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ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

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Buds of Marigold. Yan Childe x Reader x Yan Scaramouche

Warnings: Implied forced marriage, unhealthy relationships, depictions of anxiety, darling threatening violence against someone, mild not SFW implications. Word count: 2.5k.

“I never thought the day would come where I’d be so stumped,” Ying’er runs her fingers over glass bottles of essential oils and varying plant nectars. “For such an important customer too… everything needs to be perfect.”

You don’t lift your eyes from the task in your hands, scrubbing valiantly at a stain blemishing an incense pot. To affirm you have been listening, even if you won’t spare her a glance until you’ve finished cleaning, you hum with a rising intonation. Ying’er sinks to the ground with all the grace of a drunken sailor, sniffling in a final attempt to pry out your sympathy.

She hobbles over to where you’re sitting and places her head on your lap. Your body tenses at the sudden touch, but you steady your breathing before it can get noticeable.

“Oh, almighty Yun, the lost Archon of fragrances, have thee no pity for thy devout follower,” Ying’er lifts the back of her hand and presses it against her forehead in a show of unparalleled theatrics. The sight does as she intended, a light giggle leaving your lips at the impromptu melodrama. Her timing lines up well as the stubborn grime you were fighting finally concedes.

You place the incense pot aside and sheepishly pat her head. “Ying’er, how are you going to learn if I give you the answers every time?”

“By your ingenious example!” She exclaims, jutting out her lower lip into a pout. “I’ve already picked out the base, I just need a little nudging in the right direction for the top and mid notes.”

Your eyes soften and your heart is strum with conviction. You soothe your grumbling friend by stroking her hair, humming a soft tune, all the while feeling somewhat baffled by your growth thus far. A few moons ago, you couldn’t have pictured allowing yourself to be touched like this by anyone. It wouldn’t matter how innocent the contact was. The moment someone got too close for comfort, you were willing to reduce them to nothing but a pile of cinders.

You pause your ministrations and sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll help you compose your perfume. This is the last time though, okay?”

Ying’er ailments seemingly vaporize into the air at your begrudging assistance. She shoots up from her kneeling position like her feet were coiled springs, an overflow of gratitude fumbling past her lips.

“You’re the best, Yun,” she praises and pinches your cheek, much to your chagrin. “Now that I’ve won you over with my charms, how about—”

The front door’s chimes ring, alerting you both of someone entering. You two exchange a look of confusion, as Scent of Spring is closed for the day, the oil lanterns extinguished and doors locked. Your finger twitches by your side in anticipation. Ying’er is blissfully ignorant to your Vision and subsequent ability to command forward a blade, a façade you wish to sustain.

“I’ll handle it,” Ying’er says before you can contemplate your options another second. You nod, an unspoken appreciation etched onto your countenance. The details of your circumstances were purposefully murky and she never presses. Whatever conclusions Ying’er has come to, you prefer it stays that way, not wanting to upset the delicate balance that is your current life.

You straighten out her collar which had wrinkled. “Call me if anything’s wrong.”

Ying’er winks reassuringly and presses her hands over yours, the touch featherlight. “I’m a fearsome opponent, no one would dare cross me.”

Let’s hope that’s true, you think. Frowning, you observe her retreating figure, taking caution to remain out of sight. Ying’er steps out of the backroom, the thick wooden door closing loudly behind her. You keen your ears to listen, cursing internally over how the thick walls muffle their voices. Her voice is one you instantly recognize, but the other belongs to someone with a deeper timbre. Your boss is an elderly woman, so that rules her out. A Millieth, perhaps?

You’re not left waiting for long, much to your relief. Ying’er pops her head back in a few minutes later.

“It was just a returning customer who was pleased with his latest commission, the one you helped me with no less. He had nothing but high praises for it!”

Waves of relief crash over you, but your senses remain on high alert.

“I’m happy to hear that. Still, how did he manage to get in? Didn’t you lock up for the night?” You inquire, hoping you don’t sound overly paranoid. In the back of your mind, you can’t fully discount the idea that it’s him, the thought alone enough to have you shaking in place.

“Must’ve forgotten or something,” she shrugs. You let out a breath you were holding in at her nonchalance, it seems plausible given her airheaded nature. “By the way, Yun, can we work on the perfume in the morning? I just realized how tired I am.”

“Of course. It has been a long day... I’ll finish things up here, go home and get some rest.”

Ying’er waves and wishes you a good night.

It’s now your turn to slump onto the ground, grasping your chest when your knees hit the floor. Deep breaths, deep breaths, you tell yourself. Everything is going to be okay.

This peaceful existence that you’ve fought tooth and nail to build for yourself… the only way it could ever get be stolen from your hands is if air no longer filled your lungs. Your fingers travel underneath the foreign fabric of your Liyue garments, the warmth of your pulsating Vision giving you solace. Tending to the last few chores, your subconscious drifts elsewhere, to an island beyond the sea. What is it you would be doing this time of day again? Ironically enough, you realize you’d be working with incense as you are now, but for different reasons. The reason you excel with curating incense to produce the best aroma is because you were trained to do so.

Your work now is your lifeblood, giving you enough to scrape by undetected. Those days, however, were a different story. It constituted survival like now, but to a far more humiliating degree. It was expected of you to perform your duties with grace and discipline. You would retire early to your shared chambers, prepare and burn your husband’s favorite incense, and fuss over your appearance in the vanity. Then you would loosen the sash of your obi, just enough so that if it had been a frustrating day, he could lose himself in your body for a momentary escape. Those customs had been ingrained into your mind. Had you needed to, you’re certain you could’ve done everything with your eyes closed from memory.

You head for the back exit. Surely, your past self would be thrilled to know your meticulous plans had come to fruition. All those smiles through gritted teeth, submissive language, and patience that could rival that of a god… everything was worth it.

Now you’re no longer the number Six of the Fatui's Eleven Harbingers’ spouse. You’ve taken the identity of Yun, a Visionless worker for a perfume shop in Liyue, everyday defined by freedom. To do as you please, go where you please, speak to who you please. The little details that were stolen from you by his hands return like tentative buds in spring.

You’ve yet to fully assimilate with Liyue’s cuisine, but it’s steadily growing on you. Maybe you’ll make an Inazuma-inspired dish tonight? In the months that have passed, you’ve found a taste for your nation’s food coming back. So as not to repeat Ying’er’s mistake, you double-check the backdoor’s locks, finding it is as it should be. Behind the humble shop is an alley which you use to creep back home. It’s best not to risk traveling out in the open if you can avoid it, you never know what eyes might be hiding in plain sight.

“Liyue apparel compliments you very well.”

With the speed of a descending phoenix, you pivot on your heel, summoning your weapon and pressing it to the jugular of whoever spoke just now. Squinting, your eyes take a few long seconds to adjust. Once they do, your body feels like it’s being drug into the underworld, the air in your lungs forced out. This man… you’ve seen him before. He gives you an all teeth grin, azure eyes swirling with delight and face contorting in amusement.

You remain steadfast through your bewilderment. “Try and scream and I’ll slit your throat.”

“I’m not much of a screamer,” Childe replies, laughing as if the situation was comical. “It’s good to see you too, [First]. Never thought I’d happen upon an old face in Liyue. I knew I recognized that unique combination of perfume, looks like I was right.”

It hits you that this is the first time you’ve heard your actual name in months. How Childe says it doesn’t feel right, he utters it with familiarity. Though, from what you remember, he’s never been known for having boundaries. Scaramouche would complain about his conduct for hours if given the opportunity. This would be the first time you’ve spoken with him, not from a lack of trying on his behalf. When Childe paid a visit to your husband’s estate, you were expected to be present at the start of their meetings. They would discuss business together while you stood there and looked easy on the eyes. Occasionally, you would refill their tea, but that was all you were permitted to do.

The look Scaramouche shot Childe when the latter tried speaking with you was enough to give you nightmares for days.

“What… what are you going to do now?” You murmur, anticipating the worst. This isn’t going to end well no matter what. If Fatui are in Liyue, that means Childe’s likely told someone where he was going; meaning that him going missing would be suspicious and warrant an investigation. On the other hand, who is to say he won’t just return you to Scaramouche if you let him live? You doubt your tears and pleading would have any effect on the youngest Harbinger. He’s similar to your husband — acting altruistic and kind — only to show their true colors when it suits them best.

“Right now? I’m trying not to get my throat slit,” he raises an eyebrow like that was the most obvious answer.

You bite your lower lip. “We both know you could get out of this hold if you wanted to.”

“Emphasis on the ‘if I wanted to’ part. As of right now, I don’t believe I do, being held by you is rather enjoyable,” Childe tests the waters by moving forward, humming in contentment when you lessen your grip as not to slice through his skin. “See? You’ve never even killed someone before. Call it intuition, but I don’t think you could.”

He reconsiders the proposition for a second. “Well, maybe if it was him...”

“You’re as insufferable as I remember,” you hiss, imbuing heat into your blade. Childe barely backs off and the unspoken threat. “Everyone who refuses to take me seriously comes to regret it.”

“Don’t worry, I fully agree with that. The Balladeer reduced you to nothing but a pretty little ornament. He underestimated you and this is the consequence.” Childe has an easier time maintaining eye contact than you do. It’s another minute detail that expresses the gap in your experience. You may be adequately trained in combat, but that pales in comparison when faced with a trained killer. This sorry charade will end the moment he wants it to.

Hate floods through your veins like venom. He’s looking down on you, just in a different way than how your husband would. Where Scaramouche was condescending and sadistic, Childe is brutally honest and teasing. It’s a split-second decision on your behalf, one motivated by the desire to prove this smug bastard wrong more than self-preservation. You loosen your grip on him and jump back. It’s not a lot of space, however, it should be enough to allow you room to react when he strikes.

He goes silent. It’s painfully obvious that he’s trying to get a read on you, now that you’re veering into unexpected territory.

“You were waiting for an opening, weren’t you?” Your words come out with more strength than you thought possible, deep from the chest and guttural. “Well, here you go. It’s the best you’re going to get.”

Childe blinks. Once, twice. His shoulders start to tremble, his chest following soon after, and he lifts his gloved hand to cover his mouth. Hearty laughter leaves his lips and pierces your self-esteem. You don’t understand what’s so humorous to him — though you’re well aware these Harbingers hold no humanity — repulsion flooding your system. This feels nostalgic in the worst ways possible. Early on in your marriage, Scaramouche would regard your resistance with a similar air of blatant dismissal, like your protests were nothing but a tantrum.

“You were wasted with him,” Childe’s loathsome cackling dies down, a maniacal grin splitting his face ear to ear. “Now I understand… the way you’re looking at me now is chilling. Exciting. In what ways have you evolved to survive? I love the fight in you, unlike him. Your adaptability is remarkable, like that of the most cunning prey. ”

Prey. The dehumanizing word makes you frown, yet you remain firm in your stance. This is the best chance, you think, now that you’ve managed to surprise him once. There’s plenty more where that came from. Tendrils of molten flames, like they were stolen from the sun itself, would make for a considerable challenge. Harbinger or not, he should know better than to charge in without thinking twice when you hold a Pyro Vision.

His face returns to a more casual visage and he waves his hand. “I never had any intention of bringing you back to Inazuma. You think a Mora reward would be a good enough motivator for me to do that?”

“T-then why are you here?” You challenge, ever the skeptic. Childe can weave a tale of lies as much as he wants. That doesn’t mean you’ll allow yourself to be ensnared in it.

“I wanted to see how you’d react,” his nonchalant admission leaves you speechless. “Needless to say, you didn’t disappoint. A pretty face with the feist to match. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” you snarl, your vision almost going red from the fury holding you hostage. Now that you no longer need to play the subservient partner, vulgarities come to you with ease, and you have no shortage of them for this blight in the flesh.

Childe’s smile widens. “No can do, I’m afraid. My curiosity has gotten the better of me this time. Could I tame you? Break your spirit better than he did? So show me your resolve to be free, sweet [First].”

He readies himself and you do as well. It’s in the dull illumination of the overhead lanterns that you realize there is no light in his eyes. How fitting, you think. That even his body has come to accept his lack of humanity.

“Go on. I’ll give you a ten second head start. After that... well, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

#childe #childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #scaramouche x reader #tartaglia #scaramouche genshin impact #yandere scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #my stuff

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saphirered · 3 years ago

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The Wizard and the Warrior

Boy it’s been busy. Double shifts whenever I’ve been free and uni starting again have really been a hassle but I managed to get in some writing so I hope you enjoy this final instalment of the Eldritch Knight series! Was going to split this one in two parts but didn’t work out so sorry for that. Hope you like it! 😘

You didn’t know what to expect when you were pulled through the world away from the homey Xhorhaus but you definitely didn’t expect the sound of waves in the distance and seagulls, the subtile smell of salt water and sand and an ocean breeze to hit you when you reappeared. Upon your vision taking in the new surroundings you find yourself standing under one of the opal archways looking out over a covered market selling all sorts of goods from street foods and drinks to knickknacks and jewellery, merchants calling for the attention of the people strolling about, negotiating prices or shouting their latest discount to pull in new customers. You’re in Nicodranas.

Essek knew he made the right decision when he sees the joy and excitement on your face. His feet tap the ground and he walks instead of floating, not wanting to draw any more attention that necessary and instead just enjoy these moments with you without the possibility of people finding out who you really are. Today you’d just be normal people without the weight of the world balanced on your shoulders. Today you got to be ordinary tourists exploring a city you otherwise never could. Nobody knows you’d be here.

You stroll about the market arm in arm moving from shop to shop and stand to stand inspecting wares, admiring them and listening to the stories the merchants tried to sell you. Both of you knew better and were able to easily distinguish truth from lies but that didn’t mean you didn’t like playing along every so often.

When you reached near the end of the market square the canopies started leaving gaps and eventually disappeared. Essek did his best to hide his winces whenever the sunlight was particularly bright. The sun was setting but it would still be another hour or so until it was fully set and he might have underestimated the brightness of the light. He didn’t let it bother him and pulled through. The slight discomfort is one-hundred percent worth looking upon your face as you bartered with another merchant.

Essek was partially blinded from where he stood while you browsed the wares of a man selling all sorts of curiosities but he couldn’t really move elsewhere without leaving your side or stepping into the path of walking people so he stuck and stayed relying on his hearing instead. You were bartering with the man as he put prices to the things you showed interest in and you tried to get a better price because you were fully aware you could get something similar if not the same for much cheaper. Essek couldn’t do anything but admire your skill and careful navigation of this encounter showing you had not left your wits with your armour back in Rosohna.

Once you got a good deal you bought your findings; a wide sheer shawl more like a thin blanket to wrap around your shoulders as you knew upon nightfall the breeze could bring a chill, a decorated silver bracelet with an inset purple gem that showed silver specks like stars whenever it caught the light just right and something else… Once done you pulled Essek aside into the full cover of one of the canopies and Essek was thankful for the break.

You’d expected Essek to have broken or admitted to his discomfort before when you noticed him wince every time the canopy lifted upon the wind and allowed the sun to bleed through right where he stood. You knew drow senses are attuned to darker spaces and in turn therefor experience a sensitivity to daylight.

“Will you stop being stubborn and just admit when something bothers you?” You say sternly as Essek rubs his eyes to get rid of the dark spots clouding his vision. When he sees the look you give him he bites his lip in shame. Apparently he hadn’t done such a good job of hiding it after all.

“I may not be able to do anything about the sunlight but I can do this.” You take out a parasol of a dark grey almost black colour with ornate lace designs added to it. It does enough to shield those under from the light and should prevent Essek from experiencing downsides of his drow heritage. Before he can protest you link your arm with his again holding the parasol above the two of you and shield yourselves from the light.

“Don’t worry. You can thank me by providing your company over a meal with me until the sun sets and we can go outside again without you burning off your retinas. I know just the place.” You smile as you begin leading Essek away to a different part of the city. You may not be the most familiar with Nicodranas but you know how to get to most places you’ve been before. You know your way from this market square to the Lavish Chateau so you begin leading Essek in that direction.

“There’s a great fish and chips shop on the way near Tidepeak I don’t think that kind of street food is really your style.” You say as the Tidepeak comes into view.

—————

Meanwhile the Nein and Verin stumble out into the teleportation circle room at the Tidepeak. They cracked the code and figured it out based on the list of places Verin had found among Essek’s notes. They knew exactly where Essek was going so it wouldn’t be much effort to find you two right? What harm has a little spying ever done to anyone? Maybe don’t answer that question. They had come for their own reasons be that to watch an epic romance unravel, dig up some dirt to tease or blackmail either of you with, or simply to keep the others in check.

“Shit. Should we have send a message?” Jester panics looking around for the goblin that usually helps them on their way and informs Yussa of their arrival.

“Not again.” Beau exclaims in exasperation. Yes again. And again they explain to Wensforth this is a matter of the utmost importance and expediency and they couldn’t have sent a message beforehand or lost too much time. Wensforth luckily for them didn’t have it within him to question their strange reasonings as he escorted them out of the tower and left the to their business.

—————

Within the Lavish Chateau you found out Essek had made a reservation and the guards and servers seemed to be extremely welcoming and attentive to the both of you for some reason you raised an eyebrow when a top shelf bottle of wine was brought out and left at your table once your glasses were poured and you awaited your food.

“Do I want to ask how you did all this?” You swirl your finger around gesturing to your surroundings. “Because last I was here, not even the daughter of the Ruby of the Sea and her friends get this kind of attendance.”

“Then perhaps it’s best you don’t ask.” Essek smiles proudly.

“How many of the Nicodranian nobility have cleared their debt with the Dynasty or reminded of their indiscretions then?” You ask giving him a look over your glass as you take a sip of delicious wine. Top shelf really is worth it.

“I thought you weren’t going to ask.” You hook your ankle around his from under the table and pull your leg back, Essek briefly loses balance but not enough to throw him off and fall from his seat. He gives you a disapproving and teasing look as you laugh. Food is served and just like everything, it’s perfect. Essek really put in the work to make this all happen and if the sunlight hadn’t thrown you off his schedule you can’t even fantom what else he had planed for your date. Though, he didn’t seem to mind the change of plans a single bit.

Pleasant conversation about everything and nothing all the same, asking questions so trivial you didn’t think Essek would ever even have been capable of being so relaxed and free of responsibility. When it falls silent for a second and Essek catches you staring at him in thought he studies you closer.

“What?” Essek asks as you hum.

“Just thinking?”

“A copper for your thoughts then?” Essek puts his glass down. He doesn’t want to pry or ask out of turn but he is curious as of what got that dreamy expression on your face when you retreated within your own mind for that moment.

“All of them?” You grin.

“If you are willing to reveal them.” Essek returns to your surprise, fully aware of the meaning behind your words and yet he still plays along. These kind of moments are rare with Essek unless you are completely alone so you’ll revel in the fact that he lets go like he does right now and hope you’d be able to see this side more often.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to get all flustered upon my voicing certain thoughts.” You tease, mischievous look in his eyes as he leans in on his elbows on the table and tilts his head amused.

“Then perhaps keep it limited to your most recent ones? For now at least.” You snort and almost choke on the sip of wine you took bur recover quickly. You definitely didn’t see that one coming.

“Oh so he does play the game in public without shame. You are full of surprises today, aren’t you?” You drop the teasing and turn to your observation. “I was just thinking I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so carefree. I’d love to see this side of you more often if you’ll let me.” The teasing drops from Essek’s face and his expression turns into one of genuine affection.

“I’d love nothing more.” Your glasses are refilled as the crowd begins gathering for the performance of the Ruby of the Sea.

—————

The Mighty Nein and Verin follow Jester leading them from place to place on the list but no matter how much they search they can’t find you. Last they heard you were seen buying some stuff from a merchant and then nothing so they had resorted to going down the list until they’d found you but still nothing. Over an hour had passed and the sun long since set, lanterns lit to lead the ways.

They search high and low following the list Verin had found but don’t find you and Essek anywhere. Nicordanas is a big city and turns out finding a buff pretty person and a hot boi drow are a lot harder to find than they initially thought. So, having given up the search they instead turn to a place to drink and wallow in self pity for not spying on the date. Jester knows just the place… No better place than the Lavish Chateau. Maybe her mom will even perform tonight!

When they reach the Lavish Chateau the crowd’s already gathering but with sheer determination and the threatening of some they make it through and find a table, their drinks served as Jester goes off to say hi to her mom before the performance. Then of course Verin and Beau ask about a couple, describing you and Essek having come through here. Instead they’re pointed to a private table out of the direct sight of the entrance but in full view of what is to be the Ruby’s performance space, and if Beau knows anything, a really really expensive bottle of wine shared between the two of you as you sit around laughing and engaging in happy conversation.

As they watch, Essek and you suddenly being the most interesting thing in the entire room they notice a blush creeping up your face as you twirl one of the flowers in your hair returning an equally daring comment of your own, your fingers dancing over the back of Essek’s hand outstretched towards you until he closes his hand and grasps them. You gasp and giggle as he intwines your fingers with his and you making a comment that sends a deep purple crawling up the wizard’s cheeks. The Nein watch, some swooning at the cuteness, the others in surprise and a hint of disgust akin to that of watching your sibling be sugary sweet romantic with their partner you do not want to witness, and the rest like encouraging friends glad their friends have found happiness within each other.

The performance is about to begin and you spot a blue tiefling running down the stairs as quick as she can darting to one of the tables. You already had the feeling you were being watched for the past fifteen minutes but thought nothing of it as since no action was taken yet and the crowd grew, if it were assassins or the likes again, they’d have come for you before as to not make a scene. Getting confirmation your friends had tracked you to Nicodranas and found you here. You’re not surprised but rather impressed and the addition of what clearly looks like a drow soldier of some repute with features similar to Essek lead you to believe this must be his infamous brother he’d been complaining about plenty of times. You move your chair as if to get a better view of the performance to come and sit right next to Essek. You weren’t the only one who noticed them.

“Do you think they know we know they’re here.” Essek leans into your shoulder as he speaks.

“No. Not this time but if you weren’t so caught up in admiring me you’d have noticed them first.” You lean in closer, whispering into his ear as you speak.

“You are quite distracting.” Essek defends with a laugh.

“I’ve seen Beau and your brother gag and complain twice now. Is this the point where we return the favour and give them a show to remember?” You suggest with a glint of mischief within your eyes.

“How could I refuse?” Essek’s word are enough for you to further provoke the Nein and take it up a notch, or several.

“Tell me if something makes you uncomfortable and I’ll stop.” You halt your teasing and allow your tone to turn more serious. Essek does the same when you do.

“Only if you promise to do the same.” Essek doesn’t know if it’s the wine or your shared desire to make them suffer for interrupting your date like they did. Probably the latter. Most definitely the latter. Let them squirm.

The Ruby comes down the stairs singing and everyone hangs onto her every word, her entire being like she’s a siren from the depths ready to lure in hopeless sailors. As her performance continues you move yourself closer to Essek until your sides are pressed together. Essek’s arm wraps around you pulling you close into his side and to your surprise, onto his lap. You lean your head against his shoulder and whisper sweet nothings, as you play with the fingers of his free hand lovingly. You pay attention to the performance, little attention needed for this display of affection as it comes surprisingly natural and unrestrained to the both of you.

You lift your head and lean towards Essek, but an inch away from his lips, making eye contact as you whisper something to him but the Nein can’t hear over the singing and you’re too far away to lip read for anyone. It’s so frustrating but holy hells, they never knew Essek had a romantic bone in his body, let alone the guts to drop his composed and emotionally constipated side completely around you. They definitely didn’t see this coming and even Beau could relate to Jester’s possible ideas of turning this into some kind of smutty romance novel because that’s what it looked like.

When you leaned back, always teasing and never close enough to actually kiss, you watched the performance more. Both you and Essek admired the show the Ruby was putting on. Her song as beautiful as she is but you might have connected with her a little more than anyone else in the room because when she passed your table and saw you and Essek she gave you a knowing smile. A knowing smile that showed she knew exactly when a performance was being put on, the courtesan’s ability to read people shining through once more when she winked at you before she turned around and found her way to the table of the Nein, distracting them from you and pulling the attention to herself.

Essek was surprised and didn’t really know what to make of what just happened but next he knows he’s being pulled away from his seat by you and dragged to a side exit, abandoning the table mid performance. Out in the street you take off running and then it hits him; a moment of privacy. You played everyone, even him in the end when you appeared to have your attention fully on the Ruby of the Sea but instead you had a nonverbal agreement with the woman. Regardless of his thoughts you kept running towards the eastern edge of the city, through the gates and to the beach. Freedom.

