#window stand straight up and stock still just absolutely staring out the window

[ghostsinthecellar]

just saw my first real live not-in-a-zoo bear which was very exciting but what wasn't exciting it I saw him in my driveway stealing a snack from the bags of trash our neighbor has been piling up in a trailer

[lilacsnid]

『✔』 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲: — 𝒏𝒆𝒘𝒕 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

In which way you are always putting others needs and happiness before you’re own. It’s slowly starting to take it’s toll on you & Newt notices this.

A/N: ask permission to use or re-post my work, please do not steal or plagiarize my writing x

©lilacsnid

— “HEY, there you are,” You hear a voice softly call behind you that you instantaneously recognized as Newt’s, “I was looking for you.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you find him standing inside the doorway, a jar of Gally’s moonshine in his hand. You force a quick smile before turning back around to face the cabinet, “Here I am.”

“Thought you might’ve been hanging out with Minho or Chuck,” Newt spoke as he started walking over to you, not stopping until he was standing right beside you.

He leaned against the wooden counter top, his back resting against the shelf as his body faced the opposite direction as yours. You could almost feel the heat radiating off his body, making you want to curl up in his arms, but you couldn’t. Shouldn’t, you thought; correcting yourself.

You simply shrug your shoulders in response, trying your best to ignore the painful throbbing in your temples as a result from the lack of sleep.

Newt knew straight away that something was wrong. Not only could he tell by how blunt you were being, but he also knew by observing the way you worked in The Glade. Always offering others your support on top of the medical assistance. You’d skip meals and he’d usually find you working late into the hours of the night in the Med-Jack hut to stay back with injured gladers, as well as stocking supplies. You were known to your fellow gladers as a good listener, always willing to try and brighten someone’s day whenever they were feeling down.

You had been doing it for so long, letting others rely on you, that you had forgotten to take care of yourself. Newt noticed this above all else. But he also knew that you cared deeply for all those around you, and would stop at nothing to put their needs before your own.

The sleep deprivation was slowly starting to make you irritable and lose focus. It wasn’t healthy.

You could feel his gaze on you, watching you as you rolled up bandages.

He looked down at your hands, spontaneously mustering up the courage to take your hand in one of his own. The sudden action made you gasp slightly and you were quick to stop what you were doing. The first thought that popped into Newt’s head was how cold your hand was against his.

He furrowed his eyebrows before speaking, “You don’t seem yourself. Talk to me, please?”

You found it difficult to respond to him as you felt his thumb start to rub small circles into the back of your palm, your voice getting caught in the back of your throat. You opened your mouth to talk several times, but nothing came out. For the first time tonight, you met his gentle brown eyes. The light from the bonfire outside dimly lit the hut into a deep yellow luminosity, making his pale skin look toned like honey, as well as his gorgeous blonde locks.  

A few short moments was all it took for the tears to start welling up in your eyes, and after blinking a couple times in attempt to stifle them, they started to stream down your rosy cheeks. Newt’s facial expression softened even more at the very sight. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly as he watched you, his hand still holding your own. He set his half-empty jar of alcohol down, leaning off the counter to take a step closer to you.

“Love,” he cooed, his other hand reaching up to rest on your shoulder, “What’s the matter?”

He felt stupid for asking such a question when he already knew the answer. But he was curious about what you might say in response. Now, more than ever, he could tell how hard you were struggling to keep your puffy eyes open as the tears kept coming.

A defeated sigh left your lips, as you stared at the ground while taking your hand out of his grasp to assist the other in rubbing over your eyes with your knuckles, “I’m just so tired.”

That was all Newt needed to hear before he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he cradled your body with the upmost care. You leaned up to brush your cheek against his before letting your body collapse into him, not really noticing how weak you were until now. You couldn’t contain the chocked sobs that started to overwhelm you. It broke Newt’s heart seeing you in such a state.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his lanky figure, absolutely loving the way he rubbed soothing circles into your back and the way he rested his head of top of yours as he rocked the two of you from side to side slowly. The warmth of his body enveloped you; he felt like home. 

“I know baby, I know,” Newt spoke in a hushed tone, trying to calm you down. However, he couldn’t help but freeze momentarily at the choice of pet name that had just slipped from his lips.

He pulled his head away, glancing down at you, instantly meeting your surprised glance, eyes still filled with tears.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t- I don’t know where that came from,” he stuttered helplessly, as he felt his cheeks heat up quickly in embarrassment, “It was uh, the first thing that popped into my head, I’m sorry I won’t-”

He stopped speaking as you started to shake your head in disagreement. You buried your head back into his chest, finding his scent addictive.

“I liked it,” You replied quietly, pursuing to grasp onto him tighter.

Newt breathed a sigh of relief in one short puff, placing his head back on top of yours. He couldn’t stop thinking about how cute you were; cuddled up into his chest, all shy and timid. 

He swayed the two of you from side to side once more, placing a kiss to the crown of your head, “Why don’t I take you to bed, yeah? You a need a break, you really need some sleep.”

He tilts his head back down to meet your gaze, before continuing, “Does that sound okay to you?”

You nod meekly against his chest and let your eyes flutter shut as you struggle to keep them open. You were grateful that Newt had found you when he did. He was the one you trusted the most to see you in your most vulnerable state.

                      ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Newt didn’t need to ask anymore questions. He picked up your frail body, making his way over to the Homestead.

He carefully walked up the stairs, and down to the end of the corridor to his room. Kicking the door open with his foot, he shuffled over to his bed, placing you down onto the sheets, being cautious not to trip. He retreated to go over and close his door, also walking over to the other side of the room to close the window. 

It was one of the colder nights in The Glade. You tried to hide the goosebumps starting to rise on your skin, but Newt had already seen them. You’re breath hitched as you watched him yank off his jumper, to which he proceeded to bend down in front of you and offer it to you. However, you shook your head at the sight of the newly exposed skin on his arms, “You’ll be cold.”

He placed the jumper in your lap, “I’ll be alright, anyway, looks like you need it more than me right now.”

You continued to eye the jumper, feeling slightly guilty. Newt rose to his feet, brushing off his pants and staring down at you with a smile.

“Y/N,” He laughed, lightly tapping you on the shoulder, “Come on, just put the bloody jumper on.”

Soon following his request, you tugged the white jumper over your body, fitting your arms through the sleeves. His smell that had grown accustomed to you filled your nostrils instantly. That musky boy smell, as well as grass and the scent of his deodorant.  

“Thank you,” You whispered, no longer trying to hide the fact that you were staring at him as he grabbed two more blankets from his small wooden dresser. 

He met your gaze once he turned back around. You noticed how his mouth fell agape as his eyes dragged over your figure, hunched over on the side of his bed. 

“It’s no problem,” He grinned before continuing, “It suits you more than it suits me.”

You returned the smile, breaking your gaze to take off your combat boots. As you bent down, you felt the same throbbing pain return in both of your temples. You squeezed your eyes shut for a mere second, trying your very best to ignore it. You grumbled in annoyance as your fingers worked to try and get your shoe laces untied. 

“Argh, for shuck sake!” You cursed, slamming you feet against the floor. You probably looked like a child throwing a tantrum, but at this point you couldn’t care less. You were exhausted and every muscle in your body was aching. The tears started streaming down your cheeks once again, making you even more irritated than what you already were. You weren’t usually like this, and everyone knew it. 

Newt crouched down at your feet, his hands going to the back of your calves, halting your movements completely, “Hey, darling. C’mon, stop.”

You hid you head in your hands, harsh sobs escaping your lips as Newt began to untie your laces and remove your boots in a gentle manner. Once he was done, he set your shoes down on the ground, placing a hand on one of your arms in order to comfort you from where he was still crouching down.  

His calm demeanor brought you back down to earth. There was something about him that made you feel warm inside. Something that drew you to him. 

“Time for bed I think,” Newt said wholeheartedly, gesturing you to lay down on the bed. 

                       ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You had passed out as soon as your head hit the pillow. You were unsure of how long exactly you had been asleep. 

Waking up unexpectedly during the middle of the night, you noticed the drop in temperature around you. Goosebumps littered your skin, and you felt yourself shivering. You turned over, in search for Newt. Butterflies erupted in your stomach when you found him laying next to you on his back. His half of the blankets that the two of you were sharing were pulled up to his chest. His head faced you, his eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell with each steady breath he took in. One of his arms was also folded behind his head as he rested. You noticed that Newt now wore another jumper, it was dark blue. His eyelashes brushed the tops of his cheeks. A smile made it’s way across your lips at the sight of the blonde. 

You didn’t want to wake him from his peaceful slumber, so instead you turned back over, facing away from him. Your arms reached to pull the blankets further up your torso and you clutched onto Newt’s jumper that you still wore. 

Absentmindedly, you leaned back further into Newt, your body craving the warmth of his own.  

To your despise, your teeth began chattering. You shook head as a way of trying to stifle it but it was no use. You pulled the blankets up to your chin and closed your eyes once more. Barely a few seconds later, you felt the bed shift beside you as Newt sat up on his elbows, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. 

He stared over at you quizzically, “Are you alright, love?”

You sighed, feeling guilty for potentially waking him from his slumber, “Yeah, I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”

“No your not,” Newt hovered behind you, his eyes scanning over your body, “I can feel you shaking.”

“I didn’t want to wake you, I’m sorry,” You whispered, teeth still chattering between breaths. 

Newt laughed softly, “Don’t be silly, come ‘ere.”

Before you could say anything else, Newt had shuffled closer towards you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he situated himself behind you. You couldn’t help but repeat your previous action, leaning back into his touch. His breath fanned over the back of your neck, sending tingles down your spine. 

“You’re so warm,” You mumbled happily, reaching down and grabbing his hand. You laced your fingers with his, clutching your intertwined hands to your chest.  

Newt grinned in response, his body relaxing into yours.

“Just rest baby,” You felt him nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck, his plump lips placing a kiss to your skin, “I’ve got you.”

You bit your lip in surprise, a sudden feeling of urgency rushing over you as your heart thumped against your chest. You were almost certain the Newt could hear the sound of it. 

Turning your head slightly, you looked at Newt from the corner of your eye. Just then did you realise how close the two of you really were. 

“Could you call me that again?” You whispered, clutching his hand closer to your chest and over your heart, loving the feeling of his arm wrapped around you, keeping you safe. 

You could almost feel Newt smirking against your neck. He lifted himself up, using the arm that was wrapped around you to turn you over in one swift motion. You were now laying flat on your back with Newt hovering above you. 

He dragged his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to contain a smile as his eyes wandered across your face. His warm hand that was situated at your side made it’s way underneath your shirt and jumper you were wearing to start tracing patterns into the skin of your hip. 

He took a deep breath in, leaning in closer to brush the tip of his nose against the bridge of yours before whispering, “Baby.”

Then he closed the gap between the two of you, pressing his lips against yours, to which you eagerly accepted. He worked his lips slowly against your own, finding a slow and sensual rhythm between the two of you as he pulled you closer, still tracing patterns into your warm skin that was once cold, but no longer.   

You reached up, running your hand through the sandy blonde hair on the nape of his neck, kissing back with just as much passion. 

[jamiethetrans]

Tell Me Your Story - Ch 7

Alcina Dimitrescu x Gender Neutral Reader

AN: Hey everyone. Thank you for the love. I greatly appreciate it. Thank you for refollowing the other blog and continuing on reading my stories. Means a lot to me! Lots of more to come!

- Jamie

You swallowed hard as you saw the church in your view and turned to Alcina who was already looking at you. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?”, she said and you nodded looking into her eyes. Sure it was beautiful, but you weren’t thinking about the church.

“You remember what I told you?”, she asked and you nodded. She gave you a look and you swallowed hard.

“Don’t talk unless spoken to and respect the others, but only take orders from you. Keep a low profile basically”

Alcina nodded in satisfaction.

The carriage stopped and you stepped out of it while Alcina talked to the Duke who drove. You looked at the church in curiosity as you walked around the carriage and opened the door for Alcina without much of a thought and the woman frowned for a moment before smiling, getting out.

“Thank you dear”

You closed the door and followed Alcina towards the entrance. She walked in front of you and you looked around as you walked inside a big hall with chairs and a bench, looking at the architecture on the walls, even some on the floor.

“It’s beautiful”, you whispered and Alcina smiled at you, about to answer when a voice beat her to it.

“Thank you, I get that pretty often”

You both turned to the source and Alcina hardened her eyes. You noticed and immediately knew she was a complete different person around the other lords.

“They were talking about the church you imbecile”, she said, but the man on the bench ignored her completely.

“So you’re the new one my sister has taken such a liking to”

He bend forward to get a better look at you and you felt yourself standing straight. “You must be Heisenberg”, you said and the man eyed you for a moment before laughing out.

“So my sister has talked about me”

You stood still and watched Alcina as she rolled her eyes and Heisenberg smiled at you. “Who’s this ugly thing?”, a tiny screechy voice said and you frowned and turned around only to see nothing.

“Hey dumb shit, down here”

You looked down at your feet and saw a doll standing staring up at you. “You’re even uglier up close”

You would have been offended if it weren’t a doll and you turned to Alcina who stared at the doll. “Where’s Donna Angie?”, she asked and the doll turned to her.

“She’s on her way. She needed to talk to Mother Miranda in private”

You froze turning slowly to the doll, said doll turning slowly to you and your eyes met. You swallowed hard and turned back to Alcina. “She-She… she can talk… without a hand up her butt…”, you said and Alcina chuckled.

“She can”

“Uhm excuse me ugly, I don’t know how much you need to have a hand stocked up your ass before you can go through the day, but I am being just fine without one”, Angie said and that made both Alcina and Heisenberg chuckle while you frowned at her.

“Hello everyone”, another voice said and you all turned to see a man with a big hunched back, carrying plenty of boxes. You noticed he was almost jiggling at this point and none of the others seemed to even consider helping him.

