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eternalmingki · 3 years ago

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Wanting Nothing but Freedom (s.mg)

❊ Pairing: song mingi x fem!reader

❊ Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, knight!mingi, princess!reader

❊ Warnings: Controlling parental talk, implied smut

❊ Wc: 4.8k

❊ Summary: you’re the princess of the kingdom of Exinia. and mingi is your personal knight, by your side almost at all times. but you want more from life, the princess life just not being enough for you

❊a/n: Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated since that’s how the algorithm here works. So if you could reblog my works or leave a comment that would be greatly appreciated!

You were currently in the library, reading. If you could, you’d be wearing a simple blouse, trousers, and boots. But no. Of course, your father had to make you wear the ungodly uncomfortable dresses and the painstaking heels. Tight corsets, scratchy lace, unnecessary frills. And pink. Of all the colors, why did the dress have to be pink? And you were wearing dazzling diamond earrings and a matching necklace.

Not to mention, you also felt your tiara was a little much. It was beautiful, you couldn’t deny that. It was crafted by the village blacksmith, Zuho. The best in this part of the country. It was silver, not gold like your parents. It had beautiful sapphires, diamonds, and citrines embedded into the lightweight metal that rested atop your head. Zuho sure lived up to his reputation. But it was too much for lounging around the palace. Yet your parents enforced it today. They had your maids dress you this morning in this dress, which you only normally used this kind of dress for special occasions for balls and parties.

You sighed as you snapped the book shut. You walked over to a shelf and slipped it back into its spot when there was a knock on the door to the library. “Enter.” You called softly, turning just in time to see Mingi, your own personal knight. He was with you every day. “Mingi. Thought you’d never show.”

“Apologies, your grace. Kun was being relentless with training this morning, it ran late. He didn’t have any regard for anyone’s duties.” He said as he stood by the door. You smiled gently.

“Don’t just stand by the door. Come inside, please.” You offered, gesturing for him to come further inside than the doorway.

“His Majesty wishes for me to take you out somewhere. You know how he gets with you staying inside all day.” the knight spoke in his low and gentle cadence. It was foreign, you could tell. But you didn’t know from where. Either way, you loved the way he spoke. It was so mesmerizing. You didn’t show that, however. You showed your annoyance.

“Mingi, come on.” You said gently. “Can’t we just stay here? Because going out means the garden. And we’ve walked around that so many times that I think I might lose it.”

“Why don’t we go around the village? I can ready your horse for you, your highness.” He said softly.

You sighed and nodded. “Alright. Let me drop some things off in my room and change. Then we can go.” You said.

He smiled a little and nodded. “I shall meet you by the stables, then, your highness.” He said softly, bowing to you before leaving the library. You sighed softly and grabbed a couple of extra books, tucking them under your arms before you walked through the dark halls of your home. It felt less like a home and more like a prison, trapping you in expectations. And the dark halls were only dark thanks to the color of the stone walls. There were plenty of candles that were used during the evening, but the large gilded windows brought in daylight to illuminate the dark marbled floors. Your heels clicked as you walked, starting up the stairs to your room. And any servant you passed, he would bow. And every maid would curtsey to you. You smiled and would always bow your head back.You found it to be the best thing to do, even if your family didn’t.

You were the youngest of five children. Now you didn’t have any animosity towards your family. Your father only wanted the best for you and your siblings, especially after your mother passed away when you were young. And you and your siblings got along like most siblings did. Bickering more than anything. And your eldest sister, Jiu, was supposed to take over when the time came and was already married. Your eldest brother, the second born, Taeyong. He was engaged to marry, as was the middle child of the five of you, Doyoung. The second youngest, Yeji, was also being courted. You, however, were a completely different story.

All of your childhood, your siblings have talked about growing up and marrying into good families and finding “the one”, whatever that meant, especially amongst nobles. You had done the same when you were little. The idea fantastical to a young princess. But you’ve met enough nobles in your years to know that the one for you would not be found in the world of the higher classed citizens. You were the only one currently not in a courtship or ready to be married, you weren’t even 19, your 19th birthday being later that week.

You sighed as you entered your room and set the books on your tableside. You weren’t the biggest reader, but it beat doing other things. You went and grabbed your riding boots and changed your heels for those. You were taking off your tiara and fixing your hair when you heard a gentle yet playful knock. You knew exactly who it was.

“Yes, Yeji? Did you need anything?” You asked as she walked in. She walked in and giggled.

“What’s with the ridiculous dress?” She asked. She was wearing a beautiful dress that was sky blue in color and had white and dark blue rhinestones decorating the bosom and cascading down the skirt of the dress in a waterfall effect. She had no silly corset. She looked beautiful as always.

“I’m not sure. Father had the maids dress me in this today. But I’m going to be going on a ride through the village with Sir Mingi, so I don’t think it’s the most suitable.” You said, walking to the closet with all your outfits.

“It certainly is not. And Sir Mingi, hm?” She asked in a teasing voice. “I thought you guys spoke informally now.”

You felt your cheeks flush pink. That was true. The interaction earlier was not one to be taken at face value. You only behaved like that within the stone walls of your home. Outside of it, especially in the beginnings of the forest, you and Mingi were much closer. You objected love towards a noble, not towards a rugged, handsome knight like Mingi. So you knew what this “ride through the village” actually entailed. And Yeji was the only one who knew of your feelings towards your personal knight. Because even though she was being courted, she liked her own maid. So she knew the signs.

“Oh hush, sister. You must help me find something more suitable.” You said, hearing her giggles as she set her hands on your shoulders.

“I know you don’t like the color pink very much. But what about that one?” She asked, pointing. It was a sheer fabric over a silk skirt. It had sleeves and it was off the shoulders. “It’s simplistic and Sir Mingi will love it.” She teased, causing you to smack one of her hands on your shoulders.

“Alright, with that dress it is. Would you mind helping me change?” You asked and she nodded. She got you out of the corset and helped to remove the dress, so you were only in your undergarments. She then went and grabbed the dress, helping you into it.

“Absolutely perfect.” She said fondly, watching as you spun around a little. You smiled and hugged her. “He will love it.”

You smiled and nodded, pulling away from the hug to look at her. “Thank you, sister. You truly are the best.” You stated, setting your tiara on the bedside table.

“I’m only doing my job as your sister.” She said kindly. You both walked out of your room and waved a little, walking off towards the stables outside. And Mingi was waiting for you. He had taken the liberty of saddling your horse, Arion, for you. The horse was a chestnut color and was the kindest animal you ever had. Mingi smiled softly as you approached, turning fully to you.

“Your grace.” He said softly, bowing to you. He then offered his hand to you, which you took and he helped you up onto the horse. You sat side saddle and pet the mane of your horse, holding onto the reins a little as Mingi started to guide you through the village.

At this point, you just watched his profile as he walked. One hand was holding onto the reins for your horse and the other rested on the hilt of his sword. That was something he did a lot, as if doing so gave him a sense of security. His features were sharp and chiseled, yet he always gave you the softest looks and smiles. And his silver colored hair fell perfectly. It was slightly longer in the back, but was short enough in the front that his eyes were rarely ever obstructed. No wonder you were attracted to him. And that was just his appearance. The man was the kindest man you’d ever had the privilege of meeting. He always knew the right things to say to you when you were angry or upset. And he was also very loving and funny. His jokes were dumb but they were so dumb, they were funny. Who could blame you for falling for someone like him? But there was something else on your mind. You’d wait until you were in the seclusion of the woods for that, however.

You travelled a little, bowing your head to people as they bowed or curtsied in your direction. Children were much less formal, calling out to you and waving fervently. You couldn’t help but wave back and smile, causing them to squeal and run off, presumably to tell their parents.

Finally, you were approaching the woods. And once you entered, you let your body relax. Your shoulders slouching, a sigh leaving your lips, your face muscles relaxing to a neutral expression. Mingi led the way a little farther in but not too far. There were plenty of dangerous things in the woods. You reached a clearing you and Mingi visited a lot and he stopped, going to you and gently holding your waist, helping you slide off of Arion and land on your feet. His hands didn’t leave your waist for a moment as he just looked at you, causing you to become a little flustered. His look was so loving yet intense. You couldn’t help but feel that way.

He smiled and let go of you, leading Arion over and tying his reins to one of the trees at the edge of the clearing. “y/n. Let’s sit.” He offered softly, finally saying your actual name. You smiled and joined him in the clearing, sitting next to him. You both sat in comfortable silence for a while before you spoke.

“Mingi. Do you-” You were trying to formulate your words, Mingi letting you do so by staying quiet. “Do you ever wish for a different life?” You asked.

He gave you a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean. Do you ever wish your life was different? Where you didn’t have any responsibility except yourself and maybe one other person. No duties, expectations. None of that.” You spoke softly as you looked down.

Mingi was silent for a while. “I have many duties and expectations myself. But my only duty i care for is to you.” He said, causing you to look up at you. “No matter where our life leads, I will always be here to serve, protect, and care for you, my love. Whether that’s us here in this world of nobles. Or whether you choose something else. For it is up to you whether or not you want to have something else in this world.”

You smiled softly and gently took his hand in your own. He intertwined your fingers, gazing at you lovingly as he sat there. “I just wish for something else. I don’t feel content being a princess. I’m sure most girls would kill to be in my position. But it isn’t fulfilling. I want something more, where I feel useful to others.”

“Well, let us not worry about that for now, okay?” He asked softly, bringing you a little closer to him. “Let’s focus on us. On this moment.” He said. He cupped your cheek and you smiled, letting him lean in and kiss you. Every time you were able to steal kisses with one another felt amazing. You didn’t know what books meant by sparks flying when you kissed the one you were meant for. The one who you had a true connection to. It just felt…right. The butterflies you understood, but you didn’t feel sparks. But you did feel more at home with him than you ever did in that castle. As you kissed, he brought you even closer. And you let him. You let him take the lead and the control as you laid you down in the soft gross and hovered over you. You knew he would take care of you.

・❥・

You were headed back to the castle after almost an hour, after having spent alone time with Mingi that left you both in a good mood as the sun began to set. As you arrived at the gates, a servant came running up. “Your highness..! His majesty has been asking for you. He’s in the great hall.” He said and you looked confused.

“Alright. I’ll be along in a moment.” You said and he bowed before rushing off again. Mingi helped you down and put Arion back in the stables.

“Shall we?” He asked and you smiled softly, walking with Mingi right behind you. You walked and entered into the great hall where everyone was sat down for dinner. He bowed when you both entered and you stood, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Where have you been?” Your father asked.

“Sir Mingi took me out like you instructed. We took Arion out and we walked around for a bit.” You said as you approached, sitting next to Taeyong in your normal seat.

“I see. So that’s why you are not wearing the dress I had you wear this morning.” He stated.

“I didn’t think it fit for horseback. And why must I wear it? You don’t make Jiu or Yeji wear such ridiculous dresses, so why should I?” You asked, your siblings looking between your father and you.

“Because that is what I’ve instructed. You should do well to listen to me.” He warned and you sighed.

“But that dress was ridiculous. It was so unnecessarily tight and frilly. And that shade of pink is not easy on the eyes-”

“y/n!” Your father raising his voice made everyone flinch, causing you to fall silent. “You must understand. You are almost 19 and haven’t accepted any courtship offers. You must before it is too late. And for the good of Exinia”

“Too late? Father, no one who has offered to court me has been someone I wanted to be courted by.” You said.

“You don’t always have a choice, my dear. Which is why, later this week, during your birthday celebration. You will choose a man to be courted by to be married.” He stated and you sat in horror.

“What? Absolutely not!” You proclaimed, standing up, Taeyong gently grabbing your elbow out of worry.

“y/n. Lower your voice.” Your father warned.

“I will not! You cannot force me to get married!” You said angrily. You always were the most outspoken of your siblings.

“As your father, I can.” He stated.

“Why is it such a big deal? Why can’t I just do as I please-” You started when your father hit his hand against the table and stood up.

“Because all of your siblings are already married, engaged, or being courted. And I will not have you being a burden on this family just because you refuse to get married!” He yelled. You stopped and stared him down, as did your siblings.

“So that’s what it is. You want to get rid of me.” You said quietly. Your father seemed shocked by his own words, but he stood his ground, staying silent. “Fine…” You pulled your arm from Taeyong’s hand and left, ignoring the calls of your father after you. You quickly ran to your room, shutting the door and letting the tears that had welled fall down your cheeks. You didn’t have time to change out of the dress Yeji had helped pick out for you, but you grabbed the one pair of trousers and one blouse you owned, packing those. You started to pack other things in the small bag, personal keepsakes you wanted to keep when there was a knock at your door. “Leave! I do not wish to speak to anyone!” You called out.

“Your highness.” It was Mingi. And immediately, you gave in. You went to the door and pulled it open, letting him inside. He quickly came in, shutting it and hugging you close, letting you cry into his chest. “I’ve got you, your highness.” He whispered.

“I wish to leave, Mingi. I do not feel that I belong here anymore.” You whispered through your quiet sobs.

“Then we shall. Finish packing. I shall do the same grab food from the kitchen for us. Hurry. And meet me at the stables.” He said. You nodded and did as you were asked. He quickly left and you hurried with your packing. You wrote a note and left it on the bed with your tiara next to it. It was a goodbye letter to your siblings. And before you left your room, you grabbed two pictures that were by your bed. One of you and your siblings together. And one of your late mother. You packed those away and threw a silver cloak on over your dress, quickly leaving your room. You made your way down to the stables and waited, Arion still being saddled. You kept the hood of your cloak up as you waited.

This was actually happening. You were leaving. You’d miss your siblings, of course. You all were so close to one another and that was what hurt the most. But you couldn’t stay here anymore. Not with what your father said. Another five minutes of waiting and Mingi came into the stables. He came to you, smiling a little sadly as he kissed your forehead. “Let me saddle up Shadow and we can get out of here.”

“Alright. Let’s be quick.” You said and he nodded. He went over to his horse, who was a deep black. He pet the horse’s nose, saddling him and hooking his supplies up as well. You did the same with your bag, leading him to just outside the stables, Mingi righ behind with Shadow.

“Where do we go from here?” He asked softly.

“Anywhere. As long as you’re there, I’ll be okay.” You said and he smiled. You both mounted your horses and he smiled.

“Then let’s just go.” He said, snapping the reins and causing Shadow to race off. You smiled and did the same to stay close to him, glancing back at the castle as you rode. This was it. This was goodbye.

・❥・

Back with your siblings, they were furious. Doyoung was comforting Yeji, who’d been crying, and Taeyong was furiously yelling at his father.

“How dare you say such a thing about her?? It should be her choice!” He yelled, their father sitting in astonishment at Taeyong’s outburst.

“She doesn’t get a choice in this matter! It isn’t up to her.” Their father retorted.

“Like hell she doesn’t! It is her choice to choose who she loves. Doyoung, Jiu, and I are just lucky that those we chose are the ones we want to spend the rest of our lives with to be happy. And she would never be a burden to us! Never in a million years!” Jiu stood up from her seat as Taeyong yelled, walking away and letting her lavender colored dress drag on the floor slightly. Doyoung and Yeji quickly got up and Taeyong turned away from their father to follow.

“Where are you all going??”

Jiu stopped and looked at him with the calmest face imaginable. Which made it all the more terrifying. “To check on my sister.” She said, turning and walking away once more, her younger siblings on her heels. She arrived to your room and knocked gently. “y/n?” No answer. “Love, please.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to say such a thing. And even if he did, we don’t see it that way.” Doyoung said. Silence. “We don’t view you as a burden, sister. We never would.”

Yeji huffed and pushed past them, opening the door regardless of whether you wanted it or not. But you weren’t there to say what you wanted. They all walked in and looked around, seeing the note on the bed, which Taeyong picked up to read aloud.

My dearest siblings

I apologize. I can not stay any longer. Father has made his intentions clear. Whether you view me in that way or not, I simply can’t stay any longer.

My beloved sisters. Do not cry over this. You both are so strong and I will listen for information on the both of you wherever I am headed. Just know that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me as the youngest. And I will continue to admire and idolize you as the picture perfect princess and queen to be.

My darling brothers. Please do not be angry with me. You’ve always done your best to protect me. It still feels like yesterday when we were all little and Taeyong was getting into fights for me while Doyoung was consoling me. Do not worry for me. Worry over yourselves and the others now.

I am taking Mingi with me, so I will be protected, I promise. Do not come looking for me because even I do not know where I am going. And father won’t be able to find me either. If one day, I feel that I am ready to face you all once more, I will comeback. Or maybe send word for you all to come and see me. But until then, do not come looking. Just know that I am going somewhere to be happy. With the man I love most by my side. And know that I love you all very much. And I always will.

y/n

All your siblings were crying by the end of it. Yeji was a mess and hugged Jiu, who was silently crying. Doyoung leaned against his older sister as tears fell down his face. Taeyong was trying hard not to cry as he gripped the letter tightly. “This is all father’s fault…” he whispered.

He looked to Jiu, who just offered her hand to him. He finally let the tears fall as he came close to his siblings, crying as he nuzzled close. He felt like he lost his sister. They all felt that way. But at least they knew Mingi was with you. You’d certainly be safe with him there.

・❥・

Several days passed as you and Mingi travelled through the woods. It seemed to be endless, but you kept going. The night before, you both had set up camp in a small clearing and dawn was just breaking. When you finally opened your eyes, it took you a moment to process what was in front of you. Very close to your face and sniffing was a grey wolf. You blinked and then shrieked, quickly sitting up and backing away. Your shriek startled Mingi awake, causing him to grab his sword and point it. And it also sent the wolf running. He ran to the edge of the clearing where there was…a boy?

He wore a brown cloak over his shoulders and his blonde hair was tied up a little due to its length. His bright blue eyes were obvious from this far away, as were the freckles that speckled his cheeks like the night sky. The wolf was somewhat behind his legs and he wasn’t the only animal with this boy. There was a squirrel sitting on his shoulder and a rabbit in his arms.

Mingi quickly moved in front of you, holding the sword up. “Who are you??” He called out.

“No need to raise your voice at me. And I should be asking you that. You’re the ones who are so close to my home.” the boy spoke, his voice low. Mingi didn’t move, his sword still pointed. “But since you won’t budge, my name is Lee Felix. I live deep in this forest.”

“The Lee Felix? The witch?” You spoke up, causing Mingi to glance back at you and Felix to look directly at you. He smiled and nodded.

“The very same. How do you know of me?” He asked quietly.

“My father told a story of how he went to a witch for help once. He said the witch’s name was Felix.” You explained. “He’s the king of Exinia, the kingdom nearby.

“Yes, I remember well. He asked for help to cure his wife of an ailment. Unfortunately, she was too far gone by the time he asked for my help. All I could provide was remedies to help ease her passing.” He said.

“But…that was almost 15 years ago. You don’t look very old.” You said and he smiled.

“That’s the thing about us witches. We can live for quite a long time and look very young. I’m much older than I appear. Now may I know who you both are?” he asked, his hand resting on the wolf’s head. You stood up and Mingi stood up with you, his sword still drawn.