The moon and stars and city lights within the walls as your light source you pulled Essek along to the shoreline, laughing your asses off. You’ll have to remember to give Marion a big thanks next time you see her. Once safely away from the city sure you’re far enough away from the city you slow your pace and walk side by side along the beach.

“As clever as ever.” Essek compliments as you bump your shoulder into his with a grin. You offer Essek a hand as you climb over some rocks blocking your path. Essek takes it but instead of climbing he just hoovers over without any difficulty.

“While, I’d gladly take credit I think you deserve at least half. Did you see the looks on their faces?” Your laughter rings like chimes in reminisce of your friends. It’s music to Essek’s ears.

“I could never forget.” You stop and lower yourself onto the sand, gently pulling Essek’s arm inviting him to join. He does and sits down next to you as stare at him.

“Today was a good day. We should do this more often.” You sigh in content. There’s just something about the drow and the starry night sky behind him that makes him look so ethereal, you could look at him for ages and never get bored.

“Being run out of a city by our friends for a moment of privacy?” Essek deadpans and you playfully shove him.

“While it was certainly eventful I think I could do without uninvited company next time.” In comfortable silence you both watch the view. Moon reflecting on the ocean, sound of gentle push and pull of the water against the shore and the thousands of stars scattered throughout the sky giving the both of you a sense of warmth and comfort.

“You certainly found your courage tonight. I never thought you capable of such intimate displays of affection.” You comment and Essek turns his gaze to you. Despite the low light you notice the slight darkening of his cheeks a he takes in a breath.

“I partially blame the determination to push my brother’s buttons.” You snort.

“And the other part?” Essek decides to humour you with and answer even though you hadn’t expected one.

“You, as my partner in crime as some might say, made it easy to put on such a display. Though, I will admit to not being so open and frivolous in my affection with an audience, I did enjoy them nonetheless.”

“Well then, I’m glad my frivolous affection brings you joy.” You say and Essek is about to correct himself for his words but stops when he notices you holding back your smile. You know exactly what he meant and when Essek notices it’s his turn to gently shove you. You gasp even though you’re physically unmoved.

“Aren’y you all courage tonight? Careful now or I’ll toss you into the ocean.” You jest.

“It seems both of us have not been lacking any courage this night.” Essek comments and he’s right. With the antics of the day, and your grand escape, you might never have had it been any other situation. You really did enjoy it and wouldn’t change a single thing. Well, maybe add something but there’s no time like the present so maybe you’ll just ask.

“Then, in a bout of courage, I will ask you this. May I kiss you?” Essek does a double take in case he heard your words wrong but the expression written all over you confirms he has in fact heard you loud and clear. Still he doesn’t miss a beat in his answer. He’s already made up his min.

“You certainly may.” With that you close your eyes and lean in placing your lips onto Essek’s in a gentle kiss. No pretend, no faked lust or intimacy but honest, clear and unrestrained emotion. When you pull away you’re both smiling like fools.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” You whisper as Essek leans in carefully to kiss you this time, lips moving together in a slightly deeper kiss. His hand finds your cheek holding your face lightly caressing a thumb over your cheekbone.

“I could say the same.” Essek speaks when you pull apart for a moment, foreheads leaning against each other. Many more kisses follow, varying from gentle and sweet to passionate and deep, whatever suits your needs. You have no intention of getting off this beach near Nicodranas any time soon nor do you have anywhere to be so here you’ll stay enjoying each other’s company until the sun rises.

From behind the rocks not too far away, eight people watch the wizard and the warrior finally do what some of them had hoped they would in the months they’ve gotten closer. Others are turning away while maybe peaking through at times, solely to see their friends happy with each other despite the chaos of the world but not without going right back to quieting their gagging noises of ‘not wanting to see the people who they consider their family making out’.

“Oh my god! This is going to be so good, you guys. They’re so cute!” Jester whispers already taking notes and working out the story in her head. It’s going to be an epic love tale of two star-crossed lovers for sure. Maybe she can question you on the more spicier details later, get this book to sell at the Chastity's Nook some day?

“Ugh. Let’s go. I can’t watch this any longer. Drinks?” Verin doesn’t resist and follows Beau, Yasha and Fjord back to Nicodranas. Caduceus has a bit more difficult of a time to drag the cleric and rogue away as the latter enabling her actions instead of giving you some much deserved privacy. He succeeds eventually leaving you and Essek behind to enjoy the rest of your night with a smile. Nothing better than people finding their own happiness.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #essek x reader #essek thelyss x reader

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nyxerebus · 3 years ago

Text

Boring Bar - Modern Levi x Female Reader

“Why are we here again?” The raven-haired man asked his friend. “You need to get out more Levi, So this is me dragging you out” Erwin smiled back. Levi just scoffed at him and looked around the bar.

Filthy.

“Hange and some others are coming soon”.

Huh!? “Shitty glasses and her shitty friends are also coming?” Erwin chuckled and nodded. Levi’s mood became even more shittier. If that was possible. They both drank in silenced for a while. Both ordering the same glass of whisky, Erwin on the rocks, Levi with a twist. The music was typical bar music, boring. Some people were dancing over at the dancefloor. Half the booths were filled, but Erwin and Levi were the only two sitting at the bar. “So, how have you been?” Erwin asked. He knew the answer. Not good. Levi and Petra had broken up a month ago, and he was still hung up on it. The breakup was really messy. Levi had caught her cheating on him with her co-worker. The biggest cliché in the world. “You know”, Erwin expected something more, but that was the only thing he got from Levi. “Okay, talking about it clearly isn’t something you want, but do you know what you need?” Levi raised his eyebrows at the blond. “A rebound!”

“A rebound?” Levi repeated. “You need a quick one night stand to get over her and move on, it will clear up your head. I promise” Levi looked at the man with a questionable look, but didn’t push further. They both fell into a silence, Levi still processing his words - was a rebound all he needed?

The glorious silence between the long-time friends was cut short when the bell at the door rang. “Leviiii! Erwinnnn!” Hange’s voice boomed over the bar. Her and Mike and Nanaba walked over to them and hugged Erwin, (Hange tried to give Levi a hug, but ended up with a elbow in the ribs).

A comfortable conversation fell between the four adults. Even though Levi gave them a hard time for dragging him out, he loved just sitting on the side-line and listening to the conversations. It was comforting. “Oh! I forgot to tell you guys” Hange exclaimed. “What’s up four eyes”.

“An old friend of mine is coming over and staying with me the next week! She’s going to meet us here, you guys fine with her hanging out with us?”.

“Of course! Where do you know her from?” Nanaba asked.

“We were dorm roommates back in my collage days!”. Hange smiled. “She is really nice, so you better treat her nice!” She threatened, even though she wasn’t that threatening.

The bell over the door rang again. “She’s here!” Hange waved over a (your height) woman. Hange hugged her and lifted the poor girl up from the ground, her legs kicking in the air. “So good to see you again!” Hange squealed and danced around, still holding the girl up. “Hange, let the poor girl down” Nanaba looked a bit concerned by her mad scientist friends action. Hange, reluctant, let the girl down and introduced her to her friends.

“This is (Y/N) (L/N)! My long-time friend form collage!” The group greeted her and Erwin moved over a bar stool she could sit on, moved it next to Levi. He sent the raven man a smug look. Damn eyebrow freak.

“So, (Y/N), what did you study?” They asked her many questions about her life. They learned that she studied History, (was still studying, but balancing school with working in a flower shop with her brother), she had two cats and her favourite book was Pride and Prejudice. Hange was clearly proud of her friend and showed her of to no extent. Levi noticed the girl, (Y/N) was looking very nervous and would often blush and wiggle in her seat when Hange went on about her life.

Cute.

What was he thinking? He couldn’t develop a thing for Hange’s friend, she was clearly very protective of her and would no doubt rip his dick of if he tried to get with (Y/N). “So, (Y/N), got a boyfriend” This time it was Nanaba that asked. This made Levi perk up, for some reason the idea that she had a boyfriend made his chest tighten.

What was wrong with him? He felt more jealous at the possibility that a woman he had just met had a boyfriend, than when he caught his girlfriend of 9 months in bed with another man.

“No, its just me and my cats at the moment” She rubbed the back of her neck. Levi realised a breath of relief, no one noticed. Well, no one except Erwin, who grinned into his drink.

The conversation drifted away from (Y/N) life to more mundane things. Work, family and what not. To be honest, Levi was only paying attention if (Y/N) was speaking. But sadly, the evening turned into the night. And everyone was suddenly reminded that they had work tomorrow.

“It was great meeting you all! Hope we can meet another time!” (Y/N) smiled at them. “Of course! Maybe for lunch?” Nanaba questioned. They agreed to meet for lunch one day, and split up. But luckily for Levi, he and Hange lived on the same street. So the three of them walked together to the building the two ladies lived at. Hange wouldn’t stop talking about her latest experiments.

Levi tried a few times to ask (Y/N) some questions, but they either came out as insults or as interrupted by Hange. Usually he was smooth with woman, never having to struggle cause most flocked towards him. But when he had to impress her, he became suddenly shy and nervous.

Snap out of it Ackerman! But before he could snap out of it, the stood outside Hanges apartment. “Looks like were parting ways here Clean freak! See ya tomorrow!” And with that they disappeared behind the entrenced to the building. Levi stood on the street for a couple of minutes, thinking over the night. He cursed at himself for not growing a pair and asking her out. He went to bed angry with himself.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The next week past with everyday just the same like the last. Levi would meet you and Hange at 8 am and walk to your respective jobs. Everyone would meet for lunch (sometimes Erwin, Nanaba and Mike couldn’t make it, but Levi would always make it). And everyday, Levi became more and more enchanted with (Y/N).

“I don’t know what to do!” Levi groaned and threw his head back against the coach back. He and Erwin and Mike was chilling at Levi’s apartment. “Sounds like love to me” Erwin replied with his cheeky grinned. Oh, how Levi wanted to smack the grin of off his face.

“How? I have only known her for one week!”

“Love at first sight” Mike spoke up. “That doesn’t exist asshole” Levi grumbled out, chugging back his drink. “I don’t know man, Mike might be on to something”.

“Fuckers”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Levi was driving home when he saw it. ‘Mushrooms and Flowers’, the flower shop (Y/N) worked at. His body reacted before his mind could stop it. And before he knew it his car was parked in front of it and he was halfway between his car and the shop.

A bell rang when he entered the small shop. It was cozy, fairy lights hanging from the celling and the walls were covered in flowers, and by the counter there was a mushrooms display. “Levi!” A familiar voice called from him. “So good to see you” She walked over to him. “How can I help you?”

He was silent. The cold, stoic, gives zero shits Levi Ackerman, was fucking silent.

The hells wrong with you?! Speak!

“I need some flowers” Yeah, idiot why else would you be here?! “You came to the right place! What is the occasion?”

Oh god? Was he going to get flowers for a girlfriend? Of course, he had a girl, a man that gorgeous always have an equally beautiful woman by his side. You cannot compete!

(Y/N) was equally nervous as Levi. The same pang of jealousy raced through her at the thought of him with another woman. “A girl” was all Levi muttered out. Sadness filled (Y/N), but she bit her tears back. Not wanting him to know about her feelings for him. The same feelings that had kept her up at night and made her heart race in a way it never had.

“Well, we have some beautiful roses in many colours! What’s her favourite” (Y/N) tried not to sound disgusted by the mentioned of another woman.

Levi thought back to when (Y/N) mentioned what her favourite colour was. “Orange”.

Good taste, (Y/N) thought. “Well, these are my favourite. They have a nice deep orange colour and gets pretty red at the tips of the flower leaves”. (Y/N) pointed at the flower in the rose’s aisle. Levi agreed that it was beautiful and didn’t hesitate to say: “I’ll take it”.

His apartment smelled of roses. On his kitchen island, four rose bouquets of the orange flowers sat. He had gotten all they had in the store. He was opening a new bottle of whiskey. Not knowing what to do. The glass he filled was quickly swallowed and he filled another.

“I blew it!” He shouldn’t have said it was for a girl. What if she thought it was serious and stopped talking to him? What if she found out that he lied about having a girl and though he was a creep?

A million bad thoughts raced through his head, until he finally decided. He was going to do something about it. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the alcohol. But a new wave of courage waved through him and he grabbed the flowers and his keys. He knew Hange had a meeting at work, so (Y/N) was home alone.

The walk over was quick. But not quick enough. When he reached the apartment door, the courage washed of and he realized what was going to happened. He was going to confess and she was going to reject him. Why would she not? She has probably heard about his insults and how cold he is from Hange. Why would someone as cheerful as her want someone as dickish like him?

No, he couldn’t do it. He left the building.

(Y/N) heard someone moving around outside the door. She looked out the peep hole and saw no one, but something on the ground caught her eye. The flowers Levi had bought from her. All four bouquets. Wasn’t these flowers for a girl? After a minute of looking at the flowers with pure confusion, it clicked.

She was the girl.

Without thinking she ran after him. Only in her sleeping shorts and tank top, and her slippers, she ran down the stairs and out to the street. After looking around, she caught him walking away.

“Levi!”

He turned around and was met with her body colliding into him. She was out of breath after running down all the stairs after him. “The hell you doing out here brat!”

He looked down at her hands and saw the flowers. He rubbed his hand down his face and sighed deeply. Here comes the rejection.

“Was I the girl?” He looked down at her. Risking it all, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah you are”. Time stood still. The people around them didn’t matter, the rain that was starting to pour down didn’t matter, only them. He looked in her eyes, looking for an answer, but when she pulled him down too meet his lips, he got it. Even though it took a moment for him to realize this was actually happening, when he snapped out of it he kissed her back.

It was like something out of a movie. The rain was pouring down. He was bending her back down a bit and leaning down with her. One hand was behind her back, stabilizing her and the other was on her jaw, holding her close. Her hands were wrapped around his neck. He broke the kiss when he felt her shivering against him. Suddenly he was reminded that they were out on a busy street, it was almost midnight, and she wasn’t wearing clothes fit for the rain, or just being outside in the cold.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” She nodded her hand. As they walked back to her apartment hand in hand, Levi thanked the gods that Erwin had dragged him out to that boring bar.

A/N: Hope you like it! I'm not too happy with the ending, its a bit rushed but i am writing this at 2 am, sooo hehe. Might write a part 2! Take care :)

#levi x reader #snk levi #levi ackerman #levi x y/n #levi fanfiction #attack on titan #aot #snk #moder au #modern au

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twstarchives · 4 years ago

Text

Cater Diamond・Voice Lines

Additional Voice Lines: Beans Camo Event Card

School Uniform - R

Unlock Card “Wanna know some tips for having a fun life at school? I got you covered!”

Groovy “You gotta be full of energy when you’re with everyone ♪”

Home Setting “I kinda like the standard outfit.”

Home Transitions “Mm! The first-years’ uniforms always look so shiny and new.”

“Riddle’s calling for me. Wanna come with me?”

“Wait, are you free? Same here! So, anyway~ Do you have any Magicammable news to spill?”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Were you sad that you weren’t able to see Cay? ...Ahaha! I knew it. You’re so honest, Prefect~”

Home Taps “Our schools uniforms have a nice balance to them~ They’re not extra like our dorm uniforms, but they’re not too casual either.”

“Okay, pose! ...Aw, man! It came out blurry. Can I take one more? I want to post it on Magicam.”

“Huh? You think I look cool in my uniform? Ehh~! Where’s this coming from? You’re making me smile ♪”

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell what you’re thinking all the time, Prefect. ...Me? Aren’t I super easy to read~?”

“Hey, you know... you didn’t forget that I’m your senior, did you? JK! ♪ I probably shouldn’t ever do that to Riddle.”

PE Uniform - R

Unlock Card “Glistening sweat! Surging with youth! ...I’m kinda meh about these kinds of things.”

Groovy “I’m always down for an aesthetic-looking sport! ♪ Play with me, Prefect!”

Home Setting “Alright, our PE uniform!”

Home Transitions “I’ve got things to do too, you know! Huh? ‘Like what?’ Like... looking for stuff to post on Magicam!”

“Prefect, your collar, your collar! I saw Riddle nearby, so maybe you should hurry up and fix that.”

“Coach Vargas’s classes are so exhausting, aren’t they? I get it; I felt that way when I was a first-year too.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “You can find a lot of different ways to wear our PE uniforms. Hmm~ The way you wear yours is nice!”

Home Taps “You don’t need to force yourself to use honorifics with me. I don’t really mind things like that. Plus it’s easier that way, right?”

“What is it? What is it? You’re worried about something? I could never turn my back on my cute little junior if they’re in need~”

“Have you gotten used to life at this school yet? It’s really interesting with all the weird people here. Kinda feels like a gold mine of things to use for Magicam ♪”

“Athletics...? I’m not bad at them, but I don’t know how anyone could get so pumped up about them.”

“Wait, is this a popular game right now? Don’t tell me I’m late on the bandwagon!?”

Lab Coat - SR

Unlock Card “Even studying can be a blast when it looks fun and photogenic!”

Groovy “Let’s take things nice and slow! You’ll burn yourself out if you’re only ever working too hard.”

Home Setting “Alright, let’s get to work!”

Home Transitions “Hehe, do you need your senior’s advice on something? Okay, okay, relax and talk it out with me ♪”

“‘What am I usually doing?’ Mm, that’s a secret. No, I’m not free all the time! Cay is very, very busy!”

“What’re you doing today? If you’re free, then let me invite you on Cay’s Tour for Collecting Stuff for Magicam ♪”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “There’s someone better suited to help you with your work if that’s what you need. How about you go see Trey?”

Home Transition (Groovy) “So? I look a lot more serious than usual, don’t I? Ehh~! What’s with that reaction!? I’ll have to show you my actual serious side sometime.”

Home Taps “You seem to have a lot of time on your hands, Prefect. Are you all ready for class?”

“Looking aesthetic for Magicam is important. They say that having things you’re mindful of makes your everyday life a lot fuller!”

“Dedication is not a bad thing, but you need to give yourself a break sometimes too. See? Look how relaxed Grim is...”

“Prefect, you should focus only on the important things for your future~ Just like I do ♪”

“What? What? Are you homesick? I don’t think I can really relate to that~...”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Everyday has been so exciting ever since you came here. It never gets boring.”

Ceremony Robes - SR

Unlock Card “I like to try looking sharp every once in a while ♪ What do you think? Personally, I think it fits!”

Groovy “Our special ceremony robes! Let’s take a pic together to commemorate ♪”

Home Setting “How do I look? Handsome?”

Home Transitions “Are you interested in my robes? Wanna take a pic?”

“Does this look good on me? Sometimes looking formal like this is nice, don’t you think?”

“Hey, nice work today ♪ You can chill out for a little bit now~ I’m taking some downtime myself.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “What? Something happened again? Things are always so busy around you, Prefect~”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Your belt’s a little out of place. Alright, there you go. These are our special ceremony robes, so make sure you keep them looking picture-perfect, ‘kay?”

Home Taps “Man, our ceremony robes seriously are so cool~ When the whole school is lined up wearing them, it feels super powerful!”

“Our robes look the best at nighttime, but trying to get the right lighting when I’m taking pictures of them is seriously the worst...”

“What? What? You wanna know more about me? Mm, what should I say~?”

“Let’s talk about all kinds of things! You look like you’re full of interesting things I could post about.”

“I know. I know you want so desperately for Cay to fawn over you. But could you calm down just a little?”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Alright, you’ve got some new problem to solve, right? Well, even if you don’t, I’ll come with you anyway. ‘Cause it sounds like fun ♪”

Dorm Uniform - SSR

Unlock Card “You have to have fun with croquet and Unbirthday parties ♪”

“Everything’s alright now, ‘cause I’m here! Just kidding ♪”

Groovy “Do you want to see Cay’s serious side? Okay, if you insist!”

Home Setting “Our dorm uniforms really do fit the best.”

Home Transitions “Don’t get me involved in any trouble... Well, there’s not really any point in me saying that. You’re so hopeless, Prefect~”

“You called for me again? Hehe, I bet you often get comments about how curious you are~”

“Trey’s desserts are so Magicammable~ And they’re super delicious! Wanna come with me to go eat some, Prefect?”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Let’s make a memory of today—do a peace sign! ☆ Hehe, that was a nice shot! Okay, what tags should I use?”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Do you wanna secretly try on our dorm uniforms sometime? They might actually look good on you~”

Home Taps “Have you seen Heartslabyul’s lounge yet? You really can’t find decorations with an aesthetic like that anywhere else.”

“If you want to look fire in our dorm uniforms, you gotta know the latest trends! Maybe come shopping with me next time?”

“Have you ever noticed that the playing card pins on the left sides of our chests have a different design for each person? Tiny details like that are so cool ♪”

“Aren’t you homesick or anything? Hm? Me? I’m... not. I’ve got some unreasonable older sisters...”

“It’s nice you feel so comfortable around me... but don’t tell me you’re trying to bring down Cay’s dignity?”

Home Tap (Groovy) “It would’ve been so much fun if you were in Heartslabyul with us, Prefect. Well, there’s no point in talking about things that’ll never happen ♪”

Duo Magic Cater: “Trey, you ready~?” Trey: “Got it, Cater! Count on me to back you up!”

Birthday Celebration Outfit - SSR

This card was only obtainable during Cater’s birthday event (Feb 3 - Feb 9, 2021).

Login on Birthday “You remembered my birthday? Thanks! You’re so nice for coming to celebrate. I’m super happy, so let’s post on Magicam ♪ Okay, look this way~!”

Unlock Card “Wow! This is getting a super ton of views on Magicam! ☆ Birthday parties rake in so much attention!”

“‘Happy birthday’ is such a nice phrase~ It feels like the ones celebrating and the one being celebrated can both be happy, doesn’t it?”

Groovy “Okay, grab your glasses... Cheers~! Thanks for making my birthday so much fun ♪”

Home Setting “Wearing this outfit makes it really feel like it’s someone’s birthday~”

Home Transitions “Astrology’s my best subject! But I won’t do my own birthday fortune reading... ‘Cause it’s so much more exciting not knowing your future! ♪”

“Is the toothbrush Trey gave me his way of saying to take care of my fang tooth? Well, it is one of my charm points! ☆”

“We have lots of rules in our dorm, but it’s my birthday, so it’s okay if I break some! ...Probably not... Yeah... Boohoo.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “It feels so exciting with everyone celebrating! I think I’ll use my Unique Magic and make some clones to show off around the school.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Just between you and me, keeping up a smile for the entirety of the party gets kind of tiring... Just kidding!”

Home Taps “Idia gave me Magicam stickers as a present! I don’t know what anime they’re from, but I’m happy! ♪”

“Maybe Vil would follow my Magicam if I asked for that instead of a birthday present~”

“I got a skateboard from Kalim. ☆ He said he’s pretty good at skateboarding too, so next time we’ll go do it together!”

“My dorm made me a bright red, diamond-shaped quiche! It was filled with habaneros. I love super spicy foods so it was perfect ♪”

“My rosette was crooked? Thanks for fixing it~!”

Home Tap (Groovy) “I kinda wanna make some noise! How about you, Prefect? Wanna sing together? Or we could dance?”

Duo Magic Cater: “Lilia-kins, let’s take a pic for the birthday memories!” Lilia: “Cater, a happy birthday to you!”

Tutorial “Let’s have fun together, ‘kay?”

Lv Up “Yay~ I’m getting stronger!”

“‘#BetterThanEverCay’ kind of energy!”

“Let’s keep doing our best from now on!”

Max Lv Up “I always thought anything goes as long as I’m having some kind of fun, but I actually like getting serious every once in a while. Plus I want to look cool when I’m posting on Magicam.”

Episode Lv Up “You think we’re really close friends? Ehh~ You’re so funny~! Hahaha, I wasn’t saying I hate the idea; why are you making that face? It’s just, you said it so seriously—I guess I don’t know how to react.”

Magic Lv Up “Hmm, so you’re the type who would do things like this for me. Thanks!”

Limit Break “Don’t you think I’ve got wayyy too much potential? Hahaha! Well, thanks for all your help!”

Groovy “Man, aren’t I super cool now? It’s getting me all excited!”

Lesson Select “Let’s do our work together! I’m still your senior, so I should try to impress you ♪”

“You really are super dedicated to things... Do you get that a lot? ...Yup, I thought so!”

“C’mon, give yourself a break. It’s not worth putting so much effort just into your classes.”

Lesson Start “Alright, let’s get things done!”

Lesson End “It’s finally over! Time for my after-class Magicam check!”

