#not the only actual child whos voiced him but none of the others sounded that babyish when they did it lol . at least not in the games

[sonknuxadow]

god tails' squeaky baby voice in sonic heroes is so cute and funny its like they went Fucckkkk we don't have anybody to voice tails can somebody go outside and pull some random kid off the street to record some lines

[pearlywritings]

Sometimes the name doesn't matter

synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife. PART 2

pairings: Capitano, Kaveh, Tighnari, Zhongli x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort; hybrids, unwelcomed courting, kind of female objectification (all in Tighnari's part)

word count: 6.9k+ words

a/n: part 1 and part 3 can be read here!

Capitano

Fast elegant fingers of a pianist run across the keys of black and white and the violins in the hands of other musicians are there to serve together with the chorus of beautiful voices, selected by Lady Columbina personally. The music infiltrates the souls of the nobles present, filling them with the sense of grandeur and glory, touching even their harsh unfeeling hearts.

The atmosphere of the gathering is gratifying, would’ve even been endearing if not for the stately figures of the Harbingers standing on both sides of the throne, where the Tsaritsa would've been seated had she not decided to refrain from attending it altogether. She has more important matters to take care of, and nine of her most loyal servants can definitely fill in her place on that yearly event.

Sure, this year it is more important since the two Harbingers are missing and the seats stay vacant - it's been the talk of the nation. Who is going to be nominated? Can it be influenced? Will they claim the names today?

Is the mysterious Commander, whose arrival became the topic of multiple speculations, be the one? A fierce warrior many heard of, but almost none saw face to face. The man was believed to be as powerful as the 11th Harbinger or maybe even the 10th! Having an army and an establishment of his own on the farthest line of the Snezhnayan border, he still is under the command of Lord Capitano, which makes it even harder to fish any more information than what is already known to the public.

"I only heard about him. He and his troops are protecting our borders from the monster's invasion in the North."

"Ew, who would've wanted to live in the North! It's much harsher than all the Snezhnaya."

"Shush, the Commander is wealthy and respectful, you can bear some cold."

"What do you imply?"

"The Commander is unmarried, there is no way he isn't, not with a life like this. But it can always be changed, and the woman he takes as wife would be one of the luckiest ones!"

"You are right… Maybe he is actually handsome. Maybe he'd be even willing to buy a whole mansion for his promised one and not take her with him to that awful place. Maybe…"

Maybe, maybe, maybe. It travels through the crowds like a storm in its wake, eventually reaching the Harbingers, who, for the first time after appearing and greeting the already arrived, stop resembling the statues. Eyes shift among the people and each other; some gazes hold interest, some - annoyance. Only Pantalone has an ever present smile on his face, fingers clasped in front of him and sapphire rings sparkle in the ballroom light.

"Looks like Capitano's estimated soldier caught everyone's attention. My, my, how curious and nosy the people can be…"

"I understand the curiosity though," admits Childe, arms crossed to prevent laying even a finger on his blade, that is resting on his hip. "This person sounds like an interesting specimen… I've heard of his talents in both strategy and tactics, and it seems like his strength is a legend. I'd love to spar with him."

"Oh you, thinking only about fights, young man," Pulcinella disapprovingly shakes his head and raises his cane to point in the gingerhead's direction. "I highly doubt our guest will have time to spare, considering the period of time concerning the stay that was mentioned in the letter we received."

"And I believe the majority of that time would be spent with Il Capitano, isn't it right?" Columbina's soft voice must be drowning in the music, but everyone hears her loud and clear.

"..." The Harbinger stays silent and nothing can be read from his body language since he is the only one remaining still in his place, his huge looming figure resembling one of the full-set armor nobles like putting in their halls as a part of interior. Except this one isn't empty.

"So much potential to become my test subject, to be perfected... Yet lost to the lands of Northern regions," Dottore huffs in disappointment, his sharp teeth peaking when he clicks his tongue. "Say, Pierro, can't things be rearranged? I'd happily have our dear border protector as my underling."

The silence between the nine suddenly becomes thick. There is something indescribably tense in the air and only Childe can't understand why some of his colleagues seem to be more interested in how the Captain would react and not the 1st of the Harbingers..

"You know why this can't be rearranged, Dottore," the stare of an icy blue eye would pin everyone to the ground, destroying their will and order to obey, though doing little to scare the Doctor. "And it was favored by the Tsaritsa herself."

The finality of the short statement makes the scientist back down from the proposition he's been bringing up every time the topic touches the Commander, yet ending up the same way as always - with an ultimate rejection.

Three heavy thuds make everyone in the room fall silent. Many heads turn to look at the ceremonial staff hitting the floor the last time and staying still in the hand of a tall, thoroughly dressed man.

"The protector of the Northern border, the glorified and esteemed warrior of Her Majesty Tsaritsa, The Commander has arrived," the master's of ceremonies voice carries like a thunderclap, cutting off the quite leisurely music the orchestra was playing for the dances and entertainment.

The rustle of note sheets is fleeting and not a moment later the musicians straighten in their seats, taking a deep breath. Trumpets boom in a spacious room and make nobles shiver in surprise, some especially susceptible women even lean on their partners for support. The choir and the violins join the triumphant song the brass instruments sing, signaling that the time has come.

Everyone holds their breath as the tall heavy doors leading to the ballroom are being pulled open. Everyone has their gaze glued to a slowly growing gap. Everyone keeps their eyes wide open, afraid that even one blink can cost them missing the legendary sight.

Everyone gasps.

The tall figure enters, posture straight and shoulders squared, confidence evident in every step. Black satin clothes are adorned with golden chains and intricate patterns. The white military coat stayed resting on the shoulders - showing off the position, the closeness to the Harbingers. And then there is the face - a scar crossing the left brow, calm bored eyes, not sparing anyone a glance, which do not fit the other female features of your face.

Yes, the Commander happens to be a woman.

Stopping by the steps leading to the throne, you bow - not kneel, bow, - holding your open palm by the heart and respectfully closing your eyes. Music stops.

“Greetings, my lords. Let Tsaritsa bless you and your mission.”

“Let Tsaritsa bless you and your service to her,” Pierro says, raising his hand. “Lift your head,” which you do, looking him right in the eyes, yet still holding your hand by the chest. “There is time for duties and there is time for entertainment. And tonight, given your rare visits to the capital, I suggest you enjoy the latter.”

“Much obliged, Lord Pierro.”

And with a wave of the older man’s hand, the orchestra starts a new composition, waking up the ones who were in a daze, reminding others they are here for drama.

And the first one to take action is the 11th Harbinger.

“Commander, Sir- I mean, Lady?” The gingerhead is the closest to you out of all his colleagues, having only to descend a few steps to be on your level. “I’ve heard a lot about you, many admirable things. How do you look at sparring?”

“Right in the middle of a ballroom? Quite positively, young man,” your lips twist in a half-smirk, baring a sharp pearly canine. “But I believe the nobles have already had enough shock to take and rumors to create. Maybe another time. Haven’t seen you before though. Are you new?”

“Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, Lady Commander.”

“Ma’am would be enough,” you click your tongue, glancing behind and noticing how slowly, but surely some of the aristocrats are inching towards you, clearly interested in conversation, Well, you are not. “On second thought, starting a duel right now and here doesn’t sound like a bad idea…”

“I’ve always known you are quite insane,” Arlechino butts her way in the conversation, giving you only a small nod as a greeting. You simply glance at her.

“For years I’ve been hearing of my insanity, think of something new,”

“How about, ‘the one who knows no limits’?” Pantalone’s smile is as dazzling as it’s fake and sometimes your hands are itching to strangle the man. Maybe even go all the way out and bite his head off. Literally.

“The only ones who know no limits are the wind and the stupidity. I’m neither. Who I am though,” your gaze travels higher, to the steps closest to the Tsaritsa’s throne, to there Pierro and the first three Harbingers are standing, “is a wife. And I’d like to have a dance with my husband.”

Not many heard your words, but the ones who did, gasp loudly, staring at you with wide eyes. Which get even wider when Il Capitano, a seemingly motionless statue before, turns in his place and, without a pause, steadily descends to you. Now, as you are standing so closely it becomes evident how obviously your outfits match. The chains, the patterns, even the precious stones - everything. Perhaps it is terrifyingly cute. Perhaps it's cutely terrifying.

“Husband,” your smile again, offering him your hand, which he immediately envelopes in his big clawed one.

“Wife,” is the first word the big figure rumbles for the evening, the void of its helmet staring at you. And that’s all you speak to each other, hearing the beginning of another melody and turning to join the dancing pairs.

“...What was that?” Childe voices what’s been plaguing the minds of the attendees. “First the Commander appears to be a woman, and now she is married to the Lord Il Capitano?” He glances at Pulcinella, who joins his side and decides to watch the pair that caused a commotion have their fun. “Do they not use their names?”

“They find no sense in them,” the Rooster answers just the last question. “And,” he lowers his voice and the ginger has to bend down to hear the next words, “I didn’t tell you that, but the Captain really loves calling her his wife. So be quite cautious while seeking a fight with her. You might end up impaled. By either of them.”

Kaveh

With a soft smile you watch a group of children merrily leaving their classroom, interrupting each other in attempts to tell everyone how exciting the lesson was. They do not forget to grin and wave at you, passing by, and you return the sentiment, contently observing their happy faces and sparkly eyes.

Every time this happens, a strange sense of fulfillment overtakes you - supporting and sponsoring Kaveh was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made. The greatest architect of nowadays is offering his guidance to the young generation, teaching them everything about beauty and practicality, helping them to develop their own creative vision, and at the same time boosting the confidence of kids of all ages. And you couldn’t be prouder of him.

Him, who meticulously prepares for every single lesson. Him, who is oh-so-gentle with his words and precise in his speech. Him, who teaches both Sumeru citizens and people coming from abroad. Him, who is as passionate about it, as he is about his designing job, telling you every single detail of how the lessons went on your way home or over the dinner. Him, who is happy and who makes you happy too with that fact alone.

When the last kid leaves, marking the ending of the final class for today, you glance at the clock. Now Mister Meticulousness will need half an hour to tidy up the classroom and put all the tools away. Tomorrow is free from classes at his (he always corrects your as in the both of you) school, so you can collect your stuff as well - after all, being the manager of this establishment and Kaveh specifically requires your presence. You can be strict and unyielding whenever he can’t and this partnership proves to be successful every day.

Just as you are writing down some financial staff, there is a soft knock on the doorframe. Immediately lifting your eyes you hum, observing a very good-looking woman and a boy, shyly holding onto her hand.

“Hello, how can I help you?” With a quill laid on top of your accounting book, you stand and round the table, offering the two to step closer.

“Ah, hello, miss…” eyes with long, pretty lashes flit to the name tag attached to your clothes, “...Y/n. This is master Kaveh’s artistic school, am I correct?”

“Yes, you are. Are you here to sign your boy up for a class?” You offer her son a sweet smile and he answers you with a small lift of his lips.

“Mhm. You see, he is a big fan of master Kaveh and his works - can study the pictures of his designs taken by Kamera day and night.”

At that, the boy lowers his gaze and blushes a little, digging a hole in the ground with the tip of his shoe.

“Oh, really?” A gasp that escapes your chest is one of excitement. “That’s marvelous! I am sure your hopefully soon-to-be-teacher will be very interested in hearing your opinion of his works, young connoisseur,” he giggles, lifting his eyes at you again, and there you see undisguised delight. “Oh, but my bad, I didn’t ask your names…”

The woman’s lips bare two rows of perfectly white teeth as she smiles at you, introducing herself and her son.

“We are from Fontaine actually. But my parents wanted to spend some indefinite period of time in Sumeru for their health and we decided to join them. So while we are here, I thought I’d make my son’s dream come true.”

“That’s so nice of you,” you can’t help but admire her a little for that. “I can tell you first a little about our school, you’ll ask all the questions you need to, and then I’ll show you around. Kaveh should be done with cleaning by then, so there’s a big chance you’ll even talk to him personally.”

“Really!?” That’s the first time throughout your entire interaction when the boy opens his mouth and actually makes a sound. “Master Kaveh is here right now?”

“He is. But can’t promise a long conversation - there are still blueprints waiting for him back at home.

“Ah, right… He is the great architect after all,” the woman hums, staring to the side as if in thought. “Between the commissions he takes and this school he must be making good money. Not to mention so handsome…”

Oh… What a familiar tone, what a familiar look in those eyes. Suddenly that ounce of respect you felt for her disappears.

“Money is irrelevant to him as long as he reaches his goal,” is your restrained response. 

“Ah, of course! Handsome, sweet, kind, good with kids and is not a snob. Sweety, you ought to charm him for me!” She pinches her son’s cheek. “Imagine Master Kaveh as your daddy!”

Oh Archons, again?

There is absolutely no doubt that the light of Kshahrewar is not only well-known and popular among kids, but is thirsted after by women. In a half of a year your school has been existing, there were numerous times when moms of little students made comments alike or some single females trying to schedule private sessions with the architect. What a sagacious decision it was to make group studying only, it saves you some drama, once the legal document is shown. Though there are exceptionally persistent examples…

But this time you pity the kid a little, because he genuinely seems to admire Kaveh. And his next words make you internally cheer for the little guy.

“Master Kaveh as my dad? But mom, I have a dad already,” the boy pouts, rubbing at the pinched cheek. You notice a red mark and two little crescent moons that her nails left on a tender skin. “I love him and don’t need another one.”

“Sweety, you just don’t understand how great it would be to have such a dad! Just trust my word-”

“Ahem, Madame, I kindly ask you to deal with your family affairs once you are out of here. As for the school - I am open for discussion.”

The displeased way she glances at you doesn’t go unnoticed, but you do not show it anyhow, calmly staring back at her, while your hand reaches up to your chest. As if finally remembering her initial reason for coming here with her son, the woman sighs and puts a palm on the boy’s shoulder.

“Of course, miss- I’m sorry I forgot your name…” And her eyes flit to the name tag again.

Momentarily the woman squints from the light reflecting on the metal, and when she blinks the bright spots away, there is a beautiful golden ring on your hand. The hand that is holding the flipped tiny plate with just two words engraved in it.

"Kaveh's wife"

With widened eyes she stares back at your sweetly polite smile. Not saying a word as if letting the notion sink in, you walk to the wall. Grabbing the backs of two chairs you drag them to your table so they could sit, and take your rightful place in front of them. 

“If you are here for something aside from or instead of signing your son up for classes, I believe my name should be irrelevant to you. My status though,” you knock a nail twice on the badge, “must. So… what are you here for, Madame?”

The boy climbs onto his chair right away, while his mother tarries a little, still shocked by the revealed fact and your suddenly changed demeanor. She needs a couple more seconds to compose herself, but eventually she too sits down.

Despite what happened earlier, your conversation proves to be fruitful and fifteen minutes later you are showing around the school, sharing some additional information and answering every single of the kid’s questions. 

When in the last room you find your husband, closing Mehrak and looking ready to leave, the boy lets out a gasp. The sound attracts the man’s attention, and he turns to the three of you with a soft smile.

“Oh, hello there, little guy!” The blond waves at him, breaking the blissful stupor of a child that immediately turns red and hides behind his mother. Surprised, Kaveh looks at you for explanation but, instead, takes notice of your name’s replacement. Oh wow, this again. What was the last time you did that? Two weeks ago?

“Ah, Master Kaveh!” The woman charmingly smiles, batting her lashes at him, which would’ve made you cringe had it never happened before. “You see, my son-”

“Pardon me, Madame, give me a moment,” the male softly interrupts her and reaches for a similar metal plate on his chest with his own name to flip it. It’s almost comical how sour the temptress’s face got in a second.

And there is what for. Now two words are proudly matching yours, engraved in an equally beautiful cursive to remind the world who the two of you become once stripped of your names.