“I am y/n and this is my knight, Mingi.” You said and Felix looked shocked.

“You’re one of the princesses of Exinia? What on earth are you two doing this deep into the forest?” He asked.

“I’ve left. I no longer want to be thought of as a princess. I want to choose my own path and destiny. And Mingi is apart of that.” You said and Felix smiled.

“That’s very brave and honorable. Well. I’m sure you both don’t want to continue sleeping outside. I have an extra room in my cottage. What do you say you stay with me for a while?” He suggested. “I won’t harm you and I could use some extra help.”

You looked to Mingi and he sighed, nodding, slowly lowering his sword. “I will be keeping my eye on you for a while. I won’t hesitate to harm you to protect her.” He stated, Felix nodding.

“I understand. I get how it is, wanting to protect others. But please, follow me.” He said softly, starting to walk off. You both grabbed your supplies and brought your horses with, hoping this was a start to a good chapter.

・❥・

Quite a few months later, you and Mingi were fully settled in with Felix. When you had arrived, you had found more animals that he lived with. And over time, you found out, they were all shapeshifters. You grew accustomed to them and became friends with them all. Not to mention, you celebrated your birthday with Felix and whilst simple, it was perfect.

Mingi helped out with more of the handy work. Despite him being clumsy, he was good with his hands. You knew that very well. Since the clearing was rather large, Mingi had decided to start building a cottage of your own so you two could stay there. With the help of some of the shifters and Felix’s magic, it wasn’t long before it was finished.

And you had taken up gardening. Felix grew lots of food, so you didn’t have to worry too much about that. But you were starting to grow flowers outside of the house that you and Mingi now shared. It was the early morning and you had woken up before Mingi. You were standing by the window with a cup of tea in hand, watching the rain that was sprinkling in the early morning. You were lost in thought when a pair of arms brought you out of it.

“You’re up early.” Mingi’s low morning voice said into your ear and you smiled.

“Yeah. Just thinking.” You said quietly. You leaned back into the warmth of the other’s chest as you sipped your tea, setting the cup on the windowsill.

“About?” He asked lowly.

“How thankful I am. I still have a good life. A roof over my head, food to eat, friends. And a man I love more than anything.” You said, turnging around in his arms and wrapping your arms around his neck. He smiled and leaned down, kissing you tiredly. You felt so happy. You weren’t a princess anymore, but you were at home. That’s all that mattered.

taglist: @jasirii @nateezfics @releasethypen

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icarus-suraki · 2 years ago

Photo

Haunted Doll Watch!! That’s Delaine in the striped chair (haunted doll 1) and the harlequin doll is Luna (haunted doll 2)

Books! Mostly witchcraft, Wicca, and New Age junk that I snagged for free out of a donation bin during my library days. Yes it includes Big Blue Buckland and To Ride a Silver Broomstick. You can’t see the nearly-complete Kyron collection behind the Pagan Family book but it’s there. Also yes that’s a fanbook for the MXTX series.

The Chris Chan art is on the top shelf next to the tiny treasure chest (which contains old, old Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab scents).

World Band radio from my dad. Journals and notebooks down there.

Literature shelf 1: Joyce and Pynchon and Pratchett but also a first edition of New Frontiers of the Mind which was about to get weeded at a library. Naturally I grabbed it. Also Sister Karol’s Little Book of Spells and Rituals which is so odd and I love it. Rando army officer’s guide that once belonged to a Rosicrucian. No joke.

Tasty-smelling unused candle (unused) with silver butterfly, Nendroid boxes, MXTX books lying down (because they tend to bend when standing up). Imported stickers.

Bottom shelf is a lot of foreign language: Japanese novels, including Memoirs of a Geisha, Misery by Stephen King, and one titled God Is a Gun. Again: donations that I grabbed. Couple of manga because back in the day you could score Japanese manga at conventions. I miss those days. It was fun. One book in Japanese about “Getting Along in English” and another on “adulting.” Also the Glitch game artbook. I miss Glitch so much. The lantern is disassembled because the batteries leaked and I need to clean it up, sigh.

Literature shelves 2+: drawing books, Japanese craft book for cat houses, Cormac McCarthy my beloved, The Practice of the Presence of God. BCP (baptism gift to me as a baby) and the Bible in Chinese (another donation). Teacup for gin (it’s the cucumber one, yes). Random bottles and jars because I love them. A Course in Miracles both volumes and teacher’s workbook (more donations). V.C. Andrews because I sometimes have no taste. Haunted photograph, Arthur, is in the ripped-up looking case to be protected from sunlight. Animal Crossing: New Horizons-edition Switch dock (I didn’t want the paint/decal to get scratched). Little tiny chenille chicks used for pranks. People in a bag for Sashimiko cosplays. Japanese fashion magazines and Gothic & Lolita Bibles. The Red Book sitting on a children’s book in Chinese, partial view of sewing patterns. Unseen: more books stacked on the floor.

Literature shelves 3+: with Saint Dymphna, patroness of those with mental illnesses. Listen, I’ll try anything. There’s Big Blue Buckland’s, couple more Llewellyn magic(k) books, the Normal Tarot book, and the third copy of City of Bohane (I love that book but not enough for 3 copies; long story). Tarot cards and Lenormande cards. Russian language book. Imported stickers. Random electronics bits (cords, &c) and office supplies live in the two bins.

On top you’ve got Senor Misterioso (he glows in the dark) and his real saint figurine self, Doctor Jose Gregorio Hernandez. They are counterparts. Lantern. Fake succulent. Rando room spray. SACRED TUMBLR BRAND SHOELACES!!!! Aforementioned haunted doll, Luna. Egg cup with blessed salt.

On the other side, egg cup w/ salt (alt. view), plastic palm trees from my old desk in the library, “fake” fountain pens and more imported stickers. Fake flowers mostly from cosplay, bowl held by claws (Target Halloween 5 or 6 years ago), cup with a jubilee of pens. Xie Lian bookmark 💗 Tiny gashapon and blind box doodads. Wooden jar.

There you go. That’s my shelves. I can entertain questions if you’d like. Closeups available.

#noises from issy #shelfie #shelfies #haunted doll watch #i enjoy collected weird stuff

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van-zieksy · 3 years ago

Note

Dear van zieksy,

Hello how are you doing? I’ve been thinking about more questions to ask you about Barok our dear reaper (yes it’s me that anon) but I keep coming short on what to ask since I pretty much been given interesting and I think on point answers before. Nevertheless I couldn’t help myself because I enjoy your writing it feels like I go back few centuries and two and I wish I could become as good writer as you are but that is still work in progress. As I’ve been pondering on what to ask I remembered that we haven’t got much of your insight on Barok’s first true friend from university days - Albert Harebrayne! What do you think how would a normal everyday university life looked like for both Albert and Barok? How did they meet and how their friendship started(I don’t think that was mentioned I scarcely remember they played chess?? I would like your more elaborate insight on that - who used to win the most - not gonna like most likely Barok). I sincerely hope that this question albeit probably not that great would be satisfactory to provife answer on your free time.

I wish you all the best

Yours our dear reaper anon aka Reaper-san

P.S: Maybe I should think of better nickname to be known for but for now I guess calling me Reaper-san shall do

( I tried to write this question in a style of a letter addressed to you I hope you liked it and if you did I can I use this style of writing at our next “encouter” too)

Greetings, Reaper-san! (I like the nickname you have chosen for yourself.)

I do appreciate that you took the time to send me this ask. I like your „letter-style“ ask, so let’s exchange proverbial letters from here on out. :D Please know that I am always glad to hear from you. Any and all questions are appreciated and valid! Further, thank you so much for your kind words! Without further ado, let’s see what we can dig up about Albert’s and Barok’s friendship.

I have to preface this by saying that we do not know much about their university days, so many of the aspects I am going to mention are headcanons that I have crafted for myself. When you see italicised words, then that refers to something that a character actually said in the game. I think the way they have met was quite unspectacular yet silly. It’s Albert we’re speaking of, so of course it was unconventional! I think they did spend quite a bit of time together, but their time together was still limited due to social obligations, their studies, and so forth. We do know that Barok was – and still is – a gentleman who gladly assists other people. Based on this I have had two scenarios in my head for a while. So let’s dive right in.

1. In this scenario Barok happens across Albert in the library on campus. The young scientist in training is struggling with getting his hands on a particular book that is too high up for someone of his size and hence out of reach, like so many things in his life. That cutting edge screwdriver he saw at the hardware store earlier this week, or his dream of living in Germany to become a scientist worthy of showcasing his latest inventions to the world. If only he were born into a wealthier family. Not that his family is struggling financially, but they aren’t rich nobility either. He lets out a deep sigh. Sadly, there is no ladder nearby. Who constructed this library? They should have asked for his input. A sharply-dressed, tall young man catches a glimpse of this lean, eccentric student with hair reminiscent of cotton candy and can’t help but smile at the desperate but also endearing sight. He decides to approach this curious individual, „Good day, sir. It appears you are in need of assistance. Pray, allow me to help you,“ and he grabs the book from the highest shelf to hand it to Albert. Of course the blonde man is in awe, having never seen a person of such an impressive size and statue, or majestic elegance, for that matter. Without even realising it, he accepts the book. „Thank you...sir...You are too kind...ehm…“ What to say, what to say?!! From what he has read, introducing yourself is always recommended in social situations such as this one. „I am Albert, Albert Harebrayne, but please just call me Albert. Everyone just calls me Albert, because...well...I’m not that special hahaha,“ he says as he nervously scratches the back of his head. „At least not as special as you are. I mean, just look at you. You’re obviously nobility. And a giant...and so fancy...and so…..handsome. Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that! I….“. The other man has to stop Albert there before he can incriminate himself even more but is trying really hard to suppress a chuckle. The distinguished gentleman he is, he simply responds in a polite yet firm tone, „It is alright, good sir. I do not mind. As a matter of fact, people stare at me all the time. I have gotten very good at ignoring the curious masses by now. I am Barok van Zieks, but you may call me Barok. No honorary title, please.“ He bows slightly with a tender smirk on his face. What is it about this regal man that is drawing him in? Albert feels overwhelmed, but in a good way. It’s as if this young lord, or whatever he may be, is absorbing the whole room with his presence, and at the same time he can’t make him out at all. „Pray, allow me to point out that I am not special either. I suggest you do not let my status as a noble scare you away. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Albert Harebrayne.“ „Oh,“ is all Albert can manage to utter as he bites his fingernails, face as red as the red shirt he is wearing under his laboratory coat today. This grandiose, imposing man who looks like he just jumped out of a fashion parade isn’t as self-important as he looks. Maybe they can become friends? Albert doesn’t have any real friends because he’s so preoccupied with his studies. It would be nice to have someone he can rely on, and vice versa, be someone others can count on. This peculiar Barok van Zieks may even be able to solve some of his problems.

2. Once again Albert is in a precarious situation. He wouldn’t be Albert Harebrayne if he weren’t. But this time he ends up dropping all his books as he scurries about on the university grounds trying to make it to his next lesson in time. As Albert is leaning down to pick up his books, a large shadow is slowly approaching and engulfing him from behind. „P-p-please don’t hurt me! I am just a poor scientist with no money!“ A few seconds pass, but to his surprise, no one is attacking him. He then observes the overwhelming shadow slowly move around him until it manifests itself in the form of a very tall, muscular young man dressed in clothing of simple elegance. This man is now standing right in front of him. Even without his iconic stoic face and scar and his ultra-tight prosecutor outfit highlighting every nook and cranny of his toned body, Barok can look intimidating to people, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Albert thinks that this younger version of our prosecutor is another one of those „rowdies who always try to steal people’s lunch money,“ but this time they must have sent the most intimidating guy amongst their ranks. Just as Albert is mentally preparing himself to be knocked to the ground, he lifts up his head ever so slightly and ends up staring into light blue eyes as enchanting and deep as the ocean. Now that he thinks about it, they are actually similar to his eye colour. Those eyes tell him that this person is a gentle, kind soul, and sure enough, the towering figure leans down to pick up the books for him. „Pray forgive the discourtesy of scaring you. It was not my intention. Please allow me to accompany you and carry these books for you.“ Albert is clearly shocked. „B-but why would YOU out of all people do that? You’re obviously one of those, those fancy nobles. I-I think. Just look at your outfit. Everything has its place. It probably cost more than my parents earn in wages in a year! And it looks so gallant on your...well, impressive body.“ Oh no, what did he just say?!! Can he please just sink into the ground? „I didn’t mean it like that! I’m so sorry! Anyway, yes, I have calculated that you must be a lord, even, or whatever they call people like you. In fact, I think I recognise that family crest. I’ve seen it in the newspaper before. It belongs to Lord...Lord...I forget his name. He’s some important figure in the judiciary. So why in the world would you lower yourself to my level just to help me? It’s not even your fault I dropped my stupid books in the first place. Argh.“ The other man stares at him intensely, slighly irritated...or hurt? „Sir, I do believe we have something in common. People judge you and take advantage of your good nature based on your...unassuming appearance. Well, people are also quick to judge me based on my appearance. Despite my build, I am no rowdy who wishes to inflict harm on people. While you are correct in assuming that I am an aristocrat, I would like for you to understand that I do not think of myself as above others. This may be a common occurence amongst people of my kind, but I assure you I am a human being just like you. Neither of us got to choose the families we were born into. I am Barok van Zieks. Barok, for you. There is no need for you to address me by my title.“ Barok offers his gloved right hand to Albert to help him up, which he shyly accepts. After this unexpected gesture of kindness, Albert looks at this new acquaintance of his sheepishly and wonders how he always ends up making a fool out of himself, yet Barok doesn’t seem to mind, an understanding smile now gracing his lips. Yes, this noble is an unassuming, extremely pleasant, all-around nice fellow, Albert just knows it. Maybe they could even become friends. But from now on, he should really think before he opens his mouth. Most importantly, he should take the time to properly study and analyse people before judging them. Yes, this also applies to trusting others. His aloof nature may get him in much greater trouble in the future.

The two young students decided to stay in contact and made a habit of meeting up a few times a week to get to know each other better. While their paths didn’t cross as often as they would have liked because Barok was in the faculty of law, while Albert was in science, they did spend some time together after school and on the weekends. Barok even invited Albert to his manor for him to meet his family. That’s how Albert realised that the Van Zieks name carries a lot of clout. Barok is indeed a man with great aristocratic origins, and based on how loving his family treated him, the little darling of the Van Zieks family. Despite their differences in status and study paths, they became good friends. Barok himself seems to be suprised that they got along so well (to quote him: „But curiously, we got along.“), but it does make sense. They may appear to be the exact opposite of each other on the surface, but they do have quite a few things in common and complement each other well. Both are kind, dedicated, humble, intelligent and gentle souls who are often misunderstood and even taken advantage of. Barok has always been on the more quiet side and exuded this mysterious depth he still has to this day. Yet he learned to navigate social situations well. Albert, on the other hand, is an outgoing individual who carries all of his feelings and thoughts on a tray, but he’s not very good around people. Albert benefitted from Barok’s quiet dignity and experiences, while Barok allowed himself to be less serious around his new friend. Barok never thought of himself as being above Albert. The fact that Albert was not of noble heritage didn’t bother him in the least. Barok must have thought highly of Albert’s family, too, as he refers to them as a respectable family. In fact, I do think that he supported Albert in his endeavours, whether it be the occasional financial support or the continuous emotional support. I am certain Barok did more for Albert than we know.

Whenever Albert is involved, Barok’s protective instincts kick in. Let’s be real, Albert is a menace (affectionate). He does rely on other people to get him out of the most ridiculous situations. Think how he, once again, relied on Barok at the end of the second game when he accidentally ended up in one of the more expensive hotels in London and couldn’t pay for his room. Barok is a protective person who thinks of others before he thinks of himself. Seeing them interact in the games, and how Barok almost adopts a fatherly stance when Albert is involved, is very adorable. During Albert’s trial, Barok was the one who painted him as an honourable man of science because he knew that this was more important to Albert than anything else in his life. Albert didn’t even have to voice his concerns. Barok was the one party involved in the trial that realised from the outset that the whole experiment was a farce, but in order to protect his friend’s reputation and invention, he had to temporarily pretend the whole situation was murder. He put his faith in Ryunosuke and waited on him to open his eyes. He had to wait on the defence to point out in front of its client that everything must have been a scam, so Barok could then work together with Ryuu to establish that Albert was just a victim in this whole ordeal. After Albert has been declared innocent and the whole truth has been revealed, Barok sensed Albert’s mental anguish, so he went on to lift him up. And as much as Barok wanted to spend time with his friend, he knew that he had to send him back to Germany in order to protect him. Albert always knew that Barok had his best interests at heart, just like he always did. Whereas Barok just knew that he had to help his old friend. He never questioned his loyalty to Albert, despite not having seen each other in over ten years, not to mention that Albert wasn’t even aware of the tragedy that has befallen his long-lost friend.

I imagine Albert was very chatty even during his university days. Due to his overzealous dedication to his studies, he tried to engage Barok in conversations about his experiments and many hypotheses whenever they spent time together. Even though Barok only understood half of what his eccentric friend was talking about, he listened patiently and provided his own input. Sometimes, though, he had to tell Albert to just sit back and relax for his own sake. The young man was so engaged in his studies, he often forgot to eat, sleep and do other everyday things. Every once in a while you could see Barok carry plates with food and tea to Albert’s dormitory room. Oftentimes Albert forgot they were supposed to meet up after dinner, so Barok went to his room only to find him asleep in his chair. Barok would then carry him to bed and leave a handwritten note on his table to let him know what happened: „Good morning, Albert. It seems foolish of me to keep writing these notes every time I encounter you asleep in your room when there must be a more efficient way to let you know that you have once again missed one of our engagements. Please do not overstrain yourself. I do not wish for you to be in pain. I will see you at lunch tomorrow, which—just to be sure—means today for you. With fondest regards, your friend Barok (van Zieks).“

How did they pass their time together? Their outings weren’t particularly exciting. They just enjoyed being in each other’s presence. During the week there wasn’t much time to do anything anyway, so they mainly just talked, went for walks and read together, but on the weekends, Albert would sometimes visit the Van Zieks mansion. This is also when they would attend stage performances or museums together. Albert appreciated performances for their mechanical nature. Everyone involved, every puzzle piece is neatly arranged in a pre-determined order, working together to create a final product where everything make sense in retrospect. During the summers, when Barok spent some of his time at one of his family’s vacation homes, Albert would join them for a week or two. Barok did everything he could to distract Albert from his studies. Some of the activities the interesting pair partook in: lazy strolls through the beautiful countryside, horseback riding (Albert did pretty well, actually!), swimming (with protective clothing, of course), singing/dancing/playing instruments/painting/writing poems (mainly Barok, but Albert would watch or sometimes join in), enjoying lavish meals (Klint was proud to be able to provide some ingredients for those meals, which Barok and Albert weren’t too fond of, but they didn’t have the heart to tell him), cycling (it’s a good thing bikes are sturdy, so Barok did just fine), and so forth. You get the idea.