Battle Start “Make sure to repost and share all my impressive moves!”

Battle Win “That should be enough. Bye-bye!”

Other

Profile Quote “Welcome to Heartslabyul, the dorm run by the strict ‘Queen’ ♪”

January 2020 Trailer “We’re waiting for our dutiful little freshman!”

Countdown Poster “You have to have fun with croquet and Unbirthday parties ♪”

Login Bonus “Oh, you look like you’re doing well again today~! We should get going soon. But before that, wanna grab some tea so I can get a few shots for Magicam?”

Player Birthday Wish “Happy birthday! You can’t believe I remembered...? As if I’d ever forget this special day! I got a present ready that I think will make you really happy. And there’s no doubt about that, since Cay picked it out! ♪”

Valentine’s Gift Letter (2021)

These letters were originally in English. I didn’t translate or edit them in any way. They came with official merch from Aniplex, and are not present in-game.

Helloooooo, Thanks for the present! It was totally awesome! I didn’t know you were an expert at choosing thoughtful gifts ♪ I already took a picture and put it up on Magicam, so go and give it a Like! ;)

#twisted wonderland #cater diamond #voice lines

177 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

Smalltown Bringdown 2

Warnings: blood, violence, more to be added.

This is dark!biker!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You begin your search for a new job but times are tough.

Note: Here’s part two. I’m planning on making this a relatively short series, think Eye for an Eye. I’m having fun with Biker!Bucky and next chapter should be🔥 To those who take the time to read, thank you. Love you guys!

Please, leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The Birch Branch Bakery was just across the street from the Chipped Saucer. The old plaque beside the door read 'Est. 1887'. It had passed hands from one Hollorin to the next. Barbara, or Babs, Hollorin was the latest in the line of plump delicatessens. She had her father's rosy cheeks and boomong laugh. You faintly remembered the round old man from your childhood though he had long passed.

Babs smiled as you entered. She was rarely anything but cheery, certain to offer any child a sample of her famous chocolate mousse. You slid your resume across the counter and she offered you a taste. You passed.

"It's a long shot, I know," You said. "But Jimmy's clearing house… well really, just tossing out an old lamp."

"Oh, hon, you know I usually just hire students. I can’t offer many hours. No tips either."

"I know," You shrugged. "But I could find something else to fill in the blanks."

"I'll think about it, okay, sweets?" She took your resume from the counter.

"Thanks," You paused before the glass display. "Could I get a slice of lemon meringue? You know mom would kill me if I left without grabbing her a piece."

“Of course, dear.” Babs smiled and took the pie out from the stand.

She set a slice carefully in a box and tied a bow around it with string; the usual fare. You took it with a smile and thank you.

The door rang as you stepped out onto the street. Your last stop was the used bookshop/hobby store, Lloyd’s. You pushed inside as you balanced the box in one hand and greeted the old man sat behind the counter. Lucius was half off his stool as he bent over the model plane and carefully dobbed some clue along its body. His hair was streaked grey and black and lines betrayed a smile even when he was grimacing at a particularly tedious project.

“Hey, Lu,” You greeted as he looked up through his narrow glasses. “Just figured I’d drop by…” You neared and held the box against your hip and rested your folder on it. “Hand in a resume for good measure. I know, I know, not much going around but--”

“You not at the Saucer anymore?” He finished securing the wing and sat up with a groan.

“Not since a few days ago.” You slipped out a page and carefully placed it beside the toy plane. “We’ll see if I’m in the government’s lap by the end of the month, though.”

“Oh, dear, that’s terrible,” He took your resume and held it out as he tried to focus through his lenses, “That Jimmy’s a real slimy one. I’ll spare you my true thoughts, out of courtesy.”

“I’ll say it myself. He’s a bastard,” You added. “You know I never mind your language, Lu.”

“Certainly your mother didn’t like me teaching you all those pretty words,” He chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned and set the paper down behind him on the shelf of unsorted books. “Might not be full hours but I could use a hand or two. Let me have a look at the books and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks,” You said. “Mind if I have a look before I go.”

“By all means,” He grabbed his tube of glue, “You always were my best customer.”

You nodded and headed back to your favourite section. He always had the most eclectic collection of biographies. A man in love with cinema, he’d given you a copy of Lena Horne’s memoir and stoked your own love for the past. Nestled in this shop was a peculiar array of nostalgia. A time you never knew but felt like your own. A childhood spent in the golden era with Astaire and Hayworth.

After a moment perusing, you chose a book on Tallulah Bankhead and headed for the counter. Lucius made no move to quit his gluing. You waved the book at him as you kept the folder and box under your other arm.

“On the house, dear,” He looked up briefly. “Your out a job and poor Tallulah’s been on that shelf for years. You give her a nice home. She’ll keep you good company.”

“Thanks,” You smiled and slid the book under the box as you adjusted your grip and moved your load in front of your stomach. “I’ll be back next week, Lu.”

“You will. I wanna know what you think of it.” He said. “She’s a special one.”

“Alright,” You chuckled and headed for the door. He cursed under his breath as he continued to fiddle with the model.

You found yourself back on the main street. The old clock tower struck one in the afternoon and you headed towards the library. A black speck caught in the corner of your eye; the same which had drawn you several times that day. It was as if the town’s spectre was following you on your tour. You carried on and ducked into the small alcove between the suit shop and the pawn broker’s. You heard Lloyd’s door open and close.

You waited, five, maybe ten minutes, until you heard it again. The same footfalls that had echoed your own. That you had shrugged off as an effect of the small town. It was easy to feel followed in a place like this. It was hard not to cross paths with the same person several times over. The soles scuffed over the sidewalk as they trailed your former steps and the shadow in leather passed you by. You emerged from the alley and huffed.

“There a reason you’re following me?” You asked.

Bucky stopped and chuckled as he pushed his shoulders back. He turned slowly, a smile on his face. “Am I?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice earlier.” You growled. “Now, you don’t seem like you’re in need of employment and you’re not exactly the social butterfly of Birch.”

“I’m not?” He wondered. “People talk to me freely enough.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing? Talking?” You challenged.

“Well, I don’t get a chance to explore the town much,” He shrugged.

“And who would ever want to do that? You live here a week and you can retrace the map in your sleep,” You narrowed your eyes. “You still haven’t told me why you’re following me.”

“Can’t say that I am,” He stepped closer as he stared at the folder atop the small box in your arms. “How is the job hunt going anyway?”

Your nostrils flared but you didn’t answer. You could only watch as he opened the folder and slipped a copy of your resume free. He made a show of reading it before folding it and slipping it inside his jacket.

“Offer stands.” He said.

“Answer too,” You assured him. “If you’re so curious, I’m just now going to see my mother at the library. Save you the trouble of following me… you don’t seem the reading type.”

He grinned and tucked his hands in his pockets. “The pie will be a nice surprise,” He turned to let you through “Unfortunately, I do have to get back.”

“Mmmhmm,” You grumbled and slowly edged by him.

You felt his gaze on you as you passed him. The heat of it lingered as you continued down the sidewalk. You didn’t dare to look back. You knew he was watching you. The eerie sensation did not relent until you shielded yourself beyond the library doors.

💀

You waited three days before you followed up. Things moved slow in a small town but not everything. Change was stark, too. As you stepped inside the same doors as days before, you found your welcome not so warm. The tea shop, also a cafe, was the first on your agenda. Doris smiled and took your order but was evasive when you asked after your resume. It was much the same at each stop you made. A hollow weight settled in your chest.

Babs was her usual jovial self but paled as you asked if she had even part-time hours for you. She shook her head and muttered about low sales in a small town and all those other excuses. You frowned but accepted the rejection. You bought a half-dozen macadamia cookies and headed out. At Lloyd’s, you found Lucius amid several stacks of book as he raised his brows at the titles.

“Lu,” You greeted. “Hey.”

“You finished that book already?” He asked without looking away.

“Halfway there,” You said. “I was just… checking in.”

“Mmm,” He set a book in one of the neater stacks. “Yes, I supposed you’d be by sooner than later.”

You stepped into the middle of the mess and glanced around. He was sorting by author and genre. No doubt a new haul from a resident clearing their shelves. You took a book and placed it in its respective stack. He paused and looked at you.

“My girl,” He began hesitantly.

“I know, you got nothing for me,” You nodded. “Just like everyone else. It’s okay.”

“Well, that’s not what I was gonna say at all,” He reproached. “I don’t care what that goon says, I could use someone on Sundays and you’ll get a few hours Mondays and Tuesdays. Not much, I know, but I gather it could help.”

“Oh, Lu,” You smiled and squeezed his arm. “So… he… what did he say to you?”

“Some nonsense about books being flammable, like I don’t know,” He scoffed. “I got insurance on this place. My granddaddy was no fool when he opened this place. He wants to burn it down, he can go right ahead. My payout will cover fresh paperbacks and the newest gadgets. He’d be doing me a favour, really.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I seen it before. As young as you are, I know you have too.” He continued sorting as he spoke. “You should’ve never pulled that knife but were I a younger man and there, I might’ve done the same.”

“Trust me, I know it was stupid,” You uttered. “Especially now but… Artie’s heart was about to burst.”

“Artie’s been on the edge of a heart attack for six years. I’m surprised those brutes didn’t push him over it,” Lu shook his head. “You got a place here, dear. Maybe look for something online. I don’t know much, just enough to order stock, but I’m sure you could find something. Town like this and a man like him, you won’t.”

“Thanks,” You set another sci-fi novel in a pile. “I appreciate it, really.”

“I know it’s not much,” He frowned.

“No, no, I’ll make do,” You assured him. “But Lu…”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t go getting yourself hurt over me.”

“I’m an old man.” He winked at you and grabbed another book, “I’ll do whatever I want.”

💀

You stopped in front of your mother’s house. You were tempted to kick over the metal beast that greeted you. It wasn’t hard to guess at its owner. You held your key up and admired it. A nice long scratch along the gas tank? Maybe a tear in the leather seat? You weren’t that stupid.

You took your usual detour to the back. Ash was sitting at the back door, growling. He perked up when you came through the gate but didn’t move. He let you pet him but you kept him outside as you slipped inside. You listened as you kicked off your shoes to the voices in the kitchen.

“That’ll be her,” Your mother said. She was friendly enough but you sensed the tension in her voice. “You need sugar?”

“No, black is fine,” Bucky answered and the hairs stood on your neck.

You walked into the kitchen and ignored the man at the table as you crossed to your mother. She filled a mug with coffee as you set down the box of cookies.

“Mom,” You greeted her with a smile and turned to the unexpected and unwanted visitor with arms crossed. “What do you want?”

“Hon, be nice,” Your mother poked you as she picked up the cup. “He just came here to talk.”

“Here,” You turned and took the mug from her. “You guys done talking then?”

“Not with me,” She said quietly and whispered as she turned her back to him. “Don’t go starting more trouble.”

You brushed past her and went to the table. You set the mug down and slid it across to him. “Fine. Talk.”

“You know, Mel, I think I’ll take some milk,” He said over your head.

You rolled your eyes as the fridge opened and closed. Your mother placed the carton of milk beside him with a small spoon and retreated.

“Now,” He poured the milk and stirred his coffee slowly. “I just wanted to see how the job hunt was going.”

“I think you know.” You sneered. “Mom, can you excuse us for a minute?”

“I don’t--” She began but stopped. “I’ll go check on Ash.”

You waited for her to leave. You folded your hands on the table and glared at Bucky.

“How dare you come into my mother’s house like this.” You snapped. “You think you’re scaring me?”

“If I wanted to scare you, you wouldn’t have walked into such a peaceable scene,” He returned evenly. “I don’t do half-measures.”

“Don’t you threaten her,” You retorted. “You can hound me but I will not have you going after her.”

“I haven’t done anything.” He smirked. “Really, you are paranoid. I have offered you a job and I have even offered my personal reference to your prospective employers.”

“Bullshit,” You said. “I know what you’re doing. I told you, I’m not interested. I got a job.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow. “Where’s that?”

“None of your business,” You snarled. “Now thank you for the offer but I will again politely decline it. Thank you.”

“How much?” He asked.

“What?”

“How much is he paying you? I know it’s that grumpy old man with his books,” He scoffed. “Twelve hours a week. You think you can survive on that?”

“I think I told you no three times and I’m not gonna say it again.” You said.

“Sixteen an hour plus tips,” He took a drink of coffee. “People are generous when they drink.”

“Not interested.” You said through your teeth.

“Eighteen,” He countered. “Benefits too. You think Lucy gets her kids to the dentist for free.” You repeated yourself and he chuckled as he ran his fingertips along the stubble that lined his jaw. “Twenty.”

“You almost done your coffee?” You asked.

“You were a lot quieter in school,” He mused. “Didn’t realize you were so damn stubborn.”

“You need a waitress and you offering money like that, you can just head down to the Saucer and shout it out. They’ll be snapping at you.” You said.

His lips curled and he gripped the edge of the table. He took another gulp of coffee and cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you’re that oblivious or you’re playing with me.”

You were quiet. You stared at him dumbly. Heat crawled up your spine.

“I don’t want a waitress. I want you.” His jaw squared and his eyes sparked. “And while it was cute to see you holding that knife to my man’s throat, I can’t have you running around kicking dirt in my face.”

You swallowed and kept your expression staunch. “Not interested.” You enunciated the words carefully.

He clicked his tongue and tilted his head. He laughed darkly to himself and finished his coffee. His chair scraped loudly as he stood and took his coat off the back of it. He pulled the leather on as his eyes met yours.

“You just remember what happened to your daddy.” He intoned.

“I don’t remember him at all,” You said through the twinge in your chest. “Your club made sure of that, didn’t they?”

He growled and rounded the table. You looked up at him as his fingertips glossed over the tabletop. He leaned down until his lips nearly touched your cheek.

“You’ll remember your ma, though.” Your hand shot up and he recoiled, quick to catch it. He smiled as he squeezed your wrist. “You think about my offer one last time.” He said slowly. “You can come get your apron on Monday… or I’ll be dropping by on Tuesday.”

He stood straight and released you. He smoothed his leather jacket and strolled through to the back hallway. The door opened and you heard your mother’s surprised greeting and Bucky’s sickly farewell. Your mouth was dry and your heart raced as if you had just run a mile.

You stared at the old oval frame between the windows. Your mother under the arm of a man who shouldn’t have been a stranger. A man who you seemingly took after. Who, despite his absence, could teach you an important lesson; know when to stop pushing your luck.

#smalltown bringdown #series #Bucky Barnes #biker!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!fic #dark fic #fic #mcu #marvel #au #biker au #captain america

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ellenripleysbelieveitornot · 5 years ago

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AN: I just want to say first off, that although this starts off a little angsty, it has a happy ending. I promiose.

---

When Crowley first heard Aziraphale make any sort of mention of having a husband, it was on a sunny afternoon just a few short months after the averted apocalypse. Crowley was lounging in an armchair by the window, dozing in the sun, while Aziraphale chatted with his favorite type of customer: the kind that had only come in to browse.

He didn't pick up the comment that preceded it, but Aziraphale's casual 'oh, yes, my husband is always after me about that' followed by a gentle laugh rang loudly in his ears, startling him out of his half-asleep state.

Since when did Aziraphale have a husband? And more importantly, why didn’t Crowley know about him until now?!

He lurched to his feet in such a chaotic and panicked way that Aziraphale interrupted his conversation to glance over at him across the shop. “My poor dear, are you quite alright? You look pale.”

He stepped around the just-browser and moved to stand in front of Crowley. Reaching out, he gently touched the back of his fingers against first one cheek then the other before finally coming to rest on his forehead. He frowned. “Are you feeling ill? You’re not warm...”

“Uhhhhhh,” Crowley said eloquently, because how do you tell your best friend that you didn't know he was married until just this moment and now your heart was shattering in a million pieces because you were in love with him, too? “I- I- I just remembered, uhh, I have to be at...” Think, Crowley! Think! Something reasonable! “A bookstore.” Nailed it. “A different bookstore.”

And then he was all but running out of the shop leaving a startled and confused bookseller in his wake.

The next time this mysterious husband came up was a couple weeks later, as Aziraphale made small talk with the lady behind the counter while Crowley paid for their tickets to the newest exhibition at the National Gallery.

“Oh, I’m really looking forward to it,” Aziraphale was saying. “You know, my husband and I knew the artist.”

Crowley dropped his change as the cashier handed it back to him, sending coins scattering all over the pavement. He had been married since the renaissance? How had he missed this? Worse, why had he let Crowley spend all that time hoping?

Crowley’s spirits, which had been relatively high at the idea of spending a whole day with Aziraphale, quickly plummeted, and this fact didn’t escape Aziraphale’s notice as he immediately turned his attention to Crowley.

“Darling, what happened?” he asked, his brow creased in worry.

“’sss nothing,” Crowley mumbled, no heart behind his words. “‘m fine.”

“You’re clearly not,” Aziraphale insisted. “Come on, we’re going home.” He grabbed Crowley firmly by the arm and pulled him close as he maneuvered him away from the ticket counter.

“But the exhibit...” Crowley protested weakly.

“We can always come back, dear,” Aziraphale said as he patted him reassuringly on the arm.

After that, the husband came up in conversations more and more. As Aziraphale ordered dessert at The Ritz, or to the delivery woman who dropped off Aziraphale’s latest book shipment, even as he babbled nonsense at the ducks while throwing them food, .

Finally, Crowley had had enough. “So when can I meet him?” he asked one day as Aziraphale balanced his checkbook.

“Meet who, dear?” Aziraphale responded distractedly.

“Your husssband,” Crowley said, trying and failing not to sound too sour about it.

At this, Aziraphale looked up, peering at Crowley in confusion over the rims of the glasses perched on the end of his nose. “My...?”

"Why haven't I met him before?" Crowley stood to begin pacing the small space of the back room. "Why didn't you tell me you got married? Is it because you know that I'm in love with you?"

Belatedly, Crowley realized that if Aziraphale hadn't known, he certainly did now. But there was no taking it back, and he wouldn't even if there were, so he pressed on. "Because if so, then don't worry about me, I'll be fine! I just-" And then he stopped, his arms which had been gesturing this way and that dropping lifelessly to his sides. He turned to look at Aziraphale and whatever his face looked like, it must have been devastating, because the angel put his hand to his mouth and made a sound of dismay. "I just want you to be happy."

Aziraphale was out of his chair in an instant, grabbing Crowley's hands in his own and looking at him with a pained expression. "Dearest, no!" He pulled Crowley's hands to his face and pressed his lips against his knuckles. "You're my husband!"

Crowley stared. "I- You- What? Since when?!"

"For about ten or twelve hundred years, now, give or take a century or two?" He pondered. "When did we start the Arrangement?"

"The Arrangement was never a marriage, Angel!"

"The Arrangement was always a marriage, Crowley. Did you even read the contract I drew up?"

"Oh course I did," Crowley said defensively. "I know it mentioned marriage, but it's not that kind of marriage."

Aziraphale cocked a brow. "Then what kind of marriage is it, do you suppose?"

“You know, i-i-i-i-iiiiit’s the kind where- Well, what it is is a joining, or really more of a union- Okay, so when two people... Oh.”

“Oh?”

“We’re married!”

“Yes, dear.”

“Like, married married!”

“Indee- Crowley, where are we going?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley grabbed his hand excitedly and began leading him out the front door.

Crowley grinned from ear to ear. “Our honeymoon!”

“Ooh, can we get crepes?”

“You can have all the bloody crepes you want, Angel,” Crowley said as they climbed into the Bentley. “I will build you a whole mountain of crepes, if that’s what you wish, just... Can...” He gripped the steering wheel, suddenly self-conscious. “Can you say it again?”

Aziraphale smiled warmly and looked him right in the eye. “Crowley, you are my husband.”

“Your husband,” Crowley echoes wistfully.

“And the light of my life.”

Crowley flushed.“What?”

“And my whole world.”

Was he engulfed in flames? Because it sure felt like it. “Ngk.”

“And absolutely perfect.”

Crowley started the engine. “Stop.”

But Aziraphale didn’t stop, not as they drove down to the docks to catch a ferry, nor as they dined on the finest crepes in all of Paris, nor as they settled into their home in the South Downs, nor for the rest of their long, eternal marriage. He never stopped. But, to be fair, neither did Crowley.

#Good omens #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #crowley #ineffable husbands #my fic

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frustratedpker · 4 years ago

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“First day” [PKNA fic]

My first official fic, Camera 9 centered of course!

I told you I‘d do it! And I did it! Thank you wonderful humans for encouraging me to write this (you know who you are ♥)!

I ��ll soon post it on AO3 once my account is set up! It’s my first time writing in english so please have mercy.

Summary: Camera 9′s first day at Chanel 00 from Stefan’s POV / Rating: Approved for all audiences / Words: 1829

His first day hadn't been bad so far.

Well, it hadn't been great either.

He had done some takes, visited a few locations, done a few scoops, nothing extreme, nothing he wasn't already used to. Also, he really liked -although he felt a little bit guilty for it- his new gear. It was the latest technology with really interesting functions. Still, nothing like his good ol' reliable camera, but since the Chanel provided it for free... Plus, this time he didn't have to carry the camera around. At least not with his hands.

Some colleagues had tried to talk to him earlier, probably curious about this quiet, new recruit but their friendliness and willingness to keep the conversation going had eventually faded mostly due to Stefan's laconic answers.

But what was he going to tell them?

That he had some canned beans for breakfast and a whole life to keep secret? That, after his shift ended, he would go back to an almost empty apartment?

Anyway, it didn't matter anymore. It was lunch break and everyone was too busy unwrapping sandwiches and catching up to the day's gossips. Stefan looked around. The Chanel 00 office room was buzzing with chatting reporters, stressed archivist and complaining technicians, all gathered in small groups around their desks. Many were leaving the room in twos and threes to go grab a coffee from the nearby shops.

Stefan had thought of going too, but quickly dismissed the idea. After all, he had already ate his lunch an hour ago when he took his break. The deserted and quiet alley in the side of the building had been more to his liking than any cramped main street coffee shop. At least he wasn't required to talk to the stray cats there. Or take off his gear.

Going back to the cameramen room wasn't an option either. They would all be gathered there, talking loudly and telling bad jokes, sharing the mishaps of the day. No doubt they'd notice him and start asking questions. Questions Stefan wouldn't be able to -or even want to- answer at this particular moment. Or any moment to be precise.

“I'm Stefan, I just moved here after I got this job, I'm from Northern Calisota”. Stefan had well rehearsed this speech the night before but the will to actually use it had significantly decreased from the moment he went to bed - if his plain mattress could be called a bed. He now found this absolute anonymity as a great comfort, standing silently next to the wall of the crowded room. A lot of time had passed since he had been absolutely unknown. He was actually grateful that no one had asked. That he, hadn't given them any chances to do so. Unprompted friendliness wasn't something that he could deal with at this moment.

He, himself, had still so many loose ends to tie. It was only a week after all since he had arrived at Duckburg, found his apartment and this job. He was sure that he would get used to this new life sooner or later. But not just yet.

Ideally, he would have waited a month or so to settle down before finding any job. Just give himself enough time to discover the area, make his apartment look a bit more like a home, finally put his thoughts in order. Oh, so much had happened. But the bill wasn't going to pay itself and he had enough of canned beans. In addition, if he wanted to start over, he would have to move on. Even if it meant forcing himself to go out there.

That's how he, a stateless ex-photographer, found himself in an urgent need of a job when the Chanel 00 found itself in an urgent need of cameramen.

And it also happened that Stefan was more than just qualified for the job.

So, there he was! Monday morning, in the Chanel 00's crowded office room, also qualifying as a wall decoration after all this time he had been standing there.

Dan, the Chanel's director had asked him to wait for a moment before he assigned him his next task. He had vanished in the long corridor since and ten minutes had already passed.

So, Stefan could do nothing but awkwardly wait as reporters and errand boys would come and go. He had gotten some side glances and curious looks but no one had approached him. It didn't surprise him as he was the only cameraman in the room and also still wearing his gear.

That was another reason he liked it. He felt quite at ease with his face hidden by his helmet. Sure, he heard the other cameramen complain about headaches all the time but that wasn't his case. At this particular moment where he felt like a fish out of water, this physical barrier between him and the world was oddly comforting. Like a safe space where his thoughts could roam free. Plus, the dark glasses gave him the chance to observe without being seen, a fact that he found highly amusing. He wondered how many of his colleagues knew that the brunette reporter -Helen wasn't it?- was secretly dating Ross from the tech department or that the tall anchorman was stealing others' pens when they weren't looking. Oh boy! And that was only his first day! Stefan smiled.