Just his ”Y/n’s husband” to your “Kaveh’s wife”.

And like that one more kid takes part in your lovely school and one suitor less is after one of its founders.

Tighnari

With each passing day of your team’s research in the desert you found it harder and harder to control yourself. Some days you were even on the verge of clawing and biting, tail and ears twitching in annoyance and pupils turning into wild slits, making your hybrid nature more obvious.

Was it because of the research? No, it couldn’t be farther - your colleagues have been making so much progress, heeding your advice and following your lead. Was it the location perhaps? A little, but you learnt how to deal with heat and dryness. Was the process taking too much time? On the contrary, you are on your way home already, having finished the job 4 days earlier than you estimated in the beginning.

Then what on earth could possibly trigger you like this?

Well…

“Hey, forest foxy, want me to catch the Consecrated Flying Serpent for you?”

Ah yes, him.

Never again will you trust the higher ups at the Akademiya to sponsor your team with the bodyguards. Out of every possible candidate, your Herbad-titled colleague concluded that hiring five descendants of Valuka Shuna would be a marvelous idea. 

“They are the desert kind - they’ll be good guides.” “Look how much stronger they are, they’ll definitely protect all of you.” “They are of the same kind as you, Y/n. Don’t you think it’ll be easier for you, as the leader, to have someone akin with you?”

No, it absolutely would not!

Desert fennec hybrids are different from the forest ones - and it’s not even the case of your green and their sandy brown fur or their more brutal physique against your more delicate one. It’s their character and world perception. You’ll never call them barbarians, but they really developed more of the animal nature than your kind did.

And from day one it was a pain in the butt. 

One of your five new bodyguards was clearly the leader - he was bigger and broodier, with more scars littering his body, and his whole stance was screaming of a higher position. When you were introduced for the first time, something lit up in his grayish eyes, which were looking you over appreciatively. You ignored that, more focused on the discussion of the upcoming expedition and making sure the five were aware of what was required of them.

Luckily they were, and, admittedly, they did fulfill their task meticulously, proving to be great help. If only one of them wasn’t so diligent.

You lost count of how many times the leader tried to get into your personal space and you had to move away. Of the numerous invitations to hunt together. Of the endless displays of his strength and abilities. Of the many conversations you didn’t even try to eavesdrop on (they talked pretty loudly) around the topic of when will your shell be cracked and you’d accept the male’s courting attempts.

The answer was obvious, but he just never got it. Even when you called him for a serious conversation on the turning-into-an-issue matter.

“With all respect I must ask you to stop with whatever you’ve been doing to woo me. I have a husband.”

You still remember how he blinked at you dumbly, clear lack of understanding written on the sun-kissed face.

“...and?”

“The heck do you mean ‘and’?”

“Well, you don’t have a mate?”

It was your turn to stare at him speechless, ear twitching and tail curling closer to your legs. It was getting worse than just ridiculous.

“If we are speaking in such terms, then my husband is my mate. So, please-”

You nearly gasped when the male immediately leant closely, violating your personal space and practically stuffing his nose against your neck. Shocked by such lack of shame, you lost the ability to talk or move for a moment, gaping at him sniffing around and humming upon the discovery.

“You don’t wear anyone’s smell on you.”

You were not proud of yourself at that moment, but you absolutely lost it. Sharpened claws dug into his chest and with an angry snarl you pushed him back.

“Get away from me!”

You must’ve been a sight - canines bared and fingers twitching, ready to attack; fur standing on both your ears and tail, signaling your distress and eyes slitted in pure rage while directed at the man in front of you. The worst part? The idiot seemed to like it even more.

“What me and my partner do must be of no concern to you. I told you ‘no’ and I mean it.”

But bold of you was to assume he’d stop. Oh no, it’s gotten worse. Now he was actively calling you a ‘forest foxy’, absolutely abandoning your name and even trying to scent you. It was suffocating - the desert aridity was lighter in comparison to the male hybrid’s pheromones. 

Never in all your academic practice have you wanted to return home so badly.

Fortunately, your colleagues quickly caught on to what was going on and always helped you to escape the unwanted interactions. Plus they were equally as mad as you were, because his individual scent irritated their human noses - and that was the main reason why you and Tighnari, both spending a lot of time around other people, did not practice it. Partly, you are sure, this whole situation was the reason for your earlier return - and you were grateful for their understanding.

However, your stubborn suitor did not dream of giving up. Killed desert animals were still offered to you, stories of his legendary battles with monsters were told for the hundredth time (even though no one was interested in listening at that point) and attempts to lure you with the musky smell once again made. Archons, and the green-furred fennec girls from your teens used to dream of that.

Maybe Lesser Lord Kusanali would be merciful and you’ll meet your husband somewhere on your way?

“Herbad Y/n!”

…wow, that was quick. Not Tighnari, but incredibly welcome too.

“Collei!” For the first time in days there is a reason for your soft smile. Which the young girl mirrors, waving at you from not so far away. You notice a couple more of the Forest Rangers at her side, and that sight alone makes you finally exhale in relief. You are so close to being home.

“Master is here too! Want me to get him?”

Oh, Dendro Archon, thank you.

“I’d really appreciate it, dear!” With a quick nod the green-haired apprentice disappears in the bushes, and you turn back to the scholars of your group. It’s time to abuse your power a little. “We are almost at the Devadaha Pool. Since all of you live in Sumeru City I hope you’ll excuse me for staying behind. As for you five,” your gaze moves to the bodyguards and it’s so hard not to rejoice - soon they’ll be just a memory, “I ask you to accompany the rest of my team to the Akademiya. Then you can consider your job done and be free. Keep the payment for the last three days that didn’t happen - think of it as a bonus for a good job.”

All but one eagerly nod and bid you farewell with wishes of getting home safely. And frankly speaking? You couldn’t care less for that one when you spot familiar and oh so dear big pointy ears with an intricate golden earring adorning one of them.

“Tighnari!” You didn’t want to sound so desperate, you really didn’t. But when those forest-like lovely eyes look in your direction, it becomes clear to you - the yearning has gotten unbearable.

“Y/n…” His smile is dazzling and the way his body immediately pushes to walk to you almost makes the memories of the last weeks’ events go away.

The key word - almost.

Someone grabs your elbow when you want to meet him halfway. Oh right, you already forgot about him.

“Let me go, you, imbecile!” And again you have to snarl and be rude, ripping your arm out of the strong hold and quickly darting into your husband’s embrace. The natural smell of the leaves, the flowers, the sweet and bitter concoctions he makes in his home laboratory, comfort you and your whole body goes nearly limp in his hold. It’s been weeks and you are tired of fighting with the brick wall - this time you want your lover to handle it for you.

“Y/n, my lotus, are you alright?” Gentle fingers comb through your hair and scratch at the base of your ears - a whole ass adult, that you are, wants to tear up. But you can only shake your head a no. “Has this man been bothering you?” This time it’s a yes. “I got you, dear.”

“So,” the browny green eyes sharpen upon staring at the cause of your current state, when it starts speaking, “you are that ‘husband’ the foxy has been talking about? I thought you’d be stronger. Or at least taller. Now I see that I was right and you really can’t be her mate.”

“Oh but I am. Not that we have to prove anything to a stranger. Y/n,” he carefully pries your face from his shoulder, caressing your cheek with a beanie pad, “let’s go home. You must be so-so tired.”

“I am, ‘nari. I am exhaus-”

“There’s no smell of you on her and vice versa,” the desert descendent of the Valuka Shuna seems to not be planning to stop. “Her neck is not marked. You let her wander by herself for weeks? And you keep calling her by the name. Her name should've stopped mattering once she became your mate!”

The hand around your waist tenses and you can feel the claws threatening to tear through the gloves he always wears. You don’t need to look at the face of your lover to know how pissed he is. And if Tighnari decides to attack him and tear his tongue out? You will not stop him.

“I am going to say it once and only once. She is not just a mate, she is my wife, by the Sumeru law and by the blessing of the Dendro Archon. And this fact must matter to you more than the case of her name. So fuck off and leave my wife alone. And if you don’t get it in a civil way - this woman is taken. And this territory is mine.”

With that, the Forest Watcher effortlessly lifts you in his arms and, holding you as if a precious bride, turns around to leave. You haven’t looked back once.

“You can’t imagine how much I missed being called your wife,” you quietly confess, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Especially after he didn’t listen when I said that I am.”

Tighnari hums sympathetically, leaning close to rub his nose against yours.

“Will it be okay then if today I address you as my wife only? When we join the other rangers, I mean.” 

”...if you think I will be embarrassed - make it a whole week.”

With a soft chuckle your husband plants a kiss on your lips, sealing the deal and promising you tranquil days at last.

“As you wish, wife.”

Zhongli

"...and so Rex Lapis takes the form of a dragon, a majestic creature he was born as - the one of whom the fair maiden would never be scared of. Lady Guizhong's robes flutter in the tender wind traveling among the mountain peaks and caressing the earthly scales of the God's enormous body. His eyes, shiny as gold, gaze at her with an unfamiliar softness as she holds a gentle flower - a delicate gift from her lover, the one that proves that under all that armor is a stone heart capable of love. Heart that is beating for her."

To loud applause the Iron Tongue Tian bows his head, drawing the legend of the gods in love to its end. You cannot bring yourself to clap even politely, both hands on your lap, hidden under the table, twitching when a man beside you lets his gloved palms meet each other a couple of times.

It’s the second time you had to sit and endure the baloney from the very beginning to the very end, not to count all those times you overheard it in passing. From the moment you settled in the Liyue Harbor together with your husband, to live the rest of your incredibly long lives together among the humans, you've been painfully aware of their interpretation of Rex Lapis and his relationship with other immortal beings. Before that you rarely accompanied him during the walks, busy with helping Yakshas and other adepti protect the said humans to grant them a peaceful life - as immortal guardians grew fewer, every single one counted.

Never have you ever imagined that knowing so little of the citizens’ folklore would backfire so hard. It seems that people got somewhat bored listening to the stories of Liyue and Rex Lapis, no matter how many interpretations existed. Literature became more diverse in genres and romantic novels were on top of the list, so street narrators started losing their audience little by little. Before it could grow into something more drastic the new side of history was presented to the public - stories about love among immortals appeared and its freshness and uniqueness caught people’s attention immediately.

In their searches for new material, speakers dug through hundreds of volumes. The main interest was the Lord of Geo, of course. If you have a story of a presumably stone-hearted creature ever having fallen in love with someone - that’s pure gold! But who could you present as a love interest of the Archon? It must be someone very close to him and, obviously, no one is more well-known for that than the deceased Archon of Dust.

You sigh, reaching for your cup and declining Madam Ping’s offer to pour you some more tea - for an unclear reason the fellow adeptus joined you two tonight. You have thousands of years of life behind your existence, a soul hardened by constant battles, and mannerism as polished as a jade statue, yet for a moment you feel concerned that the woman would notice a pang of hurt in the smallest of your features.

Zhongli definitely noticed the first time. It was meant to be a date night - simple, but sweet, with the evening lights, delightful aroma of the finest tea and the tales pouring from skilled tongues reflecting the atmosphere of what your nation really is. However, the luck of the land of trades wasn’t on your side, as someone requested the “Guili legend” as they called it. At first you were confused. Then in disbelief, almost turning to look at your mate, with whom you were bonded long before he became allies with the ash-haired woman. In the end you felt something you thought was beyond you - bitterness.

When you left the restaurant, slowly walking back to your house, Zhongli’s fingers gently touched your elbow, asking for your attention.

“Does it bother you that much, my love?”

Bother you? Well… It does feel insulting when someone speaks of your husband having been in love with someone else, but mortals can’t possibly know the truth for many reasons.

“I can’t say it doesn’t,” you admitted calmly, stopping and turning fully to him. He did the same, gazing at you with a hint of worry in those golden eyes you loved so much. The ones, you knew, always looked only at you. “But it can’t be helped, right? There was a reason and mutual agreement why you, as Rex Lapis, made our union unknown to your people, and now, since you are “dead”? There is no one to tell our story. Don’t worry though,” you put a hand on top of his and smiled, when his other one was laid on top of yours in a gesture of comfort. “I can deal with it. I know you love going to the storyteller’s performances. I’ll just try to ignore what they say about you and Lady Guizhong.”

Sometimes Zhongli thinks he does not deserve you. Ever so patient and understanding, you always had your husband's best interest at heart. Marriage, however, in its basis is a form of a contract, and a good contract is all about both sides being equal in everything. And if you must know one thing about Rex Lapis - he never makes bad contracts.

When the audience calms down, the man decides to make his presence and intentions clear by raising a hand. From the corner of his eye he notices you slightly turning your head to glance at him, and he catches a glimpse of puzzlement in your gaze. He can't help but think how adorable you are, even if you deny it again and again, claiming that nothing can be adorable about a several millennia-old warrior. Maybe not, but his wife definitely is, and he thinks with a primordial pride igniting in his chest, that mating with you was the best decision his past self had ever made.

Reaching under the table he rests his free hand on top of yours, gently squeezing it in reassurance, offering you the warmth of himself, seeping through his glove. Just as your shoulders relax to his delight, the raised hand adorned with rings is finally noticed.

"Ah, Mr Zhongli! Such an honor to see a regular, especially someone as wise as yourself!" Iron Tongue Tian beams with a wide smile, closing his fan and focusing his full attention on the history connoisseur. "I doubt you have questions, given your vast knowledge, and I can't wait to hear what else you can add to this already heart-felt story."

You force your lips not to twitch, hiding behind the tea cup again. Suddenly it tastes bitter. But another squeeze your husband gives your hand doesn't let you dwell on it too much.

"You are correct, I do have some knowledge to offer. However, it might disappoint you, as it will completely destroy the story of the Geo Archon and the Archon of Dust."

The whispers ran through the crowd like a powerful wave, and you can see confusion written over every single face. But also, there is intrigue.

"I took it upon myself,” Zhongli however continues, “to invite Madame Ping to back up my story, as she was the witness to it," the elder woman - a well-known Adeptus that doesn't hide her existence among mortals - nods with a soft smile.

"I read this in legends a long time ago, but remembered only when the 'Guili legend' became popular. Rex Lapis indeed had a lover, however it was not Lady Guizhong," the gasps are almost deafening. Just as your quickened heartbeat.

And for the next hour the man by your side and the elderly-looking woman that joined you tonight proceed to tell the story of the adeptus, who was the first and only to ever bring the Geo Archon to his knees, to be worshiped like a goddess by his eyes, by his words, by his very heart. Of a warrior, whose fierce eyes and valiant nature made a dragon in Rex Lapis roar in delight. Of the woman, who entranced him with her beauty, caring soul and motherly attention directed to other adepti - Madame Ping adds with a laugh of how the two created a parent-like dynamic even before they became official (at that you find it so hard not to turn bashful).

They tell the legend of the silk flowers - the ones you might see everywhere in the vast lands of Liyue. How the Geo Archon personally asked the Dendro Archon for guidance to cultivate the tenderest of flowers, how he taught his people to make the delicate fabric out of it, but even then it couldn’t compare to the skin of his immortal mate.

They tell stories of how annoyed she was when the god turned into a dragon to fall asleep somewhere in the depths of the earth for years without telling her prior, and how he returned with the purest stones and metals and with his own hands forged the pair of matrimonial rings (yes, the ones wrapped around your fingers to this day).

Madame Ping fondly speaks of all those thousands of years of protection the said adeptus spent to make sure that her godly spouse’s people were safe and maybe just a tiny sliver of pride rushes through your heart at the public acknowledgement.

“But she wished not to be known,” the woman sighs and you know she glances at you reproachfully. Well-deserved, given the circumstances you are in right now. “Thus it’s not much of a surprise people made a mistake like that. Besides, you won’t find much information in written sources about her either way.”

 “But she must have a name at least!” Someone from the fairly grown crowd exclaims.

