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drawlfoy · 6 years ago

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Accio Malfoy

masterlist request guidelines (please read if you request!) requests are open!

stole the gif from @dracomalfoyedit so give them creds for draco’s pretty face

pairing: draco x slytherintransfer!reader

request: yes! you know who you are :)

summary: reader transfers into hogwarts and is sorted into slytherin. draco malfoy is the bane of her existence until suddenly he’s not

warnings: language because uh...you know who i am haha

a/n: i’m a little sorry for making this so similar to faux diplomacy, but honestly idk if i’m ever gonna finish that one and if i do it’s gonna be way different and way angstier. here’s something to hold my american/non uk readers off with until i get the next chapter of that out haha

music recs: the night we met - lord huron

word count: 5,293

tags! @accio-rogers @geeksareunique

Y/N had never felt as out of place as she did standing with the first years in the Great Hall, each of them eagerly awaiting their sorting. She easily had at least a foot on the tallest child there--but then again, they didn’t use feet here as a unit of measurement. They used...meters? Centimeters? She had no clue, but whatever it was, it was confusing.

Yet another reason why she didn’t want to be at Hogwarts. Her father was so thrilled when he told her that they’d be moving to the UK for...well, the rest of her schooling. He’d forever thought that Ilvermorny lacked the intimate education she needed with thousands of students attending and jumped on the first job opening at the British Ministry of Magic.

Was she mad? Yes, of course. She was already missing her friends terribly and felt so awkward standing with a bunch of children. Y/N didn’t have to look to know that everyone’s eyes were on her, wondering why there was an immensely overgrown 11 year old in their midst.

But was she going to make the best out of it? Yeah, probably.

A tall, elderly man with a scraggly white beard stepped up onto the podium, tapping his throat with his wand to amplify his speech. “Welcome back, fellow students of Hogwarts, and a very special welcome to our newest additions.” He tilted his head down to acknowledge the gaggle of children at his feet. “You all may notice that we have an especially interesting newcomer here tonight. Hogwarts is pleased to welcome its arms to our first Ilvermorny transfer student in over a century...a Miss Y/N Y/L/N!”

Grandly gesturing towards Y/N, he beamed down at her and and raised his free hand as if to request applause. The studentry obeyed, and soon the dining hall was filled with polite clapping that echoed.

The old man, who Y/N presumed to be the headmaster, spoke for a few more moments after, musing on the beauty of international connections and what it meant to be a gracious host. She heard it, but she wasn’t really listening. All she could think of was the sorting hat and what it was going to say.

Back home, or at least what she used to call home, she was a Horned Serpent. She had no idea what that translated to at Hogwarts--perhaps she’d be a Ravenclaw? Or a Slytherin, she had heard about their unmatched ambition, but also their petulance.

Y/N didn’t even realize that everyone was waiting on her until a kind first year tugged at her sleeve and pointed up at the podium. An older witch was standing there, holding the tattered and worn hat that had to have been the Sorting Hat.

“I said, please come up and be sorted, Y/N Y/L/N.” Her accent had a pleasing lilt that Y/N wasn’t expecting.

Fighting back a blush, she dipped her head and rushed onto the elevated platform, thanking Merlin that she didn’t trip on the way up. The witch motioned to the chair in front of her, and Y/N sat down, facing the sea of students.

Everyone watched in charged silence as the hat was lowered onto her head. An overwhelming smell of hickory and old leather overpowered her...but not much else was to be expected from a relic that was centuries old.

Y/N waited for the Sorting Hat to make conversation like it was rumored to, but the second she felt it touch her hair, it made a decision.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Gasps filled the hall with the promptness of the sorting. Even the witch that had placed it on her head looked humored as Y/N got up and walked off, slightly dazed.

She was guided towards a table with an abundance of green, choosing a seat near a black haired boy who didn’t look too threatening. He looked up as she slid onto the bench next to him, sending her a mischievous grin.

“Welcome to Slytherin. I’m Theodore Nott.”

Y/N made quick friends with Theodore, or Theo, as he asked her to call him. He told her the ins and outs of the Slytherin lifestyle and told her the password for their common room.

“Why basilisk, though?” Y/N asked as they sat in the common room together. “Did something happen?”

He shrugged, a mysterious glint in his eye. “Long story. It happened a while back. There used to be a basilisk in Hogwarts, hidden somewhere far away.”

“I would hope.”

They were silent for a few moments as Y/N picked at her nail polish.

“I’ll ask Daphne to show you to your room,” Theo finally said. “And we can sit next to each other for breakfast if you’d like. Slytherin doesn’t necessarily have the friendliest people.”

Y/N smiled gratefully as she watched him flag down a strawberry blonde girl who looked about their age.

“Let me guess,” the girl said as she approached the two. “She needs someone to show her to her room?”

Theo opened his mouth, but Y/N beat him. “Yeah, is that alright?”

Daphne studied her for a few moments. Y/N could feel her passing judgements on her.

“Yes, come with me,” she said after a bit, a vague expression on her face. “Say goodbye to Theo, though. He can’t come with us. We have wards, you know.”

“I assumed so.”

Y/N stood, turning and waving a goodbye to Theo. Daphne took her by the arm and led her to the other side of the common room, down a few stairs, and to a tall, daunting looking black door.

“You can’t bring guys in here,” she said lazily. “And on that note...”

She ushered Y/N inside, shutting the door behind them and glancing around the empty corridor they had entered.

“Don’t even think about Theo.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Good, because he’s not into girls,” Daphne dutifully told her, knitting her eyebrows together.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Do you have a problem with that?”

Startled by the sudden abrasiveness, Y/N took a few steps back. “No, no, of course not. Thanks for telling me.”

Daphne’s face cracked a small smile. “I think you’ll fit in alright here, then. Just don’t mess with anyone...at least not anymore than you absolutely have to.”

Y/N grinned back. “Of course not.”

The time difference sucked. Y/N had crashed the moment she had sat down on her bed the night before, but now it was 5 in the morning and she was wide awake.

Swinging up over her bed, she noticed that her roommates, Millicent and Tracey, were both snoring softly in their blanket cocoons. She sighed, taking extra care to be quiet on her way out of the room.

Theo had told her how the common room was open at all hours, just as long as you weren’t too rowdy. No one else would be up at 5am--it’d be absurd, so she was looking forward to writing letters to her friends in peace.

The cold dungeon floor chilled the balls of her feet as she ascended the steps into the dark common room. The little light available was a soft green hue cast from the lake water on the windows. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if the sun had even peaked over the horizon yet.

“What are you doing?” a male voice hissed from across the room. Y/N whipped around to see an unfamiliar looking blonde boy curled up on a dark green couch. His body faced the extinguished fireplace, but his head was turned to glare at her.

The dim lighting didn’t conceal his features, and Y/N was immediately stunned. The boy was unusually pretty, with high, defined cheekbones and moonbeam blonde hair. His silver irises were so bright that the darkness did nothing to hide them.

“I know the academics at Ilvermorny aren’t stellar, but they at least taught you how to speak, right?”

Y/N flushed red, grateful for the low lighting as it helped hide her embarrassment. “Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. I just wasn’t expecting to see anyone out here so early.”

The boy snorted, and Y/N took note of his cruel expression. Suddenly he seemed much less accessible. “Yeah, well, I am.” He stared at her, seemingly expecting her to do something.

Y/N took it as an invitation to walk over to his couch, sitting herself a healthy distance away from him.

“I was actually hoping you’d leave me be.” He glowered at her from the other end of the couch.

“And what, let you brood all alone? As if,” she responded, hardly missing a beat. Y/N wasted no time in rolling out her parchment to write. “I have just as much privilege to be here as you.”

She could’ve sworn that she heard him huff, but he didn’t verbally protest, so there was a start.

“You Americans really are pushy,” he sniggered after she had begun to write her first letter.

“And you Brits really are entitled daddy’s boys, huh?”

That shut him up.

“What’s your name, anyways?” Y/N paused long enough from her writing to look him in the eyes.

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” His tone was stiff and unnatural, like a 12 year old boy trying on a suit for the very first time. “It’s Malfoy to you, though.”

“Draco?” Y/N giggled. “Your parents must be...uh....interesting.”

He frowned. “Malfoy to you!”

“Okay, okay. Anything to keep you from getting your panties in a twist.”

Another glance at Draco confirmed that he was very, very, irritated. “Can’t you just go antagonize your roommates or something? I was here first.”

Y/N shrugged. There was no way she was going to be able to finish her writing the prick kept talking anyways. “Sure. Don’t worry though--I’ll be back, Draco.”

She chuckled to herself as she saw his features darken, his mood clearly souring before her eyes. Following her judgement, she scampered back to her dorm room to avoid being hexed.

“I heard you met Malfoy, huh?” Theo asked Y/N, carefully buttering a piece of toast.

“Yeah, he’s a real charmer,” she snorted. “Thinking he owns the whole common room and whatnot.”

“You’ve just got to stay out of his way,” Theo said. “I don’t think he’ll give you too much trouble. You are a Slytherin, after all. He’d have to be mental to waste energy going after one of his own.”

Y/N smirked at the thought as she pushed her eggs around the plate. As much as she hated to admit it, the food at Hogwarts wasn’t half bad. Meals felt much more intimate under the soft daylight, whereas at Ilvermorny bright fluorescent bulbs illuminated the room.

She finished eating with Theo quickly and turned to her right to see a grumpy looking Millicent.

“I heard you tossing and turning all night,” Millicent said. “If you make me spend another night listening to you, I’m killing you and throwing you into the lake.”

“You lot really are sweethearts,” Y/N responded absentmindedly, sipping her tea. “In all actuality, though, I’ll probably sleep better tonight. I’m sorry about that.”

Millicent visibly softened. “No, it’s alright. I know it must be hard and all...isn’t it nighttime in America?”

Y/N checked her watch, still ticking at the eastern timezone of the US.

“Yeah. All my friends are sleeping right now. I’m jealous.”

That earned a small laugh out of Millicent, prompting Y/N to smile back at her.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Y/N’s hopefulness soon diminished by her second period as she struggled to find her way to potions.

“I thought you’d have an easier time finding the dungeons, you resembling a sewer rat and all.” A cold voice sounded to her right, and combined with the sudden rough push on her shoulder, she was surprised and yelped.

“A jumpy sewer rat too, huh?” Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow and turned to keep walking.

“Hey!” Y/N’s hand darted out to snatch his sleeve. “Hey, Draco! Watch your mouth, buddy!”

Yanking his arm out of her grasp, he sent her a glare that could cut through stone. “Malfoy. Not Draco.”

“That’s funny, because I specifically remember you telling me that your name was Draco.”

He was about to say something back, no doubt a threat, but another boy swooped in.

“C’mon, Y/N, he’s just teasing you,” Theo murmured, taking care to send Draco a disapproving look. “Don’t waste your time on him. Come hang out with me and Daphne.”

Y/N allowed herself to be pulled away to Theo’s group of friends, all the while still glaring at Draco.

“Chill out, America,” Daphne said, waving her hand in front of Y/N’s face. “He’s not worth the energy. He’ll move on to someone else soon enough.”

“Whatever you say.”

Theo and Daphne walked her down to Snape’s classroom, taking extra care to keep her out of Draco’s path. Y/N was lost in thought on her walk to Potions, riding a sea of conflicting emotions.

On one hand, she wanted to make sure she didn’t spend the rest of the year being harassed by a little rich boy. On the other...he was painfully attractive, and while it was shameful to admit, knowing that he was paying her mind made her blush and her heart race.

Y/N was, by no means, an attention whore, but she’d be lying to herself if she said that she wanted Draco to completely leave her alone. She was in a foreign country, after all, and British accents were, well, exceedingly hot. There was no fault in her wanting to have a little fun.

Walking into the classroom, she was pleased to spot an empty table. Daphne and Theo took seats to her left, leaving an empty chair to her right. She allowed her thoughts to wander to places she shouldn’t have, shaking her head to clear her mind afterwards.

She was being ridiculous. Draco was not going to come over and sit with her just because there was one empty seat at her table.

In that moment, Y/N felt as though she was catapulted back into her 3rd year, where she was a cringy boy obsessed mess.

Chill, Y/N she thought to herself. Stop acting like a child.

Potions went on without a hitch. Y/N saw a flash of blonde hair in the corner of her eye, but she didn’t dare look. He didn’t come sit with her, so it wasn’t like looking in his direction would accomplish anything anyways.

“Whoa, Y/N, they said unicorn tail, not unicorn horn,” Daphne said, yanking Y/N’s hand away from the cauldron. “Can you read?”

“Yeah, do they teach that in the slums where you’re from?” a familiar cold voice added from behind them.

Y/N spun around to see an amused looking Draco sitting at the empty table behind them, propping his chin up with his palm.

“If you’re going to insult me, can you at least come up with new content?”

The side of his mouth quirked. “I don’t owe you anything.”

Y/N shrugged, tossing the shaved unicorn horn into the rubbish bin below her. “Fine, stay unoriginal. You bore me.”

Draco slunk out of his seat, retreating back to his rightful table.

“Give it roughly a week,” Theo told her sympathetically. “He’s a class A git, and then he gets bored, and then he forgets about you and doesn’t pay you any more mind.”

“But you’re not helping,” Daphne added, mincing some greengrass. “If you really want him to leave you alone, then stop engaging him. You’re making this fun for Malfoy by reacting to him.”

“I can handle myself,” said Y/N. “It seems like harmless fun, and plus, Draco can’t be that intolerable. He has friends.”

Theo paused from his chopping to look at her quizzically. “He has minions. And Parkinson, who you don’t want to associate with. The only thing Malfoy is good for is trouble and drama. I don’t think he has a kind bone in his body.”

“But he’s quick-witted and interesting. Don’t you two want to know more about him?”

“No!” Theo and Daphne answered in unison.

“Let me guess,” Daphne said, tipping her ingredients into the cauldron. “You think he’s hot.”

Y/N shrugged, her face burning. “I’m not blind.”

The witch offered her a sad smile, the most genuine expression she’d worn all day. “Be careful, then. I obviously can’t tell you what to do, and it’s not like it’d affect me much anyways, but between you and me, I wouldn’t go for him. Lots of girls like him, you know.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Y/N butted in. “You’re saying all of this like I expect something to happen. I’m just bored. I don’t expect anything to come out of this, and I don’t even know if I would want...that. I hardly know him, after all.”

Theo and Daphne both seemed satisfied with her answer. Y/N took advantage of the silence to add the untangled unicorn tail, watching as it turned the potion a milky blue.

Y/N spent the next few days acclimating to her new schedule and avoiding Draco (as per the request of Theo and Daphne). Classes at Hogwarts weren’t as spaced out as they were at Ilvermorny--there were just 3x as many stairs. She was by no means grossly out of shape, but jogging up and down the moving staircases proved to be a challenge.

“Do they not have stairs in America either?”

Y/N didn’t even bother turning around to face the person who spoke to her on her way to Charms. She’d recognize that snotty voice anywhere. “If you don’t get new content, I’m pushing you down them.”

Draco snickered behind her. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

She decided to not entertain him for any longer, choosing to be silent. The staircase creaked its way over to the corridor they were heading, taking its sweet time.

The air was thick with electrified silence, and Y/N was struck with the thought that she had never seen Draco be so quiet for such a long period of time.

The staircase came to a sudden stop, lurching both students forward. Y/N fell flat on her face, her hands dangling over the top of the staircase into thin air.

“What the fuck?” Y/N exclaimed, scooting back as to not fall over the edge. The staircase was now simply suspended in midair, neither parts touching the hallway entrances.

She finally turned around to see Draco just once step down, sprawled out in a similar fashion. “It’s just something that happens every once and a while.” He was casual, seemingly unworried. “I’ve never personally witnessed it, though. They’re just due for maintenance.”

Y/N gaped at him.

“So they just let students on these things without checking if they’re maintained?”

Draco shrugged, getting up to his feet and gripping onto the railing. “To my understanding, they only need to be re-enchanted once every few centuries. I can hardly blame the administration.”

“So what do we do? Wait it out and be late for Charms?”

“Is that really the biggest of your worries?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, folding her knees up to her chest. “What, am I allotted only a certain number of concerns now? Is that how this is gonna be?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” he said, motioning over his shoulder. “It’s not like we can’t just jump off at the bottom of the stairs.”

Y/N stole a glance behind him and realized he was right. It would be a bit of a leap, but if they tried, they could make it to some random corridor she had never seen before. “I don’t think I can make that with my books, though, and I’m too afraid to levitate them over the edge.”

Draco seemed to ponder this for a bit. “Me neither. I can go first and leave my things with you, and then you can pass both our things over, and then I’ll help you across. With you having shorter legs and whatnot.”

Y/N fought back a bitter remark in response to his thoughts about her legs.

“Yeah. We can try.”

It took Y/N a bit to hype Draco up about the leap as the two stood overlooking the edge.

“Don’t worry, you can totally make that,” she told him. “If you don’t, I swear I’ll try and levitate you back to safety. Or maybe I’ll Accio Draco or something. We’ll see.”

Draco snorted. “First of all, I’m offended that you don’t trust yourself enough to levitate your textbooks but feel perfectly fine levitating me. Second of all, it’s Accio Malfoy to you.”

“Accio Draco Malfoy,” Y/N corrected. “If I say Accio Malfoy, I’m being too vague. Any one of your family members could come flying at me, full force. We’d have some explaining to do.”

“No, you would, because I’d already be a splat on the ground below us.”

Y/N laughed then, pleasantly surprised with his level of bantering. His own eyes twinkled as a few smile creases appeared around his face.

“Nothing a little Dittany and pumpkin juice can’t fix,” she said cheerily. “Off you go.”

Draco steeled his face, any vulnerability disappearing. He shed his cloak and dropped his books on the ground, walking up a few extra steps to give him more speed.

“Be careful, Draco,” she added, resting her weight against the staircase. “I’ll be even later to Charms if I have to track down a house elf to clean up a body on the base level.”

“Malfoy,” was the last thing he muttered before he jogged to the end of the staircase, gracefully leaping across the gap. Y/N’s breath caught for a split second, but he stuck the landing, spinning around to beam at her.

“Told you. Easy.”

“I literally never recall you saying that.”

He dramatically threw his hands up. “I put my life on the line, sacrifice my soul to save your textbooks and this is how you repay me?”

“I thought you said it was easy.” She cocked an eyebrow, smirking back at him.

He stood there for a few moments, his features suddenly softening as he gazed at her. “Pass me my cloak and things. We haven’t got all day.”

Y/N obeyed, gathering up his things and separating them from hers. He had thrown his books so haphazardly that she was having a difficult time telling the difference between the two. She slung his cloak over her shoulder as she worked, opening the books and searching for names. Neither of their Potions books were marked up, much to her disappointment.

“Hurry up?” Draco’s voice was no longer as harsh as before, ending like a question instead of a command.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” she told him.

Before she could finish flipping through their textbooks--she knew she had written something somewhere--the staircase began screeching again.

Y/N’s eyes shot up, meeting Draco’s. They looked just as confused as hers.

The staircase began moving again, albeit much slower and wobblier than usual.

“Y/N, you need to jump!” His voice was filled with an urgency Y/N had never heard from the boy before.

“But my books...”

“Do it!”

Against her better judgment, she grabbed her satchel with her wand and stationary and leapt off the end of the staircase, praying that she had enough momentum to make it to Draco.

A pale arm reached out and snatched her, pulling her the rest of the distance. Y/N hit the ground with ungraceful smack, pulling Draco down on top of her.

“Are you alright?”

Y/N opened her eyes to see Draco inches from her face, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He had very pretty eyes, and if she looked close enough, she could see the slightest hints of blue in his grey eyes.

“My books,” she croaked.

“You really should’ve been a Ravenclaw.”

With that, Draco got off of her, sitting up against the wall and looking out at the staircase. Y/N followed suit, ignoring her aching body.

She gasped as she saw what was in front of her--the staircase was rotating, turning upside down and throwing everything that had been on it to the ground.

“Maybe I should’ve just bit the bullet and levitated them anyways,” Y/N sighed, scooting a little closer to Draco, who laughed.

“Don’t worry about it too much. I’m pretty sure the school will replace them free of charge...if that’s something you’re concerned about. This was their fault.”

Y/N decided to ignore the subtle financial reference. “Fair point. I’m just upset that I’m missing Charms.”

Draco bumped her with his shoulder. “I’m not. This was way more entertaining than that blasted class would ever be.”

“I’m touched.”

“No, really, I guess they do teach you how to banter at Ilvermorny.”

“No.” Y/N smiled. “I’m just a natural talent.”

“That you are.”

Draco looked into her eyes for a few moments before snapping out of it. “We should go back to the dorms and find Snape. He’ll get this fixed immediately.”

Y/N was already on her feet, brushing off the dust on her robes. “Of course. Here’s your cloak, by the way.”

He looked her up and down.

“Keep it, at least until you get your own washed. You look like you’ve been living in squalor. I wasn’t expecting the floors to be that dirty.”

“But this’ll be way too big for me!”

“Would you rather look like someone who accidentally ordered the wrong size or like someone who spends her free time rolling around in dust piles?”

When Y/N rolled her eyes and turned away from him, he took that as an answer. “Exactly. I’m sure they won’t look awful. Just...do it now.”

Feeling slightly self conscious, Y/N peeled off her dirty cloak, setting it on the ground and reaching for Draco’s.

As expected, the sleeves went way past her hands. Y/N held it up to him as evidence, cocking an eyebrow.

“C’mere,” he said, rolling his eyes (but still smiling slightly). She stepped forward and watched in shock as Draco gently cuffed her (his?) sleeves so they barely brushed the middles of her wrists. “You’re such a drama queen. This was such an easy fix.”

“Oh, I’m the drama queen?”

“I never said I wasn’t one too!”

“You implied it!”

“I most certainly did not!”

“You’re the one who made me put it on in the first place!”

“Because I was being chivalrous!”

“Oh, because chivalry is the first thing I think of when I think of you!”

Draco stepped forward, catching her wrist and pushed her back into the wall. Y/N stared up at him with wide eyes.

“Thinking of me now, huh, are we?” His words held a light tone, but the look on his face and proximity of him hinted at a deeper meaning.

“Sure?” answered Y/N, her voice much higher than usual. “So?”

Y/N had meant to challenge him to another battle of wits, but Draco seemed to take it as a different invitation.

He leaned forward, closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to hers. It was gentler than she would’ve expected from him and took her by complete surprise.

Y/N stood frozen in his grasp, her eyes wide open. Draco seemed to realize this and sprung away from her.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, I dunno what got into me, I guess I thought that you would’ve wanted...” He trailed off, shyly meeting her gaze.

“It’s okay, really,” she said. “I just wasn’t expecting it. I didn’t think you thought of me like that.”

Draco swallowed, once, twice. “I really don’t have to, either. I can leave you alone if you’d like.”

“I wouldn’t like that.” Y/N shifted her weight back and forth, fiddling with the ends of her sleeves. “We can...try again? If you’d like, of course.”

He looked like he was about to take her up on the offer, but at the last second, he stopped.

“I’m sorry.It just feels wrong to do it here.”

Y/N tried to conceal how much the rejection stung, but the blush was obvious on her skin. “That’s o-okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna go find Snape. You go get another cloak.”

Y/N couldn’t sleep.

It was just like that first night, but this time, it wasn’t the time difference keeping her awake.

Her reason was stupid; she knew it was. She had just met Draco and it was unfair for her to have already given his expectations and a role to fill...and incredibly unreasonable. Completely irrational. She might as well call up St. Mungo’s and request a psychiatric evaluation.

MIllicent was kind, but Y/N knew her well enough to know that she’d keep her word about throwing her into the lake. If she kept sighing and rolling around, she would be in for a treat.

Her body was still sore from the short meeting it had with the ground earlier that day as she eased herself out of the bed and made her way towards the common room. Out of habit, she snatched her cloak, only to realize that it was still Draco’s.

Shit.

The blade in her chest only twisted further at the thought of him.

Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it.

In any other case, Y/N would’ve draped the cloak over her shoulders, but she didn’t want to be reminded anymore of him than she had to be. She didn’t understand why he had suddenly decided to pull away--it wasn’t like anything really changed. Maybe she had had bad breath? Maybe her lips were too chapped?

It was pathetic, really, getting her heart broken within the first three weeks of school. She’d never even though of herself as a romantic, either--but Draco’s face could easily convert anyone to believe hopelessly in love.

Once again, she ascended the stairs into the common room, relishing in the quiet and calm it brought. But wait--she saw movement in the corner of her eye.

Turning, she saw Draco laying on the same couch as last time, staring straight at her.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Sorry to disturb you.”

“Is that my cloak?”

Of course the first thing he had to say to her was a conviction.

“Uh, yeah. Here, you can have it.”

Y/N began striding towards him, holding her arms out to offer the cloak. Surprisingly, he shook his head, retracting his hands.

“No. You look cold.”

Y/N allowed a comeback to die on her tongue, instead awkwardly standing there.

“Well, aren’t you going to sit down with me already?” He settled back into the couch, nodding towards the vacant spot next to him.

Against her better judgment, Y/N sat down beside him, tucking her legs up under her body. She shivered as the cool dungeon air wafted past her.

“I knew you were cold,” he mumbled, taking his cloak from her hands and draping it over both of them. “Isn’t that better?”

“You sound like my parents.”

He allowed a small smile to creep across his face as they sat together in silence, leaning closer into her. Their shoulders brushed, and Y/N realized that she could feel heat radiating off of him.

“You’re very warm.”

“You’re very cold.”

Y/N shifted further away from him as the awkwardness maxxed out.

“Hey, so about today...can we talk about what happened between us? I mean, when you kissed me and then changed your mind?” Y/N’s voice crackled out. She didn’t trust herself to speak at a volume louder than a whisper.

“So about that,” he murmured back. “I never changed my mind. It just didn’t feel right at the moment, not because of you, but because of the situation.”

“Oh.”

“So...er..” he leaned towards her, cupping her face with his hand. It was warm and surprisingly soft, and his eyes nearly glowed in the dark when she looked into them. “Do you still want to try again?”

Y/N didn’t need words to answer that, only actions.

final a/n: so basically the tea is that i SUCK ass at writing actually fluff scenes when it comes down to kissing like i don’t know what’s too much and what’s too little and what’s too cringy so i just avoid it oops. hope you enjoyed. if you want to collab where i write the tension and the build up and you write the fluff please let me know because that would make my life so much easier omfg

#draco #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco imagine #draco x oc #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x y/n #slytherin #ilvermorny #hogwarts #harry potter imagine #reader insert

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wafflewarriors · 5 years ago

Text

Of Daydreams and Realities

Chapter 3: KAZ 2Y5

You came to around dusk, the day succumbing to its dying sunset. The sky was dark. You were flat on your back, with grains of gravel and concrete woven into the fabric of your shirt.

Two feet from your face was a dumpster, with squatting grey legs and a wide green base, smelling of rotten produce. You used its side as leverage to stand, raising your eyebrows as blood rushed away from your head and your vision went dark. And after a moment of patience, you found your balance.

