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queenofcats17 · 5 months ago

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The Vessel And The Song

I couldn't stop thinking about my roleswap idea so I decided to write something for it.

So, here's Arthur and John's first meeting

Warning for some canon typical violence and horror.

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The first thing that the man who called himself John Doe noticed when he woke up was that he could not see.

This did not initially cause him alarm, as he rationalized that there must be some sort of covering over his eyes. However, when he reached up to remove said covering, he found there was none. His eyes seemed to be unobstructed, at least judging from what he could feel.

"The fuck?" John stumbled to his feet, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. Maybe the lights had gotten knocked out, he told himself. He just needed to get them back on. Logically, he knew something was very wrong here, but he needed to run through the rational explanations first before he moved on to the less-than-rational ones.

As he got to his feet, feeling for a wall to steady himself, he realized something else.

He had no idea who or where he was.

He knew his name was John Doe, that fact was burned into his mind, but that was the extent of his knowledge. He had no idea where he was, how he'd gotten there, or what had happened before he'd woken up on the floor. A part of him knew that this fact should scare him. After all, his past was gone and he could potentially be in a dangerous situation.

But John wasn't afraid. Instead, he felt... relieved. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. How strange...

"Are you alright?" A voice suddenly asked.

John let out a yell of surprise, almost falling to the ground again.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the voice said, sounding the slightest bit apologetic. It was a man's voice, pleasant and calm, the words tinged with a British accent. The voice also had a strange... echoey quality to it.

And it sounded as though it were coming from inside John's head.

"Who are you?" John demanded, immediately on the defensive. "Why are you in my head?"

He couldn't explain why, but the fact that he now had a voice in his mind that most certainly did not belong to him made him want to claw off his skin in an attempt to remove the foreign entity. His body was his. No one else should inhabit it.

He was no one's vessel.

"I'm in your head because you listened to my music box," the voice answered, its cadence gentle and soothing. "I promise, I mean you no harm."

"Bullshit!" John snapped, slamming his fist against the wall.

"It is not bullshit," the voice said, beginning to sound a bit testy. "All I wanted was to leave the music box. I'm not going to try to take over your body if that's what you're worried about."

"Of course that's what I'm worried about!"

"Look, Mr. Doe-" The voice began, only for John to cut it off.

"How do you know my name?" His nails dug into the wallpaper. The fact that the entity knew his name seemed to him to be proof that this possession had been premeditated. It had been watching him, waiting for a chance to strike. He was sure of it.

"Well, it's written on the door of the office," the voice answered, as though this fact was obvious. "John Doe, Private Investigator."

John stopped, his confusion at this response completely derailing the fear and anger he'd been feeling. "...You can see?" He asked.

"You can't?" The voice replied before making a little 'hm' noise. "Interesting."

"No! It's not interesting!" John yelled, his anger and fear surging back to the forefront of his mind with the confirmation that the entity had access to his sight when he didn't. "How can you see when I can't?!"

"Well, my best guess would be that I have control of your eyes now."

"So you are trying to take over my body!"

The voice sighed. "No, I'm not."

"And how am I supposed to believe you?"

"Mr. Doe-" The voice began, only to pause and let out a vaguely frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry, can I just call you John? I mean, I'm inside your head. I think that allows for some level of familiarity."

John hesitated, his metaphorical hackles rising at the idea of allowing this stranger to refer to him in such a friendly manner. But then again, the voice had a point.

"Fine," he conceded, somewhat begrudgingly.

"Splendid. Then you can call me Arthur."

"...Arthur?" John asked incredulously.

"Is there something wrong with my name?" Arthur asked.

"There's nothing wrong with it," John said. "It was just... unexpected."

The entity, Arthur, let out a little laugh. "I guess it would be, wouldn't it? Hardly anyone calls me Arthur anymore."

"So why do you want me to call you Arthur if no one else calls you that?"

"Because I thought it would be nice to have someone call me by that name again," Arthur answered, a sort of wistful melancholy in his voice. "Although, if you prefer, you could just call me what others do."

"No, Arthur is fine," John said quickly.

Somehow, the entity having an ordinary name like Arthur did make John feel a little less uncomfortable with the situation. Almost as if the voice speaking to him were just another person.

He couldn't let his guard down, though, he reminded himself. After all, Arthur was not another person. Arthur was an otherwordly entity that merely sounded like a person, and John had no idea what his motives could be. He had to be careful.

"Alright then. John-" The sound of his name spoken by Arthur's strange, unearthly voice sent chills up John's spine, although he tried to ignore the feeling. "I know you have no reason to believe me, but I promise, I have no intention of stealing your body. Like I said, all I wanted was to escape the music box."

"Alright." John closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to take stock of the situation. "Alright. Do you know where we are?"

"We're in your office," Arthur answered. "Or, at least, I assume it's your office, given your name is on the door."

"And what does the office look like?"

"Well, it's honestly a bit of a mess," Arthur said. "You have piles of papers and books everywhere,. There's hardly any clear space. Do you really bring clients in here, John?"

"I assume so," John murmured, feeling where the wall was before turning around. "Is there a desk?"

"It's in front of you," Arthur said. "What do you mean, 'you assume so'? Do you not remember?" There was a keen interest in his voice, and John could almost imagine a gleam entering Arthur's eyes.

"How far in front of me?" John asked, reaching out to feel for the desk.

"Just a few steps. You didn't answer my question, John."

"I know. That was on purpose." John took a few steps forward, hands still out.

As Arthur had said, the desk was there. And it seemed just as covered in books and papers as Arthur had described, at least from what John could feel. Hopefully, it had some files on it that could tell him who he was and what he did. Could he trust what Arthur would tell him about those files, though?

"Why didn't you answer my question?" Arthur asked. He sounded vaguely miffed, which John supposed was better than angry.

"Because I don't want to." John began to feel his way around the desk, trying to get to the area where he would normally sit.

"Why don't you want to?" Arthur probed.

"Because I don't want to," John repeated, a bit more pointedly. "I don't owe you any information." His leg bumped into a chair at this point, causing him to curse quietly. Well, he'd found the seating area.

"That's true," Arthur conceded. "But I would like to help you if I can."

John did his best not to snort in incredulity. He may have been stuck with Arthur for the moment, but that didn't mean he had to trust him. However, it would be unwise to poke this particular bear. So, instead of expressing his distrust, he asked, "What do you see on the desk?"

Arthur sighed but did give a reply. "There are a few open files, with notes and photographs spread out across the desk." He paused. "Does the name Emily MacFarland mean anything to you?"

An image appeared unbidden in John's mind. A young woman lying on her back in a field, her face frozen in an expression of pure terror, her mouth gaping open and her eyes wide. Or, at least, her eyes would have been wide if there had been any left. They'd been clawed out, presumably by her own hand judging from the dried blood on her fingers and crusted under her nails. There was dried blood around her ears too, along with scratch marks that likely came from her own nails.

The image was so clear, as though he were looking at a photograph. It made him feel sick. His grip on the edge of the desk tightened as he tried to fight back the wave of nausea and guilt rising up in his chest.

He didn't know how he knew this woman, but he was sure he did, somehow.

Your fault, an internal voice kept repeating. You didn't save her.

"...No," he managed to choke out. "...I don't recognize the name."

"Really?" It was Arthur who sounded incredulous this time.

"Yes, really," John snapped. "Now is there anything else on the desk?"

"There's the music box," Arthur said. "My music box."

It was hard to determine quite what the emotion in Arthur's voice was when he spoke about the music box. He sounded somehow both fond and disgusted. John supposed the disgust made sense to a certain extent if Arthur had been trapped inside the box. But the fondness confused him.

"You dropped it when the music started playing," Arthur continued. "But it's still intact, thankfully. Just a bit scuffed."

"What does it look like?" John asked, reaching tentatively out to find and pick up the music box.

It felt smooth and heavy in his hands, the wood worn with age and chipped in some places.

"It's rather small as music boxes go," Arthur said. The fondness was more prevalent now as he described the object. "It's made of a dark brown wood, chipped in some places. There are flowing filigree designs carved into the sides that look like leaves."

"...Do you remember what it looks like inside?" John wasn't about to open the music box and risk hearing the song again, as he had a feeling the song was dangerous. After all, the song had put Arthur into his head. Still, he wanted to know what was inside.

Arthur was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. "The inside is lined with red velvet, although the velvet has worn away in some place," he said. "There is a photograph set into the lid. A photograph of a smiling girl, not more than four or five years old. Below it is written..." Arthur paused, his voice hitching. "Below it is written, 'For my darling Faroe'."

John was tempted to turn Arthur's earlier question back at him and ask if the name "Faroe" meant anything to Arthur. But he thought better of it. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that "Faroe" meant something to Arthur. And, judging from the way he'd become emotional upon mentioning Faroe, this was also not a bear that would be wise to poke.

"There's, ah, there's also a box on top of a pile of papers," Arthur continued, seemingly trying to reign in his emotions. "I think it's what my music box came to you in."

"Is there a return address on it?" John set the music box down, feeling around for a moment or two before locating the other box. It felt like it was made of thin cardboard and he could hear paper rustling inside.

"Aah... Could you close the flaps?"

John felt for the flaps and did as he was asked.

"Mm..." Arthur let out a hum as he read. "Yes. There is a return address."

"And what is it?" John prompted, somewhat irritated.

"Junior Dewitt Ackerman. Rare Books. Arkham, Massachusetts," Arthur said. "Is that where we are? Arkham?"

That sounded right, so John nodded. "Why would a bookstore send me a music box?" He murmured, turning the box in his hands.

"Why don't we find out?" Arthur suggested.

"What?"

"You're a private investigator, aren't you?" Arthur said. "This certainly sounds like something that needs investigating."

John stiffened, quickly putting the box down. "That's a bad idea."

"Why?" Arthur asked.

"Because in my experience, bad things happen when people go sticking their noses where they don't belong," John growled.

Although no specific instances came to mind, he could feel this fact in his bones. Bad things happen when you stick your nose into supernatural situations. Bad things like this.

"Isn't that your job?" Arthur laughed. "A private investigator is supposed to go sticking their nose where it doesn't belong!"

"My job is to stick my nose into mundane situations," John snapped. "I don't go looking for trouble when it comes to things like this."

"Things like this?" Arthur echoed, still sounding somewhat amused.

"The supernatural." John leaned on the desk.

"Well, if you want to remove me from your mind, you'll probably have to go poking around," Arthur pointed out. "I won't go away if you sit here and do nothing."

John let out a frustrated groan, his hands curling into fists as he continued to lean on the desk. He knew Arthur was right and he hated it.

"...Fine," he ground out through gritted teeth after a moment or two of wrestling with himself. "Fine. We'll go to the store to ask about it."

"Excellent! I don't know about you, but I'm quite excited to see how this turns out."

"Well, at least one of us is having fun," John muttered. "Guide me to the door, will you?"

"Of course. The door is to your right. Just turn and take a few steps and you'll be there."

John let out a long exhale, turning and stepping in the direction Arthur had indicated. He had a bad feeling about where this journey was going to lead him.

#fanfiction #malevolent podcast #malevolent roleswap

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spirallabyrinthpodcast · 2 years ago

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Good morning I am mad! Like y’all said I am extremely appreciative of Cassie providing us this piece of media for free. Which I heard would be made into a physical book, which means she’ll probably get a lot of cash from it, anyway! So some fans should stop using that as an excuse, for it being a mediocre piece of media at best. The writing was great and the artwork was wonderful! But The plot could’ve been thawed out better. First of all, I left with more questions then I started out with. Like could Kit see Rupert? Was Andrew and Arthur aware of Rooper’s existence? If they were, why did Arthur came back to take the statues out of the garden? And many many many more other questions, we should’ve gotten the answers to. Second of all, this Kit and Ty thing is getting exhausting! SOBH is supposed to give us a look into the grove of the TWP team, warming them up to take the Baton from Julian and Emma. Like what COHF and Shadowhunters academy did for are main characters in Dark Artifices, with the wedding ceremony and Tessa teasing the potential, for a new Herondale. But no! They spend most, of what was supposed to be a opportunity for us to know them better, pining after each other! Kit’s character growth seem rough and out of nowhere, he didn’t really solve the kidnapping, Julian did. It leaves me fearful of what would happen when Julian is unable to save the day yet once again! Who is Kit and Ty without their romantic feelings for each other?

I’m in raged about how Ty’s struggle as a Neuro diversion person, living in a unyielding and rigid society, was once again sideline for someone else’s problem! But, I’m not going to further with that line of thought because there has been so many on here who’s been saying the same thing for months and years now! CC never listens!

To add the cherry on top of the proverbial pie, all the sudden, out of nowhere Jamie ( a character who we never given much thought to) is missing. Can she please tie up the loose ends first! This is so messy! It reminds me of a five-year-old, eating a cupcake, with the cream and cake splattered all over the table, creating a catastrophic catastrophe! At least the five years old is cute😂. A person going missing, on top of everything else on the other hand is not.

Thank you so much for listening to me rant and I’m so sorry about the long paragraph.

Omg, Anon!

First, it needs to be acknowledged that the opening to this ask had us dying (what a mood!) 😂 Bestie, we are with you.

Never feel like you need to apologize for sending a rant <3 we live for rants around here

Here’s a rant in return (as a bitter and salty treat):

On Criticism ...

The bit about it being sold and therefore that argument being moot is interesting, because it was never intended to be sold, and she can’t very well go back and edit it to make it worth the money we fully intend to spend on it at this point. You do have a good point, but at the same time, it is still free content in that purchasing a hard copy won’t provide anyone with anything that isn’t available to them online.

When it comes down to it, the issue is less about whether Cassie is profiting off of SoBH, and more so the fact that she is a published author who opens herself up to criticism through her profession. Her content isn’t ‘safe’ based on the revenue it generates. This was still a very fun project and experience, but it’s okay to criticize. It’s not a personal attack or an attack on her writing/content, which is something that is important for us to understand so that we don’t feel obligated to come up with excuses or defenses for the person behind the writing.

On Questions & No Answers ...

The point about ending with more questions than we started with is probably one of the most frustrating parts honestly. These in-between projects are essentially meant to fill gaps, aka answer questions, and instead we ended up with out-of-place fluff that didn’t exactly fit into canon — yes, we’re still mad and confused about how Arthur and Andrew could have lived in Blackthorn Hall in the canon timeline. Plus, we get no definitive information on Rupert or why he’d be trapped, which makes him being the ghost feel lackluster after the fact. We are Big Mad™.

On the TWP Gang ...

As for Kit, Ty and the passing of the baton, we get you. We’ve been a broken record on the point that the Kit Pain Train™ took way too long of a trip in this project. Kit’s character development wasn’t mingled into the story as well as it should have been, which lands on the fact that his arc in SoBH was tacked on to expand the plot after Chain of Thorns was pushed back.

It wasn’t terrible, but it definitely didn’t get the attention or drift off that it should’ve — which, as you said, could have been achieved if Kit did anything to actually help the Mina situation aside from getting bodied by Mother Hawthorn. He takes initiative, which is something, but to have him be the catalyst for success rather than Julian (or have him work more actively WITH Julian on a plan), would’ve hit much harder in a narrative sense. (There’s at least a lot to look forward to here, though, as we’ll get to see the growth of Kit’s leadership skills etc. from a better vantage point once TWP starts.)

The same goes for Ty and Dru. If Cassie genuinely wanted to have SoBH set up TWP (which is essentially what it did), they should’ve been given more of an active role, as well. Yes, Ty built the ghost sensor and helped with ley lines, but Dru never once interacted with anyone outside of Kit.

We feel like Ty being neurodivergent/autistic gets sidelined, as well as him as a character, because Cassie doesn’t have the time to do it or him justice. She’d rather push it back for TWP when she can dedicate the proper research and commitment to portray him correctly — honorable but cheap when you still have him lingering in the background.

On THAT Ending ...

The catastrophic catastrophe of ending on this last installment indeed! This is something we will discuss much more in our episode this week, but it would have been much more satisfying to end this in a way that rounded out Secrets of Blackthorn Hall, rather than create a new loose end for a character whose name had only been mentioned once before throughout the entire story, and whom no one really give two shits about other than Dru (including both the characters and the fandom lol).

It does set up the transition into TWP in a way that might make sense if (a) TWP wasn’t so damn far away, (b) we felt and or understood more about the gravity of that, and (c) Cassie had made mention of him more throughout SoBH.

Fin ...

In case you needed evidence that we live for rants … lol clearly we too have a lot of thoughts on this!! Thank you for giving us the opportunity to go a little insane <3 and we honestly appreciate you sending your rant our way. If you ever have any other thoughts, anon, we’d love to hear them!

Bry & Jules 🧡

#krp asks #krp #sobh #secrets of blackthorn hall #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #dru blackthorn #julian blackthorn #emma carstairs #jaime rosales #twp #the wicked powers #chain of thorns #rupert blackthorn #tsc

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mionemymind · 4 years ago

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Do I owe her the truth?

Summary: (Hermione x Gender Neutral Reader) Should Y/n tell the truth to Hermione no matter the consequences?

Words: 5223

A/N: Let me know what y’all think. I’m sorry I having been writing a lot but I figured you deserve something for waiting for so long. Thank you for being patient. You all are the best!!

According to the great philosopher Kant, one must always do the nature of the good principle regardless of the outcome. Simply put, even if a killer was knocking on the door and asking for your friend, you must answer with the truth of their location. Although a lot argue over philosophies, Y/n simply minded their business. They figured that they have their whole life to sort out what good things they must do and bad things they must keep away. However, a bright witch among their age, made them question every single good and bad thing they had sorted out in life. Because on the very most important day of Hermione’s life, Y/n pondered the question, “Do I owe her the truth?”

The story starts out small like any simple home. You must start with a bit of foundation and the right material for it to be built. So, when Y/n transferred from Ilvermorny to Hogwarts, the very first student they were introduced to was Hermione Granger.

Walking around the halls, Y/n found themselves slightly amazed at the walls of the castle. From the decorations, to the hallways, its scenery, and even its people were more amazing than of Ilvermorny. “Right this way.” Professor McGonagall led the young sorcerer to the very Great Albus Dumbledore. Y/n had only read of the magnificent things Professor Dumbledore has done for the wizarding world and was only slightly scared to meet her current headmaster. While opening the vastly large door, Y/n slowly followed Professor McGonagall in. At the sound of the doors opening, a booming but soft voice uttered, “Ah there you are! Do come sit.” Walking up the stairs, Y/n sat at the seat in front of his desk. Sweaty palms and nervous thoughts clouded their mind. “It is a great pleasure to welcome you to Hogwarts. I know you must be eager to survey the school so I will make this brief.” With a slight pause, Dumbledore had signaled for McGonagall to leave. “As a long-standing tradition of Hogwarts, let me first assign you your house.” Quickly, a hat that looked as if it lived through many ages, was placed on Y/n’s head. “Fierce loyalty like no other to those she cares about why you must be HUFFLEPUFF!”

The hat was taken off as quickly as it was placed. Soon, a new attire was placed on her lap. “Here is your new schedule that corresponds with what you should be learning now. I took great liberty to consult with your headmaster about your curriculum. They talk highly about you in regards to your academics and wizarding abilities.” Y/n blushed at the sound of the compliment. They weren’t used to the praise given to them. “To make sure you are consistently tested, I made sure to put you in classes with one of the brightest witches of your age – ah and here she is.” Y/n turned around and suddenly timed slowed down. A girl with red and black robes entered the room as if she already owned it. It was the confidence that surrounded her aura the most, but Y/n had noticed more of the beauty that she shows.

“This young witch is Hermione Granger.” Leaping to their feet, Y/n stood up to shake Hermione’s hand. “Y/n Y/l/n.” Hermione gave a small smile and sat next to Y/n as Dumbledore had briefly explained the rules of the school. “Ah – I believe that takes care of everything. Ms. Granger please give our newest student a welcoming tour around the school. I have already informed your teachers of your absence. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. Other than that, welcome to Hogwarts.”

The two young students left the office and went to the nearest bathroom. While Y/n changed to their new robes, Hermione had fiddled with her hands. “Not to intrude, but you must be extremely smart.” Y/n was buttoning their shirt when Hermione had answered the question. Good thing she couldn’t see them otherwise Hermione would have seen how red Y/n turned. Scratching their neck, Y/n replied, “I guess you could say that.”

“Oh, it’s not a guess rather a fact. You happen to have been put with some of the most difficult classes Hogwarts can currently offer for our year. That’s not something every new student experiences.” It was the way Hermione had said it as a matter of fact that made Y/n blush more. Exiting the stall, Hermione turned around and saw that they had their tie around their neck. “Need help?” Hermione said while pointing at their tie.

Once again Y/n blushed and nodded. Hermione was quick to get close to Y/n and started to tie their tie. “I do have to warn you though. There’s not a lot of competition when it comes to academics in Hogwarts. Don’t get me wrong, there is certain bright students, but none seem to come close.” Tightening the tie, Hermione looked into Y/n eyes. It was the first time she noticed how deep they looked. Regardless of their color, they were enchanting as well. “However, you seem to be my closest competition. So, I will have to take every chance I can get to beat you.” Y/n chuckled at the bright young witch in front of them. Hermione backed away after realized how close they were and cleared her throat. “Don’t take it as a laughing matter. Academics are truly important to me.”

Y/n had put their hands up in defense. “Don’t worry…I just find it funny that you think it’s going to be easy to compete with me.” Y/n smirked at their come back. If you were to ask where the hell that confidence came from, don’t bother. Y/n doesn’t know the answer either. With a similar smirk, Hermione said, “You and I are going to be great together.”

The story continues as the home is built. The next few things needed are the walls and roof.

It was the summer after their third year when Hermione, Harry, and Y/n had spent the summer at the Burrow. Ron had almost forgotten to invite Y/n when Ginny saved the day. The three of showed up at the house all dropping in one by one. Y/n was the last one to drop in, showing up during dinner time. Slowly walking in with trunk in hand, Y/n was met with the sound of their name echoing through the house. Ginny was the first to notice Y/n’s presence and loudly yelled, “Y/n!” Ginny quickly gave Y/n a hug when the echoes came from up the stairs.

“Did someone say Y/n?” George asked.

“Y/n?”

“Are they here?”

“Y/n’s here?!”

Hermione was the last one to ask when a stampede of people came running down the stairs. “Y/n!” One by one, they all started a group hug with Y/n in the middle. “Guys, I can’t breathe.” They all broke apart allowing Y/n to regain air, but was cut off when Molly came swooping in. “Oh, hello dear. I was beginning to worry that you couldn’t make it – are you hungry? You must be starving. I cooked your favorite.” Molly was quick to ramble on and on when Fred had pried the two apart. “Mum, I think Y/n needs oxygen. We’ll go ahead and start setting up the table.”

Molly slightly blushed and smiled at Y/n. “I’m glad that you’re here Y/n. Now come on people, dinner won’t serve itself.” The group was quick to help around the house, working like a well-oiled machine. Soon, everyone was sitting down at the table enjoying their home cooked meal. Y/n was sitting smack dab in the middle between Ginny and Hermione. Across from them were the boys.

Over the course of dinner, plenty of topics arose such as school, quidditch, muggles (only because Arthur can’t get enough), and more. The boys plus Ginny and Y/n couldn’t stop talking about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. Hermione butted in about how glad she was that summer finally came. It was especially hard on the girl considering her tight schedule.