“That she does,” Zhongli nods, lacing his fingers with yours under the table, lips tugging in a calm smile, when you squeeze his hand in return. “Though I am afraid it would be pointless to try and find out now - we wouldn’t want to disturb her mourning the departure of her husband, would we? After all, they must’ve loved each other so much.”

“But how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” golden eyes are on you, catching yours, pulling you in, whispering for your soul and heart to get lost in them, “I can understand how this love was born and got to bloom. My wife showed me that.”

[yandere-romanticaa]

There's something so oddly sweet about the "childhood friends to lovers" pipeline in fiction, but with Aemond Targaryen it takes such a deliciousy dark turn that my mind couldn't help but to linger on it.

Aemond can still recall every single harsh word his family has even thrown his way, how he can still feel the way his eyes would get wet but he had to hold it all in, because he could not afford to let himself to show even an ounce of weakness, not even to himself. Countless hours were wasted with him staring off into the distance somewhere, admiring the noble beasts which were flying high above in the sky, far away from the reach of anything and anyone.

Those were the times he was most envious of not having a dragon of his own. The green little beast known as jealousy would take over, causing him to want to step off the deep end.

Just as he felt the skin of his knuckles threatening to rip due to his tight grip, a warm pair of hands would make their way to him and hold onto him gently, as if he actually mattered somehow in the grand scheme of things.

Most of the time he would just stand there and let you embrace him, his heart doing cartwheels in his chest as his luscious blonde was carried by the wind. Although, if he had a particularly rough day, he would sometimes simply melt into your embrace. Cheek against cheek, Aemond could feel the worry radiating off you in spades.

It was dreadful how absolutely euphoric that made him feel.

You were his only real playmate growing up, causing him to become dreadfully possessive over you. It got so bad that Aemond outright forbade Aegon and Haelena of all people from even looking at you, let alone actually seeking you out. None of the other children in court were safe either as rumors spread fast that they ought to steer clear far away from you, lest they wished to suffer Aemond's thorny wrath.

The little paradise Aemond had cultivated for himself was not meant to last. One the same night he finally claimed his dragon, you had vanished along with your family.

He still remembers how excited he was to share the news with you, how he wished to tell you that once he was skilled enough he wished you to be the first person who would fly with him on his dragon.

No one else had the right to that privilege, absolutely no one.

But, things didn't go to plan. And truly, when do they ever?

Aemond had lost a lot that night and gained just as much. He had claimed a dragon, Vhagar, one of the largest and strongest dragons there were. In just one evening he became a one man army, there was nothing that could hold him back.

He can still feel just how tight the chair was he sat on as the maesters stitched his damaged eye, how hot the cracking fire next to him was, just how loud everyone was being... It was all irrelevant. The moment he could, he was going to seek you out and tell you everything, share each and every detail he could about his dragon...

... Until his mother told him the news.

Your family relocated due to some personal reasons and as Alicent went on and on about that, little Aemond felt his world shatter in a heartbeat.

He would rather take ten thousand cuts and stabs to his eye than ever face the pain he felt once he learned of your departure.

"It's for your own good too..." he can recall his mother saying, her voice sounding a little defeated.

"You shouldn't tie yourself to one person like you already have... I worry about you, Aemond."

That dark and stormy night, Aemond had made two vows to himself, vows he was going to sign with his own blood if he had to. The first was that no matter where in the world you were, no matter how far your family may try to take you, there would be no distance he would not tread, no man, woman or child he wouldn't slay just to hear the sound of your voice, to feel your soft skin, to be with you.

And the other was that he would make due on his promise of giving you a ride on Vhagar. He was in your debt for even trying to claim the mighty beast, it was only fair.

Aemond Targaryen took those two vows and kept them under lock and key, hidden deeply in his dark, which grew darker and darker. At the rate he was going, he would turn into a more terrifying beast than the actual dragon he had. Although, even dragons had their hearts.

You just happened to be Aemond's.

And he was going to come to you one day, soaked in the blood of his enemies, his arms open wide as he makes his way to embrace you once more.

[ragingbookdragon]

Price finds her in the equipment room doing a rather meticulous job of cleaning their weapons, but he also notices that the only set she currently has out, is none other than the side-arm and knives owned by their resident Lieutenant.

“Quite rare to see you here on a Friday night,” he says, taking a seat across from her, grabbing an oiled rag to start cleaning with. “Shouldn’t you be going out with Gaz and Soap for drinks?”

She pauses, looks up and then lowers her gaze back to the firing pin she’s cleaning. “Didn’t feel like going out tonight, Captain.”

“Didn’t feel like it or didn’t feel like seeing ‘you know who?’”

“You know?” She asks and he shrugs.

“It’s my job to know everything that happens within the one-four-one.”

“I thought that was Miss Kate’s job?”

Price smiles. “We share responsibility.” He methodically rubs the rag along the parts of the side-arm, his expression and voice becoming rather calm but she feels the air turn a little stern, if almost a fatherly stern. “You’ve been avoiding him.”

She makes a noise in her throat. “I can’t exactly talk to him. Look what happened last time.”

“He feels bad.”

“I’m sure he does,” she retorts, looking at him. “He really hurt my feelings. What am I supposed to do, tell him it’s okay? That we can move on like he didn’t tell me I’m clingy?” She stops, looks down at her hands. “I sound like a fucking child.”

Price hums. “You actually sound like a person who’s had their feelings hurt and you’re not sure how to proceed.” He dips the rag in a big more oil. “I know it doesn’t equate what he’s said to you, but allow me to fill in some blanks you might have on Simon.”

She cocks a brow. “Okay?”

“Simon was the oldest child of two. Abusive dad, terrified mom. Younger brother used to terrorize him too.” He goes back to cleaning the gun parts. “Nine-eleven had Simon enlisting, came back after a lull, kicked his dad out, got his brother sober and even found himself the proud uncle of a nephew named Joseph.”

“Where are they now?” She asks. “Simon’s from Birmingham, right?”

“He is,” he answers, but his face and voice are void of any hope. “But they’re not anymore.”

She blinks, feels the shift in temperature. “They…moved?” She hopes; he meets her gaze, and she knows instantly. “Oh…I…how did it…”

“I don’t want to divulge Simon’s past without his permission, because it’s also his own choice to tell you what happened, but I can tell you that Simon had a personal vendetta against the man and others who hurt his family. And he took care of it.” Price inhales and exhales. “In doing so…Simon sacrificed himself. He made himself—“

“A Ghost,” she finishes, and he nods.

“Simon, when it comes down to what he truly is beneath his cold stoicism, my dear, is simply a very tired and even more broken-hearted man who believes that if he keeps everything and everyone at a distance, then nothing can hurt him.” Price sets the weapon and rag down. “He likes to think he’s incapable of feeling but don’t let his demeanor or words fool you, Simon feels more deeply for the people he loves more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Something aches in her chest, rising up to close around her throat as she asks, “A man like him…he can still love?”

He smiles half-heartedly. “I’ve seen the man run back through a burning building to pull Gaz out. I’ve seen him run through gunfire, take a bullet to the thigh and keep going to carry Soap.” He nudges her under the table. “I’ve even seen him pull your ass out of even stickier situations. If we viewed Simon how he wanted us to view him, it’d be easy to call him a heartless bastard. But he isn’t as heartless as he wishes he was.”

“That just shows he’s doing his job as our superior officer,” she counters weakly. “He’s doing it because it’s his duty to get his subordinates out.”

“Does it ever just feel like that?”

“…no.”

Price gazes on her like a father to his daughter with her first heartbreak. “What do you feel right now, puffin?”

She purses her lips, looks down at the various weapons on the table before she admits, “I’m still hurt. His words keep replaying in my mind. I’m clingy and I’m always around.” She fiddles with the fraying hem of the rag. “That I’m a bother.”

“Would it make a difference if I told you that I don’t think such things?”

She shrugs.

Price blinks, reaches up and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You can be very excitable. Sometimes, I think you let it get the better of you and you often forget that others don’t always have the same personality as you.”

“Excitable is the polite way of saying annoying.”

“If I wanted to say you were annoying, I would’ve. You genuinely are a good and wholesome person, my dear. But you have to remember that everyone has a different level of extroversion. Sometimes, we have to tone it down a bit.” He meets her gaze and she knows his is full of honesty. “Simon doesn’t actually hate you. And he probably feels a tad bit of annoyance, but then again, he always does regardless of who it is, because Simon hates anything that makes noise. But I also know that he feels bad for what he did and said to you—and he wants to make it right.”

She takes in his words. “Do I need to engage him first? Extend some olive branch for peace?”

Price rises from the table and smiles, walks around and pats her shoulder. “Nah, let him come to you.”

“You really think he will?”

“I do. He knows what he’s gotta do and he’ll do it because he knows it’s the right thing to do. But he’ll be skittish. He’s like a newborn deer.” He winks. “Let him mull over how he wants to do it. As for you,” he points at her. “You’ve gotta move on from this. Learn from it. And stop ignoring him and avoiding him like you’re a ten year old. Be a grown-up. Act professional and be polite. I will not let this effect the team any longer than it is. Am I understood?”

She swallows thickly and nods. “Yes, sir, Captain Price. I promise.”

Price smiles and pats her again. “Go on. Soap and Gaz headed to Purecraft.”

“But the Lieutenant—”

“Is in the training room working out,” Price waves her off. “Go. Have some fun. Get some drinks, talk to Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

As she gets up, she pauses and looks at him. “Captain?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Price’s eyes crinkle around the edges. “You’re welcome, Puffin.”

[celestialprincesse]

Just going to leave this here and then sneak away! K bye! 🎀🩰

John Price is a man who runs on instinct. After years in the forces, he has to be. He's learned that the feeling in his gut is almost never wrong, and learning how to trust it is a skill. Right now though? He's wishing that his stomach would stop roiling. He's so anxious he feels like he might actually be sick. Kyle sits earnestly at his side, hunched over in the plastic hospital chair nursing a long gone flat vending machine Coke.

They've been tuning out your screams for a good three hours now.

Something within John breaks with every guttural cry that sounds from under the doorway. He's heard so many countless screams of agony from faceless people. They've been and gone in his head like a passing storm. Yours, he thinks, will stick for a lifetime.

Realistically, he knows that you're safe. Receiving the best care you possibly can, safe within the walls of the modern private hospital his insurance more than covers. He also can't help but remind himself just how complicated giving birth can be - and you're so delicate to him.

He's not actually sure when Kyle got here, having been running on autopilot since your contractions started yesterday. All the boys love you just as much as you do them, and when he'd messaged their shared group with a simple: > On way to hospital now. they'd been so shit scared.

Each one of them had opted to take up shifts staying beside their captain in the hospital, waiting earnestly for if they were at all needed. Johnny had picked up groceries, claiming that he' d best know what to get for a new mum, seeing as he's the only one besides Price who actually has sisters, and a niece of his own. None of them would ever admit that they also wanted to be the first to see little baby Price, and to check in on his wife who'm they'd grown to love so much, but there'd definitely been attempts on all three sides to work out when the baby would approximately pop, so that they could time their stint accordingly.

"Think she's okay in there?" John croaks, lifting his head from his palms, squinting at the fluorescent hall lights with a tired grunt.

Kyle swallows the sip of Coke in his mouth before responding. "She's a trooper. I think if anyone can handle having a baby, it's your missus."

Hours later, your small hospital room falls silent, and John is immediately up on his feet, back ramrod straight, everything alert. And then, a baby cries. It's a little hiccuping whinge at first, but then his baby seems to find their voice, wailing up a storm.

"You should go. See them." Kyle prompts quietly, noticing his captain's reverie as he just stands there staring at the closed door.

Nurses file out one by one, whilst he makes his way in, a dazed sort of look on his face as he sees the swaddles blanket you hold close to your chest, gurgling softly as tiny fat fists reach out to your nose.

The stillness in the room is like time stops entirely, only finally broken by a soft "Hey." as your husband makes his way quietly to your side.

"Hi." You breathe, a soft smile blossoming on your tired face, scooting along in the hospital bed so he can sit beside you.

The reverence on his face as he looks down towards the face of such a small creature is a look only talked about in fairytales. A look that tells you that your baby is the luckiest child in the world to have a dad like John.

"She's a girl." You laugh softly, noticing the look on John's face, the one that says he's holding his tongue.

"Oh, my baby girl." Tears spring to his cerulean eyes as he brushes a gentle finger down the soft slope of her tiny nose.

For a moment, the two - three - of you sit in total stillness, entirely enraptured by the tiny human you currently keep held so closely to your chest. Until there's a quiet, tentative knock on the door.

"Mrs Price? Can we come in?" Kyle's voice comes softly from the other side, but before you can even finish your "Yes" not just Kyle, but also Simon and Johnny are practically barrelling into the room, barely able to contain their intrigue as they lock eyes with the little blanket wrapped parcel they've been waiting nine months to meet.

The minute you invite them to look at the sleeping face of your daughter, they're practically tripping over themselves to see the much anticipated baby Price.

"Looks jus' like her mam." Johnny observes, whilst Simon just stares, and Kyle busies himself with taking a picture of you, John and your baby girl.

"Bought 'er a present, mrs Price." Simon admits a little sheepishly as he pulls a haphazardly wrapped parcel from his coat pocket. A stuffed ghost teddy only just the size of your fist. "To remind 'er that uncle ghost is always looking out for her."

You're practically crying at the thought behind his gift, carefully side-hugging the lieutenant with the arm that's not holding your daughter.

"We're all here for her. And for you. Always. One for one and that."

[bitter-me]

Hello, if requests are open, can I ask [any twst characters you want] with a Bill or Dipper!Male!Reader ?

Have a great day ! And a good night !

The All Seeing Eye

Malleus Draconia | M. Reader as Bill Cipher

----------

"Remember! Reality's an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold! Byeeee!"

----------

Malleus Draconia..

Quite the infamous name.

At this point, who doesn't know about the crown prince? He's one of the most powerful mages in the world! Despite that...

...just who in Twisted Wonderland hasn't heard of [Name] Cipher? The dream demon? Well apparently both Yuu and Grim doesn't... "Oh! Oh! Twisted Wonderland! it is good to be back! Name's [Name] Cipher and I take it two are some kind of living ventriloquist dummy?" He ask with a mix of sarcasm and amusement in his voice. Wait--no! He has to show some kindness to them. They're the ones who freed him after all. So maybe he should be kinder. Maybe.. "How about this you magicless thing, I will help you.. in exchange.. I only want a puppet! Yes! A puppet! You have one of those right?" This kid is magicless! He's completely defenseless against this world's wildness and chaos! But don't worry! He's here to help! Isn't he so kind~?

----------

Some students began to notice how Yuu seem to act differently sometimes.. it's odd.. suddenly he's capable of magic..? And these.. creepy knowledge?? What? When some ask about it, Yuu merely shrugged, dodging the question or straight up ignored them and Grim? That cat is as clueless as ever! For someone that's suppose to be close with the prefect, he's completely useless with this predicament.

Of course, Yuu's strange demeanor ended up catching the attention of none other than Diasomnia's Housewarden.

"Child of Man, it has come to my attention that you've been acting.. strange.. lately.. may I know the reason for such actions?"

"Oh! It's nothing really! I'm completely fine, there's nothing to be worry about!" Huh.. the prefect's reassurance sounded a bit cheery.. maybe too cheery... is he always like this? And this.. energy.. it's strong.. incredibly so..

Not at all convinced, Malleus spoke up with caution, preparing himself for what's to come. "Is that so? Then may I know why you're acting strangely?"

"I said I'm fine--" Yuu stopped himself once he saw who it was that decided to confront him this time. Oh.. oh! He had thought it was just some no name snotnosed kid! But no, oh no.. this is the main course! Finally he had finished the appetizers! A wide grin made its way onto his face as he spoke up in a cheery manner. "Well well well! Finally! The main course has arrive! How's living, my dear dragon?"