You meandered some. Based upon your rough deductions, you had landed smack in the middle of nowhere, next to a rickety gas station.

You peaked around the faded building and confirm your suspicions, eyeing the few cars littering the lot. And one just so happened to fit your fancy. "Woah, sweet car," you mumbled as you neared the vehicle, admiring it's subtle beauty. It was a 1967 Chevy Impala. The hood was sleek and glossy, the headlights were... oh.

KAZ 2Y5.

Oh.

You stared. This has to be a joke, denial immediately kicked in. You just continued to stare at the license plate. Your hands shook—and jeez, your anxiety just wouldn't chill already—so you steadied them on the hood of the car, leaning in as you processed it all.

Looks like we're in Kansas, Toto.

You heard the bell of the gas station's door sing and you booked it. Past the road was a forest of thick vegetation, and if you could just lose them in there…

They probably think I stole something.

You could hear them behind you. So you pumped your arms and pushed your limits. This was life or death. Nobody touched Dean's Baby. Especially not you.

You made it to the ditch, and just as you were about to throw yourself into the trees, your collar snapped back. You collapsed in a pile of coughs and heavy breathing as more arms pinned you from above. Dean was literally straddling your waist and Sam was pinning you to the wet grass.

Naturally, you began to cry. You were just overwhelmed, but it was humiliating. However, all you could think of was that nightmare you had had of them. Dying once was enough.

I'm going to die.

For a moment, everyone caught their breath, yours hitched as you cried silently.

The hunters shared looks. They're agreeing to kill you. "Wait," you gasp, "just wait, please, I'm sorry."

Sam tilts his head a bit, his expression unreadable. "Sorry for what?"

"F-fo-for-"

Dean snapped, "For what? And what's with the crybaby act?"

His anger only made you frantic, wiggling underneath him. "Please don't kill me," you sob, hiding your face with you hand and cowering. You're twenty-two years old, get a hold of yourself.

"Well, do you deserve to be killed?" Dean was straight to the point, pinning you harder as you squirmed in fear.

"I d-d-don't think so. I just woke up and saw you..."

"Then why run?" Sam asked.

"Because I know who you are," you say with tear-brimmed eyes, heaving the words, "And now I won't survive this. Not this time. And you-you-you two are not going to help. You'll just make it worse."

At your response, Sam frowned deeper, his expression crinkling in thought. "How about you come with us and explain it all, so we can talk."

You shake your head vigorously, cheeks pink from your breakdown. "Did you not hear me? You'll only make it worse!"

But they've apparently made a silent agreement, hoisting you up and dragging you to the car. Your feet dig into the concrete, trying to find ground, but your toes only skid. "Let go of me!" You scream like a banshee. It's your last and final strategy for escape. Play the victim. "Let go!"

They faltered, but then plowed ahead faster.

A worried but timid employee ran out of the gas station, and the brothers showed their fake badges to the kid, who only nodded in compliance with wide eyes and retreated.

"Don't believe it! They are not cops! It's a fake!" You shrieked, but there was no use.

You attempted to kick Dean where it hurt, but he completely blocked the move by shoving you into the back seat face first and slamming the door. You were forced to readjust in the awkward position, and by the time you had, the doors were locked and the brothers were both in the vehicle.

"If you kick the windows you're going in the trunk," Dean warned, but you weren't even thinking about it. You'd be dead before you lifted your feet.

Dead, dead, dead.

A new panic rose as you pictured all the ways you could painfully die. You could only imagine all the djinns, the witches, the wendigos, the kahn worms, and all other creatures that could easily overpower you. "I'm going to die," was all you could say, terrified. Your lungs heaved, and you planted your face in your palms. Just don't think about it… just forget it… just forget…

A hand landed on your shoulder and you looked up to Sam, who looked so young. "Just tell us what's going on so we can help you."

Angry and afraid, you lash out. "You kidnapped me, that's what. You're making it worse. And you can't help me."

"You'd be surprised by how often we hear that."

"No, I wouldn't. But this is something you can't help. And if you say 'try us' I will kick your windows out, believe me."

They share another look like they're telepathic. "Did you even have a ride? We were the only people at the station besides the kid."

You froze. You didn't even think about that. "...Yeah. Yeah, I had a ride. I was parked in the back… by the dumpster."

Dean nodded. "Right. By the dumpster we just threw seven vampire heads into? Got it."

Sam looked to his brother in exasperation. "Dean…"

"I know a lie when I hear one." Dean shrugged.

You must have rounded the corner right as they disposed of the decapitated heads and bodies. How convenient. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh. We almost thought you were a vamp too. So, now that we're on the same page, what was that all about?" Dean demanded.

"That was… I'm not a vampire."

"We know. But how did you get here? You don't have a ride, and we're literally in the middle of nowhere."

You pinch your lips for a minute. “You won’t understand.”

“Try u...uh... why not?” Dean said, smooth like crunchy peanut butter.

You glare, raising a hand in a pinching motion, “You are this close to losing a window.”

“Why not? I can guarantee we’ll understand,” Sam said.

“No. You can’t. You won’t.”

There was silence. The hidden try us was infuriating. But you didn’t care anymore. “I know you. I know your history, I know your eating habits, I know your family, your friends, your life. All of it. But you don’t know me.”

There’s a long pause.

“She’s right, Sam, I don’t understand.”

Sam just shakes his head at his brother and turns back to you. “How? Time travel? Alternate dimension?”

You sigh. “Yes? You guys are a TV show where I’m from. And yes, like that one time with Balthazar, but also... no.”

“Explain.”

“I don’t know how to.”

///

Night had crept along rather quickly, and you shifted yet again in your seat. “So have you found…” The bunker, you wanted to say, but you were too exhausted to explain. “Are we headed to a motel, then?”

Dean was the one to respond, as Sam is asleep. “Yeah.”

“Figures,” you mutter.

You end up stopping at The L8 Nite Inn, which, in your opinion, was the most horrendous name in existence.

They herded you about like a lost sheep, roughly pulling your shoulders this way and that. They directed you like you would disappear if they blinked.

In all honesty, you wished you could.

The hotel room was shabby but warm. The brown walls glowed from the soft, yellow lamplight and the curtains were drawn. Eventually, a cot was rolled in, to which you dumped your few salvaged items.

Nervously, you prepared for bed, avoiding all eye contact. These guys were the real deal. Hunters. They hunted demons and witches and ghosts. They had scars. You hadn't thought this through. You hadn't thought any of this through. The next time you woke up in an unfamiliar place, you would not explore. No exploring. You were grounded from exploring.

Huffing, you curled up on the cold sheets, shivering a little.

Looking up, you found the boys staring. Dean immediately reacted. "Woah, wait. There is no way you're sleeping on a cot," Dean says.

You paused. "You guys always take the beds."

They share a look. "Well, I just. You're a g—"

"Girl?"

"—guest." Dean finished. He paused. "Hey! No! I'm not se—hey, nuh uh. Get that out of your head." He let out a sigh before sending a sly smile your way. "What I mean is Sammy here is going to take the cot."

Sam took five full seconds to comprehend what Dean had just said. "What?"

You panicked. No arguments. No matter how good natured. No arguments, please no arguments. "Hey, no, no. I'm cool with a cot. Seriously. It's comfortable."

Dean watched you. "You sure?"

You nodded.

A bit later, the lights went out.

///

You tossed and turned.

If you fell asleep, you could very well wake up in Sherlock. And while you loved the show, you weren't quite ready to be observed by his eyes. You didn't want to hear what you already knew.

This had hardly begun and you had already broken. A raw nervousness had begun to inflate within your stomach—a bloated, unpleasant bubble of anxiety—and you were sure it was steadily growing.

To sleep or not to sleep.

If you sat up very quietly, perhaps the Winchesters would not notice. Maybe you could avoid sleep. Perhaps even escape. If you could escape, you may be able to break this loop.

All you had to do was rise ever-so-slowly without the bed creaking. You dared to sit up.

Creak.

You winced. First the door, now the bed.

You were completely still, listening. Nothing reacted… maybe they didn't notice. You pulled your legs over the side of the bed, biting your lip hard as it let out yet another squeak.

A glance to the Winchesters. Nothing.

You sighed, carefully standing. The door was to your right, just within reach. If you could just tiptoe—

"I wouldn't do that."

You spun around.

Dean was sitting up in his bed, eyeing you. You couldn't read any humor or anger or irritation, but you also weren't great at reading faces.

When you decided to sit back on your cot, he flopped back down. You fumbled with the covers, stalling. You decided that, as much as you would love to, you would not rest your head against the wall.

You couldn't face Sherlock yet. In past dreams, he'd been rather cryptic. But if these new dreams—if they even were dreams, they were so vivid you were convinced they were real—were anything to go by, you would be facing a fully-charged detective very near his flat. With your luck, you’d be stuck in Baker Street, 221B.

And even if you could avoid Sherlock, where would you be off to? An American in London, with no belongings or money to offer? You'd be snuffed out before a week had passed. No, your only hope would be Sherlock. And you really weren't ready for that yet.

"You're not going to get any sleep like that."

You rolled your eyes. Dean was sitting up again, stretching a little. Just sleep, you thought, leave me be. "I'm well aware, thank you."

His forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows were drawn up. "If you think you can outlast us, then you're very, very wrong. Do yourself a favor and get some shut eye. You'll appreciate it in the morning."

You shook your head gently. Not knowing what else to add, you replied, "I'm okay."

"...Right," Dean said. "And why won't you sleep?"

Your eyes drooped. You were too tired to have this conversation. "I don't want to face him right now."

Dean stiffened. "Who?" He looked... murderous. You could only assume he was picturing the worst. Why shouldn't he? He was a hunter. He expected it. When you met his stony gaze, you realized you'd definitely said the wrong thing.

You hesitated.

You would regret this. You really really would regret this. But the words fell out of your mouth, anyway.

"Who?" He repeated icily.

"Sherlock Holmes."

#superwholock #supernatural #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor #doctor who #x reader #dean x reader #reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #john watson #fanfiction #fanfic #@jay-bel

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lothirielswanmarvel · 5 years ago

Text

FACING GALACTUS: Avengers x Guardians of the Galaxy x X-Men (movie versions)

Word Count: 2904

Romantic interest: Thor (+ Star-Lord Love Triangle)

Summary: Our favorite Marvel heroes across cinematic franchises come together to battle the Destroyer of Worlds: Galactus.

—Character List: Movie Versions—

(NOTE: This list is provided because some Marvel characters may be referred to as their actual names, and not their hero titles. Also: two Fantastic Four characters were added to this sneak peak, but they may not be included/have a major role in the actual story.)

Reed Richards . . . Mr. Fantastic (member of Fantastic Four)

Shuri . . . Badass Princess of Wakanda (member of Avengers)

Susan Storm . . . Invisible Woman (member of Fantastic Four)

Scott Lang . . . Ant Man (member of Avengers)

Erik Lehnsherr . . . Magneto (member of X-Men)

Thor . . . Thor (member of Avengers)

Peter Quill . . . Star-Lord (member of Guardians of the Galaxy)

Mantis . . . Antennae Lady (member of Guardians of the Galaxy)

Steve Rogers . . . Captain America (member of Avengers)

Wanda Maximoff . . . Scarlet Witch (member of Avengers; relations with X-Men)

Sam Wilson . . . Falcon (member of Avengers)

Jean Gray . . . Dark Phoenix (member of X-Men)

Ororo Munroe . . . Storm (member of X-Men)

Carol Danvers . . . Captain Marvel (member of Avengers; relations with Guardians of the Galaxy)

Stephen Strange . . . Doctor Strange (Antisocial Sorcerer Supreme; relations with Avengers)

Evangeline Green . . . Angel (member of Avengers; relations with Guardians of the Galaxy)

Galactus . . . Galactus (Planet-eater. Douche of the universe. Do not engage under any circumstances)

—*—

I had three options. I was selfish, and I was a coward, so I chose the third.

“Just like Star Trek,” Reed Richards murmured at the control panel, next to Shuri.

“I’m more of a Star Wars guy,” Scott Lang said, stuffing his face with a peanut butter sandwich. To any other person, it was a harmless action. Innocent, even. In the dim lighting of the spaceship, all I could see was Scott’s jaw moving up and down. Destruction was rhythm. Crushing. Grinding into paste. Then he swallowed.

I shivered and turned away.

The first option was the simplest: killing myself. A few months ago, after the Moon Experience, stuck in space with no memories, I would’ve happily obliged. It would have been so easy. Quick, even. But I was selfish, and a coward. I chose the third.

Erik Lehnsherr and Susan Storm took up positions beside the massive machine. Their job was to keep the projector from becoming overwhelmed and obliterating us all.

His footsteps were loud. I felt his presence before his huge arms wrapped around me, holding me together like I would break into a million pieces if he didn't. Thor whispered softly in my ear, “You worry too much.”

Thor didn't really care who was around: he made it a known fact that we were together. I shook my head slightly, the back of my head brushing against his shoulder. “Can you blame me?”

“No. I don't blame you.” He was talking about more than just my nerves.

“Do you think I made the right decision?” I bit on my lip to keep it from trembling.

“I will support whatever decision you make,” Thor noted, pressing a kiss into my hair. “I don't like the thought of putting you in danger, but...I agree that there is no simple way to end this. It may be difficult, but I trust your judgement.”

“Do you really mean that, or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No—I will never lie to you, my love,” Thor assured me. I felt his hot breath against my ear. “However, I am starting to favor that dream of yours where you bail on everyone and flee to the realm called Mexico.”

I sighed, and tried to enjoy the comfort of his closeness. “Don't cross that one out yet. Wade said he had some extra sombreros in his apartment.”

Wanda Maximoff floated above the ground and landed near us. She looked out the large glass window that displayed the vast vacuum of space. She nodded to us. Her expression was steady, but in her eyes, I could see the terror. “He’s getting closer.”

People gathered about the machine. Wanda joined Jean Gray, Carol Danvers, and Ororo Munroe as they positioned themselves by the massive cannon-like structure.

Option two was to restrain my advanced manipulation of gravity that brought Him here. Weaken them. Weaken me. The people in this room detested the idea. They stood against it. I knew Stephen Strange didn't imply anything personal with the proposition, but I couldn't go along with it. I was selfish, and a coward. I chose the third option.

I spun around to face Thor. He cupped my face in his hands. They were strong, large, and warm. It broke my heart to drag him into this.

“If this doesn't work…” I started, knowing he wouldn't like the proposition I was about to make.

“Then we leave this world together.” Thor prompted. His confident yet swift answer shocked me.

“Wha—no! I refuse to drag you down into the fiery pits of hell with me—and I know that’s where I'm heading, I've stolen too much of Tony’s scotch that's not for company. If there is any possibility of you surviving…” I trailed off underneath the intensity of his cerulean eyes.

“Evangeline, I am not going anywhere. You are all I have left—”

“Your siblings are still alive.”

“But they’re annoying and depressing. They stab everything.” Thor’s expression turned foul for a minute, his thoughts traveling to Hela and Loki. He shook his head and returned to the present. “You are the light of my life—you are my life. I've already learned of a world where you don't exist, I don't wish to return to it.”

The last line sealed my lips. The last few months hadn't been kind to him. They weren't exactly a walk in the park for me. I looked down. Thor’s hands fell from my cheeks and captured my hands. He squeezed them gently.

“Together.” I repeated. “If we die, that's all I want.”

“So do I.”

“...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything.”

Thor raised my hand to his lips, pressing a loving kiss on one, then the other. “None of this is your fault. And if this is the price to pay for a future with you, it's worth it.”

Thor’s hands returned to my cheeks and leaned down for a kiss. I tried to memorize every detail. The clash of his soft lips and the scratchy, ticklish feel of his beard. The hotness of his breath. Every detail of Thor’s exterior should’ve been rough and intimidating, but it was too soft, too gentle.

“I love you,” He murmured against my mouth. “Just remember, darling: the glass is half full.”

“Only if that glass is full of vodka, sweetie. I love you.”

He laughed against my lips, pulling me in for one last kiss. We broke apart reluctantly. Thor tucked a loose hair behind my ear, and joined the others by the machine.

Wanda and Scott stood together. They must’ve watched the exchange, like the infamous eavesdroppers they were. Together, they wore dubious looks.

I glared and did something that Wanda hated. WOW MY THOUGHTS ARE REALLY LOUD, SOUNDS LIKE I'M SHOUTING, GOOD THING NO ONE CAN HEAR ME.

Wanda flinched. Jean Gray tossed a scowl at me. Carol glanced between Wanda and I. “Are you guys doing a staring contest? I used to do those with Nick, I'm really good.”

“Nick Fury?” Scott asked.

“Yeah.”

“Woah. He lets you call him Nick? He doesn't even let me address him in public.”

“Hmm.” Carol stayed quiet, but her eyes widened as she turned away. Scott didn't miss this detail, and ate his sandwich with more intensity.

Peter Quill approached me next. He wasn't thrilled that after my four months spent in space with the Guardians, I rejoined my old life, specifically my giant of a boyfriend.

He stood two feet away, hands hanging casually around his belt buckle, but his shoulders were too stiff to be nonchalant.

“All the tech’s good to go.” Quill said.

My head tilted to the side. “You don't have to be here, Peter. I don't want you to risk your life because of me.”

“I want to.” He insisted. The way he said it reminded me of a kid. I smiled slightly, and Peter must’ve taken it as a good sign.

“I'm not goin’ anywhere. But...it's times like these that I wish I was still half god,” He mused.

We glanced out at the extended panel of stars. Night and light, mixed into one. Mystical and frightening. If I wasn't about to die, I might’ve found the display beautiful.

“It's a whole new world, Jasmine.” Peter replied. It was his hobby to nickname me after Disney princesses. I didn't feel like a heroine: I was dooming everyone on the ship.

“Unless you stole a genie lamp that can get us out of this mess, I don't want to hear it.” My tone was mocking, yet somehow I managed to smile.

Quill shook his head, reinforcing his hands around his waist. “Nah. But you know...if I got one wish…”

His face turned from the glass to me in a sly yet dramatic way. His gaze was trained on me. His expression was almost peaceful, day-dream like.

“...It would be to make that smile reach your eyes.” Peter replied softly.

I didn't know what to say. Thankfully, Reed Richards came to the rescue. “Star-Lord, we need you at this control panel.”

He winked at me as he backed away, and returned to the board of buttons. Sam Wilson glanced around the room, “We look good...as good as we’ll get. I think we’re ready.”

Erik’s fists tightened. “We will be.”

Jean Gray straightened. Her red curls fluttered around her elbows like thirsty flames. “It's time.”

Steve Rogers and Mantis appeared at my side as my moral support. I looked out the window, and I knew I would need it.

Option three was the most difficult, the most impossible. Galactus wanted me to become his new “Herald” for my manipulation over gravity. One incident—I barely made the planet move an inch—and I was being hunted across galaxies. I harbored these abilities for four months now, after the Moon Experience, and it felt like I was fully connected to myself, like there was an extra sense of reality that I was now tuned in to. I didn't want to dispose of them. I didn't want to die. I was selfish, and a coward. I was going to fight Galactus.

I knew He had arrived, because the lights in the sky were going out. Something was blocking our view of them—something colossal.

As the lights were snuffed out across the horizon, Mantis’ hand fell upon my shoulder. “Relax,” She said. Her tone was usually silvery and light, but now it was brittle and cracked with fear.

Steve held up his shield—everyone knew it was useless, but it was a failed attempt to calm my nerves.

“We are Vul-CANS, not Vul-CANTS,” Shuri sounded younger than before. “We can do this. Begin firing!”

They reacted in unison. Thor, Carol, Wanda, Ororo, Jean��all took aim at the massive machine in the center of the room. I looked away as the room was filled with light. My eyes burned, and dark splotches danced before my gaze as the brightness seared every surface. The air in the room was alive now, like electricity. My skin was riddled with bumps—from the fear or immense energy source, I couldn't tell which.

I watched the reflection of the spectacle on the glass. Erik and Susan had the most tortured expressions, hands outstretched, trying to keep the machine together under the stress of so much power. I unclenched my fists at my sides as pain overwhelmed my palms.

“It's not enough!” Reed shouted over the noise. Lightning crackled from Ororo and Thor. “Scott, deploy the Pym Particles!”

The machine roared out with distaste. Steve pulled Mantis and I close, his shield angled at the source of blinding light. Apparently, his discomfort with technology hadn't lessened. In this moment, I couldn't blame him.

I could feel the energy against my scalp and rushing across my cheeks. I glanced back at the window. Most of the stars were gone in the sky. It was just darkness now. Night and light were separated by the fragile glass barrier.

“They didn't do this in Star Trek!” Shuri cried out.

“Everything Zachary Quinto does looks effortless! We’re almost there, keep up the pressure!” Reed’s eyes were protected with thick sunglasses. His dark hair whipped about his face.

“Didn't Uhura dump his logical ass?” Sam shouted.

“He still has Kirk!”

“STAR WARS IS BETTER! STAR WARS NEVER PUT US IN A SITUATION WHERE WE ALMOST DIED!” Peter nearly screamed to be heard.

“STAR WARS NEVER HAD LEONARD NIMOY—SHUT UP AND DO YOUR JOB, QUILL!” Reed’s face was slick with sweat.

The entire ship started to groan. I was focused on our view of space. Two lights now flickered in the sky. They were perfectly aligned with each other.

He's here.

Erik’s reflection staggered. His arms remained up, but one knee touched the ground, and I could see veins popping out across his face. Ororo’s lips were spread apart, teeth clenched together as beams of electricity flashed from her fingertips.

Mantis’ touch couldn't stop my heart from staggering when my gaze flickered to Thor. He was doing alright...sort of. His face was shiny with sweat, but that wasn't the most concerning part. Jagged bolts of lightning protruded from his body and flashed across the interior of the ship, sending up a shower of sparks. Erik and Susan could barely handle the projector—could they keep the ship from tearing apart?

“NOW!” Reed Richards held onto the edge of the panel for support.

Shuri pulled a lever. Energy shot out of the projector, exploding across the dark canvas.

It was what the light illuminated that made me hesitate. The outline of the helmet was like the hands of God coming together, slightly caved in on themselves, but never meeting. The grooves of a face were sketched with light, creased but not wrinkled, and the rest was hidden by the massive helm, like it was shielding the being from any association with humanity. It was a face that asserted dominance, even cruel regalty, with two inhuman orbs that showed no emotion.

This was the cosmic terror that the Silver Surfer warned be about. This was the monster that left Xandar as a dust cloud. This was Galactus.

The ship had gone dead silent in the absence of the energy surge. Reed’s voice mustered me from my terror. “Evangeline! Now!”

Every action from that point on was instinctual. I was just an observer, floating out above my body watching the spectacle. I saw my arms rise in front of me, almost cupping the little speck of light in the sky. I focused on that tiny little pinpoint, pressing down against the laws of reality, imagining myself punching a hole in space.

I hoped I was doing this right. I never made a black hole before.

I caught a flicker of movement at my side. Wanda had moved to the window, crimson bands weaving between her fingers. Her second job was manipulating density. Susan joined us as we concentrated on our task.

My focus remained on the light. It started to shrivel, becoming smaller and smaller. I heard the hiss of someone’s breath. It sounded painful. I felt a new pressure pull down on my limbs as I continued to condense the tiny sun.

The small spark of light slowly shrank and melted from existence. An eternal horizon of night lay in its wake.

“Alright, that's enough. Scott, send in the rest of the Pym Particles. We need to get out of range—activate the teleporters, Quill.”

The voice sounded faint, blurry even, like it was submerged underwater. I think it was Reed’s.

It took a minute to will myself to stop. My role as an astral observer wore off and I reconnected with reality, feeling aches and pains. Susan collapsed on the floor.

Light consumed my skin and my surroundings vanished. We returned to the Grandmaster’s ship.

I winced at the brighter walls leaned on the nearest wall for support. Wanda lowered herself to the ground and lay flat, staring up against the ceiling. “I think...I’ll take that little yellow pill that Wade Wilson offered me a long time ago.”

I sank down to the floor next to her, sitting up against the wall. “Do you think I’ll get a neighbor discount?”

Thor’s boots appeared before me. I couldn't make my chin move up. He sat down next to me, wrapping a burly arm around my shoulders. His skin was usually hot, but it was blazing against the back of my neck. We communicated without words as I scooted closer to him and our fingers entwined.

Stephen Strange walked up to our party. “Did it work?”

Reed’s arm stretched out and clicked some of the buttons on the wall. The surface became reflective glass. “Let’s find out.”

I glanced over Thor’s hand at the endless night. It was too dark. Too deep, too terrifying. And those two orbs still penetrated the black veil, inching closer.

Thor’s quick reflexes shielded my eyes before the explosion of light hit. It was blinding and made my body freeze, like I was Cap stuck in the ice, numb. It was that moment in the movie theater when the music escalated unexpectedly in the dark and it made your heart skip a beat and you stiffened with terror.

The light faded. I turned, feeling Thor’s chest press against my back as we looked out at the result. Everyone was eager to see—even Wanda propped herself up on her elbows to witness the outcome.

“What...what is that?” Jean Gray was the only one standing besides our tech support. An eerie yellow shade made her porcelain skin glow.

“The event horizon,” Reed Richards answered, his words tinged with awe.

Shuri gasped. “I should add this to my story...that would really show my brother and his pathetic cat videos.”

Scott nodded dully. “Yeah...I’m never watching Star Trek ever again.”

Carol Danvers leaned forward, peering at the fiery ring at the center of space. “Hold on...I’ve seen black holes, and that is not supposed to happen.”

I felt Thor grow rigid behind me. Three words escaped my mouth. “Oh my God.”

The pitch black of the sky morphed into a magenta hue. The mass of color moved, seeming to swat at the black hole.

The swarming mass dissipated.

The magenta background gave off it's own luminescence, and the face of Galactus reappeared. His expression was still neutral. Undaunted.

“Holy shit…” I heard Peter say. “What now?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note: Hi Awesome Adventurers, thanks for reading! I’ve been playing around with the idea of this novel for awhile, but I’d like to hear personally from you guys before I start publishing actual chapters. But thank you so much for reading, and please, if you enjoyed this, I’d love to hear from you! If I do start hearing from people, I will post this story on Tumblr, Archive of Our Own, and Wattpad. Your words are powerful, and I’d love to hear them c: love, fortune and glory to you!!

*Also, a few other things on this chapter: I included the Fantastic Four, but it is highly unlikely that they'll have a huge role in this series: they're just kinda thrown in here for the hardcore Marvel fans and to poke fun at Chris Evans. I also consulted a relative of mine with a physics degree, including my own research done on the topic, for this chapter. I know it's not the most perfect theory, but the idea came to me and I thought it would be cool to do! Thanks for reading!