You have brought up chess. I actually do think that Barok enticed Albert to some rounds of chess. Sadly, it didn’t turn out to be Albert’s favourite pastime. While he enjoyed the abstract idea behind it, the rules did not make much sense to him (how can a pawn become a king or a queen??), so he never won. Well, Barok did let him win once, but of course Albert immediately realised what has happened and scolded his friend for thinking he takes any pride in winning, yet he appreciated the thoughtful gesture nonetheless. We must not forget about the family vineyards. On selected weekends or during his time off, Barok wanted to oversee the growth and harvest and brought Albert along a few times. This didn’t end up the way Barok envisioned it. While Barok handpicked some grapes for his special creations, Albert would do his own harvesting, which entailed nothing more than eating grapes directly from the vines. All this talk about wine making went above his head. Barok didn’t have it within himself to be angry at his companion for satisfying his sweet tooth, so he just let him be. After all, a friendship is about mutual giving and receiving. While Barok did – and still does - most of the giving, he couldn’t deny that his friendship with Albert brought him so much joy, which in itself meant he was also on the „receiving“ end.

Thank you again for the ask! I hope you have a wonderful weekend!

With gratitude,

Zieksy

Ps. As for Albert’s comments on Barok’s appearance: I am not implying—nor denying—a romantic relationship of any kind. People are free to see their relationship as anything they want. I had Albert comment on Barok’s looks because a) he says pretty much anything that comes to mind, b) remember how he complimented another character in the game, so there is a precedent, c) I think it is okay to compliment people—regardless of their gender/orientation/etc.—on their looks/style/personality/etc., even if there is no romantic interest or physical attraction, d) Barok does stand out, so it’s not surprising that people take note. I personally see them as friends, but I also enjoy when people have them be something else.

#barok van zieks #albert harebrayne #benjamin dobinbough #ace attorney #the great ace attorney #tgaac #dgs #dai gyakuten saiban #tgaa #asks #Reaper-san ask

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nightshade-minho · 4 years ago

Text

-The Ritual-

-Incubus!Minho + BestFriend!Jeongin x fem!Reader-

Warnings: themes of jealousy, occults and demons, unprotected sex, minho has a huge cock, face fucking, sir kink, cunnilingus, 69, anal penetration, creampie, a little cumplay, a little overstimulation, a lil finger blood for ze ritual~ etc.

Word Count: 5.2k (I got a little carried away...this is the smuttiest thing I’ve written in a while hhhhhh-)

Disclaimer: This scene is entirely consensual. Minho’s powers do have the ability to make you incredibly aroused, but it can’t force you to do anything against your wishes.

"Have you got everything?" You whispered, making the boy next to you jump in shock.

"Y/n! For God's sake, you scared the fuck out of me-"

"Yeah, yeah." You rolled your eyes at Jeongin, who went back to perusing the library shelf with a small huff.

"Did you get everything?" You repeated insistently, following as Jeongin moved away from you, walking over to another shelf. He glared at you, sighing.

"Did you-"

"Shut up!" He scowled, looking away from you to grab another book from the shelf.

A few seconds of prolonged silence passed as Jeongin turned to look at you, sighing when he saw your bottom lip quivering.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled.

"Y/n- no, it's okay. Next time, don't sneak up on me like that..." he sighed. "I've just got so much work on my plate. It's so frustrating...and I took that frustration out on you. Sorry."

You pressed your lips together, nodding and looking away. He sighed, moving a little closer, hand hovering over your shoulder before hesitantly coming down.

"I'll come over at 10, okay? We'll do this." He said, trying to feign enthusiasm. You shoved his hand off your shoulder, shaking your head.

"I know you're not as into this as I am. I just thought...as my best friend, you'd want to do something fun with me. But if you'd much rather spend the night with your nose buried in a textbook, I won't stop you."

Jeongin smiled, that wide smile of his that affected you in a way you couldn't quite describe.

"Summoning a demon in your college dorm at midnight isn't exactly what the average individual would call fun, Y/N."

"You've always known I'm not the average individual." You winked. "Right...I'm going to let you study now. See you tonight! Don't forget-"

"Candles, rose petals and wine. Got it."

You grinned, waving as you walked away, a slight bounce in your step. Jeongin watched as you left, fondly shaking his head as he turned back to the shelf.

***

As the doorbell rang, you jumped off your bed and rushed to the door, opening it with a wide smile. "Jeonginnieee!~ Did you bring snacks?"

He nodded, struggling with the amount of packages he was holding. "Yes, along with the things for the ritual- shit, can I have some help here?"

You giggled, grabbing the plastic bag and one of the packages from his hand. You stared at the wine bottle in his hand pointedly.

"One of my friends got this for me. Don't ask who. It's a super cheap brand and I think it's half drunk already but-"

"It'll do." You interrupted, smiling as you suddenly pulled him down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Jeongin's grip on the bottle tightened as his brain filled with sparks- the contact of your lips against his skin sending electricity shooting through his chest.

"You're the best best friend I could ask for. Thank you for getting everything."

Jeongin nodded nonchalantly, scratching his neck as he set the bottle and another package on the counter.

"Hey, the ritual needs to take place at midnight. We have like, 2 hours till then. Wanna watch a movie or something?"

"Why else do you think I brought snacks?" He laughed, opening the plastic bag and throwing a large packet of chips to you, that you caught with ease. Grabbing two cans of soda and a bag of candy, the two of you made your way to the couch.

"Let's watch a horror movie? To get us in the spirit?"

"Sure." Jeongin commented, ripping open the packet as he sat on the floor and leaned against the couch. You smiled, popping a CD into the DVD player and crawling back over to Jeongin, cuddling close to him.

Jeongin gulped as you wrapped your arms around him. Your proximity was making him sweat, and he discreetly wiped away a drop of perspiration from his forehead. Over the years, you'd think that he would get used to your touchiness...but he just never did.

Nearly an hour later, you fell asleep halfway through the movie. Jeongin sighed, patting your hair as you slept, watching the rest of the horrid movie by himself. When a particularly silly scene came on screen, he wished you were awake so he could criticize it with you. His eyes drifted to the clock, eyes widening as he realized the time.

He poked your shoulder insistently. "Fuck, Y/n, get up...the ritual needs to take place soon, and we haven't set everything up yet-"

You blinked slowly, looking at him in confusion. "Hmm? Oh-"

You pushed him away, jumping up to your feet. "Shit, let's get the things ready, quick-"

He sighed, standing up slowly as you ran to the packages on the counter, unwrapping everything. He watched as you jumped around in your hurry, chuckling to himself.

Man, she's really into this.

Jeongin thought about it for a few seconds, sighing as he decided to show a little more enthusiasm...after all, you were his best friend...you always listened so patiently whenever he talked about his interests.

He made up his mind. He'd put a little more effort into-

"What are you standing there for? Help!!"

He smiled at you, shaking his head, moving closer and helping you take out the things you needed.

***

Jeongin sat on your bed, watching as you tweaked some final touches here and there.

The silk had been laid out on the floor, all the lights were off. The room was illuminated in a warm, ochre glow, thanks to the numerous candles that had been lit and placed everywhere in the room.

You made sure the rose petals were scattered properly, pouring just a little more wine into the single glass in the middle of the pentagram you'd made with the red yarn you'd found on sale in the crafts shop.

Sitting up, you rubbed your forehead as you went over to the windowsill, relighting one of the candles that had snuffed out.

"15 minutes." Jeongin reminded as you nodded. "Okay...we're ready."

You sat down in front of the pentagram, breathing heavily in anticipation. Jeongin watched from his perch on your bed...He knew nothing out of the ordinary was going to happen tonight...unless a candle knocked over and set fire to the whole building. However, as he watched you bite your bottom lip in worry, he almost hoped you wouldn't be disappointed...that something out of the blue would happen.

Oh, if only he knew.

"So...say we do manage to summon a demon. Exactly how would this benefit us?"

"Good question." You pointed to the big book in front of you. You'd bought the huge tome from an occults shop down the block...it had been expensive, and you'd gone a few days without breakfast...but it was worth it.

You read out the paragraph to Jeongin, and he nodded, chewing on his lip as he listened. When you were done, he sighed, moving onto the floor next to you.

"So, basically...like a genie? The demon will give us 3 wishes?"

"Eh. Genies don't exist. Also...they're not exactly wishes, more like...favours? I think? He'll ask us to repay them at a later date."

Jeongin rolled his eyes. "And nothing sounds fishy about that? Nothing? I'm not sure I want to be indebted to a demon..."

"Eh, it'll be fine. We've got to start. Okay, everything's ready...now, it says that the person who conducts the ritual needs to mix in a drop of their blood with the wine, and then drink it."

Jeongin wrinkled his nose. "Eww. Y/n, come on..."

"What? It says it right here in on the book. It's just a tiny drop of blood, Jeongin. No big deal."

"Are you sure...?"

"Yep. Okay so after that, we just need to chant this phrase three times, blow out the innermost circle of candles and voila! Our very own demon, here to do our bidding."

"F-fine."

You smiled at him, glancing up at the clock on the wall and swearing under your breath. "Fuck, it's time...Okay, let's begin."

You scrambled around with one hand, finding the pocket knife and hovering it over your fingertip. Biting your lip, you slowly sliced your skin open, letting a tiny drop of blood fall into the wine glass below. Jeongin quickly got up, grabbing a box of band-aids from the bedside table and handing it to you. You glared at him for interrupting you, but sighed and let him wrap your finger up anyway.

Wrenching your hand away once he was done, you glanced at the clock once again before lifting the glass to your lips.

The wine flowed down your throat, the taste bitter and potent. You coughed once as you set it down, your eyes going over to the paragraph.

"Recipienti pignori obligo animam meam, et non sunt daemonium...et quod summoneret eum cum sanguine."

You repeated it thirteen times, and then glanced at the clock again. One more second...

12:00.

You blew out the candles quickly, the entire circle snuffed out before it became 12:01.

You sat back, panting as the plumes of smoke danced around in the air. A minute passed by, then two.

Nothing happened.

A small sigh left you. You turned to Jeongin. The boy gave you a sympathetic smile, pulling you into his side and patting your shoulder. "It's o-"

He was interrupted by someone clearing their throat. The two of you turned around so fast you almost got whiplash...but there was nothing. Just smoke.

Wait...a lot of smoke. You frowned slowly as the candles kept releasing more and more of it, until there was far too much. The curlicues of smoke twirled in the air, fogging your vision as it slowly started forming into a figure.

A figure with horns.

You quickly buried your face into Jeongin's chest, your heart beating fast. No way. No way it actually worked. This had to be a dream...right?

The way Jeongin shivered slightly beneath you proved otherwise. No. It all felt too real.

You looked up slowly, swallowing.

He was still there.

A man...he was clad in a suit, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up and shirt unbuttoned all the way to his torso. His black hair was slicked back, exposing his forehead, and his nose was sharp...

Perhaps the most notable of it all were his eyes. They were almost catlike and shone with a crimson glow.

Oh...that and the horns. Huge, blood-red horns that jutted out from his head.

His gaze was filled with scrutiny as he coolly stood there with his hands in his pockets, raising an eyebrow at the two of you, cowering on the floor.

"Did the pretty one here summon me?" He asked after a few minutes of silence, a small smirk on his face as his eyes roved over the silk and rose petals on the floor.

You gulped, pulling away from Jeongin a little more, but the boy didn't relax his grip on you. "Y-yes."

He nodded. "Thought so. I was actually extremely busy...but I could sense you were a cute one. I don't mind bending the rules a little for mortals like you." You noticed how he was only looking at you, completely ignoring Jeongin.

He looked around, going over to the armchair next to your bed and reclining on it, his stance reminiscent of a king's as he placed his chin on his hand, looking down at the two of you.

"Hmm, go on with it then. Why are you still fully clothed?" He asked, hand coming down over the straining bulge in his pants.

Jeongin frowned, looking over at you in confusion that mirrored yours. What the fuck?

"I'm s-sorry? I thought...it doesn't mention that I have to be naked in the book here-"

He rolled his eyes, still palming himself. "Whatever. If you prefer being clothed, that's fine. Let's just get this over with, okay doll? Come here."

"I'm c-confused-"

He tilted his head. "Why? You want your wishes granted, right?"

"Yeah-"

"Exactly. There are certain things I require as payment for those, you know." He meaningfully looked down at his bulge, and then back up at you again.

Your eyes slowly widened in outrage. "Wait...what the fuck??" Jeongin's mouth slowly opened in disbelief as you shook your head vehemently. "No. Nope. No way. I'm not going to let a demon fuck m-'

He shook his head, chuckling. "Darling, how else would an incubus such as myself grant your wish?"

"Pardon!?"

"We draw our powers from sexual energy-"

"I never-" You looked back at the book, scanning the paragraph over and over again. "I- it says nothing here about incubuses-"

"Incubi. And of course it doesn't. It's common knowledge that all wish-granting demons are incubi."

Jeongin shook his head, deciding he'd heard enough. He worked up his courage, trying to pretend like he wasn't intimidated by the actual demon that was in his best friend's bedroom.

"Look here, Sir- you can't just have sex with her. We must have missed the part where it said you were an...an incubus. Just go back where you came from."

The demon frowned slowly, his eyes finally landing on Jeongin. There was a questioning look in his eyes.

"Oh. I hadn't noticed the boy here." He sniffed the air, shaking his head. "His blood isn't involved in the ritual...must be why I couldn't see him properly till now." He mused, almost to himself as you looked at Jeongin, the two of you sharing a look filled with fear and bafflement.

"It doesn't work that way, unfortunately, boy. I came here...and sadly, I cannot leave Earth until my purpose is satisfied and 3 boons are granted."

You shivered, wondering what the hell you had gotten into. The demon noticed your discomfort and sighed, inspecting his fingernails.

"Look. I don't care if you have sex with me or not, although it wouldn't hurt to have my way with a pretty little kitten like you. All I need is sexual energy, so just fuck your friend here. I don't care."

It took a minute for the two of you to process what he had just said. He felt embarrassment fill him from head to toe as he buried his head in his hands, unable to look you in the eye.

However...you were starting to feel something quite different. The air was heavy and thick with a scent that was melting your inhibitions away, one by one. You felt arousal grow in your core, amplifying to the point where you let out a soft whimper, unable to control yourself anymore.

You looked up slowly, gulping as you noticed the demon's eyes on you. He was smirking, a malicious one that was trained on you. His aura was driving itself into your brain, making you weaker and weaker in his presence.

"What...what are you doing to m-me?" You choked out, trailing off into a moan as you felt another sharp burst of pleasure.

"Hm? I'm not doing anything, little kitty. I'm just here, existing."

You felt your brain grow mushy as your neediness grew.

He was an incubus, and you were chained to him with a blood link, thanks to the ritual. His pure sexual energy was merely too much for your human brain, and as the seconds passed by, you were closer to giving up.

Jeongin watched with horror in his eyes as you closed your eyes tightly, trying not to breathe in the contaminated air. However, as you felt another ribbon of ecstatic pleasure shoot through you, you finally snapped.

Whimpering like a bitch in heat, you crawled across the floor as the demon spread his thighs to accommodate you. He smirked at your needy form that looked up at him with wide, blown-out eyes, on your knees.

"Good girl." He ruffled your hair, chuckling as you ate up the praise, scrambling to unzip his pants. You managed to take his cock out finally, after a few minutes of fumbling.

He was big. Too big. His cock was redder than a human's, and almost angry looking.

Mouth-watering.

"What are you waiting for? Cat got your tongue?" He cooed, grabbing a handful of your hair as he held his cock with his other hand.

You moaned, opening your mouth and staring up at him. He groaned, the innocence on your face entrancing him as he shoved you onto his length, your tiny mouth engulfed with his huge cock.

Spluttering, you felt tears spring to your eyes as he slid impossibly far down your throat. He groaned and threw his head back. The sight of you with your mouth stuffed full, your throat bulging with his cock...it was threatening to drive him insane.

Meanwhile, Jeongin could hardly believe what he was witnessing. He was frozen in place, unable to move even an inch as the shock filled every inch of his brain. The demon looked up at him, his grip on your hair relentless as he slowly started fucking your throat, so deep you could barely breathe.

"Like what you see, boy? Your girl's little throat mercilessly fucked by a demon? Tsk. How spineless."

Jeongin felt the slightest bit of anger rush into him. Somehow, the demon's presence was amplifying his feelings, making him even angrier as he continued using your throat as a fucktoy.

"S-stop."

"Hm? Why should I?" He paused, pulling you off his cock roughly, your mouth dripping with saliva and pre-cum. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, Sir. Please, please use me!" You begged, eagerly moving forward to take him into your mouth again.

The demon looked back up at Jeongin, evil grin reappearing.

Jeongin clenched his fists, hating how weak he felt. The sight of you on your knees, sucking off this, this impossibly hot demonic man, was putting a bad taste in his mouth.

"Sir, just...you have to, stop-"

The demon wrinkled his lips, shaking his head. "My name is Minho, boy. I don't own you, so I don't expect you to treat me with respect...although you will, if you know what's good for you." He tutted, looking down at you again and holding you down on him harshly, your nose pressed to his skin.

"This kitten here does, though. The little ritual she did binds her to me for life."

"You can't- you can't just do that. You can't just take ownership of someone against their will-"

"It's not against her will. She's the one who carried out the ritual, may I remind you. I'm not forcing her to do anything." He lifted a finger in the air lazily, and somehow you found your body changing position, hands slipping off his lap and settling on the floor. Now you were on all fours, lips still wrapped around him as he bucked his hips up.

"The air stinks of jealousy. May I remind you that Envy is one of the deadly sins, little boy?"

Jeongin didn't know what to say any more. He felt utterly helpless, out of place. His feelings were all muddled, and he didn't feel like himself. Sweat was gathering on his brow as Minho eased his grip on your hair, slowing down a little and letting you control the pace. He lifted his finger again, waving it in a tight circle...The energy in the room shifted even more as your skirt slowly lifted up, exposing your ass to Jeongin's eyes.

It was becoming harder to hide the straining bulge in his pants.

You whined softly as Minho pulled out of you, fingers holding your chin as he observed your wrecked face carefully. "What a good kitten. Now, I think this little boyfriend of yours is enjoying the show too much." Minho looked up, his gaze directed at Jeongin's bulge.

"Wouldn't it be mean to make him watch and leave him out of this, kitty?" He asked, mock sympathy on his face as he waved his finger again, making your panties and shirt disappear in less than a millisecond.

You let out a soft yelp, feeling slightly humiliated. It turned you on more, as you realized you were now completely naked except for your skirt and socks. "Yeah, Sir, whatever you say." You let out a sigh and rested your chin on his thigh. "Want Jeonginnie to join too~" you mumbled.