Malleus' calm demeanor change in an instant the moment those words came out of Yuu's mouth. This.. thing.. how dare he.. how dare it decided to lay a hand on the prefect!? And now it has the audacity to use his body like a puppet!? Unforgivable...

"You..."

"Aw, I thought you would be more happy to see me!"

Malleus scoffs at the dream demon's words, crossing his arms over his chest as he sent a glare towards him. Happy? What's there to be happy about?

"Admit it~ You missed me~"

[Name] knew full well that Malleus won't lift a finger at him, not when he's possessing his precious Child of Man.. of course he won't.. the very thought of injuring this fragile body must scare him to the bone! Poor baby...

The dream demon can't help but chuckle at the very thought of it. The other's glare mean nothing to him. What matters most is...

"What's with that look for? Come on now.. I still remember how happy you look back then~"

The look of wonder that the crown prince showed.. it was such magnificent a sight.. but not enough to coax [Name] to rethink his decision in deceiving him. This world will be his.

"Come on, my dear.. let me out.. out of this dimension of mine and into yours.."

"Allow me to show you just what true power actually is."

"Let me in."

"And welcome Weirdmageddon with open arms."

[jemiswumbo]

she’s out of her mind

luke castellan x daughter of hades!reader

anon prompt: Hey babes! I saw your post about wanting prompts and I was wondering you could write Luke Castellan x Daughter of Hades! Reader where it's like sunshine (Luke) x grumpy (Reader) trope?

authors note: hello i am back with a small drabble for the cute prompt above! i got drunk off of applebees dollaritas and wrote this in 15mins so do with that information what you will. hope you enjoy! :)

title is from she’s out of her mind by blink-182. lyrics are a lil fitting.

warnings: none? i think? it’s just fluff, i think. sort of.

“Wake up, sunshine.”

You groaned low and deep, releasing a guttural sound full of pure agony. Rolling over on your (extremely warm, cozy, sleep inducing) bed, you came face to face with your boyfriend, Luke Castellan, who was currently opening up the curtains in your cabin.

Being the only child of Hades at the camp, the entire cabin was sparse and empty, save for the corner you called home. There was a bed with black sheets and blanket, a side table full of the few memorabilia you had to your name, and a dresser beside that which held your extensive collection of black clothing. The walls resembled the inner workings of a cavern; slick rock prodded with small bones and beautiful jewels encapsulated the bedroom areas. Sconces held lit torches burning bright with turquoise Greek fire.

Your favourite part of the cabin, though, was the specially-crafted blackout curtains that were typically drawn tight over the windows. Not even a sliver of light could penetrate the thick, black, velvet drapes. That was, until, your idiot boyfriend took it upon himself to draw them open. The harsh blades of sunlight violated your eyes, illiciting your pained groan. You hated it when people interrupted your sleep.

“Luke,” You whined, shoving your face into your pillow, hoping to evade the blinding light. “Let me sleep, please, for the love of the gods.”

“Fuck the gods,” Luke said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice without needing to see his (cute, devilishly handsome) face. “Anyways, it’s 9am! You’ve slept in long enough and I wanna have breakfast with you and your pretty face.” Luke flopped down on the bed beside you and flipped your body back over with ease, in a foolish attempt to force you into the world of the living.

Typical for a child of Death, you kept your eyes squeezed shut and pounded the bedsheet with your fist. “I will literally, genuinely, actually murder you without hesitation if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“That’s no way to talk to your boyfriend.” Luke said, pressed a small kiss to your nose. You swatted him away with anger.

Any other (normal, rational, smart) kid at camp would’ve soiled their pants and fled in terror from such a threat uttered by the one and only daughter of Hades. You were capable of a simple killing — you were graciously bestowed the gift of sucking out the souls of mortals with a mere flick of the wrist — and so it was only logical to fear such a ghastly claim. Luke, however, had realized early on in your Camp days that you were full of shit and would never hurt a fly. He took an opportunity to befriend you and you’d been dating for a few years now. You were (truly, madly, deeply) in love with him and yes, despite your immense hatred for morning sunlight, you would never actually hurt him.

“Come on,” he prodded again, cuddling up beside you and tapping your forehead mischievously. You mustered the courage to crack open one eye (barely) and saw him grinning down at you. “Wake up, baby. Let’s get breakfast and then spend the day at the docks. We can swim and sun bathe and have a picnic—“

“Gods, you’re ambitious today,” you grumbled, rolling back over to face the opposite direction of Luke (and, the open windows), allowing him to grab your waist and pull you up against his chest. “I hate being in the sun. You know this.”

“Yeah, but I like to try new things with you,” Luke said, peppering a few kisses down your jaw and the side of your neck, squeezing his taut arm around your torso. “And I’m dying to see you in a bikini.”

“Perv,” you mumbled, but deep down you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, causing a crimson blush to bloom over your chest. “Give me another hour to sleep.”

“No,” Luke said, and now it was his turn to groan impatiently. “Please, now, for me? I love you and want to spend time with you.”

“I hate you and want you to leave me alone,” you replied, pulling your fluffy duvet back up over your shoulders. “Bed time.”

“Beach time,” Luke decided. He sat up slightly and ripped the blankets entirely off your form, exposing your body to the cold air of the morning.

You shrieked. “Luke, you asshole—“

Luke jumped out of the bed, smiling wide. He gathered up all the blankets up into his arms, much to your dismay, and held them away from you. You only wore shorts and a tank top to sleep last night, and the chill in the room froze you right to your bones. Luke bundled up the bedding into a ball and fired it across the room. “There, now you’re acclimated.”

“You’re dumb as hell.”

“You are a grouchy, sleepy demon who needs breakfast and vitamin D.”

“Ugh!” You exploded, finally shoving yourself out of bed in a fit of exasperation. Luke had the audacity to applaud you. “Okay, there, I’m up!”

“So proud of you, my sleeping beauty,” Luke remarked. He crossed the room to you and placed a tender kiss to your lips, making sure to nip at your pouty bottom lip.

“Sorry for being rude,” You murmured, after having kissed him back. “I love you. I just don’t love being woken up.”

“I know,” Luke said with a grin. “I actually think you’re cute when your grumpy, so I do it on purpose to bug you.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smirk from appearing on your cheeks. “Whatever. You promised breakfast and I’m starving, so let’s go.”

Luke mimicked your playful eyeroll. He took your hand, leading you out the door and towards the dining pavilion.

note 2: hi hi! if you read this and enjoyed it and maybe want to read more from me, i would super appreciate prompts and requests sent to my inbox! can’t guarantee i’ll write them all but i will for sure try my best! thanks for reading! :)

[a-hazbin-reader]

I know I already said this in the comments but I would like to officially request a spinoff oneshot (hc works too) of that pregnant reader post where Lucifer is just trying to talk to his unborn Godchild and then Alastor comes in and is like "fuck off"

If you got other stuffs going on feel free to ignore this, just shooting my shot

Welp-

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: None I think??

Description: ☝️⬆️

Your pregnancy wouldn't be possible without Lucifer. Sure, you and Alastor had to do a lot of the work, but Lucifer... made it happen

So you were grateful to him and tried your best to show it, though Alastor was much less kind

Lucifer was also an experienced parent so you would come to him for advice sometimes

Which Alastor always hated, but he never stopped you

When he wasn't fighting with Alastor, then he was genuinely nice to be around, though you know Alastor did start it

When Lucifer names himself the godfather of your child, you don't see any reason to deny him that title

Alastor does though-

"All I'm saying is, we could pick someone better to be the godfather-"

"Alastor! We wouldn't have this chance without him!"

"Uh, you two know I can hear you, right?"

Regardless, you like the guy and don't mind when he starts talking to your baby bump

"Hewwo, widdle baby! Aren't you gonna be a big one~ Yes, you are~"

It is rather big for how far along you are...

You can't help but laugh and be amused at Lucifer's childish antics as he talks to your unborn child

You do gasp in surprise when your baby suddenly kicks at the sound of his voice, apparently taking a liking to the king of hell

Which of course makes Lucifer want to feel the baby kick and who are you to tell him no? Especially when he's giving you those puppy eyes

"Aren't you a strong one~? You gotta be gentle or you'll hurt your mama~"

His words DO NOT help and the kicks only get stronger, almost in warning of something-

Of course, that's when Alastor walks in, and you can practically see the vicious thoughts swirling in his head

He tuts as he comes around to rest by your side, giving your forehead a quick kiss before glaring down at Lucifer

"And just what is going on in here, my dear?"

You've got to calm your husband before he does anything crazy-

"Lucifer was talking to the baby when they suddenly started kicking, so he's trying to calm them down.."

Lucifer is still just cooing and feeling the bump, completely oblivious to the conversation around him

"Ah, I see..."

Lucifer doesn't see the piano that drops on him, Alastor suddenly standing in his place and rubbing your baby bump

"There there~ Papa is here to save you from that little nuisance~"

He starts singing a little song to the baby too, gazing at you with warm eyes as he rests his cheek on you

You'd be upset with him if him rubbing your stomach wasn't so damn soothing...actually managing to calm the baby..

You could almost fall asleep like this...

What were you so worried about again?

"YOU TACKY PIECE OF SHIT!"

...and this is where you take your leave, waddling out of the room to go find some snacks

For you 🤌

[cressidagrey]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 4

Summary: 

Shadowsingers were made, not born. Made out of trauma and loneliness and desperation.

So when Cilla and Azriel meet and their shadows entwine, they both meet the only other person that could understand these particular childhood scars.

The last thing Azriel had ever expected from his mate, however, was for her to have a surprising connection to his brother.

Warnings: 

Definetly NSFW, Mentions of Child abuse and neglect, really bad self image, definitely not why one should cement the mating bond, Azriel is kinda an idiot who is so happy that he has found his mate that he doesn't question things

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Warm. Safe.

Ensconced in that little house. The pitter-patter of rain against huge windows. 

For the first time in her life, Cilla felt something akin to peace. 

She slept and slept and slept, roused periodically by Azriel who poured water and Pain relief potions down her throat…who pet her hair and whispered that everything was going to be just alright. 

So did her shadows. 

None of their incessant chatter they sometimes were prone to be doing, which left her exhausted in the end…they seemed quite happy to let themselves be entertained by Azriel’s shadows, sometimes chasing each other through the room if Cilla was awake long enough to watch them. 

But the best part…the best part was when she got to curl herself together with him, when she listened to the steady thrum of his heartbeat in her ear, and curled a hand against his chest, feeling it rise and sink with every breath she took, as he held her. Sometimes he covered her with one of his wings, and she loved to burrow herself against Azriel as tight as she could. 

She had never had anybody in her life that had taken care of her before…who tucked blankets around her, so that she wouldn’t get cold, and who made her soup. 

She never had anybody in her life that had taken care of her like that. 

The shadows had tried, as much as they could…but the weaker she had been, the weaker they had been too…and sometimes all they could was to blanket her in their very presence, their voices twining around her. 

She burrowed further into her blanket cocoon and heard a soft laugh as a scarred hand came to cup her cheek and press against her forehead. 

“Your fever broke, Sweetheart,” Azriel said softly, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “How are you feeling?” he asked her and she blinked open her eyes, to look at him. 

“Tired. Sweaty,” she admitted with a grimace, making him laugh. 

“Your fever broke. You sweat it all out. How about a bath?” Azriel asked her, still cupping her cheek. 

“Isn’t that too much work?” she asked him, grimacing at the thought of boiling water to pour it into a bathtub. She was really not in the mood to do it. 

“You didn’t have running hot water?” Azriel asked her, not sounding surprised and she just shrugged. 

“I needed to fill it with buckets if I wanted a hot bath,” she told him. “and even then, I just managed to knock my wings into everything,” she admitted with a sigh, making him laugh. 

“How about this? No buckets and your wings are going to have all the space they need?” he promised her. “Oh, and the water is going to stay as hot as you want it as long as you want it.”

She stared at him in wonder. 

“Come on,” he promised her, as he scooped her up like she weighed nothing. 

They left the one room she had thought that cabin consisted of, into a hallway with…at least 5 more doors. 

“I haven’t yet come around to actually put anything in any of the other rooms around here,” Azriel said with a sigh. “I did finally get around to mail order a bed, so we can have a proper bedroom soon enough,” he promised her, sounding nearly shy. Cilla had no idea how to tell him, that she was used to one single room being all she knew and that the idea of a kitchen and a bedroom and a living room felt more novel than anything. 

The bathing chamber definitely was a far cry from what she was used to. Marble as far as her eye could see…and a bathtub that could probably also work as a small pool. 

Definitely enough space for her wings.

She watched in amusement as his shadows swarmed through the room, opening the tap to pour steaming hot water into that bathtub, pouring numerous concoctions into said water that turned it bubbly and foamy and sweet smelling, even as Azriel deposited her into it. 

“Will you stay?” she asked him softly, and he rolled up his trouser legs, sitting down on the stairs that lead into said pool. 

Not quite what Cilla had hoped for, but she would take it, as she waded further into it, dunking herself under so that the water could wash off the remnants of the mountain lake. 

“I love it,” she said with a happy sigh, stretching out her wings against the warm water, feeling the warmth soothe her achy muscles. 

“Much better than a mountain lake in the middle of autumn,” Azriel said drily, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. 

“Excuse me, I didn’t want to snap my neck,” Cilla shot back sharply. “I figured jumping off something and staying in the air was easier than lifting off the ground…which I have tried numerous times and failed horribly at.”

“It is,” Azriel agreed. “It was actually quite smart. Though maybe not when we are expecting the first snow in just a few weeks,” he said pointedly. “When you feel better I’ll teach you to fly. Properly,” he promised her. 

She swallowed, turning around. So easy? He was just…He was just going to help her? Just like that? 

“You will?” she asked with a shaky voice and he mustered her, his eyes gentle. 

“I only learned when I was eleven. It gets more difficult the older you are,” he said calmly. “If you were a toddler, it would be instinctual. You aren’t…so you’ll need to get over your own instinctual fear of plummeting to your death.”

Great. Just what she wanted to hear. 

“Though we should probably get your wings checked out before we do that,” Azriel said quietly. “You have scars at the roots. I do not know how that will impact you.” 

She nodded, managing to hold back a shudder when she remembered how it had felt to have these wings bound to her back so tightly that she had been in always present agony. Her grandmother hadn’t wanted to see them…hadn’t wanted a constant reminder of the wings that had killed her daughter. 

Cilla could understand it. But why had she needed to do that when Cilla was locked into the attic either way?

One of the first things her wings had managed once they had become…bodily in a sense, was to loosen these ties until they no longer cut into her skiing and her bones with every single movement and shift she made. 

It had been pure relief. 

Sometimes they had even taken them off completely and let her stretch and shake them out…only replacing them whenever her grandmother deigned to shove a plate with scraps of food through the door. 

She ducked under again, holding her breath, so that her hair was sopping wet, and then started to finger comb it through, grimacing at the knots and gnarls she could feel. 

“Want me to do your hair?” Azriel asked her and she came to sit between his legs, hugging her own to her chest. 

“Don’t cut it all off,” she requested as she felt him start to tease out some of the knots she had in it. 

His hands stilled for a moment. “…why would I do that?” he asked her, sounding incredulous. 

“Because it’s annoying?” Cilla asked in answer, swallowing against a torrent of memories that had involved her hair. She had always known it was unmanageable, with thick coarse curls…she had never been allowed to keep it long when she was young…it had been sheared off repeatedly. But then she had left, and she had just let it grow. And grow. And grow. And grow some more. 

“I am not going to cut it, I promise,” Azriel promised quietly. “Lean back a little,” he requested, pouring something or other over her head…and then started brushing out her hair. 

He was far gentler than Cilla herself had ever been, brushing out the knots and gnarls, until her hair was silky smooth and wet down her back. He gathered it into his hands and knotted it against her scalp, keeping it out of his way. 