But where was Dan? It must have been fifteen minutes since he had left. Of course, he was the director. Anything could have come up, anything was more important than an insignificant cameraman in his first day. He nervously looked around. Should he wait some more? Should he go? But what if he went away and then Dan couldn't find him? Should he go find his boss, was that appropriate? Should he go and wait somewhere else? Oh God, not in the cameramen room! Would the other reporters think of him as an idiot, waiting without moving a finger for this long? Stefan sighed and tried to ignore that he was getting more anxious by the minute.

Thankfully, Dan appeared in the end of the corridor. Stefan relaxed as he saw the director coming towards him holding a bunch of papers which he presumed were the details of the next scoop. He was ready to make a step forwards when a voice interrupted him.

“Oh, Dan! There you are”

A tall, blonde woman appeared out of nowhere and approached the director with a quick step. She was holding some record papers which at once got Dan to examine under her worried gaze.

Stefan hadn't seen her before. She was wearing a white shirt and a pink blazer with matching pants. Her long hair was styled in a messy bun. An anchorwoman? That was possible. Stefan noticed the pens arranged in her shirt's pocket and the handwritten notes visible in the papers she was holding. A journalist? That was more likely. But why was she still working during lunch break?

The woman's gaze shifted from Dan to Stefan.

“Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt!”, she apologized with a nervous smile.

“It's fine”, Stefan said, realizing that this was the first time he had spoken in hours. Whatever these two were doing must surely be more important anyway.

The woman had left Dan to read the notes by himself and was now looking straight at him with a curious air. Stefan did his best to hide how awkward he felt while her gaze was examining him, head to toes. As if she was scanning him. She didn't look intimidating though, perhaps even sweet.

“Are you new here?”, she asked with a smile.

“Yes”, was all that Stefan could mutter.

There came the questions! He wished Dan could read fast enough so he could get his next scoop assigned and just go.

“Well then, welcome to Chanel 00! Perhaps we 'll get to work together sometime, I'm a reporter”.

She balanced her papers under her arm and extended her hand.

“I'm Lyla Lay”

Stefan reluctantly shook it.

And now to the dreaded part! It was time to introduce himself, he couldn't avoid it anymore. Somehow the speech he had rehearsed seemed so stupid now. Would she be okay with just a first name? She had given her last name so he probably ought to give his too. She had been really polite after all. But wouldn't she recognize him? As if anyone would remember him... Why was this making him so nervous?

Dan, who had meanwhile finished skimming through the notes, interpreted the silence and decided to spare his colleague from the new weirdo's shenanigans.

“Well Lyla, that's our new cameraman St-”

“Camera 9!”, interrupted Stefan firmly.

Yes, it finally clicked. That sounded so much better. He had started to like this number. Although a little bit taken aback, Lyla nodded politely.

“Nice to meet you then Camera 9! I look forward to working with you!”, she said as sweetly as she could and then turned to Dan to take back her papers, “are we alright with this?”.

Dan nodded. Lyla shuffled her papers, greeted them and disappeared as quickly as she had come, leaving them alone. Stefan looked at her direction for a bit, listening to her footsteps fade away. This one seemed a little better than the others working in the Chanel. Maybe a little too friendly but still professional and polite. It wasn't out of gossip that she had spoken to him. At least she had noticed him...

“Are you even listening Camera 9?”, Dan violently brought him back to reality by snapping his fingers in front of him. How he hated when people did that...

Dan gave him the details and left him alone in the now empty office room. Stefan took out his helmet. His coworkers were right, it does get heavy after a while. He would have to get used to it. One more scoop and he would be able to go home.

Now, whom was he assigned with? The reporters he had met so far weren't necessarily bad, just... indifferent to work with. The only good thing about them was that they were snob enough to leave him alone. Maybe he had been assigned with this Lay woman. He had already met her so he wouldn't have to worry about it. Still, she had seemed rather chatty and Stefan wasn't sure if he had enough energy for this right now.

Stefan's eyes reached the bottom of the page. Ah yes, there was the name. He hadn't met this reporter yet, although -even in those brief hours- he had heard his name being yelled across the corridors. He folded the paper, placed it in his front pocket and put his helmet back on. One more scoop... One more scoop and he could go back to his apartment to enjoy some canned beans in the quiet of his empty living room.

After all, how bad could this Angus guy be?

#I wanted so much to share this #my fic #fic #pkna #Camera 9 #stefan vladuck

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kosmosian-quills · 4 years ago

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An Adventure in Getting a Drink

I wrote a little interlude between the YOB pieces I am writing. This one is set between the Fear piece and the Joy piece (that i am currently writing).

I wanted to include this in the fear piece but I felt that it would make it too long. I wanted to emphasise the length of time between the events though, and this came to me XD

Once again, huge shoutout to @shark8-my-leg for their help in answering all my prosthetic questions :D also to @cirianne for her idea on how this could go!

I hope you enjoy!

POV: Zofia

I need a drink.

Talk about bad timing though.

Mum said that she was going to do the food shop and wouldn’t be back for another hour, traffic dependent. Dad is busy in the garden changing the gate so that it’s more accessible for me. I can hear him drilling into the wall outside. It’s drowning out the noise from the TV that my parents had left on for me.

Besides, why should I wait to ask my parents to do something that I could just do myself?

A month ago, I would never have dreamed of asking my parents for something whilst I am sat here watching TV. ”You have two perfectly good legs there that you can use, young lady. Your programme will still be there when you come back.”

Oh, that sentence certainly didn’t age well.

What I wouldn’t give to have “two perfectly good legs”.

But one is good enough, right? At least to get me some juice.

Releasing the brakes on my wheelchair, I swirl around on the spot, slowly pushing myself between the two comfortable, navy coloured sofas in the living room. There’s a spot on the ground where you can tell that the seat had been placed for years. It’s dipped into the blue carpet, in the shape of the foot of the sofa, a large round circle. My right arm brushes against the fabric of the right-hand seat because I started to turn towards the door a split second too soon. It’s going to take some practice. I have only been using this wheelchair for two days.

The hallway has ample room for me, thankfully, even with the cabinet by the wall, the one that holds all the family pictures behind the glass windows. My latest school picture is front and centre - taken almost a year ago now. The wheels of my chair make a funny noise as they track along the wooden floor. A small noise, yet one that I have grown very accustomed to in the last few days.

The way the wheels bzzzzt ever so slightly on the wood, but then - silence - on the rug just before the kitchen door.

The door was closed, but it doesn’t have a latch. It never has - something Dad had intended to sort out, but I suppose now he does not have to. A gentle push with my functional leg and it swings open.

Getting around the house is so slow now, with my chair. I’m sure I’ll get faster eventually, but for now, it takes me much longer than it used to if I wanted to go from one room to the next. At least I can move around by myself in it. I can’t imagine what it would be like if I was supposed to stay in one spot without moving at all, like if I was still in the hospital and having to stay in bed.

The thought of not being able to move myself… compounded with everything else, I don’t think I would like that at all. Even now, going to the bathroom is a humiliating struggle - my mother has to help me in and out of the bath when I need to clean myself, like I am a toddler again. It’s irritating, but I know she’s only making sure I’m okay. I’m very grateful that I have a mother that does care so much.

I roll to a stop in front of the kitchen counter, looking at the spot where the plastic beakers are kept. This is a problem.

The beakers are kept right against the wall, out of my reach from where I am sitting. Honestly, I don’t know if I will even manage to get the beaker if I stand up. The only thing stopping me is that I am not sure I will be able to sit back down if I do get up.

I look around the kitchen, trying to see what I can reach. There’s the towels hanging off the hooks just on the edge of the counter but I doubt they will be much use. It would be helpful if I had something that I could use to just pull them away from the wall ever so slightly…

My eyes catch sight of the dustpan and brush leaned against the wall by the back door. The handle for the brush is almost like a closed loop. I bet I could use that to pull the beaker towards me! And even if I knock them over, they’re plastic, they’re designed to withstand some rough treatment, I think. At least they aren’t made of glass.

I put the brush on my lap, holding it between my upper legs, as I wheel my way back over to the beakers in question, stopping right up against the counter. I apply the breaks, just to make sure that I don’t move too far away, and carefully use the handle of the brush - the bristles tickling at the inside of my arm - to gently tug one of the beakers my way. The one I picked has a vibrant orange base that gradually gets clearer until it’s at the very top, where it is colourless. It takes me a few seconds, but eventually the cup is close enough to the edge of the counter that I can reach it from my chair without much effort.

Yes!

I prop the brush up against the counter as carefully as I can - I have no idea if I will need it again just yet - but place the cup between my legs.

Next, I need the blackcurrant cordial.

The drinks cupboard is just in front of me, under the counter. I wheel a little closer and reach to open it. It’s there, in front of me, among the bottles of lemonade and orange juice, the flavoured waters, and the other sugary drinks that are reserved for mealtimes only. The dark purple bottle is closest to me, and I reach in and grab it. It’s a lot heavier than I thought it would be, and I almost lost my grip, before resting it on my leg.

This is fine. This is something I have done dozens of times before. Well… before this. I used to grab the cordial, then climb on to the counter, pour the drink and dilute with water, all by myself, crawling around on the counter before jumping down and taking my drink away.

But this is already proving awkward.

The bottle is heavy, but the armrest is making it difficult to pour my drink. There is an unfortunate distance between the bottle and my cup. I don’t want to spill it, I don’t want to end up with a sticky, purple mess on my clothes.

Nevertheless, I manage it, slowly and carefully pouring it into my cup. I probably put a little bit too much in, but I prefer it stronger than weaker anyway. I replace the cap on the bottle and leave it on the floor for now. I’ll put it back in the cupboard in a moment.

But here is where I’m running into a problem.

I don’t think I can reach the sink whilst sat here in my chair. The taps are at the very back of the sink, and I can barely reach them if I am sat down.

I used to be able to reach the taps if I was stood on my tiptoes, but I’m not sure if I would be able to at all like this.

Well. I suppose there is no time like the present to find out.

I gently place my cup down on the counter beside the sink. I move my chair as close as possible to the counter, apply the brakes, and take a deep breath.

Gripping the armrests on either side of me, I tried to push myself up. I felt my leg tremble as I put all that pressure on it. I feel strangely lob-sided - well. Of course I do. I am missing an entire leg!

Once I have some semblance of balance, I quickly move my left hand from the rest and grab the edge of the marble counter, the lip is small, but it’s enough for me to grip and get my balance from. It doesn’t take much for me to move my other hand to join my other hand on the counter. Using my left hand to keep me steady, I move the cup over to the back of the sink, as far as I can reach it. Using the same hand to move the tap around until it is just over my cup.

Technically it’s on the surface rather than the sink, and I would rather avoid making a mess I cannot clean up. Turning on the cold water, I watch the liquid fill the glass all the way to the top, and quickly turn it off before it ends up everywhere. Yes! Another success!

I take a quick sip out of the cup, absolutely treasuring the sweet taste of the cordial as it slips down my throat. Oh, it’s lovely and cool. Just like we used to have during summer days spent in the garden.

I move the cup back to the edge of the counter, before trying to tackle the task of sitting myself back in my wheelchair. Slow and steady, that’s all I need to do. Carefully. I got up here just fine, so I know I can get down again.

I look over my shoulders, trying to see just where my chair is. I try to shuffle back a little, almost like a weird game of hopscotch, except all I can do is skip on the single squares every time. I can do this. It’s perfectly simple. All I have to do, is let myself go, and I will land perfectly -

The feeling of falling sends my arm sweeping off the counter to reach behind me, except something was caught on its way around. Something that flew off the counter and clattered to the ground, the sound of liquid sloshing as it escapes the container.

My drink.

For a moment, I just sit there staring at it. The mess of purple liquid on the wooden floor, the beaker helplessly on its side. There’s a trail of juice sliding down the cupboard door that it managed to splash on to.

All that. I did all that, only to lose my balance at the very end, and ruin everything.

I can’t even think of a decent way for me to clean this without getting on the floor, and I’m worried that if I get down I won’t be able to get back up. Crawling around when you’re missing a leg is something I am still not used to.

That taste of cordial that lingers on my lips is taunting me.

I wheel around the puddle and reach for the brush once more, also making sure to grab a tea towel from the rack.

Fishing up the cup from the floor is a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. I push the cup towards the cupboards, just about forcing the bristles under the beaker. All I have to do is roll it up the side and on to the counter. It makes some small noises as it rolls around, coming to a stop on its own before it falls of the counter again.

The problem now is cleaning up the mess.

I throw the towel down, before using my new tool to try and push it around. I can’t properly get the juice that’s on the counter drawers, and I know that’s going to set and be all sticky soon.

This isn’t very efficient. The towel keeps pushing slight bits of juice out of my reach, making my attempts at soaking it up very difficult to keep on top of.

“Oh, Zosia, what are you -?”

I turn around and Dad is there, still holding his toolbox. I didn’t hear him come in, and it sounds like he’s just walked in. He takes in the scene. Me, holding the wrong side of a brush handle, a towel on the floor cleaning up a sticky mess, the cup I knocked over probably dripping on the counter.

Without me saying anything, he drops the tools and comes over. “I knew it wouldn’t be long before you started creating chaos, Princess. Making messes all over the kitchen? I should have known.” He says with a smile, taking the brush from me and picking up the purple-stained towel from the floor, taking it over to the washing machine over in the corner.

“I’m sorry, I wanted a drink…”

“Don’t worry, Princess. It was an accident, right?” he grabs some paper towels from the counter and finishes cleaning up the mess I made, “Honestly, I’m very impressed you managed all that by yourself. It’s just a shame you fell at the last hurdle.”

He picked up the cordial from the floor and grabbed a clean beaker from the collection, pouring some into the cup, before looking over at me.

“Do you want to try again? Without the spill this time? I’ll sweeten the deal for you - if you manage to not spill it, you can have a biscuit, just don’t tell your mother.”

I can feel the smile rise on my face at his offer. It’s made the entire house feel so much warmer than it’s felt in days.

#my writing #my oc's #my wip #POV: Zofia #WIP: Angel #title is bad i know #i could not think of something clever XDDDD

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literalprincess · 4 years ago

Text

Their Love Was Made of Promises

Pairing: Fremione

Summary: Fred and Hermione’s relationship began in his final year and ended in hers.

Excerpt: “You better watch it, Fred.” She warned. “I have the power to give you detentions this year if you act up and I won’t go easy.”

“Promise?” Fred asked challengingly.

Word count: 4750

AO3

“To Ron and Hermione being announced as prefects,” Molly held up her glass in a toast. Everyone sat around the large dining table at 12 Grimmauld Place cheered. It was the night before they were set to return to Hogwarts and the Order had gathered to celebrate.

“Don’t worry, Harry. Your dad and I weren’t picked for prefects either. Something about a ‘spotty record’ or something like that.” Sirius said with a wink to his godson. Harry smiled back at him, cheered by his revelation.

“May we also congratulate Harry, who was cleared of all charges and allowed to attend Hogwarts this year!” Molly continued and another whoop came from the table. “And well done to Fred and George for making it to their final year.”

The twins stood during their cheer, bowing dramatically.

“Thank you, mother,” George said.

“We certainly were surprised too,” Fred added.

“We can’t say we’ll be the smartest,” George admitted.

“But we will certainly make it interesting.” Fred finished as the two once again bowed and returned to their seats while everyone else laughed.

Fred turned to his right where Hermione was sat. “Aren’t you excited, Granger?”

“You better watch it, Fred.” She warned. “I have the power to give you detentions this year if you act up and I won’t go easy.”

“Promise?” Fred asked challengingly.

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She definitely didn’t go easy on him. Fred had amassed three detentions in the first few weeks of classes for advertising to test his inventions on students. He had argued it was unfair, why should he alone be made to sit in detention when George was equally guilty. Hermione rationalised that it was because she hadn’t seen George hanging posters and trying to talk first years into risking their health. It had gone back and forth until finally, Fred conceded. If his punishment was to be stuck in a classroom for an hour at a time with Hermione, then he would happily serve his time.

“You know,” Fred said after they had been sitting in the charms room for forty-five of the sixty-minute detention. “This is sort of like a date.”

“Oh really?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah well, it’s just me and you alone.” He gestured between them. “Sat closely in an empty room.” He wiggled his eyebrows, “Anything could happen.”

“You’re the one that sat next to me,” she said. “I’m pretty sure you’re not even supposed to be this side of the desk.” She gestured to the teacher’s desk and where he had pulled up a chair beside her.

“It’s cold,” He justified. “It’s not my fault it’s September and you picked a room without a fireplace.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Is that all that constitutes a date to you, then? Being sat alone in a room.”

“To start with.” He said. “Though I would have much preferred our first date to be somewhere a little nicer than Flitwick’s room” He sighed as he looked around at the dusty room. “Still, I’m sure we can still make this work.”

Hermione snorted at his words. “Say this was a date, where exactly would it have been?” She asked a bit too curiously.

“You’ll have to find out.”

Her eyebrows furrowed at his response “Wha-”

“Times up,” Fred announced, pointing to the clock. “But how about Saturday? I can show you what a real date should look like.” He playfully winked as he helped her gather her belongings.

“Okay,” She replied, her cheeks dusted pink. “But promise to stop testing your products on unsuspecting first years, I really do worry about them,” Hermione asked seriously as they left the classroom. “And tuck your shirt in, Weasley.”

“For you, Hermione? Anything.”

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Since Fred and George’s shop had opened earlier that month it had been wildly successful. Hermione had seemed to love the design when she had first seen it. The mismatched furniture, the insane colour scheme and the constantly bustling shop, she claimed, fit them perfectly. He had been pleased to hear it, not realising until then how much he had wanted her approval.

He stayed at the Burrow during her easter break, not wanting to waste any time with her. They spent their days after he finished in the shop going for adventures in the surrounding fields. He showed her where he and George had built a fort years ago.

“We did it the muggle way,” he bragged as he showed off the small den. It had been assembled by gathering large sticks and balancing them together like a teepee. “Though, it’s a bit small for us now.” He tapped the hut with the toe of his shoe. He wasn’t sure if even his whole torso would fit in there anymore.

“It’s brilliant,” Hermione stated, smiling at the charming structure.

“I’ve been thinking,” Fred said that night in the front room. It had been a couple of hours since everyone else had gone to bed. Hermione’s leg was thrown over one of his, her head tucked under his chin. The heat of the fire and the blankets piled on them kept them in a snuggly state on the sofa.

“Hm?” She asked wordlessly, blissfully dozing on his chest.

“I love you,” He said. He wanted to say it before she had to return for the next term of school.

She raised herself on her elbows, looking down at him with fervent eyes. “I love you too.”

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That summer, Fred had been ecstatic when Hemione had asked to help experiment with new ideas for products. She had taken to staying with him in the flat upstairs on the nights they were up late trialling new potions or talking.

“Hermione!” Fred called from the experimentation room one morning. The potion he was working on had just blown up in his face, casting off large gooey chunks all over the room and on him. There was no way he could clean all this himself.

“Yeah?” Her voice came distantly from the living room upstairs.

“Remember how you promised to love me no matter what?” He called back, already bracing himself for a scolding.

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“I got you something,” Fred said when they were waiting at the platform for the Hogwarts Express.

“Really?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“Yeah, for your birthday and to congratulate you on achieving ten O.W.L.s,” she had amazed him by her brilliance, “but also to keep you from missing me too much this year.” He said teasingly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.

“It’s not going to explode is it?” She asked warily, eyeing the box in her hand.

“No spoilers,” Fred replied. “Just, wait till your birthday to open it, okay?”

His wrist warmed when he was in bed a few weeks later. She had waited.

He looked down at the thin bracelet on his wrist, the twin to Hermione’s. He had gotten the idea from her last year with the DA coins. If they were to tap the band twice with two fingers, the other’s band would warm. He had thought that that way, they could let the other know they were thinking about them.

He soon after received an owl from her.

Thank you for my bracelet, I love it. I swear I’m never going to take it off.

Love you, H.

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“What an arse,” Fred said. He had been owling Hermione during her first term back and was less than impressed by Cormac Mclaggen’s pursuit of Hermione. She had been made very uncomfortable, especially when he had relentlessly followed her around at Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party. In her latest letter, she had recalled his latest attempt to impress her by bragging about his Quidditch skills. His attempts to put down Harry, Ginny and Ron in order to upraise his own prestige had irritated Hermione to the point of an outburst. Fred wished he could have been there. Instead, he sent Mclaggen a gift.

Hermione and Fred spent boxing day in his new muggle-style fort, a surprise from Hermione. After the loud celebratory Christmas, they both enjoyed the quiet day spent in the woods together.

“I think we could stay here,” Fred said as he looked around at the sizable fortress. He could already imagine where he’d put furniture. “No one would find us this far out.”

It was a tempting offer, but Hermione shook her head. “No, I’d need running water. Besides, how would we find food? I doubt you watched Bear Grylls growing up.”

“Bear who?”

“Exactly. We’d be hopeless.”

“Well, it’s an option.” He was almost gutted. “We could avoid everyone if we wanted.”

“Hmm, speaking of avoiding people,” Hermione had been reminded of her last dinner before returning home for Christmas “did you anonymously owl Mclaggen a boxing telescope?” Hermione asked.

“..would you still love me if I did?” Fred asked.

She smiled.

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“I bet you a fiver you cry at the vows,” Fred said as they exited the fireplace. The majority of their day had been spent making last-minute changes and plans for Bill and Fleur’s upcoming wedding.

“You may never know if I do,” Hermione said. “It’s not too late to buy a fascinator, I’ll wear one and you won’t be able to tell from the front.”

“You little witch.” Fred flopped down on the sofa, patting the spot next to him for her to join him. “I’ll know, though. You can try and hide it but I would see it on your face.”

“Maybe.” He would, he had spent enough hours staring at her.

“We can’t hide anything from each other. You’re just gonna have to get used to it, you’re stuck with me.”

She hadn’t smiled as he had expected. In fact, her gaze became troubled and she focused on a spot on the wall.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

She looked up at him again, her face apprehensive.

“Why are you upset?” He asked, unsure why her mood had shifted so suddenly. “It’s soon, isn’t it? When you leave.”

She nodded her head, unable to talk past her choked throat.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He said, his mind already in turmoil. He had to be strong for her.

“It won’t.” She was right, of course, she always was. “Fred, I can’t do this. I’m not ready.” The pain in her eyes broke his heart.

“You are ready, I know you are. I know you.” He pulled her into his side. “You’ll do this and then you can come home and we will finally adopt a cat because George will bugger off and move out.”

She huffed a laugh.

“Life will go on after all of this ends. I promise it will.”

“Fred,” Her eyes were anguished. “We need to-” She cut herself off, struggling to find the right words. “There is a very real possibility that something will go wrong and I won’t come back. I need to tell you that-”

This time it was he who interrupted her. “Nothing will go wrong. You will survive this. I will make sure of it.”

“No one has the power to guarantee that.”

“I do. I would trade my life for yours if it came down to it, don’t think I won’t.”

“Then maybe you don’t know me. You can’t say you’ll do that, I would not let that happen.”

“Like hell, I can’t. Watch me.” She had been through so much pain, she had made herself an orphan just to keep her parents safe and was facing an unknown amount of time on the run from a terrorist group set out to kill her and her best friends. He would protect her or he would die trying.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning of the wedding Hermione had smiled at breakfast, laughing with his sister as they fluttered around getting ready. Fred had almost made himself late just watching her. She wore red, the same shade as the jumper he had given her two years ago when they had started dating. The golden ‘F’ knitted in the front had looked too pretty on her for him to ever take back.

She cried during the ceremony, just as he had bet, but he felt no victory from her tears. He caught her gaze, trying to reassure her from his position in line with his brothers. She had given him a watery smile before looking down to her small beaded bag.

When they danced, he held her tight, her head tucked under his chin. Soon she would be leaving, it was an inevitability. They hadn’t discussed it again, when he had tried to bring it up she had hushed him and told him that she didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to remain in the present, tucked into his arms.

They slowly spun on the dancefloor, completely absorbed in each other. He felt her tears wet his shirt. The moisture made his chest contract. He squeezed her closer, the movement compelling a small sob from her. He pulled back enough to look at her. Her face was red, she looked agonised.

“What is it, love?” He asked her. He would tear his heart from his chest if it would stop her misery.

“I-.” She said, struggling past a lump in her throat.