“Salvatore. I see you’ve been busy”, Heisenberg said and the man, if you could even call him that, tried to turn and meet his eyes but suddenly stumbled and you quickly ran over to him, catching him just before he fell.

“Oh thank you, uh…”, the fish-man said and met your eyes as you helped putting down the boxes.

“Y/N”, you told him your name and the man smiled.

“Ah, Mother Miranda did say a guest would be joining us today. Thank you for helping me”

“Sure thing”, you said and walked back to Alcina who gave you the hardest look. Talk about low profile. You walked over and stood next to her which she gave you a single nod for before bringing her hand to the back of your head, stroking you softly.

“Look who’s being mommy’s pet”, Heisenberg said and you swallowed hard making the man chuckle. Moreau walked over and sat down next to him while Angie the doll walked over to the chair by the alter.

Alcina brought her hand down to your back and led you towards a large chair. She sat down and let you stand next to her.

A few seconds later two people walked in and one of them sat on the chair where the doll sat and brought it to its lap. You suspected that must be Donna.

“I see our new guest has arrived”, the other one said and you could instantly hear the power in the woman’s words. Obviously top of the chain.

“Yes Mother Miranda, as you asked for”

You looked up at Alcina who had the proudest smile on her face. She wanted to show Mother Miranda worthy of her position. And that included having the control of her pet.

“And who are they exactly?”, Mother Miranda asked coming closer to you and you swallowed hard, feeling your heart beat faster. The woman was intimidating.

“My pet mother Miranda”, Alcina answered as the other woman now stood directly in front of you. She gave Alcina a look before turning to you fully.

She grabbed your chin with her fingers and you could feel the sharpness of her bird claw rings on her fingers, digging into your skin beneath your chin. She moved your face around, looking you over and let out a hum.

“Definitely a fine being. Human I presume”

“Yes mother Miranda”

The woman nodded and leaned in closer to your face, the nose from her mask, touching your own. You looked into her eyes and it was like the woman was reading you. Taking every information in that she could without using words.

“Divine human you’ve found Alcina. Absolutely divine”

She moved her face even closer to you and you could now feel her breath against your lips. Desperately, you stood and hoped Alcina would stop the woman before she made any further move. And luckily luck was on your side.

“Yes. And not to mention, my human”

Mother Miranda froze for a moment, a soft smirk showing on her face before pulling back. She turned to Alcina and gave a nod.

“You’ve taught them well Alcina. Don’t make me question that judgement. Or you will be forced to see how it truly is to share”

You actually gulped once the sentence was heard and Alcina let her hand cup the back of your head as she gave Mother Miranda a firm ‘yes mother Miranda’

The meeting continued on like usual and Alcina’s hand never left your hair, stroking it softly. It was then you noticed the lycans. Their yellow eyes as they creeped in the dark corners.

They looked hungry and you gulped at the thought of them attacking you. You moved yourself closer to Alcina’s chair and the woman immediately noticed looking down at you.

She watched you squirm and turned to the lycans who were slowly stepping towards you. “Control your beasts Heisenberg”, she said in anger and the lycans instantly froze before turning to their master.

Heisenberg looked at Alcina for a moment, before turning to you who stood with frightens in your eyes. “Ay!”, he called out and they all cowered away.

You felt a hand on the small of your back and let out a sigh of relief at the touch of Alcina.

“Are we quite done scolding our animals?”, mother Miranda asked and you all turned to her.

“Yes mother Miranda. My apologies”, Heisenberg said before turning to Alcina who gave him a hard look back.

The rest of the meeting went quick and before you knew it, Alcina stood from her seat. “Alcina darling, a moment alone please”, mother Miranda requested and you felt yourself freeze. Alcina could see the fear in your eyes and leaned down.

“Just stay here. I’ll be back shortly”

You nodded and watched her walk after mother Miranda into a small room. You swallowed hard before taking a deep breath, forcing yourself to relax.

“Alright Y/N. Only a few minutes and Alcina will be back. Nothing to worry about”, you whispered to yourself.

“Hey uh… Y/N?”

You turned your head and met Moreau’s eyes as he walked over to you. “Yeah?”

“Do you uh… do you like fishing?”

You stood staring blankly back at him, unsure what was happening. You haven’t thought about fishing in a long time.

“Yeah. Yeah I love fishing. I used to fish with my dad when I was a kid”, you said and widened your eyes and smacked your hand over your mouth. You weren’t supposed to reveal stuff like that. But the man didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Great! Do you want to come fishing with me sometime? None of the others want to fish with me”, he said and you felt your heart break, slowly removing your hand from your mouth.

“I would love to”

“Amazing! But maybe ask Alci first. I don’t want to take her pet without permission. I don’t want her to hurt me”, he said and you could see the genuine fear in his eyes. You smiled and clapped his shoulder.

“I’m sure she will let me go, don’t worry about it”

*

“Absolutely not”, Alcina said as she looked out of the window in the carriage.

“Why not? None of you go fishing with him. Why can’t I do it?”

“I don’t want you near him Y/N. His whole place is nothing but virus and acid”, she argued turning to you meeting your eyes.

“So what?! He needs someone to talk to. And I haven’t been fishing since my parents died”

You both sat looking at each other with angry eyes, Alcina refusing to give you permission and you refusing to give in and let her control you.

“You’re not going. End of discussion”

You groaned and turned to the duke. “Stop the carriage”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m walking. I need the fresh air”, you said and got out of the carriage. You smacked the door hard before walking towards the castle. Alcina sighed and punched the brick of her nose before turning to the Duke who gave her a certain look back. She groaned and got out of the carriage, walking after you.

“Y/N it’s the middle of the night, come back to the carriage so we can go home”

“I’m already on my way home”

You knew you were being a brat. But you were done with being treated like one as well. Alcina sighed walked faster, instantly reaching you and she took a hold of you, carrying up towards her. You moved in her arms, desperately trying to get out of her arms.

“No! Let go of me!”

She pulled you close and hugged you tight making you instantly stop moving. You were completely still for a moment before laying your head on her shoulder, her jaw meeting the back of your head. You stood in silence for a while, listening to the birds quipping into the night air, the sound of her breathing just reaching your ears. So soft yet so subtle.

“I do not wish to fight you darling”, she whispered and you nodded in understanding. “I haven’t known you long, but I care for you deeply my human. Losing you would be devastating to me”

You listened to her speech and noticed she was walking back to the carriage. She got in and you sat on her lap as the carriage started moving once again. You rode for a few minutes in silence and Alcina felt her heart break. She didn’t want to make you sad at all. She just wanted to make sure you were safe.

“My dad taught me how to fish”, you suddenly said and Alcina listened carefully. “He told me it’s the most patient hoppy. You can sit for hours without catching anything, and it makes most people quit after only an hour if not less”

Alcina sighed looking up. God she knew she was gonna regret this. “So this… hoppy. It’s important to you”, she said and you nodded your head as you turned your head and your forehead replaced your head and met her jaw. You closed your eyes and inhaled her scent. God how you loved her scent. Everything about her was just perfect.

“Then I suppose go fishing with Moreau won’t hurt”, she said and you nodding with a small smile on your face.

“Thank you”, you whispered and moved yourself closer to her. The rest of the way was ridden in silence and by the end of the trip, Alcina noticed you had fallen asleep, your cheek pressed softly against her heart.

[girlwiththenegantattoo]

Here it is guys! I'm WAY too worried to post this on AO3 so ill just leave it here. I'm absolutely atrocious at writing ending so if its too abrupt that's why.

When his nostrils flared, she knew that her chances of having a quiet night was nonexistence. Although her definition of quiet consisted of being tucked into the corner of a room while John occasionally cast judgmental glances her way, becoming frustrated that he was getting distracted from looking at his laptop for lord knows what, it was still quiet. But that’s why she chose to stay here. She told herself that she was here to keep Johns full attention. Not because his words, spoken so deep and vicious, made her hair stand on end. Not because his dark praises like “You take me so well” and “that’s it, take all of this, I know this is what whores like you love”. It was because as long as she was around John, there would be no others. Other women who could distract John from her. Women that would cause John to become possessive over them, cause all his love to be directed away from her. He paid attention to her every second of everyday, with that there was no time for anyone else.

John quietly stocked towards her figure laid awkwardly against the headboard. His eyes, solid black orbs, burned holes through her skin. His hand latched onto her chin before she could process what was happening. Instinctively, she grabbed both of his forearms with a grip that was a tight as his. “Ah” was all he had to say. John’s features grew expectant, she knew the routine. Taking a couple of deep breathes she loosened her grip. He loved to see fear in her green eyes however defiance was what kept his body busy and his words and praises from running up her spine and covering her like a blanket. Pleading with her eyes she sank further into the mattress. He’s touches where bruising, pinning her wrist above her head. “Have you forgotten your manner?” John asked dipping his face next to her ear. Wide green eyes stared back at him as a soft shake of her head was all she could muster. She knew John wasn’t in the mood to hear her voice tonight.

John’s first thrust sent a sharp pain straight up her spine. He seemed to be in a really bad mood tonight. She should have known, especially after John had her go straight to the bed instead of take off her cloths in front of him. Instead, he chose to rip off her shorts and discard them along with her underwear, somewhere in the middle of the floor. Trying to keep her mind busy she tried to think of what could have happened to John today. Someone must have brushed him off or completely ignored him. No one understood him quite like her. A loud cry was ripped from the back of her throat after another brutal thrust. The sound only egging John on more. “My my aren’t we so responsive tonight” John hissed, pulling back to take in her withering form. As tears filled her eye’s she tried to focus on the texture of the red curtains, hanging over the windows to the right of their room. The mattress creaked with every movement John had made. The only thing keeping the headboard from slapping against the wall was John’s very own hand, using his straightened arm as an anchor while his hips pistoled into her.

With her head still turned, John noticed that her tears were bigger tonight. Big plump droplets of salt water that ran freely down her smooth face. “There’s my good girl. You’re being SO good for me tonight,” John cooed as he licked the trail her tears made across her cheek. With all his praise she’d hope that maybe he’d lighten up on her. However, there was no such luck. His thrust began to get faster, his grunts coming out in growls. After looking down John noticed she had a death grip on his shirt. Her knuckles turning almost as white as his Hanes undershirt. “Oh dear! Where are MY manners tonight?” John asked in a dark voice that was clearly meant to be rhetorical. Using the hand that was not on the headboard, John snaked it down in between her legs. A wicked smile crawling across his lips as she jumped at the first swipe over her clit.

Nights like theses she wanted nothing more than to not feel anything. No pain or pleasure No guilt of wanting to prove to herself that John really needed her in his life. Just numbness. But with John experienced hand, he was quickly building up that pressure in her stomach that was impossible to hide. John’s thrusts had slowed down dramatically but the power behind them were still bruising. “There you go,” John said as her grip began to loosen. “There’s that little slut I know. Enjoying every second of this but being too stubborn to show it.” A whine snuck through her closed lips as she continued to keep her head turned. “Shh shh, its ok now. Just let go,” John all but growled into her right ear. After a clever flick of his finger and a tilt of his hips the dam inside her broke causing her back to arch off the mattress and her body to tense up. John could see the finish line now, her walls becoming so tight after she came. A couple more roll of his hips was all it took for John to reach his peak.

Tonight, he decided to come into her while being buried as deep as he could. He continued to lay on top of her as he felt her body start to tremor. Finally, feeling thoroughly spent, John slowly pulled out of her and stood up next to the bed. She always had this after glow about her that John would never tire of. Or maybe it was just seeing his handy work time after time since he knew she wouldn’t run. Whatever it was it gave John a huge sense of pride. Knowing that she was there for his every beck and call. He never had to worry about her running to the police or trying to get away. She was his, forever and he could do whatever he pleases.

[e-milieeee]

the enemy of my enemy (must be my ally)

Summary: When one of his akumas attacks Adrien and one of his classmates, Gabriel Agreste discovers that Marinette Dupain-Cheng would prove a very useful ally against Ladybug and Chat Noir. 

How had he not discovered sooner? But oh well—better late than never. Ladybug will never know what’s coming. 

Notes: from this post because everyone wanted me to write it. i warned y’all. feat. gabriel’s 2 functional brain cells. 

AO3 | Kofi

Gabriel Agreste isn’t past admitting his mistakes.

Most of them have involved Adrien, so he supposes that it’s time to pay attention to the trend. And all of those mistakes have involved his growing career as Hawkmoth—and, more specifically, the choices he makes for whom he akumatizes.

Lila Rossi, now known as Princess Perfect—seriously, what the hell was wrong with this girl? He’d given her the liberty of choosing her akuma name, but such a godawful name is a bad reflection on him as well—kicks down the door of the classroom.

He sees it all through Lila’s eyes, like he does with all the akumas. Doesn’t mean he’s particularly happy about the turnout of this particular akumatization.

“What are you doing?” Gabriel demands to her. “I want Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculous! You’re going the wrong way.”

Relax. Lila’s voice drifts into his head. I need to take a little detour.

“What detour—” Oh. Oh, shit.

In the classroom, packing their bags, is his son and that Chinese girl with pigtails—Marinette. The one that Gabriel knows Lila Rossi intensely hates. The one that he doesn’t like either, because for some reason, his son is infatuated with her. It’s Marinette-this, Marinette-that these days, and Adrien just won’t stop gushing about her. Father, look at these designs! They’re Marinette’s. Father, look who’s on the news—it’s Marinette! Father, can you hire Marinette to work at Gabriel Brand?

Marinette, a real headache. Gabriel rubs his temples. Maybe it’s a good thing that Lila’s after her. Better to nip it in the bud before Adrien’s attachment becomes a real problem.

“Fine,” he grounds out to Lila. “But leave Ad—leave the blonde boy alone.”

Already ahead of you, Hawkie.

“Don’t call me that!”

She ignores him in favour of turning to the two victims. Adrien is standing in front of Marinette, arms spread in a protective stance, glaring at the akuma. For a couple moments, nobody speaks.