After dinner came the night. The house was quiet as the guests separated to their assigned rooms. It just so happens that Hermione and Y/n were assigned Charlie’s old room. If it weren’t for the dragon paraphernalia, Charlie’s room was actually quite neat and well organized. “Going to take a gander but I think Charlie really likes dragons.” Hermione snorted at Y/n’s obviously sarcastic comment. “Oh really? Could’ve mistaken me, I thought he was a quidditch fan.” Jokes aside, the two changed into their sleeping garments and went to bed.

Well Hermione went to bed while Y/n stared at the ceiling deep in thought. It was not until the moon was shining brightly through the window that Y/n realized how late it was. Considering the time, they tried to sleep but failed miserably. After giving up, Y/n laid on their side and faced towards Hermione. Seeing as the young wizard had already spent too much time alone with their thoughts, Y/n poked Hermione’s face until she was awake.

“Hermione. Psssst. Hermione” Y/n whispered as they poked her. “Hermione. Psst.” At the feeling of someone poking her, Hermione swatted their hand away. Seeing Hermione with an annoyed sleeping face was funny to Y/n but being alone sucked more. “Hermione, are you awake?” Suddenly, Hermione’s eyes opened; it was like a fierce dragon was staring into your soul. She looked mad at the fact someone woke her up from her slumber. “What Y/n?”

With an innocent smile, Y/n looked at Hermione and said, “Wanna tell secrets?” Hermione rolled her eyes and faced the opposite way of Y/n. “Go to sleep Y/n. We have to wake up early soon.” Y/n groaned at Hermione’s words. She was right, of course, but Y/n couldn’t go to sleep. Night was always the hardest.

“Come on Hermione.” Y/n received no response from the girl. Only a silent shoulder. Laying on her back and hands behind their head, Y/n looked at the ceiling. “Ya know, I know your secret…at least one of them.” Y/n glanced at Hermione and she still was facing away. “Or maybe two of them. Well, it’s the same secret, it just so happens that two Hermiones happen to share them.” Hermione quickly shot up and faced towards Y/n to see them smirking. “It’s not that hard to tell that a bright witch like you can’t be in two classes at once, but somehow you were.” Hermione grabbed her pillow and proceeded to hit Y/n with it. “Don’t you dare tell a soul Y/n Y/l/n. I won’t be afraid to hex you.”

Y/n grabbed the pillow and threw it back at the witch, making sure to aim at her face. “Well maybe next time, try not to be in two places at once. It sure threw me off when I had to drop off a note for the Professor only to have found you in a different class. And after I returned, you were still at the same spot I left you.”

“Unbelievable. I knew I should have volunteered to do that, but you just had to be faster than me.” Hermione rolled her eyes and sat up against the bed frame. Y/n followed suit and did the same thing. There was still an obvious smirk on their face. After a couple minutes, the silence broke. “Well, are you going to tell me your secret since you exposed mine?”

“Well Ms. Grainger lets see what secret you get to hear today.” Pondering for a moment, Y/n tried to think of information that no one knew, something of equivalently as important such as time traveling. “I got it! However, you have to promise me that you won’t tell a soul not even Crookshanks.” Y/n held out their hand with only their pinky in the air. Hermione looked them in the eye as she said, “I promise.” They locked pinkies as Y/n said, “I think I like girls.”

Hermione blinked for a couple seconds which only led devasting thoughts in Y/n’s mind. It didn’t take long, but she responded with, “Oh for Merlin’s sake. If you’re going to tell me a secret Y/n, at least make it to something that isn’t so painfully obvious.”

Hermione broke the gaze as Y/n stared in disbelief. “Don’t look so surprised. Just as you said, maybe next time try not to be caught staring at every single girl in Hogwarts.”

Gulping down their fear, Y/n said, “You don’t mind?” Hermione shook her head. “Nope. Not one single bit. You’re still the same, just love who you love except for racists and he who shall not be named. Well there’s a list. As long as they’re not genuinely bad people and you can see them joining SPEW, then I approve.”

Y/n looked at the girl beside her in amazement and wonder. They continued the conversation as the night grew, telling even more daring secrets as the previous. But one secret did remain with Y/n that night, it was their everlasting crush on Hermione Jean Granger.

The second to last thing a home needs is the spark to light the fireplace as well as the furniture. That way the home can feel as warm and as safe to those that harbor in it.

It was a winter wonderland at Hogwarts. Students were preparing to travel back home to their respective families. However, a group of students decided to spend the last weekend at Hogsmeade before leaving the next day. Right now, they had crowed the room at The Three Broomsticks with laughter, joy, and happy memories. The air was filled with a different type of warmth, one that felt safe and even like a second home. Everyone was talking so loudly within small groups, it was hard to even feel alone. Ginny and Y/n were standing near the fire talking when Fred had grabbed the attention of the room. “Everyone. Everyone. I propose a game. Let’s do a simple muggle game called truth or dare.” Everyone in the group oood as they knew where this was going to lead. They would start with a couple truths before someone breaks the ice with a good dare. Typically, the twins were the ones to propose the dare, but not a lot could compete. “Whoever cannot complete the truth or dare shall lose. Completion allows you to stay,” George had added.

The group sat in a tight makeshift circle that almost took up all the chairs and tables provided. “I’ll start. Harry, who was the last person you snogged?” All eyes were now on the chosen one. Everyone could see his nervousness, but everyone knew he would never want to be the first one out. “Draco.” Certain eyes went wide, but Y/n simply went unphased since she somewhat caught the two making out in between classes. “No questions. Neville, is your crush in this room?” Neville immediately turned red at the question and was the first one to back out. There were small boos mainly coming from the twins. “Since Neville backed out, lets go with the person to his right, Ron. Is your crush in this room?” Ron had the same reaction as Neville but had looked at the ceiling to refrain from giving away his crush. “Yes.” Everyone looked among each other trying to figure out who it could possibly be. “Don’t even try asking who it is. Ginny since you’re bloody enjoying this, did you and Y/n ever snog?” Y/n and Ginny both went wide eyed causing the group to lean a little bit closer to the two. What added more was at how everyone knew how close the two were. Not wanting to entirely answer the question, Ginny backed out the circle causing more booing from the crowd. “What a buzzkill. However, lets just ask the second-best person. Well Y/n, have you snogged my sister?”

Y/n looked at the crowded but had kept glancing towards Hermione. Although it was a simple question, Y/n hadn’t wanted to entirely answer it. You see, Ginny and Y/n did kiss before, but it was an accident. There was a bump, a stumble, then a fall, and then an accident kiss. It didn’t mean anything to the two of them, plus Y/n felt like her heart might’ve been for somewhere. So, Y/n had followed Ginny in the same manner and backed out the circle. “Oh bloody hell! You two have a knack to keep this stupid mystery alive.” They both rolled their eyes at Ron and watched the game continue. What Y/n failed to realize was how affected a certain witch was at their answer.

The game dwindled down until there was three left and unironically it was the golden trio that had made it this far. It was a little surprising for Y/n that Hermione had made it this far. Majority of the time, Hermione would be among the first to decline doing a truth or dare. “I’m sorry Hermione, but I must win. So, I dare you to kiss Ron.” It was something about the dare that made Y/n’s stomach turn. Their mood soured so quickly that they almost felt sick. Slightly tapping Ginny’s back, Y/n whispered in her ear, “Hey, I’m gonna head outside real quick. I don’t feel so good.” Ginny gave a concerned look. She was going to say something back, but Y/n was already out the door with their hand clutching their stomach.

Besides Ginny, Hermione was the only other person that noticed Y/n had left. In her line of sight, she saw past Ron and briefly seen them leave in distress. The deafening chants of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” didn’t register with her. The only thing running through Hermione’s mind was Y/n. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this dare guys.” Quickly getting out the circle, the chants stopped, and the game continued to declare the winner. Hermione excused herself and made her way outside. She made sure to grab hers and Y/n’s coat. “What an idiot. It’s freezing cold out there.”

Stepping out the tavern, Hermione saw various witches and wizards pass by. Some she knew and some she didn’t. Walking further out, Hermione grew frustrated after not quickly finding her friend. “Where the hell are you?” Walking around further, she saw an outline of a person. Clearly, they had no coat on with how much they were shivering. Hermione walked closer to the figure and realized it was Y/n. “For someone so bloody smart, you are such an idiot.” Hermione accidentally wrapped her own coat around Y/n. She didn’t realize she had instinctively put on her best friend’s coat. Y/n chuckled, but it was cut short due to the freezing weather. Hermione sat down beside them and focused on the view in front of them. There was a small silence between the two as they had people watched. Hermione almost forgot why she even went outside in the first place. She shook her head remembering her thought, “Are you okay? I saw you leave in a hurry.”

Y/n glanced at Hermione, giving her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I think my stomach was just feeling off. I went outside to get better air.” Hermione looked in their eyes and was quick to call bullshit. “Better air? It’s absolutely freezing out here. Even Merlin themselves wouldn’t want to be outside this weather. So why don’t you tell me the real truth? And if you lie Y/n, I will not hesitate to read your mind.” Y/n gulped at the sound of her threat. They glanced back out into the view in front of them. Taking a deep breath, Y/n nervously replied with, “During your dare, I suddenly felt…sick…I don’t know why but my stomach felt so knotty and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. So, I left.” Y/n glanced back at Hermione and immediately noticed the look on her face. It was intense and serious. Suddenly, something in the air felt different. It was getting hotter and hotter regardless of the snow falling around them.

“Can I kiss you?” Hermione asked in such a small whisper. A lump appeared in Y/n’s throat. They didn’t know what to quite say. They never really thought about what their feelings meant towards Hermione, but then again, everyone practically knew that Y/n and Hermione were in love with each other. Y/n just happened to be the biggest dumbass when it comes to realizing their feelings for others. But here Y/n was. They weren’t answering the question, but felt themselves leaning in. The two closed their eyes and was slowly leaning in. Hermione felt her heart beating so fast that she was certain it would explode, but she didn’t care. She knew that for so long, she wanted this.

However…the moment never arrived. It was cut off from a distant yell, “Y/n!” The two quickly separated and looked at different directions. Suddenly Hermione took it a step further and slightly moved away from Y/n. “There you are – I’ve been looking every where for you!” Ginny jogged up to the duo, noting the awkward tension that emerged. “We have to go back to the castle, I’ll explain on the way.” The red head dragged away her best friend while giving a small nod towards Hermione.

When they were far enough and half way towards the castle, Ginny explained the dire situation. “It’s your parents Y/n, you have to go home. An owl was sent towards the tavern. Here, you’re going to want to read this.” Ginny handed Y/n the letter. After reading it, Y/n’s stomach dropped. “I have to get home.” Ginny sent them a look. “Clearly dumbass. Come on, let’s get your stuff.” It was eerie quiet between the two since the situation had escalated. Y/n’s parents were in trouble and needed Y/n’s help.

Back at Hogsmeade, Hermione didn’t quite know what to feel. She was so close to kissing her crush, but Ginny just had to ruin the moment. The same person she was somewhat certain had Y/n’s heart. Asking the younger lad to kiss her took all the courage Hermione had, and here she was slightly heartbroken that she was gone. So deep in thought, Hermione didn’t notice Ron sit next to her until he said something. “Hey.”

“I need you to explain to Hermione that I’m sorry.” Ginny sighed. She slightly felt guilty for ruining the moment, but time was precious and something Y/n very much needed now. “I know you saw what was going to happen, but I don’t even know what I was doing.” Closing their trunk, Y/n stood up and looked at Ginny. “I do know that I also need to realize what I feel for Hermione. For a lot of my life, I thought I just had a deep love for her. I guess now it might be even deeper.” Ginny walked up and gave Y/n a bone chilling hug.

“I’ll try my best, but she’s definitely going to want to hear it from you.” They separated. Y/n saw the tears forming in Ginny’s eyes. “I’m going to bloody miss you. Please be safe in America and you better send me an owl at least once every two weeks.” Y/n gave Ginny and small salute and crossed their heart.

“I will Ginny. Besides, I need you to deliver all the letters I write for Hermione. I really gotta figure this out.” With one last hug and a small punch to Y/n’s shoulder, the young student left Hogwarts on to the next ride to America. The letter was still clutched in her hand and in it was detailed the long passage of how to save Y/n’s parents from the very people chasing after them. Y/n didn’t quite know how long it was going to take to save their parents, but they could only hope Hermione could understand. “Please wait for me.” Y/n whispered to Hermione in particular, but the younger witch didn’t hear those words. Instead, Hermione heard comforting words from a different red head.

The last thing a home needs is the very people that should live in it. It needs family, friends, and most certainly you and me.

Y/n stood, pacing around the bathroom. They knew time was running out, it was now or never. “Why? Why? Why? Why?” Y/n stood still and pinched the bridge of their nose. Eyes closed, Y/n pondered more and more about all of the things they didn’t do. How could they have let this go on for this long? Why did they let it go on for this long? Deep in thought, Y/n didn’t notice a certain ginger walk into the bathroom. “Y/n, what in the bloody hell are you doing there? Hermione has been calling you and quite worried sick. If it wasn’t her big day, I would have already knocked you out you big prat.”

Y/n glanced at the second most important person of her life. With a heavy sigh, Y/n slid down the wall. Their knees were propped, hands in their face, and heart in their throat. “I don’t know what to do anymore Ginny.” Ginny pursed her lips and looked back out the door, making sure the coast was clear, before locking the door. She laid her small bouquet of flowers on the sink and sat down near Y/n while trying not to mess up her dress.

“Although I love my idiot brother with all my heart…I somehow love you more.” They sat there together knowing where this was going. “I can’t do it Ginny. I really can’t sit there without feeling like my world is crashing apart right in front of my eyes…The worst thing about it is, I can only blame myself for letting it go this long.”

Ginny rested her head on her best friend’s shoulder. She didn’t quite know what to say anymore. Offering her presence and her ear was the only thing left. “I-I-I spent so long in other countries to try and find my parents while trying to find myself. To try and figure out what I feel for her and by the time I have, she’s already engaged to another…And it’s my stupid fucking fault for ever thinking Hermione would wait. I mean why would she? If some other bloke can already provide her happiness, why should she wait for me? For…us?” Y/n hadn’t realized they were crying until their hands suddenly felt wet. “It’s sad, isn’t it?” Y/n said as they wiped their tears. “What is?”

“Knowing I am my own cause for my sadness. I mean who I am to blame Hermione. The girl was only doing what Aristotle says. Because as he said, we all want to be selfishly happy.” Sighing in defeat, Y/n got up and dusted off their attire. Lending their hand out, Ginny got up and did the same manner. “How much time do I got?”

Ginny looked at the clock in the bathroom. “You have five minutes before she needs to be walking down the isle.” With a small smile, Y/n kissed Ginny forehead and said a small goodbye. The two were only going to part ways for merely a bit. After all, Ginny is Y/n’s second-best friend. But here was Y/n, jogging to the very person that was going to forever have their heart.

Standing outside the bride’s room, Y/n silently prayed and opened the door. There she was in all her glory, the bride to be, the love of her life, the Hermione Granger. However, the brunette herself wasn’t feeling so great. With all the stress of wanting the wedding to be perfect, it wasn’t helping that her very best friend was mysteriously disappearing all the time without a single word. She looked up and sighed once she saw who it was. Picking up her dress, Hermione strutted to Y/n as they closed the door behind them. “Do you have any clue how worried sick I have been?”

“I-” With a single motion of Hermione’s hand, Y/n remained silent. “And anytime I happen to need my best friend to calm me down, they’re nowhere in sight. What is wrong with you? This is my special day Y/n and you haven’t been as great of a friend as you should be. So please, enlighten me where have you been running off to that’s sooo important that you need to leave me?” It was those piercing eyes that made Y/n’s heart melt over and over again. It’s those very same eyes that could practically melt the iceberg that hit the titanic. And it’s those eyes that makes Y/n’s world spin again.

“I…I can’t be your friend Hermione.” Y/n’s voice was so soft and so delicate, Hermione almost questioned if her ears were playing tricks. “What are you bloody saying? You’re not making any sense.” And all the remaining courage Y/n could muster up, they held her hands, looked her in the eyes and said, “When I was gone, I learned of this great philosopher named Kant-” “What does this have to-” Hermione saw the silently begging eyes in front of her and shut her mouth. This was serious and she wasn’t quite sure if she was ready for it.

“He always focused on good principles and always asked about the before of the action. Generally, he believed others should necessarily treat people how they want to be treated. So, a short example is that one should never lie under any circumstances. It does not matter the outcome, but it is simply something you must do. And although I’ve never really believed in absolute, I’ve been asking myself if I should tell the truth. And if people actually deserve to know the truth. So while I thought about it and asked, well what if they deserve the truth, should I still tell them regardless of the outcome? Although I thought I knew a lot of the world, it turns out I only know two things. One is that you deserve to know the absolute truth Hermione and the second is…you are the lie I repeat at night. Because every night I tell I love you, the truth is…I am so in love with you Hermione.”

The world went silent for Hermione. Not even a single pin drop could break the silence for her. Here she was still holding her best friend’s hands as they had just admitted that they were in love with her. “And I’m so sorry Hermione that today of all days was when I told you. I know I had my chances in the letters I sent but I must be honest now because you still deserve the absolute truth. And I’m running out of words to say, because it would be too selfish of me to convince you to run away. So I offer my congratulations Hermione, but I must still run. For then maybe in the blur of life, I can see a small fragment where there could have been you and I.” Y/n kissed Hermione’s forehead as tears may their way down. Letting go of Hermione, Y/n silently walked out the room without turning back because if they had, they would have broken down.

So, while Y/n told Hermione the truth directly. Hermione stood still at the alter with someone who she is most positively certain she loves pondering the very question, “Do I run after the truth?”

#hermione x reader #hermione granger x reader #Hermione Granger Imagines #hermione granger imagine #Hermione Granger

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amazingmaeve · 4 years ago

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What we used to be - John Shelby and Michael Gray

Peaky Blinders Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Summary: John and Y/N were supposed to get married not John getting married to one of the Lees. When Tommy told her she yelled at him and then slapped him until he explained it her. She told it was fine but she knew it wasn’t. She wasn’t going to intervene in John and Esmes relationship because she wanted him to be happy. She began to move on, with his cousin Michael.

Request: Can you please do a imagine where y/n and John were childhood sweethearts (no Martha) and she has known the leaky blinders her whole life and they love her too but then John has to marry esme and even though tommy does feel bad he does it anyway.Y/n works in the betting house so they see eachother every day she acts like it doesn’t bother her but is obviously a bit distant with John who is still inlove with her but she is respectful of the marriage so when Michael comes in he has a crush on y/n and kinda flirts with her and John gets jealous not sure if it’s a John or Micheal imagine your choice

Requested by: @13reasonswhystan

Pairing: John Shelby x Female!Reader, Michael Gray x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, a bit of fluff, drinking, smoking, swearing

AN: I made Michael and John closer in age for this because they’re like 10 years apart. I made it so they were 5 years apart to make me more comfortable. So I’m going to make John 25 and Michael 20 while Y/N would be 23.

Y/N let out a sigh and rested her chin on her hand watching John and Esme. They looked happy Y/N thought and she didn’t want to ruin that.

When Y/N found out John was getting married to a Lee. When Thomas told her that they got married she was mad at Tommy and John but more so Tommy.

She couldn’t believe it at the time.

Y/N slammed the door in Tommy’s face not answering for him or John when would come over to apologize. Y/N would only let Polly, Arthur and Ada in.

Y/N didn’t know what to do. She was in love with John and now she can’t be with him. They were childhood sweethearts.

When she went out to get food for her dinner she ran in to Tommy.

“Y/N just talk to me and let me explain,” Tommy asked her as she tried walking away from him but he blocked her way.

“What’s there to explain its over and done with,” Y/N snapped and crossed her arms across her chest.

“No I’m going to explain it to you because you are my friend love,” Tommy snapped and Y/N stopped in her tracks letting him speak. “This marriage will help everyone and our family from war,” He explained rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Well I’m not apart of the family anymore am I,” Y/N questioned raising her brow. “I was only apart of the family because of John and now that we aren’t together you don’t have to worry about me.”

“No that’s a lie Y/N we still care about you and so does John and I’m sorry but this was the only way.”

Y/N had thought about what he said for the next few days and decided to forgive them even John because they are her family. Even thought John married someone else she still loves him and wants to be there for him.

Now 2 years later she works for Tommy and the Shelbys. She still sees John and is happy for him but it usually makes her sad since she’s spent most of her life with this guy.

Y/N knows she has to move on though.

She can’t just keep yearning for this guy who is with someone else. And she couldn’t have an affair with John.

John and her still talk some times but not like it used to be. He seemed so in love with Esme but he told her he still loved her as well.

When Michael came to find Polly he found Y/N sitting in the kitchen as Polly went to go fix herself up.

“Who are you,” Y/N asked weary of the guy and reaching for the gun in her purse.

“I’m He-Michael Pollys son,” Michael put his hand up in defense.

“Oh,” Y/N sighed out of relief.

From that day on Michael kept flirting with her. Y/N couldn’t deny she found it endearing. But he was 2 years younger than her and she didn’t want John to think she was getting back at through this cousin.

Whenever he did flirt with her Y/N would just roll her eyes trying to hide her smile.

When Polly saw her son flirting with Y/N she wasn’t mad but happy to see that Y/N could be moving on from John.

Now at the garrison she sat watching how happy John was. Y/N has had a few drinks and began to think why couldn’t she be happy.

“Lizzie don’t I deserve to be happy,” Y/N slurred at the woman who was sitting next to her smoking a cigarette.

“Of course love everyone deserves to be happy,” Lizzie reassures while giving Y/N a comfort pat on the shoulder.

Lizzie and Y/N have bonded when Lizzie came working for Tommy as his secretary and when Michael joined the business Y/N worked as his secretary.

“Don’t worry love you’ll get your happy ending,” Lizzie smiles at her and Y/N almost feels better. When Thomas calls Lizzie over towards him she gives her one last reassuring smile before going to see Tommy.

“You look beautiful tonight darling,” Michael compliments Y/N as he sits next her ordering some drinks for himself.

“Thanks Michael,” Y/N sighed

“What’s for you down love,” Michael asks as he noticed her sad mood.

“Just thinking about life,” Y/N mutters feeling herself get more sober.

“I do that to a lot love,” Michael smiles at her while butterflies fill her stomach. “I have a question for you love,” He ask moving closer to her as their faces were a few inches apart.

“Yes,” Y/N smiles at Michael feeling heat flood to her cheeks.

“Can I kiss you,” Michael whispers as she feels his breath on her face.

Y/N swallows before nodding. She feels his lips attach to hers. She begins to move her lips with his. He moves his hand to her cheek feeling his cheeks getting warm.

When they part they give each other warm smiles. Maybe she could be happy.

John was watching them feeling jealousy pool in the bottom of his stomach. He knows he shouldn’t but it happens.

He doesn’t do it. Y/N deserves to be happy no matter John thinks before turning to talk to Esme with a smile on his face.

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boxofbadaddiction · 4 years ago

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Thinking about...

How Ron started working for George at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

My theory, or headcanon (however you'd like to look at it), is that Molly proposed the idea...and George absolutely hated that suggestion.

But not because it's Ron.

He hated it because never in his life would George have imagined himself doing what he does without his Twin, and the thought of 'replacing him' causes bile to rise in his throat.

It would take many days of denial, small arguments and George finally reaching his breaking point to consider the idea that: perhaps Ron wouldn't be such a bad addition to the team...

I imagine it's sometime after the War and George has finally brought himself to reopen the store. Maybe it's only been back in business a couple weeks or for a few months now, but he's struggling a little bit. Because he doesn't want to admit he needs another worker around to take some of the load off his shoulders. And a little more than that: he just doesn't want to do it with anyone other than Fred.