He brought her out of the tent, leading her inside the quiet cottage. The sofa on which she sat was where he had first told her he loved her by the light of the fire over a year ago.

“I don’t love you anymore.” She said as he knelt in front of her. Her tears had stopped, her face solidified into impassiveness.

“What? Since when?” He asked, confused.

“Now.” She said as she looked into the low fire. “Just now.”

He made her look at him in the eye. “You’re just scared. It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving, I love you. None of it matters.”

“It’s too late,” She said, still stone-faced. “I don’t love you anymore.”

“Stop doing this. Don’t pull away from me when we need each other the most.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t need you.”

“Can you honestly say you feel nothing for me? You can’t, I know you can’t. Just, please. Don’t do this,” he pleaded with her. “You aren’t helping either of us by doing this.”

She didn’t reply to him, she just continued to stare at him. This was not the person who had been in love with him since she was twelve years old, who had planned the rest of her life with him. That person had stepped away, allowing this stranger control.

She didn’t speak again, regardless of how much he begged her to please talk to him. The only thing she did respond to was a sudden commotion from outside. There was screaming and chaos, the sky alight with fire. She rose for the door but he grabbed her arm before she could leave.

“You promised,” He said, his voice breaking.

He pleaded with his eyes for her to stay but she just turned away. He could have collapsed into a heap from the force of that final blow but his family was out there. The ministry had fallen, the Death Eaters had arrived. Hermione was already gone.

When the Death Eaters had finally gone and the remaining Weasley family had finished cleaning the disorder, Fred got more drunk than he had been since he was sixteen.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been three months since she had gone. George had since moved back into the Burrow, claiming a want to be there for their Mum. Fred suspected it was to avoid him, not that he could blame George. He couldn’t bring himself to wash the sheets or move anything Hermione had left in the flat. There was one of his t-shirts she liked to sleep in still neatly folded under her pillow where she had put it the morning of the wedding. Her books piled on most empty surfaces of his living room, she had meant to clean them but hadn’t gotten around to doing so. She existed only as a ghost to him now. He embraced it, the haunting memory of her love the only way he could feel she was with him. He could hear her in the silence of the flat, see her in the corner of his eye. If she were to come back, Fred would be right where she had left him.

He considered that maybe this wasn’t healthy, that she was still alive and fighting to end the war, but she had refused any and all communication. She had taken off her bracelet without him even realising. He had found it in her bedside drawer. He sent a Patronus one night, the bird impatiently flying out of his open window. He had wondered that if he could fly fast enough, would if he able to follow the bird to her. Even if he could have, he was disappointed to find later the wispy figure returned having been unable to find her. She had made herself untraceable, even to him.

It was on one of the days George had dragged him to the Burrow that they received any type of update. Ron trudged through the kitchen door, shabby and crabby but no worse for wear. For a heartbeat, Fred allowed himself to hope that it was over. That Hermione and Harry would follow in behind him, smiles on their faces. It wasn’t over.

He learnt from Ron that they had been listening to Lee Jordans’s Potterwatch. This made his heart lift by some degree. He had put, into the broadcasts, messages to Hermione to remind her that he was still here, waiting for her, fighting for her. He insisted, when the next broadcast came, to speak.

Christmas was the most melancholy in Weasley history. Not only were Harry and Hermione still out facing Merlin knows what, Percy was still in London, Arthur was under strict surveillance at the Ministry and Ginny’s account of Hogwarts sounded near dystopian. Ron had also grown more and more miserable. He spent most of his day in silence, stewing. Fred pulled him aside that night when everyone had retreated to bed early, eager to have the day be over.

“You’re going back, aren’t you?” Fred asked.

“I don’t know how, but I’m going to try,” Ron admitted.

Fred nodded at him. “I need you to do something for me.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was woken from his bed in the middle of the night. Disorientated in the unfamiliar bedroom at their Aunt Muriels, he almost missed George’s words. “She’s at the cottage.”

He shot up, alert. “What do you mean? Bill’s cottage? Right now?” He raced around the room already getting dressed.

“Fred, sit down,” George said morosely from where he sat on the bed. “That’s not all.”

Fred sat down begrudgingly, already apprehensive of the expression on his brother’s face. “What else is there?”

“They got caught by snatchers.” George began slowly.

Fred shot up again, unable to remain still. He wanted to rush there. Why was his brother still sitting?

“Fred,” George said. His voice caught and Fred saw for the first time that there were tears running down his face. “She was taken to Malfoy Manor. They-” He again choked on his words. “They interrogated her; used the cruciatus curse and carved into her arm.”

Fred sank to the floor. This had to be wrong. Hermione was fine, she had to be fine. He shot up, once again rushing to get ready. “Why aren’t we leaving? We need to see her.”

“I’m sorry, Freddie,” George said, still sitting on the bed. “I’ve only just found out. Harry had Bill and Fleur sworn to secrecy for their own safety.”

Fred stopped. “What are you saying, George?” He looked at him in dread.

“They’re leaving,” George explained.

“What do you mean ‘leaving’? She needs to heal!” Fred said frantically.

“They’ve been there for weeks already,” George said. “They need to keep going now more than ever, you know they do.”

Fred sat on the bed beside his brother, wiping his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “When do they go?” He asked.

“I don’t know exactly,” George admitted. “But if you leave now, you might catch them.”

Fred looked to him, a hopeful glint in George’s eye. He stood without speaking and apparated out of their small room.

He apparated on the beach. The cascading waves tremulously pounded into the sand, the shriek of gulls echoing in his ears. From the raised cliffs a small distance away, he saw four figures. One was short, he thought perhaps a goblin, two were Ron and Harry, he was sure of it after recognising them during quidditch so often from a distance. The last, however, was a mystery. It was a woman, he was sure of that, but her stature was unfamiliar to him. They disappeared from the cliff before he had the chance to call out.

He looked to the small house, Hermione must still be within. He ran, kicking up sand and almost tripping in the weeds. He charged through the door, scaring Bill and Fleur inside.

“Fred?” They looked to him in confusion.

“Where’s Hermione?” he blurted, already hectically searching the kitchen. When he didn’t find her he charged through the door, searching the whole house before returning to the kitchen. He looked at them expectantly.

“She just left,” Bill said, baffled by his brother's behaviour.

“But I,” Fred began, deflating. “No one told me.”

Bill got up, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Fred. She told us she didn’t want you to know.”

He had to get out of this house, the house where she had hidden from him in. He stormed out of the door, apparating away as soon as he was outside of the surrounding boundary.

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Fred hadn’t remembered putting it in his jacket, the fake Galleon he had received from Hermione as part of Dumbledore’s army two years ago, but the next day it reactivated. The heat of the coin cut through the fabric, warming his chest where it rested against his skin. Pulling it out, Fred examined it. The date had changed around the edge. Today. Now. He had to tell George.

His twin already knew, in his hand a small radio calling repeatedly:

Lightning has struck! Lightning has struck!

“Ready Fred?” George asked.

“Ready George!” Fred replied.

He wasn’t sure if it was purposeful, clothes matching with his brother’s, or a subconscious link to connect them through what was to come. Either way, when they stepped into the tunnel in the Hog’s Head, they did it as a team.

They entered the cramped base, like the other Order members, to whoops and cheers. Dozens of students crowded around the mouth of the tunnel to greet them. Fred paid them half-hearted greetings, his eyes searching the room.

He found her by instinct, seven years of watching her had that effect. She was scruffy, her favourite hoodie smeared with dirt and her hair half falling out of its braid, but her eyes were alight and met his.

He pushed through the crowd, desperate to be closer to her. When he approached, neither said any words and moulded against each other in a tight embrace. Home. He was home for the first time in months. Both of their faces were soaked with tears when they parted, coming together in a watery kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said against his skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She kept repeating it, pulling him closer as she did.

“Hermione,” Fred said, pulling back the least he could to see her. “It’s good to see you.”

They didn’t have time for a longer reunion. Snape was rallying all of the students, it was time. They kept ahold of each other all the while, from the seventh floor to the Great Hall and through everything that happened. When Snape retreated through the large stained glass window, glass showering down around them, they knew they had to let go.

“I need to go, he needs me.” She said.

“I know,” He replied. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She said, reaching up to give him a slow, meaningful kiss.

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The battle raged on around Fred who narrowly avoided the spells flying past his head. Midnight had passed and Voldemort’s forces had invaded the castle. He hadn’t seen Hermione since their separation before her search for the diadem. He could feel her presence through the bracelet he had had returned to her the day after Christmas.

With Percy at his back, they fought their way through the castle. Red and green exploded around them like fireworks. A distant part of Fred’s brain thought of the last time he had been in this castle and the exuberant display he had George had released. It felt so much longer than eighteen months ago.

Hermione, Ron and Harry emerged from down the corridor. The warmth caused by his proximity to Hermione fuelling his reflection and aiming of spells. He felt more alive and happy than he could ever remember feeling.

An errant spell de-masked the Death Eater Percy was duelling with. It was the Minister of Magic. Percy, likely filled with the same exhilaration as the rest of them, quipped to his superior.

“You actually are joking, Perce. I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were-”

Everything cut out.

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It had been the last time Fred had truly laughed in nine months. When they pulled his body from the wreckage of the demolished wall, the smile was still etched upon his face.

They had to move him, that much was clear, but Hermione didn’t want to abandon him again. She wouldn’t stuff him in a niche where a suit of armour had previously been as the others urged. There was only one Horcrux left, Harry and Ron could finish it together. She stayed with Fred as the world continued to fall apart.

They had come so close their happy ending. But that didn’t matter now.

Fred was dead.

They won the war in the end but a large part of Hermione never left that battle.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

She spent over a month clearing his stuff out of the flat. Seeing the physical impact of her decisions tormented her. He hadn’t moved anything, she was almost certain that if she went into the bathroom even her toiletries would be in the exact place she had left them. She had devastated him, made him miserable. How could she justify that breaking up with him had been what she had thought was best for him.

In the trunk at the end of their bed, she found a collection of parchment tied together by a cord of leather. They were letters, or at least some were, others were just half-finished notes or scribbled sentences.

Hermione, love, please let me speak to you.

Running away doesn’t help anyone...

I know why you did it but…

I miss you.

I still love you.

The phrases jumped from the pages, each of them a fresh strike. It took days before she could approach the trunk again. Buried at the bottom of the trunk, she found a sealed envelope with her name carefully written on it. Tentatively, she broke the wax to remove the letter.

Hermione,

If you’re reading this, I’ve died. I know I said nothing bad would happen so it would appear you are right again. Even the best of us are wrong sometimes, you’ll have to forgive me for that. Everyone wants a happy ending, mine was to live here with you until we were both old and grey. Life doesn’t guarantee anything, however, so capture happiness wherever you can.

I don’t blame you for leaving me. We are both very stubborn and I probably would have done the same in your position. I only regret the time we lost but I will be waiting on this side until you join me. Promise it won’t be for a long, long time. Until then, don’t be sad or mourn me. I have had a great life in this world and you have shown me what it means to truly love somebody and be loved in return. For that, I will forever be grateful. I am onto the next great adventure discovering the mysteries of what lies beyond.

I have written letters for George and the rest of my family, please deliver them for me. Give them all a kiss from me, for you have all of my love now and always.

Forever yours,

Fred.

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emospritelet · 4 years ago

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Heatstroke - chapter 6

Let’s pretend the lake is clean and in no way full of leeches...

[AO3]

The events of Saturday evening had left Gold conflicted. Throwing a drink over Lacey had initially made him feel a sort of smug satisfaction, but on the journey home he began to experience a twinge of regret. He rarely lost his composure, even in the face of extreme provocation, and he was uncomfortable with the idea of someone getting under his skin so much that it caused him to act out of character. Ordinarily he would have returned home and drunk a couple of whiskies while reading a good book, but instead he packed an overnight bag, along with a few food items, and drove out to the cabin that he owned in the midst of the woods. A night away from Storybrooke, and the memories of recent awkward interactions, would be welcome.

The cabin was as cool and restful as always, and he made himself a small meal of bread, cheese and sliced apples, eaten with a glass of cold white wine out on the back porch overlooking the lake. Insects buzzed in the air, but the citronella candles kept them away from him for the most part. Gold took a sip of wine, thinking over his altercation in the bar.

Knowing the young woman’s first name made it easy to make some enquiries into her identity, and he had made one or two phone calls while he sat there, and done a couple of online searches until he had some answers. Her name was Lacey French, she was twenty-six, and she had moved to Storybrooke from New York to take up a journalist post with the Storybrooke Mirror. Quite why she wanted to pursue journalism in a small town rather than the city was unclear, and Gold had learned to be suspicious of anomalies. His wealth and power had made him enemies, and while he knew that everything he did was entirely legal—one of the reasons he had so little patience with those that failed to honour their agreements—that didn’t stop people looking for something that wasn’t there. She didn’t appear to be poking her nose in anywhere it didn’t belong so far, though. Unless you counted his back garden.

He set down his glass, using his forefinger to pick up crumbs of cheese and eat them. Whatever the reason Miss French was in Storybrooke, it was probably nothing to do with him. He just needed to ignore her as best he could, and hope she ignored him in turn. The last thing he needed was to lose his head over a beautiful woman.

Gold blinked, straightening up, his heart thumping. Where the hell did that thought come from? Okay, she’s beautiful, anyone can see that - anyone who isn’t blind, anyway - but she’s a bloody disaster! I am absolutely not losing my head over her! I’m not losing anything! Except maybe my dignity.

He shook his head, pushing the plate away and drinking the last of his wine. Time to go to bed before his imagination really got him in trouble.

Sunday was Gold’s day to unwind. It was the one day he kept the shop closed, and used the time to catch up on jobs in the house, or to read and relax. The previous Sunday, he had decided to sunbathe in the garden, but given how that had ended, he was pleased that he had chosen to come to the cabin. It was a welcome retreat into nature and solitude, and waking up to the sound of birdsong and the whisper of leaves was soothing to a mind that was constantly thinking and planning and fretting. He threw back the covers, walking through to the kitchen and putting on a pot of coffee. The early morning sunshine was already sending dappled light through the trees, and he left the coffee brewing, walking out onto the back porch and breathing deeply. The air was beginning to lose the chill of the night, and Gold looked out over the lake that lapped at the wooden decking at the foot of the steps. It was cool and tranquil, and looked inviting, so he went inside to grab a towel, taking off the loose pants he slept in and walking naked to the back door and down to the lake

Cold water was an invigorating shock to warm skin, and his head burst through the surface, tendrils of weed stroking his shoulders like a lover’s caress. Gold swam across the lake and back in long, slow strokes, enjoying the weightlessness of his body in the water, his leg relieved of the pain of standing. A dip in the lake, followed by a hot shower and a pot of good coffee. It was a good way to start the day.

After a few lengths he swam back to the deck and climbed out of the lake, water pouring off his body and his skin tingling from the chill. The wooden boards of the deck felt warm in comparison, and he grasped the towel and drew up his knees, drying himself off quickly before towelling his hair. Dappled sunlight provided a little warmth, and he grabbed the cane and pushed to his feet, looking out over the lake again and enjoying the feel of the light breeze against his naked skin. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and drawing the clean scent of the forest into his lungs, and felt a sense of peace steal over him.

“Oh my God!”

Gold’s eyes flew open, and he almost stumbled and fell before he found his balance, his hand getting a death grip on the cane handle. Across the lake, staring at him incredulously, was the lithe figure of Lacey French. She was dressed in a pair of purple running tights and a matching crop top, her hair tied up on her head and her chest heaving with either exertion or outrage. Possibly both.

“I don’t fucking believe this!” she announced, gesturing at him.

“What are you doing?” he snapped, and she put her hands on her hips.

“Duh? I’m running?” She flapped her hands up and down herself before pointing an accusing finger at him. “Why are you naked? Again!”

“Why are you here?” he demanded, jabbing a finger at his feet.

“You do realise there’s a trail here, right?” she said, and wrinkled her nose at him. “Are you gonna cover up, or what?”

Gold had been thinking about wrapping the towel around himself, but at her words he clenched his jaw and met her eyes insolently, leaning on the cane a little harder and letting his hip swing outward. The movement made his cock bounce.

“Oh, man!” Lacey shielded her eyes with a hand and turned away. “I don’t believe this…”

“Why don’t you just keep running, then?” he said waspishly. “I fail to see why I should be inconvenienced on my own property. Again!”

He mimicked her affronted tone, head wobbling from side to side. Lacey turned back to face him, hands going to hips. He watched her eyes flick briefly to his groin and back up.

“Look, Gold, I just went into your damn garden to get my cat back!” she said hotly. “I didn’t know I lived next door to a bloody naturist!”

“So you just thought you’d throw a gin and tonic at my crotch, did you?” he snapped, hand flicking outwards.

“Oh my God, for the last time, it was the cat!” she shouted. “It wasn’t me! He was sitting on the table next to you and he knocked the glass off! I tried to get to him before he could do it but I was too slow! Be mad at me for that if you have to be, but he was the one that threw a drink at your balls, not me!”

Gold had opened his mouth to say something cutting, but closed it again. Oh.

“And the second time, when I did throw a drink at you, you kind of deserved it!” she added, and he found his voice again, feeling himself swell with indignation.

“For fuck’s sake, woman, I didn’t steal your underwear!” he snapped. “I told you!”

She gave him a withering look.

“You expect me to believe my cat went on - on a campaign of taking you my panties?”

“Well, it wasn’t bloody me!” he growled, and she tossed her head.

“Whatever. I’m out of here. Try to stop exposing yourself every five minutes, would you?”

She ran on, buttocks clenching pleasantly, and Gold glared after her.

“I’ll expose myself as often as I like on my own bloody property!” he shouted.

She didn’t look back, and he felt his nostrils flare, fists clenching. Well. Peace shattered.

Running with a hangover was a bad idea at the best of times, and coming across her neighbour stark naked didn't help. Still, he had provided an interesting distraction, and by the time Lacey had settled back into her run she could stop being indignant and start to see the funny side of her encounter in the woods. So much so that as she left the trails and joined the road into Storybrooke, she had to stop, doubling over and giggling madly. Wow, I almost feel sorry for the guy. If you can’t get your cock out on your own back porch, where can you?

She was still grinning to herself when she got back to the house, and she went to shower and dress before making herself eggs on toast and coffee and carrying it outside. She ate quickly, hungry from her run, and pushed the plate away before reaching for her coffee. The morning was pleasantly warm, and she thought it would be a hot day. It was fortunate she had gotten out of the door for her run early. In some respects.

Darcy was sunning himself on the grass, black fur tinged with reddish brown in the sunlight. Lacey glanced towards the drying rack where her latest load of laundry was hanging, reminding herself to check it was dry before she went back inside. She took a sip of coffee, enjoying the bitter taste that was mellowed by the cream and sugar she had added. Darcy looked up, catching her eye and getting to his feet before stretching and yawning, his tail curling over. He sauntered towards her, tail in the air, and stopped to sniff at the clean laundry hanging on the rack. Lacey took another sip of coffee. She was watching Darcy with half an eye as she mused over her plans for the day. The kitchen floor needed mopping, and she could unpack the rest of her things that were still in boxes, but other than that her time was her own.

Her attention was caught by Darcy tugging at something, and glanced around, putting down her cup. Her eyes widened as he dragged a pair of coral-coloured lace panties from the rack and trotted off down the garden with them. Lacey bounced out of her chair.

“Hey!” she shouted, heading down the porch steps, and Darcy ran faster.

She put on a burst of speed, but he squeezed through the hole in the fence before she could catch him. Swearing under her breath, Lacey ran around to the front of the house and through to the back garden. At least it was unlikely that Gold would be back anytime soon. She couldn’t see Darcy, and she looked around in vain, hands opening and closing, before a click from behind her made her turn. There was a cat flap in the kitchen door, and Darcy was sitting just outside it, watching her with his tail curled around his feet. There were no panties to be seen, and Lacey threw up her hands.

“You’re killing me!” she complained. “So it was you! And you just let me make a total idiot of myself accusing Mr Gold!”

Darcy bent his head to lick a forepaw, wholly unconcerned, and Lacey sighed.

“Great. So there’s a pair of panties in his house now, is there?” she said. “Well. I guess I’ll have to find some way to apologise. I don’t believe this!”

She scooped up Darcy and stomped off, listening to him purring contentedly against her chest. Anyone would think the little bugger planned this whole thing to embarrass me.

#fic: heatstroke #golden lace fic #golden lace #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic

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olivereliott · 3 years ago

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Singles Party: Two vintage Ducati restomods from Union

I’ll admit, my knowledge of vintage Ducatis is rudimentary at best—so I always feel a little out of my depth when talking to Mike Watanabe. He and Luke Ransom run Union Motorcycle Classics out of a barn in Idaho, where they specialize in charming classics and restomods. And their knowledge runs deep.

Mike put that know-how to good use on his latest two projects: a pair of vintage Ducati singles with two very different vibes. The faired one is a 1971 450 Desmo, and the other is a 1965 250 single—but those designations are only loosely defined, because both were pieced together from parts of varying origins.

“I built both these bikes for myself,” Mike tells us. “The shop is planning an invite-only Italian Singles tour next year, and we’re hoping to get some of our old builds back in town for that event. Maybe we’ll call it the Ida-lian Giro.”

The 250’s a bike that Mike’s had for a while, and was originally pieced together from spare parts that were pulled off the shelf for another project. “The pile of parts left over from that resto was in the shop,” says Mike, “and I recognized that all the patina looked really balanced. I took that pile and assembled it into a running old survivor looking thing.”

Mike ran the 250 like that for a few years, then decided it deserved more attention. He took a wabi-sabi approach on the build—a Japanese design philosophy that finds beauty in imperfection. Anything that was already well worn was left alone, and even the new paint was aged to match.

The first job on the 250 was finding the right ‘jelly mold’ fuel tank to base the design around. “Luke found a misfit tank off an Argentinian two-stroke,” says Mike. “I added receivers for Ducati emblem fasteners, re-shaped the emblems to fit, welded a Ducati filler neck to accept an old Ducati cap, and fabbed up the front and rear mounting tabs.”

Next, Mike shaped a ‘jelly mold’ tail to complement the tank, while Interior Revolutions handled the seat upholstery. The front fender and rear splashguard were shaped using a mold that Union has used on previous 250 builds.

The front wheel uses a Montesa hub, a custom axle and spacers, and an ‘unknown survivor’ rim. The rear rim is a Borrani, and the tires are from Heidenau. The suspension is stock but the wiring is new—Luke re-did it top to bottom, and installed an electronic ignition.

Mike built clip-ons out of old Harley-Davidson spring handlebars, and added Union’s own sandcast rear-sets. The exhaust was welded up from rusty parts, the front brake stop’s been fashioned from a leftover piece of aluminum, and the center stand’s a repurposed Ducati 160 item. The reproduction tachometer is the one gleaming part on the build—but it’s hooked up to a salvaged tacho drive.

The 250 doesn’t have its original motor either. “I traded the first motor for Desmo parts,” says Mike. “The new motor is a bit of a mystery. I bought it from a friend of the shop—he believes it was built by an old desert racer from the 70s.”

“Clearly somebody hot-rodded the heck out of the thing. It has a dual plug head and, judging from the compression and starting difficulties, my guess is that it’s bored to 350 cc and has a performance cam. The bike is virtually impossible to start with a kickstarter. The compression release must be used in conjunction with bump starting.”

“Luke is going to rebuild it this winter and make it little more usable for the street. Bump and run is fun… just not all the time”

The 450 Desmo, on the other hand, is a far more polished build, and more in line with what we’re used to seeing from Union. Mike dates it as a ‘71 because of the motor—but the actual model year of the frame is unknown.

“I traded a box of junky 250 parts for the frame in 2006,” he tells us. “I had a 450 non-Desmo that I sold in the late 90s and immediately missed it. So I started the process of gathering parts for this one at that time.”

“I kind of wanted to build a no-compromise street legal race bike. It’s probably overkill for the street, but having said that, you can’t have too much braking power in modern traffic.”

Mike got the motor in a trade too, by painting a set of signs for a British bike shop in Boise some 20 years ago. Luke rebuilt the motor and a custom wiring harness with an electronic ignition, as per Union’s standard operating procedure. He also had to work some magic to get the Dell’Orto PHF carb to work well.

The parts list includes Ceriani road race forks and yokes, a Ceriani replica 4LS front brake, Morad rims and a double leading shoe rear brake. Custom bits include the upper brake arms for the front brake, the front axle, and the rear brake stay.

Mike also designed the fairing, tank and tail himself, then sent plugs to Glass From The Past to make the final fiberglass pieces.