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arazialotis · 6 years ago

Text

Winchesters & Co. - Part 3

Pairing: Dean × Reader

Word Count: Around 2050

Summary: When most people run away, they join the circus; but the Winchester boys were running from it. They wanted more than their father’s business; a paranormal circus of horror and delight. Dean Winchester thought he would never step foot here again but John’s death obliged him to return. Now that he’s back, the only thing that may tempt him to stay is you. The girl with white hair and a gift to see the future. Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: Fluff

----

Seventeen felt so long ago. Recalling it felt like waking up in the morning with a ray of sunshine already warming your chest. It was wild and carefree. You had fully grown into your role of fortune teller. The sad or angry customers no longer frightened you. You had even suggested to John reading his fortune which he seemed to like a little too much. But seventeen held much more than business endeavors. It held your first and only kiss; with none other than the infamous lady-killer, Dean Winchester.

By seventeen, Dean Winchester had experienced numerous first kisses; with customers, traveling acts, daughters of rich investors. He didn’t discriminate, anyone was game, everyone but you. Perhaps it was the brotherly-sisterly bond that you shared, or Dean still feared your white hair. Whatever it was, you envied his flirtatiousness and rivaled for his attention.

Childhood still clung to your late teenage years as you and he still wandered the fields and forest. Yet Dean couldn’t figure out your silent infatuation with the blades of wheat over a conversation with him.

His deep sigh prompted your response. “Where were you last night?” You accused still focused picking the grains of one by one. “You said you would be there when I read the governor’s fortune.”

Dean chuckled to himself recalling. “Perhaps you should ask his wife.” You scoffed in response, throwing the wheat aside and hitting his shoulder.

“It was only a kiss.” He defended with a devilish grin.

You went from shock back to pouting. “I’ve never been kissed.” Dean remained silent. “Probably never will be since the only people I interact with are you and customers who think I’m some freak.”

“Hey!” Dean cut you off. “Don’t talk like that. You are not a freak.” You rolled your eyes. “I’d kiss you.” He continued as you tsked. “But if you read that future, I’m sure it’d lead to me getting punched in the arm.”

“I wouldn’t punch you.” You went back to examining the grass.

Dean leaned in closer. “Does that mean I can kiss you?”

You looked back to him, closer to his lips than you had ever been before. Almost as if there was a magnetic force pulling you in. But your laughed cut you off and you flopped down to the ground.

“I want to be kissed by someone who loves me.” You sighed watching the clouds pass by.

The sky became blocked by Dean’s grinning face as he rolled over you, pinning you to the ground. “I love you, Moonchild.”

You playfully pounded against his chest. “Like a sister.” You added.

He licked his lips, while looking at yours. “Not right now.”

You blushed. “Ay, this ain’t love, this is raging hormones.”

“What’s the difference?” He countered.

Staring up back at him you were losing your excuses. “Haven’t you kissed enough girls?”

He leaned in closer, mere inches away from your lips. “There’s only one girl I’m concerned with now.”

Finally you gave in and lifted up to meet his mouth. For a brief moment, your world went white, not from fortune reading, but from a pure spark of flames raging inside your chest. Dean bounded up from the shock. You stayed paralyzed, staring up at the sky.

“You actually did it!” Dean laughed, leaping up in the air. “I can’t believe it! You just kissed me! No way in a million years would I have thought...”

“Shut up.” You breathed heavily. “I guess it wasn’t all that bad. But for all the practice you’ve had I expected a bit more.” You finally stood up as you teased.

Dean inched closer to you with a sly smirk on his face. “You thought that was it? I’m just getting started.”

“You’ll have to catch me first!” You swished your hips back and forth. Dean bit his lip before he charged. You ran away from him squealing in delight.

****

It was near twilight as you headed there now. Butterflies flipped in your stomach recalling the memories. A picnic basket filled with bread, cheeses, jams and wine swung in your arm. Approaching the twin oaks at the edge of the circus, your pace slowed. Your free hand caressed the tree’s rough bark as you looked out over the path that led to the outside world. A soft whistle broke your concentration. Following the noise, you could see Dean’s silhouette pacing the field. A smile filled your heart.

WIthout saying a word, you sat down in the grass next to him, placing the basket’s contents onto a woven cloth. You handed Dean a small wooden goblet filled with spiced wine you purchased from the witch Celeste. It warmed you down to your very soul.

Spreading some jam and fresh butter over a slice of bread, you found the courage to speak hoping to know Dean’s intentions for the night. “Have you done much kissing since seventeen?”

He never did quite lose that boyish grin. He used a pocket knife to slice of a piece of apple and popped it in his mouth while chewing over an answer. “There has rarely been a time with another when someone else’s kiss hasn’t come to mind.”

You laughed. “If that’s a regular line Dean Winchester, I believe the number is too high to count.”

He looked into your eyes. “I’ve only used that line once.”

You shook your head and pressed your lips together. The sky grew darker and the crickets’ songs began. After another sip of wine, you laid your head down on Dean’s outstretched leg, looking for the first star to shine out yearning to answer a dreamer’s wish. While you searched the sky, Dean searched your face, tucking a stray white dred behind your ear.

You couldn’t tell how long you stayed like that before Dean spoke again. “You could come with me you know… after all of this is put to rest.”

You paused. “You could always stay…”

Dean leaned back joining your gaze towards the sky. “There’s no future here.” He sighed.

“There’s contentment.” You argued. “There’s security… there’s family.”

He sucked the side of his teeth showing disdain but let it be. “We don’t need to decide tonight.”

You closed your eyes breathing in the fresh night air. “Then why have you brought me out here Dean Winchester?” “There’s something I should have done years ago.” He explained, you sat up to meet his gaze.

Dean leaned over, his hand gently caressing your hair, pushing you in to meet him. Your world went white at first contact. He was soft yet firm, letting you lead but guiding you along. You stole breaths in between as sparks from the fire consumed you. Worlds spun around you faster than the twirling rides in the park. When you finally pulled away, you couldn’t help but contain your excitement.

Dean’s devilish smirk returned. “Now, how was that for practiced.”

You scoffed and whipped your shawl against his shoulder. “Do not tell me that as just to prove a point from all those years ago.”

He considered teasing you further but resisted. “It wasn’t. From the moment you entered this circus I was utterly interguid and captivated by your presence. It’s about time I started showing it.”

“Of all the fortunes I’ve seen… this was one I never could have predicted.” You shook your head in amazement.

Dean silently chuckled before leaning back in for another kiss.

***

The carnival had been up and running for hours by the time Dean and you returned. You walked hand in hand, as if you were simply customers. The caravan was empty, no one in line for the closed act.

“So much for resting up for tonight's customers.” You giggled.

Dean kept his stride steady, not evening giving the place a second glance. “Forget them tonight, you can worry about work tomorrow.”

For once, you wandered the paths, you took in the sight around you as a wonder not as your home. Lights dazzled, rides whirled, fire breathers shocked audiences, but the one thing consistent in the chaos was Dean’s presence keeping you steady on the ground. Some of the vendors glanced your way with curiosity. You kept your head held high out of pride for being with the owner’s son.

The rides and attractions led to booths that were rigged with games that seemed so simple yet always turned a profit. One in particular caught Dean’s eye.

“No way! This old thing is still around?” He finally released your hand as he rushed over to it.

You simply smiled and jumped up to sit upon the counter. Dean fished out a few nickels from his pocket buying him three small wooden stakes. The vendor cranked a mechanical wheel starting a line of silhouettes moving back and forth.

The vendor muffled through pointed teeth. “Should I take caution from your continued fixation of this game?” Dean disregarded him, eyes lit up only for the prize. He threw one stake and it landed its mark straight in the heart.

You piped in for Dean. “It’d take a lot more than a stake to kill you Dany. You should be grateful of the myth this game perpetuates about your kind.”

He sneered as Dean threw at the second target. “Just as you should be grateful for the old man’s protection.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You scowled.

The third stake whizzed past the vampires head, imbedding into the wall behind him. “She is still protected.” Dean nearly growled.

Dany stood tall, unfazed as a low chuckle rose from his throat. “All I’m saying is a few of us have been around a lot longer than you youngins.” He reached for a pair of fake plastic fangs and threw them Dean’s way. “Better luck next time.”

Dean left the second-rate prize, storming away. You looked between the both of them before trailing behind Dean.

“He’d better watch himself.” Dean fumed.

“Ay, he meant nothing by it.” You locked your hand around his arm hoping it would slow his pace. “He’s paid to be creepy is all. Forgets when he's talking to customers or staff.”

“If anything happened to you… or a customer…”

You cut him off. “Perhaps you have been in the real world too long Dean Winchester. The monsters and ghost stories they tell out there have no meaning here. This is a haven for the grim and macob. All we want is peace and a full belly.” Although you protested, Dean’s scowl remained. “Though the witch Celeste has been making comments about the potential potions that she could conjure with my eyes….”

The sternness Dean held melted to horror.

“Ay!” You slapped his shoulder. “I’m only joshing.” You howled in laughter. “Your face!”

“Okay, that’s it.” Dean pouted. “You’re scoundrels, all of ya!”

You wiggled your hips and sashed your skirt at him. “You like it.” You teased.

Dean closed the gap and cupped your face in his hands. “I’ll never admit it.” He whispered.

“What is it there always saying… it’s not your words, but your actions.” You smiled as Dean leaned in, grazing his lips against yours.

You jolted back from Dean at the onslaught of heavy smoke. “What is it?” Dean asked concerned. His hand fell down holding the hem of your skirt.

“You don’t smell that?” You looked around for the source.

Dean casually sniffed the air and then glanced down to his rumbling stomach. His hand came away from your dress, placing it over his belly. “Corn Dogs? Yes. No offense, but what you call dinner is not very filling.”

If he didn’t smell it, where was it coming from? Was it just a figment of your imagination? Or remnants from Castiel vision earlier that day? The smokey air soon dissipated and the lack of flames or screaming customers told you it was all in your head.

Dean could sense something was off. “You comin’?” You snapped out of your daze and he smirked. “I do often have that effect on women.”

“Tsk.” With the twirl of your skirt you sauntered away from him, trying to forget the lingering smell.

He giddly followed after you, knowing you were only playing hard to get, and that your night was not quite finished yet.

---

Part 4

Tags:

Forevers: @nanie5 @sea040561 @crushing83 @mogaruke @deanwinchesterforpromqueen@ginamsmith @jotink78 @blushingdean @sup3r-pott3r-lock3d @dancingalone21 @li-ssu@highonpastries @daddy-kink-confirmed @weewooweewoo1212 @carryonmyswansong @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @atc74 @superapplepie @coolness22 @cassieraider @winchesternco @adaliamalfoy @iwriteaboutdean @spnbaby-67 @cigsandpie @curedean @monkeymcpoopoo@adoptdontshoppets @maddiepants @onceuponathreetwoone

DeanxReader: @akshi8278 @mywillfulwinchester @dainty-hibiscus @boxywrites @its-not-a-tulpa@mrsbatesmotel53 @tacklesackles @creepykatftw @aubreystilinski @iamabeautifulperson18@jerkbitchidjitassbutt @gloriousartisanfancreator

WinchesternCo: @flamencodiva @shamelesslydean

#dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural #SPN #SPN FANDOM #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean x you #dean x y/n #winchesters & co

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gryffindorgazelle · 5 years ago

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Heaving through corrupted lungs

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

Will the hive survive, will the gladiolas Succeed in banking their fires To enter another year? What will they taste of, the Christmas roses? The bees are flying. They taste the spring - Wintering, Sylvia Plath

I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory When’s it gonna get me? In my sleep, seven feet ahead of me? If I see it comin’, do I run or do I let it be? Is it like a beat without a melody? See, I never thought I’d live past twenty Where I come from some get half as many. Ask anybody why we livin’ fast and we laugh, reach for a flask We have to make this moment last, that’s plenty - My Shot, Lin Manuel Miranda

Despite everything, it’s still you. Stay determined. - Undertale

Yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere. - J. R. R. Tolkien

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Dorcas Meadowes NICKNAMES: Cas, Dora AGE: 20 BIRTHDAY: August 17, 1960 GENDER: Female PRONOUNS: she/her

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Rachel Meadowes (muggle) (48) FATHER: Alexander Meadowes (wizard) (50) SIBLINGS: Nicholas Meadowes (muggle) (25), Magda Meadowes (witch) (15), Jacob Meadowes (wizard) (12)

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Jessica Sula BUILD: 5’7”, curvy – thick thighs save lives HAIR: Thick and curly HAIR COLOR: Black EYE COLOR: Brown SKIN COLOR: Brown DOMINANT HAND: Right hand ANOMALIES: A few burn marks on her arms from potions gone awry; a crescent moon scar on her left knee from jumping off the roof when she was eight; little nicks on her fingers from prepping potion ingredients SCENT: Dittany, mint, and coffee ACCENT: English – Liverpool area ALLERGIES: Grapefruit, general hay fever DISORDERS: Mild depression, made worse by the state of the world, as well as London’s overcast skies. FASHION: Oversized sweaters tucked into jeans when she’s at home, long robes with slight embellishments when she’s in the wizarding world. Turtlenecks and pinafores, slacks and button ups – Dorcas loves muggle fashion and usually prefers it over robes. NERVOUS TICS: lip biting, tapping her wand against her thigh QUIRKS: when she gets mad, sparks begin to gather between her curls, and she will start to shock the people closest to her

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: London, England BORN: Liverpool, England RAISED: Liverpool, England PETS: A cat growing up (Marcie) and then an owl for her first year of Hogwarts (Towel – a tawny owl)

CAREER: Healer EXPERIENCE: In training. Third year of five EMPLOYER: St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: The Order of the Phoenix BELIEFS: Everyone deserves a chance – there are some who are beyond redemption, but people can change if they’re given the opportunity. Dorcas grew up in a small town just outside of Liverpool that was a mix of muggles and magical folk and the idea of any sort of discrimination based on blood status never crossed her path until she entered Hogwarts. MISDEMEANORS: None FELONIES: None DRUGS: Has dabbled in psychedelics but doesn’t use anything regularly SMOKES: No ALCOHOL: Yes DIET: Between doing work for the Order and her long shifts at the hospital, Dorcas doesn’t have a lot of time to cook. She’s always got a jar of peanut butter and jam in her pantry and two loaves of bread in the freezer but it’s rare that she has something even close to a full fridge of food. Usually she’ll grab takeout between shifts but there are some days where she’s so busy that food isn’t a thought until she’s falling asleep.

LANGUAGES: English

PHOBIAS: Small spaces, being restrained, things over her head and around her neck HOBBIES: Has a small garden in her room where she grows herbs. Also has a couple trailing plants hanging from her windows. She also collects postcards from every town she visits and displays them on a very crowded cork board. TRAITS: { + }: Protective, loyal, funny, uplifting, determined { - }: Stubborn, quick to anger, melancholic, acts before she thinks

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: There’s a park that’s about a ten minute walk from the house Dorcas grew up in and off of it is a small hideaway. It’s nothing more than a five foot clearing with a hollowed out tree and a small garden but it was the place Dorcas ran to when she was upset or sad and needed somewhere to release her anger. The city has grown since she left for Hogwarts but the little clearing has somehow remained untouched. SPORTS TEAM: Dorcas doesn’t follow sports – she enjoyed watching the school quidditch games but never followed the sport outside of the house competitions GAME: Exploding Snap MUSIC: Queen, The Beatles MOVIES: The Exorcist, The Omen, any horror movie she can get her hands on FOOD: Donuts BEVERAGE: Lavender tea with honey COLOR: Maroon, Burnt Orange, Bright Yellow

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Gryffindor WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core): 12 1/3”, limber, spruce, dragon heartstring AMORTENTIA: Eucalyptus, Bonfire on a cold evening, Fresh lilac bushes waving in the breeze PATRONUS: Black Bear BOGGART: A silent baby. Hers. Covered in sores and taking its last breath while she can’t reach it

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good. MBTI: ENFP MBTI ROLE: The Campaigner. ENNEAGRAM: Six ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Loyalist TEMPERAMENT: Choleric WESTERN ZODIAC: Leo (July 23 – August 22). Known for their exuberance, loyalty, and self confidence. Optimistic, enthusiastic, passionate, and spontaneous. Struggles to quiet down and listen, to take a moment before acting. CHINESE ZODIAC: Rat (Gold). Smart, talented, hot-tempered, jealous, with a strong sense of self-awareness. Rats are quick-witted, resourceful, and smart but lack courage. With rich imaginations and sharp observations, they can take advantage of various opportunities. PRIMAL SIGN: Otter. Clever, feisty, gregarious, likes to be in charge. Doesn’t like to look unintentionally foolish and dislikes living by other people’s rules. TAROT CARD: Strength. A card of bravery and fierceness. Symbolizes an unafraid woman. She is undaunted, indomitable, and steadfast. TV TROPES:

Surprisingly Normal Backstory: Dorcas grew up in a small town just outside of Liverpool, with two loving parents, two brothers, and a sister. Despite the presence of magic, her upbringing was average and she learned how to do things both the magical and non-magical ways. It was when she went off to Hogwarts that her life suddenly began to be turned upside down.

Challenge Seeker: Constantly seeking a challenge, Dorcas is always looking for ways to improve the potions she works with on a daily basis and hone her skills. She will not allow herself to be the weak link in any facet of her life.

Forgets To Eat: Between working at St. Mungo’s and running tasks for the Order, Dorcas often forgets to grab something to eat and doesn’t realise it until she’s snapping somebody’s head off. A lot of her anger issues might not be so volatile if she remembered to eat at least three meals a day.

SONGS:

Marigold – Mother Falcon

Bury all the marigold Underneath the bedroom As you stole two kisses from her lips Tears were shed And morals bled And petals were plucked Something in the heart beat like a drum

She – dodie

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep She tastes like apple juice and peach

Learn to Love – W. Darling

You can stand with a shield at your side Never breaking protecting your pride But you can’t really win if you’ve nothing to lose

Some Nights – fun.

Save that for the black and white I try twice as hard and I’m half as liked

So this is it? I sold my soul for this? Washed my hands of that for this? I miss my mom and dad for this?

Wild Heart – Bleachers

Were we there? Was I brave? To think everything must die For anyone to matter

Eyes Wide Open – Gotye

You just get used to living in fear Or give up when you can’t even picture your future

The Crooked Kind – Radical Face

I heard you say you weren’t born of our blood I know we’re the crooked kind But you’re crooked too

But I smell their blood I hear their voices somewhere in my bones

I know their names I carry their blood too They sing forgotten songs But I know the words They’ve been with me sine I was born

Blank Maps – Cold Specks

When my words head for the clouds Will you have my back? We were good children Darling, let it out

Let Your Heart Hold Fast – Fort Atlantic

To believe I walk alone Is a lie that I’ve been told So let your heart hold fast For this soon shall pass

IDEOLOGIES:

Peanut butter and jam belong on separate pieces of bread

Don’t give the universe a chance to bring your fears to life. Rephrase your thoughts and concerns in a positive way and throw your entire weight behind them. Things will get better, even if it’s only by the sheer strength of your will.

Never waste the opportunity for a good pun.

Always lick the bowl.

Trust your gut instinct. It knows more than you.

Life can be pain but it can also be so much more if you let it. Hold your friends close and don’t let them go – it isn’t blood that makes a family.

#dulcetask #task 001

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celtics534 · 6 years ago

Text

Natural Chapter 16

So, here we are. The second to last chapter of Natural. Get prepared for quite a ride!

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Pregnant women are strange, Harry thought as he watched his wife dip a pickle into a jar of peanut butter. They were lounging on their sofa, the room filled with natural light as the wireless crooned in the background. It was comfortable, so comfortable that Harry had almost been lulled to sleep until he heard a loud crunch and saw his wife eating… that. Now he may never sleep again.

Five months into her pregnancy and Ginny had fully embraced its quirks. The unique eating habits, her increased body temperature (she had taken to casting cooling charms on whatever room she was in), the really odd dreams, and who could forget Harry’s personal favorite-- an increased libido. Just the other day Harry had been lounging on their bed studying the playbook Wood had created when Ginny basically appeared from thin air and jumped him. Not that he was complaining...quite the opposite, really.

Harry figured they were in the peaceful part of pregnancy. According to the books (because yes, he was actually reading them, Mum), this was the easiest part of the experience. Months seven through birth sounded like one of the layers of Hell and Harry was not overly excited for those months, but fuck he was excited to be a father.

When they told his parents, his mother had cried and nearly hugged them to death. But when James took Harry aside and told him how his life was about to have a bigger meaning than he would have ever thought, that really hit him hard. Father and son had sat in the study drinking and talking, and honestly, it had become one of Harry’s fondest moments with his father.

“Harry?” Ginny’s voice broke Harry out of his woolgathering.

“Yes, Gin?” Harry sat up, ready for any task she had.

“Could you please massage my feet?” Though Ginny had embraced the changes to her body, she didn’t like all of them. The heartburn and swollen feet were two of the worst. The number of foot rubs Harry had given in the last few weeks alone couldn’t be counted.

He gestured for her to come closer. “Send them my way.”

Ginny twisted her body so her back rested against the arm of the sofa and her feet were up in Harry’s lap. He tugged off her socks and took one foot into his hands. His thumbs pressed into her arch with knowledgeable precision.

Harry moved slowly making sure to give every section of her foot plenty of attention. Based on the satisfied moans coming from Ginny, he was doing a good job.

“Please quit your day job and become my personal foot masseuse.” Ginny arched her freshly rubbed foot, as Harry moved to the next one.

“I don’t think Coach Cara will like that much.” Harry couldn’t help but smile at Ginny’s unladylike snort.

“I’ll tell Cara where he can shove it.”

“Now, now, no need to get violent.”

Ginny shrugged. “I need a new way to vent. I can’t just go around knocking basic bitches off their brooms for the next few months like usual.”

Harry paused his magic fingers and looked up at his wife. “You only did that to me once.”

“And that was enough for you to be inducted into the basic bitch club.” Ginny took another pickle out of the jar and scooped some peanut butter with it.

“Such loving words from the future mother of my child,” Harry said sarcastically as he dug the pad of his thumb into Ginny’s heel.

Ginny looked unperturbed. “You knew what you were in for before you knocked me up. Besides, you love it.”

Harry set her foot down gently before shifting his body so he lay between her hips. Their breaths mixed as Harry leaned in to kiss her. “More than I can say, even with your peanut butter and pickle breath”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Have you seen this?” George flourished the paper at his sister and brother-in-law. The couple were resting on the Burrow’s sitting room sofa, Ginny enjoying an extra slice of pie and Harry a cup of tea. Harry placed his mug on the coffee table and took the paper.

He quickly scanned over the article that George had folded to, scoffing at the author. “Merlin, they never think before they publish, do they?”

Ginny leaned onto his shoulder. “They’re talking about my career as if it’s over.”

George nodded. “That’s what they say on the next page. They say how your impending bundle of joy, who we all pray has his Uncle George’s good looks, will keep you home and off the pitch.”

Ginny straightened indignantly, her hand naturally coming to rest on her six-month baby bump. “Just because I’m having a baby doesn’t mean I’m done with quidditch!”

“Tell that to Witch Weekly,” Fred suggested from his spot by the fireplace.

“That wouldn’t be the only thing I’d tell those pricks at Witch Weekly,” Ginny muttered darkly. Over the course of her pregnancy, Ginny and Harry had been hounded by the press and it was Ginny’s greatest desire to Bat-Bogey the lot of them. In particular the ever attentive writers at Witch Weekly, who had been harping on about Harry not being the father of their baby, with no evidence whatsoever.

“As much as I agree with you, Gin.” Harry placed a hand on his wife’s knee. “I’d rather not have the mother of my child give birth in Azkaban.”

Ginny raised a ginger eyebrow at him. “That would only happen if they caught me, and I’m pretty sure I’d get away with it.”

George laughed, nodding his head. “That you could Gin-Gin. It would be just like that time you stole a biscuit from the jar, and you got mum to think it was Ron.”

“Oh yeah!” Fred shook a finger at his sister. “You are too cunning for your own good. I still don’t know how you convinced mum of that one. Multiple times.”

Ginny smirked at her twin brothers. “It was rather easy. I just need to send her one of these.” She batted her eyelashes in a way that Harry recognized all too well from the times he hadn’t wanted to do something, and in end had done them. “And then I picked a brother to throw under the bus.”

Fred let a low whistle. “That’s it?”

“I would have thought there was more.” George stroked his chin in thought. “What about that time where you made mum think we stole Percy’s favorite quill?”

“That was you.” Ginny reminded him.

“Oh yeah. Okay, what about --” Over the course of the next three hours, Harry realized his wife was a nefarious mastermind, and he loved her more for it. But that damn article came back to nag at him throughout the rest of the day whenever left to his own devices.

Ginny seemed to still have it on her mind as well because she brought it back up while they finished their nightly routines. “Why is that women are expected to stay home and mind the children?” Harry had already tossed the excess pillows from the bed and crawled into his predetermined side while Ginny had changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and one of Harry’s old shirts. “Just because I want to continue playing after I have a baby doesn’t make me a bad mother.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Harry faced his wife as she crawled under the covers.

“Yet, that’s what people will think.” Ginny’s voice was filled with disgust. “I mean I don’t really care what people think, but I still find it fucking annoying.”

Harry leaned across the small gap between them and pressed his lips to hers, which seemed to be what she needed after her rant. She scooted her body so it was tucked close to his-- well, as close as her extended stomach would allow. He felt her sigh as she pressed her nose into his neck.

They lay in silence, arms around each other. Content just being there in their bed, where the rest of the world didn’t matter. It was just him and her.

Harry took a deep breath, inhaling Ginny’s intoxicating scent, before speaking. “I’ve been thinking.”

“A dangerous pastime, love.” Ginny murmured in a sleepy tone.

“I know, but what do you think of me minding the baby full time?”

Ginny shifted in his arms, leaning back so she could look at him in the bare light of the moon shining through the curtain. “What?”

“Cara is retiring at the end of the year.” Harry guided his hand to rest on her stomach. “And I love quidditch and I do love playing, but not like you do.”

Ginny reached behind her for her wand and lit the room with a quick wave. When she rolled back to look at him, her eyes blazed like the setting sun. “Are you saying you’re applying for the coaching position?”

“I’ve already applied and I have it if I want it.” Harry kissed her lightly. “Ginny, I can take the baby with me to practices and what not. There is this little contraption that lets a baby sit on your chest while you walk around. And if the little bugger gets tired I can set up a bassinet in my office with a monitoring charm.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven't you?”

“Since the day we found out you were pregnant.”

Ginny’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

Harry nodded. “I want to do this, Gin. I just need you to be on board with it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be on board?” Ginny’s hand came up to rub his jaw. “As long as this is truly what you want to do.”

“It is.” Harry felt like a weight lifted off his chest. “I’ll tell the owner I accept the offer tomorrow.” He took Ginny’s wand, which she had placed in the small gap between them, and turned out the lights.

They resettled, Ginny turning around so her back was pressed against his chest and his hands could rest on the baby bump. Nothing had ever felt more right to Harry. This was him in his natural habitat. There was no doubt in his mind that he was doing the correct thing.