Meanwhile, Ron is struggling to find work or get placement in Auror training. Because let's face it: even though he is Harry Potter's right hand man and helped win a War; his grades were...unideal.

I see Ron venting to Molly one day in the kitchen, perhaps after receiving another rejection letter, and she's running a loving hand in comforting circles over his shoulders while he's slumped over a hot chocolate. She's telling him to hang in there and that these things take time, offering that perhaps he should look into a part-time role with his Father within the Ministry. Or reminding him that Percy offered him an internship in his office.

But Ron hates both those ideas.

At this point George walks through the door looking exhausted. Greets the pair casually as he shrugs off his jacket and throws it over the back of a chair. He places a quick kiss to Molly's cheek and ruffles Ronniekin's hair as he moves to make himself a hot drink to wind down after a busy day.

"Hello Dear, busy day?" Molly smiles somewhat sadly, taking in her son's tired figure.

"Extremely." George huffs as he sits down across from the pair with slumped posture. "What's wrong with you, Ronnie?"

"Another rejection letter." Ron replies sadly as he annoyedly flicks the cause of his dejection to the centre of the table and drops himself against the backrest of his chair, taking up a similar slouched position to his older brother.

That's when Molly's struck by the idea. As she looks between her two boys and wishes she had a solution for them...the answer so simply presents itself. But she doesn't say anything.

Not yet.

She doesn't want to get Ron's hopes up if that's something he'd be interested in, and she knows he would be given how much he loves the Twins Shop. But more than that, she doesn't want to just spring the thought onto George because she knows how touchy the topic is going to be.

And it was.

A few days after this thought comes to her she gets her opportunity to run the idea past George. The two of them are alone doing a mindless task together, like washing the dishes. George scrubbing as Molly dries.

They've worked in comfortable silence thus far, but that's because Molly's too busy running a million different ways she can bring this up to George, through her mind, and which is the least likely way to upset him. George meanwhile is just enjoying the time with his Mother and the familiarity the task at hand brings. A strange sort of nostalgia washing over him, one which he'd never consider to be as therapeutic as it was.

But there's something nagging at the back of George's mind. And it has everything to do with the fact his Mother has been dutifully drying the same glass for 5 minutes now.

"Mum..." his voice snaps Molly out of her daze, drawing a surprised hum of acknowledgement from her throat. "I'd say that glass is dry by now." George joked with a crooked smile. "Oh, yes, I suppose you're right."

Molly's slightly flustered and places the cup down. But her expression remains rather vacant, mildly discontent. This finally prompts George to ask what's on her mind. Molly decides to simply go for it. There's no easy way to bring this up around George and she's really just stalling to forgo an uncomfortable conversation.

"George, I've been thinking..."

"Not good."

"I'm serious right now."

"So am I. You thinking never means anything good for me and-...for me."

"It's about Ron and finding him a suitable job, until he's accepted into training..."

And that's how it begins. She cushions the conversation considerably before asking the question she's been stewing over for days. She talks about how disheartened Ron has been in his misfortune, how desperately he wants to be apart of the work force. She talks about how tired George has been the last few months trying to run the shop by himself and how she just wants to be able to help the two of them get on their feet.

When she finally does ask the question: "What if, Ron came and worked for you?" It doesn't go down well.

She watches how swiftly his body language changes. From his casual 'I'm listening' demeanour to instantly putting his walls up. She watches as the words cause him to freeze. Every muscle in his body turning ridged and defensive.

His response is near immediate: 'No'. And he returns to the task at hand, however, he's no longer so comfortable within the grown silence.

He holds zero care in the way he handles the dishes as he cleans them, though it's notable how hard he's trying to not take any of his frustration out on them.

The conversation doesn't stay civil for very long.

Molly falls immediately into a sort of plead as she questions why George won't even take the time to consider the idea. She points out every reason why it is the best possible solution to both his and Rons current situations.

George shuts down not really answering any of Mollys questions as she rambles. The words seemingly falling from her mouth faster than she can process them; working herself into a right fluster.

George warns her quite a few times to drop the subject, but she continues, and he finally snaps. Tossing whatever dish is in his hands down into the water and yelling for her to stop talking. To drop the conversation because it's not going to happen before storming off elsewhere to cool down.

They spent a couple days without speaking after that.

More weeks pass and Weasleys Wizard Wheezes only gets busier. George feels like he's drowning in paperwork and just can't seem to get ahead. He goes to work an hour early and comes home hours late. He's tired and just about had enough. He can't even begin to imagine how he and Fred ever found so much joy in the work as they had.

"It's not work if you love to do it." Is what Fred always used to say when people would ask how he could possibly be so happy while on the clock.

George couldn't do this much longer. Not without his brother.

After one particularly difficult day George arrives home after all other occupants of the Burrow had gone to bed...or so he thought.

Walking in through the back door to all the houses lights out, save for a single lamp in the sitting room which Arthur and Molly leave on for him, he collapses into one of the Armchairs, too tired to attempt the walk up stairs right now.

His palms dig into the sockets of his eyes, harshly rubbing at each lid, to try rid the sandy feeling in them brought on from lack of sleep, then his fingers draw down on his cheeks; pulling at the skin in frustration.

He doesn't know it but Ron is, at this point, looking at him from the staircase landing. He'd meant to come down for a cup of water but instead found himself faced with his Brother.

Or rather, the shell of his brother.

Ron's never seen him look so...hollow and lifeless. It's like a horrible flashback to those months following the loss of Fred and it makes his stomach turn.

Ron comes over and sits on the sofa opposite George, a look of sympathy and concern on his face. George tries to joke and make light of his current situation but the humour and light doesn't come close to reaching his eyes and the smile he paints on looks painful.

After a little while of trying to get George to open up, and receiving quite the snap of attitude Ron concedes. He very well would have left for bed if the hanging silence hadn't made George feel enough guilt to attempt a change in conversation.

Soon though, after the initial awkwardness subsided, they get lost in talk.

It had started as a question of how Ron's job search were going but somehow ended with the pair laughing over silly childhood memories. Something George hadn't been able to do in a while.

Something changed between both brothers that night. They'd bonded in a new way and were much closer than they likely ever had been before. Ron had even managed to spark some product inspiration in George, and over the next couple days as he tries to perfect the concept they spend more time together.

From then on, George can feel a shift in the way he views Ron and in the possibility of him working at WWW. The idea of hiring him doesn't bring that bile feeling to his throat as it does with any other name or applicant who is suggested to him.

So, when George believes he's finally perfected the new product and takes it home to show Ron, that's the day he asks Oh, Dear Ronniekin's to work for him at the shop.

Which he of course agrees to.

#i. got. carried. away. AGAIN!#george weasley #harry potter #fred weasley #hp imagine #molly weasley #ron weasley #ron weasley hc #George weasley hc #thinking about...#mine #headcanon

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xavadak3davrax · 4 years ago

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Is Forever Real or Some Fairy Tale Thing? / Fred Weasley

Prince Fred- Part 4

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Warning: Smut (18+), Explicit language, Angst, Fluff. Theres female receiving oral, there’s the sex part itself. (anything I might forget warn me please)

Taglist: @manuosorioh @itsbebeyyy

Summary: Things have to get complicated before they can get better. Will they both be up for such changes?

a/n: This is the last part of Prince Fred and I just wanna say thank you so so much to everyone who has been here with me! It makes me so happy so many people have enjoyed this. After this I think might write lawyer!George because that idea has been eating me up since I started Prince Fred. So if for some reason you would like to read that keep an eye out 😊 Also sorry for any mistakes!

This is 8.8k words

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

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y/n has been avoiding Fred. Fred hasn’t been avoiding y/n, he is being avoided by her, which he doesn’t like, not even a little bit. He has been trying to catch her attention, catch her alone but is wasn’t been easy. He’s also been doing this for a week, so his unsuccessful tries have been driving him up the wall. He wants to know why, did he do something wrong? Has he said something he shouldn’t? he’s completely lost.

Every time he’s trying to have a moment with her it seems like she’s always prepared, and never comes alone. She doesn’t come alone to his room anymore when it’s time to prepare his things. She makes herself accompanied by Martha. They’re the same age and for what he had seen for a few weeks now they have started a strong friendship. They both stay and no matter what he says or tries to do Martha never leaves y/n’s side, not even strict orders from Fred. Something about “we have rules to comply from Agatha your highness”, it always comes from Martha in a louder voice than he thinks he’d never heard y/n speak to him (not including the time a week ago where he had fucked her in the tub, but that’s besides the point.)

So all is attempts have left them standing alone in the middle of his room, or where ever he tries to get her attention. It also doesn’t help that he gets married in exactly a month time and every chance his mother, Molly, gets him alone is to prepare for the wedding. Stupid, goddam wedding, it will be dammed. His future eye has left with her mother to come back days before the wedding , and would think that was good, but Fred doesn’t think it is, because this whole thing is stupid and he only wants to have one person and one person only in his life.

y/n. That’s the girl he wants, we desires the most. He has had strong feelings for her for way longer than he thinks possible, and after what they both had that day it only got stronger and Fred wishes with all his might he could have her, cherish her and lover her for the rest of his life.

He could marry some princess from some far away kingdom without knowing, but people would think less of his for marrying someone they considered poor? His subject? All stupidity, utterly and complete stupidity. He was sure his heart was now beating for y/n, for her smile, the way he smile made his heart skip a beat every time she showed it, even if only for a brief second. Or the way he heard her laugh when she was doing her work and talking to her friends they would talk, say something funny and she would laugh graciously making his body tingle. Her touch, soft and gentle like her soul. He knew her better then he was sure he would ever know his wife, the women he was meant to spend the rest of his life with.

“I don’t understand why you get to marry of love, and I have to marry out of it, mother.” Fred wished all this situation wouldn’t put a strain with his parents relationships but it was getting harder to not allow it to happen.

“Well, I don’t where that’s coming from my dear boy. If by now you would’ve settled with a gentle kind girl I would be more than welcome to her. But you decided to keep your love life on hold for way to long, you’re getting crowned in less than a month, you shall have to rule beside a woman who’s proper for it.” Molly said, taking in her hand her tea cup and taking a sip of it. It was just the two of them in the giant room. Arthur was way somewhere else in the castle taking care of important business.

“What if” the words got caught in his throat, was he really about to have this conversation with his mother? This could go either really bad or really good. He didn’t know how the last one would play out but he would like to see it happen. “What if there was someone.. you know- someone I found.” Fred had been avoiding looking at his mother, but now after he spoke this he looked her directly in the eye.

“Oh, well son, depends. Who is the this girl?”

“Does it matter mother, to you? Does it matter if she’s rich or poor?” Fred didn’t meant for his words to come out defensive but that’s how they came out. He didn’t even know where he got all the courage to speak of this, now more than ever, since y/n wasn’t even on speaking terms with him and what if she didn’t feel anything for him, then this conversation would surely go to waste.

“In my eyes it wouldn’t matter, my dear, if you love her then that’s all need.” Those words took Fred aback, so there was still hope? “Love is a very powerful thing, and you should not deny it ever. If you love that girl, then you should go for it.” Fred gave his mom a puzzled look.

“If you haven’t noticed, I am to be married in a month mom.” Fred stated, putting his hands on top of the table and crossing them.

The smile his mother gave him made the hope inside him grow. “Oh my son, have I not, in all these years, taught you not even one thing?” Fred just gave her a look. “If you love her, like you say you do, and for you to keep all this mystery from me, your own mother I can only imagine she’s no princess. Besides how could she be? Unless you had fell in love with your suppose future wife who you spent a total of five minutes with, all the time she was here. But I can make things work with your father. He loves you has much as I do and your happiness comes above all things. You marrying this princess has nothing to do with wealth, or business like we’ve said. We just needed to justify it to everyone else son. This is for image, we do not want you ruling without a woman by your side. You’re going to need her judgment, believe me I can see from your father.” The both laughed at that, and the smile on Fred’s face only grew. “It may make our image fragile for a while, for her kingdom at least, but nothing a good afternoon tea won’t solve. Has to out people they will love know the Prince himself had his eyes on a beautiful girl.

Fred blushed slightly, your face appearing on his mind and maybe his mind started to imagine a future with you. It had him feeling some type of way.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Fred questioned looking at his hand, a little embarrassed and then after a few moments looked at his mother.

“I am. At least you had the decency of telling me a month before the wedding and not on the day of the wedding. That would’ve been way harder to pull of. But now, if you don’t mind me asking, who is this mystery girl?”

“She’s… She is amazing. We met a while a go on one of my trips to the market.” He started, and then he went on for what seemed like an eternity sharing every detail of what he could and knew to be appropriate to share with his mother.

“I will speak to your father, it might take some work but we’ve been married along time and I know he will come around, now you son have a hard job to do. Talk to y/n. go find her and fix your mess.” Molly smiled, she hadn’t even finished talking and Fred was already up, he went around the table, kissed her on her forehead gently and then he was out the door and roaming the castle in search of you.

Since he was not in his chambers and not in need of your presence, he knew you’d be doing some other job Agatha had pointed out. He asked around, people barely looking him in the eye when they didn’t know the answer. But after a few good twenty minutes, or what felt like it, he found you, alone, in the stables. His head started spinning, he was lucky, not only had the conversation with his mother gone wonderfully, he now caught you alone?

You didn’t hear him approaching, since you were busy brushing Apple, his horse.

“y/n.” His voice startled you. You whipped around, eyes big and your hands started trembling.

“Your Grace.” You spoke quietly. You didn’t want to keep eye contact with him for long periods of time so your turned to his horse again and kept on brushing her.

“It’s just us, you don’t have to keep the formalities. I’m lucky finding you here alone, been trying to do that for what seems like an eternity.” He laughed, and hopes she would somehow join in, but was met only with silence. “I don’t know what I did to upset you y/n, but I wanna truly apologize for anything I might’ve said or done to keep you way from me. I- I miss you.” His voice came out gently. She kept silence for a while, she had no words. “Please say something.” He begged. He slowly approached her, trying to somehow not frighten her has if she was something fragile.

She breath in deeply, knowing what was to come would be harsh on her. “Ok, if you want me to say something on the matter I will.” She turned around and looked at Fred. “We can’t do what we did in your chambers. That should’ve never happened. Never. It was a mistake. You are to be married and she was in the castle waiting for you to be present in the meetings and we were fucking in your bathroom.” The vulgar language left her mouth and made her cringe a little. “Also if you haven’t noticed, I am one of your people, someone you are to rule over in a short period time, and I also work for you. We are not equals, we are never to be equals and I am never to be even close to what you are.”

“What I am?” Fred was confused.

“Yes, royalty. Or you think being born like you are is being born like I am? It’s not Fred. What we did was a mistake, a one time mistake.” y/n’s voice came out a little strangled, and she was holding in her tears. Oh how it hurts her to say all of this. To deny him. The man she didn’t know she would love the way she loves. He has her whole heart, right in the palm of his hand, and he knows it. But they can’t do anything about it.

“y/n please, please don’t say that.” Fred finally closed the space between them, his hands came to rest on her arms, very carefully. “I love you, and we can be together, my mom knows about us, she’s working for us to be together, Princess.” He had a sweet smile on his face and caressed her.

y/n felt the scariest feeling inside of her and her first instinct was to get way from him.

“What? What have you done? No, that can’t happen. You cannot go back on your duty as Prince. You can’t just let everything go because you were stupid enough to fall in love with me. That’s not how it works.” The words were harsh coming out of her mouth, and they left Fred very hurt but he wasn’t backing down from this.

“I am not stupid for falling for you, that is not stupid. Loving you, falling for you in such s short amount of time was the best thing that’s happened in my life. I am not ashamed of that, and it can happen. It can if you love me to.” Fred was sure he got her there. They loved each other, for sure what they had was a lot to speak on the matter, They were made for each other. Something Fred had read in some books from his giant library, about what some called soulmates. They were rare to find. He knew his parents were soulmates, and he was lucky to find his.

He was taken by surprise but what y/n spoke next. Some steps started to be heard behind him, whoever came in was not as silent had he had been to sneak up on y/n.

“I do love you my Prince, I love you has my ruler and the man I believe in to lead this country. I have faith you and your wife will take us to many great places.” y/n said, and then she pulled herself from his embrace, and the fixed her hair slightly and tried to compose herself when she saw a bit of black hair coming from behind Fred. Martha.

“y/n I’m sorry it took me so long. Have you finished apple? If yes we can move to the kitchen. Your highness.” She looked at the prince and then at y/n. y/n nodded, looked at Fred one last time and then walked out with Martha.

Fred was left there standing, alone and speechless. Tears coming to wet his red cheeks. He let his mind wonder for the last few minutes he had with her. And then he made up his mind. He wouldn’t let this take him down. He knew she loved him, he could feel it, he could see it. He had time, although ticking, he would give it all, to have her

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Getting y/n’s attention and fighting for her was proved to be harder than he thought. Every where he looked Martha was there and it seemed that since his encounter with y/n in the stables it seemed she now never left her side. So Fred had to resort himself to his mother, and ask her for some favors.

Had her give out some orders that would all of a sudden make Martha needed In other places. Jus so she wouldn’t always be close to y/n. Somehow, he still had some difficulty. Fred was staring to think of some romantic way he could make this work.

y/n had stopped working in his chambers, so it was hard to see her. When he asked for her, she was always to busy to come to him.

y/n on the other hand had taken many other jobs on the castle to feel in for not working for Fred anymore. Not much changed, she just didn’t get to see him everyday like she did before. She would lie if she said he wasn’t the best part of her day. She had also been thinking a lot about their conversation. She had gone home that day crying like crazy, and it was her mother who, even though she was very tired, had talked to y/n, and held her like she did when she was little. She had also made y/n understand that you cannot play with love. It’s not something you can deny they she had done. That’s not how love works, her mother had said.

Every little task she did around the castle never made her forget that dammed conversation. It was always there feeling every thought she had. Along with Fred’s touch, his moans and his face of pure bliss had he rode out his high, how she felt his legs shake underneath her and she felt so good, there, on top of him. Fred was y/n’s every constant thought. She loved him dearly, not has her prince. She loved that man and she wished very much she could’ve said that to him, but she would only ruin an entire kingdom with such words.

So she was doing her life the best she could, the days passing along and her mind trying to work trough this. She couldn’t leave the castle, she was making good money out of this. Leaving just because she was stupid enough to fall for him would be an even stupider decision.

This morning she had been doing laundry, she was putting it out in the bright sun to dry. She was doing this alone since martha was now requested a lot for other small things. She was humming along to the song she had heard the other day, some guard was singing it quite loudly. She didn’t have a smile on her face, but how could she? She had nothing to be happy about, only grateful. But those aren’t equals.

She felt a tap on her shoulder that scared her a little. It was a boy who worked with them, not directly with her, but he was in the kitchen and he was also the one who always left y/n the best left overs of food.

“This is for you.” He stretched a piece of paper to her and as soon as she took it in her hands he left, not giving her time to ask from who it was.

Her royal majesty The Queen, requires your presence for afternoon tea, at four o’clock in the greenhouse.

A paper from her majesty? For her nonetheless? She must be dreaming. She rubbed her eyes and then looked at the paper again. She was not dreaming. Did she even have a outfit that it would be appropriate to wear to tea with the queen? She was not working at that hour today, but would she have time to go home find something and come back?

She didn’t have the answer now but soon would figure it out.

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At exactly four y/n was there. The guards already knowing her well since she was always a bright spirit around and had left her mark there very early because of how nice she was, opened the door and she entered trying to make her presence almost not felt has she found the queen sitting at the top of the table.

“Your majesty.” She gestured towards the queen and when she smiled, retributed saying hello and pointed towards the chair she went to sit.

“I’m very honored about this.” y/n said with a small smile on her face as she looked at the queen, now sitting one her right side.

“Oh, dear, no matter, no matter. I wanted to talk to you. If you feel like I’m allowed.” She said calmly, pointing to the tea and giving y/n permission to serve herself. Knowing where this would lead and without knowing very well what to say she nodded so she could continue. “I know about you and my son.”

“There’s not much to know, your majesty. He is always very kind to me and I’m forever in his debt.”

“Well, if that’s so, then why deny him when he proclaimed his love for you at the stables.” With that y/n was taken by surprise. She knew the queen would know something if after all she was has close t her son had Fred had described to her on one of the many times she was preparing his things and he was his chatty self. When she didn’t answer Molly continued. “In this kingdom we value a lot of things. And as a mother I value my sons happiness above all. Now you may think this a big gesture for a queen to do for someone. Please don’t take this the wrong way. I’m doing this because he hasn’t been himself. I’ve seen many moods on my sons face, and many emotions. But this type of sadness was never one. I want him to be a great king like his father. And my dearest y/n do you know what makes a great king?” when she shakes her head ‘no’, the queen continues. “A lot of things, but you have to be above all strong, willing to do anything at your power to protect your people. A king also loves. And a king without a queen is not ever strong. No kingdom is any good if only a male ruler is on the throne. He loves you y/n.” with this last sentence molly takes the girls hand in hers and squeezes it gently.

y/n shyly looks down at her tea who all of a sudden is the most interesting thing in the room.

“So much. He only told me about you a very short while ago. But after that it’s the only thing he talks about. And everyday since the stables he shares with me how sad and mad he is that he not able to love you. He wants to show it to the world, that boy, oh that boy is just a joy.” She had proud in her voice and a dreamy happiness that made y/n feel things in her heart.

“I rejected him because I thought it wouldn’t be ok. Being who I am.”

“Fred has told me you tend to underestimate yourself. You are powerful, you are strong, and you are beautiful. Just because you weren’t born into money doesn’t make you any less. Money doesn’t make a person. The character makes them. I didn’t invite you here to convince you choose Fred, to go to him. I want this talk to make you understand who you are, why you deserve happiness and that also if you choose to come into our family we will take you with open arms. My husband may not be present but he supports you both just as much as I do.”

“But his wi-future wife,” she corrected quickly. “won’t she be mad? That I took her place? That I appeared from somewhere and was worthy of your sons love?”

“Don’t you worry about that. We will take care of that. Now did this conversation made anything clear to you?”

“Yes, it did. Makes me realize that this is so much more than we see outside these walls. There is so much more love and companionship, and I don’t have words to say. Makes me realize that I pushed Fred way out of fear. Fear that I won’t ever live to the expectations so many other princesses can give him. Fear that he will stop loving me one day. I pushed him way because I didn’t believe anyone would ever actually accept us. And look at us the way I would look at us, being that we would be together. But after this I understand I’m welcome, I can come clean to myself and admit my feelings for him.” She was feeling hot all over her body given that she was feeling nervous and a little shaky. So it was true, she did love him, she loved that red headed, tall boy. With his cheerful personality, his bright smile. Oh how she loved that boy.

Why did she try to deny herself that night? Why did she, thinking all the way back to the first time she saw him, think she would ever be able to not love him whole heartedly, even if she were to never see him again. She loves him very much.

“I think he might be in his chambers if you wanna look for him. But first why don’t you finish your tea and we can talk a little more? You seem nervous.” The queen gave her a reassuring smile, took the hand she still had on top of hers and then went to take a sip of her tea.

When finished y/n politely excused herself from the greenhouse. She took the way she knew so well towards his room and then looked at the guards for a moment. They were used to see her in her working clothes, not a dress like the one she had now. “I’m here to see the Prince.” She waited for them to resist her, but she was met with instead with hem opening the door, announcing her arrival and then a figure of a boy with a very messy hair, very tired eyes and his skin very pale appearing in front of her.

He had no words.

She was here. Why?

From the face he made y/n assumed he didn’t know what his mother had planned.