Jeongin gulped, hating the way even more blood rushed south at the sight of you half-naked and on all fours. Now, he had a clear view of your glistening pussy as well as your puckered rim. He licked his lips subtly, all his emotions conflicted as he found himself moving closer.

"Y/n...you really want this?" He asked softly, stopping a few centimetres away.

You turned around to look at him. "Yeah...please..." You pouted. The expression on your face was so needy that Jeongin couldn't help but cave. Besides, now that he was closer to Minho, the aura he was emitting was starting to affect him as well. And that meant he could feel his arousal grow at a fast rate, his cock painfully caged in his pants.

Minho leaned down a little to pick you off the floor. His suit jacket and shirt disappeared, leaving him shirtless as he settled you on his lap, facing Jeongin as he spread your legs.

Hands on your waist, Minho nosed at the back of your neck as he lined your entrance up with his tip. Your eyes were focused on Jeongin, senses clogged with ardor as Minho slowly lowered you onto his cock. The wetness gushing out of you made it a little easier for him to slip in, however his size was still stretching you out to the point where it was borderline painful.

You felt the tears flow down your face freely, as Minho finally managed to push the last few inches in, his entire girth sheathed in you. He was as thick as he was long, and your pussy accommodated him desperately, aching.

He grunted, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Too fuck- fucking tight, princess-" He groaned, starting to fuck you on his cock slowly, his strokes roughly trying to open up your pussy.

Jeongin couldn't remember exactly when he'd taken his cock out...but his hands were wrapped around it, stroking slowly as his hooded eyes watched you bounce on the demon's cock. Minho used one hand to gather your skirt up, exposing the spot where you two were connected to Jeongin.

Jealousy, arousal, fear, shock and anger...it all melted together in his brain as he let his dark side take over, slowly. He knew it was because he was in close quarters with an incubus- the raw sexual energy was too much for his human brain to process healthily...it still felt so wrong.

"You want to fuck her, don't you? What are you standing there for, then?" Minho groaned, as he continued plunging his cock into you.

You whined loudly as Minho's tip hit your sweet spot roughly. "Jeongin- want jeong-" You tripped over your words as Minho fucked you dumb.

"P-please, Jeonginnieeee~ Want you in me!" You begged, one arm reaching behind you to wrap around Minho's neck as his hands came up to cup your boobs.

Minho looked up from kissing your neck, red eyes trained on the boy. "You heard her."

He sure did. As the last shred of apprehension faded away, Jeongin couldn't bring himself to care any more. In a few long strides, he was right in front of you.

He let go of you, as Jeongin pulled you downward, so that your face was level with his cock. Minho's grip on your hips was tight, making sure you didn't fall as you tried to steady yourself by placing your hands on Jeongin's thighs.

His thumb swiped across your bottom lip as he stared at you with hungry eyes, before he slipped it in. You started sucking on it eagerly, making the boy above you chuckle.

He pulled his thumb out, prompting a whine from you- but quickly, it was replaced with the head of his cock as he pressed it against your parted lips, taking him in.

Jeongin's cock, despite being much smaller than Minho's, was above average for a human, and it still filled up your mouth deliciously. You felt him dive deep into your throat as he tangled both of his hands in your hair, using that as leverage to fuck into your mouth harder.

"Good boy..."

"Don't call me that." Jeongin spat, his anger building up. He took out his frustration on you, fucking your mouth harsher than Minho had. The combination of two cocks in you turned you on more than ever, and soon enough, you came as you blubbered incoherencies, clenching tightly around Minho.

A few thrusts later, Jeongin felt his high approach. Not wanting to cum yet, he pulled out quickly. You looked up at him, looking so fucked out, absolutely heavenly. How ironic.

He needed you. He'd never felt any emotion this intense before. Gritting his teeth, Jeongin pulled you off Minho, throwing you onto the bed with a grunt. You stared up at him in shock, looking to the right at Minho.

The demon let out a low chuckle, settling himself comfortably in his chair as he propped his chin up with one hand, the other jerking himself off.

Jeongin couldn't look at you. He avoided eye contact, knowing he'd go completely insane if he looked at you.

Roughly spreading your thighs, he leaned down to take your clit between his teeth. You let out a moan, throwing your head back as he shoved his tongue between your folds, groaning at the taste. He kissed and sucked all over your pussy, heart beating a little too fast. His fingers came up to rub at your clit as he shallowly fucked his tongue into your entrance.

Minho slowly stood up, tired of standing to the side. Gently, he shoved Jeongin to the side. The latter growled in frustration, but stopped as Minho lay down on the bed. You quickly understood, his power influencing you to comprehend what he wanted you to do.

You climbed onto Minho backwards, his cock in front of your face. You kissed up his length immediately, lips wrapping around his tip as you felt him grab your ass, pulling you so your pussy made contact with his tongue.

He pulled away for a second. "Go ahead and fuck her ass, it's a lot tighter than her pussy." He said, knowing how roughly he'd fucked you just a while ago.

Jeongin couldn't care less. He just wanted to be in you, as quick as possible. As he led his cock to your ass, he gulped. This was not how he'd expected the night to go.

He spat on your winking pucker, pushing in shortly after. You were so consumed with passion that it barely hurt, even when he started thrusting roughly. The pleasure set you ablaze, the combination of Minho's lips wrapped around your clit and Jeongin's dick deep inside your ass tantalizingly unreal. You couldn't think straight.

Minho put his hands under you, spreading your ass cheeks, making Jeongin groan. You felt his tongue making its way into your pussy, making you moan around his cock.

The room was filled with sounds of skin slapping skin, as well as the groans of the two men fucking you.

Jeongin had imagined having sex with you before. This was definitely not how he'd ever expected it to go. He'd thought of asking you out, taking you on dates, kissing your face and lips softly...yet here he was now, fucking your ass demonically.

You purred as you felt his cock twitch inside you, starting to suck on Minho's cock harder. He tasted so different, almost addicting. You were driven with an intense need to taste his cum, kitten-licking his slit to try and get him to orgasm.

You whined as Minho used his grip on your ass to drag your pussy over his mouth. The sound was so beautiful, driving Jeongin closer to his high. Before he knew it, he was fucking into you faster than before, intent on filling you up. In seconds, he came with a grunt, filling you up perfectly with his seed.

As he came down from his high, he regained some of his sensibility. He felt self-loathing fill him, hating what he'd just done.

Jeongin watched as Minho ate you out roughly, his grip so tight on your ass that it was sure to leave future bruises.

As the demon sucked on your clit, you felt yourself shake, whimpering around his length as another orgasm washed over you, clenching around Jeongin's cock that was still inside you. The overstimulation made him bite his lip and pull out, watching as a drop of his cum leaked out of you. Using his finger, he gathered it up and pushed it back into your hole gently.

Your continuous moans were sending vibrations down Minho's length, and soon he was fucking up into your mouth, chasing his high. He came after a particularly rough thrust, filling up your mouth with so much cum that it leaked out of the corners of your mouth.

Jeongin sat back as Minho pushed you off of him slowly, propping you up on the bed. Weakly, you closed your eyes, collapsing against the pillow. All the strength had been zapped out of you, and you fell asleep quickly.

Minho noticed Jeongin's worried expression, chuckling. "She just got fucked by a demon and her best friend. She'll be okay after some rest." He said, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

"I...don't like this. She's never going to look at me the same way ever again. I've failed her as a best friend-"

"Woah, stop right there. She wanted it. She was practically begging for you."

"Well our friendship's never going to be the same after this, and I blame you." He said, glaring at the demon, who put up his hands in defense.

"Look. You two summoned me, I came, I did my job."

Minho lazily leaned back next to you, as you slumped, resting your head in his lap as you snored. He chuckled, and stroked your hair as if you were a cat.

"I could get used to living here."

"What?!"

"Once I'm on Earth, I can't leave until I've satisfied my client's wishes. And I can tell the two of you are going to be...hard to satisfy. I'm going to be here for a while." He smirked.

Jeongin tried not to let the jealousy show on his face. He hated the idea.

"You're in love with her...aren't you?"

Jeongin's eyes widened as he stared up at the demon whose eyes had softened.

"I see the way you look at her. How protective you were of her." He sighed. "I'm a sex demon...love isn't my specialty. But...I know a few things about passion. You can't give up."

"That's easy for you to say." Jeongin groaned. Here he was, taking advice from a hellsent demon. What had his life come to?

"Anyway, I'll be spending a lot of time around here, so you'd better get used to this, boy."

"Jeongin." He looked up. "That's my name."

Minho grinned. "I'll keep that in mind."

He sighed, looking at you as you exhaled in your sleep, heart clenching with fondness. He couldn't believe the situation you'd gotten the both of them into...but somewhere deep down inside, he didn't regret anything that had happened.

Sometimes, being the responsible, mature one in your friendship was a challenging job..but he wouldn't trade it for the world.

#minho smut #lee know smut #jeongin smut #jeongin fluff #jeongin angst #minho angst #lee know angst #skz smut #kpop smut #stray kids smut #i.n smut #minho fluff #lee know fluff #lee minho smut #lee minho angst #skz angst #skz fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Butterbeer and BonBons // S.B. (celebration fic)

Request: C O N G R A T U L A T I O N S ON 1.25K 🥳🥳🥳 You deserve this and I love your fics so much! I’m not sure if this is right but, may I please have Sirius with Misc. 2, 3, and 4 in Hogsmeade? Thank youu! 💙 - @inkhearthes

Misc 2: “I wasn't sure which flavour you liked so I got all of them.”

Misc 3: “What happened?”

Misc 4: “You’re giving me a headache.”

A/N: I cannot apologise enough for how long this has taken me. Honestly, there aren't enough words to tell you how sorry I am, but thank you for your sweet words. This is honestly self indulgent fluff that has more pining in it than any form of a plot but it’s been a long week so forgive me please.

Warnings: THIS FOCUSES A LOT ON CHOCOLATE AND SWEETS. BE AWARE OF MENTIONS OF FOOD. Some swearing, pining, mutual pining, so much fluff your teeth will rot, teenagers in love, teenage angst

Word count: 3.5k

It wasn’t often that the long haired Marauder offered his services as a tutor; it wasn’t often for the fact that he simply didn’t want to help anyone outside of his friends. For you, however, he would drop all his plans to spend an evening with you recalling the events of the Gargoyle Strike of 1911.

For you, Sirius would happily accept the teasing and the jokes from his friends. For you, Sirius would happily sit through the dullest of lectures. It hadn’t been long since Sirius realised his feelings for you; his affection for you taking him by surprise but soon settling deep within him, becoming part of his very being as he watched and admired you from afar.

The library had long since emptied; the last two students being you and Sirius this close to curfew. It had been hours since you had stepped outside the large, cavernous room, wanting nothing more than to overcome the troublesome essay that had been set by Professor Binns. It had been hours since you started; hours since you had taken your designated seat next to Sirius and began your work.

This long in, a headache was starting to form behind your eyes, making it increasingly hard to focus. “You’re giving me a headache, Sirius,” You moan, rubbing your temples with two fingers as Sirius pauses his mini-lecture to take a breath.

Sirius laughs, closing his books, “That’s enough studying then.”

You smile gratefully at the long haired marauder, “Thank you for helping me, I know you aren’t the biggest fan of this subject.”

“No,” He states dryly, “I can’t say I’m Professor Binn’s biggest fan.”

“Still,” You sigh, “You didn’t have to help, but you did, so thank you.”

Sirius shakes his head, dismissing your gratitude. He would have helped you regardless; he didn’t need to extra credit for being a tutor nor did he care much for it. He just wanted to help you; he would always help you.

You roll your eyes, smiling at him as you begin to close the masses of leather bound books surrounding you. Book after book had been pulled from the shelves as you started to get to the crux of your essay, and now you wanted to groan at the task of putting them back in their rightful place.

“Fancy a trip?” Sirius asks suddenly; mischief shining bright in his eyes, personified further by the growing smirk on his lips.

You raise an eyebrow, placing the last book on its correct shelf. “That depends,” You state warily, “What did you have in mind?”

His smirk grows larger; he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, “Shall we go to Hogsmeade?”

You immediate reaction is to laugh. It wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend, and it wouldn’t be for another two weeks. “How are we going to Hogsmeade when it isn’t a Hogsmeade weekend, Sirius?”

Sirius shakes his head; refusing to answer your question. Instead, he stands, holding out a hand for you to take. “Do you trust me?” He asks; voice full of sincerity.

Wordlessly, you nod, taking his hand and letting him lead you from the library. He doesn’t let loose as he leads you to the staircase; stepping onto one and letting it lead the way.

“What?” You smile; leaning closer to him on instinct, wanting to know the joke that has him grinning like a fool.

Sirius shakes his head, “I just can’t believe I got you to sneak about the castle with me. You’ve never done something this bad.”

“Sirius!” You shout; tapping his shoulder gently, “I can be bad.”

Sirius doubles over; laughter pouring out of him almost uncontrollably. You stand next to him, waiting with crossed arms and an even crosser facial expression. “Sirius!” You shout once more; this time with anger lacing your tone, “What’s so funny?”

Sirius straightens up; dramatically wiping away any and all non-existent tears, “Just the idea that you can be bad, love. How many house points have you lost in our seven years of Hogwarts?”

You purse your lips, not enjoying having the fun picked out of you. “None,” You confirm, “Unlike some people.”

Sirius quirks an eyebrow at your pointed words. He shouldn’t, but he likes how easily he gets under your skin. He enjoys riling you up, getting you worked up. It gives him hope that he affects you just as much as you affect him; that perhaps his feelings for you are not unrequited after all, that you do in fact harbour some romantic feelings for him after all. He would think it a miracle, but he thinks it, nonetheless.

“This way,” He murmurs, pulling you in the direction of the one-eyed witch statue.

You repress the urge to slow your steps, holding nothing but blind faith in Sirius that he isn’t going to lead you on a path that could cause trouble. You begin to frown as you approach the one-eyed witch statue; her stance and eerie gaze enough to make you uncomfortable in the daytime. However, as evening descends, her gaze becomes close to terrifying.

“Why are we here, Sirius? I thought we were going to Hogsmeade?”

He nods towards the statues, another smile breaking across his face, “That’s how we’re getting to Hogsmeade.”

You eye the statues; the size of it compared to the size of you both has you doubting Sirius’ sanity somewhat. “How exactly?”

Sirius nudges your shoulder with his before dropping your hand, “Are you ready?”

You nod eagerly; desperate to know just how this statue would be your key to the small village outside of the grounds of the school. Sirius steps towards the statue with the air of someone who had done this a thousand times before, if not more.

Straining your hearing, you just about make out the word whispered by Sirius, “Dissendium.”

There’s a creaking noise first; then the grinding noise of stone against stone as you watch the back of the one-eyed witch open, revealing a passageway big enough for two. Sirius turns to you, a shit-eating grin on his face as he takes in your gobsmacked expression. He gestures to the hole in the back of the witch, “After you.”

--------

Popping up out of the floor, you recognise your location by scent alone. The overwhelming scent of sugar and chocolate had you guessing you were underneath Honeyduke’s sweet shop. Brushing down your robes, you turn to the teenager who waits for your reaction, “Honeyduke’s?”

“Honeyduke’s,” He confirms, striding confidently towards the door. A nervous whimper leaving your mouth has him freezing in place. “Love?” He asks.

“We can’t just go out there!” You argue, “What if we’re seen? What if we’re caught and marched back to the castle? We could get expelled for this!”

“I doubt it,” Sirius states, a smile in his voice, “I’ve been coming here for years and haven’t been caught since.”

You fold your arms; glaring at the long haired Marauder, “Gee, thanks, that fills me with so much confidence.”

Sirius marches back to you. He places both hands gently on either side of your face, “Love, would I have risked bringing you here if I thought we were going to get caught?”

“No?” You state, but your voice raises at the end, making it more of a question.

“No,” Sirius confirms, “I would never risk you, so let’s have a nice evening and some fun. What do you think?”

You hesitate; teeth worrying your bottom lip as you glance between the teenager who has nothing but sincerity in his eyes and smile, and the hole in the ground that would lead you to sure safety but boredom.

“Love?” Sirius prompts, “If you don’t want to do this, we can head straight back.”

You shake your head; the continued use of that term of endearment combined with your want and need to spend time with him has your heart winning over your mind. You step past him, facing him over your shoulder, “Are you coming or what?”

His answering grin is enough for you to know you’ve made the right decision.

-----

Despite the sickly sweet scent that often gave you a headache, Honeyduke’s was one of your favourite shops in Hogsmeade. It had such a wonderful atmosphere and the sweets created were nothing short of genius. It had become tradition after your third visit to the shop in your Third Year to stock up on Chocolate Frogs and Fizzing Whizzbees, however, this time you didn’t have your stash of sugary treats in mind.

A floor to ceiling shelf was dedicated to the craft of Honeyduke’s. The chocolate created by the owner being famous across the wizarding world for its creaminess but also its extent of flavours. Heading immediately there, you fix your gaze on the brightly coloured labels, pondering the best tasting flavours.

Sirius joins you; eyes pouring over the countless bars of chocolate. “What shall we do now that we’re here?”

You tap a finger to your cheek as you continue to read the labels, admitting shyly, “I’m not too sure. I’m surprised I’m here.”

Sirius laughs, “It’s surprised me too.”

You nod towards the door, “I’ll meet you outside? I just want to buy something.”

Sirius smiles down at you as he nods, “I’ll be out by the bench across the street.”

You don’t take very long once Sirius leaves; the bell above the door chiming as he goes. You grab a handful of bars from the shelves; making sure to pick an array of flavours and drop them on the counter. The worker eyes your robes but doesn’t say anything as he rings you up, placing the delicious sweets in a paper bag and handing it to you.

Spying Sirius where he said he would be, you rush to his side, already feeling the harshness of the howling wind. “I wasn’t sure what flavour you liked so I got all of them,” You comment lightly, hoping not to make a big deal over what you had done for the teenager you had a crush on.

Sirius laughs – his real laugh; a happy sound that brings a grin to your face as it was a sound so few heard and those that did, treasured. You felt fortunate that you could now be included in the select few.

He takes the bag from you, already smelling the sweet scent of the chocolate in the bag. “What have you bought?” He asks, voice teasing.

You grin up at him; wishing you had a camera in this moment to capture the curious look on his face. All his expressions should be captured, you think, everything about him should be immortalised on film. You shake your head, “I splurged a little.”

He opens the bag; curiosity getting the better of him as his mouth begins to water at the rich scent of dark chocolate. “Honeyduke’s chocolate?”

You nod your head, “I overheard you and Remus saying you had finished your stash. I thought it would be an apt opportunity to start that stash back up when you brought me here.”

Unexpectedly, Sirius surges forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Your face heats immediately, unable to truly comprehend the way it feels. It feels too good; it feels like something you want him to do again, over and over for however long possible.

He clears his throat, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed at his sudden show of affection, “Thank you. I didn’t expect that.”