“I designed the paint scheme first, and built the fairing to match it,” he says. “The upper part of the fairing is based on a Vic Camp Ducati part, and the tank and seat mimic Ducati factory parts, with different proportions to make it all work together.”

The paint was a team effort: Mike prepped the parts, Luke laid down the base, Mike did the stripes, and Luke clear-coated it.

Lurking underneath the exquisite bodywork is a plethora of custom touches. Mike tweaked the frame in places, and fabricated all the fairing mounts, the instrument and headlight brackets, the steering stops, and a new center stand. He also built the exhaust system, a custom intake manifold, and a crankcase breather tank.

Finishing touches include Magura clip-ons and levers, and a Scitsu tachometer. The rear-sets and fenders are Union parts.

Although they’re two very different builds, both Ducatis bear witness to just how well Mike and Luke have mastered their craft. Mike’s planning to ride the Desmo on their upcoming tour, but will probably loan the 250 out. Time to visit Idaho?

Union Motorcycle Classics | Facebook | Instagram

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manatehispants · 4 years ago

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Merry Christmas, Angel

Christmas! It’s without a doubt Aziraphale’s favorite holiday. Sure the humans have dates, times, and much of the true history behind the holiday wrong, but oh how the angel still loves this time of the year! The way the holiday lights lit up every corner, all the people smiling as they passed by different shops trying to decide on gifts for their loved ones. The treats and new meal ideas that came out each year. New flavors of hot chocolate was always a highlight for Aziraphale. Oh and the Christmas music! The way fresh snow sparkled in the early morning hours before humans had a chance to walk around in it. There was just so much to love about this time of the year, but what they loved the most was love and compassion that came out of human kind during this time. Everywhere they turned Aziraphale could see humans helping one another in some way. It was so beautiful. It was the day before Christmas now and all month......Yes, you heard right......Month Aziraphale had been driving Crowley up the walls with what the demon felt to be stupidness.

Every year it felt as if Aziraphale found a way new way to be even more obnoxious about one of the most meaningless holidays to ever exist. What in the name of Satan was so wonderful about Christmas? How could the angel not see that all this time of year is, is an excuse for people to buy some cheap gifts and pretend to give a damn so that they can feel good the rest of the year about not caring at all? All is Christmas is, is a show of who can present the most fake face of compassion to the world. The weather is too cold and everything has a disgusting smell of peppermint, cinnamon, pumpkin spice, or pine needle to it. Seriously, why did humans have to put these sickening flavors into everything? It showed a real lack of creativity when it came to food and drink if you asked Crowley. Not that anybody has asked their opinion on this in years now.

Aziraphale was putting some final Christmas touches on their bookshop and once again redecorating the tree they had set up in the back of the shop. They had a piping mug of hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon in it on an end table near his white as snow loveseat. It’s a loveseat that still looks almost new, but they have had it for well over sixty years now. The tree was a stunning almost seven foot tall tree. It was an impossibly beautiful green with unnatural white tips at the end that made it appear as if fresh snow sat upon the tree. It was decorated in a way that Martha Stewart herself would have been jealous of and would easily put Macy’s displays to shame. A smile played on their face as they yet again rearranged some lights on the tree as classic Christmas played throughout the store. Their mood was so uplifted by this all that they had almost forgotten Crowley was refusing to stop by tonight for a gift exchange. Not unusual for them at all. Crowley was a known Grinch around this time of the year. Well, any time fo the year really. They are a demon and it can’t always be helped. This was something Aziraphale had to constantly remind themselves of and avoid taking any of it personally.

The Serpent of Eden wasn’t as far off from Aziraphale was one might think they would be tonight. They weren’t off on Ring Nebula like they had sarcastically told the angel they would be. This had earned Crowley an annoying side comment from Aziraphale about how they should take their attitude and go off to Crab Nebula instead. Not at all funny though Aziraphale thought it to be a real “stitch”. But, no, Crowley wasn’t off on some Nebula. They were still very much on Earth. In fact, they were only kiddie corner away from the bookshop at a small pub attempting to drink as much of the bar as possible. They felt oddly......bad (and not the good kind of bad!) about raining their misery down on the Angel’s stupid parade of cheer of Christmas by refusing to be part of it. They shouldn’t feel bad about it. Aziraphale and Crowley have known each other for over six thousand years and every year its the same when it comes to Christmas. Why should this year be so bloody different? What because they saved the world together and finally established that they are......”friends” Crowley is expected to stop being a demon and give a damn about a holiday that only reminds them of how much they lost in their fall?

Christmas and all the praise to Heaven felt like an ice cold slap to their face every year. Why Aziraphale didn’t understand this frustrated Crowley to no end then again could they really blame the Angel for not understanding something that has never been told to them?

“You never open up about your feelings.” That was one Aziraphale’s new complaints now that the two had saved the world and no longer worried about being on one side of the another of a Holy War. Again, Crowley wasn’t quite sure what it was Heaven’s most ineffable angel expected. What made them think that Crowley was going to change their behavior of over six thousands basically over night? And why should they talk about their feelings? Both had been doing just fine before the whole end of the world thing without talking about them. Why was Aziraphale trying to fix something that wasn’t broken and why was Crowley sitting at the bar feeling guilt for it? The silver tongued demon downed their......who even knew what number whiskey as they slouched almost comically low in their chair.

“I don’t feel bad. They should feel bad. Their the one shoving this crap down my throat! I’m only trying to some drinks and cause some mild chaos. That’s all.”

The now rather intoxicated demon said to the empty chairs at their table. The ever present sunglasses fell down the bridge of Crowley’s nose. Taking their index finger they pushed them back. They clamped one hand on the back of their chair and slid themselves back up into a straight sitting position. Somehow their glass of whiskey was once again full. They stared at the glass had they refilled that through their powers or had the bartender stopped by and refilled it? It was that stage of the night that Crowley had now become so intoxicated they weren’t sure what the answer to this was. Whatever. It didn’t matter. It only mattered that it was full and that they definitely did not feel bad leaving the Angel alone on Christmas Eve. Crowley picked up the glass, putting it to their lips they downed the liquor rather enjoying the way it burned down their throat and warmed their insides.

“They only asked me to join to be polite ya know? They don’t really want me there. Their happier on their own......Spending Christmas Eve......Alone......”

Crowley trailed off. The mental image of someone who so dearly loved the company of people they cared being alone on a holiday they considered so important bothered the demon. It made their whole itch and their skin crawl. Crowley’s face scrunched up as if they had bit into the world’s most sour lemon. They already knew they would be getting no peace of mind no matter how drunk they attempted to get. No, the only way they were getting any sort of peace tonight was by doing the one thing they swore they didn’t want to do......Spending the night with Aziraphale and letting the Angel have their stupid oh so pointless holiday cheer. Crowley pushes their chair away from the table. They purposely scrapped the chair hard against the floor while doing this making sure the whole place could see, hear and feel how much they despised what they were about to go do. Letting out a dramatic groan Crowley rose to their feet. They didn’t walk out of the bar, but rather did an almost stumble like dance out of there.

Now, had the demon been a tad less drunk it would have crossed their mind to do what they always do when too drunk and make themselves instantly sober up. Instead they remained drunk as a duck and just barely managed to make their way to Aziraphale’s shop without falling down. Through the shop windows and door Crowley can see the soft glow of lights. The outside is covered with different arrangements of Christmas decorations and the demon can already smell that sickening Christmas scent they so hate. It’s making them wish they had stayed back at the bar. In fact, Crowley even looks over at their shoulder and back to the bar almost longingly. It would be so easy to go back there. Easier thing in the world Crowley tells themself, but then that pesky image of Aziraphale alone for yet another Christmas comes to their mind. They scowl.

“Aziraphale should be fine! They have hot chocolate and a tree. I know they do. They called me five times to tell me about it!”

Crowley said out loud looking at the sky as if they were attempting to be plea their argument to God. Beg the All Mighty to take their guilt away and let them go back to the bar in peace. Yeah, right. Like that was ever going to happen. Crowley lets out a sigh of defeat and opens the door to the bookshop. Aziraphale always leaves it unlocked when they are there though Crowley had warned them time and again to lock it after hours. Damn Angel was way too trusting of humans following the rules and not entering their place of business because “The sign says closed”. You’d think they would have learned better by now. Crowley shakes their head as they entered shop. They have to hold onto different counter tops and shelves for balance as they walk towards the back.

“Angel! You left the door unlocked and now you got a demon in your shop!”

The cold breeze and sound of the bell above the door had been dead give aways somebody had entered the shop. Aziraphale was curled up on their loveseat reading their latest find. A rare book that dated back to the seventeenth century it was writing entirely in Latin. Looking up from their book Aziraphale was going to call out that the shop was closed when they heard a voice they knew all too well. A smile came over the Angel’s face as they placed their book down and got up. It was obvious from the way Crowley’s words had been slurred the demon was drunk, but oh!! That doesn’t matter at all! Not one bit! What matters is that they had cared enough to show!

“Okay, deep breath, Aziraphle. Don’t make a big deal over this. Mustn’t point out that this was kind of them.”

Aziraphale whispered to themselves trying to contain their excitement. They knew how much Crowley hated it when they point out the demon did something that was good. The last thing Aziraphale wanted to do tonight was make Crowley cross with them. But still! This was a big moment. It’s the first time in over six thousand years of knowing each other that Crowley has agreed to spend Christmas Eve with them.

“ANGEL! Did ya hear me? Don’t tell me you ate yourself into a food coma with all the sweets you’ve been baking up.”

It wouldn’t be shocking if the latter had happened. Aziraphale was infamous for their love of human treats and this time of the year they always had a habit of overdoing it. Since the start of December every time Crowley entered the shop there was some new assortment of Christmas treats laying out and along with a new recipe for hot chocolate. Although Gabriel was an insufferable jerk they may have a had a point about Aziraphale overindulging with human food. The smell of pine needles, fresh baked good and Christmas cheer was making the demon already feel annoyed. But then came Aziraphale from the back of their shop. The angel had the biggest dumb grin on their face as they walked towards Crowley arms wide open.

Crowley had a hand on the nearest bookshelf for support as they watched their life long friend. It was a struggle to maintain a grump exterior seeing the one being who Crowley Gabe a damn about so happy and knowing they were in part the reason for the happiness. It felt dare they say good? A chill ran down their spine. Nope! Demons don’t feel good! It most definitely did not feel good and wasn’t nice to see! Now, normally a small smile and nod of their head would have been plenty greeting from Aziraphale to Crowley. But today the angel was caught up in the holiday spirit and the kindness of Crowley being here. They did something they have never done before and usually wouldn’t have dreamed of doing. They wrapped their arms tightly around the ancient serpent and hugged them tightly. The gesture immediately had a sobering affect on Crowley. People didn’t hug them and especially not Aziraphale! Their whole body went stiff. A million and one thoughts raced through their head. What are they supposed to do? An angel hugging a demon......That can’t be good. They should shove Aziraphale away and earn the Angel never ever to do this again. After that the two should definitely never again speak of this moment. They will agree that during the holiday season they will now both stay far away as possible from each other and Crowley really will start spending the holidays on Ring Nebula!

But, the hug it feels so warm and damn it to Hell......They like this. How long has it been since Crowley allowed anyone at all near them? Have they ever allowed someone to be near them in this way? Crowley tried to think back and recall, but they can’t. Crowley swallows hard and slowly they wrap their own arms around Aziraphale. Their hands lightly pat the angel’s back. It’s an awkward pat and obvious that Crowley has never done this before or hasn’t in a long time. Now this is without a doubt the best possible gift Aziraphale could have got. They had fully expected for Crowley to pull away from them and complain about the hug. Aziraphale had even been preparing an apology mentally. There is a simple beauty in what is happening. Aziraphale gently pulls Crowley closer in. Crowley feels their body melt against Aziraphale. It’s the alcohol. They drank too much and weren’t thinking clearly. Once they sobered back up this would be one of those things the two never spoke of it at least that is what Crowley planned on. Against better judgement and everything being a demon tells them they lean into the hug. Their chin ends up resting on top of Aziraphale’s shoulder as they inhale deeply. Sugar cookies, pine needles and chocolate with a faint hint of sandalwood. All scents that Crowley claims to hate and now? They couldn’t get enough of it. Their nails dig into the absolutely hideous Christmas sweater Aziraphale is wearing. Crowley’s lips are almost against the Angel’s ear.

“Tell anyone about this and I am burning the shop to the bloody ground.”

Any other time the threat might have concerned Aziraphale, but they know Crowley would never do this. It’s a threat that is almost endearing because all it does is show that the demon trusts them. Crowley is letting them get close in a way they had never let anyone else get to them before. All the threat did was show this and show that Crowley also understood how much the shop means to Aziraphale. Slowly the blond haired angel lets go their dear friend. There is almost a sound of protest from the wily serpent, but pride manages to override their intoxicated state and they keep it in. Knowing someone for as long as these two have known one another you learn to read their unspoken words and you become aware of the movements they not only will make, but the ones they want to make. Aziraphale is all too aware that Crowley wants more and they be lying to say they didn’t too. However, now wasn’t the time.

“You’re drunker than I’ve seen you in years and you know very well if you did that I would never speak with you again.”

Aziraphale said with what was nearly a hint of amusement. There was no hint of the start of a lecture in their tone of voice. That was what Crowley had come to expect from Aziraphale in moments such as these. Crowley lets out a laugh. They can’t even try to deny what has been said. Straightening up their sweater Aziraphale puts their hands on Crowley’s shoulders. Their bright blues eyes really are beautiful Crowley thinks themself. The eyes remind them of the oceans just off the coast of Greece. The water there has the same sapphire blue to them. They should really get back there sometime.

“Either sober yourself up or go sleep this off in the back.”

“What are you my mother now? I don’t need to sober up and demons don’t sleep. Not at all. I’ve been plenty more drunk than this before.”

Aziraphale doesn’t argue back. They only nod towards the back room. Crowley rolls their eyes, but listens and stumbles their way. Immediately the demon is sprawling themself out across the loveseat that only moments ago had been occupied by Aziraphale. Waiting till Crowley closed their eyes before they turned and headed back out front. Keep their eyes closed Crowley spoke up.

“Angel where are you going?”

“To lock up the shop so that you don’t give me more grief about it later on.”

Lazily raising their right hand in the air Crowley snapped their fingers. After doing this their hand dropped down to arm rest. Aziraphale didn’t even need to ask. They already knew what Crowley did. They had locked the door. Usually Aziraphale would have told Crowley that they are capable of doing something their self. Instead they only shook their head.

“Well, thank you. I suppose I’ll finish my hot chocolate and book now while you......Lay there and sober yourself up.”

“Angel.”

Crowley half mumbled and half slurred. The demon patted their lap. Aziraphale raised a single brow. They were tempted to miracle the demon back to sobriety at this point.

“Come here.”

The angel face turned bright red. They were glad Crowley still had their eyes shut and they couldn’t see the reaction Aziraphale was having.

“Absolutely not! You’re....INTOXICATED!”

Aziraphale said they last part as if they were one of the most scandalous thing in the universe. It earns them a drunken chuckle from Crowley. Something is frustrating and somehow also endearing. The angel moved over by Crowley to grab their mug before they can pick it up the demon had reached an arm out and wrapped it around Aziraphale. They pulled the other being onto their lap causing a fresh wave of warmth to come over Aziraphale’s face. Much to Crowley’s shock they didn’t pull away or fight this. Really, how could Aziraphale fight this? They’ve wanted to be closer to Crowley for many years now, but for one reason or another they both always pulled back.

“For Heaven’s sake, Crowley!”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer to him and the most protest the angel could muster up was a roll of their baby blue eyes. They could feel Crowley chuckling against their body. It was strange how shockingly well......Nice this felt. It shouldn’t feel nice. Aziraphale is an angel sitting on the lap of a demon! Nothing about this should feel good! But Aziraphale is realizing this is where they want to be more than any other place in the universe. Right here on Crowley’s lap.

“Promise to sleep this off if you stay put.”

Clicking their tongue to the roof of their mouth Aziraphale put on a fake what could almost be described as a pout. They lean back against the one being they should never be so close to and yet feel so right being near.

“You just said demons don’t sleep.”

“Demons also lie a lot. I’ll go to sleep.”

There are a thousand arguments and lectures which Aziraphale could come up, but instead they go silent. They find their head is now leaning against Crowley’s chest and they swear they can FEEL the ancient snake of Eden smirking.

“Very well, but only if you actually sleep.”

Another small laugh from Crowley. They pull Aziraphale closer. Both are cursing themselves for how right something so forbidden feels, but they aren’t only cursing themselves for that. They are also cursing themselves for not acting on this soon; for time lost and wasted.

“I need to tell you something.”

Aziraphale finds that their throat feels dry. Their nervous that at any moment Crowley is going to come back to their senses, push them off and leave the shop. Maybe this will be the thing that finally pushes their dear friend away for good. They don’t want to answer the demon. They are scared for the first time in a very long time that they may say the wrong thing. It takes effort on their part to make the words come out.

“Yes?”

“Merry Fucking Christmas, Angel.”

Blinking a few times Aziraphale opens their mouth to lecture Crowley on the language and instead they find themselves laughing out loud. They very lightly elbow the demon who’s lap they now occupy. Crowley let out a playful groan. One that sounds suspiciously more pleasure filled than playfully pain filled. Nope! Aziraphale was absolutely not going to think on that!

“Merry Christmas, Crowley.”

With this being said Crowley kept their word to their good friend. They immediately forced them self into a state of mimicked sleep. Aziraphale smiled as they felt Crowley’s breathing slow down into a peaceful rhythm. Like demons, angels too require no sleep and still, Aziraphale finds them self closing their eyes and dozing off too already knowing this will be the best Christmas they have ever had when they awake.

#crowly x aziraphale #christmas #christmas eve #ao3 #fanfic #crowley #Aziraphale #Drunk Crowley #Merry Christmas #ineffable fandom #good ineffable omens #Ineffable Husbands

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orangeoctopi7 · 4 years ago

Text

Every Little Past Frustration

: Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 :

Bill watched through the eyes of a hundred eye-bats as the truck carrying his quarry barreled down the wooded back roads of Gravity Falls. The flock was closing in, despite Sixer's erratic blaster fire and manic driving. Of course, just as soon as it looked like Bill’s victory was in the bag, the Mystery Shack came into view on the horizon through the trees. The demonic triangle growled with rage and willed the flock to fly faster. He was not letting his bargaining chip get away!

The cloud of eye bats descended on the truck. Maybe Bill’s luck was changing. The idiots had just left Four-Eyes lying in the truck bed unprotected. Bill didn’t know much about humans and the protection laws they used to try and keep themselves alive a little longer, but he was pretty sure that was a stupid thing to do even if you didn’t have otherworldly forces chasing after you.

Unfortunately, the eye-bats weren’t strong enough to turn someone to stone yet. They still hadn’t absorbed enough of the Nightmare Realm’s power. But they did have this nifty tractor beam ability, which came in handy since they didn’t have any hands or claws to speak of. A few of the eye-bats got in close enough to start lifting the scruffy hillbilly out of the back of the truck. He started thrashing and yowling in panic.

“I TOLD YOU, YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL I GET WHAT I WANT!” Bill crowed triumphantly. True, since he was back in the Nightmare Realm instead of possessing that time traveling loser, the only one who could hear him was Four-Eyes, but it wasn’t any fun if Bill couldn’t brag to someone.

“!Votmzrig ivskrx oory! Taht rebmemer ot tnaw t’nod I! Niaga ti ees ot tnaw t’nod I! Gnimoc si mlaer eramthgin eht…” McGucket howled.

Of course, every time Bill spoke directly to Fiddleford’s mind, the nerd had to go and be a drama queen about it! It was honestly the main reason the demon had continued tormenting the guy over the years. It wasn’t like Bill got anything out of it, he couldn’t possess the old coot or coerce him into helping the rift along. It was just hilarious to see how he reacted. Some mortals and the Nightmare Realm just didn’t mix.

Four-Eyes’s clamoring got the attention of the rescue team sitting in the truck cab. Shooting Star fired her grappling hook out the back window and snagged onto the old inventor’s overalls. Meanwhile, Sixer leaned almost half-way out the driver’s side window, blasting down the eye-bats that had been carrying off his friend; Question Mark struggled to keep them on the road while the driver was otherwise occupied.

Bill roared with volcanic rage as the truck veered around the corner, into the long driveway leading up to the Mystery Shack. They were almost to the barrier! He was not going to lose this bargaining chip, not after everything else that had gone wrong over the past few days.

The remaining eye-bats clustered around the open windows, trying to squeeze inside and block the view of the road. The truck careened through a few advertising signs, but stayed on course for the Mystery Shack. Maybe, if he blocked their view long enough, he could make them crash into the wall of the Shack and break the line of unicorn hair, disabling the shield spell.

But luck was not with Bill this week. The breaks squealed, and the truck skidded to a stop just inches away from the gift shop entrance. Sixer threw his door open and laid down some blaster fire to cover Shooting Star and Question Mark as they carried Four-Eyes inside. They were within the barrier.

“GGGGRAAAAAH! COME ON!” Bill conjured a glass just to throw it at the wall in frustration. “WHAT IS WITH THIS TIMELINE!? DECADES OF PLANNING, AND IT’S JUST ALL THROWN OUT THE WINDOW BECAUSE WHAT? PINETREE AND SHOOTING STAR ACTUALLY TALKED ABOUT THEIR FEELINGS!? EUGCH!”

“DiD tHeY gEt AwAy, BoSs?” Hectorgon asked, noticing his boss’ temper tantrum.

“THE ONLY REASON THEY GOT AWAY IS BECAUSE I’M STUCK WORKING WITH SUB-PAR LACKEYS!!” Bill steamed. Hectorgon took the hint, scurrying away.

It really was a shame that good pawns were so hard to come by in Gravity Falls. Since the original plan of taking the rift from Shooting Star didn’t pan out, Bill had to start improvising. And hey, he was an ageless being of pure energy. He could do that. But the mortals available to him in Gravity Falls were just so lame!

Wendy, the Cool Girl, had seemed promising. She was smart and strong, and best of all, the Pines trusted her. Unfortunately she was a little too smart. Bill had known convincing her to smash the rift was a long shot, but she would have been a real asset, had things worked out. As it was, she was a nice distraction.

Toby Determined had definitely just been a distraction. The guy was about as competent as a leaky paper cup. But he’d actually gotten most of the Pines family out of the house, so that part of the plan, at least, had worked. They’d even left the Big Mackerel in charge of guarding the place! It seemed like the perfect opportunity to try out his new pawn, Preston Northwest. Bill had been sure Stan would take the bait, but no! Everyone in the Pines family had to do the opposite of what was expected this week. And Preston was such a priss, he’d rather just make vague threats and drive off than actually do what Bill asked him to and get his hands dirty!

Unfortunately, possessing Preston wasn’t possible quite yet. The guy was too business savvy to make a deal on a handshake. It all had to be in writing with him.

The only other viable pawn in town was Lil’ Gideon, but he didn’t exactly have easy access to the Shack right now. Sure, Bill could break him out of prison, but it’d take a lot of effort, and it’d draw a lot of attention. Not just from the Pines, but from the Time Paradox Anomaly Avoidance Squad. There were a lot of perks to possessing a time traveler, but they came with the inconvenience of having to watch his step whenever he used them.

Bill sighed as he watched Sixer through one of his effigies still left in the Mystery Shack. Now there had been a good pawn! That rare balance of competence and gullibility, of intelligence and naivety, really did only come around once in a generation! So eager to please, so desperate to prove himself, so willing to just go along with things and not ask too many questions. Too bad Four-Eyes had to blunder his way into the portal on the test run. If Bill hadn’t had to tip his hand early, he might have brought the party to Earth thirty years ago. Ah well. Fighting Sixer all these years certainly kept him entertained.

For now, Bill was going to have to make due with his current pawns. Speaking of which, his latest puppet was trying to make a break for it. Bill popped out of the Nightmare Realm and into Blendin’s mindscape. The bumbling time traveler was about to pull out his time tape and jump into the future.

“AND WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?”

“Y-y-you can’t do this to me!” Blendin stammered. “I-I’m a time officer! I h-have rights!”

“OH, SORRY, MY MISTAKE!” Bill said sarcastically. “WHY DON’T YOU HURRY BACK TO THOSE JERKS WHO CONSTANTLY MOCKED YOU FOR LOSING GLOBNAR TO TWO CHILDREN. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU’D BE EAGER TO ADD ‘GOT POSSESSED BY MY BOSS’S WORST ENEMY’ TO THE INSULT LIST. THAT IS, IF THEY DON’T LOCK YOU UP FOR AIDING IN THE END OF THE WORLD!”