“Come in, please.” He pleaded, and the made way. He closed the door and then stood there, like a lost little puppy, his hands in his hair and he looked at her hopeful.

“I just had tea with your mother.” She said, a little laugh in her voice, still dumbfounded by that moment. “She talked me into coming her to express my feeling.” She turned around to face him, since she had been facing his unmade bed.

“Oh” that’s all he could muster up to say.

“Yeah, it takes moms for us to be able to do anything in life no? My mom also gave me a very big talk, similar to you mothers, but it’s not like I can do what my mom says when bigger things are involved.”

“I think you should’ve.”

She laughed, taking a step towards him. “I’m late, but I’m here now, if you still listen to what I have to say.” He didn’t say any words but nodded telling her like that, to continue. “I didn’t mean anything I said to you at the stables. I do love you and I don’t think it was stupid of you to fall in love with me, because then I should be stupid to for falling you. But I was scared. You have to understand where I’m coming from. That my mistakes will not be covered up like yours. My decisions have bigger consequences than yours would have. If I would’ve said yes without knowing anything else besides your love for me, I- I would’ve done it any other time. But I had my life on the line.” She admitted, a little hurt with herself for being to sincere and ending up coming to the realization that she might come out rude.

“I understand completely.” He wanted to move next to her, hug her and comfort her. But he felt at the same time that would be risky. So he waited until the situation presented itself.

“I love you and want you to know that the talk I just had with your mother didn’t make me realize that. I knew that, from the beginning even without knowing you I knew I would love you. You… you’re you. It just made me realize that I have your parents support on this, that I will not be an outcast.”

“I would’ve stayed with you with or without their support.”

“See, Fred,” she got even closer to him, it was her who touched him this time. He felt the tingles in his skin, from her touch, even through the lair of fabric he had. “That’s not how it should work. They’re your family and the most important thing. You also have a duty to a lot of people. I would not allow you to choose between me and your family, it’s not fair. But they chose me to come into your family, your mom gave me full permission to declare, proclaim myself to my love.” She tried to joke. Fred let out one of those nose laughs and took that as his chance to take her in his embrace. He hugged her so tight that she felt for a moment she couldn’t breath.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, my prince. For this life, and the next, and for as many lives as you’ll have me.”

Many would think that it was a small window of events that took them to fall in love. That in such a short amount of time it couldn’t have happened. But it did. They fell in love with each other, hey got to know the real people behind the masks. Fred got to realize that settling down was actually possible and that he wouldn’t mind this life after all.

She got to realize that she deserved to be loved, that she can achieve more in life that what faith had initially put out for her. That she had so much love in her and she couldn’t wait to share it with boy she hugged. The boy that made her, his forever.

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Everything has been going well with y/n and Fred. They have been going on so many dates together it’s actually amazing. On the first time after she proclaimed and accepted her love for Fred, he took her to the royal gardens. He had asked for some food to be made and they had a picnic. He waited till she had gotten of work to take her and then they stayed there until very late in the night.

The next time they had a date Fred took her riding. y/n had proclaimed her love for Apple, his horse, and so he saw only fitting to take her on a ride and let her have Apple for an afternoon. Only one, seen as Fred also loved Apple very much. They laughed it off.

Those were the two most special dates. But such thing even existed with Fred? Only two? He made sure every date was memorable. That she would remember every single one.

Behind the scenes his parents were working on negotiations with the Queen and the Princess. When finding out about everything they very fast made they’re opinions known about it. They felt betrayed and demanded the wedding to still happen. If that was a way to make Fred be scared it hadn’t worked. Whether they want to or not, the wedding was not going forward. So his parents had been extremely busy coming up with ways to ease the situation.

Fred wasn’t just going on dates with y/n, he was also helping his parents with everything on top of still preparing for his coronation. But above all he always made sure he had time for his princess.

But the work also kept her way for long periods of time and so in those, that’s when he would be keeping himself busy. Everyone around him had noticed the big change, Fred didn’t stay in his room all day. He would wake up early, go see y/n, since she was already working, and then he would go on about his day until she would be free to be with him.

y/n would spend the majority of her nights with Fred. Her parents were not very happy with it at first but they came around. They understood she was no child, she was also hardworking and they knew she wanted to be with him since he also busy and so they didn’t see each other like other regular couples would do. But then again they were not normal.

“Can you please stop looking at me like that?” y/n had a smile on her face, her hands were behind her back tying a knot on her dress, or at least she trying to. These dresses they gave her to wear were much difficult to put on then her normal working dress.

“I just think it’s funny, you’ve been trying to finish that for ten minutes now, and I offered to help and you said no. If you had let me you’d probably be done by now.” Fred stated, hands behind his head, while he was lying down on his bed, only in his underwear and legs spread.

“I will not accept your help because the chances of ending up naked in bed again is big, and I promised my mom I would go with her and by her a dress for your coronation.”

Fred smiled brightly at that. She would be there, front row seat to watch him. With her parents who he would probably meet on that day since y/n thought any day before that would be too early. He had made sure she had money to by her parents nice clothing and he was making sure she would be the most beautiful woman ever. So he was working closely with the royal tailors to make her the best dress.

“yeah, yeah, miss always right, is right.” He stated, while getting up from bed and draw nearer her to hug her but she stepped back. “Oh come on, I swear I only want to help, you need it.” He tried to hide the smirk on his face but it was almost impossible. His tall figure came up on y/n and he pus his hands on her waist to turn her around. he took her hands out of the strands and put his. His head came down to her neck where he left tiny pecks and kisses, feeling her skin tingle and a little laugh came out of her.

“You said you would help.” She warned, putting her hands behind again but this time to rest on his arms, squeezing them.

He murmured something inaudible before he finished what she was doing and then turned her back around to kiss her fervently, hands on her waist pulling her as close as he could.

“I love you. Tell you mom I said hi.” His arms left her waist to come around her neck and letting her face go straight to his chest, where she inhaled his flowery scent.

“I will. I love you my Prince.” They kissed each other and with one last ‘I love you’ from Fred she was out the door and onto her little adventure.

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The day of the coronation was pure chaos. Fred was needed everywhere since very early. He woke up alone today which didn’t really help his mood. y/n had slept at her parents since a carriage was going to pick them up a few hours before, ad y/n wanted to enter with them. Although Fred insisted she entered with his parents. So he hadn’t seen her in well over twenty four hours, since yesterday she was very busy in her last day of work.

After today she would leave the work and be next to Fred. Not as queen, and not as a married couple (yet) but has his girlfriend. He wanted her to help him in important decisions, and envolve her more in this life. Because, like he had promised, she would one day soon be queen, and they would be married, and so he wanted her with him since the beginning of his reign.

So it was clear the other wedding was taken care of, and they would never be heard from again, not after all the work and problems they tried to bring upon the. But Fred and y/n felt it was early to get married. They loved each other very much, but wanted to keep it like this for a while, also Fred would have so much to do as king that a wedding would be something, they felt he shouldn’t worry about.

“Have they gone and picked them up?” Fred was in a little pedestal, and turned to the mirror while a lot of people worked around him to finish the last touched on his clothing.

“Yes sir, the carriage left a few minutes ago. They should be here any minute.” He knew with the carriage they would be here any second and he wanted to see her before he was taken to the big event. So the people that surrounded him started working a little faster, and when he was ready he came down of the pedestal, and went to another room where he was alone for a some long minutes, until someone knocked on the door.

“Sir, Miss y/n and her parents are here to see you.” The guard announce and then pointed behind him with a gesture of his hand. y/n came almost running down to him. She was breath taking. The dress they had planned just looked amazing on her, contrasts with the color of her skin beautifully and accentuates her features in a staring way.

“Hi, sir soon to be king.” She murmured against his lips, hands in his neck pulling him into her.

“Hi Princess, I missed you. Haven’t seen you in a while.” He could’ve sworn this dress was only making it worse for him to take the sexual frustration he had built in him for the past day.

Her parents cleared their throats slightly, which made them separate and turn to them.

She proceeded to do the presentations, and from the shinny look her mother had on her eyes and the relaxes look her dad had, she knew they already loved him very much. Fred had spoken to her on some of the nights where they would talk and talk with no means to end, that he planned on helping her parents, but also help everyone even more than his parents did. He felt that still so much poverty existed, and he wanted to make sure people got the same opportunities and had better ones.

They couldn’t stay longer there. But just before they were to head out and leave Fred to prepare himself for the final minutes had Prince, y/n stayed behind for a little bit. Fred had his hand on hers and was kneading it a little looking at her with expecting eyes, since he knew the look she had.

The smile she made was mischievous.

“You better behave yourself out there, I have a special present for you for when we’re alone.” She let got of his hand, the promise hanging in the air has she left through the open door and left him standing there, words caught in his throat, hands now sweating and his cock twitching in his trousers. He was sure he was already forming a boner but didn’t want to dwell much on that thought given that of he would, an embarrassment was sure to happen in front of extremely important people, and probably the whole crowd.

Everything went well and by mid day Fred was now king. His parents now ‘retired’ has they liked to call it. By the time he hit his rooms he was tired, but felt so accomplished that the tiredness he felt was over come by a feeling of happiness.

Also how could he be tires when any second now his girl would be entering his room. He couldn’t believe he would be able to have her for as long as he wished. No more work she had to be at, at ungodly hours that would take her from him.

When the door opened and she entered, the beam on her face was huge.

“I am so proud of you, my king.” The words left her mouth with a little tease.

“I feel like, although I hate it when you call me anything major, king does sound very nice coming from that little dirty mouth of yours.” He put his hand behind his back, his posture becoming firm, instead of slumped over he was now tall and showing his dominant side. If y/n thought she could come in here and for once be in charge, she was very much mistaken and wanted to slap herself hard on the head for ever thinking that.

“And what will do if I don’t want to call you that? Or sir? Or if say you have no power over me?” her voice came a little louder than it usually came when they were in this mood. Was she defying him? Oh she was in for a treat.

“Well, I will make sure you are punished. But first I think I still have some type of present you so promised your king, am I wrong?”

Hearing Fred call himself king made her very weak and she had to close her eyes for a few second to come back to herself. She gave her the best smile she could and then turned around so her back was facing him and her hands came to undo her laces. Undoing them was way easier than doing them, that, she was sure of. The dress was soon on the ground and she was left and the most beautiful underwear he had ever seen.

y/n had made sure it was done precisely to her body, and also the color would be Fred’s favorite. A red, but not a bright red, but dark. It was something not every woman had access to. So for her to have such a piece on her, Fred knew she had been working with the tailor who had done her dress.

“So my naughty little Princess decided the best present to give her man would be the dirtiest most naughtiest lingerie ever seen?” She was going to turn around and face him, but he came up on her and pus his hands on her shoulders keeping her in place. “don’t even think of turning around.”

Her breath was uneven, her chest felt like it could burst. Just from his touch, and his voice along with the dirty words leaving his mouth, she felt tingles in her pussy, she felt warm and sticky and she needed his touch immediately. But she knew after what he pulled, that wouldn’t happen.

“Do you also think I will let slip they way you smiled and made eyes at that stupid court boy? Few words and I bet you were hooked. You are just a little whore asking for attention.” His hands came down, from her shoulders to her arms, and then to her chest and belly, stopping just above her pantie line. “I can feel the warmth radiating from you, you don’t even have to speak, your body does that for you, just waiting to be touched.”

She nodded, unable to form any other words. While on of his hands came to touch her breast through the fabric of her bra, the other came inside her panties and he had barely touched her clit before she was restless in his hands and a moan was leaving his mouth.

“You have to be still and quiet, don’t want other people knowing some whore is pleasuring her king, do we know?” he pinched her clit between his thumb and index finger and the hand on her breast, left it, so it could come up to her mouth and shut it. Her hips kept moving, trying to find pleasure in it and get closer to Fred’s touch, since every time she had some it wouldn’t last long, he would take his hand way, leaving her wanting more.

His hand lowered a little to touch her wet slit and his fingers played with it for a little, the moans from her were sinful. He entered a finger, a moan now coming from him. His cock feeling strained in his trousers as the pleasure built in him. “so tight princess, even after all the times you’ve had my cock, you are still this tight. I keep stretching you out. Not complaining, love it when I can feel you stretch around my cock. You love it to don’t you?”

She nodded, and a little whine left her when fred took his hand out and seized any touch he had on her.

“I want you on the bed. On your hands and knees. Naked.” He added the last part when he saw her eagerly going to the bed still dressed. She stopped suddenly and started to get undress. Fred was also taking his clothes that now felt hot and heavy on him. He couldn’t stop looking at the beautiful woman in from of him. Was he a lucky, lucky guy to have her.

“You also have to understand I am in charge you shall not give me orders or provoke me. You knew we had an important day ahead and still decided to be a bad girl and get me hard before my coronation. Bad girl. But somehow I’m feeling extremely generous today and that my gift from you to me, besides this beautiful piece of clothing would be to eat your sweet little precious peach. No?”

y/n, now in the position asked, felt her vision go white for a few seconds, like it would if she just had a mind blowing orgasm, but this time still far way from it. She nodded violently, the need to turn around and look at him there, but she put an end to that thought before he changed his mind.

Fred came up to the bed, on his knees, his cock aliened with her entrance perfectly and he could just slip right in. But he wouldn’t do that just yet. Although that wouldn’t stop him from teasing her, his hand on his cock, sliding it all over her pussy, her juices messy all over her.

“Fred, please.” His hand came down to slap her clit, the friction made her scream, the little pain she felt overcome with pleasure. “My king, please.” She felt like she wasn’t there presently anymore. The pleasure so much, that everything felt unreal.

Fred laughed mockingly and before swiping one more time he got down in a position where he would be comfortable and on eye level with her pussy.

“Such a beautiful cunt my girl has. All mine, forever. That’s better than becoming a king. Having you has my play toy.” His fingers came to brush her clit, he put pressure in it. Is other hand on his cock, his movements a little fast, his breath showed that.

He took his hand out of his cock so he could plunge two fingers into her warm sweet pussy, both moaning deliciously at the contact. His other hand kept qorking on her clit a little faster this time. She was closing in on him, her pussy spasming at each thrust of his fingers. Her hands clenching the bed sheets.

“I fucking love you so much.” She managed to let out, her hips coming to meet his fingers. Fred looked astonished at the sight.

“Yes baby, that’s it, fuck yourself onto me.” She encouraged. The fact that he didn’t say it back didn’t bother her, not when he had to fingers in her, fucking her quickly and efficiently, and a hand on her clit. She continued to fuck herself on his fingers. She started to get very stiff, her body announcing her orgasm.

“Come for me sweet girl, give all you got.” He murmured, his mouth close to her and when her orgasm hit her, he took his fingers out and put his mouth on her mound instead prolonging her orgasm with his mouth and at the same time being able to taste her sweet nectar.

She was breathing heavily, her hands unclenching the sheets, her eyes still closed and the feeling of starts still around her. When she opened her eyes took her a few seconds to adjust and come back to him.

“you always do so good for me. It always amazes me.” He said. He was again on his knees, his hand on his cock, moving up down and gripping the head of his cock making his eyes roll a little. He watched as y/n got from her position and was now looking at him. Her nipples hard and a little red from the friction she had on the bed. She took her hand out to push his away and put hers there. It started slow, making sure to never break contact with him.

“Thank you, my love.” She murmured, coming near him to give a kiss to his lips. Not knowing what to do with his hands they ended up on her breast, he loved them so much, they were just what he always needed to comfort him at night when he couldn’t sleep.

His mouth was hanging open, his eyes now a little close and he felt his high coming to crash down on him. His hand on top of hers abruptly to stop her.

“I wanna come in you.” He stated, opining his eyes to look at her, and when she nodded he pushed her without force to the bed. So she was laying her back on the bed.

He took her legs in his hands and advanced towards her, putting her legs on his shoulders. He knew how much they both loved that position, he had the perfect angle to her sweet spot and it was when she was the tightest to him.

Didn’t waist a second to be inside her.

“Fuck.” Her legs trembled under his hold. He entered at once, without any chance of previous adjustment. She was contraction tremendly around him. Her hands coming to squeeze her breast for added pleasure.

“I keep telling you, you were made for me. You are my other half, we fit perfectly in everything.” He thrusted against her, again, and again and again until he felt her spasming again. “Touch you little clit for me, give it some attention, needs it too baby.” He smirked, watching closely to one of her trembling hands leaving her nipple to come touch her clit.

The pressure of it made them both moan. She felt all the tingles in her body all her nerves hitting with pleasure. Fred felt her close in on him, his cock feeling all the pressure and he didn’t have time to warn her before he came. Hard. He filled her up with his cum, white spurts coating her walls and it seemed like it would never stop.

His orgasm encouraged hers and her pressure on her little increased, so strong clear liquid came out of her, covering her thighs, Fred’s stomach and his thick thighs. His eyes widen, his hands clasping her thighs with force to help himself from coming again if that was even possible. He called her name, when he looked at her eyes were all dilated, she was rolling her them a little, concern hit him.

“Baby please, come back to me.” He let her legs fall, and still inside her came to rest his hand on her face giving gentle taps. The movement of his hips made her moan, she tried to push him way. “I’m sorry princess, so sorry, just need to know you are ok.” He said gently, and when a small smile came to her face, her eyes coming back to life he sight in relief.

“I-I’m good Fred, I’m good. You just- Just gave me the best orgasm of my life.” She stated, hands coming to rest on top of hers. “I think after all you came you might knock me up or something.” She laughed a little, followed by him.

“Wouldn’t mind that at all.” He kissed her lovingly on the lips and then proceeded to came out of her. His cum leaving her too since her pussy was still spasming a little.

He laid down next to her, pulling her carfuly to his chest and wrapping his arms around her. Managed to pull the silk sheets to cover them and kissed her forehead gently.

“Thank you. “ She started, her voice still a little moony from the event that happened minutes ago. “This was amazing,” she was speaking in little breaths. “but today itself was brilliant, you shall be a great king and I’m lucky you chose me to be by your side every step of the way. I love you” She looked up at him, his eyes a little teary because the words she spoke hit every right spot (soft for that matter).

“I love you so much it hurts, knowing that I can have you, that I can have both things makes me the happiest man on earth. I shall give you everything good this life has to offer, I love you, tremendously.”

That is how their forever started. Well, it started a few weeks back, but this was official, everyone outside the castle now knew about them. The knew the girl who stole his heart. They would be happy for as long has they both shall want, the starts up above would made sure of that.

#smut #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley smut #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #golden

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cali-holland · 4 years ago

Text

Forever and Ever, Prologue

Tom Holland X Osterfield!Reader, Wedding Series

As Tom thinks over the two most important questions he’ll ever ask in his life, he thinks back on the day that he met you, the day his life changed forever.

Warnings: sexual themes, swearing

Word Count: 2100

Masterlist Tom Holland Masterlist

“I'm so in love with you

And I hope you know

Darling, your love is more than worth its weight in gold

We've come so far, my dear

Look how we've grown

And I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old

Just say you won't let go”