“Can you move your wings for me?” he requested and she scooched forwards so that she wasn’t accidentally going to hit him with them as she flared them out and then moved them to the side, showing off as much range of movement as she had. 

“How do they feel?” he asked her. 

“Not any more sore than usual?” she answered with a shrug. “The right one is always stiffer than the left one.”

He reached out and she felt the warmth of his hand hover over her right wing. 

“May I?” he requested. 

“Of course,” she agreed. He was her mate. Of course, he could touch her. 

The touch was whisper soft and she couldn’t help a shiver as he drew his fingertips over her membrane. 

“Illyrians…are…touchy about their wings,” Azriel said, his voice even as he trailed his fingers over her joints, checking for something or other. “If I did this to a female in plain view, we would end tonight in front of a priestess,” he told her. 

She hadn't known that. But then there were seemingly so many things that she didn’t know about the type of faerie that made up half of her. So many things that she had no idea about, about history and customs and anything else. 

“You are my mate. I think if it’s appropriate for anybody to touch them, it would probably be you,” she said quietly. 

He didn’t say anything but finally lifted her hand off her back. She immediately missed his touch. 

“There is a salve you can put on the scar tissue near the roots. It stops it from being itchy,” Azriel said quietly. “You could probably reach it on your own if you wanted to.”

“Can you do it?” she asked, biting her lip. Just his hands on her skin for a moment longer. She just needed…she wasn’t even sure what she needed. The touch of his warm skin on hers? The scent of cedar and mist surrounding her? 

“Of course,” he agreed quietly. One of his shadows fetched a jar, some kind of greenish, sweet-smelling paste that he scooped out of his jar. 

“This is going to feel intense,” he warned her. “It won’t hurt but…tell me, if you need a break.”

She swallowed, but nodded, closing her eyes. 

She had expected pain, even though he had promised her the opposite. What she hadn’t expected was the shot of pure…pure need that shot through her the moment his fingers wrapped around the root of her wings, from where they protruded out of her back. She had…She had not expected that. 

But then one touch against their wings had been enough to put her over that edge before so really, why shouldn’t this…Why shouldn’t this feel like pure heat cradled between her legs, a whimper escaping her, his hand pulling back? “Do you want me to stop?” Azriel asked her, but she managed a shake of her head. 

No. No, she didn’t want him to stop. If he could just continue that, and then…and then cleave her in two just like he had done before, fill her up until she felt stretched and full…that would be…

Another touch against sensitive skin right over bone, over a vein nestled there… a shudder worked its way through her body, her thighs slick with something, nails biting against her fists. 

“Alright?” he checked again and she managed a nod, just as he went to the other wing. 

If anything, the heat only got worse, though he was quick about it. 

“All done,” he said a moment later and she took a deep breath, turning so that she could pull him into a kiss. 

He pulled back after just a moment, his thumb smoothing over her cheek. 

“Let me braid your hair, and we are done,” he told her calmly. 

She didn’t want him to braid her hair. She wanted him to fuck her. 

Still, Cilla turned around, letting him loosen the knot in her hair and divide it into equal pieces, starting at the crown of her head and braiding downwards. 

Her arousal dissipated at his gentle touch, feeling like a kitten that was being petted more than anything, as he gently drew his fingers down her hair. 

“Did you ever wonder who your father is?” he asked her, his voice quiet and she froze. 

“What?” From where in the world was this coming from?

“Did you ever wonder who your father is?” Azriel repeated his voice light. Nearly…too light, for this discussion. 

“No,” she answered honestly. 

“You never wanted to know?” he asked her. “He could still be alive.” he pointed out, his voice reasonable. “He would be the only blood family you still had.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cilla said with a sigh. “Where would I be even supposed to start?” she asked him. She didn’t have a name. She had nothing. She knew that he must have been Illyrian…but that was it. How was she supposed to find a male with that kind of information? 

“It’s not that…the pool of possibilities isn’t that big,” Azriel said quietly. “Velaris was sealed for 50 years. There aren’t that many Illyrian males that were here in that time.”

“I would still need to figure out their names and where they live now,” Cilla pointed out with a shrug. 

“Do you want to know?” Azriel pushed her. “If you want to know…”

Did she want to know him? No. Not…not like that. 

She just wanted to know… 

“I want to know if he knew,” Cilla said quietly 

“Knew?” Azriel asked her, hands hesitating in her hair. 

“I want to know if he knew that he was signing my mother’s death warrant when he slept with her. I want to know if he knew and did it regardless. I want to know if he knew that I existed . I want to know if he knew and never got me out of that attic,” she spat out. “That’s what I want to know. I don’t need to know who he is. I just want to know that.” 

“I’ll get you answers,” Azriel promised her. “If that’s what you want…I’ll get you these answers. 

“How?” she asked him, turning towards him, just as he tied off her braid. How could he possibly…possible find that out? 

“Have some trust in my abilities, Sweetheart,” Azriel said with a small smile. “Now, let’s get you dry.”

She was wrapped into a massive fluffy towel and then her shadows started dancing around her, pulling a nightgown over her head. 

White cotton. Pearl buttons down the front. She never in her life had worn anything that was as…fine as this. 

Where did you get this from? She demanded. Please tell me you didn’t steal it.

We bought it! They told her brightly. 

With what money?

His shadows taught us how to play the lottery!

“Are you alright?” Azriel asked as she still stood frozen in place in the middle of the bathing chamber.  

“Your shadows taught mine how to play the lottery,” she said weakly. “Apparently they made enough money to buy a nightgown.”

Azriel chuckled. “I told them too,” he explained to her. “Seemed like they have been successful.”

“Why?” she asked as he draped an arm around her and gently led her back into the kitchen, draping a blanket around her and she sat down on the kitchen table, watching as the shadows put a bowl of porridge in front of her, drizzled with honey.  

“Because I don’t want you to feel like you need to stay with me for money,” Azriel answered honestly, as he sat across from her, offering her his hand over the table. She took it. “You’ll have your own line of credit. If you want to disappear, you can,” he said that so easily. 

Like giving her that freedom…like that was nothing. 

Even when it was everything.  

“I…I don’t want you to disappear.” 

“You don’t need to. You never need to. But you can. If you want to, you can.”

[theoxenfree]

OF FLESH SIN

vampire priest x reader | 2.6k | 18+

you're the child of a monastery groundskeeper and come to find out that one of the senior clergy, father marius, was brutally maimed in his chambers overnight. you're approached by the monastery's new recruit: father shaw; who claims he had witnessed the scene of the crime and invites you to his chambers to tell the tale.

warnings; dark content bc of descriptions of gore and violence towards the end, obsessive behaviors, theological themes, probs inaccurate representation of monastery life lmao, outdated + deragatory mention of psychiatric care to fit the narrative, very brief mention of animal death, classism (mc getting shit on for being poor and coming from an "uneducated" family), kinda honestly cheesy if you think about it, roughly proofread, vampires are monsters y'all—that's the only way I write them

shouldn't have to say it, but: none of this is indicative of my personal viewpoints. it's just fiction, folks.

second prompt fulfilled for my lil' october writing project! this won the second poll! please reblog + leave feedback to be kind and help a sister out 🥹💕

Father Marius died in quite some awful way last night, as reported to you by the nuns hanging fresh washed garments on the clothesline in the waning, purpling daylight.

“A look of horror! Utter terror! So frightened that his jaw had become dislocated in forever a scream,” shivered one young nun, Lucy; recently a convert from the slums. “I, well, I didn't see it myself. Neither did the rest of us, actually. They say it was that new Father Shaw who found him at dawn.”

You had been raking gravel out of the yard, tiny stones kicked off of the path into the kempt lawn by prancing horses and wagon wheels, when Lucy and the other nun, Esme, had caught your attention with their hard, dense gossip. They regarded your approach with less caution than they would have had with their other sisters, as gossip was deemed inappropriate, a violation, a flickering serpent’s tongue carrying covert temptations leading to luscious sins and debauchery.

They saw you—poor, morose, the groundskeeper's only child and reminder of loveless trysts—and thought nothing of snaking you into their prattle. You were not the sort to divulge anyone's secrets without gain, without reward, and you knew that the nuns kept nothing to their names once they took their vows and donned their habits.

“Father Shaw,” you continued the discussion with some intrigue, mostly from the fact that he was very new, very young, and modestly handsome, “why was he awake so early? Why was he in Father Marius’ chambers? Curious to me.”

Neither of them gave much caution to your questions, shrugging as if to dismiss your ambivalence and accusatory tone. You were bold in the way that the faithless and lost always tended to be: asking senseless things, always concerned with the wrongdoings of others, always suspicious, always inquiring—forever inquiring.

“Oh, my, you're so defensive,” Esme fanned a yellow bedspread out with an oncoming breeze, catching the wind beneath the fabric so it billowed and rippled midair. “If that’s how you're going to be, then: why does your father stumble around the yard at night with a lantern, swinging around a pistol like a madman? Won't he hurt someone?”

Because he's a godless, superstitious drunk. Perhaps, even, a bit disturbed in his mind, but you couldn't bear to think that way, that he might be the type to need his head locked in a metal cage, gagged, arms bound, and padlocked in some damp, distant corner of an asylum.

“He's a good man,” you relented, taking your hands from the top of the smoothed out, worn handle of the rake and resumed your task. The gravel made an awful, grinding sound as the teeth of the rake collected pieces of stone and led it back to the rest. “He's served this monastery well. I don't mean offense about Father Shaw, I'm simply curious about what transpired is all.”

“No offense taken,” came a voice from behind, startling both the twittering nuns and yourself at the same time. They saw it to be Father Shaw standing there, hands cuffed behind his back with a particularly demure disposition, hiked their skirts and whisked themselves away back inside. “Ah, am I really such a frightful figure? I couldn't really find an opening during your conversation to invite myself in. I apologize.”

You were of a similar fretful nature, quickening your clawing and the reach of the rake. “Nay, Father. I think it's simply because you're a strange man to them still. A handsome face, a warm voice, mysterious; give them time, they'll come around.”

“Have you?” Father Shaw asked, taking measured strides in a half-circle around to your front. He concentrated on where the teeth of your instrument struck next, tips temporarily wedged into the soft dirt before being ripped up with chunks of earth and gray gravel. “It wouldn't do for me if you… were still ill at ease with me as well. I consider you my one, true friend in this place.”

Your father held a certain destestation towards Father Shaw that you'd never witnessed before, saying nothing else than that something was terribly wrong with him and not to place yourself in a position to be alone with him. This you attributed to his unsoundness, but it was always the sudden flicker a sharp breath against candlelight—a jarring shift in his demeanor when he spoke about the Father, neurotic and prone to throwing things about the cottage interior, that caused you to pay some mind to what he told you.

“And, you're a great friend of mine as well,” you hoped you sounded coherent and paced your words evenly enough. “I'm sorry if you thought I was accusing you of something, sir. I really meant nothing to it.”

Father Shaw’s lips sprawled tight and pale into a fond smile, never showing his teeth, though the imprint of them seemed massive and the skin of his lips startlingly thin across them. “I know. You have nothing to fear. My feelings were not affected. If you'd like, come to my chambers later, we may pray together first, and I'll tell you everything you wish to know about what I saw to sate your curiosity.”

“That seems improper, sir.” You said.

“How so?”

“Inviting someone to your chambers at night seems an unbecoming venture for a pious man of status, such as yourself,” you continued, now standing upright beside your rake, “if any of the sisters were to witness it, worse another priest, aren't you afraid you'd be horribly chastised? Even worse, excommunicated altogether?”

Although Father Shaw’s dark eyes reflected no light, holding such demanding depth to them that it was hard to keep your bearings whenever you realized you'd been staring, his entire face was alight in amusement.

“Wherever did you learn to speak like that?” he asked candidly, still glowing despite his pallor. “Forgive me when I say, but your father is not an educated man. I mean no offense, please don't look at me in such a way. You are so well spoken, I only wish to know more about you.”

“I've lived here my entire life,” you told him. “The nuns taught me how to read.”

He looked impressed. “You can read?”

“I can!” From a near distance, you could make out your father’s haddard form, bent sideways on a walking cane and limping towards the pair of you. You looked up at the priest’s smooth face. “It'd be best for you to leave before my father can speak to you. He isn't the kindest soul after a long day.

Father Shaw didn't react with any semblance of worry, but agreed that there were other things needing to be done and began away. Just as he passed you on his way towards the monastery, he let his hand rest atop of your shoulder and leaned you towards him to whisper in your ear: “come to me tonight. I'll be waiting for you.”

There was something so luxurious and cooling about his voice; fine silks sitting in the shade during autumn gliding across your bare skin, wrapping your neck, your chest, your nether parts. His voice was a fine, chilly mist after the first rains in spring which felt refreshing and new after a glacial winter, yet still had capacity to soak you to the bone. It was a nighttime breeze caressing your cheek, sweeping through the hairs of your scalp, making your skin burst all over with bumps.

“I don't like the way he looks at you,” said your father with a mouthful of porridge you'd seasoned with herbs of the season. It was wonderfully fragrant and warm during nights that were still a bit too uncomfortable to sip anything cold. “He looks at you like you're a slab of meat! Some prize after a hunt. I don't like him, love. Not one bit. You'd do well to stay to mind yourself and do your chores and nothing else, y’hear?”

After dinner, you cleaned up, swept the floors with hard bristles, and snuffed all the lights except for the fireplace where your father sat in his old chair, fiddling with his favorite pistol.

“It's time for bed, old man.” You watched him fit a couple of small bullets into the loading chamber. They glinted against the orange flames. “Goodness. What have you gotten this time? Something new?”

“Aye!” he grinned, nearly toothless and in a sickly sort of way. “Went to market the other day while the nuns bullied you and picked out some fine bullets from the silversmith,” he cracked the two halves of the pistol shut. “Better to be prepared.”

You waited until sometime later once he was finally asleep, possibly after midnight, before leaving the humble cottage sitting on the fringes of the massive monastery yard and rushing across the grounds to get inside.

Once, they'd kept a guard dog on the property, one of those meaner breeds that were used for gambling, but the poor thing wound up shot dead in the middle of the night by a traveling friar who'd come to seek refuge at the monastery. The sisters, and yourself, were horribly distraught by the entire ordeal and all vetoed the consideration of bringing another dog here.

Since then, it was no task for you (or anyone else) to get inside the building and shuffle along the shadows through the corridors. At night, the place stirred with patient insects, feral rodents large and small in the pantry, and hungry owls tamely whining from the rafters when something startled them away from their hunt of vermin.

Your feet were a light sound on the masonry below, padded by thin leather soles which alerted you to your enthusiasm as the thwap thwap thwap became louder, aggressive as you closed in on a wall and turned down another hallway for a sturdy wood door at the end of it.

As your knuckles rapped, hoping the sound wouldn't disturb the animals’ nighttime caroling, a swift darkness moved across the floor from behind the door, briefly blocking out the soft light seeping out from underneath.

The next moment, you were being pulled inside and sat at a small table tucked to the side of Father Shaw’s rather generous room. It was a simple space, sparsely furnished for the barest of comforts—only for what was needed to live—but what had been made for him was of exquisite craftsmanship, some made of teakwood, which Shaw assured you was remarkably durable and highly resistant to rotting.

“It's wonderful for boats,” he said, pouring a light amber colored brew from a metal kettle he'd heated a short while ago. “It’s good for all elements, really. Exceptional longevity. I've heard it has become a popular option in the city for burying the deceased.”

“Will Father Marius be buried in a teakwood coffin, then?” you asked, sipping politely from the cup even though you had no appetite for it. You already felt ill at ease enough having disobeyed your father by sneaking into a priest's personal chambers at night. The things the sisters would say about you—

“He will be entombed underneath the monastery with the rest who have served here and passed. I believe that is all stone down there, my dear.” Father Shaw smiled tepidly, kettle aside, no tea of his own. “But, I know that your curiosity led you here to me with questions, yes? About the state I found Father Marius in, yes?”

