Mas despacio, por favor… uh huh. Si. Que?! Tres horas?! No. Senor. Por favor. Si, si… okay. Gracias.” You hung up and looked hopelessly at Jensen. “They are aware of the problem and have already contacted a crew, but it could take up to three hours.” You sat down on the floor defeated.

Jensen’s stomach grumbled and he joined you on the floor. Though he was hungry, he couldn’t help but be excited to steal more of your time. After a few minutes of silence, he dared to start a conversation again.

“Sorry for the, uh.” He peeled the sweaty shirt from his chest. “Smell. Went bike riding this morning, the pedaling kind.”

“Oh no problem, I think you smell good.” A blush hit you after you realized what you said. “Sorry, that was weird. Its fine, it smells fine, I mean not horrible. Um… So, you been a fan of MotoGP long?” You nervously ran your hand through your hair, trying to change the topic.

“Yeah, I mean no. I actually just found out about it. This was my first race and I learned about everything this weekend from my friend Jared who bought the tickets.” He explained. “But I think I will probably be a fan from now on.”

“You from the states?” You asked.

“Yeah Texas originally, then moved to Cali. Now I spend most of my time between Vancouver and Austin.” He rambled.

“Those are like opposites.” You pointed two fingers at an imaginary map to visualize the distance. “Cause of work or family?”

“Work.” He briefly stated.

“And what do you do?” You asked.

“Uh, me and Jared are actors.” Jensen shook his head, almost embarrassed.

“Wow.” Your eyes lit up. “Anything I would know?”

He laughed. “Mainly a TV show called Supernatural.”

Your brows furrowed as you tried to recall if you had seen it. “So like… monsters, and ghosts?”

“Yeah. It’s about two brothers who save people and hunt things, the family…” He stopped himself. “Yeah, like vampires and werewolves and shit.” You stifled a giggle. “I guess I’ll have to check it out.”

“Oh, you don’t have to say that.” He waved off.

“No, I want to.” You promised. “So Jared and um.. What was your name again?” “Jensen.” He reached out his hand and shook yours. “Jensen Ackles.”

Your tongue peeked out between your teeth. “Is that like a stage name?”

Jensen’s shoulders shook as he silently laughed. “Nope, that’s my real name.”

“You can tell me.” You pushed. “Clelia Esposio is…” You pointed your finger at him very seriously. “But you can’t tell anyone.” Your demeanor eased. “My real name is Y/N Y/L/N. It’s weird, only family and a few friends know.”

“Well Y/N.” Your name sounded enticing rolling off his tongue. “It is very nice to officially meet you. But I promise my only name is Jensen.”

“Fine then.” You pretended to pout. “Keep your secrets.”

He chuckled. Though the minutes dragged on, you and Jensen filled up the time chatting, getting to know each other, talking travel, playing 20 questions and would you rather. And what was three hours, both of you wished was longer. The lights blinked back on and the elevator shook to life. Both you and Jensen stood up, steadying yourselves against the wall. The elevator was heading back down to the lobby.

“I guess this is it.” You stated.

“I can say without a doubt, would recommend 10 out of 10 getting stuck in this elevator.” He joked. “But perhaps it was only the company.”

You bit your lip. “Ah, but if it wasn’t posted to twitter, who's to say it happened at all.” You teased back.

Jensen thought about it, and gave it. “Actually, you’re right.” He took his phone out of his pocket. “Do you mind? To commemorate the moment.”

“Of course not.” You smiled.

You leaned in close to him, grinning widely as his lips held tightly together forming a slight smirk.

He looked down at it and smiled ear to ear. “Perfect.”

“Find a good filter.” You pleaded. “I don’t want to look ugly.”

Jensen scoffed. “That’s not possible.” You found heat rising to your cheeks yet again. “Say uh, are you and Jared in town tomorrow night still? Perhaps we could go for tapas and dancing.”

“Yeah.” Jensen agreed. “I’d love that.”

“Wonderful. Meet me tomorrow night at Casa Montana? 11?” You asked.

“That should work.” He believed.

“Let me know officially through your tweet.” You winked. Jensen was about to ask for your number when the doors being pried open silenced you both. When they finally busted open, your freedom in containment was broken by the assault of flashing cameras.

“Ms. Esposio. Ms. Esposio. Clelia!” A crowd of Spanish reporters called.

Hotel security escorted you through the lobby, evading the group to the best of their ability. Jensen was left alone and unnoticed except for a bell clerk suffering through an attempt at an English apology. Before you were brought to a guarded service hall, you turned around to glance at Jensen once more, subtly licking your lips and parting with a wink.

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