~ Say You Won’t Let Go, James Arthur

~~~

Tom’s leg shook anxiously as he mindlessly scrolled through his phone. Sat right beside him in the unusually quiet German airport was Harry, who could tell something was definitely off with his brother. Harry glanced over at Tom’s phone, but he was just on Instagram, looking at a random dog account, it was nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t until Tom started to bite his nails that the younger boy spoke up.

“Why are you acting like you’re going to explode?” He asked. Tom stared at his brother, brown eyes wide with his thumb nail still in his mouth. He dropped his hand from his lips and shut off his phone.

“Uh, um-“ He stuttered, unsure what to say about his nerves.

“Tom-“ Harry started, but he was quickly cut off.

“I’m asking Y/N to marry me.” Tom rushed out, and this time, it was his brother’s turn to have wide eyes.

“No way! Have you told Harrison yet?”

It was a simple question. It really was, and yet Tom felt his mouth dry up at the thought. Harrison was Tom’s best friend; he’d definitely be best man at the wedding, but Harrison was your older brother, and Tom didn’t know how to ask for his permission, even just asking to date you was awkward enough. His leg started to bounce uncontrollably again as he shifted in the uncomfortable chair.

“Not exactly?” Tom replied, and Harry looked at him suspiciously.

“You haven’t told Harrison?” He questioned.

“No.” He sighed, “I know I need to, but I just don’t know how. He’s my best friend, and I know he’ll let be supportive of me and of Y/N. It’s just-“

“It’s a big step.” Harry noted, patting his brother on the shoulder, “But you know he’ll let you, so that’s got to count for something?”

“It does. Right now, I’m more nervous about dealing with the ‘hey I wanna marry your sister’ talk than actually proposing.” He admitted, running a hand through his hair.

Their conversation paused as they heard the airline announce boarding, and the two of them got on the plane with ease. Sitting down beside Tom in an aisle seat, Harry reminded him, “I’ll be honest, I don’t know how much longer I can keep this a secret, so you have a week to tell him before I spill it. I’ve already told Sam.”

“When did you have time to do that?” Tom mumbled, and his brother smiled at him helplessly, pulling on headphones and a sleep mask, ready to sleep for the entirety of the flight, even though it wasn’t a redeye.

Meanwhile, Tom looked at his phone in his hands. His phone, and his heart, lit up as a text from you came through.

“Can’t wait to see you when you land! Love you!” it read, accompanied with several heart emojis. Smiling to himself, Tom typed out a response.

“Love you too! I’m counting down the minutes until I can hug you again!” and he even added the emojis to match yours. Tom let out a sigh when the stewardess called for all phones to be switched off as they prepared for take off. With his phone in airplane mode, he found himself on his photos app, thumbing through his favorite album, compiled with pictures of you, his favorite thing in the world.

The very first photo in the album was actually the very first picture of you two. Though neither of you knew it back then, it was one of the best days of his life, as well as one of the most embarrassing.

They say that you just know when you meet your other half, the love of your life. For Tom, that was very much true; the moment he laid eyes on you, he knew you’d make a lasting impact on his heart. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth for you.

It was your 17th birthday, and, like always, you and your twin brother, Harrison, had a joint party. He invited his friends, which included Tom, and you invited your own friends, including your crush from school. Tom had only been friends with Harrison for a few months, and he had no idea that his friend even had a twin sister.

So as everyone mingled around in your backyard under the colored lights from the patio, you found yourself occupied with Richard (to this day, Tom calls him Dick). Flicking your hair back, you let yourself flirt away with him, and he seemed to be getting into it as well. As he made a joke, you threw your head back in laughter— or well, in forced laughter because he wasn’t all that funny. With your eyes shut, you were completely unaware about the two boys running through the crowd. A body collided into yours and you lost your balance, falling into the pool behind you.

Even though he was the one who ran into you, Tom still blames it on Harrison, who managed to duck around you before Tom could, sending him crashing into you.

The party quieted down immediately as all eyes fell on you and your white dress in the pool. While Harrison couldn’t control his laughter at your embarrassment (like a true brother), Tom found himself frozen as he looked at you. He could still remember his heart thumping louder in his chest; he swore it was love at first sight. As you trudged your way to the stairs, Tom quickly shed himself of his jacket, thinking it’d be best to try to cover your now see-through material.

“Here.” He said to you as you stepped out of the pool, arms crossed over your chest. You eyed him for a moment, trying to see if he was serious, before you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him.

“Dumbass.” You muttered, walking past him and his jacket and into your house. Tom stood there, confused. Surely, you knew it was an accident and you knew he was trying to be chivalrous.

As the party continued around him, Tom shrugged his jacket back on and Harrison came up behind him, still laughing at the incident. “I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that sooner.”

“What? Pushing a random girl into a pool?” Tom asked, and his friend raised his eyebrows at him in surprise.

“Mate, you realize that was Y/N, my twin sister.” The wide smile on his face did nothing to comfort Tom’s growing guilt and now the poor brunette was on the verge of a meltdown.

“That was your sister? This is her party, too?”

“I should’ve shoved her in that pool the moment Richard started chatting her up.” Harrison stated, putting an arm around his friend. “She’ll get over it.”

You didn’t get over it. You actually completely ignored his existence out of spite for nearly a year. But when you finally did get over it, Tom was glad you did.

The picture wasn’t even really a picture of you two. It was a group photo, taken by your mother after you had changed out of your soaking wet clothes. You stood in the middle of the group photograph, smiling beside Harrison, and Tom stood on the other side of his now best friend (Richard wasn’t in the photo anymore since Tom cropped him out). While it was subtle, Tom wasn’t even looking at the camera; instead, he was looking at you. Harrison loved to make fun of him for having “demon eyes”, but it was still a momentous photograph (which you actually loathed the picture because you didn’t like your damp hair in it).

As the flight took off, Tom busied himself on his laptop. With his phone connected to it, he moved over some of his favorite pictures of you, including the “horrendous” picture from your 17th birthday. He spent the next few hours piecing together the perfect slideshow, feeling his heart soar proudly as he worked on it. Though he still needed to ask Harrison for permission and still needed to get a ring, he figured now was as good a time as ever to work on his proposal plans.

He wasn’t really sure when he’d have an opportunity to talk to Harrison privately in the next week. When they land in London, they’ll be greeted by you and Harrison, probably Sam too, maybe even Paddy and his parents- he wasn’t too sure. Then, he’d spend the next week by your side, trying to get as many cuddles and kisses in as possible to make up for his time away.

The moment their plane landed and he switched his phone back onto its normal setting, a string of texts came through from the family group chat. Judging by the excessive congratulatory texts mixed with “why didn’t you tell us”, he knew Harry’s slip to Sam had gotten out. He could only hope Harrison didn’t know; it’d be a miracle if you didn’t know at this point.

As he left baggage claim with Harry, he looked for you along the pickup curb. He felt a bit disappointed when he spotted Harrison alone by his car, but then the nervousness settled in when he remembered the all important question he had to ask Harrison before he could ask you the other all important question.

“How was the flight?” Harrison asked with a bright smile, opening the trunk of his car for them.

“Slept for all of it.” Harry replied as he loaded up his luggage and Tom did the same.

“Good, just a flight. A normal flight.” Tom stated, a bit too suspiciously.

“You alright?” Harrison looked at him questioningly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” He answered defensively. With his things in the car, he made his way to the passenger seat and took a large gulp of his water, suddenly feeling dehydrated. Harry slid into the backseat, and Harrison made himself comfortable in his driver’s seat.

“I know Y/N said she was going to come, but she got dragged into a mandatory work meeting.” Harrison said, before either could ask about your absence. Tom didn’t answer, he just remained suspiciously quiet. Noticing this, the blonde spoke up, “You sure you’re fine?”

“I want-“ Tom started, before clearing his throat. He looked at his best friend beside him, nervously admitting, “I want to ask Y/N to marry me.”

Harrison was silent for a moment as he maneuvered the car out of the airport. It was probably only a few seconds that he was dead quiet, expression unreadable, but it felt like an eternity to Tom. “We’ll be brothers? Actual brothers?”

“Well, in-laws, but yeah.” Tom replied, still unsure if Harrison was okay with it. Before he could ask, the blonde reached over and punched him in the arm.

“You, dickhead, thinking I wouldn’t let you marry my sister. I thought something was seriously wrong with you.” He laughed.

“So, that’s a yes then?”

“Yes, it’s a yes. I better be the best man.”

“What about me?” Harry asked from the back. Harrison and Tom both turned around to look at him with mirrored raised eyebrows. “Alright, I get it.”

“Have you got the ring yet?” Harrison inquired, facing the road again to drive properly.

“I’ve looked at some, but I haven’t bought any yet. I know how I’m asking though.” Tom went off into a further explanation of his proposal idea. Needless to say, they were all excited about this.

The rest of the drive home was filled with proposal talk, and, when Harrison pulled up to the shared house, he let out a small sigh. “Okay, as much as I want to continue talking about this, maybe we should leave this conversation in the car.”

“Why?” Tom asked, confused by the suggestion.

“It’s nothing.” He shrugged in reply, helping them get their bags out of the car. Tom was just about to question it again when they stepped inside the house, but all thoughts about Harrison’s previous words were gone the moment the door opened.

“Surprise!” You cheered with Tuwaine and the rest of the Holland clan beside you, a ‘welcome home’ banner hanging on the wall behind you all. Tom dropped his bags and hugged you immediately. “Welcome home, baby.”

“I missed you so much, sweetheart.” He mumbled in your ear, before cupping your cheeks to kiss you, not particularly caring about the pda in front of his family.

“Yeah, we’re here, too. Thanks.” Sam piped up, having just greeted his twin with a hug.

“I’m not kissing you.” Tom laughed, before letting go of you to hug his brother and the rest of his family.

“I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up. I was busy planning all this.” You told him, once he came back to you, wrapping an arm around your waist casually.

“I love you. You’re the best.” He smiled at you, pulling you in for another kiss.

“I know.” You teased. Tom just looked at you with the fondest expression on his face, making you furrow your eyebrows at him, “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” He replied, brushing it off.

As he looked at you in his arms, he thought to himself. ‘This is absolutely the girl I want to marry.’

~~~

Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-hollands @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer @hollandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @gorrillaglue23 @petersoftboyparker @musicalkeys @duskholland @biebsmylife95 @dummiesshort

Tom Holland Tag List: @quaksonhehe @tomkindholland

Series Tag List: @thefallenbibliophilequote

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland series

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erzherzog-von-edelstein · 4 years ago

Text

On the Banks of the Delaware

Summary: America gets to know the German state that England hired to help fight him. It doesn’t go as he expects.

Period: The American War of Independence.

Characters: America and Hesse

Word Count: 1.5K

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The general told America in a letter that they had defeated a group of foreign soldiers, and were holding the officers captive. That was exactly what Washington had planned for days, and America was overjoyed that it had gone so well.

Once the prisoners were back in camp after a very long and wet trip back, America allowed himself to relax and feel some sense of triumph. He had struck a blow against England and he was sure that it would be an important one.

But, he was surprised when Washington added, “It seems that one of them is like you, and I think that you should be responsible for him. Keep him here and get information if you can.”

America was wary of whoever this fellow country was, but he felt like it would reflect poorly on him if he did not extend some courtesy. He had not been completely oblivious to England’s lessons about how to behave in war.

General Washington led a tall man in a Hessian uniform, and America stood out of respect. He wasn’t certain whether it was strange to do for an enemy, but it seemed correct.

The general left him alone with the man, and America decided that it was best to introduce himself. He extended a hand, and said, “I’m America.” The man avoided his hand and said, “I know.”

America awkwardly withdrew his hand, unsure it he had done something wrong. He tried again as the other sat down and loosed the tie holding his hair, “And you’re Hesse?” As Hesse nodded he released his dark hair from his ponytail, “I am. I see you’ve already heard of me.”

A curtain of long dark waves fell around his shoulders, and America found himself staring. Hesse was very attractive, incredibly angular and sharp. The smattering of scars across his face only added to the sense that he was striking to look at. The loose hair softened him to the point that America could feel his face growing hot under his gaze.

Hesse said, “Do you have anything to drink? I could use something strong.” America said, pointedly, “General Washington ordered your rum to be destroyed.”

Hesse sighed like this was deeply annoying. There was a kind of calm arrogance about the man, and it was somehow charming. He said, “A terrible waste if you ask me. Rum isn’t cheap.”

America stiffly sat across from him, and repeated a well worn lesson from his childhood, “Alcohol is a vice. It makes men behave badly.” Hesse rolled his eyes and replied, “You’re such a Puritan. Trust me, young man, a little vice keeps you sane.”

America shook his head. He knew what he believed in and he was not going to budge. The last thing he needed on his hands was unruly drunk soldiers. He replied, “I have ale if you want something.”

Hesse shook his head, and all of his waves moved in a way that America found intriguing. He replied, “No, I would rather not. The beer that you make is barely better than water.”

America shrugged, since he did not care one way or another, but it seemed polite to offer. He turned his attention to a different subject that had been on his mind, “Can I ask you something?” Hesse shrugged, “If you would like. I’m your guest.”

America bit his lip and said, “What do you have against me? I’ve never met you before and you’re fighting me.”

Hesse laughed, and America couldn’t understand why. Before he could ask, Hesse clarified, “My dear boy, that is not it at all. Arthur is paying me to be here, and he is paying me very well.”

America hadn’t thought about the power that gold may have. He felt naive when he asked, “So, could I convince you to join me?” Hesse laughed against and said, “If you had a better offer I would. But judging from the state of your boots, you’re in no position to.”

America asked, though he knew it was hypothetical, “What would you do if I could offer a fortune?” Hesse smirked and replied, “You get rich first, and then we’ll talk.”

It was a frustrating dead end, and he knew that he could not push harder. He hardly had the money to pay for his soldiers’ uniforms, and it showed. America tried to turn the conversation to something that he knew. He said, “Do you know Gilbert? He’s my mentor.”

It seemed like a safe topic of conversation, since Prussia was the only other German he had met. He had heard about Hannover, and England’s relationship with him, but England’s distance had meant that America had never met him. And he felt quite proud to say that Prussia had taught him.

Much to his surprise, Hesse chuckled and said, “Oh yes, I do know my cousin. I know him much better than you do.”

America was not sure what to make of the cryptic statement. But, before he could ask any questions, Hesse continued unprompted, “He thinks I’m a scoundrel and I think that he is a fool.”

America could not understand him at all. The man who had taught him so much about strategy and discipline that he could turn the tide of the war was not a fool. He felt the desire to defend Prussia, even if he probably did not need it.

He replied, pointedly, “You must not know him very well if you think that.”

Hesse gave him a knowing smirk and then crossed his legs so that he could reach his boot. Then, he started to pull off the shoe. America said, without thinking to find a tactful way to ask, “What are you doing?” Hesse replied, “Your general made me stand in a river. My stockings are wet and I would rather have them off.”

Even if it made sense, America was not sure if he should object. It certainly did not seem like proper behavior, but he didn’t know if it was normal amongst soldiers. He decided it was better to not say anything in case he was wrong.

Hesse took the silence to continue speaking, “I am not saying that Gilbert is unintelligent. He knows his craft very well. But, he is still naive enough to use his skills for righteousness.” He raised one eyebrow and added, “And he’s apparently judged yours to be worth his involvement.”

He succeeded in pulling off his boot and dropped it with a thud. America said, slightly defensive, “And you don’t believe in a righteous cause?” Hesse looked remarkably handsome as he smirked and nodded, “Here’s my wisdom for you: One man’s righteous cause is another’s fool’s errand. Gold is not subjective. It is tangible, and it is unchanging.”

America bristled and said, “I think that’s very honorable of him. I am grateful for all of his training. ”

Hesse began to roll down his wet stocking in a way that made it nearly impossible to not stare at his muscular calf. He shook his head slightly and said, “Honor is such a fickle concept. You think he is honorable because he is helping you.”

America wasn’t certain how to refute him, but he was also certain that his gratitude was sincere. Hesse added, “Though, he could have done it because he wanted to make dear old Fritz happy. If his king orders something, he will do it.”

He lowered his foot and brought the other boot up so he could work on that foot. America didn’t like the implication that Prussia had only acted on orders and he replied, “You make it sound like discipline is a fault. Do you think that Gilbert should really fight for money like you do?”

Hesse took off the other boot, and rubbed the bottom of his foot like he was still trying to ward off the cold of the Delaware. He nodded slightly and said, “He could make a lot of money if he did, especially with his reputation.”

America found himself staring at Hesse’s exposed calf and trying to concentrate. He wished that he had poured himself a glass of ale. He replied, “I think that some people are born with a sense of good, and they act on it. I think that Gilbert is one of those people. I like to think that I am too. You may not believe me now, but I’m going to do good in the world.”

Hesse smirked again and replied, “I assure you, Gilbert was not born with it. He had it beaten into him by monks. He may have left the church, but he’s still that same monk looking for a crusade to fight. He like you that way. You may not be a Puritan anymore, but you still think a single sip of rum will send you straight to Hell.”

America felt like he didn’t know enough about Prussia’s past to know what he was talking about. All he knew was that Prussia was someone who had the expertise to help him. But, he could not speak or else he might reveal his own ignorance about European history.

Hesse finished removing his second stocking and he then laid the stockings carefully over the back of a chair to let them dry. Hesse said, “I am done now. You can stop looking so scandalized. I am not going to take off my breaches.”

The very thought of Hesse taking off anymore clothing made America blush. He attempted to stutter out an answer, “Uh…yes, I mean, don’t do that.”

America felt himself blush even more furiously. Hesse said with a smile, like he had figured out some puzzle, “I think I see why you are defending Gilbert now.”

#hws america #hws hesse

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Text

First-Line Defensive Pairing

Of all the things they’d done in the last few months, spending the afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream was one of the more ridiculous. Mostly because of the wooden spoons they gave out on the tour. Partially because it seemed Will Scarlet could not stop casting furtive glances at Belle French. Or the heels that always matched her dresses. Maybe because she kept answering his hypothetical questions. And maybe even because he was willing to drift far closer to genuine these days. At least when it came to his feelings for her.

————

Word Count: 3.7K AN: Take two! Ok, so apparently yesterday when I posted this Tumblr thought it’d be a really cool idea to just...reformat the entire story. With whole graphs in totally wrong spots. Anyway, here it is again. Just as ridiculous as yesterday. With just as many Will and Belle emotions. Because that’s a thing I’m doing now, apparently. Writing Blue Line-era Will and Belle. If you’d like more of these flirt-prone idiots, here is their first date and Belle getting annoyed that Will fought someone on the ice. Technically, this was part of the kiss prompts and was “height difference kisses.” I hope the five of you who are interested in this enjoy it. That includes @shireness-says and @eleveneitherway who are mostly to blame for this.

————

“I’m going to ask you a hypothetical question.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. Let some of that light creep back in her gaze, a flash of amusement that regularly made Will’s stomach leap dangerously close to the base of his ribs. That’s why he did it. Maybe not the rib thing, partially because he wasn’t even sure that was the correct technical term. The rest of it, though. The eye thing. Sure. Definitely. One-hundred percent. Why he’d also made sure the little wooden spoon they’d been given at the start of this tour was still in the corner of his mouth; to guarantee absolute absurdity, and he figured that started when they decided to spend their afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream, but he was willing to take it all a step further.

In the absurdity factor, at least.

Other things were—

Well, it wasn’t as if they explicitly decided to keep the relationship a secret. Not on purpose. Not really. Or come to any sort of legitimate agreement regarding the use of the word relationship. It never seemed...important, honestly. And that was a potentially problematic and lackadaisical approach to someone who made Will smile with an almost alarming consistency in the last few months, but she’d also sort of snuck up on him, and Ariel was going to be so annoying.

About the whole goddamn thing.

She’d never shut up about it, he knew.

So he didn’t push. Belle didn’t, either. An unspoken agreement, that’s what it was. He had other things to do, anyway. Like get ready for a playoff run and ignore the lingering ache in his calves after the echo of Arthur’s whistle stopped ringing in his ears, and, ok, his apartment was starting to feel a little bit larger than it had in a long time, maybe since Killian had moved out, but that was fine. Cup runs did not come because someone was in a relationship. Will had seen that first hand. With Cap, of all people.

Watched the way his whole life had fallen apart around his ankles, little shards of hope and possibility that, Will knew, still threatened the structural integrity of Kilian’s internal organs and all four ventricles of his heart, and he did not understand enough basic biology to be making those sorts of sweeping observations, but Robin had lost someone too and that had been horrible and tragic and—

If Will simply did not want to jinx things, then that was neither here nor there.

Relationship’y speaking.

It was good. They were good. He hated the wooden spoon they gave them to taste test half a dozen ice cream flavors.

He was legitimately worried about getting splinters in his tongue.

No excuses could possibly reason away that problem pre-game.

Belle’s eyebrows were still in the same spot. “You going to follow up on that, or…” “Would you burn a Gutenberg Bible? To stave off the apocalypse and or potential frostbite?” “Those two things go together, do they?” He shrugged. “In this instance, yeah, because—” “—Well, it wouldn’t matter,” Belle said, eyes flitting towards the overly enthusiastic tour guide and the seemingly never-ending history of ice cream, “because I wouldn’t allow myself to be in that position. And I don’t live anywhere near the Public Library. What would I be doing there when the freeze-wave came?” His stomach. Did that thing. Jumped and twisted, got a ten from the Russian judge on its floor routine. He was cautiously optimistic he’d be able to pull off a flawless beam performance too. It was an exceedingly convoluted metaphor. Wrong Olympics, too.

“Does salt air give you mind-reading powers?” “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Belle grinned. Moving her hand faster than he was entirely prepared for ensured that he nearly dropped his small plastic cup of churro churro ice cream. He made noise. Without trying. A hiss and a grunt in the back of his throat that then led to a sound escaping between Belle’s half-hearted scowl, and that sound was closer to a giggle than either of them would ever admit and just enough to mess with his mental faculties a little and the tour guide stopped talking. To stare straight at them.

Color lifted on Belle’s cheeks, ice cream-covered spoon held awkwardly between them.

“As you were, ma’am,” Will said, all false bravado, and that was something of a trend. In several different capacities. It was far too depressing a thought to have while eating cinnamon-flavored ice cream.

Belle elbowed him.

And the tour guide got back to her to spiel. Without a reprimand.

“Say freeze-wave again without laughing.”

Her eyelashes were more of a problem, honestly. Than the eyebrows. Or the specific jut of her chin Will had rather quickly learned meant she was ready to challenge him on some ridiculous topic, fully prepared to argue a position she might not have otherwise agreed with. Only because it wasn’t what he was arguing, and it was easy to understand why she won that Model UN award.

Plus, her eyelashes were just stupid long, and he thought she was really pretty.

Like in a fundamental sort of way.

“Freeze-wave,” Belle enunciated, pausing between syllables for maximum effect, “are you asking me Day After Tomorrow questions because of the ice cream, because I’m a librarian or because you’re the strangest man alive?” She finally ate the rest of the ice cream. It was starting to melt, that was why. This was very melt-prone ice cream. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, “this is really good. Better than mine.” Something popped in his shoulder when he reached towards her plastic cup. He wouldn’t tell Ariel about that, either.

“Which kind is—” Fighting off the objections of a small librarian who resolutely refused to wear anything except heels, no matter what the weather was like, was not usually as difficult as it was in that moment. Will assumed it had something to do with sugar. Or the force of his smile. Robbing the rest of him of energy and the ability to fend off either one of Belle’s fists. “Why are you like this?” “You didn’t want to try peanut and pretzel. With peanut butter swirl.” “Swallowed the flyer for this place while I wasn’t looking, huh?” Sticking her tongue out was distracting. Almost enough that he didn’t notice the absolutely atrocious attempt at impersonating his voice. “Oh, no, no, babe, I don’t want that; you can get peanut butter anywhere. That’s not special.” “Well, it’s not.” “I’m a big fancy hockey player, and I know everything there is to know about ice cream flavors and the potential life-changing palette moment that comes from the sublime combination of salty and sweet.” “Oh, now you’re just taunting me.” Her eyes narrowed, that time. His smile was going to permanently stretch out his cheeks. “You have a disgusting mind.” “You can’t get churro ice cream everywhere, babe.” “I’m going back to get honey later.” Will hummed. Stuck his lower lip out. Noticed that flash return. And hoarded it. Like a relationship—

Ah, fuck.

“Would you burn the Gutenberg Bible?” Her laugh was quickly becoming his favorite sound. Which wasn’t bad, per se. Was just kind of passably concerning. God damn. It was the heels. All of them kept matching the dresses she wore. She kept wearing dresses.

Of course, that was going to mess with Will’s head.

Belle shook her head. “No.” “Historical significance?” “Well, once again, I would not be in that position, would have listened to science and fled to warmer climates, so as not to make myself prey for escaped...what were they? Tigers?” “I honestly can’t remember,” Will admitted.

“This was your hypothetical!”

Heads snapped their direction. Frustration creased the tour guide’s forehead, and they’d paid extra to learn about the history of ice cream. Will had already known about the origins of the ice cream cone, though. So, the whole thing felt almost like a raw deal, and he was far more interested in preserving the color in Belle’s cheeks. He saluted. Who he was saluting was anyone’s guess, but it very likely was the otherwise unengaged teenage kid trudging behind his family who absolutely recognized Will.

“That’s going to end up on sixteen different social media sites,” Belle warned, not quite able to get her voice to an appropriate whispering level.

“So long as he got my good side, you won’t hear me complaining.” “Do you have a good side?”

“Sweetheart, the self-confidence. God.” She squeezed her eyes shut. While practically beaming at him, and Will had to bend his knees to reach, something else creaking in the process, but that was fine, and good, and pretty goddamn fantastic because her lips tasted a bit like chocolate.

“‘S’not your best work,” Belle mumbled, almost entirely into his mouth.

“Brain freeze.” “I would burn no books. That’s my final hypothetical answer.” Her eyelashes must have existed purely to torment him. Leaning back made it clear when they fluttered back open, and he swore there were flecks of gold in her eyes. Maybe he was melting, too. With the ice cream. That was almost poetic. “None at all? What if you were going to die?” “Maudlin.” “I don’t know what that means.” “Liar,” she challenged, another smile tugging at her mouth, and Will was clearly staring at her mouth. Stained slightly with chocolate, as it was. “I stand by it, though. The book stuff, not the commentary on your burgeoning intelligence.” “You want to find a corner to go and make out in?” Different laugh. The kind that came with her head thrown back, hair tickling Will’s forearm because at some point his arm had found its way around her, and touching Belle was becoming something almost close to second nature. “I could keep complimenting you if you want,” Belle said, “or I could give you my reason for not burning books.” “You’re a giant nerd, that’s why.” She clicked her tongue. “Very, very cute nerd, though.” “Betcha say that to all the girls.”

His stomach stilled. Dropped a few inches, for good measure. Below where it was supposed to be, and inching dangerously close to his feet, and what Will could not imagine was a very sanitary floor. The Museum of Ice Cream had a giant sprinkle pit. Nothing about that seemed very sanitary.

“I think stories have a purpose,” Belle said, still not quite whispering but definitely getting there, and he knew. Knew she knew. What he was thinking and feeling and unspoken understanding was quickly becoming the name of this particular game. With them.

Where it wasn’t a game at all.

Damn.

Ariel was going to be so annoying.

“No matter what they are. Shitty as they can be, all those ups and downs, and ridiculous, often unnecessary melodrama. It’s going to matter to somebody. Someone, somewhere, will be living their life and read those words or see those letters, and they’ll think, wow, whoever wrote this, gets me, and it will change everything for them. They’ll go back to it. Find solace and safety in it. Themselves, maybe. They’ll believe everything will be ok. Even if they only think that while they’re reading.” “Don’t forget audiobooks,” Will muttered, voice strangled and tinged with emotion. In the ice cream museum. Figured, honestly.

Belle pinched the side of his wrist.

“Ow. Avoid the bruise further up, please.” “Did you get hit?” Nodding took more energy than it should have, too. She hadn’t been to a game. He hadn’t asked her. What an idiot. “Not bad though, that’s just—” “—Par for the course.” “Mixing idioms, mon trésor.” “Oh, I got that one, actually.” “Slow pitch softball, that’s why,” Will reasoned, some of the tension he wasn’t especially pleased by loosening.