You wave away his gratitude as he had done earlier with you. “I wish we had time to grab warmer robes,” You shiver; rubbing your arms to warm up some as you trundle through the ankle deep snow. You bite your bottom lip, looking down at your snow covered feet, thinking that by the time you return to the castle with Sirius in tow, there was a very good chance that the snowfall will have increased.

Sirius snorts, throwing an arm around your shoulders and tugging you to his side. The simple, unthought action has you warming up considerably; not expecting this form of affection from Sirius in the slightest. His hand rubs your upper arm; the friction and his proximity warming you up faster that you realise.

“Come on,” He starts; nodding his head towards the popular meet up for Hogwarts students, “Let’s grab you a butterbeer and warm up slightly.”

“My saviour,” You comment; a wry smile on your slips as you let him usher you into The Three Broomsticks. Like the gentleman he has been raised to be, Sirius holds the door open to the tavern open for you, his cheeks aflame as he realises how much he likes being called your saviour even if it was said sarcastically.

Grabbing a booth close to the roaring fire, Sirius leaves you with a warm smile as he heads to the bar. Madame Rosmerta had spotted him when he walked in; she had smiled at him broadly before her eyes widened when she saw you. Sirius is immediately dragged into an interrogation at the bar whilst you’re left at the booth, warming your hands by the flames of the large fire.

The longer Sirius remains at the bar, the louder the whispers get from the booth next to you. Filled with students from your year but ones you had never spoken to before, you shuffled down in your seat, close to burying your face in your robes and wishing to melt away like the snow. Their laughter rings in your ears, and you know it isn’t from a joke freshly told but rather at your expense.

Their laughter makes some sense. The evening so far hadn’t made any sense. Sirius had been tutoring you in History of Magic for weeks; happily volunteering to the task when asked by Professor Binns. However, his sudden want to spend time with you outside of school wasn’t wholly understandable, and it did very little to help you curb your growing feelings for the long haired Marauder.

They weren’t the sort of feelings that crept up on you overnight; surprising you and leaving you breathless. No – these feelings had been there a long time, simmering away in the recesses of your mind where Sirius often featured as the main character of your daydreams. Not long after the start of your tutoring sessions did you come to see how easy it was to fall for the charms of the Marauder. His easy smile and his bright eyes; his charming personality and his sharp wit. All perfect contributors for a gut wrenching, heart clenching crush.

Two steins of butterbeer land on the table, snapping you out of your ponderings; foam splashing down the sides, creating a small puddle on the age old wooden table. Sirius swears lightly; rushing to grab napkins to sop up the mess before sitting down across from you, taking a large swig of his drink.

“What happened? You’re quieter now than before I left,” Sirius asks; a note of concern in his voice as he glances between you and the group of teenagers now watching you two. He furrows his eyebrows as you shake your head, refusing to answer. Instead, you focus your attention on the cinnamon stick poking out of your butterbeer. Sirius had bought the flavour on a whim; Madame Rosmerta wanting to try out her new festive flavour on the patron who visits her the most. How could Sirius say no to such an offer? Besides, Madame Rosmerta had let him stay late in the tavern when things at Hogwarts and things at home became too much. She kept an eye on him, and for that, he would happily and gratefully try out every new flavour of butterbeer she concocted.

Sirius reaches across the table; gently taking your hand in his. His thumb rubs across the back of your hand in such a comforting motion that tears burn the back of your throat as you shake your head. “You know,” He mumbles, head tilted to you, “Keeping it all in doesn’t help. You can tell me anything.”

You sigh, plucking the cinnamon stick from your drink and placing it on the napkin next to it. Shrugging your shoulders in what you hope is a nonchalant manner, you answer, “They were just rude to me, that’s all.”

Sirius’ frown deepens, “There’s no ‘that’s all’ about it – no-one should be rude to you full stop.”

You smile, flipping your hand to squeeze his fingers, “Thank you, but it’s fine, really.”

His frown loosens, and you know he doesn’t believe you. However, he doesn’t push, and he doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in a tight hold as he takes a sip of his butterbeer, smacking his lips at the sugary taste of butterscotch and cinnamon.

“How are you feeling about the Gargoyle Strike of 1911 now?” He asks; wanting to get your mind off of whatever had brought your mood down.

You smile smally, sitting up in your seat, “A lot better now. I don’t know why I find History of Magic so hard.”

Sirius chuckles: a finger tapping the stein of his butterbeer, “We don’t have the most entertaining of teachers, love.”

“You’re right,” You snort, “Binns is a bit of a bore, isn’t he?”

Sirius leans back in his chair; eyes wide as he gasps dramatically. He drops your hand somewhat reluctantly to press it to his chest. “What’s this?” He all but shouts, “(Y/N) sneaking out of the castle and chatting shit about a teacher all in one night? Am I in a parallel universe or something?”

You laugh, flicking your cinnamon stick at him which he catches with ease. “Not in a parallel universe,” You reassure, shrugging, “Just the realisation that I can have fun sometimes.”

Sirius grins: smile wide and straight, white teeth on show as he realises the extent to which you’ve relaxed over your evening with him.

It isn’t long before butterbeers are finished and muffled yawns are leaving your mouth. You do your best to stay alert, but the sugar crash from the overly sweet drink is imminent. The evening had felt like something out of a dream; never in your wildest imagining did you think you would be spending a night outside of the castle with Sirius Black. You never imagined that he would be the one to make your heart feel like it is about to beat right out of your chest, yet he does.

Biting your lip, you begin to realise just how much you don’t want this evening to end. The very thought of turning away from him to return to your room has sadness pooling in your stomach. It dampens your mood and ruins your sugar high. It hits you all at once; the strength of your want to spend every evening with him. It knocks you breathless; eyes wide as you rake your gaze over the intent expression on Sirius’ face.

There is so much more he wants to say; so much more he wants to find out about you. He wants to know what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. He wants to know your favourite book and why; he wants to be the one to read to you from it, watching your reactions to moments you long knew were coming. He wants to be the one you do everything with, and it all starts with cinnamon flavoured butterbeer and bags of chocolate.

“Shall we head back?” Sirius asks, standing from his seat and waiting for you.

You nod silently, gathering your wits and steeling yourself for the bitter winter wind waiting for you.

You inhale sharply as the first gust of wind travels over your body. You long of nothing more than Sirius’ arm around your shoulders; the action he showed earlier that warmed you up better than any blanket and any fire could.

Walking back to the castle, neither of you bother with the secret tunnel under Honeyduke’s cellar. Instead, even though neither of you dare utter the words, the both of you don’t want the evening to end. Between you both, it felt like the start of something more. It felt like the start of a closer friendship and a deeper relationship, but neither were ready to confront the feelings that were quite obviously there.

Your hands brush repeatedly as you amble back to the castle. The sky has long since darkened, and the both of you know that the caretaker will be prowling the castle, searching for students out past curfew. However, as Sirius’ hand brushes yours, fingers reaching out for yours, the jolt of electricity sent up your arm has you not caring about the caretaker and the consequences or the weather that threatens a chest cold. All you care about as the turret of Gryffindor tower is illuminated by the moon is the teenager walking beside you, wondering what the future could possibly hold with him by your side.

********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @birdie-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @chaoticgirl04 @teheharrypotter @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @xfirstfemale-marauderx @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank

Sirius Black taglist: @approved-by-dentists @fific7 @susceptible-but-siriusexual @just-a-belgian-girl

#Sirius Black #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines

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jaeminlore · 4 years ago

Text

To Live and Let Go | Renjun

summary: if there’s something left to be learned, then my time is running. why would i waste it all, wasted on you?

words: 2.3k+

category: librarian!renjun x tutor!reader, fem!presenting!reader, adventure au, a bit meta, what’s going on idk ur guess is as good as mine, some sections are written better than others, reader is a tutor for prince jaemin, this sucks so bad i’m so sorry.

note: this was a commission for @yrb-reads who donated to a charity of their choice. thank you :) i’m terribly sorry it took so long and it's definitely not up to par the way it should be. if you want something else written to make up for it let me know. there was depression, full time job, and a death in the family i would like to blame, but i should’ve prioritized this story more for you, and for that i’m sorry. thank you so much for donating, and i hope this serves as a holiday gift for you. again, sorry about the short length

To Renjun, libraries feel like home. Especially the castle’s library, located just west of the kitchen; a hidden gem unknown to most people. Really, only known to Prince Jaemin and Renjun, if he really thought about it. Perhaps a few tutors and scholars as well.

But these factors don’t make it home. Instead, it is the wooden walls of thick cedar trunks, built long before the castle walls were put up; when the builders didn’t have the heart to tear such a piece of architecture down. It’s the way it smells like a forest at all times, and how the inside walls are chipped and falling onto the bare floor. It is the large shelves, made just decades ago, crammed up against each other and overflowing with the royal family’s books. Each piece of literature is practically an heirloom, save the small shelf in the corner where the prince hides his new romance novels he gets delivered straight from the village of Rubin.

The library feels like a bridge between the kingdom and the village. Inside these four walls, wooden and chipped, Rubin feels like one entity, undivided by classes or rank.

It also happens to be the one place Renjun is allowed to hang his paintings.

Ever since he was younger, it has been Renjun’s dream to be a portrait artist. To be able to place his thumbprint in Rubin��s history by painting the royal family or a few important nobles, is all he has ever wanted. But the King and Queen prefer a man of nobility to do the work, so Renjun was shot down. Since he sold everything he had to come and shoot for his dream, the royal family had offered him a pity job.

Correction: Prince Jaemin had begged his parents not to turn Renjun away empty-handed and convinced them to let him earn his pay here in the castle.

Prince Jaemin does a lot for Renjun. He had introduced him to his friend and closest servant, Donghyuck, who has a sharp tongue but no real malice to back up anything he ever said. Renjun had moved in with him, and used his side of the house as his painting room. Donghyuck barely even complains about the scent of oil paint anymore.

Prince Jaemin also got him his current job as a bookbinder. Which, in itself, is a very lonely and tedious job. Perfect for a boy like Renjun who only wants to work with no outside distractions. Aside from his friends in the castle, that is. Or the prince’s tutor, who comes in for study material.

Most importantly, Prince Jaemin lets Renjun hang up his portraits in the library. He had said that they deserved to be hung up, even if it couldn’t be hung up in the royal hall. Renjun had nearly burst into tears in front of the hyperactive prince.

They had met during a touchy time in the prince’s life. He had just returned to the castle after a trip to the village. There, he was hiding from potential assassins, but for some reason, the prince seemed more upset about coming back.

It was in the quiet of that library that Jaemin let Renjun, a complete stranger at the time, in on the secret that he was in love with a girl from the village. For the young artist, it wasn’t hard to imagine. Prince Jaemin was known for his free spirit and hyperactive personality. There was no way he could become attached to a noble raised under discipline.

Of course the prince was raised under the highest of discipline, but he somehow found a way to rebel against it all and stay true to himself, even if it meant hiding the portraits he liked the best in a forgotten library, or befriending the healer and servant of the castle instead of the lords.

He was wonderful, and Renjun couldn’t wait for him to be king.

The library was home because Prince Jaemin made it home. He had crafted a place between the castle and the village — a place of seclusion — just for Renjun and his thoughts.

“I just want them to listen to me,” Jaemin moans, dropping his chin onto his open romance book. “I’ve been asking them for almost a year and a half to let me go back to the village, but they refuse to listen to me.”

Renjun hums non-committedly. “Chin up, please. I’m not finished.”

Jaemin glares at Renjun through his eyelashes but obliges, a pout still evident on his face. He returns to his casual pose of leaning his cheek against his fist and turning the pages of his book. “Anyway, I really want to go back to the village.”

“I know,” Renjun sighs and dips the tip of his paintbrush into the copper-colored paint he had mixed. “Right now, you have to obey them. You may be the prince but obviously they’re the king and queen.”

“I’m about to be nineteen,” Jaemin mumbles angrily.

“And when your coronation arrives, you’ll have more freedom to do things like visit the village.”

“Her grandmother died, you know,” Jaemin says, morose. “I could’ve been there for the funeral, at least.”

Renjun grabs a slimmer paintbrush and begins to note the details of Jaemin’s face. “I know, Your Highness. But if she’s anything like you’ve told me, then I’m sure she understands.”

Jaemin bites his lip and looks at the book sadly. “I just miss her.”

“It’s your duty to stay here. I’m sure she realizes that.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes, albeit sadly, and goes back to posing.

“Your Highness! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Renjun’s brush shakes slightly as his mind registers the new voice. It is Jaemin’s tutor. You, a servant the same age as the prince, seem to be the only one he will actually listen to. Perhaps because you entertain his many ideas. Perhaps because Renjun had begged him to keep you around.

Because you not only entertained Jaemin’s ideas, you also praised Renjun’s art. You are a no-nonsense tutor, but as a friend, you have had neverending praise and encouragement to the two boys.

Renjun longs to be around you as much as Jaemin is. In fact, you are the only real reason Renjun finds himself being jealous of the prince. He often wonders how Jaemin could even think about a villager he only knew for a week, when you are right there beside him, every day.

Just the blossom of your smile could make Renjun’s mind freeze in all it’s concerns. Suddenly, the portrait in front of him means little to nothing, and all he could really think about was how many different shades of pink and brown he’d have to mix before he matched the color of your lips. “Hello, Y/n.”

“Good day,” you greet, bowing slightly. “What are you painting today?”

Renjun almost forgets to breathe when you walk toward him and lean your head over his shoulder to inspect his art. He can smell the amber musk on your collarbones and feel your soft hair tickle his cheek. “J-Jaemin.”

“You always paint him,” you murmur, almost in boredom. “Say, do you do favors?”

“Come again?”

“Like, if I paid you, would you draw a portrait of me? I think my mother would really like it— she’s always asking me to get a portrait done.”

Renjun feels his tongue rest heavy in his mouth. Before he can speak, Jaemin grabs your arm. “He can do it! Now let’s get to my lessons!”

And that was that on that.

The stream trickles loudly, leaping down and over the rock formations and falling into the pool with grace. This is where Renjun comes to find inspiration. It’s also where he comes to practice his art.

It’d be nice to do it into the library, but Renjun knows that he would abandon all his actual duties — the ones that he gets paid to do.

He eyes his oil paints, color coordinated from lightest to darkest shade. He dips his brush in pure white, to lay a foundation coat atop his canvas.

Truth be told, he could paint you from memory. But if he told you that, he’d have to admit to his crush on you, and that’s far too embarrassing. No, thank you.

Renjun takes off his sandals and plants his feet on the soft grass. The blades tickle his toes, so he tries to relax his muscles. He has the canvas stretched out on his knees, which is a bit unconventional, but it works. He looks up at the afternoon sun; his straw hat scrapes the trunk of the tree he’s leaning against.

“Sorry I’m late. Jaemin needed help with Latin...” You wander in and trail off, looking at the pool in wonder. “This is beautiful.”

You’re dressed in silver shades — Renjun wonders if you intentionally made yourself look extra beautiful, or if that’s you, in the reflection of the water. He clears his mind and his throat. “I figured It’d be a nice background for a portrait.”

“How do you want me posed?” Your lips are upturned, soft, and Renjun starts a mental list on how to keep you smiling.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Renjun hurries. “We’ll be here for an hour or so each session until it’s finished.”

You sit in the grass, atop your knees, and smooth out any wrinkles in your garments. “My Mother is going to be so thrilled, Renjun. Thank you so much for doing this.”

His tongue feels heavy at the compliment, so he settles for a simple nod. The foundation coat is still drying, so Renjun pulls his sketchbook and a pencil out of his bag. “Do you mind if I start with a few sketches?”

“Of course not,” you say. Your eyes clip to his, bright and clear, and Renjun thinks this is going to be a lot harder than he initially thought.

(The next session, Renjun is so focused on getting the outline of your back right that he doesn’t even notice you moving towards him.

“You’ve got paint on your brow,” you say.

Renjun reflexively wipes at his face, feeling himself blush at your observation. “Is it gone?”

You grin — looking straight at him — and reach up. Gently, you use the pad of your thumb to scrub off the paint. “Now it is.”

Renjun thinks he’d rather melt into the floor than finish the rest of this session.)

Renjun threads the spine of his latest project: scribe records from the recent knighting tournament and ceremony. Even as he pulls the last thread tight, his finger raw and screaming, he’s thankful that he wasn’t the one editing these records.

Jaemin hasn’t been to the library in awhile. His current betrothement has him in a frenzied mindset, and Renjun is sure he has more important things to do than hang out with his friends.

Still, he misses the company.

He sets the glue along the spine and aligns the pages with the leather backing. He’s so busy focusing on making sure the lines are straight that he doesn’t notice someone walk into the library. “Hello, Renjun.”

Renjun jumps, and the spine of the book misaligns. He leaves it on his table, and when he turns around, you’re there smiling at him. “Hey, Y/n. I didn’t know you tutored Jaemin today.”

”I don’t,” you admit. A bashful look overtakes your face and you focus on one of the books in Renjun’s return pile. “I wanted to thank you for the portrait. My mother loved it.”

“I’m glad!” Renjun says, brightening up. He notices that you still look rather distant. “Is something wrong?”

”it’s just...” you bite your lip. “Do, um, do I really look like that?”

Renjun wants to ask what you mean. But he sort of knows. “Your portrait? Is it not to your likeness?”

You furrow your brows. “I just... You made me look very beautiful.”

“You are very beautiful,” Renjun replies, voice low and steady. “Surely, you know that.”

Embarrassment paints your face and you shrug. “I dunno...”

“I know,” Renjun says, surety building in his voice. “Whether you believe it or not, it’s a fact that you are very beautiful. I hope my painting portrayed even an inch of your beauty.”

You look aghast at his words, mouth open in shock. “Are you… Are you serious?”

Renjun stares at the way your lips look, pursed in confusion. “Why on earth would I lie to you?”

“I don’t mean to insult your integrity,” you say, eyes wide. “It’s just that no one has ever been so upfront with me.”

This is it, Renjun thinks. This is my chance to confess. He takes a deep breath, steps closer to you. Toe to toe, so that your chest is brushing against his. And the outside air lessens it’s chill, so that Renjun is sure he’s sweating, nervous and hot and wanting.

His luck hasn’t run out yet. “Can I be upfront again?”

Your breath hitches, leaving Renjun’s own words isolated, suspended in the air between you. “Yes,” you finally say, honeyed lips nearly brushing his own.

“I’m in love with you,” Renjun allows himself to say. “And I want to kiss you. Selfishly.”

“Then do so.”

Your lips are honeyed; candied peonies against his own cruel briars and thorns. Renjun wonders if he’s good enough for you. If book binding and tutoring go hand in hand. If he’ll be stuck forever in the royal library, giving you books to read to the prince. He wonders if this is the life of a peasant, always one step behind the nobles.

Two people in service to a prince can never truly serve each other.

But Renjun doesn’t hold on to that thought. Instead, he surges forward, holds your body like it’s falling, kissing your mouth and your chin and your neck and your skin and—

“Hey,” you cup his face in his hands. “This isn’t the last time you’ll have me. There’s no need to be urgent.”