Then, Marinette, eyebrows furrowing, says, “You’re Lila, aren’t you. Seriously? What is this—your third akumatization? Fourth?”

“My name is Princess Perfect now,” Lila growls back. “Get out of my way, Adrien.”

Marinette literally gags. “Did Hawkmoth choose that name for you?”

“No, I didn’t,” Gabriel seethes. Unfortunately, none of them can hear him.

“Yes, he did,” Lila lies breezily. “But that’s not important. You think you’re such a hot shot, Marinette? You think you can take the spotlight from me without repercussions? I’m going to make sure everyone hates you and loves me, and you’ll learn your lesson for trying to cross me. After all, who can say no to Princess Perfect?”

Gabriel sighs through his nose. Are all teens this dramatic?

Apparently, they are. Betrayal comes from those closest to home, because it’s Adrien that holds up his arms even higher, still staring Lila down. “You’re going to have to go through me if you want to hurt her,” he promises. “Marinette, get out of here! Run!”

Oh, for heaven’s sake—

Two things happen at once. Lila darts towards them, her whip lashing out directly at Adrien. Gabriel swears under his breath—why isn’t Adrien moving out of the way? Why is he so intent on protecting that useless girl? “Lila!” he barks through the bond, but the akumatized girl is too far gone. “Touch him and I’ll make sure—”

Gabriel trails into dumbfounded silence when Marinette shoves Adrien aside, grabs the end of Lila’s whip, and tugs the weapon straight out of the girl’s hands.

“You’ve gone too far,” she growls in a tone so chilly that it even reaches him. “Adrien, get out of here! I can handle her.”

Lila’s own shock lasts for a couple of times before she regains some of her composure. “You?” she sneers. “Handle me? Why, you pathetic—”

Adrien chucks a pencil case at Lila. It hits her cheek, and she whirls on him, enraged. At the same time, Marinette darts away from the window and slides behind the large wooden desk at the front. Gabriel, still watching the scene unfold, scoffs. So for all her big talk, she’s still nothing but a coward.

“Stand down,” he commands Lila once more. “Don’t you dare touch Adrien—what the hell?”

Lila seems to have noticed the source of his bewilderment as well, but it’s far too late. From underneath the desk, Marinette has lifted the thing—the giant, wooden desk—onto her shoulders.

Gabriel’s positive he stops breathing.

“Wait—” Lila begins. He sees it all through her eyes: Marinette braces herself for a moment and then throws it—throws the desk that a grown man shouldn’t be able to lift—right at Lila.

She doesn’t stand a chance. Lila goes down in a crash, pinned under the weight of Ms. Bustier’s desk that this small, petite girl had somehow bench-pressed and then chucked.

As much as Lila struggles, she is unable to remove the desk from on top of her. Given that his akumas have enhanced strength and she’s still incapable of lifting it, just how strong is Marinette?

Said girl in question stalks over to Lila. She plants a foot firmly against the overturned side of the desk and looks down at the girl trapped underneath.

Gabriel is certain that somehow, impossible as it sounds, Marinette is staring right through Lila’s eyes, through their connection, and into his own. His body freezes. His jaw locks. And for the first time in a very, very long time, Gabriel Agreste is absolutely terrified.

“Next time you try something like this,” Marinette growls, leaning in, “I won’t let you off so easily.”

With that ominous note, she snatches the necklace off Lila’s neck and marches right out of the classroom.

Gabriel remains frozen for a couple more moments. He isn’t certain if he still remembers how to breathe.

It wasn’t Ladybug nor Chat Noir that had foiled this plan. No, it was Adrien Agreste’s classmate, a girl who had previously annoyed him, that had single handedly defeated an akuma and scared him absolutely shitless.

What. The. Fuck.

***

“Adrien,” Gabriel says over dinner. “You know that girl you always talk about? Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

His son looks up from his meal with a bright look on his face. Once upon a time, Gabriel would’ve been annoyed. Now, after reevaluating the girl, he comes to the conclusion that it’s best Adrien stays on Marinette’s good side. She’s probably more than capable of beating his son up.

“Yeah, Marinette?” Adrien echoes. “You know how there was an akuma attack today? Well, Marinette was actually there in the classroom with me when the akuma came for us.”

Gabriel is forced to play ignorant. “Oh? What happened?”

“Well, the akuma tried to attack us, and Marinette picked up a desk—you might find it hard to believe, and honestly I would’ve too if I hadn’t seen her do it—and threw it at the akuma. When Ladybug and Chat Noir finally showed up, there wasn’t even anything for them to do.”

Gabriel shifts in his seat. “That is… rather unbelievable."

Except he swears he can still feel the heat of Marinette’s glare, and is forced to accept that this is the reality he’s living in.

“Why did you ask about her, though, father?”

He snaps back into the present. “Huh?”

“Marinette—why did you ask about her? Wait, father, are you reconsidering hiring her? Did you finally look at the designs I sent you? This is amazing. I’m sure she’ll do amazing. Your stocks will rise. You’ll get more customers. Marinette’s basically a walking lucky charm—this will be the best decision you’ve ever made, father. I promise.”

He frowns at Adrien. “Don’t make preposterous suggestions. But yes— I am considering giving Marinette Dupain-Cheng a job at the company, perhaps an internship one of the senior designers. She’s very… talented.”

He thinks of the way she’d lifted the desk and flung it at Lila. Talented, indeed.

Perhaps talented enough to finally give him an edge against Ladybug and Chat Noir.

***

Marinette Dupain-Cheng is more than eager to come in for a so-called interview. Nathalie has done her digging on the girl: she’s made it pretty big quite a couple times already, in the fashion industry and has quite a few connections. Even if Gabriel’s motivations aren’t technically for the company, he has to admit that she has much future potential to tap into in the future. But for now, that’s not his goal.

She’s impeccably dressed when Nathalie leads her inside his study. Her eyes are positively shining when she beams at Gabriel. “Mr. Agreste!” Marinette chirps. “I’m so happy to be here. When Adrien told me you wanted to interview me for the job…this is such an amazing opportunity to be presented with, and I am so honoured.”

Gabriel exchanges a glance with Nathalie. She nods subtly.

“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Ms. Dupain-Cheng.” He rises from his desk and holds out his hand for her to shake. She does so.

It takes all of Gabriel’s self-control not to show the pain on his face when she grips his hand.

How the fuck is this girl so strong?

Thankfully, Marinette doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong. Gabriel draws back his hand and tucks it behind his back. It’s throbbing.

“So, Marinette.” He sits back down at his desk. Marinette is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. If she were any normal person, Gabriel might’ve snapped at her to settle down, but after that show with Lila yesterday, he decides that it’s for his own good not to get on her bad side. He’ll just have to channel all his patience—for self-preservation, really. “I understand that you’re interested in interning at my company?”

She nods excitedly. “I’ve been designing for years, Mr. Agreste—I’m aware that I have a lot to improve on—”

“What I have in mind for you—” Gabriel pauses, realizing that he’d interrupted her. Hurriedly, he gulps. “Never mind. Continue.”

“I’m aware that I have a lot to improve on but I’m a very quick learner! I promise I’ll do my very best to help you and your company.”

He nods. “That’s good to hear. For now, I’ll… I’ll arrange with Nathalie what we can assign you to do in the company. And I have another favour to ask of you, if it’s not too much.”

Marinette smiles. “Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to help you!”

Nathalie had warned him to be careful with Marinette—one wrong move and he could be ousted as Hawkmoth. He takes a deep breath. “I have become aware that there are some bad influences around my son in school. You are friends with Adrien, yes?”

“Yes, and… bad influences?” Marinette frowns, shifting her weight. “Oh, yeah, there’s one in particular. Actually, I’m not sure if you’re aware, Mr. Agreste, but I’m glad you brought it up. You know that akuma yesterday? That girl’s name was Lila Rossi. She’s been hanging around Adrien quite a bit these days, and ‘bad influence’ barely covers what she does. And—oh! When I confronted her once about making Adrien uncomfortable, she told me she had a ‘friend in a high place’ that was backing her up. I think you might want to look into that too, Mr. Agreste. It was pretty worrisome, to be honest.”

Gabriel’s mouth has gone dry. “I… yes. Yes, I shall look into that too.”

Marinette rolls her shoulders. “God, if I knew who they were, I’d throw them into the Seine. How dare they.” Then her eyes widen. “Sorry, Mr. Agreste! I was just… um, I was just talking to myself. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s perfectly alright,” Gabriel reassures immediately, although it doesn’t do much to ease the chill that is travelling up his spine. “Then it’s decided? Nathalie will give you her contact information—you can send her your resume just for formalities, and she will organize the rest. And… be sure to keep an eye on my son at school.”

“I will!” Marinette chirps, ever so chipper. Behind that attitude lies the strength to lift the desk he’s currently sitting and crush him. And much, much more.

Nathalie guides the girl away. Gabriel is unable to breathe fully until she leaves.

He has to calculate this well, because he can’t afford to lose a potential ally like Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He’s already thinking—perhaps she would do well with the Peacock Miraculous, or the Bee Miraculous, if he can get his hands on it again. If—if he can somehow convince Marinette to help him with his cause, all of his other plans don’t even need to go into action. Ladybug and Chat Noir will never see this coming.

Nathalie returns. “Sir, your face is rather pale,” she notes. “But may I ask what that was about? You were… unusually lenient today.”

Gabriel clears his throat and straightens in his seat. “Never mind me,” he dismisses. “But first, I need to contact Lila Rossi as soon as possible to cut off all ties. Let her know she’s fired.”

“Is this because…?”

He allows himself a small smile. “You’ll see soon, Nathalie,” he reassures. “We’ve finally got the upperhand in this fight.”

Notes: i lost brain cells writing it, and i’m sure y’all have lost brain cells reading it. 

Fics masterlist here! 

[wondernimbus]

book-thief — james potter

pairing: james potter x female!reader

prompt: reader and james fight over the last book on the shelf.

please refrain from plagiarizing my work. requests are always open!

[Y/N]'s arm stills in mid-air, hovering over the spine of the lone textbook as she makes eye contact with a familiar-looking boy whose hand is similarly outstretched towards the same book: Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage. It's the only one left on the shelf.

"Um," she says, pursing her lips as she grabs the book before he can even think about breaking eye contact. "Sorry. I got here first."

Diagon Alley is especially busy during this time of the year, less than a week before Hogwarts is set to reopen its doors to welcome a brand new set of first years and resume learning for the rest of the older students. Every single shop [Y/N] has gone into so far has been bustling with witches and wizards going about their shopping business—including Flourish and Blotts.

The bookshop's usually stocked shelves are almost empty. Most of the textbooks for [Y/N]'s year have gone completely sold out; according to the very frazzled manager, there had been an issue with the publishing house, hence they were short a good hundred textbooks or so for each subject. This meant that at least a hundred Hogwarts students were going to have to use a secondhand textbook or two during the school year.

And [Y/N] is not going to be one of them.

Feeling only a tiny bit guilty, she tucks the textbook under her arm, offers the strangely familiar-looking boy a half-assed apologetic smile, and resumes her shopping for textbooks. Weaving through the crowd of customers without even having to look up from the piece of parchment she clutches in her hands, she surveys her shopping list:

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6 by Miranda Goshawk Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage Confronting the Faceless A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration by Emeric Switch Flesh-Eating Trees of the World Advanced Rune Translation by Yuri Blishen

Two textbooks left to go. So far she's been lucky enough to get most of them without much trouble despite the shortage of books (unless she counts the awkward encounter with that boy back there). She mutters occasional "excuse me"s as she slinks past other customers on her way to the Herbology section of the bookshop in search of Flesh-Eating Trees of the World.

There are only three other people in the Herbology aisle—an old witch mumbling something to herself about leaping toadstools, a little witch no more than age five surveying a book titled "Devil's Snare and Its Devilish Secrets", and—

It's the same strangely familiar boy from before. The one [Y/N] stole very reasonably took the last copy of Advanced Potion-Making from. (She had gotten there first.) But he's standing all the way at the end of the aisle, and she's standing on the opposite end.

Judging by the fact that he seems to be her age and goes to Hogwarts (which would explain that sense of vague recognition she gets when she look at him), he's here for the same book that she is.

It's more of an assumption than anything, but her legs kick into action nonetheless and she starts speed-walking towards the shelf that holds Flesh-Eating Trees of the World. But the boy seems to have the same incentive as she does, and at a pace much quicker than hers courtesy of his annoyingly long legs, he reaches the shelf first.

Her entire world seems to slow down. Before she knows it, she's standing two feet away from him—and he has the last copy of Flesh-Eating Trees of the World clutched in his hands.

"Sorry," the boy says with a flicker of mischief in his tone, smiling smugly as he holds up the book in a manner one can only describe as ostentatious. "I got here first."

She blinks, watching as he nods at her before turning and disappearing into a different aisle.

Great—now she has to use an old Herbology book this year and hope that she doesn't get one that's been thrown up on or jinxed to bite her hands every time she opens it.

She scoffs to herself, shaking her head in disbelief as she looks around in search of someone to share her incredulity with, maybe say "Did you hear that? Absolutely unbelievable" as a means of ranting. But the old lady and the five-year-old witch are hardly fit for such conversation, so instead [Y/N] huffs to herself and goes to look for her last textbook.

She walks faster than usual on her way to the Ancient Runes aisle, still reeling a little bit from the ridiculous situation that had just unfolded moments before and cost her her Herbology book. When she catches sight of the shelf she's supposed to find Advanced Rune Translation in, much to her delight, there is only one book left on the shelf. Hers.

But when she makes a move towards it, a certain someone rushes past her. It's that boy again.

Oh no, he's not—

His outstretched arm reaches out for the last copy of Advanced Rune Translation, and her instincts kick in—she grabs the book before he can, but he has latched onto it too.

Eyebrows furrowing, she tugs the book towards her. He tugs it back to him.

"I'm sorry," she says, keeping her voice level as she stares up at him, forcing a friendly smile. "I need this book."