“I-I’ve escaped the infinitentiary before!” the time traveler protested.

“YEAH, SURE, THEN IT’LL JUST BE LIFE ON THE RUN WHILE TIME-BABY PUTS OUT A DIMENSION-WIDE MANHUNT FOR YOU! FACE IT, BLENDO, YOUR BEST CHANCE OF SURVIVAL IS WITH ME!”

Blendin opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to come up with a good comeback, or rebuttal, or any reason to refuse Bill’s offer, but he apparently couldn’t think of one. Finally, he just hung his head in defeat and held out his hand. Bill smiled with his one eye and grabbed it, taking possession of the time traveler once again.

“THAT’S MORE LIKE IT! NOW, LET’S GO FIND A LADDER AND AN AK-47!”

* * *

The flock of eye-bats dispersed once Mabel and Soos got McGucket within the barrier. Ford breathed a sigh of relief. That had been too close. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Bill had tried to bargain with Fiddleford’s life for the rift.

Thankfully, McGucket’s incoherent screams had stopped once he was safely inside. The old inventor looked exhausted, but relieved, like he’d just outrun a raging wild animal. Ford locked eyes with him, and for a moment, he could have sworn a hint of recognition flickered on Fiddleford’s face. But then, the fatigue caught up with his old friend, and he passed out in Soos’s arms.

Dipper, who had been keeping watch from the window, rushed over to them. “Oh my gosh, are you guys ok?” He asked, taking in everyone’s battered appearance.

“I think I might’ve cracked a rib.” Soos said nonchalantly, as though he was talking about a paper cut and not one of the most painful injuries he could still walk on.

“Come bring Fiddleford into my room; I’ll examine you both.” Ford instructed.

Dipper followed them in as they laid Fiddleford on the couch. A quick glance over found no serious injuries that needed immediate attention, although the old inventor definitely looked like he needed a few good meals in him. Next, Ford had Soos pull his shirt off, so he could properly check his ribs.

“Luckily they’re not cracked, just badly bruised.” Ford assured the handyman after a few moments of careful prodding. He handed Soos a small packet of some medicinal cream. “This cellular-regeneration optimizing salv should allow you to heal within the hour. I assume you can apply it yourself.”

“You got it, dawg.” Soos took the packet with a salute and left for the bathroom.

“Er, alright…” Ford wasn’t quite sure what that response meant, but it sounded like an affirmative.

“What happened?” Dipper asked once Ford finished his examinations and just sat down, watching his friend anxiously.

“Your sister was there for it all. You can ask her.” Ford replied simply. He was trying to let the boy down gently, but the kids really were better off without him.

“Oh, O-ok…” Dipper left reluctantly, casting a glance over his shoulder as he closed the door.

* * *

“And so we skidded into the parking lot next to the gift shop like something out of Nagoya Burnout!” Mabel concluded her dramatic retelling of their rescue mission.

“Aw man, I wish I was there!” Dipper complained. “Although, I did get to see Stan psych out Preston Northwest. That was pretty gratifying.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Mabel pulled out her cell phone. “Pacifica called me while we were at the dump, but it wasn’t a good time, so I hung up on her.”

“Huh. We got a call just before her dad showed up, but Grunkle Stan told me to just let it go to voicemail.”

Mabel checked her inbox to find several missed messages from Pacifica.

“Hey you asked if my parents were acting weird earlier?” The rich girl’s voice crackled from the voicemail. “Well, my dad just asked the chauffeur to take him to your shack. Last time he wouldn’t even ride there himself, he made ME go! ...Omg he’s packing a briefcase of money. I’m gonna have to call you back.”

The next message continued Pacifica’s panic, “When I asked him what he was doing he just said he was going to make a ‘business transaction’. Mabel seriously, call me back! I am freaking out!”

“I think he’s going to try and buy your house? Either that or maybe your uncle deals drugs? None of this makes sense to me. Just call me back already!”

“Mabel! Pick up! Why aren’t you answering!?”

“Uugh, fine! I’m calling your house!!”

“Oops.” Mabel grimaced. “I guess I should call her back.”

“Do you think her dad is actually working with Bill?” Dipper asked worriedly.

“I mean, I know he’s a shady rich guy and a bad parent, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of person to make a deal with a demon.” Mabel reasoned. “But maybe Bill came to him disguised as Blendin, like he did to Toby, and offered him technology from the future or something?”

“Maybe.” Dipper agreed. “I can’t think of any other reason the Northwests would try to buy out this place. I know Stan’s made enough to support himself and run the portal, but the Shack can’t be that successful compared to all the Northwest’s businesses. I’m just worried about Pacifica. Her parents are already the worst. If Bill is controlling them, who knows what they’d do to her?”

Mabel pulled up Pacifica’s contact and started calling. Her crazy rich rival picked up on the second ring. “Now you pick up!? What happened!? My dad said Stan pulled a gun on him!”

“Sorry!” Mabel apologized, “I was on a rescue mission, I had to be stealthy!”

“And Stan only pulled a gun on him after he made it clear calling the cops wasn’t an option!” Dipper defended.

“Why didn’t you just text me?” Mabel asked.

“And leave a written record that I was trying to warn you guys?” Pacifica scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“...Your parents go through your texts?” Dipper asked warily.

“Yeah, don’t yours?” Pacifica asked, clearly not seeing anything wrong with the practice.

“Nevermind all that!” Mabel interrupted, “We wanted to make sure you’re alright!”

"What? I'm fine. You two are the ones living with the guy who pulled a gun on my dad!"

"After he threatened us!" Dipper repeated.

“Not in any way that would hold up in court, I’m sure.” Pacifica said, and Dipper swore he could hear her rolling her eyes.

“Anyway, we called because we’re worried about you!” Mabel broke up the argument.

“Why would you be worried?” Pacifica asked. “Guys, I’m just grounded. It’s not like my parents have me locked up in a dungeon or something.”

“We have reason to believe your parents are fraternizing with a dream demon.” Dipper explained. “Or at least your dad is.”

“Um… you’re joking, right?” the rich girl huffed a weak laugh.

“Don’t freak her out, Dipper!” Mabel elbowed her brother.

“But it’s true!”

“Hey Pacifica, sorry, Dipper’s being crazy paranoid.” Mabel forced a laugh, “But seriously though, you should keep an eye on your dad. And like, if he gets yellow eyes or something, you should just leave.”

“What!? What the heck is going on, you two? Is this another ghost thing?”

“Well I mean, it does seem like Bill’s main way of getting things done in our world is possessing people, so that’s kind of like a ghost…” Dipper answered.

“Who the heck is Bill!?”

“He’s a dream demon who wants to end the world.” Dipper explained bluntly. “But he needs something in our house to do it.”

“Are-are you serious?” Pacifica asked incredulously. “You’d better be serious right now, because if you’re messing with me I’ll come over there and buy your uncle’s filthy tourist trap myself!”

“I’m dead serious.” Dipper assured her. “What do you know about that creepy tapestry in the alcove just to the left of the grand staircase in the main dining hall? The one with the triangle eye on it?”

“Ugh, that ugly thing?” Pacifica groaned. “Mom can’t talk dad into throwing it out because it’s a family heirloom or whatever. Once I inherit this mansion, it’s going in the trash where it belongs!”

“Haha, Bill belongs in the trash!” Mabel giggled.

“So what, is Bill the guy who made the tapestry or something?”

“He’s the one on the tapestry.” Dipper corrected. “He’s the triangle eye.”

“I told you, if you’re messing with me--”

“I’m not messing with you! I know it sounds crazy, but this is a matter of life and death!” Dipper said earnestly.

“Ok, ok!” Pacifica backed off, surprised by Dipper’s sincerity. “I honestly don’t know anything else about it, though. Just that apparently it was a gift to Nathaniel Northwest when he founded the town.”

“Which we all know he didn’t do.” Dipper reasoned. “So where did it actually come from?”

“How the heck should I know?” Pacifica retorted.

“Could you maybe ask your dad about it?” Mabel proposed.

“I guess. He might find it a little suspicious if I suddenly seem interested in it though.”

“Could you at least take a picture of it and text it to us?” Dipper asked. “I didn’t think to take a good look at it while I was there, and I only remember a few vague details.”

“Ugh, ok, but you’d better help me find a good way to explain why I sent it to you once my parents find out.”

* * *

Dinnertime rolled around, and Ford still hadn’t left his room since the rescue party returned earlier that afternoon. Dipper was beginning to worry. Despite his insistence that he could live off of his nutrition pills for another three years, Ford always made a point to join the family for dinner. Even though the old researcher wouldn't admit it, Dipper was pretty sure it was because he got lonely spending all his time in the basement. The fact that Ford was absent as they dug into a plate of Mac'n'Cheese left Dipper wondering if something was wrong.

"Hey, uh, Mabel? Did Great Uncle Ford seem upset when you guys found McGucket?"

"He did seem pretty sad, but I don't think he really had time to be upset. We were busy running from Bill."

"Of course he's upset. He's finally seen first-hand how his old college buddy has become the self-proclaimed local kook." Stan said without looking up from his dinner. "Just give him some space, kid, he'll be fine."

Dipper wasn't in the habit of listening to Stan, so as soon as he finished eating he dropped his plate in the sink and snuck down the hall to Ford's room. Thankfully, it wasn't locked.

Ford looked up at him with such a dead-eyed stare when he stepped in that the boy suddenly wished he had listened to Stan.

"H-hey… um… we, uh, missed you at dinner… heh…"

"I'm otherwise occupied." Ford said quietly, not looking the boy in the eye. "Don't worry about me, I still have plenty of nutrition pills."

"Oh, uh, yeah…." Dipper scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "... That's not what I'm really worried about though."

Ford tensed. "Has there been a new development with Bill?"

"Uh… I mean, Preston Northwest did come by here and try to buy the Shack, but Stan scared him off, for now…. Oh! And Wendy wanted to know if you would help put up a barrier around her family’s house if she got some more unicorn hair.”

The old researcher nodded. “It will take time. It would be safer for her to stay here until I’m able to assemble another barrier spell.”

“Oh, ok, I’ll let her know.” Dipper shuffled his feet. “So, uh, how’s McGucket?”

“He needs rest.” Ford watched his friend’s sleeping form carefully, still refusing to meet Dipper’s gaze.

“Um, are you ok?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Ford reiterated shortly. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your sister about now?”

“...Mabel told you we weren’t going to stay, didn’t she?” Dipper fretted. “...Are you mad at me?”

Ford finally turned to face him. “Of course not, my boy! If anything, you should be mad at me.”

“What, why?” Dipper asked in confusion.

“I came between you and your family. I got you involved in my problems. I put you in danger. I shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t-- you’d be safer if you kept your distance from me.”

“But you are my family!” Dipper insisted. “And I was involved with Bill before I even knew who you were!”

“Because you found my journal. I still started you on that path.”

“Well, technically, I guess.” Dipper admitted grudgingly. “But that wasn’t your fault!”

Ford scoffed and looked away again, obviously not convinced.

“If you and Mabel already came to your own decision to return home, then you must have realized on some level that I am a toxic influence. I don’t understand the thoughts and feelings of other people. I’ve hurt every person I’ve ever been close to.” The old researcher watched the slow rise and fall of Fiddleford’s far-too-thin chest. “You deserve better than that. You deserve better than me.”

Dipper was dumbstruck for a moment. He never would have guessed that his Great Uncle Ford, the Author of the Journals, would feel this way. And it felt so wrong, because this wasn’t the way he viewed his uncle at all. Didn’t he know he was Dipper’s hero? Deserve better? Ford being Dipper’s uncle, and actually liking him and spending time with him, was better than the boy had dared to hope for.

“That’s not why we decided to go home!” Dipper insisted. How had Mabel put it? She made it sound so simple. “It’s not like we don’t want to stay with you. Now just isn’t the right time.”

“Not now… and not ever.” Ford said glumly. “It’s… it’s for the best.”

“No it’s not!” the boy blurted. “I know a lot of the people you care about end up hurt, and I know you have a hard time understanding why other people do things sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you don’t understand other people’s thoughts and feelings at all! That doesn’t mean all you do is hurt other people! I know because you were the first person this summer who understood me!

“I love Mabel, but we don’t see the world in the same way. That’s a good thing most of the time, but sometimes when I try to talk to her about the paranormal, she just dismisses it as me being paranoid, or ‘dumb nerd stuff’. And don’t even get me started on how hard it is to talk to Stan about that stuff.

“When I found your Journal in the woods, it wasn’t just an exciting mystery that fell into my lap. It was like finding validation that all the weird things I saw actually mattered. I think that Journal helped me get out of trouble just as often as it got me into trouble. And as the summer went on and I read more and saw more, it was like I was getting to know you, even though I still didn't have any idea who you were. I knew I felt a connection with whoever wrote it, so I started trying to figure out who it was.

“Yeah, I got in a little too deep and got in trouble at a few points, but that just made it all the more amazing when I finally found out that the Author was you, and you were my family, and I wasn’t just imagining that we had something in common! And somehow, impossibly, you’re even cooler than I ever imagined because you’re more than just paranormal mysteries and cryptograms that take me ages to decode! You like to play the same games I do, and you actually take my theories and stuff seriously instead of just laughing it off or telling me I’m paranoid! And… and…” Dipper slowly became painfully aware of how long he’d been talking without any response from Ford, who was still turned away from him. “And you’re really important to me, ok? I know we’ve known each other for less than a month, but I just can’t accept a future where we can’t hang out anymore, ok?”

Ford didn’t answer for a long time. He just stared down at McGucket’s sleeping form. But if Dipper watched closely, he could see his uncle just barely keeping his breathing under control.

“You’re a very intelligent boy, Dipper.” The old researcher finally croaked. “Why can’t you see the evidence lying right before you?”

Dipper looked down on McGucket's prone form, then to his uncle, who was just barely containing his grief.

“You may have hurt McGucket, but you can’t completely blame yourself for the state he’s in now. And you obviously still feel bad about what happened, and you’re doing everything you can to help now. If you ask me, that’s not toxic.

“I know you’re scared of hurting the people you love again, but just cutting yourself off from everyone isn’t gonna help, even if it seems like the easiest option. I think you just need some people who love you back and are willing to help you learn to be better.”

Dipper decided to take a risk and stepped forward, tentatively hugging Ford around the waist. His uncle tensed for a second at the unexpected contact, but his rigidity crumbled after a moment. The old researcher dropped to his knees and hugged his nephew tightly.

“Thank you, my boy. I didn't realize how badly I needed to hear that.”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Dipper Pines #Stanford Pines #pacifica northwest #My Writing

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aidanchaser · 4 years ago

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A Game of Scars and Secrets

a story about Cedric Diggory & Christian Thelborne part of the Everyone Lives AU TW; suicide, traumatic transition

Rating: M - explicit sexual content censored to comply with Tumblr’s ToS. Find the full fic on Ao3 Word Count: 7060

You are absent of cause / Or excuse / So self-indulgent / And self-referential / No audience could ever want you - Achilles, Gang of Youths

It was a cold, wet twenty-seventh of February when Christian Thelborne and Cedric Diggory found themselves tucked between two London shops with their lips pressed against each other’s in pursuit of warmth and comfort.

They’d made several attempts to spend at least one afternoon together for Valentine’s Day, but two overworked Ministry employees had little time for themselves, let alone for each other. It didn’t help that Cedric had business for the Order on top of his Auror training, which was much less training and a lot more field experience as the days went on. Finally, they’d managed a miracle where they had a few hours with each other before Cedric was expected to report to Williamson for another dull and irritating shift at Styncon Gardon.

Cedric and Christian talked about work less and less these days. The trouble had started after their New Year’s kiss — which hadn’t taken place until the fifth of January, but they’d made sure it happened at midnight regardless — when Cedric had complained about the latest shift addition to his and Williamson’s rotation.

“I don’t understand the problem,” Christian had said. “It sounds easy; can’t imagine there’s much trouble at the Potters’ place, with all the security they have.”

“That is the trouble,” Cedric had answered. “I don’t feel like we’re there to protect them. We’re there to spy on them. And I like them a lot. Harry’s a friend, and I’ve always respected Mrs Potter. You had her for Defense, too, didn’t you?”

Christian had nodded. “I had her and Lupin for my N.E.W.T.s. She’s the one who convinced me I could be an Auror if I wanted. It just sounds to me like if you admire them so much, isn’t that another reason to protect them? I don’t buy this ‘Chosen One’ rubbish, but I wouldn’t put it past Death Eaters to hurt them regardless.”

Because for Christian, the war was Good Wizards against Death Eaters. Cedric did not know how to make him understand it wasn’t that simple, and that the Ministry didn’t always have the people’s best interest at heart.

Cedric knew it wasn’t Christian’s fault. Christian had been born into a wizarding family that held some renown, not unlike the Diggory family. Cedric’s family had served in the Ministry for generations, and Christian’s had the legacy of his great-grandfather’s service in the war against Grindelwald. They had each grown up with aspirations to follow in their fathers’ footsteps. Cedric had wanted to pursue a career with Magical Beasts; Christian had wanted to become a professional duelist. They’d both changed their path to pursue an Aurorship instead, and despite being younger, and making the more drastic career change, Cedric had gotten what Christian had not.

Christian blamed Scrimgeour for this, rightfully so, but Christian also saw Scrimgeour as an excellent leader, who had guided the Auror Department well in the years between wars, and respected Scrimgeour’s decision to make Cedric an Auror, however begrudgingly. And the promotion to Squadron Captain had helped.

What Christian did not see — and could not understand — was what Cedric had seen and experienced under Umbridge. Umbridge represented so much of the Ministry to Cedric, and even though Cedric had told Harry he didn’t mind working for the Ministry, he minded quite a lot. He simply tolerated it because it made him better equipped to face Voldemort again, and made him of better use to the Order. Christian was never going to understand why Cedric was so bitter about so many of Scrimgeour’s orders, and Cedric could not explain it. Each time he tried to explain himself, he became too anxious, too aggressive. Words didn’t seem to form in the correct order, not in a way that made sense. It was all too difficult to put together — unless Cedric could be vulnerable in a way he wasn’t entirely ready for.

Christian’s kiss moved, as it had so many times before, to Cedric’s throat, pushing past Cedric’s scarf. Cedric pulled away.

“Not today,” he whispered. “Please — I have to go to work in a few hours. And the Potters know me; they’re much harder to lie to.”

Christian’s green eyes glinted mischievously in a way that made Cedric’s heart stutter. Cedric didn’t know if it was elf-blood or just Christian, but that mischief was always irresistible. “My sister’s visiting our parents today. Our flat is empty.”

Cedric swallowed. Their kisses, as passionate as they’d been, had been nothing more for the last six months. Cedric still lived with his parents, and Christian shared a flat in London with his sister. They hadn’t had a place to go — until now.

“You didn’t think to mention this when we planned our day together?”

“I wanted to surprise you. Is it a good surprise?”

“Yeah,” Cedric tried to smile, because it was a good surprise. It was a wonderful thought that they could have a quiet space to be alone together. He was, however, very nervous as Christian took his hands and Apparated the two of them into a small London flat.

Cedric had been with partners before. He and his first girlfriend Jamie Nettles had given each other handjobs in the Quidditch changing room, but always clothed, and often little more than very aggressive makeout sessions and lots of rutting. They’d been fourteen, then, and hadn’t known much better. A year later, Cedric gave Summerby a blow job, also in the Quidditch changing room, but they’d never done anything more than that, had never even gone on a proper date. And once, Cedric had gone down on Cho Chang, but it had been awkward and they’d never tried it again. With all that limited experience, Cedric didn’t feel especially confident as Christian left their coats and scarves at the entrance and pulled Cedric past the dining-and-kitchen combination room, back to the only bedroom in his and his sister’s flat.

Cedric thought that a twin bed, at least, would be more comfortable than a Quidditch changing room, and of course there was far less anxiety about getting caught.

The two twin beds were shoved against the walls of a bedroom that was hardly bigger than Cedric’s bedroom at home. Christian and Anne had split the space in half, with a trunk each at the foot of their bed and a wardrobe on the other side of the room. They had little more space to themselves than they must’ve had in their Hogwarts’ dormitories.

The decor, at least, was different. The bedspreads on both beds were worn and faded, as if they were as old as Anne and Christian. Anne’s side of the bedroom was decorated in photographs of friends, notes in tight scribbles pinned over the bed, and books and jars of herbs stacked on her trunk. Christian’s side was sparse, orderly. There were neat stacks of parchment and envelopes on top of the trunk, and on the bedside table was a small glass bottle that Cedric recognized. He had one by his bed, and he had bought one for Harry two Christmases past: a small bottle of eucalyptus and mint oil, meant to aid with sleep.

“Your place is nice,” Cedric said, as Christian pulled him towards the bed.

Christian made a face. “I know it’s small; you don’t have to pretend. But my sister and I always shared a room at home, and one bedroom is cheaper than two. She can’t afford to live on her own just yet, so the rent’s all me.”

“Muggle landlord?”

Christian nodded. He took a seat on the bed and pulled Cedric’s hands to his hips. “So spells to make the space bigger are out of the question, unless we want to constantly worry about Obliviating her. But it’s alright. We make do. Now can we please stop talking about my flat and get back to you kissing me?”

Cedric had hoped to stall a little longer, but he obliged, and leaned forward to kiss Christian. Christian fisted his hands in Cedric’s jumper and pulled him down onto the bed. Cedric had barely caught his balance, hands landing on either side of Christian’s shoulders, when Christian tried to pull the jumper over Cedric’s head.

“Maybe you should’ve let me do this while I was on my feet,” Cedric grunted, getting his knees onto the bed so he could sit up and pull off his jumper and t-shirt.

“I wanted to see it from this angle,” Christian said with that mischievous grin.

Cedric hid his blush by pulling his jumper and shirt over his head in a single flourish, and prayed the color wouldn’t spread down his chest. He tossed the clothes onto the floor and leaned back down over Christian. “Worth it?”

“Absolutely.” Christian lifted his head to kiss him again, and began undoing the buttons on his own shirt as he did.

Cedric sat back up. “Why don’t I get a view?”

Christian made a face, not unlike the one he’d made when Cedric had complimented the apartment. “Not much here to see. Come on, you’ve got to meet Williamson, and I’m not letting you out of here until I’m satisfied.”

Cedric knew misdirection; he was an expert at it. “Christian — you invited me here. If you’re not comfortable —”

Christian grunted and rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, I just didn’t want to spoil the mood.” He wriggled back a bit, to give himself some space between him and Cedric, and sat up to pull his shirt off, revealing several scars marring his chest. They were not unlike the thin white scar that ran the length of Cedric’s forearm, except that there were many of them.

Cedric placed his hand against Christian’s chest and brushed his thumb along the line of one of the scars. “Can I ask what happened?”

“I was sixteen and I was tired of having breasts. Thought I could do it myself, but, well — Dad took me to St. Mungo’s and had a Healer fix me up as best as she could.”

“Why did you… Why didn’t you say anything to someone first?”

Christian shrugged. “I know you and I haven’t known each other a year yet, but I think we’re a bit similar in that way.”

Cedric remembered his silence about his nightmares, his hesitation to tell his parents about his decision to become an Auror. He had never once doubted their love, but he hadn’t wanted to worry them.

“I know you and I don’t like asking for help,” Cedric agreed, “but I can’t imagine trying something like this on myself — while a student —”

“You fought You-Know-Who and a dragon when you were sixteen —”

“Seventeen.”

“— so I don’t want to hear it. Can we just get back to the kissing bit?” Christian whined.

It was funny how the stubbornness Cedric had always admired in Harry was so frustrating in Christian.

“I’ll trade you one secret for another,” Cedric offered.

Christian raised an eyebrow, enticed by the offer. “Alright. I told you about my chest scar, tell me about yours.” He pressed his hand against the discolored patch of skin on Cedric’s shoulder that spread from elbow all the way to his nipple.

“That one was the dragon,” Cedric said.

Christian frowned. “That’s not a secret,” he complained, but seemed to accept he’d lost a gamble. He did not press with a different question; he surged forward for another kiss.

Christian ran his thumb over Cedric’s nipple and Cedric was surprised when his spine seemed to tingle in response. Christian did it again and Cedric barely restrained a whine. He felt Christian smile against the kiss and brush over it again, this time rolling his thumb around the sensitive patch of skin.