The light fluttering pressure on his hand made Harry smile. His child seemed to agree and acknowledged it with a little kick.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“How’s the wife, Harry?” Sirius asked as he, Harry, and James settled in comfortable lounge chairs. They had put on the Wasps versus Catapults games on the wireless when they had entered Sirius’ ‘study,’ which was never used to study anything except old muggle motorcycle magazines.

“Good.” Harry smiled at the mere thought of his seven, almost eight, months pregnant wife. “She’s out shopping with Luna today. Apparently, Luna thinks the baby needs some… well, I’m not quite sure what genre it is because Luna said a word I’d never heard, but a certain type of music.”

“And Ginny’s all for that?” James asked with a raised brow.

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, she loves Luna so she takes her suggestions seriously.”

“What is this music suppose to do?” Sirius asked curiously before taking a large gulp from his beer. “What makes it so dire?”

“Clear all the baby’s chakras.”

Sirius blinked once, twice, and third time. “Oh good, I was worried about that.”

James snorted but smiled. “Well other than chakra cleansing music, what else do you two need?”

“Not much to be honest.” Harry took a sip from his drink. “Ginny’s already nesting. The last three weeks have consisted of us going out on random shopping trips to buy whatever item she’s thought of. But I think we have all the basics.”

James placed his glass down and stood from his lazy chair. “Not everything. I have something to show you.” He poked his head out the door to yell for his wife. Lily hurried over from the kitchen where she had been talking with Sirius’ current bird (who had made it an unheard of six months).

Harry accompanied his parents out of the study and towards the attic, Sirius following behind them like a dog. The old creaky stairs of Sirius’ old London house was the only sound between the group.

Once they reached the door, James turned to Harry. “You know how I’ve been taking that woodworking class?”

Harry nodded. He still found it odd that his father had taken up the old muggle art form. Though he did find it adorable when his father visited after a class and had wood shavings in his greying hair.

“Well, I started this project as soon as you told me about the baby.” James opened the door and lit the oil lamps with a wave of his wand. A dark oak rocking chair sat in the middle of the room. Harry forgot how to speak as he moved over to the chair. He brushed his hand across the finished armrest up to the intricate headrest.

“Dad --” Harry cleared his throat, hoping to dislodge whatever had gotten stuck. “It’s amazing.”

“Your mother picked out the design and wood color.” James threw an arm over Harry’s shoulder. The headrest had outlines of two quidditch players. One held a quaffle under their arm and the other was speeding towards a snitch. With a bit of magic, the two figures flew past each other, and their heads turning to look back at the other.

Lily pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “It will be perfect for you and Ginny to rock the little one to sleep.”

Harry nodded, completely forgoing words as he pulled both his parents into a hug.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“I swear I’ve become a beached whale,” Ginny moaned as she adjusted her position on the bed. Her bum had become completely numb. Being eight months pregnant had led to an array of unexpected uncomfortable things. The amount of gas she had for starters…

“The prettiest beached whale I ever did see.” Harry leaned over to kiss her cheek.

Ginny snorted. “First of all, you shouldn’t agree with the description of beached whale. As the husband, it’s your job to find an alternative comparison. Secondly, if I hadn’t just found the most comfortable position, I would totally hex you for your impudence.”

Harry smiled at her threat. “Now you wouldn’t want to hex the father of your child, would you?” Ginny just raised an eyebrow. Harry tried again. “Father of your child that wears glasses? Would that deter you?”

“You know,” Ginny let her voice drop, becoming sultry. “There is something that could, as you put it, deter me.”

“Oh?” Harry smile slid into a dirty smirk. He adjusted his body so he was on her side of the mattress, his lips an inch from her ear and his fingers at the hem of her shirt. “What might this interference be?”

“A big bowl of that vanilla ice cream we have.”

Harry blinked owlishly for a moment, before chuckling. “Out of everything I had to offer, you pick ice cream.”

Ginny smiled at him. “I think we both know what your preferred distraction would be, that’s what got me into this mess of hormones and cravings.”

“And wasn’t it a great diversion. It made me forget about losing to the Tornados.”

“A pick me up wasn't the only thing you got that night.”

Harry laughed, pressing a final kiss to her lips and her stomach before rolling off the bed. “Right, because it’s my fault you ambushed me while I was in the shower and you were on a faulty potion.”

“Obviously.”

Harry smiled to himself as he headed towards the kitchen. He paused in the doorway when Ginny called his name. He spun to see his gorgeous wife propped up on her pregnancy pillow. He still couldn’t get over how amazing she looked while carrying his child. Merlin, his child, who would be born in a month or two...

In all honesty, Harry didn’t feel prepared at all. He knew all first-time parents felt like this, between talking with his parents and Ginny. Merlin, he was scared. But then he looked at Ginny and couldn't get it out of his head, how their child will be with them in mere weeks. Her freckled nose with his eyes on their baby’s chubby cheeks. Being able to lay in that very bed and just snuggle their baby as they fall asleep. No, Harry wasn’t prepared at all, but he couldn’t wait.

“Yes, darling?”

Ginny gave him that look. The look that she only gave him. Her eyes seemed to melt his brain into a puddle of goo, all the while making sure his body knew he was alive. “Don’t forget about the chocolate sauce and cherry.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Only one week until the suspected due date of Ginny Potter.” Mothers reminded the listeners. “Dan, what do you reckon the baby will be? A boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know.” Dan tapped his chin in consideration. “Witch Weekly claims it’s gonna be a girl because of how she’s carrying, but honestly I’m sensing a boy.”

“Me too. Harry actually told me last week, after the Puddlemere versus Portree game, that they've decided to wait to find out the gender, so they don’t even know.”

“Did he have a preference?”

“No. He just wanted his wife and child to be happy and healthy.” Mothers paused for a second. “Though, he did say he would love to have a daughter that was just as beautiful as her mother. And if that isn’t the sweetest thing you ever did hear…”

“Harry Potter, star seeker of Puddlemere United, the closet romantic.” Gregory laughed. “If everyone didn’t love our star couple, the birds would be flocking to him.”

“Ah, here come the teams now.” Mothers tuned the listeners back to the game. “This is Puddlemere versus The Harpies. It will be a different game without Ginny Potter.”

“This is the first time these two teams will have met this season.” Gregory reminded everyone. “The Harpies’ main driving force last year was Ginny Potter and without her talents… Well, we’ll have to wait and see what the Harpies have up their sleeves.”

“You can tell Captain Gwenog Jones is thinking along those lines. The glare she just sent Harry Potter.” Mothers chuckled.

“That’s what he gets for impregnating his wife.” Dan joined his fellow announcer's line of humor. “An angry captain.”

“Though Ginny is here to watch the game.” Mothers pointed her out in the crowd to Gregory. “She’s here with at least two of her brothers. I think it’s the twin owners of Weasley Wizard Wheezes.”

“The captains have shaken hands and the balls have been released.” Gregory tuned everyone into the action they were paid to talk about.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

George waited for Ginny to open her eyes before speaking in a low voice. “You’re in labor aren't you?” Over the last hour, George had seen his sister wince three times before shutting her eyes.

“It’s fine.” Ginny met his gaze. “They’re still far apart. It’s when they come every four minutes that I need to go see Padma.”

George gave her a skeptical look, but he didn’t know enough to truly argue with her. “Fine. But you’ll tell me as soon as it’s at the four-minute mark?”

“Of course.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry took a large gulp of water from his water bottle. The game had been brutal, neither team willing to give any leeway. The number of bludgers Harry had already avoided in the last hour was remarkable.

He threw the bottle back onto the bench and ran his hand against his forehead, wiping off sweat.

“Alright, lads.” Cara came over to the squad after talking with Devlin. “The Harpies have come to kill, but we won’t let them. Love, I need you to focus on Hawkins. She’s on point today, and we need to ruin her day.”

Cara listed off a bunch of plays to help the chasers cover more ground. Finally, he turned to Harry. “Potter, you --” He stopped mid-sentence as a silver coyote ran into the pit.

“Harry!” The patronus spoke in George’s voice, but with a slight nervousness that was wasn’t normal for the prankster. “Ginny’s in labor. I’m taking her to St Mungo's now.”

There were ten seconds of stunned silence between the entire team, before Bastille shouted, “Well? Get going, Potter.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair as the team joined in the chant. His brain couldn’t catch up. Ginny was in labor... Devlin gave him a little shove and finally, Harry’s feet got the message. He ran… straight towards the fireplace in the coach’s office, and to his wife.

#hinny #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry X ginny #harry potter fan fiction #hinny fanfic #hinny fic #natural

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fanonorcanon · 5 years ago

Text

Cullen & F!Mage Trevelyan (Peaceful Thedas AU)

“Oh for fuckssakes,” She groaned, getting up slowly. The eluvian had thrown her out at the top of a hill. A hill strewn with bushes, rocks and weeds.

“Are you alright, that was quite a fall,” someone said.

“Oh yes, completely fine,” she spat, dusting off her clothes and the pack that had fallen from her back. “Nothing like rolling down a fucking hill that’s at least ten feet tall with--” she began before she looked up. Oh, Maker. He’s hot. “Sorry,” She finished lamely.

He chuckled and she felt her face grow hot.

“Can we start over? Hello, I’m Tilda, and you are?”

“Cullen, a pleasure to meet you,”

“Why yes, it certainly is,” she smirked, tilting her head. He seemed stunned rather than pleased so she pressed on. “So where am I, Cullen?”

“You don’t know where you are?” He asked.

“Not really, eluvians don’t usually come with instructions.”

“You came through an eluvian? I’ve only heard of those in legends!” He grinned.

“Uh yeah, anyway, where is this?”

“Ferelden.”

“Yes, I figured as much, but where?”

“Oh! Apologies. We’re in Honnleath,” Cullen replied matter-of-factly.

“No, really. Where are we?” She laughed.

“I’m not sure I understand why you think I would lie about that, but we are indeed in Honnleath. Redcliffe is several miles that way.”

“Huh,” She heaved a sigh and began pacing.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

“So let me get this straight. Here, in this Thedas, Honnleath never got invaded by darkspawn?”

“Dark what?”

Her jaw dropped. She'd heard of eluvians taking people to faraway places, but never to a different world. A different timeline maybe? Very strange indeed. “You’re kidding. You’ve got to be. You don’t even have darkspawn? Well shit. I really lucked out. No demons either then?”

“A myth told by the Chantry,” Cullen replied hesitantly.

“Okay.” She nodded.

“Are those common where you’re from?”

“Very. You guys been to war much?”

“What?” Cullen was adorable and completely sheltered by a land that had never known war.

“I’m staying here,” She murmured, mostly to herself. She made the decision without hesitation because fuck that conflict-ridden world. The maker had given her a chance to start over in a land with no big bad hanging over one’s head. “You guys probably don’t even have slavery here, do you?”

“No, not in Ferelden. There are some who aren’t opposed to the idea, but I am. Is that a problem for you, Tilda?” He asked sharply.

“Not at all, you misunderstand, I deplore slavers.”

Cullen smiled brightly, clearly relieved.

“Definitely staying here,” She said, louder this time.

“You’ll probably want to stay with one of my sisters for the time being,” Cullen said firmly. “I’m sure I can send a messenger on to let them know. I don’t think they’d mind.”

“Nah, I’m fine right here. Hopefully you can give me some insight on where and what this place is. Because right now it's a damn paradise compared to the Thedas I knew.”

“If you insist. Just for tonight until I can arrange something more fitting for you,” Cullen agreed reluctantly, leading me towards his house.

“Hey, Cullen I am not fussy at all. I was actually trying to get away from some demons. Nasty things, trust me.”

“If you weren’t opposed to it, I’d love to hear some tales of the way things are there.”

“To someone who’s only known peace, I’m sure they’ll sound very grand but that’s not really what they are,” She replied.

Cullen gestured for her to sit while he fetched cups and a pitcher of water.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

He sat everything down, including slices of hearty bread with butter and jam before sitting down.

“Should have made tea,” he murmured to himself.

She put a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to be so nervous, Cullen.”

“I’m not, at least I don’t think I am. I don’t get much company that I welcome other than my family so I suppose I am feeling a bit out of sorts.”

“So you get a lot of unwelcome company then?” She arched a brow at the blush that stole over his face. “Let me guess, a handsome man like you probably gets lots of proposals?”

“No!” He sputtered.

“So more than a lot?” She pressed.

“Maker’s breath. I don’t think they’re proposals. But they do ask me to meet them at some place in Redcliffe it's either a fountain or statue or something, I'm afraid I don't concern myself with the specifics. I always tell them that I’d rather not make the trip and leave things unattended for so long. There are many older people living in the area, I worry about them you see.”

“Wow,” she giggled. “So you’re turning down loads of people so that you can help the elderly. You’re a real charmer, huh Cullen?” She tried to bite back further laughter as he blushed even harder.

“It just seems like the right thing to do!” Cullen huffed.

“I’m sorry. That’s just so precious.”

They talked well into the evening about his family, her own family and things they like to do when they have the time. Conversation lulled only when their stomachs growled loudly. Cullen chuckled and got up to make dinner.

“Would you like some help?”

“No, you're a guest, please rest. I'm sure you need it after today. Demons, huh?”

“Yeah, demons. Horrible things.”

“What were you doing before you encountered them?”

“There was a war with mages and templars that hadn’t been going well for either side so there was an agreement to meet peacefully to talk. I was marching to the temple of sacred ashes with friends from my former Circle in hopes of making an accord or at least some sort of pact, but I think there was an explosion, some woman urging me on… I can't seem to remember that part. It's not important though; seems more like a nightmare than anything.” She tried to push away the thought of what it would mean to the Thedas she knew that the only way anyone thought there'd be peace had perhaps disappeared in a giant flash of green flame. Mages would certainly be painted the villain. She sighed heavily.

“It sounds important.” Cullen looked worried, his brows furrowed thoughtfully.

“I doubt a simple alchemist like myself would make any difference in the oncoming storm there,” She chuckled humorlessly.

“Maybe it's the romantic in me but I've read many stories where one person makes all the difference. I truly believe that's possible. And you've fought demons before so it seems that you'd do a lot better than someone like me.”

“That's kind that you think so much of me, but more to the point; are you trying to get rid of me already, Cullen?” She feigned deep offense, laying a hand against her chest.

“Of course not! I just don't think I should put my own desire for agreeable company above the fate of the world. Even if it isn't my world.”

“So you find me agreeable? Only agreeable?” She teased.

“Stop that,” he huffed.

“I’m sorry, but you make it very easy to tease you,” she grinned sweetly at him.

He set down a pot of tea then two plates laden with cheese, cured meats, apples and more of the hearty bread from earlier.

“Let's just eat.” He sat across from her, a blush reaching his ears.

Seeing him get flustered over the smallest things was just too much.

“Are there mages and templars here?” She asked around a mouthful of bread.

“Slow down. The food’s not going anywhere, my lady.” Cullen chuckled at her frown.

“They're not very common. I've only met two mages in my life and not a single templar,” he said.

“Do templars rule over mages?”

His brow creased. “No. Why would templars need to rule over mages?”

She began to tell him about demons, harrowings, tranquil and the rite of annulment some mages had been threatened with.

“Templars, where I come from anyway, operate under this guise that they need to protect mages from themselves. In my own experience many templars fancy themselves as jailors to mages, think themselves beyond reproach. Some do really bad things. Tormenting someone who cannot fight back, either because they fear retribution or in the case of tranquil where they’re incapable of standing up for themselves because the spell doesn’t let them is abhorrent. Those templars are rarely reprimanded.”

“But couldn't mages just supervise each other? It hardly seems fair. And no one deserves to be made tranquil,” Cullen huffed.

They sat in companionable silence for some time before she spoke again.

“Can I tell you a secret?” She whispered.

“I'd be honored to keep your secret, my lady.”

“I actually considered becoming tranquil.”

“Why? Why would you give up your free will?” Cullen asked, completely aghast.

“I didn't want to leave myself open to corruption. It was something that had been drilled into me so heavily to the point of paranoia. But one of my instructors convinced me to go forward with my training. That it was okay to be unsure, but to hone your mind like a blade and always be on watch. To be cautious but bold.”

“They sound like a really great person.” Cullen smiled at her.

“Yeah, thanks Cullen.” She sighed happily. “I haven't told anyone that since my instructor all those years ago.”

“If you’re truly intent on staying, we could use an alchemist in the area. As I said there are many elderly people living nearby and the nearest alchemist is in Redcliffe. Having one closer could make all the difference,” Cullen said quietly.

“Is there some place I could stay for longer than a single night? I don’t want to besmirch your honor, ser Cullen,” she said playfully.

“I’d have to ask around.”

“Don’t worry too much. I could find a cave somewhere out there and become a real ‘witch of the wilds’,” she giggled.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, there are bears and wolves aplenty out there.”

“Cullen, I’ve fought demons and darkspawn. I’m sure I can fend off some wildlife.”

“I’d rather you not have to though,” Cullen said softly, his brow creasing once more. He seemed deep in thought before he slapped a hand on his knee. “There’s an old fishing shack near the lake, I could fix it up a bit for you. It’s not far from here.”

“As long as it’s not too much trouble.”

“It should only take a few days. You can stay here in the meantime. I’ll sleep there.” He stood abruptly and began to walk towards the door.

“Surely it can wait until tomorrow. I could help,” she reasoned.

“No time like the present,” he grinned. “I’ll return in a few days, though I might stop in for food every now and then if I can’t find any game.”

“But what about supplies? Nails and things.”

“I can get those tomorrow. I’m mostly going to check the damage and gather lumber.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re really something.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“Please don’t push yourself too hard. I’d rather you not hurt yourself just for…” She couldn’t help trailing off.

“No, I’d really appreciate having an alchemist in the area. This is simply a service to the community!” He chuckled.

“I’d still like to help, Cullen. It’ll be dark soon and it’d be a lot easier to see in the dark with help.” She held out a hand and summoned veilfire to her palm. “Are you sure I can’t convince you?”

“That’s amazing. I-I suppose that would be very helpful.”

She checked her bag for the basics, bedroll, soap and a change of clothes. He packed his own bag with the same, including food and basic cooking supplies.

“And to think you were just going to walk out the door without all this,” she chuckled.

“I was a bit eager, I suppose.”

She nodded and followed him outside and towards the shack, he picked up an axe by the door on their way out. When they arrived she saw no damage, and thought it needed no repairs.

“No, no, it needs some kind of insulation, tar or something between the boards. You can see inside from here. And besides, it’d be much too cold, my lady.”

“There’s a fireplace and a bed. I don’t need much more than that, Cullen.”

“No, this is unacceptable.” He shook his head and frowned.

“You’re very stubborn,” she commented.

“Maybe so, but I will make certain this place is comfortable several days from now.”

They set down their packs and searched for suitable lumber.

“You’re not cutting down a tree right now, are you?” She asked alarmed.

“No, I was just going to mark them with chalk then come back tomorrow with tools and possibly some additional hands for heavy lifting. My sisters are both betrothed to strong men, and will likely need little convincing to help bring an alchemist to the area.” He ran a hand through his hair. It was curling around the edges from the heat.

She built a fire when dusk approached.

“You can head home now. I’ll be fine here for tonight.”

“What, don’t be ridiculous. I’m sleeping here. I’ll walk you back. You deserve comfort after the day you’ve had.”

She shrugged. “I’m quite accustomed to roughing it, Cullen.”

“I’m afraid I must insist, my lady.”

“You’re not going to budge on this, are you?” She frowned at him.

She tried to settle in his bed after watching him go but instead ended up browsing his bookshelves. Hidden behind several books on sword and armor care was a book called ‘Hard in Hightown’ the cover was much different than the copy she'd seen in her own world. She grinned. Who would have thought Cullen would have smut like this? She settled onto the couch and began to read. Before she’d realized she’d gotten to the last chapter.

“My lady? I knocked on the door, but you didn’t answer, are you alright?” Cullen asked as the front door cracked a bit.

“Yes, I’m fine. Come on in.”

“What are you reading?” His smile seemed to rival the sunlight streaming through the door behind him before he shut it.

“Oh, just a little something called ‘Hard in Hightown’.”

He visibly paled.

“It’s quite good, actually. I wasn’t expecting much from a title like that, but it distracted me enough that I didn’t sleep. I must have lost track of time.”

“Maker’s breath,” he sighed. “I apologize, I’ll take that back now. It should be nothing more than kindling.”

“But I’m almost finished! Have a seat.”

Cullen looked nervous, but sat beside her on the couch.

She feigned intense focus and watched him squirm from the corner of her eye.

“Maybe I should make some tea,” he muttered, going to stand. She set her hand across his restless legs to still them.

After she’d finished the story, including the autographed page at the back, she closed the book and set it down.

“So why does he call you Curly? Is it because of your hair?”

Cullen nodded.

“He’s a writer in my world as well. Mostly of crime novels. Is this what he’s best known for? Erotic romance?” She smirked as Cullen went pink and nodded again. “Okay, I’ve tortured you enough. Let’s eat then get to work. I plan to earn my keep in any way I can. Well, save for how some of the folks in the book earned it,” she giggled. Cullen hid his face in his hands and groaned.

“I’m truly sorry that you saw that, my lady.”

“I’m not. It was a good way to spend an evening.”

“You sure you’re not too tired?”

“Cullen,” she began, exasperated. “I'll be fine.”

“As you will, my lady.”

☙ ☙ ☙

After having a quick breakfast of eggs and smoked meat they headed to the lake.

“I wasn't sure if you wanted me to tell anyone of how you got here,” Cullen said quietly.

“Hm, I suppose it would pose a lot of questions,” she replied.

“I only told them that you're an alchemist and you thought this would be a nice place to settle in. I hope I didn't speak out of turn.”

“Not at all. Thank you, Cullen.”

Once they'd gotten close to the clearing by the lake a blond man was waving enthusiastically and wore a bright smile.

“This is Alistair and this is Thom,” Cullen said.

“Good morning, my lady,” Thom said, looking up from papers he had spread over a stump.

“So Cullen tells us you're the alchemist who fell from the sky,” Alistair chuckled. “He didn't tell us what a beauty you are, though.”

“Yes. He did.” Thom said flatly.

“Should I tell Mia that her betrothed is flirting with other women?” Cullen was flushed all the way to his ears but wore an intense frown.

“I don't mean any of it! She knows I'm only joking, see she's smiling. You're no fun at all, Cullen. He's a real mood killer isn't he Thom?�� Alistair said.

Thom hummed thoughtfully.

“How long have you been an alchemist, Tilda?” Alistair asked.

“I started helping my mum when I was small, but I polished my skills in a mage academy.”

“Are you from Tevinter then? I hear that place is crawling with mages these days.”

“I'm not, but the mage academy was in Tevinter, yes.” She was lying through her teeth. She'd never even been to Tevinter! “But I haven't been there for some time. I've mostly been wandering Ferelden.”

“Where are you from, then?”

“Ostwick,” She answered truthfully.

“Shall we get to work then?” Cullen asked. “Thom can you show her your plans?”

Thom nodded.

They'd planned to give the shack siding and shutters for the few windows. True to Cullen’s word, they’d all finished before the week was out. Thom had come back a few days later with a cabinet well suited for alchemy. There were over a dozen small drawers, shelves for empty vials and cabinets beneath it for larger tools like a brew pot and kettle. It was a lovely gesture and she thanked him profusely for his kindness.

Shortly after settling in and stocking up on herbs for common potions and cures she was often visited by Cullen.

“Are you sure you don't need any help, my lady?”

“You could call me Tilda for a change,” she teased him.

“I'm being polite,” Cullen argued.

“As you will then. Do you need something? A love potion perhaps? Now that you don't have to dote on the elderly you should be free to accept invitations from admirers.” She couldn't help smirking at him.

“Maker's breath,” he whispered. “Call me a prude if you will but I don't know if I'm ready for all that. I'm building an archway for my sisters weddings.”

“It's okay to not be interested in romance, Cullen.”

He sank down into a chair at the small table she'd squeezed in for dining on.

“It's not that I'm not interested,” he began hesitantly.

“But?”

“It's just as I've said. I don't think I'm ready. I have so many ideas of what romance should be and I don't want to make a mistake.”

“You can't expect to be perfect at the start. And if you find the right person they'll understand and help you through any inexperience you might have. Communication is the most important thing in a relationship.”

“That seems very wise. Did you leave anyone behind in… that other world?” There was a look in his eye that she'd never seen.

“Most certainly. Left a trail of broken hearts all the way here.”

“You're seeing someone now? I had no idea.”

“I'm joking, Cullen. There's not much room for romance in a circle. Was just a few unpleasant experiences that aren't worth mentioning.”

“Oh.”

“I hear Annabel is pretty sweet on you. Alistair said that she's brought you so many pies that you've begun sharing. I have yet to get one of them.” She feigned offense.

“It seemed wrong. I don't know why. If you like I can bring one.”

She let a silence fall between them.

“I'm sorry, my lady. I wasn't trying to hide it or anything.”

She stood and turned away from him to hide her grin.

“They're not even very good.”

She burst into laughter.

“You're worse than Alistair,” he huffed indignantly.

“Pah, I'm far more charming.”

“I suppose,” Cullen mumbled, a blush coloring his cheeks.

“Mister Rutherford, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were flirting just now!” A woman with curly blond hair stood in the open doorway.

“Mia!” Cullen yelped.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #female trevelyan #cullen rutherford #dai #fanon writes fic

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szyszkasosnowa · 6 years ago

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OMG of course you can!!! Thank you so so much <3 <3 <3

(I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve decided to skip questions that I have unexciting answers for, or the ones I don’t feel comfortable answering)

The meaning behind my url:

A picture of me:

Last time i cried and why: With all honesty, I can’t remember? And I’m very happy about this!

How many tattoos i have and what they are: none and they are nowhere

Piercings i have: none

Favorite band: Blind Guardian

Biggest turn offs: honestly... the “””patriotic””” clothing. I don’t want to be within 10 m from the person wearing this shit.

Tattoos i want: I never really had a desire to have a tattoo. Although in the height of my Tolkien obsession I thought about One Ring’s verse around my wrist/ankle.

Age: 23

Ideas of a perfect date: Cat cafe!

Life goal: be happy

Piercings i want: Like with a tatto, I never really missed having a piercing? But I find piercing along/at the top of the earlobe very nice, so maybe someday.

Favorite movie: to no one’s surprise, Mad Max Fury Road

A fact about my life: I’m having a job interview tomorrow, pray for me guys.

Phobia: monkey brain says deep water scary

Middle name: One day I read that in old times middle names were these secret names to protect you from bad witches and so and from that time I feel uneasy about revealing my middle name on the Internet.

Height: 171

Are you a virgin? Yea I’m not discussing that topic with strangers on the Internet

What’s your shoe size? 39

What’s your sexual orientation?

Do you smoke, drink, or take any drugs? I drink when I have an ocassion, like when I’m out with friends, which is not that often.

What’s one thing you regret? Being too afraid to ask a lady walking a beautiful, fluffy dog whether I could pet him.

First celebrity you think of when someone says attractive: Nicholas Hoult maybe?