So he slows down. Gentle touches and warm gazes. Tastes you as much as touches you. All lips and no teeth. Memorized the palm of your hand against his jaw.

You’ll still be here, you said so.

Renjun decides to let go.

#the last paragraph is good but the rest sucks srry #renjun fluff #renjun angst #adventure au #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream au #renjun au #destwrites

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onecanonlife · 4 years ago

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careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 7,402

Chapter Warnings: swearing, referenced (temporary) character death, slight manipulation

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur tours the stronghold, meets DreamXD, and watches Tommy and Techno move a few very reluctant inches closer to reconciliation.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Fourteen: wipe the dirt off of your hands (ii)

Phil and Technoblade found the server’s stronghold. Because of course they did. Nevermind that the End is closed off here, the one rule of this server that hasn’t been broken and flaunted in front of everyone’s faces. The one rule that might actually sort of mean something. But evidently it doesn’t mean enough, because Phil and Techno not only found the stronghold, but decided to use it for a secret anarchy base.

When he voices all of this aloud, Phil just shrugs.

“Techno won me over to the whole anarchy thing, a bit,” he says, completely unrepentant. “We wanted a base, and the stronghold was literally right there. Not like anyone else was using it.”

“I really feel like that’s not the point,” Ranboo says weakly. He understands the significance, apparently. “Phil, even I know what a stronghold is.”

“Okay, it’s not nearly as big of a deal as you two are making it out to be,” Phil says, even though he is wrong, completely dead-wrong. “Just, c’mon, I’ll show you how we get there.” He starts walking, heading for the door, and he and Ranboo are given no choice but to follow. “We found an old library in it, lots of books in surprisingly good condition, considering. I haven’t even begun to go through them all. I’m thinking if it’s information on ancient, slightly eldritch beings we’re looking for, that’s our best bet in finding anything.”

“Right,” he says. “Sure. Why not?” He hopes Phil can hear the utter frustration in his voice. The smirk directed his way tells him that Phil did, indeed, hear it. Bastard.

But there’s nothing to do but go with him, at this point. It’s not like he’s going to pass up the chance to see one of these; he’s been in strongholds before, of course, but this feels like it holds more significance, somehow, on a server where the End is forbidden to all. Phil leads them through a convoluted series of passages, hitting buttons that reveal secret doors, and there’s a long hallway of ice, and then more buttons, and the air gets cooler and cooler, musty and still. Old. Tense. Like the rock itself is waiting.

And then, Phil opens up one final door, and a different hallway greets them. One crafted with intent, not carved carelessly out of stone. Bricks placed purposefully, rough though the detailing now is, and the air is stale here, and strangely damp. They’re underwater, then, and he casts Phil a glance. He seems unconcerned, and Wilbur chooses to believe that means that the roof won’t cave in under the pressure of the ocean above.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in one of these,” Ranboo says. His voice is hushed, quiet, almost awestruck.

“It’s not much,” Phil says with a shrug. “Normally wouldn’t bother with it, in a server like this, but like I said, Techno and I wanted a base, and it happened to be close. Not much of use here, but there is a library. More cobwebs than books by now, but a lot of what’s left seems legible, at least. I haven’t gone through most of it. Here, this way.”

Phil keeps walking, and for a moment, Ranboo doesn’t follow. He looks a bit taken aback, perhaps by Phil’s casual attitude toward a place that in any other circumstance, to any other person, might be something approaching sacred.

Wilbur sighs.

“Phil’s just like that,” he murmurs. “Plus, he’s been on dozens of servers. Seen dozens of these. And he’s ancient, too, so there’s that.” He goes along after Phil, and Ranboo, after a second of hesitation, hurries to catch up with him.

“How ancient are we talking here?” he asks.

Wilbur feels his lips twitch upward. “Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually asked for the exact number,” he says. “Centuries, at least. Maybe a few millennia. No one really quite knows what Phil is. I’m not sure he knows himself.” He shrugs. “Growing up, he was always just our dad. That was enough.”

“Oh.” Ranboo chews on that for a moment, and then nods. “Okay then. That actually explains a couple of things.”

He hums. “How did you come to live by him, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Oh, well, it was after—you know about Doomsday, right? I mean—”

(destruction raining from the sky and the terrifying shriek of withers and his home is gone the history is gone and Friend, Friend is gone, his dearest Friend and Phil knew, he knew, he knew and he did it anyway but only a few minutes later the memory is gone because he does not want to remember this and it is a blessing, being able to forget, because what use is carrying pain that he can do nothing about, what use is holding it close and letting it make a monster of him because even dead he cannot manage to ask for help must keep up the facade but at least let it be a happy one)

(and yet looking back on it, looking back on it now, he feels barely any anger at all. like son, like father, after all)

He smiles tightly. “I know about Doomsday,” he agrees, and then tilts his head. “That’s right, you were—you were living in L’Manberg at the time, weren’t you? I—Ghostbur saw you there.”

“Yeah, I lived there,” Ranboo says. “Right up until it turned into a crater, I guess. But, um, after all of that, Phil knew that I didn’t have anywhere to go, so—I don’t know, I guess he felt bad for me or something? He invited me to stay up here with him and Techno, and I guess I never really left.”

That’s such a uniquely Phil thing to do. Destroy a country, then pick up one of the kids he rendered homeless. Wilbur can imagine exactly how that went.

“Well, I hope you know that you’re not likely to be rid of him now,” he says, and then the two of them step around the corner, and right across the way, there is an open doorway, and even from here, he can see the rows upon rows of bookshelves, some of them half-empty and all of them covered in cobwebs and a thick layer of dust. He glances at Ranboo one last time, and then the two of them step into the room.

He is not one for claustrophobia,

(was not, though now tight spaces and dark rooms remind him of one place and one place only)

but the room feels close, crowded, the shelves towering over him, and even over Ranboo, who has more than a foot of height on him, tall and lanky and half-ender as he is. And more than that, the room feels old, feels weighty, moreso even than the rest of the stronghold, because here are books that must have been written hundreds of years ago, before the server passed into Dream’s hands, that have not been touched since, that have been left to gather dust and mold in an ancient ruin under the sea. In these books are the words of people who came years before him, their words reaching out to grasp the long arm of the future, and it is nothing that he has not seen before, but he never gets used to it. He is no scholar, really, no Technoblade, but he can appreciate this for what it is, can appreciate the history here, the circle that never ends.

(he has always fancied himself as part of a story, has always been able to look outside of himself to see what role the history books will have him play. moments like this only make him more aware of it, more aware that someday, he will be long in the ground and only his words will live on, his words and the words of others, a legacy, a garden growing and fed on the dust that was once him)

(it should already be so. stories are not supposed to be picked up after the last thread is snipped and yet here he is, and the whole narrative has been thrown into disarray)

Phil’s head peers out around one of the shelves.

“Took you long enough,” he says. “We can start anywhere, I suppose. I didn’t get around to cataloging any of this shit, so your guess is as good as mine as to where the important stuff is.”

“Great,” Ranboo says, sounding thoroughly unenthusiastic. “I love having absolutely no idea what we’re looking for.”

“We have to start somewhere,” he says, though looking at the shelves around them, he thinks that Ranboo might have a point. But nonetheless, he grabs a random book off the nearest shelf and opens it, frowning at the mold that dots the pages. But as Phil said, it’s legible, and his eyes scan over faded words, printed in an older dialect that’s just barely understandable.

They split up, each taking a different section. But it only takes a few hours for Wilbur to get frustrated. He’s more patient than this, normally, unless that’s another aspect of himself that he lost somewhere along the line. But he thinks he’s justified—perhaps under normal circumstances, they would have all the time in the world to find the information they need. In normal circumstances, a strategy like this would work. But they don’t have that kind of time. And they especially don’t have that kind of time to search for knowledge that may not even be here at all.

He snaps the book he’s leafing through shut and stands.

“I’m stretching my legs,” he calls, and doesn’t wait for an answer before striding out of the room. Too late, he remembers that they’re still underground, underwater, and the air outside of the library is barely any fresher than the air inside, which does not improve his mood. But a walk might help clear his head, so a walk is what he takes, wandering the corridors as he did in the castle earlier, that same restlessness returning.

It all comes down to a feeling of helplessness, in the end, of powerlessness. He was powerless to stop the Egg. Powerless to save Techno, and then later, powerless to help him. And he is powerless now, skimming through century-old books with barely a hope of a payoff. And yet, it’s all he can do, is the best plan they have, and how is it possible that this is the best plan they have?

He used to be good at this. He has been presenting himself as good at this, pulled on his old general’s strength to present confidence to the others, surety. And yet, here they are, and it’s too soon to give up, he knows, but it’s been a few hours and they have found nothing, and he can’t help but feel like they’re going to continue to find nothing.

You are nothing, and you may as well give it up, give in, throw away yourself for a chance of saving what little you have not already lost, something whispers, and it is not him, and there is translucent red lining the edges of his vision, for if you pass up this chance, who do you have to blame but yourself?

“Shut up,” he mutters. “Shut the fuck up. You’re thousands of chunks away, shut up.”

Distance is no matter to one such as I, and you ought to know better than to hope for it, it says. You ought to know better than to hope for a great many things. Powerless as you are, why not take into your hands the only choice you have left to you, take back your peace and save your brother, save them all from the encroaching choke, save them all and yourself most of—

He steps into another room, and the voice abruptly stops, leaving his head blessedly silent. He catches himself holding his breath, and he releases it all at once.

And then realizes what he’s seeing. It’s a meeting room, clearly, decorated far beyond what an untouched stronghold would look like, and this has Phil’s interior design choices stamped all over it, but—

They’re using the End Portal as a table.

Because that is undoubtedly the End Portal. Even if he hadn’t seen one before, once or twice, on different servers, he would be able to recognize the blocks for what they are: something other, something that belongs to a different place entirely. They fill the room with a low, buzzing hum, and underneath that, there is a melody hovering just beyond his perception, a melody that he doesn’t think he’s ever heard before. He hums, trying to match the notes, and finds that he can’t, that he always lands above or below no matter what pitch he vocalizes. And yet, even still, there is something about it that is eerily comforting.

Perhaps it is simply the way the Egg fell silent as soon as he stepped inside. He appreciates that.

But still. They’re using it as a table.

“Do you like the décor?” Phil asks, amusement clear in his tone. Wilbur doesn’t turn to look at him, but Phil comes up beside him soon enough, and Ranboo trails behind, staring at the portal with wide eyes.

“Is nothing sacred to you?” he asks, and the teasing note comes out naturally.

“Eh,” Phil says, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “You know how it is.”

“I know what that is,” Ranboo says, sounding far, far away. “I know—I know this, I—why do I—?”

(a question: if he could sense the music, human and just barely void-touched as he is, then what must it sound like to one who has the End itself in his veins?)

Ranboo takes one step forward, and then another, until he’s standing right next to the portal-table. One hand hovers above it, and he hesitates before placing it down. Wilbur glances to Phil, wondering if this is a thing they should be stopping, but Phil is staring at Ranboo, head tilted and eyes slightly narrow.

“Have you never seen one of these before?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Ranboo says, still distant. “Maybe? I don’t think I remember. But I—I don’t know where I come from, but this feels like—”

“Well, it is an End Portal,” Phil agrees. “I wasn’t sure if it was still functional, but I guess that answers that question. You’re probably sensing something from it that we’re not picking up on, with you being half-ender and all.”

“I guess—”

“Why wouldn’t it be functional?” Wilbur interrupts. Maybe that’s not what he should’ve gotten out of that, but he’s satisfied that this is an enderman thing, not something to be concerned over. But that offhand remark, said in that infuriatingly casual way that Phil so often has, draws his attention, because he’s never heard of a non-functional End Portal before. He didn’t think that such a thing was possible; everyone knows that portals are the one sure fixture of almost every server, unable to be tampered with or destroyed by any means.

“Oh, that.” Phil laughs. “There’s an interesting story there, actually. When Techno and I first came through here, we—”

But Phil gets cut off.

Wilbur senses it before he sees that anything is changed: the pressure in the room shifts, suddenly, becoming greater, more. All the hair on the back of his neck stands on end, and the next breath he takes, he gets a lungful of ozone, sharp and electric. He coughs, and finds that the noise falls strangely flat, and then there is someone hovering over the portal-table. Not standing. Hovering, a good six inches from the table’s surface.

Ranboo stumbles back, and Phil takes several strides forward, arms outstretched as if to shield them both. His cloak twitches, though his wings do not spread.

Wilbur’s not sure what he’s looking at.

They are a person, he thinks. At least, they are person-shaped, though it is somewhat difficult to tell; most of their body is covered in a long green cloak, one that drifts around them despite the stillness of the air. They have no visible feet, and their hands are hidden, if they have them. But under their hood, there is nothing but shadows, and those shadows do not seem to fall across a face. Instead, it is as though they are made of void, black and cold, and he finds himself leaning in, straining to see if there is anything past that, and the hood twitches in his direction and he gets a glimpse of

(twin halos circling circling like a tear in the world and a tear in the void a tear in the nothing and the everything and a circle half filled in and half open and you know something in you knows)

He freezes. His spine locks up. They do not have eyes but they are looking at him, and the only way to describe the feeling is prey studied by a predator. The Egg didn’t make him feel like this. Even Dream didn’t make him feel like this.

(or he did, but it was tainted by darkness, tainted by corruption, a predator studying prey if the predator was malicious rather than just an animal, acting on cruel whim rather than nature and instinct. this is something different. this is something vaster. this is the regard of a)

“The End is closed,” the newcomer says, and Wilbur stiffens further, because their voice echoes and vibrates and buzzes in his skull, but underneath that, underneath all the white noise, the voice sounds like Dream. But that cannot possibly be right. This—person, whatever they are, they are not human, but they are not the same as Dream, do not give off the same impression of oozing corruption, of a black pit at the core, sucking in all light to be snuffed out, stamped upon.

“We weren’t going to the End, mate,” Phil says, calm. “Just talking. Not against the rules to talk, is it?”

“The End is closed,” they repeat, their voice grating and twisting and pulling at the reality around them. Wilbur feels a headache begin to form behind his eyes, a dull throbbing.

“Right, one trick pony, you are,” Phil mutters, and then glances over his shoulder. “This is what I was about to tell you about. Seems there’s someone to enforce the End rule here. They almost took away the portal entirely before Techno and I swore we weren’t gonna use it. Nothing much to worry about, I don’t think. Look,” he tacks on, turning back to them, “we were really just having a chat. Don’t need someone looking over our shoulders for it.”

The hood of the cloak moves again in what might, possibly, be considered a head tilt.

“You may not open the way to the End,” they say. “Not even for his sake.” A hand snakes out of the folds of the cloak, gloved in black, and makes a quick gesture in Ranboo’s direction. Wilbur blinks, hard; the motion is difficult to track, and it’s as if they slice open the very air itself just by moving.

Phil scoffs. “Is that what this is about?” he asks. “Mate. He’s an enderman hybrid, he can’t help but be drawn to it. But he’s not stupid enough to try and go through. You’re not needed here. Promise.”

Ranboo nods in agreement, head bobbing rapidly as he makes a few noises of agreement. Wilbur might be amused by it, if it weren’t for the fact that every inch of his skin feels like a live wire, being in the same room as this thing. He’s not sure why Phil is being so nonchalant about this, as if this is normal. This isn’t normal. Or perhaps he’s the strange one, is overreacting to something that is undoubtedly odd but no reason to worry, but he doesn’t think so. He really, really doesn’t think so.

They drift a few inches back, almost absently.

“He watches from behind your eyes,” they say. “He above all others must not be allowed access. You will forgive my insistence.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Phil asks, and Wilbur wants to echo his confusion, except the Egg was in his head not even ten minutes ago, and he has a sneaking suspicion as to what they might be referring to. The Egg was in his head, but they are not looking at him, he’s sure, because when they were looking at him, he could feel it, just as he could feel Dream’s gaze sliding across him like the touch of a razor and yet not like that at all. And Ranboo has tensed, so perhaps this is directed at him, but Wilbur pushes that aside and steps forward, evading Phil’s outstretched arm, because if no one else is going to ask the questions he wants answered, then he will.

“What the fuck are you?” he says, blunt. Perhaps it’s not the wisest move, but he’s tired and irritated, and when Phil goes to grab his shoulder, he shrugs him off. “No, I’m not—stop that, I’m done with things yanking on my chain. This guy wants to appear in front of us and be all cryptic and shit, I’m not having that. Not today. We don’t have time for this. So what the fuck are you?”

For a moment, they go silent. His breathing is loud in his own ears.

(he’s not sure why he’s stuck on this, not sure why he’s stuck on them, for he has tangled with gods and monsters and this being should be no different, really, from what he has dealt with over the past few weeks, should be better, even, since it seems that they are not here to try to kill him or his family, but he looks at them and sees beyond them, sees a break in the world and crack in the code and it is like and not like anything else he has seen before and perhaps they will not find what they need to know in books)

“I am the protector,” they say at length. “A fragment and a failsafe.”

“I didn’t ask what you do,” he says, “I asked what you are.”

“Wil—”

“Stop,” he insists. He’s standing in front of both of them now, and he doesn’t look back, doesn’t take his eyes off the figure floating over the table. “We’ve got some, some otherworldly being in here with us, and you don’t think this could at all be relevant? Please tell me I’m not the only one who realizes who he sounds like.” Without waiting for an answer, he addresses the being again. “What are you? And how are you connected to Dream? You can’t tell me you’re not, I don’t believe it.”

Behind him, Ranboo makes a little sound, like he’s been punched in the gut.

They are silent once again.

And then:

“I am a shadow,” they say. “A shadow of the original. I am what he rejected in his last moment of clarity.”

“What are you—are you trying to say you know Dream? Or that you came from Dream?”

They drift closer. “I am of him but not him. My task is to prevent the worst. The final task he set me. I can do nothing else.”

“Is the ‘he’ in that sentence Dream?” Ranboo asks, a frantic whisper that is very loud. “Is the—I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all. Can we go now? I think we should go now and leave the mysterious floating guy alone.”

“Could you speak in anything but riddles?” he snaps, ignoring him. “I want a straight answer. You haven’t given me one yet.”

They drift closer still, and his skin erupts in gooseflesh, static energy crackling across it. He resists the urge to step back.

(this reminds you of another time another time long ago and this surge of confidence is true truer than any you have experienced yet since they dragged you back into this world by your trailing fingertips and it is true because you remember standing on the walls and facing the ruler of the server and holding your ground for what you believe in for the people you fight for and this is different but it feels the same feels the same and you will not give in not even to a)

They are looking at him, right at him,

(twin halos circle slashing wounds into the world and this is something that was never meant to be)

and they say, “It is not of you to demand of me. I am the protector. That is my task,” but that is not what Wilbur hears, because suddenly, there is something in his head, something poking at his thoughts, but it does not reach in as the Egg did, does not pull at the threads of his mind and attempt to twist them into something new, but rather just exists on the edges, touching but not pressing, and there is a pressure and he doesn’t like it at all but it doesn’t hurt him.