You tried to disguise your intrigue by drinking more of the tea, of whatever it was he had given you, and listened to the sounds of your fingertips sticking to the porcelain from sweat and steam.

“If you wouldn't mind sharing…”

“I wouldn't!” he leaned on his arms on the table, closer towards you as though with a secret. “As I've said, you are truly the only soul here who I can confide in. You are not a sheep. And you do not fear sin as the rest do. So, you can ask me anything and I'll tell you everything.”

“Tell me about Father Marius, then.”

Father Shaw reached across the table for one of your hands; his far larger, fingers much longer and colder than your own and held it as he recounted the event.

“Dreadful sight, it was. It was, oh, perhaps sometime after three o'clock when I heard a massive racket. A struggle. When I knocked, all of the noise subsided at once and there was complete stillness. Silence, my dear, silence so deep, dark, and damning that I knew something awful had happened.

“I didn't knock again, I was too afraid to! But, Father Marius was getting on in age, so I couldn't just stand by, either. I kicked the door in—just once was all it took—and I rushed inside to see the room was a complete mess. A fight had clearly taken place, and the walls—oh, the walls—”

His remorse was carefully placed, stiff, and uncertain and he couldn't be seen in the vastness of his black gaze. You were moved by the vulnerability he was trying to show you, going as far to abandon your drink to place your warm hand on top of his.

“The walls, my dear, were a mess of blood. Something vicious and awful had happened in that room. But, then, I found Father Marius lying there on the ground next to a broken window. I think he'd tried to throw himself through it. His face was shredded to pieces, his eyes gouged. When I got closer, I noticed that his tongue had been severed from his head!”

You were holding Father Shaw’s hands in a bloodless grip, face ashen, teeth chattering behind your lips. “What on earth! That is not only horror, but cruelty!”

“Oh, my love, it gets worse!” Father Shaw held you mesmerized in his gaze, the conviction and anguish with which he told his story. “Closer still, Father Marius’ face was locked in one of pure terror, I've—I’ve never seen a human react in quite a way such as that before, to fear. The man unhinged his own jaw in a hideous scream, and it seemed to me he was skeletal. By that, it's like he was, well, quite dry.

“So, I crouched down so much lower and inspected him all over. Do you want to know what I found?”

“Yes.” You spoke breathlessly.

Father Shaw had moved out of his seat and was on one knee in front of you, both of his frigid hands on your face to smooth across your cheeks, pushing away pieces of hair obscuring some part of you he'd wanted to see.

“My love, I saw marks in his neck. Two, beautifully, wonderfully symmetrical marks that were far too clean to be of any animal that we know of. The bite was clean, it was patient and cunning. And the fangs that had sunk into his tender flesh had drained him of blood, of the very essence that kept his heart beating until the very last.”

“Sir—” your stomach plummeted, falling forever, when he smiled, teeth longer than any humans should be shown through to you. He wouldn't let you go when you went to move out of his hands, away from him. “Father Shaw, please—”

“I wish you could have seen it, my love. It was a breathtaking sight and I long for someone else to admire the beauty of my work alongside me.”

It was unthinkable that a vampire could walk on these holy grounds and in the bright of day, yet Father Shaw had for countless days. Evil held you sweetly by the cheek and in your hair, kissed you with a corpse’s cold lips, and laved the skin of your skin with a long, serpentine tongue.

“O’, my merciful lord…”

Father Shaw bent your head back with a fistful of hair and spoke from your throat:

“There is no God, only me. Come into the endless night with me, my love.”

[thepixelelf]

ah! love

genres: married life au, family au, fluff, [best friends to lovers?] relationship: husbands 95 line x reader (feat. baby doremi line) words: 2.0k warnings and notes: coarse language. suggestive. the most self indulgent thing I've ever written; tropey, cringey, lovey dovey, I literally fought this fic while writing it and lost, no one look at me. I wanna write more of this au but will I? only god knows

ah! love masterlist

Seungcheol conducts a very serious interrogation.

"Okay," Seungcheol says with a tinge of authority once you've all sat down in the living room.

The boys are asleep in bed — finally, (you had to read Goodnight Moon twice just for Chan to let go of your hand, and had to give Seungkwan six forehead kisses goodnight, which of course you had to give Vernon and Chan too) — and Jeonghan has already tugged you to his side of the couch, playing with your fingers while he pretends to listen to Seungcheol's Dad Mode engaging. Joshua scoots along the cushions to press himself against your other side, and he crosses his arms as if none of you know he did that on purpose for your attention.

Seungcheol, on an armchair across from you, furrows his brow ever so slightly and holds all of you down with a firm stare.

"Who did it?"

You tilt your head. "Did what?"

Joshua steals your other hand.

"Who's swearing in front of the boys?" Seungcheol finally reveals, sending a pointed look at the husband on your left. "Jeonghan?"

"Me?" An exaggerated gasp leaves Jeonghan's lips as he puts a hand over his chest, then silently takes the opportunity to pull you onto his lap (and subsequently further from Joshua). He wraps his arms around your middle and rests his chin on your shoulder to send a pout towards Seungcheol. "I don't swear around the babies."

You reach out to take back Joshua's sad, lonely, abandoned, totally casual and not bothered at all hand, and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

"You know how hard Jeonghan works to use his good words when he's with the kids, Cheol," you defend. "He used to swear like a sailor, remember?"

"Oh, I remember." Seungcheol nods, then directs his gaze towards the husband on your right. "Anything to say?"

Joshua frowns, thinking. "Why do you think one of us is swearing around the boys?"

"Vernon's block tower toppled this morning, and you know what he said?"

You smile. "I can make an educated guess."

"He said, 'Oh fuck,' like it was nothing!" Seungcheol bursts out. "He was like, 'Oh fuck. Shit,' and I was literally just standing there like— like—!"

Unable to help yourself, you giggle at the image of your middle child swearing in that monotone, relaxed, and yet remarkably toddler-esque voice of his.

Jeonghan lifts his chin off your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek. "Sounds like something you would say."

"Who, me?!" you ask through more giggles. "I don't swear."

Joshua scoffs. He brings your hand up to his lips and speaks upon your skin. "You absolutely do. Back then I thought curses made up half of your vocabulary."

Your mouth drops open. "Wait, actually?"

"Being a parent has made you soft," Jeonghan adds, squeezing a hand at your side to make you squirm. "You seriously don't remember your prolific ways?"

"...Was it bad?"

Humming against your neck, Jeonghan presses one, two, three more kisses there. "I thought it was cute."

Joshua resituates himself so he's facing you and grazes his fingers up and down your arm. "So did I."

"Yah," Seungcheol says. Forgotten. Ignored. Annoyed. He leans back in the armchair, and his leg bounces in irritation. "I'm trying to have an adult conversation over here."

Jeonghan chuckles in your ear. Then kisses right behind it. "Okay," he tells Seungcheol, lifting one hand to lazily wave him off. "You stay over there then."

A hand touches your chin and tilts your head. "Look at me," Joshua whispers.

Seungcheol huffs, crossing his arms and sinking further into the chair. "I thought it was cute too..."

⭒-⭒-⭒

"Fucking... motherfucker cunt-faced shit-eating bitch of a... fuck!"

After hearing your ex's automated "I can't get to the phone right now" voicemail message for the fifth time in a row, you angrily threw your phone down. (Onto your soft bed, of course. You weren't made of money.)

"God damn it," you muttered, utterly frustrated.

The boys, sitting on your bed while you paced around your room, all shared a look with each other before facing you.

"Why are you trying to call this douche again?" Seungcheol asked, his stance on the asshole you were semi-dating clear.

"Yeah, didn't he cheat on you?" Joshua added.

Jeonghan nodded with a frown. "Shouldn't he be the one calling you? Begging for forgiveness like the loser he is?"

Rubbing your hands over your face, you let out a long, tired sigh. "I honestly don't care about an apology or begging for forgiveness or whatever from him. It was probably going to end sooner or later anyway."

The boys looked at each other again. They knew they didn't like the guy you were seeing, but since they also knew why they didn't like him, they never said anything. The fact that you seemed to think it was going to end even before the dickhead cheated? That, they didn't know.

Even though there was barely enough room, you flopped onto your bed face first, then shifted so you were on your back with a groan. "I just wanna call him, tell him I'm coming over, grab my things, and cut him out of my life for good."

"Is your stuff even worth it at this point?" Seungcheol poked a finger into your forehead, making you scrunch your face and swat his hand away. "I mean, it's just like, clothes and a toothbrush, right?"

Suddenly, you seemed much more shy than angry. You pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands and picked at a loose thread. "I like my stuff..."

"Nuh uh." Jeonghan leaned over you, his head upside down with your ceiling as a background. "You don't get worked up like this over clothes and a toothbrush. What'd you leave there?"

You shrank into yourself. "Nothing..."

"Suspicious..." Jeonghan said, then looked at Joshua.

Who went, "Very suspicious..."

"Seungcheol," Jeonghan ordered.

Before you knew it, your unfairly built-like-a-brick-shithouse friend had both your arms pinned to the bed, and Joshua had thrown his entire body over your legs like a six year old attempting to wrestle.

Jeonghan, with his free reign, yanked your sweater sleeve up your arm to reveal your empty wrist. "Aha! I knew you weren't wearing your bracelet!"

Joshua gasped, affronted, looking absolutely ridiculous draped over your legs. "You left your friendship bracelet at his dingy ass apartment???"

Ashamed and a little bit fight or flight, you struggled against your friends. "Okay, first of all! You wouldn't know if his apartment is dingy!" (It was.) "And second of all: I didn't leave it there! I just so happened to take it off the night before I figured out he was a cheating piece of shit, so excuse me for being out of sorts when I stormed off in my PJs with tears in my eyes!"

Your words set off an awkward silence, and you groaned, shutting your eyes so you didn't have to see the pitying looks on your friends' faces.

But they knew you, and they knew apologizing for someone they weren't wouldn't make you feel better.

Instead, Seungcheol asked, "Why'd you take the bracelet off?"

You peeked an eye open, frowning in retaliation — they were still holding you down. "I'll give you one guess."

Seungcheol immediately let go of your arms and put his hands in the air like he was at gunpoint. Jeonghan just chuckled, shaking his head.

Joshua, dramatic as fuck, rolled over so his back was practically crushing your stomach. "Ewwwwwwwww," he whined. "I do not want to hear about how this guy fucks."

Your hands freed, you shoved him off, but he just went boneless and slipped to your side. "When did you get it in your head that I'd tell you how he fucks?" You crossed your arms and sat up. "It just... felt weird wearing our friendship bracelet while I... you know."

Joshua grimaced. "I'll make you a new one."

"No!" you protested, causing them to all give you a look you didn't bother to interpret. "It won't be the same. You made the original four at the same time. Together." Unable to meet their eyes, you looked down. "It's important to me..."

Another silence greeted you, and you scrambled to switch up the mood.

"If only that fucker would answer his bitchass phone."

Jeonghan and Joshua blinked at you, but Seungcheol just chuckled. You looked up at him as he stood from the bed, walking over to where he'd draped his jacket over your chair.

"Where are you going?" you asked.

"We're going to his dingy ass apartment," Seungcheol explained casually, tossing you your coat as well. "He's the one choosing to not answer his phone. He shouldn't be surprised when we show up."

The other two stood up, and Joshua dragged you by the hand to join them.

Seungcheol twirled his car keys around his pointer finger. "Let's go get that bracelet back."

You beamed.

"Fuck yeah!"

⭒-⭒-⭒

Seungcheol, after only so many seconds of enduring seeing you like that on Jeonghan's lap and with Joshua's stupid lips on yours, of course, relents. "Don't leave me out," he mutters through the poutiest pout he can manage. He gets up, strides two steps across the living room, and looms above you, though you don't see him with your eyes that have drifted shut.

The remedy for that, of course, is to grab your chin and kiss you like it's the first time all over again.

You giggle into the kiss, and he smiles too, both of his hands floating up to cup your cheeks.

Thud.

Your lips pause, and your brows furrow at the sound. Seungcheol hardly notices, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, but—

Thud thud thudthudthudthud.

You open your eyes to see Vernon lying supine, starfished at the bottom of the stairs he just tumbled down as he silently regards the ceiling, and you push Seungcheol off like he doesn't weigh anything.

"Oh my god, Vernon!"

Jeonghan's groin becomes the next victim of your haste, him groaning in pain when you launch yourself off the couch to run over to Vernon. You fall to your knees beside him, looking at his face with wide eyes.

He simply blinks up at you, face void of emotion.

Until you ask, frantically, "Are you okay?"

Vernon blinks again, and he suddenly realizes, oh, this is when a normal human five year old would cry. So his face scrunches up, and tears well in his eyes, and he looks at you with the most hold me right now or the world is gonna end expression on his face that you can do nothing but sweep him up into your arms and hug him to your chest.

"It's okay baby, it's okay."

Jeonghan's voice makes you look up. "What are you guys doing out of bed?"

At the top of the stairs, Seungkwan has one hand tightly gripped on the handrail — he's seen the consequences of not holding it now — and the other around Chan's tiny fist, which is really not that much smaller than his. Your youngest shifts on his feet, mumbling, "G'night kiss..."

Seungkwan, ever the all-knowing older brother, clarifies for him. "We didn't give the moon a good night kiss."

Your mouth drops open, and you can't stop the slight laugh that comes out. Vernon sniffles and buries his face in your shoulder, his hands scrunching up the material of your shirt.

"No good night kiss to the moon?" Joshua repeats. He begins up the stairs and scoops up a sleepy Chan into his arms, resting him on his hip. "That won't do, will it?"

Seungcheol's already hoisted Seungkwan up when he says, "Let's go kiss the moon goodnight and then go back to bed, alright?'

Seungkwan leans his head on Seungcheol's shoulder and nods slowly.

While you bring up Vernon (who you're pretty sure is already asleep in your arms and drooling on your clothes), Jeonghan keeps his hand on your back, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing back and forth.

The boys have their own rooms, but for now, they all prefer sleeping together in Seungkwan's. The room in which Seungcheol, as soon as he walks in without turning on the lights because it's late, knocks over an intricately built Lego city.

"Oh, fuck," he lets slip as he struggles to stay upright, then gasps when he realizes what he said and goes, "Shit."

Jeonghan snorts. Joshua muffles a laugh in Chan's hair.

You smile at Seungcheol with all the love in the world.

"Guess that answers that."

[sebastianswallows]

girldad!Feyd Headcanons

— WARNINGS: angst, but also fluff — A/N: In the canon, Feyd’s daughter with Margot was named Marie Fenring, and she dies a tragic death at quite a young age. This is going to be a completely self-indulgent fix-it. Enjoy ✨

Sure, he’s the most violent and unhinged madman this side of Gamma Waiping, but even Feyd knows there’s a time and place for everything.

The time being when the Atreides are defeated and the Emperor rewards him and he’s free to go after the Fenrings with his Harkonnen troops.

First, they find Count Hasimir, a frail little man with rodent-like features and thin greying hair. The Emperor’s oldest friend, and the best assassin in the known universe. Feyd knows better than to take him on in single combat, so he has his men deal with him while he goes after Margot.

He finds her in the furthest room of their castle past a cadre of guards that he makes short work of. She’s holding a little girl’s hand… Small and pale with thick dark ringlets, she looks just like he did as a child. He can tell even past the thick visor of the helm he wears — something made to not only protect but also block out sound. Margot knows it’s him just by his gait. She speaks, but it doesn’t matter. Her voice has no effect this time.