“I think we’re on a roll now.” He hummed. Nodded, again. Curled his fingers into the back of Belle’s dress. Blue, that afternoon. With matching heels. “It all matters,” she added, soft and earnest, and his eyes snapped. To her and with her and that second one didn’t make sense, not really, but he was and wanted to be and that absolutely terrified him.

Of it all falling apart again. Of it not being enough.

He wasn’t enough.

A story no one was ever all that interested in finishing.

“You think?” Belle nodded. “Why’d you start playing hockey?” “Quite a transition.” “Tit for tat, or—no, no, c’mon don’t look at me like that.” Red stained her cheeks, now. Making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, although the desire to kiss her again was a fairly strong second, and that kid was taking more pictures. “That’s not fair.” “You’ve brought this on yourself, babe,” Will argued, and he hoped Lucas didn’t yell. At him. He’d never really listened to the social media rules. “It’s a very long, occasionally depressing story about a kid and his single mom, the second of whom often worked her ass off and her fingers to the bone, and all those other delightfully visual clichés. But then! Who would guess, she got a job picking up extra shifts cleaning at the rink in town. Home to the world’s shittiest ice and loudest Zamboni, it instantly drew the attention of our kid-like hero.

“He was...infatuated, let’s say. With the sounds, especially. Nothing sounds like that first scrape of skates on fresh ice. Full of possibility, you know?” Belle didn’t answer. Will kept talking. “Best noise in the world. And then he learned there were other noises. Pucks hitting the back of nets. Sticks clanging together. Grunts and groans and the game itself, how loud it was. Helped silence some of his thoughts, none of which were ever very good. Lots of worries, some about his very dead sister, then a few more about that mother and her predilection toward clichés.”

“Good word,” Belle murmured. He kissed the top of her hair. The kid was openly staring at them, now.

“Anyway, the crux of the story is that the guy who owned the rink agreed to let the kid play on the rink. Knew the mother, understood her situation, and hockey is expensive. Like, well, we spout all that bullshit about hockey is for everyone, and I’ve got to stand up there and smile and nod and agree, and it’s fucked up because it’s not really true. Hockey’s for rich kids and families with regularly functioning alternators in their car.”

He shook his head. Had to. To chase away the memories and the cobwebs, and Cap knew this, too. Understood it, even. Remembered a life before the Vanklads, and not every kid got the Vankalds, and sometimes Will let himself wonder what would have happened if he’d found the Vanklads. Or their upstate New York equivalent.

Gotten better shin pads, probably.

“Hockey’s an exclusive sorta club,” Will continued, “gotta know someone who’s related to someone else, and they know someone who played, and it’s six degrees of increasingly desperate separation. By some lucky twist of fate, though, Jimmy Newell knew some bastard who knew somebody else, who saw me play, and you don’t say no to USA Developmental. Spent two years in Minnesota, way before Cap did, so he doesn’t get to claim that state as his own.” Belle’s lips twitched. “Good to know, for argument’s sake.” His stomach was becoming a problem.

Heart, too.

Sputtering and slamming, uneven beats that were going to leave another bruise. Will licked his lips.

“I went to Developmental, declared for the draft, got picked by New York, went to college, stayed in college, and the rest is history. As they say.” “They do say that, yeah.” “What’s the next question, then?” “How do you know there’s another question?” “Shot in the dark,” Will shrugged, but that was a lie, and it was getting increasingly easier to read that pinch between her eyebrows. “So, hit me.” “Literally?” “Please do not literally hit me. Locksley’s been feeling the forecheck the last couple’a practices.” “I know what that means!” Someone shushed them. Will couldn’t imagine the color will ever leave Belle’s cheeks.

He kissed the bridge of her nose.

“Who’d you get to teach you French?” “Who said I didn’t just learn French on my own?” “Babe,” she chided, and, well, that was the tipping point. As they say. To his heart and his stomach and—

“You wanna come to a game this series?” Belle blinked. Once, twice. Leaned back. Tilted her head. Likely waited for the camera crew that was inevitably lurking in the corner he was cautiously optimistic they’d make out in eventually. Didn’t happen, though. There was no camera crew.

Just Will Scarlet, professional hockey player, and part-time sap. Standing in one of the more nonsensical museums they’d been to in the last two months. Although they did go to the transit museum on three separate occasions, and he could honestly say he didn’t expect that.

So, maybe this was all just—

Par for the course.

He’d have to make some sort of deal with Eric. To make sure Ariel didn’t proclaim her relationship-plotting victories from a variety of rooftops. Someone in front office had to know someone else with Empire State Building connections.

Zelena probably did.

Ariel would use that.

“Where would I sit?”

He pulled her. Up. With an almost violent amount of force, threatening the safety of both of Belle’s shoulders in the process. But she’d asked the one question he hadn’t totally considered in his half-plotted plan, and getting his mouth back on hers was an acceptable diversion. Plus, she looped her arms around his neck pretty quickly.

Which had to count for something, he figured.

One hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer. Like he had any intention of being anywhere else, swiping his tongue against Belle’s lip and swallowing her sigh. They were still in public, technically. Her feet trailed the multi-color carpet beneath them, Will’s arms tightening and his palm flat against her back and her spine, and if she kept rocking up like that, he was going to do something drastic.

Something in the same realm as melting, probably.

Strands of hair tickled his skin, making him tilt his head and alter the angle, and that was entirely appropriate, but getting kicked out of the Museum of Ice Cream would probably make an absolutely fantastic story. Once they told people they were—

Doing whatever it was they were doing.

They’d get there eventually.

“Cap’s sister-in-law is coming,” Will said, not entirely able to catch his breath, “wants to see Kris and—” “—Should I know who that is?” “Works in equipment, and that’s not really the point.” “What is?” “That Little Vankald isn’t super interested in listening to Cap be full older brother on her and, far as I know, is fully capable of getting tickets wherever she wants. Can sweet talk the gold out of anyone’s pockets, and—” “—Wait, wait, are you equating hockey tickets to gold?” “When I’m playing, ma choupette.” “Is that cabbage?” He hummed. Nearly tripped over his own feet trying to hold onto Belle and the mostly melted cup of ice cream and paying for more churro ice cream made perfect sense. At the moment. “One of the kids at school was French Canadian,” Will explained, “used to swear all the time on the ice, and then he’d use stuff like that.” “You’re sharing endearments with a trash talker.” “More or less, yeah. Used to infuriate other guys.” “Who wants to be called a cabbage?” “I think you’re super cute.” Belle scowled. Didn’t argue, though. And Will refused to linger on the beat of his pulse. “I’d really like it if you were there,” he added, “Little Vanklad’ll be cool about it. She owes me. I fed her for a very long time.” “Did you just?” “I make incredible garlic bread; ask anyone.” “Wow,” Belle drawled, “just like people on the street, or…also, do you call her Little Vanklad all the time?” “To her face and behind her back with startling regularity. Not everyone gets my French endearments, babe. Consider yourself lucky.”

She scrunched her nose.

Stayed silent. All Will could hear was the soft explanations of the tour guide, and the questions from tourists who probably also thought going to the Museum of Sex made them edgy. After they bought a STRAND tote bag. God, maybe he was a dick. A judgmental dick, who still had too many thoughts and used an occasionally violent game to silence them by making sure he was the one dictating the noises and the trash talk and—

“Hey, uh, Will...Mr., uh—Mr. Scarlet? Do you think we could get a picture?”

Belle’s lips disappeared. Behind her teeth, and that didn’t do anything to temper the sound of what might have actually been joy. At the prospect of the staring teenager and his photo request.

In the goddamn Museum of Ice Cream.

Giving a jerky nod, Will quickly scanned the kid for any team-branded, but it didn’t look like he was wearing merch and that was a rather small miracle. Far as those things went.

Still, he had been in the middle of a pretty intense internal dialogue and potential freakout, and there was going to be ice cream on his hand if he didn’t throw this cup away.

Belle took the phone.

The kid’s phone.

“Smile,” she instructed, and Will tried. Really. He hoped he didn’t end up looking like a murderer on Twitter or Instagram or whatever kids used, and he had no idea when he got that old. When things started to freak him out, and he let the nerves claw back in, and the worry take root and—

“Hey,” he said before the kid could walk back to his parents and their matching STRAND tote bags. “You think you could take a picture of us, real quick?”

No one had ever moved faster.

In, like, the history of photography.

Circling an arm around Belle’s waist, Will’s smile came a bit easier and that was good because he was totally unprepared for what happened after that. Another instruction and flick of someone’s thumb, but then Belle was on her toes, even with the heels, and her lips were pressed against his cheek and it was like some sort of really exceptional sugar high.

Without the threat of inevitable crash.

Will didn’t think so, at least. He was also pretty positive it wasn’t tigers in The Day After Tomorrow. Wolves, maybe.

“Tell Little Vankald to save me a seat.” “I mean, I don’t think you should call her that.”

Her teeth grazed his jaw. Both of them were laughing in the picture, the kid’s eyes going impossibly wide as Will thanked him. “How hard you think it is to set up an Instagram account?”

#scarlet beauty #scarlet beauty ff #scarlet beauty fic #will x belle #blue line one shots #what did i use yesterday as my tag for this?#so as not to also confuse it with the au of the au staring will scarlet?#defensive!blue line #that wasn't it but it is now #anyway these have been real fun to write #because as we all know i am certified trash for alternate stories in the same 'verse #also giving belle a personality finally is a delight #seriously i hope the five people interested in this enjoy it

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tatttletale · 3 years ago

Text

(my mind’s) fully fading | Mystery Skulls Animated

It's been five months since the gang lost Lewis. But how, exactly? Arthur can't quite remember, and from what he knows, neither can Vivi; but it couldn't have just been an accident like the investigators had ruled. There had to be something else at play. So Arthur goes on a search to recover his lost memories and bring their friend justice, but something's wrong with Vivi... and Mystery seems more on-edge than usual...

CONTENT WARNING for swearing throughout and exploring trauma-based mental illness (PTSD). TRIGGER WARNING for description of injury, trauma responses etc. TWs/CWs will be detailed at the start of relevant chapters.

CONTENT WARNING: Mention of needles, vague reference to amputation.

"So I was thinking, maybe we could set up a website," Arthur mused, fingers tapping away at his laptop. The rain outside showered against the roof in a light drone. "Flagging for key terms or something. That way it'd be much easier for Vivi to find new tip-offs."

"Oh, she'd love that," Lewis said appreciatively, whisking whatever it was he held in the white bowl. "I'd come and help you if I didn't have my hands full."

"Mhm," Arthur said skeptically, thinking of his too-big fingers struggling with his laptop keys. "You say that like baking for you is a treat. As if you don't do it all the time."

"Ah well," Lewis winked, "You need a little extra, flaquito."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Lewis set the bowl down, wiped his hands on his apron and started forward.

Arthur jumped up before him. "Hands full, my ass!"

Lewis only laughed in surprise. "I thought you were busy with the technical stuff? Are you expecting someone?"

"More like I can't have you tarnish our good name turning up at the door with a pink Kiss the Cook apron," he teased back, turning for the door. "Even if it is in Spanish."

"Mami gave it to me," Lewis said, defensively. "She altered it herself! You know how hard it is to find clothes in my size!"

"Sure, sure," Arthur snickered, hastening down the hall in front of him. He opened the door to a bedraggled Vivi, standing impatiently in the rain.

"What took you so long!" she cried, and bustled in, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. He flushed pleasantly.

As she kicked off her shoes, dripping onto the carpet, he noticed that she was very obviously hiding something big and angular under her sweater.

"What's that you've got?"

She immediately perked up and pulled the thing out—a thick battered tome.

"I was protecting it from the rain," she explained at his inquiring look. "I just found it today at the Tomb! Look at this thing!" She opened it, flipping through hundreds of yellowed pages, eyes glittering with excitement. "It's got, like, everything in here! Ciphers, spells, guides, maps. . ."

. . . She looked beautiful like that.

"Vee!"

She turned around at Lewis' voice and flashed him a huge grin. "Lew-Lew! Look at this book I found today!"

She dumped it in his capable hands and he flipped through it slowly, eyes scanning the pages. "Wow, Vivi. . . this is amazing! Where'd you get it?"

"Tome Tomb," she replied smugly. "It came in a shipment of weird books. Duet looked through them and sent them back—said they got the wrong address—but not before I fished this out!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that. . . stealing?"

"Well, I mean, yeah . . . but half the stuff we do is already illegal."

"Um, I object," Arthur cut in.

She turned around and stuck her tongue out at him. "Well, half the time you hide behind Mystery and don't do anything, anyway."

Arthur couldn't help feeling hurt. He scuffed his feet, eyes flicking back to the table, and then lit up when they settled on his laptop. "Oh, Vivi! I was thinking, I could rig up something for you—a website or something. It'd make it much easier for you to track down busts—"

He turned to her but she wasn't listening. She was smiling up at Lewis with the book in her hands. "You like it, don't you?"

"I do. Great find, Vivi," Lewis smiled, and leaned down to kiss her. She happily threw her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoes to reach.

Arthur tore his eyes away and plodded into the kitchen to wait for them.

Half an hour later Lewis served dinner for two, with Vivi plopping down on the couch with her takeaway noodles. Arthur was aghast.

"You're turning down Lewis's cooking for that?"

Lewis only laughed. "It's okay, Arthur. There's always leftovers."

"Mhm," Vivi agreed from the couch, anchored in front of some supernatural program. Arthur understood that she had Lewis' food a lot—they both did—but he couldn't imagine for the life of him ever turning it down or, god forbid, getting sick of it.

Shaking his head, he focussed on the plate in front of him. Picking up his fork, he prodded it curiously. "So . . . what's this?"

"Jambalaya," Lewis answered, not touching his. Instead, he elected to prop an elbow on the table and lean his head against his hand, eyes on Arthur.

"What's that, Cajun?" he asked, scooping some into his mouth.

"Creole," Lewis corrected. "Thought I'd try something different, this time."

Arthur's eyes popped as the flavour hit him. "Holy shit, Lewis, this is amazing!" He chewed for a bit, placing a familiar taste. "Are there oysters in this??"

Lewis smiled, eyes crinkling. "Yeah . . . they're not really popular in Creole cuisine but since you like them so much, I thought I'd experiment."

"Well, it really paid off," Arthur replied, shovelling more into his mouth and hollering at Vivi. "You haff no idea what you're mishing," he garbled through a mouth full of food.

"I'll try it tomorrow!" she called back, waving him off as she refocussed on the program.

Again, Arthur shook his head, giving Lewis a pointed look. "Well, I think it's delicious."

"I'm glad," his friend said, soft eyes still fixed on him, food untouched.

○ ○ ○

"Hi Lew-Lew!"

Vivi swung through the door to the Pepper Paradiso, barely affording Arthur a glance. Instead, she ran right past him and into his best friend's arms. Arthur tried to tune out the giggles.

"And what's got you so excited?"

"I found a bust! Apparently the Texas-Mexican border is a supernatural hotspot. You would not believe the stuff I've read! Ghosts, yokai, chupacabras—"

Arthur spun around. "Vivi, no way. Not those dog things."

She brushed him off. "Chaneques too! They pull the souls right outta peoples' bodies!"

Lewis sighed fondly. "They scare them, Vivi. Scare the souls."

"That's right! And there's this cave, Ojos. . . Ojos Sabi-ose?"

"Ojos Sabios?" Lewis mulled. "That means 'wise eyes'."

"Yeah!" she motormouthed. "It only appears for people if they're looking for it, or if it wants something from them—"

"Can we please talk about this?" Arthur cut in. "I don't want to go disturbing ancient Mayan spirits. That sounds dangerous."

"These will be Aztec," Vivi replied. "Not nearly as dangerous."

"Still!" he fought. "I don't feel comfortable with—"

"C'mon, Artie, we'll protect you." Lewis flashed him a dazzling smile. The words died in his throat.

"We can't miss out on an opportunity like this," Vivi pushed. "It would really put us on the map! We could open commissions, earn money. . . upgrade equipment. . ." She looked back at him with puppy dog eyes. "Pleeeeeaaasee?"

Arthur gauged her uncertainly, raising his eyes to Lewis for support.

Instead, he was met with that heart-melting smile.

He faltered. "O. . .Okay. But. . . please, let's just be careful."

○ ○ ○

Five hours of driving filled with chatter in the front.

Arthur had been lumped in the back.

"Because we know how drained you get on long road trips," Vivi had supplied, but Arthur knew it was because they had wanted to sit in the front together. And that hurt. They'd probably dump him off somewhere if they could get away with it—

No, he couldn't think like that. They cared about him. They were his friends. And they'd listen to him if he had any problems.

. . . Wouldn't they?

"Well, I mean, yeah . . . but half the stuff we do is already illegal."

"Half the time you hide behind Mystery and don't do anything, anyway."

"Great find, Vivi."

"These will be Aztec. Not nearly as dangerous."

"C'mon, Artie, we'll protect you."

"We can't miss out on an opportunity like this!"

"Because we know you get drained on long road trips."

His stomach sank.

The van began to slow.

"Alright Skulls, we're almost there," came Lewis' voice from the front. "About a mile to go."

"And then we'll be going deep inside Ojos Sabios!" Vivi said excitedly.

Helplessly, Arthur gazed out the window. No, they wouldn't listen to him.

A toxic anger simmered away in his stomach. They never did.

○ ○ ○

. . . . .

Arthur was being shaken and he didn't know why. Was it time to get up? Did he sleep in? He thought he heard his phone buzzing too—he reached out his arm lazily, feeling around for his phone, but nothing happened. He couldn't feel most of his arm, or his fingers. But he could feel sticky stuff all over him, and then he was hit with a blinding pain.

Gasping, he reached for the burning shoulder and cried out when the touch sent daggers through his nerves. Why did they do this? He knew something bad would happen! He took a deep breath, and rolled his head to the side to survey the damage—

His eyes popped.

His arm. It was gone.

His thoughts spun wildly. How had this happened? What had he done? They had been on a job, right? Looking around for a cave. They had all been together. Then why was he alone? Where was Lewis? Where was Vivi?

"Arthur?"

Vivi?

"Arthur!"

Vivi! Vivi was there, and she was going to help him!

"Arthur! Please, we need to go! We need to get you to the hospital!"

Hospital. Yes—painkillers, bandages, safety. Arthur cracked open his eyes, and slowly sat up, groaning. He tried to blink through the blinding headache and blurring tears. He reached up his hand to wipe them away—

Nope. No hand. He crushed the reeling thoughts down and tried not to panic. He had to get up. He needed to get to the hospital—maybe they could reattach his arm. Where was that arm?

"Arthur! Come on!"

A hazy figure was waving something at him—what was that? Arthur squinted. A blue balloon? A ribbon? Oh. An arm.

Arthur grabbed Vivi's arm and hoisted himself upwards, weaving on his feet as his vision almost whited out. His head spun—maybe he should sit back down.

Something looped itself around his torso and under his arms—arm, keeping him steady. "Come on, Artie. We can do this. It's only a few steps to the van."

The van? Oh, yes, they had a van! Only a few steps. . . Wait. Lewis.

"LEWIS!" he yelled, trying to turn back. Vivi's grip was firm even as he struggled.

"Arthur, no. We need to go."

"Lewis—"

"Arthur, we don't have TIME!" she cried desperately. "Us first, Lewis later! We can't go looking for him like this!"

There was something in her voice and when he looked at her, he could see her eyes were wide and wet. "Please," she insisted, a tear dribbling down her cheek. After throwing one last glance over his shoulder he clenched his jaw and nodded.

With Vivi holding him up and Mystery dragging them along, it was a relatively quick stagger to the car before he was flopped onto the front seat and the vehicle started humming. The agony came back and hit hard.

Arthur cried out in pain. How much blood had he lost? Was he going to die? His breathing became loud and quick in his ears.

"Mystery! Please, calm him down! It's only a few minutes to the hospital but we can't let him get hysterical! Jesus, he's losing so much blood . . . Oh, god, fuck, fuck, fuck. . ." The car stopped and Vivi took off her scarf and wrapped it around his bleeding stump—and only then was Arthur aware of the weight on his chest. He blinked up at the hazy figure, making out a white face, spiky hair, and yellow spectacles—

"Mystery?" Arthur moaned. The dog whined, huddling onto his chest and licking his face. He blinked at the dog in disbelief. "Were you with. . . Did you find me. . .?" He couldn't finish his sentence before his head began spinning again.

The next few hours were a blur. They arrived at the hospital and he was immediately shoved into a bed and rolled through white corridors and pushed through swinging doors. A doctor slid a needle into his wrist and his head grew hazy; he strained to make sense of the snippets of conversation that broke through the blur. Critical condition . . . hysteria. Blood loss . . . emergency surgery. Fluids . . . gas. Eight hours.

When Arthur finally woke up he was questioned. Neither he nor Vivi could remember anything significant of that night. They could remember before and after, but that was it. The nurses had said it had been shock. When the first responders had come to brief them in the hospital, they had told them Lewis was dead. Arthur hadn't wanted to believe it—that meant they had left him.

Foul play had been ruled out as there had been no evidence of anyone else entering or exiting the site. The investigators had decided the most likely cause an accident: Lewis had tripped, he had been running and hadn't seen the ledge. But that wasn't like Lewis. He was always so methodical, so careful. Things hadn't seemed right.

Despite Arthur's pleas to go back and search, the authorities wouldn't let anyone else near the site. They told him that after removing the body they'd cordoned off the area from the public. Arthur had insisted on seeing him—he had to be alive, he had to be—but they'd held him back. The first and last time he got to see his friend after that night was at the funeral a week later, and when he did, though he looked as clean and whole as ever, he fell to his knees and threw up in shock.

When Arthur finally completed the drug therapy and was cleared to go home, he locked himself in his room for days and didn't come out to eat. He barely got any sleep, and the sleep he did get was plagued with twisted images—images that he didn't remember, but terrified him still.

He missed Lewis; everything about him. And he missed Vivi's lovestruck bubbliness. It hadn't been that bad, really. He had just been selfish—they had been happy together. That didn't mean they hadn't still cared about him.

By the time he pulled himself together and came out, smiling at Vivi and putting some bread in the toaster for them, he didn't really know much, but he knew that he—and the remaining Mystery Skulls—were never going to be the same again.

Not without Lewis. Together, they were a puzzle. And without that piece, they could never be whole. He certainly couldn't be.

(Chapter 1/6)

Check out the rest of this story on: - Wattpad - Archive Of Our Own

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rainbowvamp · 3 years ago

Text

I Will Never Love Again

Hi friends. My eyes are shaking and I think I might be sick, but here’s the next chapter. Please check ao3 for warnings. I can’t type anymore.

wc: ~5000

---

The day of the presentation comes, and her mother forces her to make a grand entrance, sequestering her upstairs while her hair is done and her dress is laced on. She isn’t to leave the room until the maid comes to get her. They have only been at the manor house for a week and already she aches to be back home, on the farm that reminds her of Lancelot.

She hears her father making an address to the crowd, thanking the king and crown prince specifically for being there for his only daughter’s first formal presentation to society, and as soon as the clapping starts, she rounds the corner and descends the stairs.

The room goes quiet, and Morgana doesn’t look at any of them. Her beauty is unavoidable, but she makes her face purposefully harsh, sucking in her cheeks slightly to make her cheekbones sharper, holding her head high and keeping her eyes narrow, unwelcoming.

Lancelot’s ring is hidden in a pocket in her dress, and it is the only thing she cares about as her father takes her hand at the bottom of the stairs and music starts to play.