His nose wrinkles before he smiles back at her—that same look of obviously insincere friendliness. "Sorry," he replies, lips curling, "I need it too," he tugs the book in his direction.

With gritted teeth, she grips onto her side of the book persistently. "I need it more," she insists, the smile on her face slowly fading.

"I don't see how you can be the judge of that," he fumes, his smile drooping into a scowl.

"I got here first—"

"No, you did not—"

The both of them have completely dropped all pretense of friendliness, now full-on scowling at each other as they stubbornly engage in an intense tugging match for Advanced Rune Translation.

"Fine!" she exclaims, letting go of the book as she takes a step back, frustration bubbling in her chest. "Fine. Merlin. Have it, then, if you want it so bloody badly."

The boy grins in triumph, looking much too pleased with himself. "Correction: I needed it."

"Yeah, whatever," she grumbles, glowering at him. And then, in a much lower tone, "Prat."

The smirk on his face drops. "Excuse me?"

"Hm?" she hums, glancing at him innocently. "Oh, nothing. You have a good day."

Spinning on her heel, she makes her way to the cashier, still seething as she dumps her very incomplete set of books on the counter. What a prat.

—

[Y/N] steps out of Flourish and Blotts onto the busy street of Diagon Alley. A bell chimes as the door to the bookshop closes behind her, but the sound is lost amidst the sounds of conversation coming from busy shoppers passing by.

Sighing, she purses her lips and checks her school supply list. She has everything—everything but two particular books that were unjustly stolen from her by a strangely familiar pain in the arse—

Okay, you know what? What she needs right now is to cool down—and what better way to do that than to get ice cream?

A few minutes later, she finds herself in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, sitting on a little table lined along the windows with a triple chocolate ice cream cone clutched in her hands. She tries not to look too sulky, but memories of that boy from the bookshop linger in her head that have her feeling irritated.

She's been staring out of the large glass windows for quite some time that her eyes have gone out of focus, so it takes her brain a while to register the fact that there's a boy standing right in front of the window, looking straight at her.

But it's not just a boy—no, this is the boy. The prat, [Y/N] has decided to call him inside her head.

She glares back at him. Annoyingly enough, he grins at her and raises his hand in a wave. What he does next has her gripping her ice cream cone so hard she's surprised it doesn't break, because the prat pulls out a book from his bag and waves it at her.

Written along the cover of the book are the words "Advanced Rune Translation".

Before [Y/N] can raise her hand and give him the middle finger, he averts his gaze and walks right into Florean Fortescue's.

She watches as he strides to her table before plopping down into the seat opposite her, setting the textbook down on the table. Her eyes flit to it before she looks up at him. If looks could kill, the prat would already be in the afterlife.

"Can I help you?" she asks, not bothering to hide the scorn in her tone. But just because she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction, she puts on a forced, sarcastic smile.

The prat grins. He crosses his arms, and whilst leaning forward in his seat, asks, "I suppose you go to Hogwarts?"

She regards him with a deathly stare. "Yes," she says, and then slowly, she repeats, "Can I help you?"

He ignores her question. "What house?"

Scoffing, she replies, "Ravenclaw."

"Aw, I was hoping you were in Gryffindor—but that wouldn't make sense because I'd be friends with you by now if you were."

She gives him an unimpressed glance. "Sure. Friends."

He raises his eyebrows, the impish grin on his face widening. In a flirtatious tone, he asks, "Were you hoping to be something more than friends?"

Her eyes widen and she scoffs again in disbelief. "Oh, Merlin," she says, shaking her head as she forces out a few breathless laughs out of frustration. "You are something else. Really."

The prat grins and leans back on his chair. "I'm James Potter. And you are?"

"Very annoyed," she takes an angry bite out of her ice cream cone.

Amused, he slides the book towards her on the table. "Because of this?"

"Because of a certain prat, to be more specific," she takes another bite of cone, chewing much too fast out of anger as she glares at him. "His name's James Potter—you might have heard of him."

The prat—James Potter—laughs. Actually laughs; a genuine sound of amusement. A look of feigned wonder comes across his face as he strokes his chin. "Why, yes, the name does seem familiar. Mind describing him for me?"

She rolls her eyes, but for some reason, she plays along. "He's tall. Looks like a tree."

"Interesting comparison."

"Black hair that strongly resembles a bird's nest—wow, he really does look like a tree."

He scoffs.

A tiny smirk tugs at the edges of her lips as she keeps going. "He's in Gryffindor, too, so that explains why he's such a prat."

He clutches his chest as though in pain. "Ouch."

"Oh, and I almost forgot. Silly me," she simpers, and then fixes him with a stony gaze. "He stole two of my textbooks."

James lets out an incredulous laugh. "Stole?" he repeats, shaking his head. "I got to the Herbology book first; it's only right that I took it. As for this one—" he taps the textbook on the table, "Technically, you gave this up."

She presses her lips together. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

He stares at her for a moment, mouth open as though to say something and his brows furrowed, and then he shakes his head and lets out a long breath. "You're lucky I find you pretty."

She narrows her eyes at him, ignoring the one—just one—butterfly that has been let loose inside her stomach at being called pretty by an annoying book-thief that a tiny, tiny part of her finds mildly attractive. Because he is a bit of a looker—she has to admit.

James Potter taps the book on the table and grins at her. "What if I decide to give this to you?"

"Bless your kind soul."

He laughs again. "No—really. What do I get in return?"

[Y/N] stares at him, trying to figure out whether he's being serious or not. Her lips bunch up to one side as she ponders her response.

"A name, perhaps?" James suggests, his eyes glinting.

She raises her eyebrows at him. "You want to trade a book for my name?"

He shrugs, drumming his fingers on the book cover. "Maybe. Yes."

"A book that you paid money for?" [Y/N] asks dubiously.

His bottom lip juts out as he contemplates his answer. Then he shrugs again, nodding. "Yes."

"Then you should've asked earlier!" she exclaims, sitting up straight and holding your hand out. "I'm [Y/F/N]."

James Potter lets out an amused sound, feeling something akin to fondness pluck at his heartstrings. He mimics the way she sat up straight, although his version is a little exaggerated—he quickly sits up, back rigid like a soldier being called to attention in a clear attempt to mock her. She gives the prat—James—a warning look; he grins at her.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, [Y/N]," he grips her hand firmly in his and gives it a shake.

Her lips tugging up involuntarily, she replies, "And yours."

Both of them drop their hands back to their sides at the same time as though afraid to hang on for longer than necessary. "So I suppose this is mine now?" she says, reaching out for the textbook.

James sighs heavily, shoulders slumping as he stares at the book with a dramatic, longing gaze. "I suppose so."

Hands hovering over the cover, she looks at him for confirmation. "You sure?"

He wipes a fake tear from his eye and nods. Rolling her eyes, she tries to hold back a laugh. "Alright. Okay. Um," she slides the book slowly towards her as if waiting for him to change his mind, but he doesn't. "Thanks.. um.. James."

He drops his dramatic act of despair and beams at her, crossing his arms as he props his elbows on the table. "You're very welcome, [Y/N]. Like I said—you're lucky I find you pretty."

She rolls her eyes, ignoring the warmth spreading across her cheeks. "Quite the flirt, aren't you?"

James shrugs. "Just being honest."

She gapes at him, at a momentary loss for words. And then she looks away, cheek twitching with a threat of a smile as she lets out a heavy exhale. "You really are something else," she mutters.

"Only for you, love," James grins. His eyes dart to the watch on his wrist, and his grin falters as he glances back up at her. "As much as I want to sit here and stare at you all day—"

"Annoy me, you mean."

James continues on smoothly like he hadn't heard her. "Unfortunately, I've got to go. I promised a friend I'd meet with him somewhere—his name's Remus, I'll introduce the both of you someday but hopefully he doesn't fawn over you too much. You've got the brains and the looks, after all."

She flicks her eyebrows up at him.

"Alright, well," James huffs, getting up from his seat. "I've really got to go—I'm already ten minutes late. I'll see you around Hogwarts, [Y/N]. Oh, and your ice cream's melting—I thought you ought to know."

With one final wink, James Potter backs away, keeping his gaze fixed on her as he goes. Just before he leaves the ice cream parlor, he gives her a mock curtsy, smiling, and then disappears into the crowd of people outside.

Feeling oddly breathless, [Y/N] blinks herself out of her reverie and then looks down at her ice cream. James was right—it is melting.

Couldn't he have said that earlier?

With a strange little smile on her face, [Y/N] finishes up the rest of her ice cream. And when she leaves Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour a few minutes later, there's a bounce in her step and a weird, fluttery feeling in her chest.

[12tardis]

Empire Line (Part 2/3) Newt Scamander x Reader

Warnings: angst. Yeah loooooook I’m sorry…it’s been a rough year

Summary: Newt has been in love with you since your second year at Hogwarts. You have been in love with Newt for nearly as long. You’re both ridiculously oblivious and you think he has feelings for Tina. Will Newt set the record straight before he loses you for good? (Newt for present day Newt and other Newt in italics for future Newt)

Pairings: Newt Scamander x Reader, Reader x OC (super brief) A/N: This is part 2- and actually the first part I ever wrote of this story when I was feeling particularly angsty. Sorry Newt ☹

Title: Empire Line by The National – this band has saved my life honestly . Love u 5 sad dads

Taglist (I LOVE YALL): @auror-lovie @moonkissk7 @sagittarius-flowerchild @fishdonttouch @cal-ifornication @haileygarciasunshine @cherryobx @swiftspaperings @tillyreads

“Alistair’s moving to South America to research the flora and fauna over there.”

Newt only blinked back at you dumbly, so you spoke up again.

“I said I’d go with him.”

“Newt?” You called his name when he just stood there staring at you wordlessly.

He blinked a few times slowly and his eyes focused back on you, though he was still dazed “sorry what?”

“I said, I’m moving to South America. Alistair asked me to go with him. We leave in a month” You repeated yourself slowly, looking at Newt in concern when he still didn’t respond.

There was a ringing in Newt’s ears as he stood in front of you, gaping at you like a fish out of water. A month. You were leaving in a month.

“Newt,” you reached out towards him and Newt suddenly jumped into action, dodging your touch.

“Oh wow!...that’s great Y/N, I’m really happy for you.” He managed to muster up a fake bright smile and a believable tone despite the way his heart was threatening to shatter in his chest.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise at his enthusiastic response and you couldn’t help but feel a little put out that he was seemingly so excited for you to leave.“Thanks.” You paused “so what did you have to tell me?”

Newt managed to keep the smile plastered onto his face as he looked back at you “oh, just that the baby occamies finally hatched,” he said without missing a beat.

It wasn’t a complete lie because it was true- the occamies had hatched. It just wasn’t what he’d been meaning to tell you, but he knew now he’d lost his chance and he needed to remove himself before he completely crumbled in front of you.

So, he clapped his hands, causing you to startle slightly “right! I should get to bed now. I just wanted to tell you about the occamies. I’ll see you in the morning.” He spoke rapidly, not looking at you once before he was practically sprinting to his room and slamming the door behind him just as the first tear fell from his eyes.

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Several weeks had passed now and everything had continued on as usual between you and Newt.

It had been a little tense and awkward the day after you’d broken the news to Newt but when you’d wrapped him up in a tight hug the following night he couldn’t help but melt and realise he didn’t want to spend your last few weeks together moping around and avoiding you.

So he continued on treating you like he usually would, blissfully denying all knowledge of you leaving him at the end of the month.

You were due to leave in exactly one week now and Newt was in the kitchen fixing himself a cup of tea after breakfast. He felt his stomach drop when he noticed the empty spot on the window sill where you usually kept some of your framed photos on display. You had already started packing your possessions away slowly but surely.

He sighed sadly to himself as he stared at the window ledge, looking up when you appeared beside him, grasping his arm.

“Hey, I was thinking we could go for a picnic by the lake today? For old times sake.” You suggested with a soft smile.

Newt turned to face you, shaking his head with an apologetic smile “I’d love to but I’m meeting with the owner of Flourish and Blotts today about stocking my book.”

“Oh! No Newt that’s wonderful!” You gushed, smiling brightly at him and he only felt more miserable realising he only had a week left of seeing that smile.

“Oh, don’t look so down, we can just go tomorrow. Go and sell your book!” You grasped his shoulders, bouncing on your heels excitedly “you can tell me all about it when you get back.”

The pure excitement on your face managed to pull him from his sour mood and he soon found himself smiling back at you. “Okay picnic tomorrow,” he nodded, laying his hands over your arms as you were still gripping his shoulders.

The both of you stood there for a few moments in each other's arms, gazing back at one another. Newt was the first to look away, clearing his throat as he glanced down at his watch “I better go. I’ll be back before dinner.”

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Not much later he found himself wandering down Diagon Alley with his case in hand. He’d made good time, so he decided to stop in at some of the other shops in search of a farewell gift for you.

A set of earrings caught his eye and he was busy trying to see the price of them as his case began to rattle in his hand. He looked down just in time to see the unmistakable flurry of dark fur that was his Niffler, bolting across the street.  

“Get back here!” Newt groaned, fixing the loose clasp on his case before he dashed after the creature, wondering what on earth had caught his attention over the jewellery store he’d just left behind.

He groaned again when he saw the Niffler scurrying into what appeared to be a tiny shop selling nothing but mirrors and he quickly followed after the creature.

“Merlin,” Newt breathed out when he was in the shop, feeling disoriented when he was standing in the middle of a room that held what must have been hundreds of mirrors in all different shapes and sizes along the walls.

He saw absolutely no sign of the Niffler, in fact there was absolutely no movement in the shop save for himself and the faint trail of what he assumed was incense swirling above his head.

“Ah you must be the Magizoologist, I‘ve been expecting you. A couple months late but nevertheless, welcome my boy.”

Newt spun around when he heard a rugged voice, tipping his head aside with furrowed brows when he saw a complete stranger standing before him. It was tall and slim elderly man with long, scraggly white hair and disarmingly blue eyes.