Favorite ice cream? Peanut butter from Nice Ice parlor.

One insecurity: “”””one”””””

What my last text message says: ‘Thanks’

Have you ever taken a picture naked? neither taken a picture of me naked, nor taken a picture of something else while being naked

Have you ever painted your room? yes but then my dad had to help me finish the work

Have you ever slept naked? no, I live with other people

Have you ever danced in front of your mirror? yeah

Have you ever had a crush? yeah

Have you ever stole money from a friend? ...what kind of question is this??? Of course NOT

Have you ever been in a fist fight? Not in the real one.

Have you ever snuck out of your house? Like, went out without telling my parents, or specifically went out when they told me not to? If the latter then no, but also I never really needed to.

Have you ever had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back? eh

Have you ever been arrested? No, being an idiot is not a crime yet.

Have you ever met up with a member of the opposite sex somewhere? Ok, maybe I’m not understanding nuances of English language, but. Met up? Just met up? Yeah, I’m constantly meeting with members of opposite sex.

Have you ever left your house without telling your parents? Yeah, is that weird at my age?

Have you ever had a crush on your neighbor? No, they’re all old.

Have you ever ditched school to do something more fun? Once in high school, but I can’t even remember what I did then? Maybe went for an ice cream with friends?

Have you ever slept in a bed with a member of the same sex? Yeah.

Have you ever seen someone die? No.

Have you ever been on a plane? No :<

Have you ever laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by? boy do I ever

Have you ever cheated while playing a game? Yes, I used motherlode in Sims 2... Also the code that made you be friends with Grim Reaper and the hula dancers.

Have you ever been lonely? Yeah?

Have you ever fallen asleep at work/school? No, but last Wednesday was a close call.

Have you ever been to a club? Yeah.

Have you ever felt an earthquake? No, I live in a quiet part of the world.

Have you ever touched a snake? No that I can remember.

Have you ever ran a red light? Yes. But I’ve done it very responsibly.

Have you ever been suspended from school? No, I was a good kid.

Have you ever had detention? ^^^ I was a very good kid!

Have you ever been in a car accident? ... yeah, in a very very minor one. I’ve been traumatized ever since, because a nasty old lady suddenly came out of the pharmacy’s to yell at me while other old ladies looked.

Have you ever hated the way you look? Kinda, but now I’m ok with my looks.

Have you ever witnessed a crime? I once saw a dude driving a bus roadway and a bus drove rigth in his car, Idk if that’s considered a crime, but it looked scary.

Have you ever been lost? Yes, but since it was on the biking trip with my friend, I prefer to call that “an adventure”.

Have you ever been to the opposite side of the country? yes! That would be Gdańsk and I have to do it again one day!

Have you ever felt like dying? Mentally or.

Have you ever cried yourself to sleep? ...yeah...

Have you ever sang karaoke? I was surprised myself, but actually yes. Although it was only some online karaoke that me and two friends sang out of boredom. I remember we were covering Barbie Girl.

Have you ever done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? Many times I thought to myself “there’s no way I’m gonna pass this class” but then, surprise!, I passed it.

Have you ever dream that you married someone? Yes, I once dreamt I had an arranged marriage with a guy I just met (in real life) in some kind of space opera setting. Then I felt very silly around him.

Have you ever gone to school partially naked? ...what kind of a question xD

Have you ever been a cheerleader? we didn’t have such a thing in any of my schools

Have you ever sat on a roof top? It’s outrageous but no! Not even once!

Have you ever brushed your teeth? ...seriously

Have you ever been too scared to watch scary movies alone? I often watch true crime stuff when I’m alone even though I know I will end up walking around the flat scared shittles, checking if there’s a murderer behind every curtain.

Have you ever been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? no, if I have I would 1) die, 2) kill the person who did this

Have you ever been told you’re hot by a complete stranger? No but once a lady told me I had a cool outfit and asked if she could take a photo for some kind of fashion blog(?)

Have you ever broken a bone? No.

Have you ever laughed so hard you cried? Obviously.

Have you ever cheated on a test? Yes, but the last time it happend it was in the middle school.

Have you ever met someone who didn’t seem real? Once I saw a guy rollerblading through the campus in a tiger onesie when it was like -10C, but then again, it was on the campus.

Give us one thing about you that no one knows. Let the goblin have some secrets.

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cocoa-dragon · 6 years ago

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BREADCRUMBS

Hello, thank you for tasting all that I’ve made here. I hope you will follow along as I begin a new flavor of stories, called Breadcrumbs. Follow Breadcrumbs for the bites of fiction, that will lead to be immersed in worlds, you may or may not recognize. Here’s the first nibble.

Gala didn’t want to shatter the still, crisp morning. Above her, plump chickadees weaved in and out of the bare branches, the only birds left this time of year. She squinted at them, through the pale sunlight and wondered how they never seemed to hit the bells her mother had strung through the trees. Gala hadn’t yet mastered the finer points of harmony and grace when flying, and the bells clanked wildly each time brushed against the branches, or more frequently, crashed. With a sigh, Gala hefted her broomstick over her shoulder and began making her way over to the clearing, where she attempted to fly each morning.

Her broomstick was already nearly indistinguishable from her mother’s. Within three months, it’s battered straw and worn handles seemed tired¹. But the problem of flight didn’t lie with the broomstick, no matter how much Gala wanted it to be. Theoretically, any witch could fly with anything that resembled a broom, even a vacuum cleaner would do in a pinch. Walking down the path to the river, the wood chips crunching damply underfoot, she wondered how this day would be different from the last and how it would be different from the next. Maybe today she would finally find out what it was like to touch a cloud. Her mother would never tell her (and Gala was secretly glad she didn’t). She closed her eyes and listened. A faint chiming of bells, the dry rustling of dead leaves, whispers of the birds kissing the sky. Maybe today.

“Gala, dear, come here. You’re back just in time.” Gala’s mother called from the kitchen. The air was filled with the warm, floral scent of her mother whirling dough and butter into a waltz. Gala inhaled deeply and smiled. She loved it when her mother baked, if only to see the look of pride on her face. Gala sometimes wished she could be wrapped in dough and be made into something sweet just so her mother could look at her that way. She had always imagined herself as a pavlova heaped with wild berries or maybe a cake bursting with passion fruit curd. Wild, tart, unruly, a touch of sweetness.

“Back in time for what?”

“Can you please let out the chickens? Make sure they stay in the yard,” her mother continued as if she hadn’t heard Gala. “I don’t know how Helga flew over the fence last night so make sure you give them a stern warning today.” The chickens occasionally gained powers of flight and went off clucking into the woods. After a night or two, the taste of freedom would get old and they would come back to the coop, jaded and with a balding plumage to show for it. But these days, Gala and her mother couldn’t afford to lose even a day’s worth of eggs especially with the first frost coming.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how my morning was?” Gala pouted.

“Oh I already know,” her mother said. “And by the racket you made, the whole of St. Clair Shores knows how your morning was.”

“You don’t have to be so mean.”

“Oh, but I’m not.” She doesn’t look up as she dusts off her hands, the flour silently clouding the sunlight streaming into the kitchen, and Gala was glad she doesn’t have to see the disappointment in her eyes. “It’s just the truth, dear. Did you remember to straighten your back? Loosen your grip? Perhaps, not have your head in the clouds?” She picked up a knife and began deftly reducing an apple into juicy, fragrant slices. “It’s like— ”

“I know, it’s just like riding a bike,” Gala interrupted, frustrated by her mother’s lack of pleasure in flight. People took for granted what came easily. Gala always wondered if she would have valued flying as much as she did if she was actually good at it.

“Exactly, they’re practically the same thing. You need to stop romanticizing it. Now, hurry along. I want to get this in the oven before noon so we can start cleaning the house.”

“Why?” Gala asked. “What are you baking?” She could usually tell who was coming to visit by what her mother was making. Gala knew that a loaf of lemon poppyseed bread meant Aunt Shirley and her sailboat were in town. She would bring Gala racing through the freezing waves of Lake Michigan, calling swarms of glittering fish to the surface and once, a whale who asked them what water was. Gala knew that a bittersweet chocolate tart brought Aunt Simone and her marvelous top hat to town. She would always let Gala press a carrot into her hat, the black material shimmering as it transported the vegetable into the rabbit realm. She loved nothing more than pressing her cheek to the felt, and listening for the rabbit council’s deliberation on what to do with such a gift. But Gala couldn’t remember the last time her mother had made something with apples, let alone who it brought to the ivy-draped gate of their house.

“A galette,” her mother replies as she massages the slices of glistening fruit with flour, sugar, and spices. “Your grandmother is coming.”

“Amara, this is absolutely exquisite,” Gala’s grandmother said while bringing another forkful of tender apples and buttery pastry to her lips. “You must send me the recipe. It’s just the thing to cure Mrs. Compton’s broken heart.” Gala stole a glance at her mother, who was trying hard not to grin but it just made her look more worried than serious. Maybe she was more concerned than she was letting on. Gala’s grandmother was impossible to read, changing from doting to bitter to indifferent so quickly, that Gala glances at her mother every few seconds, trying to gauge a reaction.

“I will,” her mother said, dipping her head graciously. “Baking is so cathartic,” she went on quietly. “I’ve made this so many times, that each time I pull it from the oven, I feel like I’m ten years old again, picking apples at that cider mill in Charlevoix.” Gala stared hard at her mother. It’s a strange feeling to catch your mother in a lie. Her mother hadn’t baked an apple galette in the seventeen years Gala had been alive.

“Ah, I know what that’s like,” her grandmother said. “Like a memory that gets better each time you remember.” Gala had a feeling they weren’t talking about baking anymore.

“You do?” her mother asked, the surprise in her voice cracking her veneer of indifference. Then, catching herself, “I mean, you never— ”

“Don’t sound surprised, darling. Making the elixirs draws from much of the same energy as cooking. Both are creation, giving nature the substance to sustain life. But of course, you wouldn’t really know the sensation.” Her grandmother doesn’t even need to smirk to make her point. Just as Gala struggles with flight, her mother can only make the most basic of elixirs, curing only common colds. Each family of witches held a gift, which were fickle things, sometimes skipping generations or becoming something entirely novel. Gala’s family had a way with medicines, mostly dealing with the likes of heartaches and heartburns, but before marrying among humans, they were able to cure death and heal the soul. However, there were a few things every witch was supposed to be capable of, like flight. Gala had always thought that seeing her mother taste some small fraction of not being enough would make her feel more whole. Instead, she wanted to wrap her arms around her mother and, for once, be the one to tell her it was going to be okay.

“Now, Gala from what I hear, barely has any gifts. Let alone the old ones.” Something in Gala pulled taut, but she still couldn’t bring herself to meet her grandmother’s eyes. All her anger that had been so palpable a moment before now left her limbs filled with nothing. She couldn’t bring herself to fork another bite of crumble.

“Mrs. Compton’s grand-daughter can grow apple trees. The fruit isn’t golden or give you everlasting life or anything cute like that. But still, I can’t remember a witch within the last century who could bring a twenty-foot tree from the ground within the hour.” Gala wondered how her grandmother knew the properties of those apples unless she had tasted them herself. She probably had.

“There’s another one from South Manitou as well. You two got along well as children until—if my memory serves me correctly—you pushed her out of a tree.”

“Kara didn’t break anything,” Gala replied shortly.

“Well, maybe it fixed something. Although you fall out of enough trees these days so everything should be fixed by now.” Her grandmother raised her eyebrows pointedly. Gala kept her face straight, not wanting to give her grandmother an ounce of satisfaction. “Anyways, Kara sleeps in the fireplace these days. Not a single piece of her gets crispy. Though that girl would have been in a pickle back in the sixteenth century.”

“Mother,” Gala’s mother said quietly. “Don’t you think that’s enough?”

“Not at all.” She patted a napkin to her mouth, refolding it neatly. “Gala needs to know what she’s up against. People still have the old gifts, and we know she probably won’t get New York or San Francisco, but there’s still a chance for Monterey or maybe even Portland if she can manage a few elixirs. Though at the rate she is right now, I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up in the middle of the Virginian woods.”

“It’s still far away. Maybe this is not the right time—” Gala’s mother said gently.

“I do know how to fly,” Gala said with a smile spreading across her face. The apples in her stomach simmered into something hungry. “Let me show you what I can do.”

#breadcrumbs #story #fiction #gala #witches #apple #cocoa dragon

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tipsycad147 · 4 years ago

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Essex witches

Essex witches (act. 1566–1589) woodcut, 1589

(act. 1566–1589)

Marion Gibson

Essex witches (act. 1566–1589), are known from four surviving pamphlets published between 1566 and 1589 describing the lives, and in some cases deaths, of one man and thirty women who were accused of witchcraft in Essex and prosecuted under the Witchcraft Act of 1563. In this period witchcraft was punishable by hanging if a witch was convicted of killing a person, or if he or she committed a second witchcraft offence of any kind. Witches were not burnt in England, and lesser witchcraft offences were punished by imprisonment and the pillory. Because survivals of early modern Essex trial records are among the most numerous in England, and because of the higher than average number of contemporary pamphlets published on Essex cases, the county's witchcraft prosecutions have received more attention than those of most other areas and statistical analysis as well as individual biography is possible.

Early witchcraft trials, 1566–1579

Over the period covered by the pamphlets some 430 people were prosecuted for witchcraft offences in the home counties, which formed the home circuit for judicial purposes, with a peak between 1580 and 1589. Essex, one of these five counties, accounted for nearly 60 per cent of home circuit prosecutions for witchcraft and between 1570 and 1609 fifty-three Essex witches were hanged as against a total of sixty-four executions across all the home counties. This was a high proportion, even allowing for the fact that only about a quarter of the total indicted were actually found guilty and hanged. Accusations were most common in eastern and central Essex, although local episodes of witch accusation could occur anywhere. Many Essex people clearly believed strongly in witchcraft as a threat to them, as a source of healing or divining magic, or as a power which they themselves had come to possess. Women were particularly likely to be accused, often of inheriting their powers or sharing them with other female family members or friends (nearly 90 per cent of all indicted Essex witches were women), and many confessed the accusations to be true. Some may have been convinced that they could and did curse their neighbours, others said they practised only healing magic, while a third group denied all involvement. Some people seem likely—from the pattern of their narratives—to have invented confessions and denials out of mixed motives including, sometimes, a belief that producing any kind of coherent narrative would lead to clemency. Their accusers were equally likely to create an unnaturally neat fiction about the witches out of a combination of incoherent events and unverifiable beliefs about their lives. It is therefore hard to decide, or to find a reliable methodology for assessing, which elements of their stories represent factual and verifiable life events and which are retrospective rationalizations based on fantasy or fiction confabulated under pressure. Both these types of experience represent, however, a biographical reality for the pamphleteers who immortalized these Essex people.

All the villagers are shown in the pamphlets as ordinary people who have been tempted into the felony of maleficent witchcraft for a variety of reasons. In 1566 Elizabeth Frauncis (c. 1529–1579), from Hatfield Peverel, told pre-trial questioners that, aged twelve (at least twenty-five years earlier, the narrative suggests) she was given a white-spotted cat named Satan by her grandmother, Eve. She renounced God and his word and was told to give her blood to the cat. Later she asked the cat for sheep, and to procure her a rich husband. Unfortunately, when the cat prevailed upon her to have sex with the favoured man, he had not married her, and she told the cat to kill him. Fearing pregnancy, she asked the cat for help with abortifacient herbs, and then at its insistence attempted once again to win a husband by what the pamphlet labels 'fornication'. In this attempt she succeeded, but later marital unhappiness prompted her to kill the resultant child, and to lame her husband, whom trial records name as Christopher Frauncis. Her story was printed in The Examination and Confession of Certaine Wytches at Chensforde in the Countie of Essex (1566). It suggests that Elizabeth Frauncis felt guilty about sexual events in her younger life, and that, when interrogated on suspicion of witchcraft, she confessed those matters which were on her conscience, rather than the expected punishable acts of harmful magic against neighbours. Equally, the fact that one of her questioners was a churchman may mean that the focus on sin rather than crime in Frauncis's story was his rather than exclusively hers. Assize records suggest that she was not formally charged with any of the matters she confessed—the trial at Chelmsford concentrated on the bewitchment of a child, to which Frauncis pleaded guilty. She was sentenced in July to a year's imprisonment, with four pillory appearances, as the penalty for a first, non-fatal offence. In August 1572 Frauncis was tried again as a witch, for what is rightly described in the assize records as her second offence. However, the indictment had to be redrafted: when tried in March 1573 for the same offence and found guilty she escaped death (the penalty for a second offence) and was imprisoned and pilloried again (the penalty for a first offence). In April 1579, however, her luck ran out and she was tried, convicted, and hanged for killing a neighbour, Alice Poole, by witchcraft. She pleaded not guilty, but had confessed to the offence in a pre-trial examination which appears in the second Essex pamphlet A detection of damnable driftes practized by three [actually four] witches arraigned at Chelmisforde in Essex (1579). Frauncis said that she killed Poole, with the help of a dog spirit, because Poole refused to give her yeast—a far more petty motivation than the grand lusts of her first confession thirteen years before.

Agnes Waterhouse (1501/2–1566), Frauncis's neighbour and probably her sister, confessed far more conventional witchcraft offences in 1566 than she did. Waterhouse received the cat, Satan, from Frauncis in exchange for a cake, she said, and used him against neighbours who had angered her, asking him to kill hogs, a cow, and geese, to harm brewing and dairying, to kill a neighbour, and, nine years previously, her own husband. She turned the cat familiar into a toad because poverty forced her to use the wool on which he slept. In July 1566 Waterhouse pleaded guilty in court to killing William Fynee (no mention was made of the more sensational murder of her husband, or the confessed property offences) and she was hanged at Chelmsford on 29 July. She said at her death that she had been a witch for fifteen years, and added that she had always prayed in Latin. The pamphlet emphasized the illegality and ungodliness of this activity, suggesting again the influence of churchmen on some of the confessions of witches, and the thin lines between residual Catholicism, deliberate recusancy, and the practice of secret magical rites with a perceived Satanic tint.

The third witch to be tried at Chelmsford in July 1566 was Joan Waterhouse (b. 1547/8), Agnes Waterhouse's daughter. She began her pre-trial examination by denying any knowledge of witchcraft, although she said that her mother had attempted to teach her 'this art'. However, shortly afterwards she began to confess that she had tried out the familiar spirit, Satan, in her mother's absence, and used him to punish a neighbour's child, Agnes Browne, for uncharitable acts towards her. Browne is shown in The Examination and Confession as giving sensational evidence against both Joan and Agnes Waterhouse, and it seems likely that her stories played a large part in bringing both women to trial, along with Frauncis. She said that she had been 'haunted' by a black dog with an ape's face which had asked for butter, played in the milkhouse, and finally attempted to kill her with a knife which he said belonged to Agnes Waterhouse. Browne was counselled by a clergyman during her alleged experiences, rather as if she were a possession victim, and she had the backing of the pamphlet which treated her as a star witness. However, Joan Waterhouse was acquitted and Browne's credibility in court must therefore be in doubt. Other felonies and witchcraft cases at the 1566 summer assizes went unreported.

Witchcraft was usually thought to have occurred where disputes arose between victim and suspect, followed by misfortune. The second Essex pamphlet illustrates this well. It contains accusations against four women, Elizabeth Frauncis and three others. The first was Elleine Smith (d. 1579), of Maldon, tried and hanged at Chelmsford in April 1579 for killing a child. She had quarrelled with a number of people, including her stepfather, John Chaundeler, when he asked her for money which her mother had given her. Smith's mother, Alice Chaundeler, had been executed for murder by witchcraft in 1574 and her daughter was probably assumed to have inherited her witchcraft as well as her money, especially since John Chaundeler died strangely after their quarrel. Smith was also believed to have hit the child who died and sent a dog spirit to attack her, and to have attacked with a toad spirit a neighbour who refused charity to her son. Her son, as was often the case, also accused his mother of keeping familiar spirits. Margery Staunton of Wimbish, described in the same pamphlet, was refused charity by nine households and was seen to resent this—after which misfortune overtook the households. She escaped punishment because her indictment was wrongly drafted. Finally, Alice Nokes of Lambourne allegedly injured a man who stole gloves from her daughter, and attacked a horse because the ploughman would not speak to her. She was hanged for murder by witchcraft, an accusation not mentioned in the pamphlet.

Late witchcraft trials, 1579–1589

Individual and inter-household quarrels, but also the dynamics of spiralling accusations and ruthless questioning, played a major part in the biggest English witchcraft case of the period, described in W. W.'s A true and just recorde of the information, examination and confession of all the witches, taken at S. Oses in the countie of Essex (1582). In February and March 1582 Brian Darcy, an Essex JP and witch-hunter, questioned thirteen women and a man from the villages of St Osyth, Little Clacton, Thorpe, Little Oakley, and Walton and sent them for trial at Chelmsford. The process began modestly enough when a St Osyth servant of Darcy's relative Thomas Darcy, third Baron Darcy of Chiche, complained that a woman whom she had been consulting as a magical healer, Ursley Kempe (d. 1582), had killed one of her children and made herself and another child ill. Kempe confessed several attacks on villagers and accused neighbours Alice Newman, Elizabeth Bennett (d. 1582), Annis Glascock, and Alice Hunt of witchcraft. She was in turn accused by other informants, including her brother, who said that Kempe had killed his wife for calling her a whore and a witch. Kempe's illegitimate son told the magistrate that she kept spirits, and Newman was described as working in partnership with her, using the same spirits, although she refused to confess anything. Although convicted of the same three offences of murder, Kempe was hanged at Chelmsford in April 1582 while Newman was imprisoned until released by general pardon in 1588—an unusual punishment. After Brian Darcy falsely promised favour to those who confessed, Bennett pleaded guilty to keeping spirits and using them to kill her abusive neighbour and his wife, and was hanged at Chelmsford in April 1582. Glascock apparently confessed nothing, but died in prison (inquest date 11 November 1582) after being convicted of three murders and reprieved. Hunt was acquitted of murder and of killing cows, despite the evidence of her eight-year-old stepdaughter that she kept spirits. Meanwhile her sister, Margery Sammon or Barnes, confessed to the keeping of spirits and incriminated Hunt's next door neighbour, Joan Pechey, saying that she had killed John Johnson, the collector for the poor, for giving her insufficient charity. Newman was also accused (by other informants) of his murder but nobody was formally charged. Pechey refused to confess but died in prison (inquest date 11 November 1582) despite supposedly being discharged without trial. Barnes apparently evaded trial, only to be indicted for keeping spirits in 1583. She was acquitted.

Accusations were also taking place in adjacent villages. Cicely Selles and her husband, Henry Selles, of Little Clacton, were accused of witchcraft by a wealthy neighbour, Richard Ross, and by their own children. Ross also accused them of damaging property and of arson. Henry Selles was not tried, while his wife was acquitted of arson. She was, however, convicted of murdering the son of a neighbour whose daughter had also suffered mysterious illness, supposedly at her hands. Both Selleses died in gaol (inquest dates 31 January and 8 March 1583) after being tried again, with their son Robert Selles, for arson against Ross. This makes it likely that Ross was the force behind their prosecution, especially as they were also accused of, but not charged with, attacking his maid and farm, and killing a child of one of his workers (despite the reluctance of the child's mother to accuse Cicely Selles). Witchcraft accusation could be a way of expressing a more deep-seated hatred—even a feud—here. Alice Manfielde of Thorpe and 55-year-old Margaret Grevell were accused of various offences: impeding farm work by magic, arson, and murder. Manfielde, despite a fulsome confession and further incrimination of existing suspects, was charged only with arson, and was acquitted, while Grevell was acquitted of killing a man whose wife had refused her charity. Elizabeth Ewstace, aged fifty-three, was accused of murder and of causing illness in animals and humans, but was not brought to trial. In Little Oakley, Annis Herd was accused of murder by the parson of Beaumont, but, being charged only with harming animals, was acquitted. Her illegitimate daughter accused her of keeping spirits, and other neighbours described misfortunes which had struck after they refused her charity. Finally, in Walton various accusations of harming animals and causing wind damage were made against Joan Robinson, a comparatively wealthy woman, but were apparently dismissed. The prosecution petered out as accusations became less and less grave, the assize of March 1583 approached and prosecutions were surprisingly unsuccessful in a number of cases.

The desire to publish accounts of witchcraft cases did not, however, fade. In 1589 material from the pre-trial examinations of three more Essex women was published as The Apprehension and Confession of Three Notorious Witches. Joan Cunny [Cony] (c. 1508/9–1589), of Stisted, was accused of harming and killing her neighbours and causing a damaging storm. She confessed that she had learned her 'art' from a woman who had told her to make a circle on the ground and pray to Satan, at which invocation spirits would appear. She said she had done this twenty years previously, had given her soul to the spirits, taken them home and fed them, and afterwards used them to do various harmful acts. The pamphleteer said that Cunny had two daughters, Margaret and Avis, and two illegitimate grandsons. It was from one of these boys that some of the accusations against Cunny and her daughters came. Cunny was hanged at Chelmsford on 5 July 1589, while Margaret was imprisoned and Avis was sentenced to death, but was reprieved because she was pregnant. Joan Upney of Dagenham was similarly accused with her daughters. She too confessed to learning her witchcraft from a woman who had, this time, brought familiar spirits to her. This woman, named Whitecote, is probably Cecilia Glasenberye (also known as Arnold or Whitecote), a Barking woman executed for witchcraft in 1574, whose story featured in a lost pamphlet of that year and was reprinted in 1595 in A World of Wonders, a Masse of Murthers, a Covie of Cosonages. Upney blamed the spirits which Whitecote had given her for harming her neighbours, but was herself convicted of two murders and hanged. Alice Upney, presumably Upney's daughter, was discharged without trial. The pamphlet's final account is of Joan Prentice (d. 1589), who lived in the almshouse at Sible Hedingham, and confessed that she had a familiar in the shape of a ferret named Satan. She tried to resist his overtures, but let him suck her blood and then used him to harm her neighbours. She said that the ferret disobeyed her instructions to hurt a child and instead killed it, but this excuse did not save her from execution. Prentice was hanged at Chelmsford on 5 July 1589. She named two other women, Elizabeth Whale and Elizabeth Mott, whom she said used the same spirit, but they were discharged without trial.

Each ‘witch's’ story is subtly different, although there are linking themes, most of which became standard in witchcraft accusations and confessions. In some stories sexual motives meet malice to produce a potent and incredible village Medea: a woman who uses devil-inspired magic to enchant and kill in furtherance of her desires—or feels guilty because she wishes she had. In others poverty leads to begging, which, when refused, prompts designs of revenge on the uncharitable neighbour. Unneighbourly refusal to trade with the witch or less obvious economic or social injuries might equally be revenged. Some cases say more about the alleged victim than the witch: a strong imagination, mental illness, or unexplained disease, combined with naughtiness, teenage crises, or fear, produce a story of peculiar afflictions visited on the innocent by the malignant. Finally, questioners have a great influence over confessions by witches: leading questions were common, and the temptation to say what was expected in the hope of pleasing the magistrate or churchman must have been great.