Her father has the first dance with her, and she doesn’t smile once. Not even when her father whispers a slight against their least favorite lord for his gaudy choice of costume for the evening. She doesn’t speak at all to him when he hands her off to the crown prince.

Her father she could ignore, but ignoring the crown prince would be an offense punishable by death. So, when he bows, she returns it with a curtsey, but she doesn’t put on airs, or try to impress him. She doesn’t smile, but when he speaks to her, she answers.

“You look lovely. My father is very impressed.”

“I’m so glad you’re pleased Your Highness.” Morgana’s tone is blank, face expressionless. There is nothing in the world she cares about less than impressing the King.

They dance in silence for a few moments, both equally knowledgeable of the steps. The Prince is a good lead, and never once steps on her toes. The soft dancing shoes she wears would probably not survive the stomp of his boot, let alone her toes beneath.

“For the woman of honor, you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.” The Prince says, spinning her when the music demands it, then bringing her back into his arms.

She wonders what it would have been like, to dance like this with Lancelot. She would have had to teach him the steps, probably. Country boys don’t get taught these kinds of formal dances. But he had always been so sure of his movements, graceful even in the way he walked, surely he would have learned quickly.

“Your mind is elsewhere.” Arthur takes her by the waist to pick her up and spin her again. She isn’t ready for it, so she doesn’t brace herself like she should, and he has to hold her close to keep her from falling over.

“It has been a very long year, for me, Your Highness.” Is all she says to him, and the prince frowns.

“You can call me Prince Arthur. It is my name, you know.”

“Of course, Prince Arthur.” She smiles, but it manages to be cutting, almost mocking, but in a way that no one could prove.

He smiles back, almost earnestly, shaking his head as the song winds to an end. “I hope you manage to enjoy yourself at your own party.”

“It isn’t likely, Your Highness.” She bows to him and turns to accept whoever’s hand is next to be offered, only, there isn’t one. Every guest is either dancing with someone else, or standing to the side, watching them without watching.

“I’m afraid I might have scared away your suitors.”

You can’t have suitors if you don’t intend to marry. She thinks, but does not say. Instead, she only turns back to him, and waits to see if he’ll escort her off the dance floor or simply release her. He holds out his hand, and she takes it, thinking he would place it at his elbow and take her off the floor, but instead he steps closer to her, like he means to dance with her again.

“Isn’t it cruel, to dance twice in a row with a girl you have no intentions with?” Morgana asked, hoping to dissuade him from trying to take a third dance as the music began to pick up speed.

“Who said I had no intentions?”

Morgana scoffed, unbecomingly, and looked very briefly over the Prince’s head, like she couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re a prince. You’ll marry a princess of some foreign country to create an alliance, or establish trade between our countries. I’ll marry the son of a neighboring lord to join my father’s land with his father’s land. We have different roles to play.”

“I’m sorry you think of marriage as a duty.” Arthur frowns, and Morgana can’t be bothered to respond to this. She follows the steps to the dance, letting Arthur lead her, and as soon as it is over, she excuses herself to get a drink.

He comes with her, and is quickly lost in the crowd while Morgana is crowded by men young and old, asking when she’d like to dance with them.

Never is the answer to when she’d like to dance with them, but she has to keep appearances up. She can only push her mourning noncompliance so far before someone starts to get suspicious. It wouldn’t do for someone to find the coins she’d begun storing among her jewelry, or the supplies she’d begun stockpiling in recent weeks.

She chats and dances with nearly every eligible lord and lord’s son before the evening is done. She forces herself to smile when she wants to scream, and keeps her face neutral even when she wishes to scowl. The few times she catches glimpses of her mother, she looks happy, so she must be putting on a good act.

She intends to sit out the last dance of the night. Her feet are sore from too much dancing and from the terrible, drunken, pig of a man who had stepped on them three dances ago. However, her social standing is nowhere near high enough to refuse the crown prince a dance.

“Lady Morgana,” Prince Arthur bows and offers her his hand, and she accepts, attempting to look gracious even though she wants to scream at him. He doesn’t look particularly pleased to be here himself, so that’s something, at least.

Many guests have already left, but the King and Crown Prince would be spending the night, so he could afford to stay latest. When she looks around the thinned crowd, Morgana sees both her father and the King watching them, heads bowed together and whispering.

_____

“You look upset.” Arthur says, turning them, not quite in time with the music, so he could see what she saw. His own mouth became a hard line as caught sight of his father. “Ahh. They’re plotting.”

“Must be. Father never looks that happy unless he’s up to something.” This isn’t strictly true. She’s very upset, and it’s clouding her judgement. She’ll regret saying such a cruel thing about her father in the morning, to the crown prince no less, but she doesn’t care right now.

“Well, you said yourself, we have different roles to fill.”

“I only hope they remember that.”

Arthur tilts his head and considers the hard way she speaks. “You don’t want to be married.” This is an assumption, a bold assumption, but he isn’t wrong.

“I loved a man more deeply than most women ever dream to.” He spun her out by the hand and pulled her back in, the dance winding down. “He died. I will never love again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Morgana looks up at him and he does seem genuinely sorry. If it weren’t so late she never would’ve told him that, but her body was about to drop from the exhaustion of a long night, she’d had too much wine on an empty stomach, and her defenses were down.

“So was I.” She looks away from him, because she can feel her tears stinging her eyes and she has no desire for the crown prince to see her cry.

She slips her hand into the pocket of her dress, feels the ring that she’d sewn in herself to keep it from getting lost with her free hand as the music comes to a stop and he bows, kissing her knuckles as he does.

“I hope you live a very long, very happy life, Lady Morgana.” Prince Arthur’s smile looks genuine, if a little sad, and she can’t do anything more than nod. She thinks it’s cruel to wish her a long life, when it’s doomed to be spent alone.

He escorts her back to her father, a kindness that was much appreciated considering her weariness, and Gorlois took her from him, excusing himself from the King so he could walk his daughter back to her room.

“The prince quite likes you.”

“I told him I loved another. He’ll never choose me of his own accord.” She winces at each step she takes up the stairs, her feet and legs protesting against the movement. “If they weren’t here I’d make you carry me. I’m dying.”

Gorlois laughs, completely nonplussed by her admission. “Nonsense. Your youth is made for dancing. You’ve done good tonight. Your mother will be proud.”

Morgana slipped her hand back into her pocket, touched the tip of her finger to her ring, and used it to remind her of what was important.

“I don’t think she will be, for long.” She tries to make it sound like a joke, the inevitable cycle of her mothers disappointment, but Gorlois frowns at it, rather than smiling.

“I know she’s hard on you, but she wants the best for you. She wants you to be happy.”

“I would be happy on the farm. I will never be happy here.” She would never be happy without Lancelot.

“I’m sorry. I thought the farm would do you good, but I’m afraid it’s put too many ideas in your head. You’re not cut out for living on a real farm, Morgana. Yes it’s nice to be so close to all the goings on, but the life you’ve lived is nothing like the life a normal commoner lives. If you were up at dawn on a farm, you’d be rising late. Every bit of cooking and cleaning in the house would fall to you, and you’ve never cooked or cleaned in your life. You’re nobility, Morgana. You don’t dress like it, but you have always acted like it. I think it would be best if we didn’t return to the farm after your presentation.”

Morgana wonders if Gorlois can read her mind, or at least her intentions. Maybe he’s right, maybe she can’t cook, or clean, but she would learn. She would teach herself if she had to.

She added this to the list of things she would need to know before Winter’s end, and said nothing to her father.

—-

The next morning she has to dress for breakfast. She cannot get away with wearing one of her peasant dresses because the King and crown prince will be there. Probably along with whatever knights were accompanying them.

Her maid does her hair for her, the style less intricate but still far more elaborate than her preferred single braid. By the time the last pin is placed, Morgana’s head is already throbbing, but she puts on a smile when her mother comes in because she doesn’t have the energy to fight with her.

“Give it to me.” She said without even saying good morning, and Morgana is honestly confused.

“Give you what?” She looks at the vanity table she’d been sitting at, and can’t see anything on it her mother might want.

“You know what. Give me that silly little farm boy’s ring.”

Morgana’s eyes widened and she clutched at the ring where it sat beneath her bodice. “No.” She felt her heart start to race when her mother stepped forward, and Morgana got up, backing away from her. “No, you can’t take it from me. It’s mine.”

“Morgana, The crown prince saw you to three separate dances last night. You are going to give me that ring, and go downstairs and make a good impression on his Majesty or by the gods-“

“What, you’ll send me out on my own? Good. I’ve always hated it here.”

She doesn’t mean this either, just like what she’d said last night about her father, but she feels like an animal backed into a corner, and she can’t attack her predators any other way.

“You wouldn’t survive a week outside. Give it to me.” Vivienne lunged for the chord just peaking up above Morgana’s neckline, and Morgana jerked back, back hitting the post of her bed. They struggle, but eventually they each have a hold of the chord.

“Morgana, you are 18 years old, and you need to be married soon. You don’t want to be a spinster for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t want to be married.” She doesn’t let go on the chord, takes a painful hold of the ring even as her mother draws it out by the chord and tugs, tugs, tugs.

Her fingers are steel. She won’t release it. She doesn’t care about mannerisms or propriety. This is the only thing she has of Lancelot’s and she will not be parted from it.

It’s the slap that shocks her just enough that her mother manages to tug the chord free from her neck and take the ring. Her cheek stings where her mother has stricken her, and tears are starting to well in her eyes. She grabs for the necklace, consequences be damned, and pushes her mother down to take it from her. From the bed where she’s landed, Vivienne has a perfect view or Morgana fleeing the room. She doesn’t call after her, because the door is open and their home is large, but not so large the King might not hear her yelling for her daughter.

She gets up and she dashes after her, but it’s too late. She’s nowhere to be seen. She’ll have to find her before anyone realizes she’s missing. She tasks a few servants with helping her and sets off to find Gorlois.

—

Morgana is saddling her horse on her own when one of the stable hands find her. She’s in a dress that is far too clunky for riding, her hair hurts, and everything is harder to grab because she refuses to let go of the ring in her palm even to put it on. Her mother had tried to take it from her, tried to take Lancelot from her, and she would not have it. She would run right now with no money and nowhere to go if it meant saving her memories of Lancelot.

How could her mother strike her? Morgana had never been an overly good child, but she had never been wicked. Morgana’s cheek still stings, and she bets it’s red and flushed. She felt so unwanted and unloved the only thing holding her together was the thought of getting on her horse and getting away.

“Your mother is looking for you, I think.”

Morgana is struggling to adjust her horse’s saddle into the right position, but she recognizes the voice from last night. Prince Arthur is the last person she wants to see, and so she doesn’t even look at him.

“You caused me a lot of trouble. I’m going for a ride.”

“You aren’t exactly wearing riding clothes.” Arthur comes forward without prompting and takes the saddle from her hands. He finishes doing it up for her, and she is too angry to be grateful, right hand still clutched to her chest, protecting the precious ring inside it curled in her first. “Where will you go?”

Morgana is surprised he’s not alerting the servants or her mother, but this doesn’t make him her ally, and so she lies.

“I was just going to ride to the nearest village. I needed to clear my head.”

“A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t ride alone. It can be dangerous.”

“I have done it many times.” Though never in clothes that so obviously gave away her station.

Arthur raises his eyebrow at this, like perhaps he hears what goes unsaid. “Either way, let me accompany you.”

“You and how many of your knights?” She scoffed, and Arthur shrugged.

“Just me. My knights are all eating breakfast. That’s where we’re supposed to be as well.” He says this as if he’s reminding her. As if she could have forgotten that their planned breakfast together is the reason her mother had tried to take her ring.

The memory of it makes her voice colder. “I’m not hungry.”

“Perhaps a ride will work up your appetite.” He removed one of the stirrups from her horse so she couldn’t climb on before his own horse was saddled, and she grabbed a stool and seated herself without it, just to be contrary.

He leads his saddled horse back to hers and replaces the stirrup for her, and she looks down at him haughtily. “You’ve made your point. You’re very independent.”

“I am. If you insist on riding with me, then hurry up, I don’t have all day.”

“I’m the crown prince. You have all day if I say you do.”

First, she think that he is threatening her in some way, but then she realizes what he means. “You’re helping me avoid my parents.”

“It would seem so. Under the guise that I’m becoming better acquainted with you, of course.” He looks down at her fisted hand, barely able to hold a rein. “You should put it on, so you don’t have to worry about dropping it.”

The very idea horrifies her, and she slips the ring back onto it’s rightful place on her ring finger. “People will talk.”

“Your reputation will stay in tact. My servant is just at the door, keeping an eye on us.”

“And what about once we ride off.”

Arthur laughed. “He’ll be following.”

Morgana rolled her eyes, but she set off, her dress was really not made for this kind of riding. She should be riding side saddle, but she had always felt side saddle to be useless and demeaning. Her dress will smell like the stables and hay when she comes home, and there will certainly be mud to be cleaned from the fine fabrics, but Morgana doesn’t care. It preserves her modesty well enough, and she can’t be bothered with anything more.

The ride into town is a slow one, sure enough, accompanied by a servant. Usually, their chaperone should be a man who is a member of Morgana’s family, preferably her father, but her mother is probably so thrilled she’s spending quality time with the prince that she won’t care about propriety.

Or maybe she’ll strike her again when she gets home.

Now that the prince is accompanying her, she can hardly ride off. She’ll have to distract him first. Unfortunately for her, he seems very adamant about sticking to her side.

“Why are you helping me?” She finally asks, when they’re half way between the manor and town.

“I’ve had to accept my duties as crown prince. It’s exhausting. I wish someone had been there for me to give me space and time to breath during the worst of it.” He glances at her, and it’s oddly sincere. She hadn’t expected that. She find she almost appreciates it, if only he weren’t ruining her plans to run away.

“I tried to leave, once.” Arthur told her, entirely unprompted. “I was so unhappy with my lot in life, with all thing I’d have to do that would be beyond my control. I took my favorite horse and some coins, and I left the castle. Told my father I was going on a hunting trip.” Arthur isn’t looking at her, keeping his gaze firmly ahead, but Morgana glances back at the servant following them, wondering if this is a conversation appropriate for him hear. “I was gone for a week before I ran out of supplies and money. My father’s men caught up with me a few days later.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.” He smiled wryly at her.

“What made you decide to leave? What was the final straw?”

Arthur made a discontented face. “My father started negotiations with the father of a terrible girl, trying to get me to marry her. I had no interest in her, or in marriage, but my father insisted I’d need an heir one day, and she would do well.”

Morgana scoffed. “We aren’t so different then.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

—

They wander town for a while. Prince Arthur very courteously buys her breakfast and a couple of little trinkets her eyes catch on. She tries to refuse them all, but he insists and Morgana is hungry now that she’s away from her mother and the stinging in her cheek has faded.

She decided that today is not the day to run away. She has no money or supplies and she wouldn’t make it long. That would not do Lancelot proud. She’d wait until Spring, just like she had always planned to.

When he returned her to her parents, her mother looked like she was going to tear her hair out, even while she looks serenely and gratefully at the crown prince.

“That was incredibly inappropriate, Arthur,” his father chastises him, but it’s just for show. There’s no real heat in the words. When Morgana looks to Gorlois, who seems reassured by Morgana’s unruffled hair and calm demeanor, she knows that she won’t face any consequences either.

Lancelot’s ring sits on her middle finger when Arthur kisses her hand and wishes her farewell. He says something, just loudly enough for her mother to hear, that they had plotted on the ride back.

“I do like this ring. Always wear it if you’re coming to see me.”

“It’s very presumptuous of you to think I’ll come to see you.” She puts on a smile that she knows the men will think is flirting, but her mother will know for what it truly is. Distaste.

“A man can hope.” His smile is genuine, but she thinks it’s more for the trick they’ve just pulled than it is for any real desire to see her again. The crown prince is kind, even if he does make his servants walk several miles into town and back rather than getting them a horse. She had been sure to say it was unkind on the way back, and he had looked at her like it had never occurred to him.

She waves from her bedroom window as the party rides off, and Arthur is sure to look back for her. It is to play up the ruse for both their parents. He’s agreed to help her stave off suitors as much as he can, in exchange for her doing the same for him. In all likelihood, this plan won’t work out well for him, but so long as her mother thinks she has Prince Arthur’s interest, she won’t push any other suitors on her. If she can stay blissfully unmarried until Spring, just another half year, then she will be free of this place and it’s expectations, just like she always wanted.

—

Autumn puts a pin in her plans. Her mother takes ill, and Morgana spends all her time at her beside. Even if she sometimes loathes what her mother has tried to turn her into, Morgana remembers being sung to by the fireplace, and told stories beneath thick trees, hidden away from the summer sun. She remembers being taught to ride side saddle by her mother, and being gifted her beloved horse. Even if she thinks her mother is cruel to her now, she’d never wish for her death.

And yet it comes, while her father is away at the castle, seeing to his Lordly duties. She sends a messenger to tell him, to bring him home. The messenger returns. Her father doesn’t.

He’s killed in a raid on the ride back. He’d returned alone, unguarded, trying to get back to his daughter and he belated wife as quickly as possible. Word doesn’t come for nearly two days that he is dead.

She buries her mother alone.

They never find her father.

—

King Uther doesn’t just send regrets, he sends his son. His son, and a whole hoard of servants and knights.

An unmarried woman living alone in her father’s home is uncouth, but it hardly calls for all her possessions being moved to the palace, and her along with them.

The letter Uther wrote is given to her by Prince Arthur himself, his face hard and lined with worry. For her or for what this means for him, she doesn’t know, and she doesn’t care.

She’s in a mourning dress. Simple and toneless colors. Her sleeve almost matches the parchment he hands her as she reads it off.

Lady Morgana,

I send my deepest regrets regarding your mother and father. Gorlois was a dear friend of mine, and I wish to honor his legacy however I can. Preparations have been made to move you to the palace, where you will be housed until you are married. You will be well cared for here, and while you are gone, I will see your land and servants well attended to by the Lord Agravaine, my late wife’s brother.

Fret not, child, all will be well.

King Uther

“I’m being kidnapped,” she whispered, twirling Lancelot’s ring on her finger while she thinks.

“I tried to convince him to let you stay here, but he wouldn’t hear it.” He leans in closer so no one will hear what he says next. “I’m sorry. I did try.”

“I appreciate it.” She said back, watching as servants walked out the door and filled carts with her things. “I don’t think either of us will sway him.”

“No, I don’t think we will.” His lips are thin as he thinks. “If you have anything you’d rather not be seen, I would pack it yourself.” He hands her a bag that she recognizes as the saddlebag for her horse. She doubts that she will be allowed to ride the whole way there on her own horse, but she will try.

“You mean like the money I’ve been stockpiling to run away?” She asked with a half grin, and he smiled back at her, looking at their feet and shaking his head.

“Yes, I would say like that.” He laughed.

The ride is long, but she has made it before. It wasn’t often that she visited Camelot, but she did remember the way. Also remembered a stream that had flowed near the path from when she made the trip nearly five years before, just a girl of thirteen who’d still be allowed to play sometimes.

When the stop for camp and she recognizes the little deer trail that leads to the stream, she’s insistent to the nearest two knights she can find that she wants to go to it.

The knights assure her that a tub can be filled if she truly wishes to bathe and she scoffs at them.

“I’m not going to bathe in the woods like an animal. I only want to see it.”

And that is how she ropes two knights into coming with her to the stream. The one who speaks, Sir Leon, is very polite, and she doesn’t have a problem with him. She also doesn’t feel bad ignoring him when she reaches the steam, leaving her shoes beside him while she edges close to the water. She hasn’t been allowed to walk on bare earth since the farm, since before she had confessed her love the Lancelot, and it feels surreal to have the ground so solidly beneath her again. She wades ankle deep into the water and the current laps lightly at her, making her feel welcome. Her dress is not pulled up an improper amount, but she she turns back to look at them, both knights are looking away.

In the distance, she sees another one making his way towards them, and she knows it must be Arthur. His shock of blonde hair and grim face were very recognizable.

“Did it occur to you, Lady Morgana.” The crown prince asked from the edge of the clearing between her two guarding knights, “To tell someone before you left camp?”

“I told Leon. I even brought him with me.” She smiled and found his answering frown amusing.

“Excellent, I think I see where our wires are crossed. Because you brought him with you, Sir Leon couldn’t tell anyone else where you’d gone. So instead, I had to trek into the woods looking for you, with no idea why you’d gone.”

“Afraid for my honor?” She asked with a soft laugh, kicking one foot and splashing water in his direction.

He frowned down at her bare, wet feet, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Afraid for your safety, is more like it. These woods could be filled with any number of ill intentioned men.”

“That’s why I brought Sir Leon with me.” Her heart is light for the first time in months and she doesn’t see what all the fuss is about.

“Put your shoes on. We’re going back to camp.”

“You sound like my father.” She flicked water in his direction before turning her back to him and wading in deeper, to her mid calves now. “Be responsible, Morgana. You have to wear the right clothes, and say the right things, look good for the right people.” Morgana closes her eyes and feels the power of the world around her, like it’s the only thing that matters. “My mother and father did the right things their whole lives, denied themselves basic pleasures for the sake of propriety. And they’re dead now. So if I want to wade into a stream, I will do it.”

Arthur says nothing to this. She doesn’t hear him leave, and when she’s finally ready to return to camp, she finds him leaning against a tree near Sir Leon, her boots ready and in his hand.

He hands them to her, and she nods her thanks.

“I don’t mean to take your joys from you. I only want you to stay safe.”

“I was safe. I brought two of your best knights with me. I’m broken hearted, and terribly young to be an orphan, but I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were.”

“So believe it.”

#albionparty21 #red team rulz #can't see help #noblepriestess #pbau au proper

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years ago

Text

The Miys, Ch. 116

About three weeks after the ‘rabbit conversation’ with Charly and Coffey, I was whistling to myself and finishing up the pasta for dinner that night. It wasn’t a family dinner tonight, so cacio e pepe seemed like a good fit - it was one of the dishes that I hadn’t quite mastered Before, and spent entirely too much time on the Ark getting it right not to enjoy it every chance I got.

And besides, who didn’t like fancy macaroni and cheese?

I had just handed Maverick the pasta, and was turning to grab the garlic bread, when the door opened. I turned to face it with a grin, but nearly screamed at what I saw. Dropping the bread on the floor without a second thought, I was right behind Maverick in racing towards Conor.

“What the hell happened!?” I asked, heart racing in panic.

Conor tried to throw me a grin through a busted lip, regretting it immediately. Swearing softly, he brought his fingers to his mouth, coming away with blood. It didn’t go unnoticed that his other arm hung limply by his side. “Swear I’m okay, you two,” he laughed lightly.

“This,” Maverick nearly shouted, pointing up and down our partner’s black and blue body, “is the exact opposite of okay.”

“As mad as it sounds, I’ve never felt bet - ow…” he contradicted himself as he tried to take his boots off.

Dinner immediately forgotten, we ushered him in and helped get him cleaned up and changed out his bloody coveralls and t-shirt. While I knelt on the floor, bandaging every wound I could find, he tried to argue that he was okay before surrendering with a frustrated sigh. “So, how did you end up with bruises literally from head to toe,” I demanded.

“I was sparring,” he admitted with an embarrassed tone.

“Sparring or picking fights?” Maverick growled dangerously. Things had been tense around Conor’s temper ever since the night he almost threw a bowl, but we had been going to therapy together, and I thought things were getting better. Apparently, Maverick had his doubts.