“I’m sorry?” Newt frowned as the man walked towards him. “I don’t believe we’ve met…” He trailed off and his eyes widened as the strange man grasped his face in his palms, inspecting him closely.

“...yet you seem to know me…”, Newt squeaked, standing stock still as the man continued to look him over. He knew he probably should have been running from the strange man, or at the very least should have felt some shred of concern or discomfort but the man had a strangely welcoming aura about him.

“Yes. Newton Artemis Fido Scamander!” The man suddenly burst out, causing Newt to flinch slightly “You may call me Janus, if you so wish. I will also respond to Mr.Galloglass, sometimes even Mr.G but let’s not get ahead of ourselves shall we?”, Mr. Galloglass said, patting Newt a few times on the cheek with a wry smile before he finally released him from his hold.

Mr. Galloglass swiftly turned away from Newt, his long tweed coat swishing behind him as he began inspecting a particular row of mirrors “I believe you’ve lost something yes? Your little echidna looking thing. Such cheeky little creatures those ones are. I suppose he’s not the reason you’re late to see me though,” the old man rambled on as he continued to inspect the mirrors.

Newt was still stood frozen on the spot as he stared at the eccentric old man, wondering what on earth he was rambling on about and how he knew who he was. He was about to ask him exactly that when Mr.Galloglass suddenly rushed over to him again.

He yanked Newt’s left hand into his own causing Newt to grunt in surprise. Galloglass lifted it close to his face and began inspecting his palm with wide eyes. “What on ear-“

“Ah! You’re at an Empire Line young man”, he exclaimed, looking up at Newt and then back down at his palm, raising his eyebrows “no correction! You’re on an Empire Line that is juuuuust about to split.”

Newt felt his frustration bubbling to the surface when Mr. Galloglass only made less and less sense but then something behind the man caught his eye. He let out a breath of realisation when he spotted the crystal ball that was sat atop the small table in the adjoining room.

“You’re a seer?” Newt cut in, looking back at the man quizzically.

“Like my father and grandfather before me,” Mr. Galloglass confirmed, thrusting Newt into the adjoining room without any warning until he stood in front of the biggest mirror in the entire shop. It was about a foot taller than Newt and it had a dark ornate frame.

“In you go!”, Mr. Oldridge pushed Newt towards the mirror but Newt resisted, looking back at the man in the murky reflection in utter confusion and mild alarm “what?!”

“You want to know what an Empire Line is and besides, that’s where your Niffler ran off to. You know what they say- there’s no time like the present!”

He cackled at his own joke and pushed Newt forward again with much more force this time and Newt staggered forward, trying to catch himself on the mirror instinctively and yelping when he only fell through the surface.

And as he fell through it the mirror he suddenly recalled the words of his brother.

“...You need to tell her before you have to watch her move on with someone who can never love her like you do...”

Newt gasped when he stumbled to his feet and he was miraculously standing by the doorway inside of a huge cathedral.

The first thing he noticed was the rows and rows of people packed into the stalls, his eyes then taking in the floral arrangements that sat on the end of each row.

It must be a wedding.

It was incredibly loud, he realised because the organ was blaring what must have been the processional. He fidgeted anxiously as he took in his surroundings and he only grew more confused when he spotted a rather grim looking Theseus standing in the front row of stalls by the altar of the church.

His brother's gaze seemed to be transfixed on the front of the church and Newt followed his line of sight, his eyes widening and jaw dropping when he saw HIMSELF standing at the front of the church dressed in a fancy suit.

What on earth was happening?

What did Galloglass mean by an Empire Line?

Was he seeing his future?

His eyes quickly scanned the line of people this other version of himself was standing beside, realising he didn’t recognise a single one of the groomsmen.

There was a complete stranger standing where the Groom would traditionally stand and Newt furrowed his brows. What was he doing at a strangers wedding?...he realised though that he did recognise a fair few of the guests sat on the same side as Theseus.

He spun around when the bridal party began to enter the cathedral and his eyes widened when he caught sight of Tina and Queenie all dressed up and walking gracefully down the carpeted aisle.

“Tina...Queenie!” he waved at the sisters, trying desperately to catch their attention and frowning when they didn’t notice him at all.

He recognised the next woman in the processional as Mona, your childhood friend followed by your sister and Newt began to notice the dread settling in his stomach.

He had a niggling feeling that no one could see or hear him in this strange reality he’d been tossed into and his suspicions were proven correct just a minute later.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as the guests all turned to face the entrance of the cathedral in anticipation.  

He turned to face the doorway too, his ears ringing and his heart pounding when he saw you enter the church in a huge white gown. The veil you wore was completely obscuring your face but he knew it was you.

“Y/N”, he called out, reaching for you instinctively and only growing more distressed when his hand passed through your arm. You clearly couldn’t see him. No one could see or hear him and he felt tears well in his eyes as he watched you make your way down the aisle towards the unknown man.

The other Newt had a small smile plastered on his face but it didn’t meet his eyes as he watched you stop in front of the groom, letting the other man take your hands. It was clear to see that he was dying inside.

It was like his own personal hell. Everything was wrong.

Firstly, why were you getting married in a church? You weren’t religious and you’d always told him how you wanted to be married outdoors in a small garden ceremony.

Why were there white roses everywhere? You loved vibrant colours and despised roses.

The floral arrangements weren’t anything like you would usually choose and that dress was nothing like any dress you’d ever worn before.

You looked...out of place and he was certain it wasn’t just because it should have been him stood where the groom was. He had admittedly fantasised about what it might be like to marry you one day and this ceremony was clearly the polar opposite in every single respect.

Nothing made sense. You weren’t visibly brimming with joy like you would normally be when you were excited. Usually your excitement was infectious but here you looked like a robot. Even Tina and Queenie looked concerned standing beside you.

And the groom. Newt swallowed thickly as he took him in properly, his stomach churning at the smarmy and almost smug smile the man wore.

The ceremony carried on for what felt like hours and Newt resigned himself realising there was nothing he could do to stop it. Here he was just a fly on the wall. He had to look away when the groom tipped you back, planting a firm kiss on your lips and clutching you against himself as the guests applauded and the other groomsmen cheered.

The last thing he noticed was the look of utter defeat on the other Newt’s face before his surroundings rapidly changed.

He gasped when the room suddenly morphed around him and he was now standing inside a hospital room, seeing you looking tired and worn out in a hospital bed. You were clutching a tiny baby in your arms with the other Newt by your side, watching you in concern.

He watched as you looked up at the other Newt, taking his hand tiredly “thank you for being here...I don’t think I could have done this on my own”, you murmured. He watched this slightly older version of himself squeeze your hand and bend down to drop a kiss to the top of your head “I will always be here when you need me...but he really should have been here, Y/N.”

“Oh Newt, you know he’s on a business trip. It’s fine.” you said quietly, looking down at the baby in your arms as he watched the other Newt clench his jaw in response. He found himself mirroring the action.

Your husband wasn’t here with you for the birth of your baby?

What kind of man had you gone and married?

You looked so tired and sad and not at all like the Y/N, he knew and loved.

Newt was broken from his musings when a nurse entered the room and he took one last look at the look of sad resignation on your face before the room suddenly shifted around him again.

This time he was thrown into a chair at a large dining table and he blinked a few times, gripping the table to steady himself. Now he was sitting across from you and the other Newt watching as you poured him a cup of tea, a young toddler hugged to your side.

Some time had clearly passed because you were both a little older and he assumed the child in your arms was the same baby from just before. You were still breathtakingly beautiful but now you looked frail, the smile never quite reaching your eyes as you spoke with your friend over tea.

And he could tell from the way the other Newt was staring at you, hanging off your every word that he was still just as in love with you even though you’d married and started a family with someone else.

“Y/N, where is he? From your letters...it sounds like he’s always alway.”

You laughed bitterly and looked away from the other Newt, turning the wedding band on your finger shakily “He’s probably off screwing his assistant.”

Newt felt his blood run cold and he opened his mouth to talk before he realised that you couldn’t see him and the other Newt looked completely affronted as he set his tea cup down with too much force, shattering the saucer on the table.

“He’s cheating on you!?”, he asked, his voice high and strained as he quickly cleared up the mess he’d made, shooing you away when you tried to help. The last thing you needed was to cut your hand open trying to help him.

You watched him fumble around for a few moments before you quickly cast a mending charm on the broken porcelain, sitting back in your chair and shrugging. “Has been for years. Dozens of different women and he thinks I’m too stupid to know. I’ll never be enough for him.” you murmured, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you pressed a kiss to the top of your daughters head.

The other Newt took your hands in his own, looking at you in concern “Y/N you are more than enough. You deserve the world. You deserve someone loyal who will care for you and be there to support you no matter what”, he said passionately, pausing a moment before he murmured.

“Why do you stay with him?”

“Because I want what’s best for her,” you said without hesitation, nodding down at your daughter in your arms as you sniffled slightly “and I’m not getting any younger, Newt. At least he wants me.”

He watched as the other Newt opened his mouth to speak again but you continued talking and what you said next sent both Newt’s into shocked silence.

“You know I was in love with you for the longest time?”, you laughed self deprecatingly as you pulled your hands out of his “I dreamt about being Mrs. Scamander. I always thought you would make the most incredible husband and father.”

“Y/N”, the other Newt breathed, his eyes big and his lips parted but you shook your head before he could say anything more.

“Oh, how things change,” you murmured, wiping your eyes while you held your daughter tight against you in your other arm.

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The ringing returned in Newt’s ears as he was abruptly thrust out of the mirror and left sitting on the floor of the shop again. He stared down at his knees in shock as he felt Mr.Galloglass’  hands gripping his shoulders.

“You alright there, son?”, the man asked gruffly as he shook him slightly by the shoulders and Newt jumped to his feet quickly facing the man “I-yes I have to go! I must find the Niffler and leave immediately”, he said, searching around frantically.

He had to go to you.

But Mr. Galloglass grabbed his arm firmly, gesturing back at the mirror that was starting to ripple again “your creature is still in there. I sense the mirror’s not done with you yet my boy.” He murmured, his eyes glazing over with that faraway look again.

“You have more to see before you leave this place.”

The older man pushed Newt firmly towards the mirror again and Newt sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes tightly as he stepped back through the mirror frame, praying he wasn’t faced with something as horrible again.

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This time as he stepped through the frame Tina’s words popped into his mind.

“You should make the most of all the precious time you have together. Our time is never promised.”

The words seemed rather ominous considering what he’d just seen in his previous venture but as his surroundings became clear he felt a false sense of relief just from the familiarity of it.

This time he found himself standing in his flat in London, facing another Newt again who was sitting at the small dining room table, talking with Pickett.

He seemed to be the same age here but the first thing Newt noticed about the apartment was that all of your belongings were gone. Every single one of your plants that were usually adorning every surface of the flat were gone and it made his chest hurt to think about it.

Did you end up going to South America? Was this his closest reality then?

He watched this other version of himself curiously, noticing how happy he looked as he leant on the table talking to the Bowtruckle who seemed to be just as excited “yes Pickett, she’ll be here tomorrow and we’ll go and meet her at the docks and...and bring her home,” the other Newt murmured, smiling back at Pickett who danced around excitedly.

“Maybe it’s about time I ask her to stay,” he whispered, resting his chin in his palm with a small smile.

Newt looked up from the pair when he heard knocking at the front door, moving towards it on instinct and pausing when he remembered that he was just an onlooker here.

The other Newt got to his feet slowly, his eyebrows drawn together, shaking his head in response to Pickett’s chirping “no she’s not supposed to be here yet...but yes I suppose she could surprise us”.

The idea of you surprising him with an early arrival had him quickly walking to the door with a bright smile. He yanked the door open half expecting it to be you.

“Theseus?”, he frowned, the smile dropping from his face completely when he saw the tears shining in his brother’s eyes and he stepped back when Theseus pushed him into the apartment.

Newt watched the scene before him, the sense of dread settling in his stomach once again. He’d never seen his brother cry before.

“T-Theseus what’s wrong?”, the other Newt stuttered, moving to the kitchen to fetch him a cup of tea and freezing when Theseus grabbed his wrist, shaking his head “Newt, sit down.”

“No tell me what’s wrong”, he said, gripping Theseus by the shoulders, watching as his brother blinked hard a few times, furiously rubbing at his eyes a moment later.

“Theseus talk to me.”

Silence.

And then.

“The ship Y/N was on went down last night. Rogue wave.”

Theseus was gutted himself because he loved you like a little sister after the years you’d spent gradually slotting yourself into the Scamander’s lives. But he was truly hurting for his little brother, knowing how this news would break him.

Newt slapped his hand to his mouth, shaking his head furiously as he paced around the apartment trying to see the portal out of this reality and back through the mirror as the other Newt gaped at his older brother, his face gone pale.

“No no no she...she had her wand. She would have found a way out!”

“Newt I’m sorry she didn’t m-‘

“No! She can swim and she’s smart- s—s-she can swim better than me” the other Newt stuttered, his voice cracking as he gripped the back of the chair for support, feeling his legs would give out any moment.

“She didn’t make it, Newt.” Theseus said firmly, wrapping his arms around his younger brother tightly and gripping the back of his head as the first sobs broke through the apartment.

Newt was starting to cry himself, finding it harder and harder to breathe as he listened to the guttural sobs coming from his other self. It felt like the room was closing in on him and his chest was starting to physically ache. He covered his ears and chanted.

“It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real,” he kept chanting like a mantra, reminding himself over and over that this was just another reality and that his Y/N was safe and sound at home. In your shared apartment.

He barely noticed the room had morphed around him again until it was quiet and he was standing in his now dark apartment, facing a very disheveled and clearly drunk Newt. There was rubbish littered everywhere and Newt noticed the discarded newspaper with a photo of you and himself on the front page. He skimmed the article, wiping his tears away.