And what they say is not words, but rather impressions, imparted to him all at once, impossible to pick apart, and

(the beginning and the end all wrapped up in one as the universe looks on and this server is a home he will make it a home he did but he is gone and this is what remains of the divine fabric the crown of the world and they wait and wait and the universe looks on and they are nothing but a shell all the love taken by the other and broken corrupted drowned twisted and they wait by their task they do what has been set and only once do they not only once do they act there is a man and he asks and he is cloaked by the universe and the thrall of the empty and time in its mercilessness and that which is inbetween and he asks and the universe says yes so they do not refuse and they drag you back into this world by your trailing fingertips for the better or for the worse and the man is gone and the universe cannot be contained by this but the universe says)

he doesn’t understand a bit of it, but he reels back regardless, and his head feels like fireworks have gone off within it, like a thousand thunderclaps sounding overhead. Hand land on his shoulder, on his arm, and he does not push Phil away this time, nor Ranboo when he suddenly appears on his other side. He blinks the spots from his vision, and looks up. The figure is gone.

“You alright?” Phil asks quietly.

“What the fuck?” he says instead of replying. “Phil, what—what was that?”

“I second that? I would also like to know?” Ranboo says, voice tilting upward.

“I would’ve told you not to mess with them, but I figured you should get it out of your system,” Phil says, still quiet, deadly serious. He stares at the table rather than make eye contact, and Wilbur follows his gaze. The End Portal still hums. “I’ve been around the block enough to know a god when I see one. I don’t know what the fuck this one is or what connection they have to Dream, but all they seem to want to do is make sure that no one goes to the End. Like I said, that’s what I was about to tell you before they showed up. Techno and I had to swear five times over that we wouldn’t use the portal for anything other than decoration before they’d even let us keep it. I figured it was best to leave them the fuck alone.”

“A god?” Ranboo echoes. “Like, an actual god? Divine smiting and all of that?”

Wilbur has never been much of a believer himself. Or at least, not one for worship. Gods may exist, but he’ll pay one homage when he decides it deserves his respect, and that day has never arrived.

But this one

(was in his head and he wanted it gone wanted it gone because he has had enough of things dragging their fingers across his sense of self but this one did not push and more than that it felt familiar almost like)

is important.

“There’s plenty of different kinds of gods,” Phil says, “but essentially, yes.”

“Dream’s not a god, though,” he states flatly. Phil glances at him.

“He’s never felt like one to me,” he agrees. “But I never picked up on the demon thing either, so I probably know fuck-all.”

“This feels important,” he says, and runs his fingers through his hair, trying to settle his nerves. “This feels—fuck, every time I think I’ve got all the pieces laid out, it turns out that I’ve made the framework too short, and there’s components I didn’t even know existed.” He shakes his head. The headache has mostly abated, so that’s something. “I don’t suppose they’d come back if we asked them nicely?”

“Do we want them to come back?” Ranboo asks, his voice rising in pitch even further. “Is that a thing that we want?”

He runs a hand through his hair again and doesn’t reply. Phil doesn’t either, though he’s not sure it’s for the same reason. Because frankly, yes; he wants them to come back. He asked them questions and didn’t understand a word of their answers, and he feels like he’s barely scraped the surface of what’s actually going on here. But one thing has been made clear enough: the nature of the connection between Dream and this being, this god, is uncertain, but the connection exists. And considering everything, that is something that’s relevant to them.

He’s beginning to think that they might get some information out of this after all. But he doubts that it’ll come from any book.

----------

They don’t find anything. They go at it for another few hours, flipping through musty pages until his eyes swim, and they come up with absolutely jack-shit. He wishes he could say that he’s surprised. He decides not to say anything about it at all, because Ranboo is wavering on his feet and Phil’s face is held in tight lines, and his negativity won’t do either of them any good.

“We can try again tomorrow,” Phil says, “but we need to turn it in. It’s been a long fucking day.”

It doesn’t feel like it’s been one day. Doesn’t feel like just this morning, they were marching into the Egg’s chamber, intent on taking it down once and for all. Doesn’t feel like they were chased out less than an hour later, battered and with one less than they started with, Dream escaped and everything gone to shit. It doesn’t feel like one day, and yet, it has been, and it reminds him of the war, at the end, when everything was happening so quickly and there was barely any time to process one event before something else was going wrong.

He doesn’t miss those days.

“How long can we afford to do this, Phil?” he asks, and doesn’t bother to hide his weariness. “How long can we afford to fuck around out here with nothing to show for it? We can’t even be sure that nothing’s happened in the Greater SMP, not with comms down.”

“I wish I had a good answer to that, Wil,” Phil says. “I really do. If you’ve got a better plan, I’m all ears.”

(does, perhaps, but it’s not one that Phil will like)

doesn’t, so the rest of the walk back out of the stronghold is made in silence. It’s a relief when they make it to the surface, the cold, biting air fresh on his face. He turns his face into the wind just to feel it, regardless of the sting. Night has fallen, the sun just the barest hint of purple-orange on the western horizon. Overhead, stars twinkle, bright and distant. Techno’s house is lit, now, an orange glow emanating from the windows. Tommy must have gotten a fire going.

Tommy. Right. They’ve left Tommy alone with Techno all afternoon. He’s too tired to be concerned about it right now. The house isn’t burning down, so they’re probably fine.

“I think I’m gonna go home for the night, if that’s okay,” Ranboo says. “I’ll meet up with you guys again in the morning?”

“Sounds good, mate,” Phil says, a bit distractedly; his eyes are roving over the cottage, probably searching for signs of property damage. But Ranboo takes it for agreement, so the kid nods, and then waves awkwardly to him, and then he’s walking across the snow toward the nearest mountain. For the first time, Wilbur realizes that there appears to be a house built into its side, not particularly pretty, but functional.

“With luck, they’re both conked out,” Phil mutters. He gathers his robes around him and heads for the door, and Wilbur trails after him.

Phil opens the door, and they’re greeted with silence. It is not the same silence from before; a fire crackles merrily in the hearth, now, some evidence of life. The house no longer gives an impression of a grave. But there are no voices that he can hear, nothing from the house’s two inhabitants, and perhaps Phil is right and they’re both asleep, but Wilbur doesn’t trust silence.

So as Phil goes over to the fire to stir up the coals, he makes a beeline for the ladder, climbing up as quietly as the creaky old thing will allow. The muttering hits his ears as soon as he pokes his head above the floor, hushed and furious, as if they both want to be shouting but are held back by some unspoken rule, some agreement not to break the peace of the rest of their surroundings. Or maybe that’s bullshit; Tommy isn’t one to care about things like that, after all.

He doesn’t step off the ladder, choosing to hang there for a moment instead, gripping the rungs uneasily. The wood is rough, and vaguely, he wonders if he’ll get splinters.

Technoblade is awake, and more than that, he is aware. That is the first thing his mind locks onto, the fact that his brother looks far better than he did earlier. He is still shaking, but far less, and his eyes are bright and present rather than fogged with pain. He sees no sign of gold, no lingering flickers and flashes of magic, and the relief is heady. He is not yet completely well; the fact that he is still in bed is evidence enough of that. But he is sitting up, and he no longer looks like death warmed over,

(too soon too soon)

and his face is twisted in irritation rather than pain.

Tommy has scooted his emerald block closer to the bed, is leaning forward, feet planted on the floor and hands planted on his knees, all bristling anger, indignation, face flushed and red. He puts Wilbur in mind of a cat, hissing and spitting at the object of his ire, making himself bigger than he truly is.

“—the fuck you want,” he’s saying, and his whisper is harsh, but it’s certainly a whisper. “I don’t fucking—I don’t owe you shit, you got that? I don’t owe you shit, so you can, you can fuck right off, you hear me?”

Techno blinks. “When did I say that, Tommy? Please tell me exactly when I said that,” he says, and—oh. Wilbur gets it now. Because Techno’s voice is quiet and rough, still thick with exhaustion, and he’s probably only a few minutes out from waking up. So, Tommy may be angry, may be positively irate, but whether he’s aware of it or not, he’s holding himself back, refusing to unleash the full force of his fury on someone who has objectively been through hell today.

(and Tommy is brash, and Tommy is loud, and Tommy performs being an irritating little shit like nobody’s business, but above all else, Tommy is good, and Tommy will never admit it, but he is kind, and it is a miracle that it hasn’t been beaten out of him along the way, that despite it all he has managed to keep his spirit, but he is kind, he is. and it is more despite him than because of him, but it is little moments like these that remind Wilbur why he is so proud of him)

“You don’t have to say it,” Tommy bites out. “Mister, mister violence is the only language or whatever the hell, mister vengeance, you’re big on favors and repaying them. But I—I didn’t ask you to do shit, you did that all on your own, so I don’t owe you. I’m saying it right now, I don’t owe you.”

There is an edge to the words. A fear. An expectation. Wilbur doesn’t expect it to hit him as hard as it does, but there is a pang in his chest, and he wonders if this is yet another lesson he imparted on his little brother. To expect no kindness without an ulterior motive.

(that was how he was, in the darkness of the ravine, seeking out the duplicity of everyone around him, even when there was none to be found, but it is one thing to look back and see clearly, now, what he was like, the slope he slid down, the spiral he entered, and another to continue to be confronted with the evidence of the hurt he caused, the hurt he has yet to truly make up for)

(here is a certainty that has not left him: he does not deserve Tommy’s forgiveness. that is another thing that can be attributed to his kindness. the kindness that somehow, between the wars and the country and the shadows, he did not manage to take from him, not like he took so much else)

“I didn’t do it so that you’d owe me,” Techno says. “Give me a little more credit than that.”

“Why should I?” Tommy erupts, though it is the quietest eruption that Wilbur has ever heard from him. “Why—give me one fucking reason why I should believe a word out of your mouth.”

“I don’t lie,” Techno states, flat. “I have no reason to.”

“Oh, right,” Tommy says, “because you’re so fucking honorable. You’re so fucking—I can’t deal with you, you know that? You’re a fucking hypocrite, and I don’t care what your game is. I don’t care. You’re the worst, and I—”

“I don’t want you dead,” Techno says. “That’s it. That’s why I did it, Tommy, simple as that.”

“Bullshit,” Tommy snaps. “Then what the fuck was Doomsday, then? What the fuck was telling me to die like a hero, then? You are just talking complete shit, shit out of your mouth, out of your arse—”

And then, Tommy, cuts off, because Techno tenses, seizing up, a sudden glimmer of gold in his eyes, and he grunts, hands curling into his bed sheets, his face blanking. Tommy moves forward, seemingly on instinct, hands reaching out to steady him, and there is is again, that kindness, that kindness that Tommy would rather die than allow anyone to point out.

The fit subsides, Techno breathing heavily. Tommy lingers for a moment, and then jerks back, scowling, as soon as Techno makes eye contact with him.

“Fuck off,” he mutters.

“At the end of the day,” Techno says, slowly, “it doesn’t really matter whether you believe me or not. I’ve been angry at you, Tommy. I can’t say that I don’t feel like it was justified. I’m sick of—” He closes his eyes, inhaling sharply, and then opens them again. “I’ve said all this before. It doesn’t matter. But I don’t want you dead, and I wasn’t about to let Dream kill you in front of me when I could do somethin’ about it. Between my first life and your third one, it was an easy choice.” He sighs, settling further down on the pillows. “Take it or leave it. I’m not arguin’ this right now.”

Tommy’s mouth works. Several emotions flicker across his face, and Wilbur can only pick out a few of them: disbelief, more anger, but perhaps something that might be hope. Perhaps. But if it is, he doesn’t get the chance to find out, because at that moment, Phil calls up from the base of the ladder.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and that’s right, he’s just been standing here, on the ladder, for the past few minutes. He can see why that would make Phil concerned. But that means that Tommy and Techno are both suddenly made aware of his presence.

“What—how long have you been there?” Tommy sputters, and he shrugs, clambering up the last rung or two and stepping fully into the room.

“Not too long,” he says. “Glad to see you cognizant, Techno.”

It’s all he can think so say, really, though there are a plethora of other statements crowding his mind. That has always been a weakness of his, his inability to allow himself to be emotional when it really counts, his habit of hiding everything beneath layers of deflection and a cool exterior. He and Techno aren’t dissimilar on that front, though Techno has a different way of going about it.

(so here is what he does not say: I’m so glad you’re alright, I saw you die when you’re supposed to be deathless and it terrified me, please never do that again, I know we’re broken and fucked up and maybe we’ll never be what we once were but I can’t imagine a life knowing that you won’t be there when I need you to be, so please, please stay alive)

“Can’t say I’m having a great time with it,” Techno mutters, and he’s definitely falling asleep again. “But thanks. Glad you’re not dead too, Wilbur.”

The ladder creaks again as Phil comes up, and he pauses a moment to survey the room before stepping in, eyebrows raising as he takes in the scene.

“Nobody bleeding or dying?” he asks wryly, and then crosses the floor to perch on the edge of Techno’s bed. “Hey, Tech, how you feeling?”

“Absolutely fantastic,” Techno says. “Top form, point me at the orphans.”

Phil laughs, more relief than anything else, and smooths some of Techno’s hair away from his face. Techno huffs out a sigh, but allows the gesture.

“Great,” Tommy says. “You all get anything, or was this whole thing for nothing?” There’s more hostility in his voice than necessary, though whether it’s genuine or to cover for his earlier emotion, Wilbur can’t tell.

“Nothing yet,” Phil says, unfazed. “We’ll spend the night here, get back at it in the morning. If we still don’t find shit, we’ll discuss where to go from there.”

Tommy crosses his arms, looking away, and he’s displeased at the concept of staying here, Wilbur can tell. So as Phil continues to lean over Techno, he slides over to him, nudging him in the arm. Tommy flinches, and then relaxes, eyeing him up.

“You good?” he murmurs, keeping his voice down.

“Fine,” Tommy replies. “Are we actually going to get anything out of this, or was this a big fucking waste of our time?”

Again, vitriol, and he remembers the conversation between him and Tubbo, overheard and unmentioned. After everything they’ve been through, a separation can’t be easy. On either of them, but especially on Tommy.

(a memory: buzzing excitement at doing something good, at helping, shining compasses, an inscription: Your Tubbo)

“It won’t be a waste of time,” he says, and the plan that’s been formulating in the back of his mind solidifies. It’s not a very good plan. But it’s something, and it’s more than they’ve got. “I’ll make sure of that.”

It is a general’s responsibility to lead his soldiers to victory, after all. And in the case of a half-baked, reckless plan, to take matters into his own hands.

And it is more than the general’s responsibility. It is his. For better, or for worse.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #philza #ranboo #dreamxd #tommyinnit #technoblade #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #pogtopia ref tag #minor but it's present

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artificialqueens · 3 years ago

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Be My Valentine (Rosenali) - Athena2

Summary: After crushing on her coworker for years, Rosé finally makes a move on Valentine's Day.

A/N: I've been going through it lately and this is the only thing I've managed to write. It's just pure fluff, and I really hope you like it! Please leave feedback if you'd like, I really appreciate it. Thank you to Writ for looking this over, you're the best!

It’s February at the library, and Rosé has cut out so many construction paper hearts that she has a paper cut on every finger. It’ll be worth it, though, when she tapes them all over the display shelf by the door, along with bright books on love—love for family, for friends, for animals, not just romance. It’s one of her favorite parts of working in the library, and this will be her best Valentine’s display yet.

If she ever finishes cutting out these hearts.

“Ow! Not another one.” A thin line of blood drips from the new cut on her ring finger, and she reaches below the desk for the box of Band-Aids that hasn’t left her side all week, sighing when she finds it empty. “I swear there were more in this box,” Rosé mutters. “I’ll have to get one from reference.”

“So Denali can tend to your wounds,” Symone says with a sly grin.

“She’s not tending to anything! I’m just asking her for a Band-Aid,” Rosé says, ignoring her burning cheeks.

“But you should be asking her on a date. You’ve been crushing on her for two years now—” Symone is interrupted by the thwack of books on the counter, giving up her argument to help a kid check out half the Magic Tree House collection.

Rosé slips out into the main portion of the library, where the adult reference and circulation departments reside, along with the adult books and movies. It’s much quieter out here without kids playing or Olivia leading a craft project, and it feels like another world. A world that contains Denali, the prettiest, kindest person Rosé has laid eyes on. Denali started here two years ago, and even though she works with the adult materials, she’s always willing to cover a shift in the children’s room if they're short-staffed, or to help Rosé set up chairs for story time. Rosé talks to her whenever she can, but never more than that, no matter how much she’s wanted to.

“What brings you out here to the land of patrons watching porn on the computer?” Denali asks, and it might be Rosé’s imagination, but she sounds happy about the visit.

“Just need a Band-Aid. We’re all out. Who knew arts and crafts were so dangerous?”

Denali grins as she hands her one—plain, unlike all the colorful character ones in the children’s room. “I wanted to talk to you about something, actually.”

Rosé’s heart throbs. “What is it?”

“Olivia mentioned that your department would help with the Valentine’s display out here? She said you’d do that ‘surprise date with a book’ thing, and I have the books ready to go.” Denali grabs a cart behind the reference desk, piled with fiction books.

The surprise date with a book display was a hit last year. Rosé and her coworkers wrapped each book in pretty paper, then wrote something about the book on the paper—a description of the characters, or a list of some memorable scenes, so patrons could check out a book that interested them, all without knowing what it actually was. Rosé reaches for the cart, eager to see the selections. There are a good mix of classics and newer books, all different genres and authors represented. “Did you pick all these yourself?”

Denali nods proudly. “I wanted some variety, you know? Instead of the same old books. Figured that would be more exciting. I wish our copy of Alice in Wonderland wasn’t checked out, though. That was my favorite as a kid.”

“I liked that one a lot too,” Rosé says. “My parents caught me digging in the yard one day trying to make a hole to Wonderland.”

“Well I used to try to chase after rabbits,” Denali says. Her dimples flash in her cheeks, and it makes Rosé’s knees weak. She tries to limit her interactions with Denali, because they usually turn her into a babbling idiot, and she tries not to let that happen here, grabbing the cart and heading back to the children’s room.

“Oh, Rosé?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind doing the writing on the paper yourself? You have really fancy handwriting, it would look so good if you did it.”

“Fancy, huh?” Rosé teases, smiling at the compliment.

Denali blushes. “You know what I mean! Your handwriting is nice and neat, and it’ll look pretty on the display.”

“I’d love to,” Rosé says honestly. She waves goodbye to Denali and collapses in a chair behind the safety of the children’s room desk, her head spinning like she just got off a roller coaster.

“I’m guessing things went well,” Olivia says, nodding at Rosé. “Oh, do we have any Band-Aids? Craft time destroyed my hands.”