“Sparring, I swear,” was the wide-eyed answer. “You know I’ve been talking to my therapist about a more effective outlet for my frustration, yeah?” When we both nodded slowly, he nodded along. “Well, we agreed that sparring was a good outlet.”

“Then why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because then you would have wanted to spar with me, and the doc said that’s the worst idea to be thought of. I’m not even allowed to spar with Tyche or Antoine.”

“Apparently you found someone….” I waved at the multicolored splotches that were growing even as we spoke.

“Yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck with his good arm, glancing down at his other hand and flexing his fingers gently. “About that… I went to the gym, looking to spar with anyone really. And Bjornson was already there…”

“Please tell me you did not pick a fight with him,” Maverick groaned, sliding down the couch and covering his face. “That’s a terrible idea.”

Conor shook his head vigorously. “I swear I didn’t pick a fight with anyone! Have some faith?” When Maverick peeked through his fingers and made a go on gesture, Conor took a deep breath and continued. “Bjornson was already sparring with someone - Your friend, Farro.”

Oh gods above and below tell me you didn’t….

“Well, I wanted to spar, Arthur knows how to spar bigger guys, and I know he doesn’t hate me… So I told him I was in a bad mood and needed to get some frustration out.”

I pressed my lips tightly before blowing my breath out with a soft pop. “How did that go for you?”

“I had no idea my shoulder bent that way,” he gestured at the still-largely-useless arm. “Apparently my shoulder didn’t know it bent that way, either.”

“Awfully nice of him to put it back for you,” Maverick squinted, skeptical.

“Jokul might have been the one to do that.” Shaking his head, he laughed. “He wasn’t terribly gentle about it either.”

My stomach dropped. “Conor, did you tell them why you needed to spar?”

“I don’t - think? I did?” He bit his lip and frowned. “I just said I didn’t want to bring all my frustration home to you two, and that I didn’t want to have to hold back, so I didn’t expect them to�� fair’s fair and all…”

“So…” I ventured slowly. “You thought, in your infinite wisdom, that the first time you sparred to get rid of your frustration, you were going to walk up to the two retired warlords and tell them to give you all they’ve got? That’s an even worse idea than picking a fight with Jokul, you know that right? Like, Charly-was-banned-from-selling-tickets-to-their-exhibition-match worse, right?”

“At exactly no point did I imply that I was thinking clearly,” he held up his good hand in defense. “I just figured my chances of actually hurting them were pretty much close enough to zero not to matter.”

I had to - begrudgingly - admit he had a point: at least he decided to pick two people he pretty much had no chance of hurting unless he was actually trying to kill one of them. “Did you even manage to land a hit on either of them?” I sighed, patting his knee.

“I got a couple good hits on Jokul,” he perked up slightly.

“And Arthur?” Maverick asked skeptically.

“That fucker is fast,” he grumbled sullenly.

Maverick laughed at that. “Maybe next time, set your sights slightly lower. Like… I don’t know, Charly?”

“Are you insane!?” Conor and I shouted in unison.

“What?” To his credit, he looked genuinely baffled.

“Maverick,” Conor enunciated carefully. “Love, I know she’s cuter than a kitten and twice as mischievous, but that girl has a demonic streak when she fights. Even Jokul is afraid of her, and Arthur is only ninety percent certain he could take her. I’d give GK good odds, though.”

“Oh, you can’t listen to Jokul,” I sputtered. “He’s terrified of her.”

“You aren’t helping your case, you realize?”

“Besides,” I continued, ignoring him. “To Conor’s point, at least he doesn’t have to worry he might hurt Arthur or Jokul.”

It was Maverick’s turn to sputter as he gestured emphatically to the ever-purpling lump of our boyfriend. “What about Conor getting hurt? You see this, right? I mean, I know you’re colorblind, but you see bruises just fine....”

“Conor, do you at least feel better than you did before… all this?” I asked, trying to rein in the urge to wince at the swollen eye and lip.

“Believe it or not, I do,” he admitted, tentatively flexing his bad shoulder. “A good ol’fashioned scrap.”

I shook my head and arched an eyebrow at Maverick, resisting the urge to mutter “Men”. “Just… can you please stop at a medbay before you come home from now on? Having you walk in here beaten half to death… It’s not fun.”

“I’m not beaten half to death,” he pouted, immediately belying his words by wincing after he tried to stick his bottom lip out. “Maybe a quarter…” he muttered.

“Medbay?” I prompted.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” he conceded.

Maverick patted his leg cheekily. “Good. Since dinner is ruined, you can go now while we make something fresh.”

“Now?” Conor whined. “I’m not dressed,” he tried to plead, gesturing at his bare torso.

“And as much as I normally appreciate the view, exactly no one on the Ark will actually care.” I gently pulled him to his feet, while Maverick was gracious enough to go get him a clean shirt. Once he was somewhat dressed, I shooed him toward the door. “Medbay. Now. Don’t come home until you aren’t bleeding anymore - externally or internally.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Maverick turned to me with a decidedly wicked look in his eye. “I have a sudden craving for calamari with tomato sauce.”

I glanced at him slyly. “You know Conor hates squid.”

“Hmm. I hate having our boyfriend scare the hell out of us.”

“Calamari it is.”

<< Prev Masterlist Next >>

#the miys #found family #science fiction #mental illness #aliens #apocalypse #original science fiction #humans are crazy #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #hfy #earth is space australia #scifi #original scifi #original writing #my writing

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be11atrixthestrange · 4 years ago

Text

Ron realizes Hermione is a girl

This is one of my favorite moments from Completely Mental so far. I love idiot baby Ron, he’s so cute, and he basically writes himself.

To call the previous afternoon “eventful” would be an understatement. Harry, along with Ron, Fred, George, and Arthur had arrived back at the Burrow after a rather chaotic trip to the Dursleys’. Harry smiled at the memory of Dudley’s tongue swelling and his Aunt and Uncle’s subsequent panic. At first Harry had felt sorry for his cousin, but his empathy was short-lived. He was so happy to be back at the Burrow, surrounded by his best friends and the Weasleys. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had spent the remainder of the evening catching up and talking excitedly about the world cup. They talked for hours, and Harry felt reassured by the fact that nothing between them had changed over the summer.

When sleep finally called, Harry and Ron retreated to the attic bedroom, where Crookshanks had made himself at home on his pillow. “Go downstairs, Hermione’s in Ginny’s room!” Ron picked Crookshanks up and dropped him onto the floor by his bed. Crookshanks landed lightly, before jumping right back up to curl up next to Ron, purring. “Why does he like me so much?”

“Cats like people who don’t like them.” Harry heard that somewhere, but wasn’t actually sure if it was true. “Just pretend you like him and he might leave you alone.”

“Really?” Ron considered it for a moment before engulfing the cat in a tight hug, which had the desired effect, Crookshanks immediately hissed and swiped at Ron, before squirming out of his clutches and exiting swiftly through the gap in the open door. “Hey, I guess you’re right!”

Harry laughed as he and Ron crawled into their respective beds.

Ron clicked the light, and the pair fell into an amiable silence. Harry was nearly asleep when he heard Ron’s quiet question. “Do you think that’s also true about girls?”

Harry was confused by Ron’s question. “What are you talking about?”

There was a long moment before Ron answered. “You know-- what you said about Crookshanks. That cats only like people who don’t like them.” Ron continued when Harry didn’t respond right away. “It just reminded me of something the twins said.”

Harry turned over in his bed to face Ron- even though it was dark he could tell Ron was blushing. “Girls aren’t cats, Ron. And I don’t know anything about girls.” He and Ron had never talked about girls, at least not like this.

Ron nodded. “Hermione’s a girl.”

Harry laughed. “That doesn’t count.”

“Why not?” Ron asked through narrowed eyes.

“Sorry!” Ron’s face softened at his apology, even though Harry wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for. Then Ron raised his eyebrows for Harry to continue. “Because it’s Hermione. She’s our best mate. Our friend. Just like you and me.”

Ron scoffed. “So you think of Hermione the same way you think of me?”

Harry felt his defenses rising. “No, I mean obviously it’s not the same!” He shook his head, as if trying to extract his own thoughts. “But I don’t see how it’s that different.”

Harry sighed, fully aware that his words did not properly communicate his nearly-nonexistent thoughts on the matter of Hermione being a girl.

Ron just shrugged in response. “Fred and George kept taking the mickey out of me for having a girl best friend. They’ll probably do it to you too.”

Harry recalled a moment earlier in the evening when the twins had laughed and whispered something to Ron, causing him to blush and scowl. Now Harry wondered if those comments had concerned Hermione. “But she’s been our friend for years, why are they pointing that out now?”

Ron was silent at first, but Harry noticed his ears growing red, indicating his embarrassment. “Well. You know,” said Ron, without eye contact.

“No, I don’t.” Harry was getting frustrated. “What’s different?”

Ron, still staring at the ceiling, seemed reluctant to answer. “I don’t know if you noticed- I mean I did. Fred and George did. Hermione just… I dunno. Grew up a little.” Ron’s face was redder than Harry had ever seen it.

Harry thought back to his interactions with Hermione over the past evening. Sure, Hermione had probably grown over the summer, just like he and Ron both did, but nothing else had felt different to him. Did it really feel that different for Ron? “No, I honestly hadn’t really noticed.”

Ron seemed surprised by this. “Really?” He shrugged. “Then I guess it won’t bother you if Fred and George make comments.”

“What kind of comments?” Harry looked at Ron for an answer, but got none. His face was still bright red, and he looked mortified. He spoke again so Ron didn’t have to. “It bothers you, though.”

Ron's gaze bore into the ceiling. He was still pink in the face. When he responded, Harry could tell he was choosing his words with caution. “I just don’t want her to know that I’ve noticed she’s a girl.” He turned to look towards Harry. “Does that make sense?”

Harry shook his head and laughed to himself. “Not even a little bit.”

Ron sighed and turned back to the ceiling. “Nevermind then. Goodnight mate.”

“Goodnight,” said Harry with a soft smirk.

In all honesty, Harry hadn’t been completely truthful- Ron’s comment did make some sense. For Harry, Hermione being a girl didn’t mean anything. He hardly ever thought about it. She was just Hermione, his best friend..

But maybe it wasn’t the same for Ron.

#ROMIONE #ron weasley #Hermione Granger #ron x hermione #ron and hermione #ron and harry brotp #brotp #completely mental #hpromione #hp fanfic #romione fanfic

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neon-junkie · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Me Or The Liquor

Summary: A misunderstanding during an argument leads to you storming off, crying over what Bill's done.

Pairing: Bill Williamson x gn!Reader

Word Count: 2913

Rating: SFW

Tags: Drinking problems, Alcohol, Break ups, Arguments, Angst, Angst with a happy ending.

Notes: I wrote the first chapter from a prompt list, then felt bad for leaving the ending so sour, so I fixed it :)

Bill's drunk yet again. This is the second time today, and the fourth time this week. And it's only Wednesday! He's getting worse lately; usually, he's bad, but recently it's been agony. Maybe he was approaching the anniversary of his deployment and didn't want to be conscious to experience the pain, or maybe he was more stressed and worked up than usual.

You'd tried talking to him many times, as a friend and as his other half, but he'd always brush it off and mumble "I'm fine. You ain't got nothing to worry about." It's all lies. He's not fine, and you have so much to worry about. There's so much on your plate, so much stress, so much fear. You don't want to bury Bill when the alcohol finally takes him, or have him damage his brain so much that when he finally becomes sober, he doesn't remember anything, especially you.

He's currently sat by himself at the round table near Pearson's wagon. It's late afternoon, and the Lemoyne air is thicker than usual. Damn this swamp, and damn Bill for working you up. It's selfish of him, to have you worrying like this when all he needed to do was accept his problems and fix them. Sure, it's a big step and not as easy as it looks, but you've told him time and time again that you're willing to help him. The whole gang is willing to help him, but first, he needs to help himself.

"Bill?" You call out as you approach him.

"Sweetheart!" He slurs, looking over as you approach. He leans back a little too much, almost slipping off his seat. "W-why don't you come join me, huh?" Bill offers.

"No, Bill. We gotta talk," you sternly tell him.

"We is talkin', ain't we?" Bill laughs. He's right, but that's not at all what you meant.

"No, Bill. I mean real talk. I've had enough," you say. Bill's picked up on your defensive body language and the frown on your face.

"What's a matter? What you... What... you had enough of?" Bill stumbles. He's really sloshed, but at least he's responding.

"This drinking, Bill. It's gotta stop, for good." You have to put your foot down. Every time you've spoken to him you've been soft, not wanting to hurt him, but enough is enough. You take the bottle from his hand, swiftly chucking it out of camp, spooking the chickens as it flies over their head.

"What the hell?!" Bill's quick to his feet, knocking over the crate he was sat on. "Why'd you do that?" He almost shouts, trying to turn around and walk over to find his discarded bottle, but you put your hand on his arm, stopping him. He's always obedient with your touches, even if he is drunk.

"Listen to me, Bill," there's a grit to your teeth, and your tone is strong enough to have a very shocked Bill turn and face you. "This drinking ends today, alright? I can't deal with this anymore. All you're doing is stressing and upsetting me. I'm tired of this, it's hurting me just as much as it's hurting you."

"What in the hell are you talkin' about? I'm fine, you're fine. There's ain't nothin' to be worried about." Bill shrugs your comment off as always.

By now, most of the camp is watching, concerned for both of your safety, and curious as to where this is going to go.

"This ain't fine, Bill! You know it, you just keep pretending it is," you shout. You've never shouted at Bill before, but you're finally at your breaking point. "It's me or the drink, Bill. I don't want this anymore!"

"Well, you know what?" Bill slurs. He pauses for a moment, trying to think of what to reply. “I don’t want you anymore." He was meant to say he didn't want you to keep bothering him about his drinking, but his drunken brain had spilled the wrong words out of his mouth. It was too late for him to explain what he really meant; your heart had just been shattered for the last time.

"Fine," you tell him, sniffling lightly as tears began to fall. "We're done then."

You're quick to turn heel and walk away, not wanting to waste any more time trying to get through to a drunken fool.

"Wait, no. That ain't what I meant," Bill calls out after you, trying to chase you but you speed walk away. Bill ends up stumbling over within a few paces, groaning and mumbling to himself as he sits upright.

He looks around but you're already gone and all he's greeted by is the many disappointed and disgusted faces of the camp members. "What is you all lookin' at?" Bill barks to them, trying to shove them off but none of them are budging.

"You fucked up, Bill," Arthur sternly tells him. "You just picked the hooch over your other half."

"Why would you do that? ___ does so much for you! They're been tryna get you to quit it for months now and all you do is make things worse," Tilly butts in. Mary-Beth has her hand on Tillys shoulder, quietly telling her to leave it.

"I'm going to go see if they're alright," Susan tells the gang, ignoring Bill on the floor. She storms off, following your tracks, ready to mother hen you.

"Shit, leave me be!" Bill mumbles as he stands up. He walks away in the opposite direction.

"Moron," Bill overhears Arthur mutter under his breath.

All Bill wants to do is grab another bottle and continue to drink the pain away, but he can't. For once, the thought of alcohol makes him feel sick. The thought of you makes him feel sick, but not in a disgusting way, more like he's sick with himself for acting the way he did towards you.

His heavy steps lead him to the back of Shady Belle, grumbling to himself as he sits down beside one of the trees, overlooking the field and the lake in the distance. Despite the alcohol in his system, he no longer feels drunk. The shock of the breakup seems to have sobered his thoughts and vision up, and for once he realizes what a mess he's made.

There's no way you're going to take him back, is there? There's no way he can fix this, especially after you've spent so long trying to help him. All Bill's done was throw everything back in your face whilst giving you the middle finger. Shame on you for trying to help him.

Bill soon realizes he can hear the faint sounds of you sobbing. You're sat over by the boathouse, sobbing into Susan's arms as she coddles you, telling you you did what you could, that you're a good person, that he doesn't deserve you.

Bill wants to get up and walk away, not wanting to hear those sounds, but he continues to sit there, letting the sound of you crying from his mistakes scold him. Hopefully, he'll use those sounds as a wake-up call, finally quitting the drink and focusing on fixing his mistakes.

We can only hope.

---------

It's been a few weeks since the incident with Bill. The gang is still stuck at Shady Belle, and Dutch has been yapping to everybody about some bank robbery for a while now. Something in your gut tells you that it's a bad idea, but your thoughts and feeling have mostly been drowning over Bill. He's barely been around, occupying himself with heists and robberies, staying out of camp as much as possible and far away from you. The few times you've seen him, he's kept his head down and walked the other way. In some ways, you're happy that he's keeping his distance, but you can't help but notice his permanent glossy eyes and the shakes he's been getting from the alcohol withdrawal. He hasn't picked a bottle up since the breakup, and although you're happy he's quit, it's still a shame things had to be this way. Maybe this was the slap around the face that Bill finally needed, though he never expected you to be a casualty. There's one thing neither of you had done, and that's talk. Most couples tend to have that 'talk' after they break up, usually letting off steam and urging out whatever feelings were leftover, but you'd not said a word to that man. Bill hadn't said anything either, but you'd seen the way his mouth had partially opened and quickly shut whenever he was around you. It seems Bills fuse has finally come to an end, as he'd made it his mission today to talk to you, hopefully about what had happened. The Lemoyne air always feels sticky, even at night. You wipe another layer of sweat off the back of your neck, wiping it off on your pants, your eyes flicking back to the campfire. You're on guard duty, a camp chore that often gave you time to yourself to just think about things. Nobody ever came round these parts, probably still assuming it was crawling with Lemoyne Raiders, meaning you could let your guard down just a little bit and spend that extra focus on thinking about whatever was bothering you. Unfortunately, Bill was always bothering you. You'd questioned yourself over and over on if you'd take him back, and despite having countless arguments with yourself, the answer is always yes but only on certain terms. If he could keep the hooch away, then yes, simply because you know the second he picks it up again, he'll drown himself in it. And Bill needs to find a way to make things up to you; changed behaviour is at the top of your list, though you'll also accept a fancy dinner or a new outfit. The thought of Bill dressing up in his undersized tux to take you out always brings a smile to your face, and you catch yourself smiling at the thought now. You overhear those distinct heavy footsteps approaching, and your heart both sinks and flutters at the same time. "___?" That deep voice calls out but remains soft and timid. "Bill?" You respond, your eyes focusing on the landscape. "Could we talk?" Bill asks, still stood a meter or two behind you. You pause for a moment and decide that yes, you definitely want to talk. "Alright," you respond. Bill takes his time approaching, slowly settling onto the stool beside you. His eyes flick over to you but quickly moves them to the campfire instead. He's quiet for a good few seconds, his mouth repeatedly opening but nothing comes out. Finally, Bill speaks. "I err... I guess you know what I'm wantin' to talk about?" Bill asks. "I do, yes," you respond. "Well, it probably don't mean much to you, but I am sorry for what happened," Bill tells you. You remain silent, giving him time to continue as you can tell he has a lot more to say. "I ain't touched a bottle since, the thought of booze now just makes me sick-" "It's a shame you had to sacrifice me in the process," you cut him off. You didn't mean to snap, but you can't help the anger that begins to bubble in your chest. "Like I said, I'm real sorry," Bill pouts. "You was right. You were just tryna help me and all I did was take you for granted." "And not listen to me," you add on. "And not listen to you," Bill repeats, nodding at the same time. "I was really foolish, treatin' you like that, not listenin' to you..." Your eyes have been fixed on the landscape this whole time, but the faint sound of a sniffle makes you snap your head away, looking over to Bill. He's hunched over as always, his forearms resting on his knees, his back slightly arched. Bills head is dipped down, almost staring at his feet, and the brim of his hat covers most of his face, but you can tell from the way his nose twitches that he's crying. "Bill?" you question. "What?" he asks, a little bluntly. "Are you crying?" "What? No. I... I don't do that," Bill tells you as he quickly wipes his eyes, his hat still covering his face. You're quick to your feet, taking the few steps over to where Bills sat. He keeps his head down, still sniffling away. You bend down and reach out to cup his chin, but Bill slightly flinches. He eventually remains still and allows you to gently tilt his head up, though his eyes flick away to stare at anything but you. "Bill," you sigh, noticing his glossed eyes and the salted trails over his cheeks. "What?" he asks again, acting as if nothing is happening. You crouch between his legs, one hand still on his chin, the other resting on his knee to steady your weight. Bills eyes finally lock onto yours and you notice the way his bottom lip starts to shake, probably also biting his tongue to try and stop himself from crying. "Bill, I gotta tell you something," you say. "What is it?" "Since... that event happened, I've questioned myself over and over on if I'd ever get back with you." "Would you?" Bill asks, almost cutting off the end of your sentence. There's both hope and fear in his eyes as they meet yours. "I keep arguing with myself about it, but I always decide that yes, I would get back with you." Bills eyes light up as you speak, his heart pounding in his chest, but he refuses to get his hopes up yet. Bill knows from experience that every time he becomes happy, something bad always happens, stealing that moment from him, so he refuses to let his guard drop this once, knowing things will only get worse if he does. "I don't get why, I ain't treated you right at all. I've been a sorry excuse for a partner," Bill beats himself up, his eyes trailing to the floor again. "Apart from the drinking, you've been an angel," you say with a smile. "You mean that?" "I do." Although Bill wants to call your bluff, he sees no bluff in your eyes, only a warm heart and a gentle smile looking up at him, something that he thinks he doesn't deserve. "I still don't deserve you," he replies. "Maybe not," you say with a small shrug and a laugh, "but I think you do." "Are... are you suggestin' that we could... maybe work things out?" Bill asks as his eyes meet yours, a tear trailing from the corner of his eye as he blinks. "We could, but I still expect change from you," you reply as you catch the tear before it hits his beard. "Sure, I got it. I ain't gonna be touching the booze no more, I can promise you that," Bill says as he raises his hands. "And you've gotta make it up to me," you add. "How?" "I ain't gonna tell you, you've gotta put some thought into that." Bill pauses for a moment, already thinking of the many ways he could make things up to you. "Alright," Bill says with a small nod. "Sweetheart," he quietly adds on, nervously looking away. "Oh, Bill," you sigh, cupping his cheek and brushing your thumb over his skin, still slightly damp from his tears. "Come here," Bill says, his hands flexing as he urges you onto your lap. Bill pulls you onto him, swinging your legs over his as his arms wrap around your waist. He cradles you, holding you like a baby as you snuggle your head into the curve of his neck, his beard brushing against your forehead. Bills hands knead at your shirt, eventually settling with a firm grip on you. "I've missed this," Bill mumbles as his cheek rests on the top of your head, his heartbeat echoing against your ear. "Me too," you admit. "You have?" "Of course I have." Bill doesn't verbally respond. He pauses for a brief moment, letting your comment sink in, before holding onto you tighter, bringing you in for a bear sized cuddle, his body almost wrapping around you. A large part of you wants to cry, not just because you have Bill back in your arms, but because the feeling alone of him holding you is enough to bring you to tears. Like Bill, you're never had anybody pay you much attention; most folk look straight through you, but Bills ears perked up the second he saw you, and the more the two of you spoke, the more you realised how similar you are. Bill has to fight the urge to apologise over and over, wanting to tell you how truly sorry he is for what happened and the way he spoke to you. He holds himself back, scared that his insecurity and repetition will scare you away, although he knows it's going to take a lot more than that. Instead, Bill just holds onto you, enjoying the way you're curled up in his lap, despite his thighs going a little numb. He'll sit there for as long as you'd like, happy to have you in his arms again, appreciating you more than ever. He's already thinking about the many ways he can make things up to you, and he plans to do them all.

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