MAGIZOOLOGIST SCAMANDER’s ASSISTANT TRAGICALLY DROWNS IN SHIPWRECK

So, you’d drowned after you’d dropped your wand trying to help a young muggle child onto a life raft. Newt felt his stomach twist at that because it was something you would do.

Why didn’t anyone save you?

He sat down at the table across from the other Newt, burying his face in his hands as he pleaded for the mirror to let him out of this hell scape.

He jumped a bit when Tina and Queenie suddenly appeared in front of him, both of them looking somber as they moved towards the other Newt.

Queenie gripped him by the shoulders gently while Tina pried the bottle of fire-whiskey from his hands

“Newt, honey you’ve got to stop this.”

Queenie practically pleaded, stroking his hair back. She had her own tears threatening to spill because she could hear all the pain and guilt he was feeling.

“It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped it”, she whispered, jumping a bit when he slammed his hand down on the table in response.

“I COULD HAVE STOPPED IT!”, he shouted, his voice hoarse while Newt continued to sit there with his head pressed in his hands, vowing to never let you set foot on a ship without him.

“Newt, nothing can change it now! You need to accept it and move on”, Tina said firmly, pushing her sister aside as she stood in front of him, pulling him to his feet.

“Y/N is gone and she’s never coming back. You need to pull yourself together because you still have a whole case of creatures to care for. Theseus can’t keep taking care of them for you. That man is at his wits end. And Y/N wouldn’t want you moping around like this!”

Newt only looked up when Tina’s ranting finally stopped and he was met with silence. He was now completely alone sitting in front of your tombstone.

It was as if something inside him broke then and he found himself scrambling to his feet and shaking his head frantically when he noticed a bunch of your favourite flowers propped against the stone.

“No no no no no let me out I’ve had enough! Niffler!” He shouted, desperately looking for any way out of the mirror as he grew more and more hysterical.

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He let out a gasp, hunched over  and gripping his knees when he was thrust back into the shop. “You!” He shouted, grabbing Mr. Galloglass by his collar.

“Why did you keep me in there so long?!” he practically growled, tears still flowing from his eyes. He felt completely wrecked as he held the man's collar tightly in his grip, trying to get a grasp on his true reality as he stared at the man “tell me where my Niffler is!” he demanded, his eyes wild.

Mr. Galloglass sighed and pulled Newt’s hands away from his collar, smiling apologetically at the young man.

“I don’t have any say in this. Only the mirror can decide what you see and when it’s finished. You obviously have more to learn.”

“NO I do NOT have more to learn!”, Newt snapped, grabbing his case “I’ve seen plenty and I need to go home right now!”

He spotted a familiar flurry of dark fur scurrying by and he set his case down, reaching towards the creature.

“No YOU get back here!” he said , lunging forward when he saw the Niffler, chasing after him once again through the mirror before he could stop himself.

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This time there were no words or phrases echoing in his mind. He was greeted with only silence as he fell on his ass once again into his apartment and he saw you in the kitchen.

You were clearly pregnant and he shook his head as he stood up quickly. He felt the bile rise in his throat as he faced the wall that he had just come through.

“NO LET ME OUT! I am DONE I have seen enough! I have learnt my lesson just let me out!” He shouted, pounding his fists against the wall and letting out a cry of frustration when nothing happened. He begrudgingly turned to face you when you called his name.

This time you looked happy and healthy and Newt wondered if you’d married the same scumbag from the earlier reality. But his heart stopped in his chest when he saw yet another version of himself take you into his arms and press a loving kiss to your lips.

He watched on in utter shock as you kissed this other Newt back with the brightest smile on your lips as you wrapped your arms around him.

And Newt wondered if it was possible to be jealous of himself?

He stared at you completely astounded, feeling a warmth blossoming in his chest at the way you were gazing at the other Newt. And the way you had wrapped your body around his, clinging to him like he was your very own life raft.

The room morphed around him much faster than he had hoped and he found himself standing behind the two of you in a baby’s nursery. He watched the two of you kiss the baby in your arms before you set him down in his crib, still holding each other close.

Newt blinked when the room shifted suddenly again and this time he was standing on platform 9 3/4 staring at you standing tucked into the other Newt’s side as you waved your two children off onto the Hogwarts Express.

Newt only felt his chest swell more as he watched the other Newt press a kiss to your temple, his hand coming to rest on your stomach that was round with another baby on the way.

He huffed and closed his eyes when the room started to morph again, this time at super speed showing him flashes of this alternate reality. He couldn’t breathe again but it was for all the right reasons as he watched literally all of his dreams and more unfold before him.

He felt a few tears slip from his eyes when he was left standing still once more.

This time you had both grown old and you were sitting together hand in hand in Newt’s case, watching small children which he assumed to be your grandchildren, running around.

He watched as you tipped your face upwards to press a kiss to the other Newt’s lips and he could just make out you murmuring the words ‘I love you’ before his attention was taken by the Niffler that was bolting towards him.

He quickly crouched down and held his hands out for the creature “come here you!”

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Newt let out a sigh when he was back in the mirror shop, facing Mr. Galloglass once again with the Niffler clutched in his hands. He made quick work of setting the creature back into his case and making sure it was latched properly this time before he turned back to face the mirror. He lay his hand against the cool glass as he took in everything he’d just seen.

He couldn’t even begin to decipher what he was feeling right now because he was simultaneously traumatised by the reality in which you drowned and elated by the prospect of calling you his wife and spending his life with you.

Then he rubbed a hand down his face when he remembered Mr. Galloglass and turned to face the man, hoping to apologise to him for shouting at him but the man just waved his hand dismissively before Newt could talk.

“Don’t worry about it, son. You just go and do what you need to do,” the old man murmured, clapping him on the shoulder firmly before guiding him back out of the shop and Newt turned around to nod at him one last time before he took off down the street with his case in hand.

Finally, all of his fears and all of the worst-case scenarios he’d conjured up in his mind faded into white noise and all that mattered now was telling you of his devotion.

It was settled. He was going to tell you the truth once and for all and nothing was going to stop him. He never even found out what Mr.Galloglass meant by Empire Line.

-Other Works Here!- 

[pagingevilspawn]

Would you please write a fic about alex behaviour with children like the way he comforts them or help them through?

heart of gold

hey there! i’m not gonna lie when i say that this prompt took me forever to figure out, but when i did i was super excited! 

this is mainly Alex centric with a bit of jolex added in (obviously). i hope you like it!

___

Of all people to notice Alex Karev’s strange ability to work well with children first, no one would’ve expected it to be Cristina Yang. 

It was fairly early in their intern year, and both she and Karev were on the pediatrics rotation with Dr. Keith, someone who they could both agree was an arrogant son of a bitch that thought way too highly of himself for his own good. 

They’d been trailing behind him like lost puppies all day, listening to him go on and on while he talked to the patient’s families, not even bothering to ask his interns any questions. He always thought that interns were a waste of time and space. He’s much rather have at least a third year resident on his service, but no such luck. They felt like crap and both wanted to kick the guy in the ass, but knew that the only thing that would do is get them knocked out of the program. 

Six hours into their shift, the two were about to head to the cafeteria for a much desired lunch break when their pagers rang out, loud groans escaping their mouths at the noise they had come to detest the last couple of weeks. 

All Alex really wanted was a slice of the hospital’s pizza. Granted, the crust tasted like cardboard, the cheese was old, and the sauce had no flavor, but he was craving it like crazy. He hadn’t gone out for groceries recently, so the only thing that was stocked in the shelves of his small apartment was cereal, some oatmeal, and off brand, nearly expired crackers that he had since he finished med school a couple of months ago. He had --for some unknown reason-- shoved them into a backpack that had made it with him as he traveled from Iowa to Washington, completely untouched. 

With a huff he turns on his heel and makes his way to the pit where he was being paged, purposefully avoiding eye contact with the nurse he disrespected on his first day, along with the ones he’d slept with and hadn’t called back. He had a pretty large list of nurses who didn’t like him, and he didn’t feel like making that list any longer. Not today, at least. 

Keith instructed him to go cast an arm for the seven year old in bed six, while Yang was told to go stitch up the cut on the little girl in bed two. 

When Alex was done he passed by Yang’s area, watching as she was trying to calm down the little girl who couldn’t be more than five. The girl had tears streaming down her face and was nuzzled into the mom’s chest. The mother was glaring at the female doctor, who was saying something Alex could make out as “it’s not even scary, it’s just a needle.” 

All he really wanted to do was get that damn pizza slice, and he had every intention of doing so, but seeing Yang be absolutely hopeless at getting anywhere with the little girl, he felt a bit of sympathy-- not for his fellow intern, but for the kid. 

With a sigh he strides over to the bed, watching as the raven head’s mouth opens to speak, cutting her off immediately. “Let me handle this.” he says, reaching to grab the needle from her head. 

Cristina glares at him, her expression turning into one of disgust. No way was she going to let Evil Spawn steal her patient, no matter how much she wished she’d be doing anything else. 

“Karev-”

“--Yang!” he cuts her off sharply, plucking the needle from her hand and bumping her out of the way. Not the nicest thing to do, but she was practically terrifying the little girl. There was no way she would trust the doctor now. 

His coworker scoffs, huffing a ‘fine’ before she goes to stand back and watch the scene, more than eager to watch the man fail. What good could he do? The girl was crying the second she had taken the disinfectant out. 

Alex pulls up a chair, grabbing the attention of the little girl, who looks up from her mother’s chest for a second, only to dive back in right after. 

“Hey kid, my name’s Doctor Karev. You mind telling me your’s?” he asks gently, slipping on a pair of gloves and flashing a signature crooked grin. 

The girl makes eye contact warily, slightly unlatching from her mom's tight hold at the sight of the man’s smile. The other doctor looked super serious, it was kind of scary. 

“Piper.” she answers, wiping the tears from under her eyes, the mom flashing him a grateful smile. 

“Hey Piper.” he grins. “I see you got hurt up there. What happened?” he wettens the pad with disinfectant, keeping his eyes on the little blonde, knowing it would mean less questions if she was focused on his face. 

“I was jumping on the couch and then I fell and hit the table.” she explains, Alex inspecting the cut to see if her story was reliable. He knew firsthand what it was like to come up with excuses for the bruises on your face, and wanted to make sure that she wasn’t just trying to cover up for something else that happened. 

Luckily, the combination of the authenticity of the bruise and the level of trust the daughter had in her mom let him know that she really did do what she said. He knew at some point he was gonna need to not assume the worst in every parent that came in with an injured kid, but the wound was still fresh for him, and it would take some time to heal-- a long time.

“Well then Piper, I’m gonna need to clean your cut, but it’s gonna sting a bit. Is that okay?” he asks her, her green eyes widening, but eventually nodding. The doctor seemed nice enough. 

He cleans the wound, turning back at the girl when he pulls out a needle, watching as her face begins to look panicked. “Hey, it’s okay.” he reassures her. His eyes dart around, noticing a backpack that sat in the corner, decorated with a multitude of princesses. 

“Who’s your favorite princess?” he asks her, drawing Piper’s attention away from the scary needle in his hands. 

“Belle.” she answers, a small smile making its way to her face. She loved talking about the princess’s and would chatter on about them anytime, any day, anywhere.  

Alex smirks, letting out a sigh of relief. He knew all about Belle, since it was Amber’s all time favorite Disney movie. He’d seen it more time than he’d like to admit, and practically had the whole film memorized since he was fourteen.

“I like Belle too. She’s super brave huh? Never afraid of the Beast or anything.” he gives her a smile, watching as Piper’s face lights up, a wide, toothless smile splayed on her lips. 

“Yeah! She’s so cool! She never lets the beast tell her what to do!” she exclaims, making Alex chuckle. She reminded Alex a lot of his little sister, with her dirty blonde hair, green eyes, and passion for princesses. 

“Okay, well, right now I’m gonna need you to be super brave like Belle alright? And sit really really still, like she does when she reads a book. Can you do that for me Piper?” he smirks mischievously. 

The little girl grins. She always wanted to be like her favorite princess, so she definitely wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to act like one. She already practiced around the house, so she was definitely going to practice in front of the nice doctor who looked like Prince Philip.  

Cristina stood frozenly in the background, mouth opened so wide it could catch flies. Who knew Karev was so good with kids? She sure as hell didn’t.  

She watches as he stitches up the cut, saying some reassuring words every time the girl flinches or squeezes her eyes shut. It was about twenty minutes later when he finished, Yang still standing there in shock. She sees him dress the wound, getting up from his chair and say, “All done. You did awesome Piper, but no more jumping on the couch, alright?” which earns him a nod. He flashes a friendly wink to the mom, who blushes as he walks away, forgetting entirely about Yang’s presence as he makes his way to the cafeteria to finally get his hands on the pizza slice he’s been drooling about for hours.

Maybe Evil Spawn wasn’t so evil after all. 

~*~

Miranda Bailey was exhausted. Between Tuck and trying to begin a pediatric fellowship, all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep for god knows long. Tucker being difficult about their shared custody schedule seemed to only add to her fatigue and she swore on her life that she could crash on the nearest gurney and not wake up for three days straight. 

It was with a heavy sigh she begrudgingly made her way back down to the NICU, remembering that she had left Karev there the day before after administering the kangaroo hold. She knew that by now he had probably dispersed, but she felt like checking on the little baby herself, just to make sure that the preemie was doing okay.

When she arrived at the NICU doors she could see a few faces that she recognized standing outside the window, talking in hushed conversations as they stared at the scene in front of them with imploring eyes, that is, until the one she knew as Reed rushed away-- a friend at her side, finishing their conversation quickly. 

Miranda shakes her head. Though she had softened over the years, everyone still feared the inner ‘Nazi’ that came out from time to time. When she finishes gowning herself she makes her way into the room, stopping in front of the shirtless, sleeping figure on a chair. Surprised was the only word she was able to come up with, though it seemed like an understatement of the century. Alex Karev was sitting there, with a sleeping baby curled contently against his chest, her tiny breaths in sync with the man who was holding her. 