There are exemplars of each of these life stories in all the pamphlets. Frauncis's sexual adventures are echoed in the fact that a number of the Essex witches had illegitimate children or were accused of causing harm to those who stood in their way sexually. In 1582 Pechey was accused of incest, while Cicely Selles's husband was alleged to have described his wife as a 'stinking whore'. The 1589 pamphleteer described Cunny and her daughters as 'living very lewdly … no better than naughty packs'. The most common story is, however, that of revenge for uncharity, or economic unneighbourliness such as theft or refusal to trade. At least two thirds of the Essex witches were involved in disputes with neighbours over such matters, and almost all had been insulted, attacked by or had quarrelled abusively with alleged victims. Most were relatively poor; where occupations are known, Henry Selles was an agricultural labourer, Sammon a servant, Bennett the wife of a husbandman, Hunt a mason's wife, and Glascock married to a sawyer. Many of the women were apparently single or widowed (although the convenient legal definition 'spinster' can be misleading here), and the witches accused in these pamphlets are almost exclusively female, mirroring (if exaggerating) the national male : female percentages, where 90 per cent of suspects might be expected to be women.

Sources

The examination and confession of certaine wytches at Chensforde in the countie of Essex (1566)

A detection of damnable driftes practized by three witches arraigned at Chelmisforde in Essex (1579)

W. W., A true and just recorde of the information, examination and confession of all the witches, taken at S. Oses in the countie of Essex (1582)

The apprehension and confession of three notorious witches (1589)

J. S. Cockburn, Calendar of assize records: Essex indictments, Elizabeth I (1978)

J. Sharpe, Instruments of darkness: witchcraft in England 1550–1750 (1996)

A. Macfarlane, Witchcraft in Tudor and Stuart England: a regional and comparative study (1970)

M. Gibson, Early modern witches: witchcraft cases in contemporary writing (2000)

B. Rosen, Witchcraft in England, 1558–1618 (1991)

M. Gibson, Reading witchcraft: stories of early English witches (1999)

J. S. Cockburn, Calendar of assize records: introduction (1985)

https://www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-70257

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hobiboo1 · 8 years ago

Text

Manners (Jimin smut)

Description: Jimin is your best friend’s roommate, and to say you get on each other’s nerves would be an understatement. Jimin decides it is his mission to teach you some ‘manners’.

This fic includes: Explicit smut, ‘good girl’ term, dominance games, hate love type dynamic, light spanking, ‘teaching of manners’ lmfaoo

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Jimin x You (ft Yoongi and Taehyung)

Word count: 4.5k

You lazily played a game on Yoongi’s phone, your eyes peering up every now and then to look at the TV screen, displaying a movie utterly boring to you. You let out an unintentional sigh; you were considering getting up to scour for food.

“Why are you here if you’re so bored?” Jimin asked from the other side of Yoongi, whose lap your head lay upon. You sat up to match Jimin’s glare.

“Jimin.” You heard Yoongi scold under his breath. Deciding not to waste your energy, you ignored Jimin and got up to search through their fridge. Yoongi thought you couldn’t hear him once you were in the kitchen, and you barely could, but his low and deep voice rung through the practically silent dorm “I’m so sick of you being such a dick to Y/N. Go say sorry.”

“What?” Jimin laughed. “I’m not a child.”

“Jimin.” Yoongi’s voice was so stern you got goose bumps.

“Whatever.” Jimin mumbled, his light footsteps approaching the kitchen. You quickly stuffed your head in the fridge, acting like you were very busy. When you looked up, closing the fridge door with a muffin in your hand, Jimin is leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and a subtle frown on his face.

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re making yourself at home.” Jimin says, his eyes pointing at the treat in your hands. You smile tauntingly, not breaking eye contact as you take an excessively big bite.

“Thanks.” You mumble through your full mouth.

“Gosh, did no one ever teach you manners?” He asks with a serious expression.

“I’m the one with no manners?” You laugh like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world. He rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the counter. The room is dark, the only light being the pale bar that hangs by the stove. You can hardly see his face as he approaches you, but you can still see the scowl- his eyes dark and ominous.

You meet his eyes, not realizing what his hands are doing until you feel the muffin being removed from your hand. He’s so close you can smell his shampoo, but he keeps getting closer, making you step back until your ass is pushed up against the sink. His arm moves and you think he might be trying to hold your waist, but instead he just puts the stolen food behind you, not tearing his eyes from yours for a second. “Maybe I’ll have to teach you manners then?”

You want to scoff, but there’s no air in your lungs. He quirks an eyebrow at your lack of response, clearly impressed with himself, he makes it worse with a small smirk. All too soon, he’s stepping back. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his black jeans, which matches his black sweater. He smiles one last amused, cruel smile before walking out of the kitchen.

“And? How’d it go?” Yoongi asks as Jimin flops down next to him. You swear to yourself as you pick up your muffin, taking a bite angrily before walking back out to the sofa.

“Good.” Jimin grins, his eyes trained to the TV.

“Gimme a bite.” Yoongi takes the muffin from your hand.

“I’m so sick of people stealing my muffin!” You exclaim. Yoongi looks at you surprised but then just laughs like you cracked a great joke. You also hear Jimin laugh that annoying laugh of his quietly.

You rest your head on Yoongi’s shoulder, getting one last glance at the dark-haired Jimin. What a dick. You’re going to get him back.

“Come on, Y/N.” Yoongi urged, “It’ll be fun.”

“I know, Yoongi, but I’ve been going out so much lately, I think I’ll ruin my liver if I don’t give myself a break.”

“You sound so weak.” He teases, it’s stupid but he knows it’s one way to get you to cave in.

“Pa-lease.” You scoff, “Have you met me? I’m the party queen.”

“So prove it and come out with us tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Who’s ‘us’ by the way?”

“Oh… about that… Jimin will be there, but that won’t be problem right? You guys are ok now, I mean, he apologized for his shitty behavior the other night?” His behavior is certainly ‘shitty’.

“Yeah, not a problem at all.” You smile to yourself.

You don’t even need to think about what you’ll be wearing tonight. You have your mission, and that’s to teach that prick a fucking lesson.

“Y/N!” Taehyung calls excitedly, standing up from the dim lighted booth of the bar, he sees what you you’re wearing, taking in your full figure before he pulls you into a bear hug, “You look hot!”

“Are you already drunk?” You giggle.

“Drunk on life.” He winks, and gestures for you to climb into the booth before him, you squish up against Yoongi before Taehyung squeezes in after you, draping his arm easily over your shoulders. Jimin sits directly across from you, and while everyone smiles and greets you, he just clenches his jaw and takes a big swig of his drink.

“So what are we talking about?” You ask the group; Jin bursts into laughter, letting you know they were talking about something they’d be embarrassed for you to know. It only peeks your curiosity. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Hoseok dismisses, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Why does it matter to you?” You hear Jimin ask, and when you turn look at him, his eyes are glistening even in the dark of the bar, his lips quirked to the side slightly, but his stare hacks at your soul. You feel Yoongi move beside you and Jimin grunts; he must have kicked him under the table. Ha.

“I guess it doesn’t.” You false a nonchalant response, grabbing Jimin’s drink from in front of him and taking a big gulp. The rest of the boys are quick to distract everyone, Hoseok and Taehyung almost instantly changing the subject to a funny story from uni that day.

You finish Jimin’s drink, while he death stared you the whole time, you wipe your mouth and give him a teasing wink while everyone else is still absorbed in conversation. “You better buy me another one, Y/N.”

“No problem.” You say, surprising him with your compliance. You crawl over Taehyung’s lap, his hands coming down on your waist to help you. You know it isn’t the most convenient method, but you want Jimin to see your ass. At least you know Taehyung appreciated it because you feel his hand move down to your very lower back, his fingers grazing the top of your cheeks as he grunts slightly. You stand up, looking over your shoulder to see that Jimin was indeed watching you. He doesn’t even see you looking at him because his eyes are focused on the curve of your ass, extenuated by your short dress. When his eyes finally meet yours, you shoot him a knowing smirk before walking off to the bar.

You order the same drink that Jimin had been drinking before you stole it. While you wait for it, you look over to the booth, but you can barely see it, only Taehyung’s knee coming into view. You sigh, taking a seat on one of the bar stools and rest your head on in your palm as you ponder over what exactly you’re doing. As far as you know, you dislike Jimin. He’s rude and unwelcoming and downright possessive over Yoongi, acting like you’re some witch whose goal is to destroy his and his roommate’s lives. But he is hot. Fucking hell he’s hot. And the other night, when he got so close, his arms trapping you against the sink, his fresh smell and his predatory glare, it changed something. Plus, it was a game. You fucking loved games. The drink came and just as you stood up, a warm body pressed you up against the counter, your breasts digging into the cold wood of the bar. You were about to elbow the person in the face, but you recognized the smell of his Shea butter shampoo, and it became obvious it was Jimin when he spoke.

“That was very rude of you to take my drink like that.”

“And it’s very rude of you to always treat me so meanly.” You pout dramatically and you feel the breath of his chuckle on your neck. His hands ghost down the curve of your hips and you pray he can’t feel you shiver.

“Is it now?” He asks amusedly, his hips pushing into your ass now. “I’m so sorry to hear how much I’ve been upsetting you, sweetheart.”

His lips are so close to your neck that you can feel the heat radiating off them, and you’re tempted to move your head to give him access to kiss you. What the fuck, you can’t let him think he has control again. You shove your ass back into his groin, a small groan leaving his plump lips, and you spin around, your chests now practically right up against each other.

“Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart, I think you’re the only who’s kept up at night because of this whole ‘thing’.” You retort.

You watch as his eyes darken, his stare could be the death of anyone, you decide. He then smiles and cups your cheek, his thumb running across your skin annoyingly gently. “Oh,” He raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t know there was even a ‘thing’ to begin with.”

You snort, but it’s forced, and hook your fingers in the hem of his usual style of ripped black jeans, tugging him even closer so that you can stand on your tip toes, your hand running up the soft material that covers his hard chest so that you can whisper in his ear, “You sure like to get close to me for someone who’s so ‘indifferent’.”

With that, you pushed your way past him with a laugh, not sparing a glance back as you slid into the booth next to Taehyung. Jimin joined only a moment later with his drink in his hand. He ignored you for the rest of the night, but you knew for a fact that he was watching you when you danced with Taehyung. And you may have put an unnecessary amount of effort into the swaying of your hips, and there was no doubt Taehyung minded that at all. His hands got so brave at one point that he was full on groping your ass and whispering, “I want to fuck you right here.” And you nearly did go home with him, but you could do that another time. Your head was too wrapped up in your goal of turning Jimin into a shaking mess.

You could have laughed at Taehyung’s pitiful expression when you told him you were going back to Yoongi and Jimin’s place once you were all standing in the orange like light of the street. “Don’t worry, baby, another time.” You said into his ear, making eye contact with Jimin who stood behind Taehyung. It was satisfying to see how quickly he moved his head.

Once you were in the car, Yoongi driving (bless his soul for offering to be the designated driver) and Jimin in the front seat, playing some Miguel through the Bluetooth, Yoongi asks you, “You want me to drop you off at your apartment?”

“Y/N actually has an apartment?” Jimin asks dramatically, “I wouldn’t have guessed seen as she practically lives with us and eats all our food.”

“Hey! I buy food for your place all the time, you just don’t know because I don’t rub it in your face all the time. Unlike some people, I don’t permanently sit on a high horse.”

Yoongi chuckles, “Alright, kids, calm the fuck down. Y/N?”

“Actually, nothing sounds more tempting than that fleecy blanket you have on your bed, Yoongs.”

“Right, so you’re coming with us.” He agrees with ease.

“I don’t understand how you guys can sleep together so often if you aren’t actually fucking.” Jimin says, his features being illuminated deliciously by the passing streetlights. God, he annoys you.

“It’s called friendship, look it up.” You tell him, leaning forward to flick his shoulder.

“Oh come on,” He exclaims in annoyance, “don’t fucking tell me about friendship.”

“Whatever.” You sing.

“I can’t believe I have two over grown children in the car with me right now.” Yoongi groans.

“One. One over grown child. Have you seen Jimin?”

“Are you serious?” Jimin demands, having turned himself around to look at you. You wish he didn’t look so good with his dark hair framing his pale face and dark eyelashes, you wish his shoulders didn’t look so nice in that grey T-shirt of his, you wished the blue of the radio light didn’t make his eyes look like there were planets in them. “Well, I’m certainly grown enough for you to eye-fuck me every time you get a chance.”

You feel hot blood prick at your cheeks. Are you blushing? Can he see? You’re certain he can when he turns back around with a proud smirk. You hope Yoongi’s silence means he didn’t hear that.

“Fuck you.” You mumble, leaning back into the seat with your arms crossed.

“In your dreams, sweetheart.”

Jimin disappeared into his room within a second of being at the apartment and you did the same, wrapping yourself in Yoongi’s soft blankets with a huff. Yoongi, however, took his time to shower in their shared bathroom and even make himself ramen. When he came into the room you were still angrily scrolling through Instagram.

“Care to tell me what the fuck is actually going on with you and Jimin?” He asks calmly, his weight coming down behind your back on his side of the bed. You just grunt and pull the blankets tighter around you. “You’re attracted to each other, aren’t you?” He laughs. “What a fucking plot twist.”

“I am not attracted to that walking pile of shit.”

“Yeah right, I’m almost attracted to him myself.”

“You have no standards, obviously.”

“Explains my last girlfriend.”

“And the one before that.”

“We’re going off topic. Back to you. So. Are you gonna fuck him?”

“What?!” You exclaim, sitting up to look at him with shock. His knowing look is overwhelming and you cave in quickly. “Fine. I’ve kind of, maybe, sort of been having this fantasy lately of knocking that cockiness right out of him.”

“By sucking his cock.” He teases.

“Shut up!” You giggle, playfully smacking his arm.

“But seriously, he really confuses me when he’s around you. He’s not usually like that at all.”

“Yes yes, I know. ‘Everyone loves Jimin, he’s so sweet’, I’ve heard it a thousand times before from everyone.” You shake your head, “He’s just stuck up and thinks his morals are so much better than mine.”

“You still wanna fuck him though.”

“God, I hate you! I’m going to sleep.”

Jimin was shirtless, with nothing but blue sleeping shorts, when you stumbled into the kitchen the next morning. His back was to you as he poured milk into his cereal, your mouth was already dry because of your hang over, but at the tempting sight, you couldn’t help but lick your lips.

You’re not going to lie, you felt a bit disorientated when you woke up and Yoongi had already left for his interview at a record label for an internship.

“Morning,” You rasped, moving to the fridge to get a cool drink. Jimin turns to look at you, surprised you even greeted him.

“Morning.”

You take a cool bottle of water and leave the room with nothing else said. Fuck, the sexual tension was so heavy it almost crushed you.

You collapse on the couch, your fingers working at your temple. “Is that my shirt?”

You look up at Jimin, who is towering over you, his defined torso serving as quite the distraction from his curious eyes. You suddenly feel very, very exposed in nothing but an oversized shirt and underwear. The view of him standing over you, his low sitting shorts revealing his toned abs and thighs, plus your hangover makes it difficult to not stutter, “W-what?”

He smiles, crouching next to you, his hands play with the bottom of your shirt, sending tingles down your legs and to your groin, where his hand is very close to. He looks at your face, and you’re sure he looks at your lips more than once. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

Perhaps you were, you thought you recognized it as Yoongi’s when you grabbed it from the stack of clean laundry, but now that you think about it, it could easily be Jimin’s.

“W-”

“You know, if you’re so desperate to have a piece of me, you could just ask.” He tilts your jaw, his other hand doing a quick ghost over your panties, “I’ll do anything for you if you just ask nicely.”

“Jimin…”

He nuzzles his nose to your neck, his lips planting feathery kisses. “My name sounds so nice coming from you,” He whispers, his voice low and husky, “if you be the good girl I know you can be, you’ll be very happy with how I reward you.”

You almost give into the amazing way he’s making you feel. You almost get swept away by his soft touches and gentle words, but then you remember the aim. “Once again, you forget that I’m not the one being bad. You are.”

He chuckles and stands up, only to push your legs apart so that he can get on top of you, his arms on either side of your head. “Is that so?”

“Yes. You’re the one who treats me like crap.”

“Really?” He asks softly, his soft lips kissing at your jaw. “I’m sorry to hear that. I guess I’ll have to make it up to you.”

This is going well. Easier than you thought.

“I guess I’ll have to treat you like a queen from now on, won’t I?” He asks, his hand cupping your panties and pushing at your sensitive area gently, you moan slightly, your hands hooking around his neck. His lips get so close to yours you think he’s finally going to kiss you, “All you have to say is ‘please’.”

“What?” You laugh, pushing him off you, your force pushes him back and onto your feet, you quickly retract them and he fixes his position so that his back is against the cushions of the couch, his feet on the floor. He sighs in annoyance and runs his hand through his hair. You crawl over to straddle him, surprising him slightly. “If anyone is saying something, it will you be saying ‘sorry’.”

“Yeah rig-” You cut him off with a kiss. He doesn’t kiss back for a moment, but then his hands come down to hold your hips and he starts to move his lips. God, all this tension sure makes this feel good, you think. You trail your fingers down the soft expanse of his chest and abs until you’re gripping his hardening dick through his shorts. He groans and bucks his hips, making you laugh into the kiss. You want to get him even more worked up, so while you palm him, you also kiss his shoulder, all the way to his neck where you suck purple petals into his skin. His hands kneed at your ass and you’re pleasantly surprised that he’s quite the vocal partner. You slide down the couch until you’re kneeling on the floor, and a Jimin watches you attentively.

You look up at him as you tug his shorts down; he lifts his hips enough for you to pull them down to his thighs, his thick dick springing out and smacking against his hard stomach. You waste no time in taking it into your hands, making him hiss. You lick the tip, leaving as much spit as possible so you can spread it down his length, making him moan. You rub him teasingly slow and you can see that he’s fisting the couch in an attempt not to just thrust into your hand. “Fuck, stop teasing.”

“Are you going to say sorry now?” You ask, licking up the vein under his cock.

“Sorry, now just suck me off, sweetheart.” He rubs your cheek, “This is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me.”

You just roll your eyes but take him into your mouth anyway. As soon as your tongue is pressing against his base, he is pulling you off. You look at him in confusion. “I’ve decided I want to cum inside of you, actually.”

“We’re feeling cheeky aren’t we?” You joke, but climb back onto his lap anyway. “You’ve made your choice.”

“I’m not worried,” He looks at you smugly, his hands pulling you down to grind against him. “You’ll suck me off some other time.”

You want to tell him he’s being ridiculous, but you know you won’t be able to stay away. This is too good to be true. “Whatever.”

You pull your panties to the side so that you can guide him to your entrance and swipe his tip through your folds to lube him, making both of you breath out in pleasure. You slowly sink down onto him, his girth cock stretching you out so pleasurably that you collapse forward onto his chest. “God…” You mumble into his skin.

“You feel so good around my cock, sweetheart.” He rasps, “Can you move for me?”

You silently comply, your hands on his shoulders acting as anchorage as you roll your hips forward and backwards. “Just like that, Y/N.”

You swear that’s the best your name has ever sounded. You carry on moving, a layer of sweat developing on both your chests, his thighs clenching underneath you and his head lolling back, revealing his thick and sticky neck.

He looks back at you, his eyes devouring your face as you moan. “There we go, sweetheart. You’re so pretty.” He moves some hair from your face. “I knew you could be a good girl.”

“Mmhhh.”

“You’re being such a good girl for me. Are you my good girl?”

You can’t answer, your throat burns as you start to bounce up and down. His hand slaps against your ass, making you moan louder. “Answer me.”

“I’m your good girl.” You tell him, your whole body alight with how turned on you are and how good it feels every time you come down on him, your clit hitting his pelvis and your g-spot rubbing against him. He starts to help you, his strength making it much easier for you.

“Isn’t it so much better when you’re treating me well?” He asks.

“Oh god, shut up.” You moan.

He laughs a shaky laugh, “Where’d your manners suddenly go? It was so nice! Come on, sweetheart, I know how good you can be.” He teases you by stilling your movements.

“I’m sorry,” You say in desperation, “I’ll always remember my manners from now on.”

He smiles, pleased, and starts to bounce you on his dick once again. “You take my cock so well, so well, sweetheart.”

“You feel so good, Jimin.” You cry. “I’m going to cum.”

“That’s right, cum all over my cock like a good little princess, I want to feel you cum.”

You don’t need much more and as soon as you rub your clit, you’re tensing as your orgasm warms your whole body. You clench your legs and throw your head back as you yell out, “Jimin!”

“There we go, baby, see how nice it can be? See how amazing I can make you feel?” He coos. “Do you see why you should be my good girl?”

“Fuck, yes.” You whisper, your head now resting on his shoulder.

“Can I cum now?” He asks gently.

“Yeah.”

He starts to roll your hips, his bucking up slightly as he grunts these beautiful, angelic sounds. His hands use your ass to angle you for his cock, which thrusts in slowly as he searches for his orgasm.

“Goddamn it, baby, I’m going to cum for you. Do you want me to fill you up with my cum?”

“Yes, Jimin, cum in me, please.”

Jimin really liked your words and he came with a delicious and long groan.

You kissed him lazily as you came down from your highs, his fingers tickling your calves.

“You treat me well, I treat you well.” He tells you.

“You’re the one who started this whole thing!” You exclaim.

“Whatever.” He laughs.

#bangtanwriters-net #95line.net #jimin smut #bts smut #jimin scenario #jimin fanfic #taehyung smut #manners #jungkook #taehyung #jimin #namjoon #hoseok #yoongi #jin

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cavefelix · 7 years ago

Text

Rinley 'M’ Yatskaya

Not that long ago ago...

"Story!” young Rinley said, grabbing on to her sister’s leg. Rinley was at the age where her sentences were typically only a word or two long.

Caroline smiled indulgently, lifting Rinley up and walking around the temple. She sat down by Grizzly, a calico who liked hearing tales too.

“All right. But it will have to be short. I need to go to the market to get some apples to poison and it’s getting late. So let’s tell a story about someone else short -- you, Rinley.”

“There is one man that all fear. One who is unstoppable. One whose motives are inscrutable. He comes to all. Brave men fear him; fear of him is what makes them brave. Wise men seek to avoid him, though their wisdom leads them to eventually learn this is folly. I speak, of course, of Death.”

Rinley clapped. “Brother!”

Caroline nodded. “Yes. He’s much nicer to you than he was to me growing up. He’s never pulled your hair or put a spider down the back of your shirt.” But she said it affectionately. The childhood antics of Kuroma were just a memory.

“None know why Death chooses to end lives. And none know why he chooses to spare others. But all were surprised when one day, while walking along the shore of Big Lake, he found the wreckage of a boat washed ashore. And clinging on for its life was a baby rat, which he chose to spare.”

Rinley held her little paws up. “Me!” she said.

Caroline nodded. “Yes. You. I don’t know why; normally we don’t like rats very much. But Kuroma took you home. He saw something special in you. You’d been born at sea, and maybe that whispered to him, as our family was founded by a selkie. Or maybe the fact you were barely holding on, on the threshold of life and death, called to the part of him that was death. Perhaps it was the fact that he found you on the anniversary of the day mama disappeared. Or maybe he thought you were cute,” Caroline said, poking Rinley’s belly.

“Yes!” Rinley said.

“To be honest, I thought you’d be eaten within the week --” Caroline began.

“Fish tastes better,” Grizzly interrupted, grooming her paw.

“-- true, but you know some cats are less particular,” Caroline responded conversationally. “But anyway, I was wrong. The cats took to you as well as anyone. And Goro, when he found you, rather than being annoyed said that you should be adopted.

“I wanted to name you Minnie, because you were so tiny. But the rest of the family said you were a Rinley.”

“Yes!” said the little rat.

Rinley ‘M’ Yatskaya

Age: 34 months

Academic Skills: Good

Athletics: Catlike and Ratlike reflexes

Favorite Food: Fish! Especially smelt, sardine, and herring, where you can eat a whole one by yourself.

Animal: Cat

Background

Caroline pretty much told Rinley’s origin story above. She grew up in the Yatskaya shrine, surrounded by cats, raised as a member of the family. Occasionally Fortitude Rats came to parley with Caroline, or discuss the cat population. They were invariably put off by Rinley, and the feeling was mutual. But for the most part, it was a mystic and mellow upbringing.

Recently, however, she’s been coming into herself, or out of the shell that is the temple. She realizes she’s changing, and believes it’s a good thing. She doesn’t want to hold it back anymore (if Frozen has made it to your version of Fortitude, she probably loves the song Let It Go), and doesn’t want others to hold back either. She’s ready to dive in to life, seeking new experiences.

Skills:

Superior Non-Fortitude Fortitude Rat 2 -- Rinley would never admit to being a Rat of the Far Roofs, but this skill comes in useful when you need to be 18 inches tall or have a tail.

Story Teller 1 -- Rinley has always had a love for stories

Cat Speaker 2 -- As a Yatskaya she has a natural affinity for cats...

Cat Magic 1 -- ...Including their spirits

Claimed By the Sea 1 -- The ocean claimed her (biological) parents; perhaps it has a hold on her too.

Superior Dreamer 1 -- Growing up in the Yatskaya shrine does things to a young rat.

Play Games 0 -- Rinley has the ability to play chess, checkers, backgammon, Ticket To Ride, and so on, or at least properly move the pieces.

Perks:

Connection 1: Death -- She has always had a special bond with her older brother. It’s possible she also has a bond with the Headmaster, though she’s never met him.

Connection -1: The Rats of the Far Roofs -- They’re just so weird.

[Bonus Slot] Perk: Accessory - Evening Primrose jewelry -- Rinley has a piece of jewelry that was designed as a bracelet for a human, but she can wear as a necklace or belt. It is a silver chain with a realistic evening primrose hanging from it. The Primrose is carved from old ivory, so old it has yellowed to the point it is the color of the flower. Its origin is unknown, though probably it’s connected to more than a long-dead animal. (Since I know ivory is a sensitive subject, I’m assuming Rinley knows somehow it wasn’t taken from a living animal, but one who passed away peacefully, and has an association with death. A piece fo the tusk of an elephant god?) See the power under Prophet for more.