He sees the flash of a laser on the wall as his men join him and block the only exit. Feyd walks over to Margot, uncoils the little girl’s hand from hers, and takes her away. Lady Fenring will be brought to Kaitain to answer for her crimes against the once-young na-Baron. The Bene Gesserits, humbled after their near defeat on Arrakis, will not defend her actions — she has already served her purpose anyway.

The little girl looks up at him as they walk away with an unsettling and knowing light in her dark eyes. Feyd gazes down at her and, although she could not see his face, it was as if they’d always known each other.

But he also notices her little legs can hardly keep up with his stride. Oh, that’s right, children are smaller… He stops, kneels, and lifts her up into his arms as he carries her back to the ship.

He was actually nervous about taking off his helmet in front of her. What would she think of seeing a Harkonnen for the first time? They were so different from the soft and sunkissed people of the planet she was raised on…

But she had an eery calm to her even at the age of seven standard years. She regards him no differently than before and also does not acknowledge any need for reverence, even when he tells her who he is.

“Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.” “Hello.” “And what’s your name?” “Marie.”

He found himself genuinely shy when he informed her he was her father, and was all the more surprised to find an impish smile grow on her face. “I know.” Margot must have told her after all…

She doesn’t cry, she doesn’t seem afraid, but Feyd comforts her the whole way to their home planet. He pets her dark crown of curls as she sits beside him on the ship, supports her back when she drinks, and makes out of galactic maps the most unusual of toys to distract her with on the long journey back. None of it comes naturally to him and for the first time he has to think before he acts. It leaves his nerves rattled, but every time she looks up into his eyes and smiles so innocently he gains his calm again.

Giedi Prime was not the first place he had in mind for raising a child, but the other planets he could lay claim to — Lankiveil and Arrakis — were not great choices either. Now that he was Baron, this was where he had to be — at least until the Emperor decided who should govern Arrakis following the trouble with the Fremen. The Corrinos left a cadre of Mentats in charge to oversee the change for now.

She hates the planet at first, scrunching up her little face at the stark white light during the day, at the poisonous smoke, at the vast black wastes filled with petrol. Feyd engages an ecologist the first week Marie is there and plans a series of greenhouses for her with the best water filtration systems spice can buy.

“Why can’t the whole planet be like this?” she asks when he first shows it to her. They walk through young trees, Feyd dodging thin branches of raw red and green while his daughter skips ahead like a lamb. “Because it just can’t,” he mutters. “But why?” “Because it would cost too much.” “How much?” “I don’t know.” “Why not?”

A secret communication arrives to the Emperor inquiring whether he has room in his court for a new assassin now that Hasimir Fenring is gone.

His days are split between official duties, training in the arena, and playing with Marie. He discovers a part of himself again when he is with her — that innocent part that had been lost or buried when he first got to Giedi Prime. There is a satisfaction in making it for her a less brutal arrival, even a pleasant one.

He finds her laughing as she runs through the long halls, tugging on the lances of the guards — who look horrified at the sight of a playful child for the first time, but stay obediently still — and throwing rocks into the oil pools outside the palace to gawk at the pretty rainbow colours.

She loves the vaporous transparent gowns the servants wear, and the servants love her too. They dote on her, fearfully at first but more boldly when they notice Feyd’s approval. The retention rate goes up starkly at the palace, as does the average longevity.

Everyone is puzzled about what to do with her hair, but Marie teaches Feyd to braid it the way her mother did. She’s not shy about berating him either whenever he gets it wrong.

And most nights he falls asleep with her in one arm and a holographic storyreel in the other. He wants to be the sort of parent he only briefly had, the kind he vaguely remembers from his years on Lankiveil.

He dreams of his mother now more than he ever did, and wakes up feeling sorry for how much he falls short. He has no idea how to care for a child, no idea of how to raise her, but he knows he wants to try. Wants to succeed, for her. Marie might not have been an intended child, the way he was, but she was his own flesh and blood and he’d be damned before he made her feel unwanted.

His harpies love her, of course. But he fears they do a bit too much and dismisses them not one month after Marie arrives on the planet. While he’s never indulged, he can only imagine with a frightful shiver how sweet and tender a child’s flesh is.

To the consternation of his people, he flies in tutors from other planets for her. Philosophers from Ecaz, musicians from Chusuk, biologists from Lernaeus, and even a historian from Kaitain itself. She has a Mentat but no Bene Gesserit to serve in her education. His uncle had been wrong about a lot of things, but the scheming of witches was not one of them.

Her bedroom — more white and pale blue than the standard inky black, and decorated with pink ribbons — has a court of dollies on one side and toy swords on the other. Feyd’s love of weaponry does not escape her and, in her childish innocence, she’s fascinated by it all. He takes delight in this, of course, but worries too. Imagining his little child with blood on her hands scares him, and it makes him wonder what sort of person his uncle was to encourage it in him.

In loving her, Feyd’s never felt more unloved himself. Sure, he had his mother and father at one point, but all of that was taken from him when he was Marie’s age. Since then, nobody had cared about him, nobody had even wanted him unless it was to fulfil a purpose. Not his uncle, not his brother, not even Margot…

He comforted himself now that he’d spared Marie of such a fate. His little girl would not become a glorified breeding horse for the Bene Gesserits nor a pawn in the Emperor’s games. He would fill her life with all the things he never had.

Marie grows as the gardens grow, and Feyd begins to speak with the professor from Lernaeus and a retired planetologist from Acline about plans for terraforming Giedi Prime, and one day putting Marie in charge. Her lessons become more structured.

A fact to which she protests, but not for long. She is clever for her age, and understanding, and nobody can explain to her better than Feyd that, although learning can seem useless and boring compared to play, she needs to prepare for the years to come.

“You like the gardens, don’t you?” “Yes…” “And you like eating fruit, right?” “Yes, and smelling flowers.” “What if you could do that all the time, then? Not just in the greenhouses?”

She comes to like the skies of Giedi Prime as well, and the way fireworks look like ink blots. Her every birthday is marked with an array of black and white that make the sky a work of art.

Marie never asks to be the sort of Baroness that always lays around, because Feyd doesn’t do that either. As she grows older he starts to spend more time with her during the day, letting her sit in on meetings, and they debate for hours afterwards on what course the Barony should take. He finds she is more brave than he is, but more reckless too.

“No, little melon, we can’t just declare war on them.” “But why? You know they’re spying on us…” “Yes, but we have no proof.” “Of course we have proof. How would you know otherwise?” “Proof needs to be physical or recorded.” “Let’s record them spying, then.” “Well now they know that we know, so they will have a different approach.” “I still think war would end the problem faster. Or challenge them to a duel!” “I’m getting too old for this…”

They see more of the planet together too, venturing to the caves and crevices that run beneath the surface, taking samples of the native life bubbling in hot springs and collecting crystalline samples.

He takes her to Lankiveil for her fifteenth birthday and they sail together through its icy floes. She loves the sign of whales off in the distance and sounding the ship’s horn, although the local food leaves much to be desired.

“It smells weird.” “It’s fish.” “They stink…” “You want a salad instead?” “Yes, please…”

By the time she turns eighteen, the Emperor has decided to put Arrakis back into Harkonnen hands, and Feyd is terrified. As bad as Giedi Prime is, he wants to see her on Dune even less. Marie can tell this, observant as she is. She’s grown more quiet when she’s thinking and less rash with her decisions, but loud when she wants to be, and daring.

Feyd doesn’t know what to expect of Arrakis anymore and has mixed feelings about it, but he knows one thing for certain: anyone who’s a threat to his daughter there, dies.

“I’ll miss Giedi Prime,” she says as they’re approaching orbit. “It’s finally getting green in places, and rainclouds have begun to form…” “You can go back any time, you know,” says Feyd immediately. “I won’t keep you on this piece of hell…” “I’ll stay,” says Marie. She has the same strange determination she had in her eyes the day they met. “I heard it has old terraforming stations… I’ll want to visit them one day.”

It isn’t easy ruling a desert planet, even one that’s been subdued, but the new spice flow makes it worth it. Feyd keeps Marie close, teaches her everything, watches her grow, and soon she’s sent in delegations reporting to the Landsraad. She represents House Harkonnen better than her great uncle did — and, to Feyd’s pride, better than he ever could.

[songsofadelaide]

All of your colleagues in the office knew of Satoru's long-standing crush on you. Who would have known that behind his sharp wit and debonair aura, he was actually an absolute sap of a man?

They didn't know he looked up to you so much because you bailed him out of an error-riddled document he made when he was just starting the job. It was only normal for you to do so since he was your junior, and you didn't want to get chewed out by your Department Chief.

But after that night of overtime, you were his saviour, and the last thing he wanted to do was saddle you with any more grunt work, so he worked doubly hard to submit perfect reports to you.

Even you had to admit that Satoru was a good-looking kid. He was always dressed impeccably well and smelled amazing, too. He's two years your junior but an incredibly quick learner— so much so that the Department Chief started taking notice of him, too. You wouldn't be surprised if he got promoted to team leader soon.

And though you've seen how dependable he is when it comes to work, he still can't help but act a little spoiled and babyish around you. He'd ask you to fix his tie for him, or maybe straighten out his collar. It's always your opinion he seeks out first whenever there are team discussions, as though he was showing off and asking you to back up his ideas. He had a good head on his shoulders, but he tends to forget whenever you're around.

Satoru's crush on you has been a long-time open secret at the office. You've been asked how you felt about the whole thing and you didn't really have much of a thought about it. Though it made you wonder... If he liked you that much, why hasn't he ever made a move on you for real? Then again, how would you react if that were to happen?

And that made you think. A lot.

And drink.

A lot.

After closing yet another deal at work, your Department Chief called for a night of celebration— their treat, too, and somehow your glass of beer became a bottomless well that was only pulled away from you by none other than Satoru, who saw you had way too much to drink that night because—

You didn't want to think.

But, oh, how could you not? Your adorable junior held you to his chest as he gently wrestled the half-empty beer glass out of your hands— wait, adorable? Satoru was six feet of coolness, for the lack of a better word. Surely you aren't talking about that Satoru—

"Senpai, you're drunk."

His voice echoed in your ear, but you couldn't hear anything from the sound of his heartbeat against your cheek. He sounded far too calm for someone whose heart was in hysterics. The sound soothed you so much that you were already half-asleep in his arms while the rest of your team noisily and happily drank their fill in the brightly lit izakaya.

You were awoken by the sound of your Department Chief's farewell spiel for the week. It was a Friday night and tomorrow was a day-off so everyone had the luxury of nursing their hangovers for as long as they could the morning after. You could only faintly hear their words of thanks, followed by "it's about time we wrapped up" and "we'll leave the team leader to you, Gojo-kun".

"Mmnngh..."

You felt Satoru's chest tremble, closely followed by a soft chuckle. "Senpai, stop grumbling. Bucho-san said thanks for your efforts. We're going home now."

How you got home was a mystery, because you remember walking half-asleep in your junior's arms and falling into an even deeper sleep on the cab ride home. He nearly carried you to your bed, but not without laying you down with the gentleness of a mother setting her child to sleep. Somehow your bed smelled just like him...

He was about to turn away from you when you pulled him by his necktie. Surely you can reward him a bit... "Gojo-kun, you like me, don't you?"

Oh, who am I kidding? At this point, you already overthought and confirmed that you liked him back. "I like you, too, so..."

"...Senpai? You're drunk, s-so don't—" He was back to his babyish way again, but he was obviously just taken aback by your sudden boldness. You pulled him down until you were caged in his arms, his rigid torso looming over you, his kind yet confused blue eyes drinking in your features like he hadn't had enough earlier that night.

"I'll sleep with you, but only if you consider this a dream."

"You mean to say...?"

Satoru sounded like he was considering things.

"Forget about everything when you wake up."

Imagine your embarrassment the following morning when you discovered you weren't at your place but at Satoru's apartment instead. You were confident he'd leave quietly after last night but that wasn't the case since it was you who stayed over. Forget about everything when you wake up. Tough luck. And stupid of me to even—

You were still fully clothed. And Satoru was nowhere to be found on his bed.

"Are you awake, senpai? I laid out a change of clothes for you and made breakfast for us, so come out when you're ready!"

For all your big talk last night, you were incredibly ashamed by the whole ordeal. It was embarrassing enough that he had to witness such an uncool side of you, but even more so now that you were imposing on the young man's kindness. Still, you decided to change into a fresh shirt that smelled just like him and face the music.

There he was, setting his dinner table with an elated smile that grew even wider when he saw you in his shirt. "Good morning, senpai! I hope you don't mind sandwiches for breakfast. I don't usually eat rice in the morning..."

He sat you down across from him and laid a plate of what looked like a club sandwich, the bread lightly toasted and the greens still moist from washing.

"Gojo-kun—"

"Before anything else, there's something I have to tell you... About last night, senpai... You said you liked me too. And all night I felt terrible because I never even got around to confessing to you and you beat me to it," Satoru stated, but not before concluding with a small sigh of defeat. "Then again, you were drunk last night, so I wouldn't be surprised if it was just your alcohol-fueled—"

"Don't say that, Gojo-kun! I-I meant what I said, s-so please don't just dismiss them as drunk ramblings," you said in surprise, raising your hands in defence as you reasoned with him. He reached out for your hands from across the table, and you could have sworn you felt him slightly trembling. In... In nervousness? If that were the case, he really does a good job of not showing it at all.

"I like you, senpai," he said with his normal, straightforward coolness that seemed to have everyone at work hooked onto him. Though his gaze seemed to soften as he looked away from you sheepishly, his babyish side rearing its head this time. "And if... if that offer of yours from last night still stands... At least don't tell me to forget about it."

I suppose I like both of them. Both his cool and his cute side, you thought to yourself. You won't be forgetting that Saturday morning anytime soon. And neither would he.

[its-avalon-08]

hearts intertwined (hamilton x sister! driver!rosberg) pt2

chapter two: look what you made me do

warnings - none at all

series so far - pt1

The tension in the drivers' briefing room was thicker than the stale coffee being served. The initial shock of Y/N's arrival had subsided, replaced by an awkward curiosity. The drivers, used to the same faces, were eager to understand the new dynamic.

Sebastian Vettel, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat. "So, Y/N, what brings you to Red Bull? Surely you had some other offers?"

Y/N's smile held a hint of steel. "Let's just say I like a challenge. And besides," she glanced at Max, a playful glint in her eyes, "Max here promised to teach me how to properly drift a Red Bull."

Max snorted, a mock look of horror on his face. "Oh god, help me. You'll have Christian pulling his hair out in a week." Laughter erupted, the tension easing slightly.

"Seriously though," Charles chimed in, "who influenced you to get into F1? Any racing heroes?"

Y/N's smile softened. "Actually, my biggest inspiration has always been my brother."

A hush fell over the room. All eyes darted towards Lewis, who sat rigidly in his chair, his jaw clenched.

"Nico gave me incredible advice, pushed me to my limits, and always believed in me. No major racing company looked at me as a child considering I was a girl. Nico gave me all the confidence I have today and I owe it all to him," Y/N continued, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension.

Lewis scoffed, a barely audible sound, but enough for everyone to hear. "Cheating motherfucker," Lewis muttered soft enough to not be audible but loud enough to know that he said something

Y/N's smile vanished, replaced by a glacial stare. "Something you want to share, Lewis?" she drawled, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Perhaps some… helpful pointers on how to lose gracefully?"

The room erupted in gasps. Lewis' face turned a deep shade of crimson. He opened his mouth to retort, but Sebastian intervened before a full-blown argument could erupt.

"Alright, alright, let's keep things civil, shall we?" he chuckled nervously.

The media pounced on the exchange like vultures on carrion. Headlines screamed of a brewing 'Rosberg Revenge', with Y/N's comment dissected and twisted into a declaration of war.

Back in the Red Bull garage, Y/N rolled her eyes at the news articles Max shoved in her face. "Honestly, these people wouldn't know drama if it bit them in the ass"

Max grinned. "Schat just focus on the race, Y/N. Don't let Lewis get to you."