She shakes her head, stopping a few feet from where the man sat. “Karev?” she says, making him open his groggy eyes, blinking as he does so to look around for the source of the noise, relaxing when he knows that no monitors are going off and the baby on his chest is still very much alive. 

“Did you stay here all night?” she asks softly, watching as he looks out the window to see that it was in fact daytime, not evening like it was before he’d fallen asleep.

He takes another look at the baby in his arms, “Um, yeah. I… I guess I did.” he trails off, his voice rough since he barely was awake.  

“Go home, get some rest. The nurse will take over for you.” Miranda scolds. These interns (who were now residents) were like her children, her babies, and as much as the sight warmed her heart, she needed her babies to be well rested. She couldn’t have them falling asleep in the middle of surgery. 

He unintentionally pulls the tiny bundle of pink a bit closer, “No. Uh, I- I’m okay. I’m… good here.” 

She lets out a small, barely there laugh, but not at him. She’d seen the soft side of Alex Karev, but it was few and far between. Everyone knew that the rough exterior he put up was just to stop himself from getting hurt, but this… this side was new. She had never seen him more vulnerable than he was right now, the baby sleeping so soundly on his chest that it seemed like no amount of noise could disturb her. 

“Well, you'd be good in Peds, you know that?” she flicks her gaze from him to the baby. “You get invested. You have good instincts. You stick to your instincts,” she continues, Alex looking down at the child, making some kind of face she wouldn’t know how to describe. 

“You’d be good in Peds, Karev.” she walks away, leaving Alex alone with his thoughts. 

Maybe, just maybe, kids would be the one thing that would allow Karev to show everyone who he really was. 

~*~         

Alex Karev had sort of snuck up on Arizona Robbins. When he said that he was interested in Peds, she truly thought that he was joking, just trying to say something to either get a laugh out of her or annoy her. 

She didn’t know much about Karev, all she really knew was what she had heard from the nurses gossiping loudly at their stations, and the occasional input from Callie here and there. All she really knew was that he had been married to Stevens, who had cancer, then they later got divorced, and before he was married he had earned himself quite a bit of a ‘man-whore’ reputation, nearly as bad as Mark’s. 

Arizona was weary about Karev, so imagine her surprise when she saw his face light up as a kid called him Doctor Alex for the first time. 

The first time she’d ever had the young man on her service she knew that he was cold, arrogant, and a bit too cocky for his own good. He was overall an asshole, and to say Robbins wasn’t happy to have him on her service was an understatement. Bailey had said something to her recently about Karev, but that didn’t lessen her lack of enjoyment about his upcoming arrival on her floor. 

When the man did arrive, he was seven minutes late for rounds, dumping an empty cup of hospital bought coffee in the nearest trash can. He flashed her a crooked grin, apologizing for his tardiness, but not explaining why.

Arizona sighed, rolling her eyes discreetly. She wasn’t normally a strict teacher, but one thing she didn’t like was when her residents were late. The lives of tiny humans were in their hands, no second could be wasted-- much less seven minutes.

“Welcome to peds Doctor Karev…” She starts off, telling him about how pediatrics wasn’t wiping kid’s noses and cuddly bunnies all day long. Peds was hardcore, only for the elite. 

She stops outside room 414, turning back to Karev and giving him as stern of a glare as she could muster. “Remember Karev, smile, engage. These are kids we’re talking about here.” 

Alex rolls his eyes. He knew he wasn’t the nicest guy. He was an ass, a douche, and definitely not the man most women would be proud to take home to their parents. But if there was one thing he did know, it was kids. He practically raised one for god’s sake.  

“Got it Robbins.” he huffs, fixing his posture as the two walk into the room, where a little boy sat on his bed, playing with his colorful toys that sat on his lap, anxious parents sitting in chairs beside him. 

Arizona flashes a grin to the family, directing her attention back to the boy. “Hi Nico, how are we doing today?” 

Nico shrugs, mustering a half-hearted smile. “I’m okay.” he answers, more focused on his toys than the doctors in the room.

“Well that’s good,” she jots something down on her chart. “This is Dr. Alex. He’s gonna be another one of your doctors, okay Nico?” 

“Doctor Alex?” the boy confirms, making Arizona look up from her chart and Alex look back at the boy. 

She saw it then. The way his eyes lit up at the name, how a crooked grin unconsciously made its way to his lips. He had it. The peds glow. 

“Hey dude.” Alex smirks, trying to hide is bubbling excitement. He liked that name, ‘Doctor Alex’. It was different from Karev. It was lighter, easier, it sounded right. Doctor Karev was too… but Doctor Alex? Doctor Alex sounded pretty great. 

Arizona bites her lip as she watches her resident and the patient interact, trying to keep her smile at bay. 

There it is. There’s the real Alex Karev. 

~*~ 

Jo Wilson sat in the intern’s locker room, knotting up the ties of her scrub pants as she listened to the chief resident rattle of names of who the intern’s were with that day. She was more than thankful for a new service, since Medusa was downright terrifying, but she was really hoping that she wouldn’t be assigned to-

“--Wilson you’re with Doctor Karev on Peds.”

Shit. 

She was sure Karev was a great doctor, I mean, he wouldn’t be here-- at one of the best hospitals in the world-- if he sucked. 

But she’d already heard enough about Karev to say that she didn’t like him, not one bit. So far she’d witnessed Leah crying into her locker about why he wouldn’t answer her calls, nurses complain to each other about why he hadn’t texted, and other interns chattering at bars about why he acted like he didn’t know them when they saw each other again.

In conclusion, he was a grade-A jackass who slept with any female that had two legs, and she was certainly not going to be the next one on his (extensive) list of conquests. No sir-ee. 

With a huff she ties her hair back, giving Stephanie a deadpan look after she whispers a “Good luck. Make sure not to sleep with him.” 

There was no way she would be sleeping with Karev, not in a million years. She had heard so much from others that she could already paint a picture-

Ew, no. That’s gross. 

Either way, there was nothing he could ever say to make her fall in bed with him. Nothing at all. 

…

She was exhausted. Karev was an ass. An ass who didn’t hate her, but was still an insufferable asshole. Jo stood at the nurses station, leaning over the counter as she filled out her charts, scribbling down her notes angrily. He made her angry. 

Though she had to admit, seeing him all freaked out over her (fake) crying was pretty hilarious. 

“--Wilson!” she hears her name being called by her asshole of a superior. She turns around, plastering such a faux smile on her face that she felt nauseated just knowing that it was there. 

She’s about to respond when Doctor Grey comes running up to him, shoving a toddler in his arms, taking him by surprise. 

“Alex. I need you to watch her.” the blonde pleads, making him scrunch his eyebrows. 

“Mer I-” 

“Please.” Meredith begs, Alex giving her a crooked grin as he takes ahold of his niece. If there was one thing that could make Alex Karev smile without even trying, it was Zola Grey Shepherd, a two and a half year old little fireball.  

A large grin comes across the little girl’s face as she looks at the man in front of her. “Unca Lex!” she exclaims, clasping her tiny hand on the side of his face. 

“Hi Ms. Zozo,” he smiles, Jo not even noticing how the corner’s of her mouth quirked up at the sight. This was not the Doctor Karev she’d been with these past few hours, this was someone completely new. This was… Alex? 

Meredith sighs. “I have on OB appointment, and normally we’d take her, but she’s just been so fussy lately, and when I tried to take her to daycare she threw a fit-”

Alex cuts her off, “Mer, it's fine. I got her.” he reassures her, pretending to bite the little girl’s finger as it came close to his face, causing her to let out a loud squeal. 

“Okay but-”

He rolls his eyes at the blonde, “Mer, go. She’ll be completely fine.” he smirks. “We all know that she likes me better than you and Shep combined so…” 

Meredith hits him on the shoulder before she turns and waddles down the hall, leaving Alex with a toddler in his arms that was giggling as he tickled her, and an intern who wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing in front of her. 

It was obvious that he had some skills with children, he was a pediatric surgeon for crying out loud. But nobody told her he was this good with kids.She watched as a large smile came across his face, a laugh escaping his mouth at Zola’s squeals and giggles. 

Maybe Alex Karev wasn’t as much of an asshole that she thought he was. 

~*~ 

Nothing was more perfect to him than the sight in front of him. 

Never in a million years did he ever think that he would get to where he was now. 

Alex sat next to his wife as they stared down at the little baby on her chest, her pink cheeks puffed up while her eyes were tightly squeezed closed as she tried to sleep. She was so perfect. So, so perfect.  

A daughter. 

He had a daughter. 

A little bundle of pink that weighed a whole six pounds, seven ounces. Yet somehow, she had managed to take his heart out of his chest and hold it in her tiny, tiny palm. 

Nothing could’ve prepared him for how much he already loved his little girl. He’d heard about it, read about it. He’d been in the room when parents met their child for the first time. But this? This was a whole new level of love, something he wasn’t prepared for in the slightest. 

He watched as Jo ran her thumb delicately over the baby girl’s cheeks, tears streaming down Jo’s face. It had been all of two minutes since they welcomed their daughter into the world and she hadn’t stopped crying since. 

Although he wasn’t crying, his throat was built up as he stared at his perfect little girl. A full head of wavy light brown hair sat on top of her head, her rosy lips pouted as she nestled closer to her mother’s chest. 

Perfect. 

That’s the only word that could describe the tiny figure that laid before him.

He rubs his pinky finger over her little fist, watching as it unfolds and grabs it with all of her strength. 

He can feel his heart physically clench, never before had something felt as right as feeling his little girl’s palm around his finger. 

Alex grins, placing a small kiss on the top of Jo’s head, a silent way of saying so many different things at once. 

Thank you. 

You did so well. 

You’re so strong. 

She’s so perfect. 

I love you.

Thank you for marrying me.

Thank you for loving me. 

Thank you for everything.  

Thank you.

Jo readjusts the baby on her chest, bringing her up higher for them to see. 

She lets out a watery smile, her bottom lips trembling as she stares at the tiny girl that she would do anything for. “Hi sweet girl.” she whispers, not even bothering to wipe the water droplets that cascaded down her cheeks. 

Alex lets out a crooked grin, a small laugh escaping his throat in disbelief. This perfect creation was his daughter. How was that even possible?  

“Welcome to the world Lorelei Karev.” he whispers, unable to focus on anything except the tiny girl that he would give up the sun, the moon, and the stars for. 

“We love you so much.” Jo speaks softly, looking up at her husband, the love of her life, her eyes saying more than her mouth ever could. 

Thank you. 

I love you. 

She’s so perfect. 

Thank you for her. 

Thank you for everything. 

Thank you for loving me. 

Thank you.  

They share a small kiss, reveling in the moment they knew they would remember for the rest of their lives. 

It was then he defied all odds. Overcame all of his fears. He wasn’t going to be like his dad, what everyone told him he was going to be. He was going to be an amazing dad, and he knew it.

As it turns out, kids truly were the one thing that could show everyone who the real Alex Karev was after all.

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 6

(Y/n)'s POV

Once I get over the fact that my brother's Latin teacher was half horse, we have a nice tour.

We pass by the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudge each other. One points to the Minotaur horn Percy is carrying. Another says, "It's them."

Most of the campers are older than me. Their satyr friends are bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD t-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. I'm not normally shy, but the way they are staring at me and Percy makes me uncomfortable. I feel as though they want us to do a flip or something.

I look back at the farmhouse. It's bigger than I'd realized - four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I'm checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something catches my eyes, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I get a distinct impression that I'm being watched.

"What's up there?" I ask Chiron.

He looks to where I'm pointing and his smile fades, "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?" Percy asks.

"No," he says with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I get the feeling that he's being truthful, but I am also sure something had moved that curtain.

As we get closer, I realize how huge the forest is. It takes up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron says, "The woods are stocked if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" Percy asks. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own swords and shields?"

"My own - ?" Percy is cut off.

"No," Chiron interupts. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do for you, Percy, and a size three for you, (Y/n). I'll visit the armory later."

Finally, Chiron shows us the cabins. There are twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They are arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on each side. And they are, without a doubt the most bizarre number above the door.

Except for the fact that each has a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they lock absolutely nothing alike. Number Nine has smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number Four has tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seems to be made of solid gold, which gleams so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all face a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field is a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it is a warm afternoon, the hearth smolders. A girl, maybe nine years old is tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. I wave at the girl and she looks surprised, as though no one acknowledged her often, and waves back with a smile.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, look like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin One is the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmer like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seem to streak across them. Cabin Two is more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls are covered with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" Percy guesses.

"Correct," Chiron says.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

I stop in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It isn't high and mighty like Cabin One, but low and solid. The outer walls are of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashells and coral as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. I peek inside the open doorway and Chiron says, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he can pull me back, I catch the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glow like abalone. There are six empty bunks with silk sheets turned down, but there is no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place feels so sad and lonely, I am glad when Chiron puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "Come along, (Y/n)."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on Percy and gives him an evil sneer.

"Oh, look," Chiron says as we approach Cabin Eleven. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House is reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven. When we reach her, she looks me over critically, like she was still thinking about how much I drool.

I try to see what she was reading, but I can't make out the title. Then I realize the title isn't even English. The letters look Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There are pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron says, "I have Masters' Archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and (Y/n) from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin Eleven," Chiron tells us, gesturing towards the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, Eleven looks the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. the threshold is worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway is a caduceus.

Inside, it is packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags are spread all over the floor. It looks like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron doesn't go in. The door is too low for him. But when the campers see him, they all stand and bow respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron says. "Good luck, Percy, (Y/n). I'll see the two of you at dinner."

He gallops away towards the archery range.

Percy's POV

We stand in the doorway, looking at the kids. They aren't bowing anymore. They are staring at us, sizing us up. I know this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompts. "Go on."

So naturally, I trip coming in the door, and (Y/n) grabs my upper arm, straightening me up. There are some snickers from the campers, but none of them say anything.