“Here.” Symone tosses her a box of Barbie Band-Aids—a box Rosé knows was empty five minutes ago.

Her head clears as she turns toward them in accusation. “I thought we were out of those,” she says, noticing the guilty gleam in Olivia’s eyes.

Olivia gulps. “It was Symone’s idea!”

Symone rolls her eyes at Olivia, then turns to Rosé with a smile. “Look, you’ve had heart eyes for Denali for two years, and it gets worse at Valentine’s. You get quiet and kinda sad and you just stare at her and leave me to do all the work around here, so getting you to talk to her is a win for all of us.”

Olivia nods in agreement. “And hiding Band-Aids so you would talk to her is better than giving a Denali a valentine with your name on it, that was Symone’s back-up plan—”

“---Which was supposed to be a secret,” Symone mutters.

All the outrage Rosé was planning to use completely vanishes out of her, replaced with love for her coworkers. Maybe they’re right. She has spent way too much time uselessly pining after Denali, watching her shelve books and help patrons find what they were looking for, yet never making a move, despite all the grand romantic gestures she’s fantasized about. She’s never let anything go beyond her fantasies, because Denali probably wouldn’t feel the same way, but maybe it’s time to try. It’s almost Valentine’s Day, after all, and for all the love-themed books Rosé carefully puts out, all the love stories she enjoys, why shouldn’t she let herself have a chance at that same love? The worst Denali can do is say no, and Rosé will cross that bridge—and flee the state if she needs to—when she gets to it.

“I think you’re right,” Rosé admits. “And I have an idea.”

—

Rosé’s stomach is in knots the next morning, as she works on books for the secret date display. She wraps each one up in heart-covered wrapping paper, then slowly writes out the highlights of the book in her best cursive before adding bows at the top. The whole cart is ready to go, and there’s just one left.

Rosé takes a breath, leaving behind the safety of the alphabet rug and dinosaur reading posters, and makes her way to the reference desk with Symone and Olivia’s eyes on her. Rosé wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to sneak a microphone on her somewhere. Denali’s in a red dress today, her dark hair pulled back in a braid, absolutely beautiful. She’s telling someone that they can’t use the reference desk phone to scream at their boyfriend, and the extra seconds of waiting almost make Rosé give up, almost make her go running back to just stare at Denali and dream about this moment rather than have to actually do it. But she wants this. She can do it.

The person finally leaves the desk, and Denali turns her full attention to Rosé. “Do you need help with anything?”

“Well, I wrapped this last book, and I can’t remember what it is,” Rosé says sheepishly. “Can you unwrap it?”

“Um, sure.” If Denali thinks it makes no sense that Rosé came over here to have Denali do something she could have easily done herself, she doesn’t mention it. She tears into the wrapping paper like a kid on Christmas morning, gasping when she sees what’s underneath. A brand new copy of Alice in Wonderland, with a beautiful cover featuring all the characters. On top of that is a candy bar with a piece of paper taped to it. On the paper, pink markers in Rosé’s fanciest handwriting ask a very important question.

Will you go on a date with me?

“Rosé?” Denali asks, shaking her head in disbelief. “Is this—you really want to go on a date with me?”

“Only if you want to,” Rosé says. “And if you don’t, that’s totally fine, I’ll just go back in the children’s room and we can pretend this never happened, and maybe I should do that anyway—”

“I’d love to go on a date with you,” Denali says, putting an instant end to her rambling. “I really would.”

Rosé almost has to grab the reference desk for support, but she keeps herself upright as her heart stops pounding. She’s going on a date with Denali.

“Will you bring me candy on our date too?” Denali asks, tearing open the candy bar and handing Rosé a piece of chocolate.

The candy is perfectly sweet on Rosé’s tongue, and it reminds her of Denali. “Of course I will.”

#rpdr fanfiction #denali foxx #rosé #symone #olivia lux #s13 #rosnali #lesbian au #fluff #athena2 #concrit welcome #tw blood mention

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sylvanfreckles · 4 years ago

Text

Eye of the Beholder

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Sam encourages Cas to try to express himself by taking up drawing. It seems to be a lost cause...until Castiel tries to draw Sam’s soul.

(Something warm and soft and hopeful after FebuWhump)

* * *

Sam leaned against the low wall surrounding the picnic area park and let his head tip back to catch the warmth from the sun. They'd hit this town to check on rumors of a demonic possession at the local college, only to find Claire and Kaia had beat them here and pretty much had the whole thing taken care of. Now, he was enjoying just keeping an ear on the banter as Dean checked over the girls' gear and Jack chattered enthusiastically about the old fantasy novels he'd found on one of the rooms at the bunker (apparently Kaia had heard of the author and they were bonding, much to Claire's amusement).

A hint of movement at his side had him cracking one eye open to see Cas settle into a similar posture. Watching Dean and the kids with a fond look on his face, Cas caught Sam's eye with a smile. “He's good at that.”

“Dean's always been good with kids,” Sam agreed. “Probably because he still acts like he's twelve.”

Cas gave a very un-angelic snort, and Sam shifted around enough to watch the angel now. He couldn't remember when life had been this peaceful before. There were hunts still, sure, but it finally seemed like there wasn't some big bad pulling the strings behind it all. He couldn't remember a time in his life that had been like this—just the routine of the hunt and home, with their own network of friends and family.

It took him a moment to realize Cas's attention wasn't on the others anymore. The angel was looking out across the park at a mural painted on higher wall that ran around the park's perimeter. He was pretty it was a memorial to the town's history as part of the underground railroad, based on what he'd learned before they got here.

“I think the high school kids work on that every year,” Sam commented, nudging Cas with his shoulder. “When I was researching the town I found an article that said it was one of their graduating projects, and every year a group of students repairs and restores the mural.”

Cas shook his head and looked back at Sam. “Humanity's capacity for creation will always amaze me.”

Sam blinked. He hadn't...thought about it like that. Dean had always said Cas was just a weird little nerd, but was that why he always seemed to stop when he saw a statue, or a carving, or a painting? That it wasn't a type of art he preferred, but he was appreciating the human act of creating art?

“Have you ever tried?” Sam asked, trying to be casual about it. “Making something, I mean.”

The look Cas shot him was quick, but Sam thought his friend looked grieved. “Angels weren't made to create. We can only replicate.”

Sam started to protest, but hesitated. Zachariah's Beautiful Room...he'd offered Dean things from Dean's past, not some idealized thing he'd want. Gabriel had pulled from human television to make his TV world. Even Lucifer, in creating Jack, had used a human body to impregnate a human, not some celestial act of creation.

“Have you ever tried?” he repeated.

Cas pushed away from the wall. “There's enough in this world to admire,” he replied, though he wouldn't meet Sam's eyes and his shoulders remained tense. “You don't need my...'pitiful scratchings'.”

* * *

Cas's words twisted through Sam's head as he followed the others through the small downtown area back toward the hotel. Had Cas ever tried to make something around them? Had one of them said something like that? Or was this some distant event from heaven, some other angel stomping out any fraction of individuality?

He pulled up as they passed a small, disorganized craft store. “Hey, go ahead without me,” Sam called when Dean turned around. “We need a couple things.”

Sam waited until the others turned away, giving Jack a reassuring nod and smile, before pushing the door open and slipping inside the store. It was cramped inside, with shelves and bins overflowing, and the smell of cinnamon and beeswax filling the air. It wasn't completely a lie...they always needed things like natural pigments and scraps of leather for hex bags, and some places sold essential oils or crystals he liked to keep on hand for emergencies.

It just wasn't why he was here now. He squeezed past a rack of wooden beads and nearly knocked a dressmaker's mannequin over, but finally found the drawing section. The sketchbooks were easy enough to sort through—he grabbed a large one with a dark cover that had an elastic band to keep it closed when not in use. The pages were about the size of a standard sheet of printer paper, so it was big enough for Cas to have lots of room to experiment on each page but small enough to travel with him. The drawing supplies, though, were a little harder.

Sam stared at the selection of pencils, paints, and markers. If Cas had truly never tried something like this before, where could he even begin? Would he want something like colored pencils, that would have a smooth texture on the page but need to be kept sharpened? Or paints, which might be easier to blend and shade but wouldn't be portable? Or start with the very basics and get a box of crayons and hope Cas didn't think it was too childish?

A long, flat box at the end of the shelf caught his eye. Pastels. He had a flash of memory of one of Jess's friends in college who worked with pastels, the way their hands swept over the canvas to leave bright ribbons of color and then darted back to smooth and shade. Sam could suddenly imagine Cas, pastel stick in hand, a smear of pigment on his chin, brow furrowed in concentration as he filled a canvas with bright color.

He bought the sketchbook and pastels plus some silver charms to make a stronger protection hex bag for Claire's car, to make it seem like the drawing supplies had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. By the time he got back to the hotel Dean had already ordered pizza, while Kaia and Jack had Claire sandwiched between them on the couch as they tried to convince her to watch an old fantasy movie with them (Sam was on their side, Willow was awesome). Cas looked up from picking at the label on his beer bottle when Sam walked up to the table, eyes widening further in surprise when Sam set the bag from the craft store down in front of him and presented the drawing supplies with a flourish.

“I thought you might like to try,” Sam explained as he pulled out a chair and sat down next to Cas at the room's little table. “I mean, I'd kind of be interested in seeing an angel's...uh...'pitiful scratchings', you know?”

Cas hesitantly ran the tips of his fingers over the dark cover of the sketchbook. “Sam...”

“Just try?” he suggested. He scooted closer so that his shoulder brushed Cas's, knowing the physical contact helped when the angel was dealing with something new or difficult. “No one's gonna laugh if you can't do it. Well, maybe Dean, but he's an ass.”

“I heard that!” Dean shouted. As far as Sam could tell, his brother was completely focused on something on his phone. That was obviously just an automatic response.

The angel was quiet. Then, slowly, he tugged the pastels out of the bag and lifted the lid of the box. The colors almost seemed to glow under the room's overhead light, and Cas gently brushed the bright gold stick with the tip of one finger. “I'll try.”

“Good,” Sam bumped Cas's shoulder with his own, then leaned a little more closely against him, grounding him. “I can't wait.”

* * *

Sam bit his lip as he flipped through the first few pages of Cas's sketchbook. The angel leaned against the table almost despondently, arms folded across his chest and head tipped forward so that Sam couldn't see his eyes.

“These are good,” Sam said, trying to sound encouraging. “I mean, they look just like the, uh, things you were sketching. That's...that's good.”

Technically speaking, the sketches were good. There was a vase of wild flowers Kaia had put on the kitchen table the second day of her and Claire's visit. The bust of one of the old Men of Letters. Jack's profile as he read from a large leather-bound book. They were perfect and lifelike and exact, yet somehow...empty.

Cas took the sketchbook out of his hands and gently folded it closed. “Angels weren't given the breath of life,” he said, his voice quiet in the stillness of the library. “We can't...we can't create, Sam. All I can do is copy. These are copies of life.”

Sam winced. “Maybe you just need some practice. I mean, this is your first time, right? Nobody's perfect their first time.”

His friend's smile was sad when Cas finally looked up at him. “I feel no inspiration, Sam. I look at the world and nothing calls to me. The flowers and Jack...I chose those because I knew that was what a human might choose. I could have just as easily chosen the scalpels in the infirmary, or the backseat of the Impala, or every doorknob in the bunker. There's no...it's not creation, Sam. They're just copies of life.”

With a sigh, Sam ran one hand through his hair. “Cas, a lot of artists struggle with that. Maybe you just haven't found the right thing yet. With some more time I bet you could find the, the soul of a vase of flowers, or whatever.”

Cas grunted. “Flowers don't have a soul.”

“You know what I mean. Artists, they...they capture a part of themselves in the world around them. Their art reflects their own soul, you know?”

“I don't have a soul either, Sam.”

“You know what I mean.” Exasperated, Sam took a few steps away, then paced back again. “When you look at something that kind of pulls at your heart, you can make something that has a bit of your soul in it, you know? It's what humans have done for thousands of years, even longer.”

Cas let out a mournful sigh and rubbed one hand over his eyes. “If you could see your own soul you might understand,” he said wearily. “Compared to that even an angel's true form is inadequate.”

Sam huffed out a breath. He'd just wanted Cas to have a new experience, maybe find a hobby that could bring him joy. He hadn't meant to start some kind of identity crisis. Then his friend's words caught up to him. “Wait...Cas, are you saying you can see my soul?”

His friend gave him a flat look. “I am still an angel.”

“No, no, I mean...you can see my soul?”

“Of course, Sam.”

Heart pounding, Sam spread his arms out. “Then draw that!”

Cas stared at him for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Why would you want to see something like that?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I want to see it!” Sam turned in a full circle before grabbing one of the library chairs and dragging it in front of Cas. “Is this good? Or, wait, do you need better light?” His soul through the eyes of an angel...who wouldn't want to see that?

There was still hesitation in Cas's movements as he slowly picked up his sketchbook and lifted the cover off the box of pastels. “You're sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Cas flipped to a clean page and stared over the top of the sketchbook at Sam. Sam waited, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Do you need me to do something?” he asked, when Cas made no move to start drawing.

Cas frowned, then reached in the box for a pastel. “Just talk. About one of your passions.”

A passion...okay, Sam could do that. Like Dean had always said, he was a huge nerd. “Oh, I found that book about cuneiform we were talking about,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “You were right, the author was completely ignorant of the language schism toward the end of the Bronze Age....”

He talked on and on while Cas drew. The angel glanced up at him from time to time, a little smile brightening his face. It was almost exactly the image Sam had conjured in the craft store...Cas with a smear of pigment on his chin, bright colors filling the page in front of him. As he drew the angel seemed to relax, the perpetual slump of his shoulders easing back, the worry lines in his forehead smoothing out.

Sam could have pumped his fist in victory. He knew this had been a good idea.

Then Cas set the pastels down and hesitantly pulled the lid over the box. He seemed unsure of himself again, tipping the picture up to makes sure Sam couldn't see it.

“Is it done?” Sam asked. “Can I see?”

For a moment he was afraid Cas would refuse, then the angel slowly turned the sketchbook around.

Sam had seen human souls before...or at least he thought he had. They'd been wispy balls of bluish light, nothing too amazing. This was...this was something else.

The page was a riot of colors. Sweeping and dazzling, greens and blues with threads of red twisting through them, all turning back in on themselves over and over. There were jagged cracks in the swirling shapes, but they'd been filled in with a golden color so vivid he almost brushed his finger over the page to see if it felt warm.

“In some cultures,” Cas's voice was quiet as he explained, “when an item is broken they mend it with gold, so it is more beautiful and valuable because of the cracks.”

Sam drew in a breath. “This is how you see my soul?” The cracks...memories of Lucifer and the Cage, everything they'd lost, the darkness he'd hidden for so long...Cas saw them mended in gold?

“Oh, Sam,” Cas's hand was warm on his shoulder and he looked up, surprised to see tears in his friend's eyes. “This is you.”

He swallowed and looked back down. There was so much...so much hope. Despite it being almost incomprehensible swirls of color on paper, he could feel the hope and faith and trust nearly radiating off the page. Was this...was this really what Cas saw in him?

“Whoa, am I interrupting something?”

Sam pulled back, scrubbing a sleeve over his face. He hadn't even heard Dean coming. “We were just,” he tried to explain, gesturing at the page.

Dean was staring, tilting his head to one side. “Okay, man, call me crazy, but why does this look like Sammy?”

He let out a shaky laugh and ran his hands through his hair. “That's my soul, man.”

“You drew this, Cas?” Dean was leaning in even closer. “Ha, yeah, there's the little part that died when I told you Santa wasn't real. It really is your soul.”

Sam couldn't help but smile at his brother's antics and looked up to meet Cas's eyes. “Can I have this?”

“No way,” Dean interrupted, putting his hand on Cas's wrist.

“Dean, it's my soul.”

“Yeah. We're framing it,” Dean took a step back and held his hands up, like he was envisioning the drawing in a frame. “This is going next to the family pictures, Sammy.”

“We don't have family pictures, Dean.”

“We do now,” Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. “You should do Jack next. I'll get 'im.”

“Wait,” Sam lunged after his brother. “What about you?”

“Not happening,” Dean replied, easily twisting away from Sam's hand. “Let me go get the kid.”

* * *

Jack, predictably, was thrilled. He sat in front of his adopted father, eyes bright, as he talked about his first memories of Castiel. Sam stood behind Cas's shoulder and watched the picture take shape—all interlocking golden halos bursting out of a dark shadow, radiating a light that was somehow yellow and blue at the same time that banished that darkness away. It was peace. It was strength. It was family.

It was Jack.

Claire and Kaia were next, crowding together into one of the big armchairs with their fingers intertwined. Sam had been expecting some kind of double drawing, maybe two pages side-by-side, but the drawing Cas produced was somehow Claire, somehow Kaia, and somehow a blend of the two of them that went beyond anything the human eye could see.

“That's what it looks like to be soulmates,” Cas explained when Sam asked.

When they went back to Jody's house with the girls, Jody sat for a drawing. Her soul was all graceful arcs swooping around a central, solid core. Sam could almost feel it extending beyond the page, pulling them all together around the woman who had chosen to care for the motherless.

There were others, as hunters checked in at the bunker or they met them in the field. Eileen's soul was a fury of purple and silver, sharp with the kind of love that dove into battle with sword held high. Bobby's was a blend of muted shades that spoke to the loss the older hunter had experienced, and his determination to carry on.

Sam was dropping a new sketchbook in Cas's room one day, a few weeks later, when he spotted a few loose papers that had fallen out of the old one. Meaning just to pick them up and shuffle them back in, he was startled to find he had a picture of Dean's soul in his hands.

It couldn't be anything else. While Sam's had had cracks mended with brilliant gold, Dean's looked like it had been broken and pushed in on itself over and over, more like overlapping plates of ice from a lake that had been melted and refrozen. There were layers and sharp edges, and a few twisting shadows of darkness that lingered in odd corners.

But it was warm. Despite the cracks and the broken parts...despite the trauma and ache and pain it was good. It was the soul of a man who loved so completely he would—and had—lay down his life for his family.

He heard a shuffle from the doorway, and turned to see Cas was standing there, staring at the paper in his hands with something like guilt on his face. “Sam, I...”

“When did you draw this?” Sam asked in a whisper. “He kept saying he didn't want you to do it.”

Cas hesitated, then approached close enough to gently take the drawing from Sam's hands. “It was from memory. Dean and I have always had a connection, since I pulled him from Hell.”

Sam almost laughed. “A more profound bond?” he teased. Cas's lips twitched in a smile and he nodded. “We should hang it up with the others.”

Shaking his head, Cas frowned down at the drawing. “He keeps saying no one would want to see it.”

“Well, he's wrong,” Sam looped an arm around Cas's shoulders. “Come on, I know where he stashed the extra frames.”

#supernatural #fic #sam winchester #castiel #dean winchester #jack kline #claire novak #kaia nieves #fluff #angst #souls #headcanon #artist castiel #sam is a good friend

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