Christian moved his mouth to Cedric’s neck and down to his collarbone.

“Christian,” Cedric murmured, “if we stay like this much longer, I’m going to fall off.”

Cedric had his knees on the bed, but it wasn’t a very large bed, and if Christian kept pushing against him, he was going to get pushed right off.

Reluctantly, Christian pulled away. “Alright, then, lay down.”

The thought made Cedric dizzy with both excitement and anxiety. “We don’t have —”

But Christian misunderstood his hesitation. “I have condoms. It was my surprise after all. Besides, I’m not going to ride you — just let me suck you off, alright?”

Cedric had not realized just how sexy crudeness could be, but it twisted his gut into a knot of excitement and arousal as easily as Christian’s kisses did. Cedric had always tried to be polite and romantic with his partners, but with Christian, everything was so rough and unpolished. Maybe that was why Cedric’s experiences had always been so awkward. He’d been afraid to be direct. Christian did not have that hesitation, and Cedric found the confidence incredibly attractive.

Cedric unbuckled his trousers, but before he could pull them off, Christian tightened his hands around his wrist.

“Socks first,” Christian said. “Haven’t you done this before?”

“I mean — sort of. Didn’t realize there was an order to undressing.”

“It’s a very important order. But I need to know — am I about to be your first blow job?”

“I’ve given one before.”

“Merlin, you’re telling me no one’s ever sucked off Cedric Diggory, Quidditch Captain and Triwizard Champion? Don’t you get up to anything down in the Hufflepuff dormitory?”

Cedric pulled off his socks. “Apparently all the action is in Gryffindor Tower.”

“I suppose I did have the benefit of being the only boy in the girls’ dormitory, and access to the boys’ dormitory whenever I wanted.”

“You stayed in the girls’ dormitory? Even after….” But Cedric did not have the vocabulary to describe Christian’s change in gender. He was not sure how to ask his question.

Christian didn’t seem to mind. “Sure. They were my mates. It was my room. Wasn’t going to change my whole life just because I cut off my breasts and my hair. I was still me, I just wasn’t getting scolded for wearing trousers anymore.”

“And you just, what, kipped in the boys’ dormitory when you felt like it?”

“I spent a few nights in Scott Arbor’s bed, yeah.”

“But you were a prefect!”

“Yeah, Weasley gave me hell for it, too.” He shrugged. “Only made me do it more. Eventually I made a deal with Wood so I could hide in his bed if I needed to dodge Weasley, as long as I didn’t keep him up before Quidditch practice and games.” Christian grinned. “So come on,” he patted the bed, “that’s my CV, so you know your first blow’ll be excellent.”

Cedric shook his head, bewildered by the amount of mischief one person could get into. He was distracted enough that it wasn’t quite as uncomfortable as it might’ve been to drop his pants in front of a partner for the very first time.

Christian did not comment, but did nod appreciatively as Cedric laid down on top of Christian’s bed. It was compliment enough.

Christian crawled on top of Cedric for another kiss. Cedric put a hand on Christian’s hip and hooked his thumb into the belt loop of his trousers.

“What about —” He was forced to paused as Christian kissed him. “— yours?” he mumbled into Christian’s mouth.

Christian wrapped a hand around Cedric’s half-hard cock and twisted. Cedric’s breath hitched in his throat and he wondered if Christian was intentionally dodging the question or if he’d asked it too quietly. He thought he knew Christian well enough to know which it was.

Cedric broke their kiss and pressed his lips against Christian’s ear. “I don’t mind either way,” he murmured.

Christian sighed, breath falling hot and wet into the crook of Cedric’s neck. His hands undid his belt and he kicked off his trousers with a little effort. “The pants stay on,” he grunted.

“Do you think I’ll be bothered?”

Christian would not lift his head to meet Cedric’s eyes. “It’s not for you.”

“Okay.” Cedric slipped his hand into Christian’s blonde curls and pulled him into a kiss. Christian slid his hands up Cedric’s chest. His hands paused their journey to give Cedric’s nipples a firm rub. Cedric felt that mischievous smile again as he keened into Christian’s mouth. Then Christian’s hands continued upward, sliding along Cedric’s arms, pulling them over Cedric’s head, and eventually pinning Cedric’s wrists against the headboard.

Christian broke the kiss and Cedric struggled to bring those intense green eyes back into focus.

“Do I get a question now?” Christian asked.

“What?”

“You asked about the pants. Do I get a question now?”

Cedric considered. He had not thought asking Christian to remove his trousers would lead to an especially personal secret, but he supposed it had at least brushed against one. Besides, it wasn’t exactly fair that Christian’s first question had been about a scar he’d gotten in a public, international competition.

“Sure,” Cedric said.

Christian loosened his grip on Cedric’s right hand and followed the long white scar that ran from Cedric’s wrist to the crook of his elbow. “Tell me about this one.”

Cedric’s gut twisted, but there was no pleasure to war with his anxiety this time. “A Death Eater,” he said. “In the Department of Mysteries.” Cedric wondered how much detail Christian expected from him. “I was Silenced and couldn’t cast well. The Death Eaters captured me, and Pyrites tortured me to try to get Harry Potter to…” But he stopped. No one was supposed to know about the prophecy, certainly not someone so attached to the Ministry.

Christian took Cedric’s lack of words for emotional intensity and pulled his hand away. “I’m sorry.” And he really did look sorry he’d asked.

“Kiss me again?”

Christian did. His hands went back down Cedric’s hips, where one held him steady and the other slid along the length of his cock. Cedric moaned into Christian’s mouth, then whined as Christian slipped his hand over his balls and rubbed against the slender strip of skin before his ass.

Cedric had never had the opportunity to appreciate having a partner who knew what they were doing before, and he was quite grateful for it now. Christian brought his hand back over Cedric’s cock and rubbed the tip with his thumb, then wrapped his hand around it once more and rubbed, twisting his wrist as he pushed down. Cedric jerked his hips up into Christian’s hand and bit back a needy whine as Christian pulled away.

“You’re exceptionally quiet,” Christian laughed, and reached over Cedric to dig in the drawer of the bedside table.

“Sorry?”

“Just thinking that maybe I could sneak you over with Anne here.” Christian pulled out a condom and closed the drawer.

Cedric squirmed underneath Christian. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Christian laughed as he opened up the small package. “You’re too goddamn polite.”

“My apologies.” Cedric grinned.

Christian shook his head with a snort. “I assumed you’d had a blow job before, but since you haven’t, I feel I ought to ask: have you ever put a condom on before?”

“Er — no, can’t say I have.”

“Merlin, don’t they give ‘Puffs the talk?”

“Oh, shut up, like you had McGonagall brief you on the finer points of intercourse.”

“No, thank goodness. Could you imagine?”

“Please — you only just got me hard. Don’t ask me to imagine McGonagall right now.”

Christian laughed and unrolled the condom over Cedric’s cock with a few well-practiced hand thrusts.

“Is it supposed to be that tight?” Cedric asked.

“Don’t give me that hippogriff shit.”

Cedric grinned, then winced as Christian pinched the inside of his thigh. And then all pain was forgotten as Christian licked the length of Cedric’s cock, from base to tip. It felt different than the hand, and he knew that barrier made by the condom reduced some of the sensitivity, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Then Christian put his mouth around Cedric’s cock, and the drag of his tongue and his cheeks had Cedric’s back arching. Cedric quickly put his wrist into his mouth to stifle the moan that forced its way out of his chest. His lungs were no longer working properly, or maybe he had forgotten how to breathe. Cedric had never let anyone see him this way. He had never let anyone else see him this vulnerable.

The reason he’d been the one to go down on Summerby and Cho was because Cedric was, on one hand, a giver. He gave to his partners and did not like to ask anything of them. On the other hand, Cedric did not often allow people this close. He and Christian were too similar in both those aspects. They did not like to ask of others. They did not like to let other people see them weak.

Not that Cedric felt weak, exactly, as Christian’s head bobbed over his cock. But he found himself unable to hold onto his own thoughts. He was unable to hold back whines and whimpers, and did not have the will to do much other than bite down on his wrist and let Christian work him through an orgasm. It was a hard place for someone who had spent the past year on alert for an attack.

And then, with a half-strangled moan, Cedric came. Christian hummed appreciatively, and fumbled through their clothes on the floor for his wand. He used it to safely Vanish the used condom and the mess, then curled himself next to Cedric.

“How was it?” he asked, his impish grin still plastered on his face.

“Fantastic,” Cedric breathed. “Thank you. And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You said I’m not leaving until you’re satisfied.”

“Ah, I think I got what I came for. You’ve got to get to work. Don’t let me keep you.”

“Work can wait.” Cedric kissed Christian, and could feel Christian’s disinterest. They’d exchanged enough passionate kisses that Cedric knew when the passion was missing.

“Why won’t you let me return your favor?”

“I said the pants stay on,” Christian grunted.

“That’s alright. I’ve probably got more experience with pants on than off.”

Christian rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not. I mean it.”

Christian sat up and ran his hands through his hair. “Why do you have to be so good all the time, Cedric?”

Cedric sat up and pressed his lips against Christian’s shoulder in a gentle kiss. “The same reason you do. Please don’t make me leave without leaving you with something to remember me by.”

It was stupid, and cheesy, and deserved the derisive snort Christian gave it. Still, Cedric ran his hands over Christian’s hips. He did not take them any lower; he waited for permission.

“You’ve done this part before?” Christian asked.

“With hand and mouth. Which do you prefer?” Cedric rested his chin on Christian’s shoulder and watched Christian close his eyes. He seemed to be steeling himself.

Then Christian put his hand on Cedric’s, and guided him down, to Christian’s pants. He did not guide Cedric’s hand beneath the waistband, however, and Cedric did not press him to. Instead, he kissed Christian’s neck as a show of gratitude, then rubbed his hand over the front of Christian’s pants.

Cedric, for his lack of experience with himself, knew this part well. There wasn’t a terrible amount of technique in jerking off someone who was already rutting into his hand, but he gave it his best effort. He pressed with two fingers and pulled them back and forth, lazily at first, then increasing his speed. When Christian started to buck his hips, Cedric used his other hand to hold Christian still.

“Let me do this,” he murmured into Christian’s neck, and with a reluctant moan, Christian stilled and tipped his head back against Cedric’s shoulder.

Cedric rubbed Christian’s soaked pants through a full orgasm — Christian went stiff as a board for a moment, lungs and all, then let out a shuddering breath — and Cedric kept going. Christian let him for a moment, then moaned when Cedric still did not let up.

“Ced — come on —”

Cedric kissed his neck again, but did not stop until Christian shuddered and grabbed his wrist.

“Enough, please,” Christian begged, grabbing Cedric’s wrists. “You’re just being unfair now.”

Cedric buried his smile in crook of Christian’s neck. “Thank you for this surprise today,” he said. “It really was nice.”

“Next time my sister’s out, I’m stealing you away, Williamson or no.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t mind.”

Cedric closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of rest as Christian ran his thumb over the back of Cedric’s hand. He wondered vaguely what time it was, and how long he had until he needed to be at the Ministry, but that seemed like a distant worry. The thing he cared about most was right here, curled up in his arms. He didn’t even realize Christian was rubbing the white scars on the back of his hand until Christian stopped.

“Are these runes?” Christian asked.

Cedric’s heart skipped a beat. “Are what runes?” he asked, hoping Christian might be talking about something else entirely.

“These scars on your hand. They look like… letters maybe? I can’t make it out.”

“It’s nothing.” Cedric pulled his hands out of Christian’s grip and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I should probably go.”

“Ced — wait.”

Cedric did not wait. He reached for his pants and trousers.

“Don’t do this — you always do this,” Christian reached for Cedric’s arm.

Cedric did pause for that. “What do you mean I always do this? This was our first time —”

“We’re having a great moment, and then you get all irritable for no reason —”

“No reason? What are you —”

“Remember our last date? End of January, I said, ‘The Ministry’s considering allowing us to use Unforgivables to help catch Death Eaters’ and you just up and left, muttering something about work. And then there was the time on Christmas Eve, when you didn’t like that I said something about a crackdown on Dark creatures, so you just made some excuse about going to your Mum and left. And now this, because I asked about some runes on your hand. I’m an expert at diversion, too. So stop giving me this hippogriff shit and ruining what should’ve been a good time. If you can't talk about something you have to at least tell me that.”

Cedric let his pants fall back to the floor and buried his face into his hands. His heart was racing against his chest, pounding so hard against his ribs he thought it might burst out of him. He wondered how Christian couldn’t hear it.

He wanted to tell Christian everything, but everything was wrapped up in too many secrets that were not his to tell. He also thought that leaving now was a softer way of ruining their good time than if he actually did take the time to be honest about all of this with Christian.

“A question for a question,” Cedric finally grunted. “What’s your first question?”

Christian did not hesitate. “What are those marks on the back of your hand?”

Cedric wished Christian had given the question a bit more consideration, but he was grateful that Christian had chosen the easiest of the three issues that had been brought up. Perhaps not the easiest for Cedric to think about, but it was the one issue not wrapped up in the secrets of others.

“They’re from Umbridge,” Cedric said into his hands. “She gave me detention for my interview with Rita Skeeter, for telling people that Voldemort had returned. Detention with her was lines, except the lines get writ into the back of your hand. It used to say ‘I must not tell lies,’ but it’s faded a bit. Harry’s is still legible.”

“Umbridge? No way. She’s all pink and bubbly. I don’t care for the woman, but I can’t picture her doing something like that to students.”

Cedric was suddenly overcome with a wave of exhaustion. He wasn’t even angry with Christian for not understanding; he had expected it. Instead, he was simply tired from taking the risk of jumping only to find there was no net to catch him. This is why he didn't jump very often. He reached for his trousers.

“You’re not going to ask me a question?”

“I’ll save it for next time.”

“That wasn’t the point of this. The point was to keep you from storming off.”

“I’m not storming off, Christian. I’m not even upset.” Cedric pulled on his trousers and fastened the belt buckle.

“Yes, you are. I get like this when I’m upset with Anne, so I know you’re upset with me. What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Cedric said, because it was the honest truth. Christian had done nothing. He had not even made an attempt to understand why the scars bothered Cedric. He was clever as they came, but stubborn as a mule.

“Don't do this.”

“What do you want?” Cedric sighed. “I let you ask a question, and you didn't like the answer. I can't give you any more than that.”

“Who said I didn't like the answer?”

“You did when you said you didn't believe me.”

“I just said it's hard to imagine. You're twisting my words.”

Cedric pulled on his jumper, wishing for all the world there was a spell to make Christian understand. There was no way to explain what it was like to have a teacher, someone who was supposed to be trustworthy, hurt you, knowing you were powerless to stop her.

“Then I've no reason to be upset.” Cedric sat down on the edge of the bed to pull his shoes and socks back on, but he knew it was a mistake as soon as he touched the mattress.

Christian wrapped his arms around Cedric’s chest and leaned against him. “You've got hours yet. Ask me a question.”

Cedric considered fighting his way out of Christian’s hold, but he knew that would only make this worse. He also considered asking the most pointed, barbed question he could think of, but that would not help, either. He settled on something he’d been wondering for a while, but had never thought it appropriate to ask. That was the spirit of the game after all, wasn’t it?

He did not lift his head or lean back against Christian, but he asked, “When did you know you wanted to be Christian?”

“What, my name? Or the whole thing?”

“The… whole thing I guess?”

Christian hummed, which Cedric took as a good sign. He was considering the question readily; it wasn’t a topic Christian wanted to avoid. Maybe they could get this over with easily and move on, and Cedric would go to the Potters and pretend it was fine, and if he was lucky, James and Lily wouldn’t say anything about how distracted he was as he turned this conversation over and over again, looking for ways it could have gone better.

“I always felt different from my sister, but it wasn’t until I was fifteen that I started being uncomfortable with even the idea of being a girl. I don’t really know when I knew, but I just knew it didn’t feel right. Kind of like robes that just didn’t fit. Not too big or too small, y’know, just too tight across the chest and sleeves too long…. I liked parts of myself, but I really hated others. That year, I bought myself a bunch of trousers over the Christmas holiday. I didn’t tell my parents what I’d done, but they got the letters when we went back to school about dress code violations. That summer I tried to do it myself, but — well, you saw the mess I made. Anne’s the one who told Mum and Dad what I was up to. Mum was kind of excited. We didn’t have a lot of money, but she helped me donate all the robes I didn’t like and buy replacements that I did. We had a meeting with Dumbledore about it and Merlin, he didn’t give two Murtlaps’ asses one way or another. Shortest meeting I’d ever sat in with a Professor. Mum and Dad said they wanted to make sure everything went smoothly, and that none of the other students would give me trouble, and Dumbledore said he agreed, suggested I keep my dorm if I was happy there, and said he would let the staff know, and if anyone gave me trouble I was to go straight to him or McGonagall and that was the end of the meeting. I’ve never looked back.”

“How did you pick the name Christian? Did you just like it?”

Christian laughed. “No, sorry, it’s my turn to ask a question.”

Cedric considered leaving. He was dressed. All he had to do was get out of Christian’s hold and get his coat. The game was even, so Christian couldn’t complain.

But before Cedric was quite committed to leaving, Christian asked, “Is Umbridge why you hate the Ministry so much?”

And Cedric couldn’t leave after that question. Because he’d never told Christian he hated the Ministry, not in such certain terms, but it was the closest he was going to get to Christian understanding him without having to share the Order’s secrets or Harry’s.

“When did I say I hated the Ministry?”

“You never had to. You know I’ve got my own irritations with them, but I know you hate them more than I do.”

“It’s not that I hate the Ministry —”

“Just Umbridge? And Scrimgeour? And Williamson?”

“I don’t hate Williamson; he’s a good mentor.”

“But?”

“I just don’t trust the Ministry the way you do, that’s all. You and I feel the same about Scrimgeour. We respect him for his accomplishments, but don’t like the way he promotes people and is so focused on an image of power, regardless of the real thing. And I get that looking strong is an important part of building morale, but you and I both know it’s not enough.”

“And I get that you hate Umbridge for being a terrible professor,” Christian said, which sent another wave of exhaustion crashing down on Cedric because it did not come close to how he felt about Umbridge, and he didn’t know why Christian couldn’t see that. “But what does all of it have to do with the Ministry?”

“That sounds like another question,” Cedric said.

“I think it’s closely related to why you don’t trust the Ministry.”

“So was how you chose your name to my question.”

Christian was incredibly stubborn, and not to be deterred. “Alright, then. Mum and Dad went through the family tree with me, and I liked my great-grandfather’s name. So what do your feelings about Umbridge have to do with the Ministry as a whole?”

“Do we have to do this?” Cedric asked.

It was like those words were the magic spell Christian had been waiting for. He released the grip he had on Cedric’s waist and leaned back against the wall. “Okay. Fine.”

And Cedric knew that “fine” was not fine at all, as well as he knew that he was truly upset, even though he said he wasn’t.

Cedric searched for the counter curse, the words that would undo whatever had suddenly wedged itself between him and Christian. He tried the ones he was familiar with first.

“I’m sorry.”

But Christian had his own counter curses ready. “What for?”

“For… being like this. For being so tired all the time.”

“I can’t be upset with you for being tired.”

“But you are.”

“No, I’m upset because you won’t talk to me.”

Cedric ran his hands through his hair and debated between explaining himself — which might put the Order at risk — and just leaving, and trying to make up with Christian another time. He settled on the more difficult path.

“Do you remember when we met, and you tried to explain about how Weasley had called you by a different name, and I told you that you didn’t have to explain anything you didn’t want to?”

“Of course I remember. That was when I fell in love with you.”

Cedric’s heart stopped. Christian had said it so casually — they hadn’t said they loved each other, not yet, and he was caught off guard. He forgot where his explanation had even been going. His lips felt numb, but he managed to say, “That’s sort of how it is between me and the Ministry. I can’t really explain it, or I don’t know if I can — at least, I’m not ready to try.”

“If we’d just met,” said Christian, “if I was just some attractive guy you’d run into on the lift, that would be fine. I get it. But we’ve been going out for six months now, and sometimes I feel like I don’t know anything about you. Anne asked me the other day what your favorite wine was. I realized I don’t even know if you drink. And if you do, I don’t know what you drink. I don’t even know your middle name. But I know I love you. And I know I’m pushy and stubborn and one-track minded. So if you need to go, go. I’ll cool off and we’ll pick this up in a month like nothing ever happened.”

Cedric reached for his socks. He did not truly want to go, but he didn’t know how to explain that he couldn’t explain it. Not yet.

He replayed the conversation, tried to pick the moment where everything had deflated, where the world had lost some of its color. It wasn’t hard to find.

No way. I can’t picture it.

Cedric was not sure what he wanted from Christian — understanding, perhaps, but the only person who could truly understand was Harry. Then Cedric, in his rapid replay, recalled what he had said when Christian had, in a stilted voice, shared about his scars.

I can’t imagine trying something like this.

Cedric froze, hands gripping the knit wool as tightly as he might grip his wand when cornered by a Death Eater. He did not understand Christian any better than Christian understood him. His mind raced, hurtling down familiar tracks of doubt and disappointment. Maybe it wasn’t worth it to keep trying at this. Maybe it was all hopeless. What was the point in seeking understanding from each other when they weren’t going to find it?

“I almost died,” Christian said quietly.

Cedric snapped back into the bedroom and abandoned his socks. He frowned, trying to recall a duel or attack from Death Eaters. “What happened — When was this?”

“When I was sixteen. That summer. Anne and I got in a fight. We’d never fought before — not really. And I just… I hated everything. I was done, and I thought if I was going to go out, I wanted to go out as much like myself as I could.”

Cedric turned around, but Christian had his eyes closed, head tipped back against the wall.

“I didn’t ask for help because I didn’t know how. I’m still…” Christian pressed his thumb into his palm, as if he could massage out this conversation. “I’m sorry. I’ve never told anyone about that. Not even Anne. She probably knows anyway, but we never…” He licked his lips and took in a slow breath. “I know you don’t understand. I know you won’t, but I —”

“No,” Cedric said softly. He lifted his hand, reaching — and hesitated. He wasn’t sure what sort of comfort Christian wanted right now, why Christian was sharing this after he had told Cedric to leave. But he did understand, better than Christian knew. He rested his hand on Christian’s leg. Christian flinched, but it was brief.

“I almost had my Prefect badge stripped,” Cedric said. “Not because of Umbridge, but because I neglected my duties. I stopped going to classes. I quit Quidditch. After facing Voldemort in the graveyard, I thought —” Cedric stopped, knowing he could not share any of Harry’s secrets. It was hard enough to make this work when he and Christian alike struggled with facing their own darkness, and it was harder when so much of Cedric’s story intertwined with Harry’s. But Christian had seen the graveyard, too. He had gone with Cedric to look, to check that it was truly the place Voldemort’s father had come from. He had seen Cedric in that place, and perhaps that moment was the reason they had ended up here, in Christian’s room, half-dressed and secrets half-spilled.

“I know what it feels like,” Cedric finally said, “to think there’s no future, none worth living through.”

Christian opened his eyes. There was no mischief in them, none of the joy nor danger that made Cedric’s heart skip, but something in Cedric’s heart reacted just the same, like something between him and Christian was suddenly pulled taut.

“I’m sorry,” Christian said. “I don’t know why I said all of that.”

“Maybe you didn’t really want me to go.”

“Maybe I wanted to push you away.”

Cedric considered the dullness in those eyes that were usually so vibrant, and wondered if this was what it was to be in love, to care and feel, even when the things that had drawn Cedric to Christian were so far gone. Christian had said I know I love you so casually, so confidently just a minute ago.

He had known the moment Cedric had given him space, and now Cedric knew, the moment Christian refused to give him that same space, the moment Christian persisted past his own level of comfort.

Cedric pushed himself back on the bed, until he was against the wall, beside Christian. He waited until Christian reached out, intertwining their fingers on the worn, sun-faded comforter. Christian’s thumb rubbed against the scars on the back of Cedric’s hand.

I must not tell lies.

“Christian?”

“Hm.”

“I… I love you, too.”

It was cold in the small flat, but a warm, dark blush spread from Christian’s check and up his neck, and even Cedric burned with warmth, embarrassment, and excitement. He leaned against Christian, turned his head, and Cedric kissed him. It was gentler than any kiss they had ever exchanged. It was soft, hesitant, nothing like Cedric knew Christian to be. But it was warm and comforting, and, for a moment, both boys forgot about their scars.

#cedric diggory #hp everyone lives au #hp fic

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