Miraculous Arcs

Prophet 2/Creature of Delerium 1

Prophet

Rinley is deeply connected with death, After all, she was saved by Death and raised among nine-lived beings in a mystic environment. But not the “you’re no longer alive” aspect of death. She's connected with the symbolic meaning of Death, its representation in the Tarot. She's associated with the aspect of Personal Change, or Self Transformation, depending on which wording better suits the situation This is her Principle. She’s probably not actively aware of this. She's consciously going around trying to upset the status quo. But she's an agent of this whether she wants to be or not. (She does. Your character doesn’t get to be called The Troublemaker by chance.) Of course, this has created enemies. Obviously, not everyone wants change and the uncertainty it brings. In the Glass Maker's Dragon, she's probably opposed by The Moon Prince, who seeks for people to let go, to stop changing. I suspect she may also be opposed by Billy Sovereign, whose vision is not quite a world of changelessness, but one in which there is but one kind of change, where you become sycophants of Billy Sovereign. It's even possible she'll butt heads with the Dream Witch or someone else who wishes a return to old fashioned ways, though I advise that to be more a friendly rivalry than outright hostility if the Dream Witch is a PC. Rinley has the following powers associated with this Mystic Arc. If you're trying to become more mystical, which isn't the default but there's an option in her quest set, she also has Frantic. Divine Guidance: When Rinley is uncertain what do do, she can form a Level 4 Intention, at no Will cost, to "Listen to the subtle ways that change is all around us." Usually this is an HG hint as to what might foster change in this situation. She also, when using Divine Guidance, may understand symbols and motifs of death, even when unfamiliar with them. When she uses this power to serve the principle of change, she gains a +3 tool bonus. Finally, when opposed by a bleak power, this can shatter the effects, creating a chaotic backlash that affects Rinley and the target, essentially inflicting a Serious Wound. This power can be used once or twice a book at no cost. Subsequent uses cost 1 MP. For 2 MP, Rinley can use this with any intention. Divine Guidance (Powered Up): If Rinley can sustain the Intention of Divine Guidance for an entire chapter, she can cause a major sort of change in the Region. A downtown neighborhood could get a facelift, a school could adopt a new curriculum, or a medical organization may decide that exercise and diet are bad for your mental health, and change to suggesting eating only butter because it feels good emotionally. Materialization of Possibility When you're facing a problem you can't deal with, you (or someone) needs to change. Rinley can invoke Materialization of Possibility to use personal change to solve an immediate problem. This power can take many forms, often a Tool Bonus or temporary Perk. This can be used once or twice a book at no cost. For 1 MP, this can make things somewhat more likely or powerful. For 4 MP it makes something much more likely or more powerful. Example: Rinley is being chased by the First Free Dog, because she stole its favorite squeaky toy on a whim. Materialization of Possibility might give her a +1 bonus to persuade him that rope toys are more fun, changing his outlook. If she runs through a pet store and spends 1 MP, the First Free Dog may see the ideal new toy. For 4 MP, she might decide it's time to change herself and stop treating dogs as inferior to cats, gaining the Superior Dog Speaker 4 Perk to telepathically explain herself to the undead pup.

Inspiration

RInley draws inspiration from places where her aspect of death is not weak. Much of Little Island and the Walking Fields are out of bounds, due to their properties of “things can’t change before they’re ready” and “What happens is what always happened,” respectively, but there are exceptions there where Death and Change are strong enough -- the memorial statue of Jade Irinka; or during a Wild Hunt, for example..

While in these places, she can invoke Inspiration to have her Story Telling and Game Playing Skills transform, becoming The Story Telling and The Games of Transformation. They will always have a minimum Intention of 4, and ignore 1-2 points of Obstacle. They also function as if they were Superior 1 Skills; her stories seem particularly inspirational; the dice seem to favor her, forcing you to adapt your strategy.

In places hallowed by death/rebirth -- important mausoleums, holidays about Death, etc., these skills function as Level 2 Superior Skills. Rinley plays games on a master level revealing the need for you to adapt, and her tales stir the hearts of the most callous person.

Inspiration can be used 1-2 times per scene at no cost. It costs 1 MP for subsequent uses, or 4 MP to use it as many times as needed per scene.

Vestments

In the language of flowers, Evening Primrose is a symbol of fickleness, or inconstancy. A sign that people change. While Rinley doesn’t always wear it, her jewelry can function as if she were in a place where death is strong enough for her to get the lowest advantages of a Superior 1 skill with Inspiration.

(Sometimes Rinley leaves this at the the temple, because cats like to paw at dangling things on chains.)

This is a bonus perk, noted above.

Hallow

Over the course of several months*, or instantly for 4 MP, Rinley can make a place sacred to her principle, giving it the Property People are driven to do something different with their lives.

* Normally Hallow takes years to invoke, but as a rat her lifespan is, like, seven or eight years, so I’ve reduced is slightly.

Creature of Delerium 1

Rinley wants people to change, to achieve their potential. They don’t do that though, and she always wondered why. She only recently realized the answer when a cat spirit spoke to her. “You can’t just wait for the door to open so you’re on the other side You need to yowl incessantly. You can’t wait for the Ming vase to fall; you must push it yourself. They who hesitate are lost.”

And the spirit taught her the truth, feelings of hesitation. This is her Experience. Or course, making a deal with a Cat Spirit to learn more about how to help people has a downside. Rinley sometimes notices it affecting her way of thinking. That’s a curse, though she may not realize it’s a problem.

Also, while on Creature of Delerium, Rinley gains the power Sickly.

Embodiment

Whenever Rinley has been in an area for more than a few minutes, a Region Property forms: Rinley feels no hesitation.

Extraction

Rinley may, by touching someone on the shoulder, remove their sense of hesitation. (Getting to their shoulder may require some climbing, but such is life.) Their sense of hesitation takes the form of a small chain (holding them back, get it?). Someone without hesitation isn’t necessarily going to do stupid impulsive things, but they’re not going to let what was holding them back from what they wanted stop them without a solid reason,

Rinley can affect their sense of hesitation by manipulating the chain, wrapping it around a particular object to make the person hesitate over it. She could also theoretically use Cat Magic to affect it, presumably making the person hesitate over what would make a cat hesitate.

She can return their sense of hesitation with no effort; others face an Obstacle 2 Action.

Using Extraction can be done for free once per chapter; subsequent uses cost 2 MP.

Command

Rinley may see through the senses of someone who she has extracted their sense, or direct their actions. Normally, this faces a Level 2 Obstacle, though that can be waived for 1 MP. While doing this, Rinley is considered the vessel for purposes of any Miracle targeting it.

Catharsis

When RInley targets you with a miracle, the effect can be emotionally powerful. (This includes interacting with command.) Since she wants people to change, this is very convenient.

This can be used twice per book (but once per chapter) for free, It costs 2MP for a third use; and 4MP to use more than once per chapter.

Notes

Prophet is an easy Arc to visualize, and hard to pin down when writing it. I felt I could have made most of the powers’ listings much longer.

The Victorian language of flowers has a few plants that signify death, but I think they signify the I Want You To No Longer Breathe aspect, not the change aspect. Evening Primrose isn’t perfect, but it’s as close as I could come.

If you’re using this as an alternate Rinley for a GMD campaign, a few possible suggestions:

Substitue the Rat Prince(ss) for the Straw Haired Child if you are looking for a lead. They’re the first Fortitude Rat she’s met that’s interesting, then she loses them to something.

Rinley’s quests and emotion XP work pretty well for this character. If you want her a emotion XP to be a little more serious than Groan, I’d consider Fist Shake.

When Rinley interacts with they Titovs, I’m pretty sure that she isn’t going to accidentally free Iolithae. Instead, she’s going to “accidentally” free Iolithae.

#cmwge

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writingismyhappytime · 8 years ago

Text

Good Little Witch (Part 9)

Angelo Parente x reader warnings: language, smut, extreme violence and torture, magic, mention of human trafficking

You glance over your shoulder as you dress, seeing Angelo sprawled out across the bed. His hand is reaching where you’ve been sleeping, curling in the dark sheets as he seeks your warmth. The white sheets are tangled around his bare body, his black hair falling over his inked shoulders.

Oddly it makes you smile, you like the fact he’s reaching for you.

It’s not quite dusk yet, you’re not even sure why you woke so early. Angelo wouldn’t be awake until the sun had set and completely disappeared, and then a little after that, the lazy bones.

You reach up, twisting your long tresses into a pony tail at the back of your head. You know Angelo prefers your hair down, but you like it better up where it’s out of your way.

Yeesh, he’d probably have a coronary if you just cut it all off. Although it’s tempting, you haven’t had short hair in ages. You’d just never had the thirty minutes to spare for a hair cut, you’d always been running.

It was nice to settle for a little while.

You spare Angelos tangled form one more glance before heading for the door, your steps silent against the plush carpet as you reach the hallway.

You close the door gently before heading for the stairs, your mind on breakfast and what the kitchen had; Angelo was a lot better about stocking it once you’d nearly pitched an irrational fit over there not being butter.

But now there is always butter.

You yawn behind your hand tiredly, seeing the hellhounds aimlessly patrolling the castle. They do so constantly in no specific order, you’re beginning to think Angelo just sets them out and let’s them roam.

You don’t mind, so long as you don’t break into a rash and sneeze and cough.

The castle is ungodly quiet, like it always is during the day. You’d found it unnerving initially, but you’d grown to like it now. Usually Horror pops over and visits now, and now that he isn’t trying to show what a big bad demon he is, he’s kind of fun to be around. Angelo is normally consumed in his business of a night, so Horror visiting gives you someone to talk too.

Who’d have imagined after you’d tried to kill him you’d end up friends with him.

You pause just as you reach the bottom of the stairs, sensing the sudden presence of someone else. You tense immediately, the hellhounds already on alert.

It’s several seconds before there’s a knock on the front door, the heavy beats resounding through the entrance. You frown, crossing your arms as you look dubiously at the door.

You’re not sure you want it answered.

None of Angelo’s brothers ever use the front door, and you’ve never sensed this person before, they don’t seem familiar to you.

And they visited before dusk.

When demons wake.

Hrm….

But hell, why not? You’re surrounded by hell hounds and you’re a badass yourself, what’s the worst this person could do?

You sigh, your eyes flicking over as you see a hellhound in human form skulking his way to the door, bald head gleaming in the soft light.

It’s obvious to you now his appearance is an illusion, that even though you can touch and feel his human form, it’s a trick of the mind. The hellhound blurs around the edges, the things he touches move milliseconds before his hand brushes them.

It’s just a trick, albeit a clever one.

You lean against the banister, watching as the hound opens the front door, placing his broad self firmly in the doorway and blocking your view.

There’s an awkward shuffle, then, “I’m here to see Angelo Parente.”

Eh?

If so, why come so early? There’s probably fifteen minutes or so until sunset, or did they not know the ways of demons?

You suppose you can entertain, and interrogate, them until Angelo awoke.

The hellhound takes a long, slow step back, his movement too fluid for a human his size, too graceful. His black suit ripples over his muscles, allowing the visitor inside the castle before the door slams shut behind him.

The visitor jumps uneasily, glancing around for the man servant who is now padding away on all fours.

Yeah, the switch of forms bothers you sometimes too.

You know the man is a shifter, his scent is apparent, so you can’t figure why he’s at Angelos dank ass castle. Angelo would torture him and break him in half for fun.

Hmm.

“Angelo’s busy at the moment,” you say, as the shifter is already looking at you, his entire body rigid once he noticed you. “Maybe I can help.”

“You’re his witch, aren’t you?” The shifter murmurs, his voice heavily accented but english well pronounced. He’s dark headed with curls, tall and broad shouldered with a splash of freckles.

You tilt your head a little, digging your bare toes into the carpet, the cold of the stone below seeping through anyhow.

Hmm.

“Who are you?” You ask, undeniably curious. What’s the shifter doing here?

“My name is Devron Lange. I’m here on behalf of my family.”

Ah!

Okay.

Um.

“Okay… what do you want?”

“It is something I am to discuss with —.”

“If you want to speak with Angelo, you speak with me first,” you say, seeing the entry hall begin to be dotted with hellhounds as they wander in.

It’s a large space, the stairs face the large, ominous front door. You lean against the waist high gargoyles that decorate the banisters, the red carpet unable to keep your bare feet warm.

There’s large curtains hanging down the walls, some random artwork here and there and old furniture — it basically looks how you’d expect a medieval castle to be for some kind of noble.

Angelo is particular about his decorating apparently.

So you know you look out of place in your sweater and tight jeans, painted nails and toes gleaming beneath the soft light emitted from the glass orbs on the walls.

But so does the shifter.

Devron Lange shuffles a little uncomfortably, not liking the demons hounds filling the room. They’re unnatural, the epitome of raw, yet contained demonic energy.

Every demon has hellhounds; the amount of hounds they have, however, is a testament to their power… and there’s too many for the shifters liking already.

“It is…. we wish to end this fight with him. Too many of our family is dying, we did not ask for this.” He finally says, keeping himself completely still. “We wish for a truce of some sort.”

Ahuh.

You narrow your eyes, clenching your hands. “You wish for a truce? Is this a joke? You sided with the Mikaelsons, did you not? You attempted to murder me!”

“It was not a personal attack, we did it as the Mikaelsons said with you gone, the demon would leave us be.” The shifter says calmly, his eyes strictly on you. “We were following orders.”

Sure he fucking was.

You scowl, anger making your blood boil. Nothing personal, of course not. They didn’t give a shit about you or the fact the Mikaelsons are evil trash. All they cared about was themselves, keeping their people safe and doing the dirty work of whoever commands them!

“call your beasts down!” the shifter suddenly barks, and your eyes flick to him, seeing the hellhounds are all growling softly, stalking him until his back is against the wall as they sense your anger towards him. You can see their outlines shimmering, red lines suddenly coursing through their fur as they suddenly escalate in size. You blink, taking one step back as you see the true forms of the hellhounds, their long nails scraping the carpet, vicious snarls erupting throughout the room.

Uh oh.

You have no control over them, they belong to Angelo!

Ah.

Shit.

Well, you know they’re not going to hurt you, not if Angelo controls them; you have absolutely nothing to fear from the hounds.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” you say after a moment, mustering your courage to finally step fully off the stairs, your eyes finding the shifters. “If you side with those monsters, there’ll be no peace for you.”

“You call them monsters, and yet you’re with a human trafficking demon!” the shifter retorts, bristled with his back against the wall, completely at your mercy. “He is the one who brought us into this, he stole my sister! She is not on his registry, she should never have been touched!”

Did everyone know about this registry!?

“Angelo isn’t the one who took her, dumbass, one of his employees did. Do you seriously thinks he hides in the shadows and just grabs people personally?” You demand, your hands on your hips. “No! You stupid fucks got your own selves into this mess! He was completely going to let it go until one of you fucking broke in and stabbed me!” You hiss, seeing the shifter twitch as a hound snaps at him, tearing the front of his dark suit.

You don’t want him dead, but you’re making a point.

“Giù!”

Shit.

The hounds back off immediately, and you stand completely still, feeling their overly hot bodies brushing against you as they stand at attention for their master.

Angelo sighs from the top of the stairs.

He wakes up a few minutes late and you’re already trying to murder someone in his home.

He likes you so much.

“What’s going on down here?” He sighs, rubbing his eyes as he descends the stairs, dressed in a impeccable black suit, black surrounding his eyes and making them even darker. He’d been taking his time getting dressed until he’d sensed the hellhounds getting rowdy, and that never happens unless he says so.

So of course he comes downstairs and finds you on the warpath.

Your jaw works a moment. “this is Devron Lange, he’s come on behalf of his family.”

“Oh really?” Angelo gazes at the rigid shifter as he comes to stand beside you. His fingers absently brush through your hair, always touching you as soon as he can. “Coming here was a brave move.”

“I thought a personal visit would mean more then a phone call,” the shifter says after a moment, clearing his throat nervously. He’s very calm, despite he’d been surrounded by snapping hell hounds and a temperamental witch. You give him props for not groveling yet.

“Mhm. I commend you for your courage, Mr. Lange.” Angelo says, his arm slipping around your shoulder and pulling you into his rather cold side. “I like a little surprise every now and then. So you’re here for your family?”

“Yes. We wish for a truce. To put an end to our fighting.”

Angelo runs his hand along his jaw thoughtfully; Horror must be doing well then.

“What made you decide going up against me was a bad idea? I did not take the woman, an employee of mine did, and he has been rightfully taken care of — he’s actually in the dungeons if you want to see what’s left of him.”

Ew.

You curl your nose.

The shifter frowns.

“No. It is fine. My sister is home, we do not want to fight.”

“Yes. Mistakes do happen sometimes.” Angelo continued congenially, getting on your nerves. You want all the shifters dead just because they sided with the Mikaelsons, you don’t care about their stupid reasonings! “You realize all of it could have been avoided if you’d just let it be, I wouldn’t have bothered you.”

“As you say, mistakes,” the German man mutters, on edge as he looks at you; you’re glaring at him, and he can sense your anger towards his family, your magic making the air thick and uncomfortable. His skin is crawling.

“Mmm.” Angelo presses his lips into your hair as he thinks. “Red, what do you think we should do? Let them off the hook —?”

“I think we should take out the entire family and send their heads to Ailfrid,” you interrupt, narrowing your gaze. “All of them.”

You apparently haven’t had your breakfast, you always get so testy.

The shifter pales, every muscle in his body stiff.

“Why don’t you get something to eat, Red?” Angelo suggests lightly, knowing if you stay in the room you might do something… regrettable.

“Why?”

“Because you’re vengeful when you’re hungry. Let me handle this, it’s my problem after all.”

“But I —.”

“(Y/N), let me handle it. Next time we have a war with shifters, I’ll chop off all their little heads just for you.”

You scoff, shirking out of his chilly grip. “You’re such a condescending asshole, Angelo.”

“Mmm, good morning to you too.”

You huff, sending the shifter a vile look before stomping away towards the kitchen, Angelo watching your hips move fondly. He likes it when you’re mad or irritated at him, you always end up liking it rougher when the two of you fuck later; weird how that works out.

Now, back to business.

Angelo turns his black, soulless eyes on the supernatural creature before him. “Devron, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Let me make something clear to you,” Angelo takes a step forward, and the shifter jerks as the demon is suddenly standing inches from him, his fingers curling tightly into the front of his suit, so tight the shifter feels like he’s choking. “I am letting your family off the hook this once, because it was a mistake on my company’s part that started it all. If I let my witch have her way, you, and every man, woman, and child, would be dead. You do not speak to the Mikaelsons again, you do not help, you do not see them — not one single shifter. If you hide them, if you take one of them in, if you so much as sneeze in their direction — I will take your wife and children and I will torture them until they’re begging for death right in front of you. And I will hunt down every single one of your kind until the world forgets you even existed. I don’t have time to fight with you, you’re of no interest to me. So I have no issue with eliminating you from the equation completely. Do I make myself clear?”

Angelos voice is soft, lethal, and it has a heavily demonic edge to it. The shifter can feel the word’s drilling into his very bones, making his body ache with the very serious threat. He gives a curt nod, swallowing.

Angelo smiles, releasing him immediately. “Good, I’m glad we’ve come to this conclusion. I do love peace talks. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a PMSing witch to attend too, she gets testy if she hasn’t had her breakfast.”

“I fucking heard that, you fucker!”

Angelo chuckles. “You know where the door is, Mr. Lange.”

Angelo ducks quickly, his lips curving in amusement as a chair goes sailing over his head. At first he’d been incredibly pissy when you’d started throwing things at him, but he’d come to realize something over the past few months you’d been staying with him; you might have cast a spell against conception, you might not have a regular cycle like a human woman, but a certain time each month you randomly, very abruptly, become borderline hysterical, no, psychotic.

And Angelo finds he very much has fun toying with you during it. Usually after a day or so you calm down, so it’s not like it lasts forever, either. In fact, he can generally just send you to the basement where he keeps his snacks, finding you drilling them for any information he might need is more satisfying to watch then him actually having to do it himself.

Oh, his perfect little witch. If he was a human, he’d already have asked you to marry him, you’re a perfect mate for him! Well, if you didn’t get killed or murder him first, of course. And then there was the problem with his elder brother, and the fact everyone in the world is trying to kill you.

Which reminds him.

“Oh, and Mr. Lange?”

The shifter hesitates, his hand clenched around the doorknob as he reluctantly looks back.

“If my witch is threatened anymore by your kind, or any of those of the world who side with the Mikaelsons, I will show them what no mercy truly means.”

“It is understood, demon.”

~~~~~~

“No.”

“Just for a few days, Red. It’ll be good for the both of us.”

“I don’t want too!”

“You say that now, but you’ll love the place,” Angelo coos, holding your unusually cold hand between his, kissing your fingers. “It’s along the beach, you can hear the waves every night. It’s just a little island off the coast, just for a few days. I guarantee you’ll feel much better.”

You frown at him, unsure. Angelo wants the two of you to take a “vacation” of sorts, go to some house he has on some remote island.

“Are you going to murder me there or something?”

Angelo chuckles. “No, Red. Not this time. But I always go there once a year and leave the business to itself. And you need a break from worrying as well.”

Hmm…

“It’s on a beach?”

“It’s an island, surrounded by water. No one will bother us there. Just the two of us, no distractions.”

“So you’re not going to work or anything?”

“No. And neither will you. It’ll just be a vacation.”

“For how long?”

“However long we wish.”

“But the Mikaelsons —.”

“They just lost an ally, they’re going to be licking their wounds for a little bit. And the only way to the island is through a portal door, and I doubt the humans have one.”

Hmm.

That’s true.

So they couldn’t get to you, they couldn’t bother you, and Angelo is right; they’re just about backed into a corner.

Maybe…. a vacation doesn’t sound too bad at all.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt anything,” you finally concede, and Angelo beams.

“Wonderful! I’ll take you shopping tonight.”

“Uh, shopping?”

“It’s all island, (Y/N). You can’t exactly wear sweaters while you’re there.” He tugs at your collar. “Unless you wish to wear nothing at all, of which I have no arguments.”

You roll your eyes as you bat his hand away.

“Fine, shopping. It’ll be nice to get out of this dank ass place anyway.”

Angelo sighs; he finds his castle to be quite pleasant, he can’t help it if the weather stays damp and foggy all the time. It’s just the way of the country.

“Wonderful. Pack your witchy books, we’ll head out as soon as you’re ready to shop. We’ll get you some things and then we’ll leave tomorrow.”

“Alright… Angelo?”

“What?”

“You can’t be out in the sun, why do you even have an island with a beach? Isn’t the water cold?”

“I’m a demon, I don’t feel cold. And I can appreciate it’s beauty even when it’s dark. It has its own appeal.”

Ahuh.

Sure.

~~~~~~

“What about this one?” You ask, lifting the dress up and holding it against you. You twist, flaring out the skirt like you’ve seen the women in movies do. “It’s pretty!”

Angelo smiles slightly, sitting on the white sofa as you try on different clothes, looking as excited as a child in a candy shoppe. Angelo figures you’ve probably never been shopping before, not where you could actually afford the clothing.

He wasn’t giving you a limit, either. He sort of enjoyed you going around, taking clothing the sales associate offered you and twirling around with it.

It’s cute.

You look so enthralled.

“If you like it, get it.” Angelo tells you, checking the time on his phone. It’s just now hitting eight o clock in the city, and the shops won’t be closing for many more hours, he’d made sure if it.

He wanted you to have as much fun as you pleased.

You send him a smile over your shoulder, then take the new outfit the assistant offers, holding it up again.

Hmm.

“Ang?”

“Mmm?”

“Is this too short, you think?”

Angelo glances up from his phone, his lips curving. “Not at all. I rather like it. Wear it on the trip over.”

You roll your eyes.

“How about a different color?” You tell the fakely smiling attendant. She bobs her head, scurrying away to find something else.

“I hate it when the rich guys bring their princesses in here,” Angelo hears the attendant mutter to the other as she flicks through the clothing racks. “ ’get me this, get me that,’ ” she mocks. “God, it never ends. How long do you think this one will stay?”

Angelo quirks a brow, letting his arms run along the back of the sofa. You merely glance over, so he’s not sure if you heard or not

He just barely sees your hand twitch, and seconds later he hears the attendant suddenly shriek. He watches in amusement as she flails around a moment, shrieking at the top of her lungs as her dress spontaneously catches fire.

Well, you definitely heard.

“(Y/N), don’t kill the human,” Angelo murmurs softly, and you send him an irked expression. The alarms are starting to go off from the smoke, but after a moment the other attendant tosses a vase full of water at her coworker, looking horrified.

You weren’t going to let her die… just maybe give her some third degree burns, whatever.

Angelo sighs. “Can we go ahead and buy all this then?”

Before you manage to murder someone. ~~~~~

“The only way to the island is through a portal door,” Angelo explains, tossing another duffel bag at one of his human shaped dogs. “So you’re going to be completely safe there, anyhow. Only demons can find the portals, anyhow, and none are going to sink so low as to help humans. So, it should be a nice vacation for us.”

“You say that but I don’t know if I believe it,” you sigh, watching as the hellhound teeters slightly beneath all your luggage. “And if its just for a few days why do we need all this luggage?”

“Why not? You don’t have to wear any of it, if you don’t wish,” he informs you, earning a pinch to the arm. “Its for the fun, of course. Change for every meal, be fancy — why not?”

You purse your lips, then take the hand he offers you, letting him guide you towards the study door.

You’d never been through a portal door, you’ve just seen Angelo and his brothers go back and forth. Even when his father had taken you to France, you’d never used the door.

So this is a new experience.

Cool.

You tighten your hand in Angelos, wondering if there’s some kind of crash course in using portal doors.

One of the hellhounds hold the door open for the two of you, and you watch as the black and purple swirls immediately reach forward. They crawl from the open doorway, slipping across the walls and floor.

“Should I be wearing a helmet for this?” You joke, although you’re a little nervous.

“Ah, you’ve never used a door, have you?”

“Uh, no.”

“Don’t worry about it. Mostly demons use these doors, our bodies are one of the few who can stand it. As long as you’re touching me, all is well. Usually immortals can take the pressure.”

“Pressure?”

“Just don’t let go.”

Wow, so comforting.

You frown, and tighten your grip on him as he leads you to the door. You bite your lip, keeping close to his side as he casually strides forward.

Your skin crawls the moment you step onto the tendrils, feeling like you’ve been swallowed whole. It’s a smothering feeling, you find it hard to breathe, and you stagger a little where you hold onto Angelo.

Yikes!

Angelo sends you an amused glance, but after a few moments you seem to get your bearings. You wheeze, clutching at him as you shuffle forward.

It’s almost pretty, walking in the bright purple and black swirls. You can see just fine, it isn’t dark, it’s just like walking through endless swirls. It’s disorienting, as the swirls are changing and flowing beneath you feet — it looks as if it’s never ending.

And then — it’s like you’ve been spit out.

You shudder, letting go of Angelo as you lean down, pressing your hands against your knees.

Yeesh!

That’s definitely crazy!

“You’ll feel better in a few minutes, the first time is always a doozy.” Angelo says, grinning. “Look around and tell me what you think.”

If you could breathe again you would!

You suck in one deep breath before raising your head, blinking a few times as you look around.

Whoa.

You’d never been to a tropical island before; sure, you’d traveled to a few errant countries, but you’d never been to the beach where you could enjoy it.

You blink as you straighten. It’s dark, but you’ve never seen the stars look so bright before. You can hear the water rushing up the sand a few feet away from you, and as you turn, the moon looks huge set above the ocean. Your eyes widen as you look, seeing its reflection.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you say absently, twisting around so you can get a better look. You’re on the beach, the sand already clinging to your shoes and jeans. It’s warm, you don’t feel the need to shiver and your sweater already feels too warm.