Y/N snorted. "Don't worry, Max. The only thing Lewis will be getting this season is a taste of defeat."

The competitive fire in her eyes burned bright, fueled by a mix of raw talent and a burning desire to not just win, but to prove Lewis wrong. The stage was set for a season unlike any other, a season where sibling rivalry would take center stage, and the battle lines were already drawn.

credits for gif - @lewishamiltongifs

leave a like! leave a comment! reblogs are appreciated!

[supernotnatural2005]

The Haunted House (Drabble)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Haunted houses are more scarier than you thought. Including the fake kind.

Warnings: None

AN: Happy Halloween guys!!! 👻 just a short light hearted, fun drabble for you all, before my halloween dean x reader one shot later today 🫢 enjoy and let me know what you think 💕

My Masterlist

“Why are we doing this again?” Sam asked as the three of you stood in line for the haunted house attraction.

“It’s halloween man.” Dean muffled around another piece of candy from the bag of treats you’d bought from a confection stand.

“Yeah Sammy. Where’s your holiday spirit?” You snickered and gave him a little nudge with your elbow as you moved up in the line.

He gave you a deadpanned look. “Everyday is halloween for us. I don’t really see the appeal in experiencing it on our day off.” He complained and Dean rolled his eyes, childishly mimicking him with his hand behind his back.

You covered your mouth to stop your giggle and Sam snapped his head back to Dean, who quickly stopped what he was doing, looking like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You’re both actual children, d’you know that?” Sam sassed as you all moved up again, coming to the front of the barrier for your turn next.

“And you wouldn’t have us any other way.” You cooed and hugged his arm. It got a resistant smile out of him.

-

After the worker, who was dressed like a poor version of Frankenstein, gave you a brief rundown on the rules once inside - his tone bored and monotonous, he finally lifted the caution tape-barrier for you.

You jumped up and down in giddy excitement, which amused the two brothers as they followed you in.

As you entered, you had to squint at the near pitch blackness. Your path only guided by an ominous green light in what looked like a long corridor. The floor was covered in fog, making what you could see even harder and so you shuffled along, keeping close to Dean.

You felt his hand grasp yours tightly as you rounded a corner, an evil cackle sounding somewhere above you, making you jump. As you crept along, paranoid at every nook and cranny you passed, you came to a door. It had ‘Enter if you dare’ written on it, in what you assumed was supposed to be blood, but was most likely red paint.

“Dean you go first.” You whispered and pushed him forward.

“What? Why have i got to go first?” He whispered back, manoeuvring so he was standing behind you instead.

“Because you’re my strong, protective boyfriend.” You teasingly argued and tried pulling him ahead of you again.

“And you wanted to go to this stupid thing.” Dean argued back, slapping your hands away. Sam heard your offended gasp and rolled his eyes, knowing they’d never get through this thing if he didn’t just open it himself.

“I’ll do it. You big babies.” He mumbled the last part and swung open the door. The three of you made your way in, you and Dean much more cautiously, scanning every corner of the room.

It was laid out almost like a Tim Burton movie. The flooring as black and white checkered squares and the walls painted in such a way it gave the illusion it was twisting. It wasn’t until you got toward the middle of the room did you hear the door slam closed behind you.

You screamed out in fear and grabbed onto Dean’s arm, making him jump in turn.

“Jesus, Y/N.” Dean huffed and shook his head.

“Sorry.” You muffled into his arm.

The three of you turned to see the door was in fact closed, but what freaked you out the most was the shadow in the dark corner beside it.

“What the fuck is that?” You whispered harshly and moved to hide behind Dean.

“What’s what!?” He demanded, his voice panicked as he frantically looked to where you were pointing. It was then he caught sight of the dark figure beside the door and his heart rate spiked.

Suddenly, a loud blood curdling scream came from the figure and a woman with long black hair and a bloody gown came jumping out of the shadows, a chain around her neck keeping her tied to the wall as she reached her long fingernails out to you.

You’re not sure who the scream came from, but bolted it to the door on the other end of the room, Dean hot on your tail. Sam however, shook his head in amusement as he watched you both run out of the room, not really fazed by the actor who was still making monstrous noises behind him.

-

As the three of you exited the house, you and Dean were visibly shaken up, voices raw from all the shouting and screaming that continued throughout.

“Where’s your holiday spirit guys?” Sam mocked teasingly from behind you and both you and Dean gave him a look, making him burst out in more laughter. “Man. You should have seen your faces.”

AN: And there it is! Only a short one, but a fun one to get us in the holiday spirit 👻😂

[ellecdc]

OMG I HAVE AN IDEA

What about the kids (mid Hogwarts) in like 3rd or younger (2nd?) Year and they invite hermione and ron and the Weasley family for Christmas and it's amazing and we see draco getting along w them 😭😭😭 and Hermione is the 'mom' friend so she loves hanging out w the other blacks and potters? and we see how nice harry and draco's friends are and it's just a heartfelt moment 😭😭😭

I'm a whore for Christmas and also fluff so YES HERE YOU GO I don’t even know if this is any good so I apologize if this isn’t really what you were looking for. I realize now there isn’t much interaction between the golden trio + Draco but this is my take on it 🫶 CBBH Holiday Special - Weasley, Potter, Black families

CW: mentions of past (parental) abuse

What's One More?

You and Sirius were pretty chill parents – at least you liked to think so. You never really spoke to your children like they were children, but rather like little people who had important thoughts and ideas. You let them express themselves creatively, which sometimes led to paint and marker prints lining the walls, or photo albums being plundered and cut up to create scrap books, or even the odd redesign of an old family heirloom portrait in the hall.

None of that wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with a little magic.

What you guys could not budge on? 

Christmas at home with the family.

This was why when Draco sent a letter home during his 3rd year suggesting he may stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, Sirius thought your head might actually combust.

“What on earth is he thinking? He’s never spent a holiday away from us – why wouldn’t he want to come home?” You were yelling at Sirius as if it was him who suggested Draco stay at Hogwarts this Christmas. 

“I’m not sure love, maybe there’s a reason.” He tried to reason with you. He should have tried to keep his mouth shut.

“There is no reason good enough to break his mother’s heart.” You pouted, sounding disturbingly close to tears. 

And you all called Sirius the dramatic one.

“I’ll talk to him.” Sirius promised with a placating kiss to your temple.

So, Sirius sent him an owl basically along the lines of “hey mate, you’re tearing your mother apart here. It’d be sort of shady of me to let another guy break my girl’s heart so what the hell?”, to which Draco replied, basically speaking straight to Sirius’ soul. 

“I’m sorry, dad, it’s just that Theo doesn’t really want to go home this winter, and I don’t want him to be alone for the holidays.” 

My stupid lovely caring son, who raised him? Sirius wondered to himself. The answer was obvious. It was you.

Theodore Nott, son of Thoros Nott and the late Camelia Nott nee Rosier. His mother died under suspicious circumstances (which Sirius felt translated directly to “shitty ass husband”) when the boy was four, and Thoros Nott was able to avoid prosecution for his roles in the Wizarding War by offering intel on other prominent Death Eaters.

Azkaban or not, the man was an ass. Rumoured to have killed his own wife, Sirius couldn’t imagine he was much nicer to his only son.

The heir. 

Sirius felt sick...it was nearly painful how much he could relate to poor Theodore Nott.

“Did you find out why your son hates us?” You asked Sirius a few days later. You were obviously teasing, but Sirius didn’t miss the genuine concern in your voice.

“Yes, and actually, the reasoning for his absence this holiday is a direct result of him being your child.”

You placed the mug you’d been holding a little too roughly onto the table as you leveled a look at Sirius. “What are you on about?”

“He doesn’t want to leave his friend behind.” Sirius smiled kindly at you. He watched the contempt drain from your face.

“The sod!”

Sirius barked a surprised laugh. “What!?”

“That’s such an easy fix!” you exclaimed like everyone around you was sort of stupid (they kind of were). “His friend can come here! We’re already hosting the Weasley’s; Lily told Harry to invite Hermione too. What’s one more?”

What’s one more, indeed.

So that’s how Sirius, James, Lily, you, Arthur & Molly Weasley ended up on platform 9 ¾ to retrieve exactly eleven (11) children while Bill and Charlie waited back at the house with Remus, Regulus and the youngest four of the Potter/Black children.

“Hermione, I hope your parents weren’t too disappointed we stole you away for the holidays. They already have to part with you for ten months of the year.” You said as you served Lyra a portion of roast potato’s before passing the dish to your left. 

“They were a little sad, but they said they understood my excitement at getting the chance to spend more time with wizarding families.” The fourteen-year-old stated matter-of-factly.

“Well, perhaps the next time they’d like to join you. The more the merrier.” James interjected.

“You sure about that Prongsie? This table can’t take much more transfiguring to make it any longer!” Remus called dramatically from the opposite end of the table, as if they were in completely different rooms.

“Bugger the table!” James called back just as dramatically, “we’ll just get a new one!”

Sirius didn’t miss the nervous glance Theo shot towards Draco. Sirius remembered how nervous James’ boisterous behaviour with his parents made him – concerned that a lashing or crucio was just around the corner.

“Don’t mind them, Theo,” you offered quietly to the boy. Sirius took a moment to marvel the fact that you’d noticed too, and your mama-bear protection came out at the perfect time. “They’re idiots with zero volume control.”

“I HAVE PERFECT VOLUME CONTROL, VIX.” James screamed, causing the younger kids to squeal in laughter and bring their hands up to cover their ears. Hermione, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley’s all chuckled at the outburst as well – accustomed to James’ brand of goofiness.

“You get used to it, trust me.” Sirius offered quietly with a wink. Theo smiled gratefully at the two of you and seemed to relax somewhat in his chair.  

“I agree that the production needs to be tightly structured and coordinated Percy, but it also has to be fun or you’re going to lose your actors.” Hermione could be heard arguing with the older boy from down the hall.

"I cannot work under these conditions." Percy could be heard responding.

“You’d think this was a Broadway production of Sweeny Todd.” Lily muttered quietly to Sirius sat beside her.

“What’s a Sweeny Todd?” Sirius muttered back.

“What’s a Broadway?” James muttered from her other side.

“Purebloods.” Remus muttered from across the room with an eyeroll.

The kids wanted to make their own play for the adults - it was mostly the youngest ones, though Fred & George never could help themselves but partake in any potential mischief, Hermione was very excited to help direct the production, and Percy never could leave very much alone. The second Hermione was involved, Harry and Ron shoved their noses into it too, while Draco and Theo sat in the audience with the adults and far too many stuffed animals.

“I mean, were the teddy bears really necessary? There’s already a theatre worth of people here.” Theo commented what he thought was quietly to Draco, but he had one werewolf and four animagi with animal-like hearing, as well as Molly & Lily with tried and true mother-hearing in the room, so his comment was met with a round of laughter.

“Oh my gods, Draco, can we keep him?” Remus commented as he pretended to wipe a tear from under his eye.

Pink dusted the tops of Theo’s cheek bones, but he offered the room a shy smile.

Sirius thought it was like looking in a mirror: he imagined this is what Effie and Fleamont saw when Sirius spent holidays in this very home some nearly twenty years ago. A boy who was likely fun and eccentric around his friends where he felt safe, but reverting to the proper pureblood heir you were beaten into becoming around adults. 

Sirius sort of hated it.

As the little kids and the rest of the production made their way to the room, Sirius noticed James’ eyes on him. James offered him a kind smile that brought tears to his eyes, almost as if he was saying ‘I know, right?’ 

By the end of the holiday, the adults had almost managed to get Theo to shed his aristocratic persona with them.

“And how’s Minnie? Are you guys being nice to her? Make sure to set up some good pranks this year; gotta keep the old gal on her toes, it’s good for her health.” James said to the Hogwarts students solemnly at breakfast. 

“You did not just call Minnie an ‘old gal’, Prongs.” Remus chided from his place at the table.

“You both did not just refer to Professor McGonagall as Minnie.” Regulus added incredulously. 

“That’s her name, Reggie.” James answered no nonsense. “We earned that right when we graduated.”

“No, we earned that right when we graduated.” Lily corrected as she motioned to herself, you, and Regulus. “You lot should still be in detention for the crap you pulled.”

Remus, James, and Sirius all adorned their faces with a blissful sort of reverence as they thought back to their school days.

“We were awesome.” James said dreamily.

“You were awful.” You corrected.

“You’re our hero’s.” The Twins added in unison. 

“What in Godric’s name are you doing to them, Hermione?” Ron asked through a large serving of sausage in his mouth. 

Hermione, who was replacing small pompom’s into two kitchen whisks to hand back to three-year-old Stella and Leo, didn’t even spare Ron a glance as she answered sharply, “It’s good for their fine motor skills, Ronald.”

“Wha’s a fine motor skill?” He asked incredulously, somehow still with food in his mouth.

“Oh, read a book, Ronald.” Hermione huffed before her face turned sickly sweet as she cooed at Stella. “Good job, Stell!”

“Blimey.” Ron muttered as he turned to Harry.

“I can’t believe you’re all going to be leaving us again so soon!” Molly said tearfully as she looked around the room. “I like our having our table so full- FRED WEASLEY YOU GET THAT FURNITURE OFF THE CEILING THIS ISNTANT.” 

“I’m George, mum.” The twin said from his chair suspended on the ceiling. Sirius had to give him credit for looking as casual as he did whilst all the blood in his body was no doubt making its way to his head. 

“I DON’T CARE WHO YOU ARE, YOU’LL BE GROUNDED IF YOU’RE NOT DOWN IN THE NEXT 30 SECONDS.”

At the beginning of the week – the shouting, the threats, the energy, and the talking back that George (or Fred, Sirius still wasn’t entirely sure) just displayed would have had Theo pale in the face. Today, he just looked around the room quickly to ensure everyone else was in good spirits before joining in on the laughter.

Back on platform 9 ¾, you and Sirius decided to pull Draco aside. 

“Hey love, listen. I don’t want to embarrass Theo, but would you let him know we really enjoyed his company over the holiday, and he is welcome at the Manor anytime.” You spoke softly to your son.

“We mean it, Draco. The Potter Manor has, and always will be, a safe place for people to run to. If he needs somewhere better, somewhere safer to go, he’s more than welcome to come live with us.” Sirius added earnestly. 

Draco looked like he might cry before he threw himself into his parents’ arms, causing each of them to let out a surprised ‘oof’.

“I love you guys. I’m so lucky to have you – we all are.” Draco said, though his words were muffled from his place in the crook of Sirius’ arm.

“We’re the lucky ones, Draco.” You insisted as you stamped a kiss to his head.

The parents and youngest kids stood on the platform and waved as they watched the train disappear.

“It’s so odd.” James commented quietly.

“What is?” Sirius asked.

“How life works.”

Sirius looked at his mate who was still watching after the long-gone train hoping he would clarify. When it became obvious that he wouldn’t, Sirius elbowed him.

“How’s that?”

James finally turned to Sirius and offered him a smile that seemed to portray a mixture of grief, pride, and love.

“Draco is Theo’s James.”

Sirius watched as you dried your face and went about applying your skincare. 

“I can hear your mind turning from here, babe. What’re you thinking about?” You finally said, causing Sirius to look at your reflection only to find your eyes already on him.

“You’re sure you are okay? If Theo needs to move in with us, I mean.” Sirius asks. 

Your movements paused as your eyebrows migrated to meet in the middle – bemusement painting your features.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“We sort of decided we weren’t going to have any more kids.” Sirius explained. You snorted in response as your turned to face him, leaning back against the bathroom counter.

“Sirius, as long as I don’t have to push anymore out, you can have as many kids as you want.”

Sirius smiled immediately at you. “You sure we don’t already have enough?” He asked

Your smile grew to match his. “What’s one more?”