Angelo nods. “It’s why I bought it. Come along, the house is up here.”

Up?

He takes your hand, and you let him guide you forward. You don’t like the sand getting in your shoes, and the slope up was kind of rocky, but you figure the house is going to be worth it. Angelo tends to be extravagant, so you can’t imagine the house is going to be a hovel anyway.

And it definitely wasn’t.

“Are you kidding me?” you gasp, eyes going wide as you stare at the palace in front of you. It seems to go on forever, white domes and open doorways. The rocky slope has turned into a magnificent courtyard, little fairy lights winding their way up columns and across a large balcony overlooking everything. Potted plants flourish brightly despite its nighttime, and you can hear soft violins from somewhere inside. The palace is set on top of the harsh rocks, so although it’s surrounded by water, it seems to loom upwards, reaching higher and higher towards the bright night sky.

You can’t see any land on the horizon, you suppose the island is very secluded, maybe not even on any maps!

So much for Wifi.

“What do you think?” Angelo asks you, eagerly awaiting your response. He lifts your knuckles to his lips, kissing each one. “Fit for royalty, don’t you think?”

“It’s fucking awesome!” you say, pulling away from him so you can hurry forward, one of the hellhounds opening the courtyard gate for you, allowing you inside. There’s a fountain in the very center with a weeping woman, water flowering from her eyes and outstretched palms. It’s kind of creepy and odd, but that’s Angelo’s tastes for you.

Angelo chuckles as he follows. “I had this place built a few decades ago, but I keep everything up to date. There’s electricity, and hot water, but otherwise it’s remote.”

“So no internet.”

“No. I use a satellite phone if it’s necessary to make a call, but I doubt I’ll have to use it. This is just for us.”

Us?

You let your fingers run through the cold water of the fountain, glancing at Angelo over your shoulder. Has he ever brought anyone else to his little island retreat before? He’s weird about his pets, so you doubt that they’ve ever stepped foot on the sand.

You feel a little honored if you’re the first person he’s ever brought.

“I told my brothers not to visit, that I was going for vacation for the week, so there’ll be no interruptions,” Angelo says casually, motioning at the hound holding all your luggage to start for the stairs. "And I expect to see you wearing all the clothing I so graciously bought you.“

You snort. "Well, you might. But you’re going to be sleeping during the day and I’m going to be laying in the sun!”

“You realize you’ll burn.”

“I’ll be fine. Your hounds can stand the sunlight, can’t they?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll yell at them to fetch me an umbrella or something if I need it,” you say, seeing him frown. You chuckle as you lean up from the fountain, turning to face him.

“What? Don’t like the thought of your big bad hounds being used to play fetch?” you ask, tugging on the front of his half-buttoned white shirt as you drag him closer to you. “The most revered beasts of hell are being used to get the evil witch some sun tan lotion insulting to you?”

“It just dishonors the entire concept of their existence. How can they be fearsome if their nails are painted and they’re wearing Hawaiian shirts?” Angelo’s lips twitch as his dark eyes find yours. “It’s just shameful, don’t you think?”

“Nah,” you disagree, and tug, rising to yours toes so you can give him a kiss on the lips. “I think it’s just fine. They’re meant to serve, just as you are.”

“Just as I am?” Angelo quirks a brow at you, letting you lead him towards the interior of his island home. “I’m meant to serve you, I presume?”

“Yup. Every night. Several times. Very naked.”

He starts to grin. “I believe that’s meant to be the other way around, strega.”

“We’ll see about that.”

~~~~~~

Angelo yawns, reclining in his chair as he props his feet on the table in front of him. The sun would be coming up soon, and he’s waiting for you to get out of the shower and join him in bed. You’d had fun frolicking around the beach for the last couple hours, and you’d ended up covered in sand and salt water.

Angelo glances at the bathroom door, half open with steam rolling outwards towards the ceiling. You’d giggled and splashed at him when the two of you had been in the ocean, sounding young and happy for what Angelo believes is probably the first time in years. He’d never heard you sound like that before, not even once.

He sighs as he slides a little lower in the high-backed antique chair, glancing at the seashells decorating the end table beside him. He absently reaches over, lifting one of them into his palm. You’d gone on a spree collecting all of them, tossing them at him to carry because you couldn’t hold them all in your hands.

It was like taking a child to the beach.

He can’t help but smile; it’s a memory he doesn’t want to lose, not ever. He’s never seen you so giggly and goofy, your eyes lighting up with excitement. He just keeps hearing your laughter, more carefree and light then he’d ever expected it to be.

A vacation had been a wonderful idea.

But what is taking you so long in the shower?

“Red!” he calls, growing impatient. The sun is rising soon, he can already feel its effects, making him tired. He’d wanted to introduce you properly to the bed in his room, but if you keep lagging there won’t be enough time, not even for him! Well, at least not for what he has in mind.

Irked, he rises to his feet, kicking off his shoes as he goes towards the door. He nudges it the rest of the way open, crossing his arms as he looks at the stained glass doors of his shower.

“What? The water feels good, I don’t want to get out,” your muffled voice tells him as you run your fingers through your red hair, drawing it over your shoulder. He can just see your outline, your body hidden behind the designs of the shower door.

“The sun will be up soon,” he tells you, his eyes wandering down your shape. “You’re taking too long.”

“Who cares if the sun is up? Do you turn into a pumpkin immediately?”

He doesn’t appreciate your teasing.

“I wanted to show you the bed,” he says, almost pouting. “I had it imported.”

“Is it made of gold?”

“No.”

“Then it’s made like every other bed.”

“You’re spoiling the mood, you know that?”

You chuckle, and finally lean forward, cracking open the shower door enough to peep out at him, your glowing eyes mischievious.

“You could always join me, you know. You’re covered in sand too, aren’t you?”

Angelo quirks a dark brow. “I thought you enjoyed taking showers alone.”

“Only sometimes. You want in or not?”

Well he isn’t going to say no.

Angelo begins to strip, quickly shirking out of he white shirt he’d been wearing, letting it fall to the floor. The rest of his clothes soon join, and in moments he’s slipping into the shower with you, grinning.

“Did you have fun today?” he asks you, feeling the hot water rushing over his cool skin, quickly soaking into his hair, your fingers soon stroking the strands from his eyes. You smile up at him as you nod, running your hands over his tattooed shoulders.

“Yes. I’ve never been to the beach when I could enjoy it.” you say, reaching behind him and grabbing a fresh cloth to run over his skin. He watches curiously as you pour some warm scented soap onto the cloth before running it across his chest. No one has ever done this before. “I didn’t realize it was so fun.”

“I believe it was the company,” he tells you, lifting his arm as told, the cloth gliding warmly down his tattoos, you gently working it against his skin, across his fingers. He tilts his head, not minding at all.

He finds it… different. You talk softly, just about the day, or rather night, the two of you have had together as you continue to wash him. It’s as if you barely notice your movements, the water running rivulets through the suds on his body, quickly washing them to the drain as soon as you move away.

It feels… normal. Do regular humans in relationships do this? Is this just natural for them? Casual?

He likes it.

“What do your tattoos mean?” you ask, drawing him out of his thoughts. He blinks, his eyes finding yours.

“My tattoos?”

“Yes. All of your brothers seem to have them too. Is it a demon thing?” you run your fingers down the swirling black ink curiously, finding you can’t seem to find pattern to them. They just dance across his hands and up his arms, across his neck and down his chest. There’s hardly any of his torso that doesn’t contain ink.

“You could say that.” Angelo looks at his hands. “As we grow older, they start appearing on our skin. The older we are, the more we seem to have.”

“Oh. Will you get them on your face?”

“I doubt it. Father is very older and they seem contained to the neck down for him.”

“Oh. So is it like, a power thing then? Like if you gain a level or something you get more tattoos?”

Angelos lips twitch. “That’s one way of looking at it,” he chuckles, his hands curving around your wet hips, drawing you closer to him.

He dips his head, catching your lips. He deepens the kiss as your arms wrap around his neck, pressing eagerly into him. The water beats down on the two of you, but you barely feel the warmth anymore as he turns you, pressing you against the tiled wall.

Your hands clasp his face, your tongue teasing his. You like kissing Angelo, he knows when to be sweet and when to be rough. It’s like he knows what you want before you do, and the sex is always amazing.

But so is everything else.

Spending time with him now is very different from how it had started. You’d only agreed to a business arrangement between the two of you because it benefited you, he said he would make the Mikaelsons leave you alone if you helped him. You’d only given in to the sex part because it was so good.

You weren’t sure when all of that had changed into something else. You don’t want to call it a relationship, you don’t want to jinx it, but it kind of feels that way. Especially when his younger brother comes around, it’s like he expects to see you, he’s always asking you questions and talking to you like its the most natural thing in the world. Almost like he’d accepted you were a permanent addition.

Well, not really, you suppose. You aren’t Angelo’s pet, you’d made that clear from the beginning, and you sure as hell never would be. But you do know you have a bond of some sort, although you’re not sure if it’s because he’s had your blood or not. You know he has a little power over you because of it, but to your knowledge he’s never used it against you, never even attempted to control you.

Maybe that’s why you find yourself caring for him, liking him so much. Well, you suppose like isn’t the correct word anymore. It’s hard to explain, but when you look at him now, you feel… warm.

Which is odd.

Angelo is a demon, his skin is always cold. He’s only warm right after feeding, which you wonder how he’s going to now that it’s just you and him on the island. Does he have an underground torture chamber in this house too? Is it stocked?

You don’t ask questions about where he gets his food, or who they are, you don’t want to know. You don’t want to suddenly make Angelo think you want him to change, because you rather like him. He can be brutal and cruel, but, yknow, he’s a demon, that’s how they are.

And it’s kind of cool to watch others cower before him and not the other way around. Angelo knows who he is, and though he hadn’t wanted it in the beginning, he’d accepted his demon heritage — he’d embraced it.

How else had he lived so long?

“Red.”

“Hmm?”

“Stop thinking so much and kiss me.”

You smile, flushing when you realize you’d leaned back and were just staring up at him. You quickly kiss him again, deciding to let the thoughts go for the moment. You sigh into his mouth, feeling your back press firmly into the shower wall, parting your lips for him.

You slip your hands down his chest, lightly brushing his skin with your nails. You feel his muscles tense beneath your touch the lower you go, and you can’t stop a chuckle when you find him already hard, his cock pressing up eagerly into your hand.

Well, if anything, he is always ready.

You run your fingertips along his stiff length before wrapping your fingers around it, giving it long, slow strokes; you know how he hates to be teased, although he doesn’t mind doing it to you all the time.

He groans against your lips, his hands gliding up your wet waist as his lips press harder into yours at your touch. He grabs your hands, moving them above your head, your eyes flashing open to meet his dark ones. He smirks down at you, his lips hotly brushing your jaw, working their way to your ear.

“We’re not going to be quick about this,” he murmurs, and you can’t stop the shiver from running down your spine at his tone. He clasps your hands together, keeping them pinned above your head as he slowly lets his fingers trail down your neck.

Your eyes are on his, watching them as they run over your glistening body appreciatively. You’ve never been with someone who looked at you like that, who seemed to worship your body with their eyes as well as their hands. You can tell he genuinely likes what he sees, and your cheeks stain red.

He’s so different from any creature you’ve ever met.

You bite your lip as his fingers brush against your stomach, teasing their way down. He slips a digit between your parting thighs, pressing the tip of his finger against your clit, pressing just enough to make you shift.

“Let’s see how wet you can get,” Angelo whispers in your ear, nipping at your lobe, “before I have you cumming.”

It’s like his words immediately spark a heat inside of you, and it flushes your skin, your cheeks growing rosy. He always knows just what to say to make you squirm, and it’s even better since you know he’s serious.

“I expect you’ll be working hard then,” you murmur a little breathlessly, feeling him smile against your neck as he presses kisses onto your body. He merely chuckles, pressing harder on your clit, causing heat to spread between your legs. You feel him start to smirk as his fingers slip farther, brushing across your folds.

“I won’t have to work too hard,” he teases, and your teeth dig deeply into your lip as he abruptly thrusts two fingers inside of you, making you gasp. Your head tilts back, eyes closing as he works your clit, his fingers curling in just the right way to make your hips shift forward, rocking down against his hand. He grins as his fingers quickly become drenched.

He nudges your legs farther apart, pressing down tightly on your hands as his kisses become more teeth then tongue, your breathing growing harder in his ear. You finally moan, unable to hold it in any longer, feeling his teeth break skin, his tongue running across the wound.

You melt immediately against him, heat flooding your body and taking over. You can feel his cock pressing against your skin, and from his bites you know he’s already giving up on his teasing comment from earlier. He wants you too badly, you can feel it.

“Angelo,” you breathe, rocking your hips against his hand, feeling overly hot, your lower half starting to throb.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he purrs in your ear, pressing his body against yours, grinding into you. You whimper, arching your chest against his. The way he teases you is making you crazy, and you can’t help but moan in response, your damp desire for him making it clear how badly you’re needing him. He rubs faster, your hips pushing towards him, wrists straining against his grasp.

You want to touch him, torture him just as much as he is you. Your nails want to rake down his wet shoulder blades, show him he isn’t the only one who has control.

“I want you,” you finally manage, feeling sparks of electricity shoot from your core into your stomach, white hot and overwhelming. Already he can feel your muscles clenching and trembling around his fingers, his bite making your body overly sensitive, thighs parting even more for him. “I want you, Angelo!”

The way you say his name, so breathlessly, so full of desire — a low groan tears from his throat, the warmth of the water nothing compared to what he’s feeling for you. He thrusts his fingers a few more times inside of you, making you writhe against the wall before pulling away. He dips his fingers into his mouth, his eyes closing as he tastes your arousal.

His eyes flash open, finding yours. You can practically see them dilate as your taste floods his senses, the black quickly taking over. It’s almost frightening to watch the black seep from the center of his eyes, spreading like blood through water until his eyes are nothing but black orbs, your reflection gazing back at you.

He’s so fucking hot when he goes all demon on you.

You pull forcefully against his bonds, finally breaking them. You jerk on him, wrapping your arms tight around his neck as you crush your lips to his, a mash of teeth and tongue as you kiss him powerfully. He responds immediately, his hands tight around your waist as he grinds his hips into yours, making both of you groan at the friction.

Angelo presses you back against the shower wall, forcing your thighs apart. He kisses you hard as his hand wraps around his shaft, quickly pushing forward, the tip brushing at your soaking folds. Your nails dig into his shoulder as he rubs the tip against your clit, taunting you.

His hand moves to cup your breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching and tugging on your nipple, just enough to get your attention. Your hungry opens open, lips still parted from your fervent kisses as you look at him.

It’s so hot, your skin is prickling, and you can’t stop your hips from rocking, rubbing yourself against his cock, trying to entice him. You pull on him, wanting his wet body completely against yours, wanting him to know you want him so badly you can barely stand it!

You want to plead with him, beg him, but all you can do is whimper, letting him tease and pinch your body until you’re writhing again. You know you can’t take much more of it, and you’re practically dripping for him you want him so badly!

Your fingers clench in his black locks, and this time when you kiss him, you’re in control. He gives in to you instantly, letting you take the power away from him like no one before. You take his hands, curling them around your thighs, demanding he give you what you want. He hisses against your lips as your nails rake down his shoulders, hard enough to draw the black drops of his blood to the surface.

He can’t wait any longer! He has to be inside of you, feel your hot body clenching and hugging his cock as he pounds into you. You’re always so ready for him, so eager, it’s more of a turn on then anything else.

He tightens his grip on your thighs, and lifts you up abruptly, your arms clenching around his neck as you continue to kiss him, your teeth tugging sharply on his bottom lip. He barely notices the drop of blood your tongue sweeps over, his mouth yours to explore.

He presses eagerly into you, fingertips pressing deeply into your skin as he pushes inside of you in one long thrust, burying himself in your body. You moan against his lips, his hands sliding to cup your ass, squeezing hard as your back rams into the tiled wall, you barely noticing the pain.

Fuck!

You clench your arms around his shoulders, your skin gliding against his as he moves inside of you, creating the most wonderful friction. It’s all you can do not to cum already, your toes curling as you bury your face against his neck.

Your legs wrap tightly around his back, his hips pumping hard against yours, your every breath a moan. You know the effect it has on Angelo, how it only spurs him on, makes him rougher, and that’s exactly what you want.

Your nails rake against the nape of his neck as you lean back, your eyes a few inches higher then his. He can feel your magic already, crackling between the two of you — the heat of the water isn’t the only reason a heavy thickness is in the air.

Angelo can’t help himself. You’re stunning, your eyes dilated and lips parted so wantonly, the desire you feel only for him. He raises one hand, burying it in your clinging hair as he kisses you. He’s never felt this way before, and the strong emotion in his chest makes it ache. He can’t explain the tightness, the odd warmth that crawls across his ribcage as he looks at you.

You’re his.

Forever.

He can’t stand the thought of ever losing you, the mere idea of it makes him feel helpless.

“(Y/N),” he whispers against your swollen lips, feeling your breasts brush his chest with every rough thrust against the wall. You’re so caught up in the moment, you don’t even hear your name leave his lips, all you can focus on is the pleasure escalating rapidly between your thighs. You’re on the verge of cumming, and your brain is whirring, your magic starting to warp out of control as your eyes finally squeeze shut, a cry wrenching itself out of your lips.

He holds you tightly against him as you cum, your muscles clenching and hugging his cock as you shudder in his arms. He’s still moving through your orgasm, bouncing your hips roughly up and down on his length, knowing it heightens the pleasure for you.

He shivers as your magic zips down his spine.

You cling to him, desperate to hold on as he continues to move inside of you, your body barely coming down in time to heat back up. Your back is arching again as he thrusts deeply, hitting that special spot that makes sparks dance in front of your eyes.

Angelo grits his teeth, not wanting to give in, despite the hot little moans and whimpers leaving your throat. He moves his hands to your hips, grasping tighter to your skin, watching the steams of water rush down your full breasts, his tongue wanting to trace the lines they leave behind.

You squirm against his muscular hips, the force of his thrusts once again putting you on the edge. What is it about him that does this to you!? Why can’t you just — oh fuck!

Angelo takes a step back, bringing your hips down so hard you cry out, your eyes rolling back as you take him fully. Your entire body tenses, your head falling back as he grinds himself into you. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, but you’re shaking again, about to lose control of yourself once more.

And it’s like he knows it.

He crushes his lips against yours, his tongue parting your lips and colliding with your own. He kisses you hard, his own nails digging into your body, and you can feel him throbbing. It wouldn’t take much for him to cum with you, and you intend to take advantage of that.

Your tongue takes over, and you grind your hips down onto his, rolling them in just the way he likes. He growls softly, knowing what you’re doing, your snug walls squeezing him.

“Harder,” you whisper against his lips, feeling his fingers flex at the command. “Much harder.”

Time to release the real demon.

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jonathanjoesephjoestar · 8 years ago

Text

Connor Sol

How could my grandmother do something like that? I was coming home from my riding lessons with my brothers Gregory and Richard, when I saw my grandmother outside the carriage window, near the woods. She was acting like she didn’t want anyone to see her, and this was so out of character for my normally extroverted grandmother, that I just had to stop and take a look.

“Stop the carriage please, Winston,” I called to our family butler and driver, Winston Pennycup.

“At once, master Connor.” came his reply from the front. The carriage slowed to a stop, and I hopped out and began the pursuit of my grandmother.

“Big brother, where are you going?” Gregory asked me, his ten year old voice quivering a little.

“Don’t worry Greg,” I told him. “I’ll be home soon. I just thought I saw something out in the woods, and want to go see what it was.”

“Do be careful master Connor. There are all manner of bandits and poachers in the woods, and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt exploring on your own. My family has protected the Sol family line for generations, and I would never forgive myself if that trust was misplaced.” Winston looked back at me with his customary sarcastic grin. “Of course, any attackers might find they’ve bitten off more than they can chew if they take you on. You are the most accomplished swordsman the Sol family has had in several generations”.

With a laughing nod towards the carriage, and a comforting touch on my plain sword hilt at my waist, I gave them my goodbyes, and walked towards the woods in search of my grandmother. Not to sound arrogant, but, Winston’s statement was hardly an exaggeration. I started training with my blade and Sir Pellivall when I was seven, and after twelve years of training, I was perhaps the most accomplished swordsman in all of Tyncavabo, my family’s homeland, and the kingdom I was to swear my allegiance to in one year. My ancestors have served the royalty for generations, and until my grandmother came along, had always exclusively married within the nobility of Tyncavbo.

As I walked, I attempted to track her through the forest. The dappled green light that bled through the leaves was pleasantly bright, and the weather was the perfect temperature for a summer walk. The air smelled sweet and fragrant with the pollen of a nearby field of butter yellow flowers. Sticks lay all over the path, and I took care to avoid stepping on them. It wouldn’t do to let Nana know that I was following her, at least not yet.

To my surprise, there was evidence that somebody else had been following my grandmother through the forest as well. There were also very poor attempts at covering up the trail they left behind, suggesting that they either weren’t accomplished at woodcraft, or were trying to appear so. I decided on the latter, and hurried my pace a little bit. If someone was following my grandmother and didn’t want any late comers to think they were skilled, then it probably wasn’t bandits.

I’d been hearing rumors lately, of the return of the Drapu, a tribe that lived centuries ago in the land where the kingdom of Unwahabag currently stands. Unwahabag is a rival kingdom bordering Tyncavabo to the south and east. The people of Unwahabag are notorious for their hatred and distrust of all magic, and especially summoners. The Drapu, unfortunately, were a culture completely based around magic. They were eradicated in just one year.

A cold wind blew through, dispelling the last traces of warmth from the air. The smell of flowers dissipated, only to be replaced with a strangely familiar coppery scent, so strong that I could taste it. I had almost caught up to them when the screaming started.

Abandoning all attempts at stealth, I raced through the trees at top speed, leaping over fallen logs and ducking low hanging branches left and right. I broke through to a clearing, and I will never forget what I saw there as long as I live. My grandmother’s two attackers were wearing purple cloaks with crossbows strapped to their backs. An assortment of knives, swords, and cruel looking spiked ropes hung from various points on their leather armor. Of course, one of the prerequisites for the use of a weapon is being alive. Their cloaks were soaked with blood, their bodies strewn on the ground like ragdolls. My grandmother stood above them, blood splattered across her face, a look of horror in her eyes.

The thing that terrified me the most, however, was the red skinned demon standing next to her, his sword still wet. He was wearing black armor with various spikes coming off of each joint, and appeared very rusty, covered in what looked suspiciously like old blood stains. In the center of the back of his right gauntlet, a circular red seal pulsated. On my grandmother’s forehead an identical green seal resonated in time with the beat of the demon’s seal.

“No,” she pleaded, her voice quivering. “Please! Wait”.

For a few seconds, I stood, attempting to quell my fears and assess the situation. The two men were likely assassins based on their weapons and the faked attempts at concealing their trail. The purple cloaks meant that they probably hailed from Unwahabag. Combined with the demon I was now facing, and the matching seals from its gauntlet and her forehead, as well as her mysterious past before meeting my grandfather, it could only mean one thing.

“Nana, you’re a witch?” I exclaimed! Drawing my sword, I kept the blade down, in what appeared to be an unguarded stance, with the tip pointing towards the ground.

“Connor, it’s not what y-,” she began, but, before she could finish her sentence, her demon struck. His sword was lightning fast, and would have killed any normal fighter. Fortunately, I’m not any normal fighter. With a loose wrist I began swinging the tip of my blade in a tight circle, flexing as I caught his strike and redirected it to the side. Expecting more resistance, he over swung, and stumbled, just once, towards where I redirected his sword. Taking advantage of his momentary lapse, I attacked. My slice cleanly separated him from the rest of his arm at the elbow. Fluidly, I stepped in close to him, our eyes locking, noses almost touching. His hideous features were further marred with the scars of previous battles, as well as dark black tattoos of his victories and defeats.

With a cursory head butt, I attempted to knock him back, as I had done before when fighting the demons of fledgling dark sorcerers in the past. That’s when my luck took a turn for the worse. My head bounced pitifully against his, and the frown that had begun to appear on his face disappeared. Horrible laughter sprang forth from amidst his predator’s smile, and he returned my head butt, twenty fold. I dropped like a sack of rocks. When I came to, I was bound to a tree at the edge of the clearing, and my grandmother stood facing me. Her demon was nowhere in sight, and the glowing green emblem had vanished from her forehead.

“I wish you hadn’t followed me out here Connor. I had really hoped I could keep my past hidden forever.” She sighed wearily, a great sadness in her eyes. “I suppose there’s no helping it. I came to this country with one purpose in my mind. To kill your grandfather”.

Her words shocked me so thoroughly that I ceased all struggle, unable to move. “There were rumors that the King was planning a political marriage between Tyncavabo and Unwahabag. Your grandfather was to be married to the princess of Unwahabag. If Tyncavabo and Unwahabag were to stand together against magic, it would mean death for my people. I was to murder him, and frame Unwahabag assassins for the crime. Unfortunately, while I was studying him, I began to fall in love with him. After a few weeks of gathering my courage, I came to him, and began my courtship. He reciprocated my feelings, and the King here had always favored the Sol family. He called off the wedding, and allowed us to follow our hearts.

“You’re the first in the family to learn the truth about me. I can’t stay here any longer now that my people have found me again, Connor. They still want to separate Unwahabag from Tyncavabo in any way possible, and they’ll use me any way they can. Tell your grandfather I died in the attack, and that a third one stole my body before you could capture him. I’ll always love you all sweet pea. Goodbye.”

With tears in her eyes, she laid a dagger on my lap, turned around, and quickly walked into the dark and foreboding forest surrounding us. How could my grandmother do something like that? After a few hours, I managed to free myself with the dagger, and stumble through the dark and shadowy forest. The calm summer walk I’d enjoyed earlier was nothing like that horrible trek. At every turn, eyes seemed to blaze into existence, and watch my every move. The trees stretched their branches, and became sinister hands, reaching out to pull me into the underworld.

At last I burst onto the road. Winston, who was just passing by on some late night errand, nearly died of fright then and there. The carriage came to an immediate stop on its well-oiled wheels, and Winston leaped down from his elevated seat at once, when he saw who I was.

“Winston,” I cried, “It’s terrible! I think, I think someone’s killed Grandma!”

“Tell me everything!” he replied. As he helped me into the carriage, heedless of the bloodstains I was getting all over his black silk suit, I explained as much as I could, without telling him the truth about Nana.

“You say that they had a matching seal to the demon’s, only opposite in color?” He said at last.

“Yes. Both seals seemed to pulse in unison, though.”

“My dear boy, I’m afraid I may know who these mysterious summoning assassins are. The only people known to be able to subjugate the will of a demon as powerful as that, with a seal like that, were the Drapu, a people driven from Unwahabag centuries ago. If they’re back again, we’ll need to prepare immediately”.

#writing short stories

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