Annabeth announces, "Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, meet Cabin Eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody asks.

I don't know what to say, but Annabeth says, "Undetermined."

Everyone groans.

A guy who is a little older than the rest comes forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy, (Y/n). You can have those two spots on the floor, right over there."

The guy was about nineteen, and he looks pretty cool. He's tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wears an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance is a thick white scar that runs from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke," Annabeth says, and her voice sounds different somehow. I glance over and swear she's blushing, but after a moment she sees me looking, and her expression hardens again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" (Y/n) asks, looking rather curious.

"You're undetermined," Luke explains. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I look around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they are waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will I be here?" I ask.

"Good question," Luke replies. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers all laugh and (Y/n) facepalms.

"Come on," Annabeth tells us. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"We've already seen it."

"Come on."

Annabeth grabs my wrist and drags me outside. I can hear the kids of Cabin Eleven laughing behind me and (Y/n) waves good-bye shyly.

When we are a few feet away, Annabeth says, "Jackson, you have to do better than that?"

"What?"

She rolls her eyes and mumbles under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you two were the ones."

"What's your problem?" I'm getting angry now, (Y/n) watching us cautiously. "All I know is, we kill some bull guy -"

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth tells me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed?"

"To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?"

I shake my head. "Look, if the thing we fought is really the Minotaur, the same one in the stories . . ."

"Yes."

"Then there's only one."

"Yes."

"And he died, like, a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So..."

"Monsters don't die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don't die."

"Oh, thanks. That clears it up."

"Percy," (Y/n) says calmly. "I think what Annabeth is saying, is that monsters eventually reform."

Annabeth nods and I think about Mrs. Dodds. "You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword—"

"The Fur...I mean, your math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. You just made her very, very mad."

"How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?"

"You talk in your sleep," Annabeth answers and (Y/n) suppresses a laugh.

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' torturers, right?"

Annabeth glances nervously at the ground as if she expects it to open up and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones if we have to speak of them at all."

"Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?" I sound whiny, even to myself, but right then I don't care. "Why do we have to stay in Cabin Eleven, anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there."

I point to the first few cabins, and Annabeth turns pale. "You don't just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or...your parent."

She stares at me, waiting for me to get it.

"Our mother is Sally Jackson," (Y/n) says softly. "She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to."

"I'm sorry about your mom, (Y/n). But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent. Your dad."

"He's dead," I say simply. "We never knew him."

Annabeth sighs. Clearly, she'd had this conversation before with other kids. "Your father's not dead."

"How can you say that? You know him?"

"No, of course not."

"Then how can you say -"

"Because I know the two of you. You wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"You don't know anything about us.

"No?" She raises an eyebrow. "I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them."

"How -"

"Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too."

I try to swallow my embarrassment. "What does that have to do with anything?"

(Y/n)'s POV

"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD—you're impulsive, can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. Of course, the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."

"You sound like...you went through the same thing?"

"Most of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."

"Ambrosia and nectar."

"The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would've killed a normal kid. It would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you'd be dead. Face it. You're both half-bloods."

A half-blood.

I am reeling with so many questions I don't know where to start.

Then a husky voice yells, "Well! Two newbies!"

I look over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin is sauntering towards us. She has three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean-looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighs. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl says. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

"Erre es korakas!" Annabeth says, which I somehow understand is Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though I have a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounds. "You don't stand a chance."

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse says, but her eye twitches. Perhaps she isn't so sure she can follow through on ht threat. She turns towards me, then she looks at Percy. "Who are these's runts?"

"Percy and (Y/n) Jackson," Annabeth says, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Aries."

Percy blinks. "Like . . . the war god?"

Clarisse sneers. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," Percy says, seemingly recovering his 'wits'. "It explains the bad smell."

Long story short, Percy made the toilets explode.

Yeah, I said it. He made the toilets explode . . .

Word Count: 2455 words

[freshouttaparsnips]

Edge has a Gaster. Stretch has a Gaster. And they have each other.

What could possibly go wrong?

(or four skeletons fall hopelessly in love)

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

this is a new fic series im starting that’s essentially Gastercest+Spicyhoney!! its gonna be good uwu

tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Skippable Smut, Not In Chronological Order, Series, gaster is NOT dadster, No Incest, universe shenanigans, Polyamory, its a skeleton polycule, Smut Chapters Marked

read part 1 on Ao3

or read it below!!

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

It was a normal day, just like any other. Edge had been setting up his traps, making sure that no one was stuck in any of the ones that laid farther in the woods. On occasion a dog would get caught in the mechanisms, even though he’d warned them all time and time again that sniffing around the dangerous puzzles would only end with them getting stuck.

They were dogs, though, scatterbrained and easily distracted, so he’d have to get one of them unstuck at least once a month. It was a thankless job, one that he happily did anyway for the look of relief on the dog’s face.

Sometimes, stars forbid, a child would get stuck, and he’d have to mount a bit of a rescue to keep whoever it happened to be from panicking and killing themselves on the spikes and sharper parts of the puzzles. It was a bit panic inducing for himself to deal with, but he couldn’t just let them die because of their foolhardiness.

Still, no one had been caught that day, all of the puzzles only needing a bit of brushing from snow and a solid kick to get started up again, rumbling in the chilly air. He’d started on his way back, boots crunching in the fresh snow when a bit of an itch started in the base of his neck, traveling up into his skull until it started to hurt.

He had to stop just before the entrance to Snowdin proper, the sharp pain making it difficult to stay upright. He was panicking a little, sockets wide as he breathed through the pain to try and make it back home… only for it to reach a crescendo, before abruptly falling away. It was as if someone was taking a hammer to his skull, only to stop suddenly just before something actually broke.

Standing rigidly straight, Edge glanced around the clearing, scowling as he started back for the house. He wasn’t about to stand around for a random LV hunter to spot him and smell out his weakness; being attacked was the least he wanted right now.

He’d only just gotten inside, though, locking up the door and kicking off his boots when it happened.

“Hello?”

Jumping in place, Edge growled as he whipped around the living room, searching for the unfamiliar voice’s origin. There was nothing, the windows locked, the doors upstairs shut. Rubbing at his skull, he strode to the kitchen over creaky floors, but no one was there either.

“Who is there?” he called, not really expecting a response… but got one anyway.

“Me, asshole, who else?”

Edge stood stock still, staring at the blank wall until he realized that the voice was internal, not from anywhere around the house. Raising a hand, he gently prodded at his own skull. “Who are you?”

“Gaster, Royal Scientist. Who are you ?”

Well this was just fantastic. Edge didn’t know a “Gaster”, and monsters hadn’t had a Royal Scientist for hundreds of years, as far as he knew. He was going insane, that was the short of it. Absolutely nuts, he’d have to tell Red to lock him in the shed like a rabid dog-

“Must you be so dramatic? You’re not crazy.”

Edge squinted at nothing. “How is imagining a voice that is not my own, who tells me that it is “the Royal Scientist”, not crazy?”

The voice… Gaster was quiet for a moment, before finally speaking back up. “Because I think I know how this happened.”

Edge closed his eyes, letting out a breath before heading for the kitchen. “Well you can tell me your theory while I prepare lunch. Red will be hungry and I will not have him asking questions while I’m having a crisis.”

“Whatever, drama queen.”

~.~

As it turned out, the voice was indeed a Gaster, one Wing Dings Gaster who had once been the Royal Scientist before he’d done himself dirty and fallen into the CORE. Edge really only had an outsider’s perspective on what that even meant, but according to Gaster, he’d thought he’d died. It was a bit of a shock to wake up inside Edge’s body, unable to move or talk or do anything other than watch. It’d been a few months of that, just watching as Edge lived his life, unable to reach out for help until whatever had changed.

Now he wouldn’t shut up, Edge found. The monster was lonely if he had to guess, having spent years in what Gaster termed as “a Void”. He understood that, to some extent, but it would be nice to take a shower without Gaster making wayward comments about his bone structure.

The most excited he ever got was when Edge made nachos, having apparently been his favorite food when he was “whole”. He never used the term alive, never really seemed to accept that he might have, and probably had died whenever he fell into for all intents and purposes magma, but…

Edge couldn’t help but feel… pleased. When Gaster would chatter in his head about how good food tasted compared to the old days, or when Edge read one of his puzzle mechanics books, the scientist reading hungrily alongside him. He soaked up new information like a sponge, seemingly starved for contact with people. Edge began to care about his new roommate, to the extent that when Gaster went quiet he knew something was wrong.

The amount of noise he made though, when Edge caught Red in the basement, messing with the machine and staring up at them with a seemingly manic look when it kicked on… Edge would never forget it.

The resulting explosion whenever the machine started sputtering and coughing out black smoke was more than a little concerning, but Edge only grabbed Red and used his own little tricks to book it upstairs, waiting until after everything had quieted down, the smoke calming down until it was a light haze in the air.

“What do you think happened? Is the machine alright? That was mine, you know; your thieving brother should be strung up and-”

Edge mentally shushed him, stepping carefully down the wooden stairs back into the basement, Red just behind him. He could hear movement that wasn’t theirs, coughing and hacking and the general noise of someone staggering around in the still thick smoke, but Edge only caught them by the soul, gently tugging them forward despite the gasp of air that quickly turned to choking.

What appeared out of the smoke, hanging like a limp doll and staring up at them with fear in his eyes, was a tall skeleton, the facial structure uncomfortably similar to Edge’s own. He wore what was probably once a bright orange hoodie, though now it was covered in smears of grease and soot.

“Who are you?” Edge demanded, the skeleton perking up, even if it was angry.

“I think you know the answer to that already, asshole.”

And well. Edge couldn’t fault him there. Gaster’s added “Well he’s a looker, huh.” wasn’t exactly helpful though.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

falling through

prompt: abandoned

whumpee: kurt wallander

fandom: young wallander

hi! a brief bit of bg for this fic - it’s set after the show, in a timeline where kurt and reza are now partners in major crimes and rask is their boss. idk if this would fit with any kind of canon but also idc. my rules :) anyway i hope u like this!!!

It’s not their best idea by any means, but sometimes, to break open a case, you have to take a risk. You have to do something questionable and a little stupid, and you have to do it without the permission or even the knowledge of your boss. This usually works in the movies, at any rate. 

This isn’t a movie, Kurt thinks, as Reza parks the car in front of a long-abandoned, derelict, half-rotted house that Rask definitely hadn’t given them the go-ahead to investigate. This is just a bad idea. But they’re already here, and Reza’s already out of the car, and there is the possibility that they’re going to find something here, at the childhood home of their currently-on-the-run murderer, so he sighs and exits the car, jogging after Reza to catch up.

What’s left of the front door swings open the second Reza touches it, and he and Kurt share a look before stepping over the threshold. Inside, the smell of decay is overwhelming. There are moth-eaten skeletons of furniture and the occasional spray-painted symbol on the peeling, stained wallpaper and the occasional squeaking of a rat. “Lovely place,” Reza mutters, and Kurt laughs. 

Towards the back of the house is a staircase, which is missing approximately half of its steps. It looks less than safe, but upstairs is where the bedrooms (and the most likely sources of evidence) are, so they ascend, one at a time, in slow, halting steps. 

They make it upstairs without incident and end up in a hallway that extends in two directions. Silently, they agree to each take one. Reza goes straight ahead, and Kurt goes to the right. 

He pulls his flashlight out as he walks along, flicking it on and passing it in sweeping arcs over his surroundings. A hole in the wall here, a dead bug or three there, a bathroom with broken porcelain and a window missing its pane, and a bedroom that clearly had once belonged to a young girl and not their murderer. He’s about to turn around and see if Reza’s had any better luck when he hears a clatter from the end of the hallway.

He takes a step forward in the direction of the clatter, and there’s a rather ominous creaking sound beneath his feet. He looks down just in time to watch the floor give out from under him, and then all of a sudden he’s lying on his back on the first floor, the breath knocked right out of him, dazed and stunned and surrounded by rubble. 

For a few seconds he simply lies there with absolutely no idea what’s just happened, and then he hears a voice shout his name from somewhere above him. He opens eyes that he hadn’t realized were closed and finds himself staring upwards at a giant hole in the ceiling, and then he remembers. 

He’s just fallen through the floor. Or the ceiling, depending on how you look at it. The voice calls again, echoing around inside his head, and he recognizes it as Reza. He hears footsteps above him and tries to shout a warning that comes out as little more than a whisper. Fortunately, the footsteps stop moving, and he hears them retreat, and then come thumping down the stairs, and he listens to them approach, and then Reza is standing over him and asking him something that he can’t understand. 

Now that his body has gotten over its initial shock, it hurts. What feels like every single part of his body below his neck is aching and sore. His head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. He can feel stinging little cuts and scrapes all over his exposed skin and his right ankle throbs in time with his heartbeat and even his lungs ache from having had the air knocked out of them on impact.  

“Kurt!” Reza’s voice sounds different this time, serious and worried, and Kurt finally manages to think a coherent thought. That doesn’t sound good. He forces himself to speak. 

“Hi,” is the only thing he can think of to say, but it must be good enough for Reza, who at some point has dropped to his knees beside Kurt’s body. He smiles down at Kurt, and Kurt tries to smile back but feels himself failing. It hurts…

“I know,” Reza says, placing a very gentle hand on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt blinks at him in surprise, not having realized that he’d spoken aloud. He lets his eyes drift closed for a second to try and better take stock of his body and his injuries, but Reza shakes his shoulder and tells him to stay awake. 

“‘M not sleeping,” Kurt manages to say. “Tryin’ to see what hurts.”

“Okay,” Reza replies, “but you try and go drifting off and I’ll kick your ass.”

“Got it,” Kurt whispers back, and then shuts his eyes again and focuses, starting from the top. His head hurts, but not badly enough to be worrying. There’s a rather large cut above his right eyebrow that’s slowly dripping hot, sticky blood down his face, and a few smaller scrapes across the rest of his face and down his neck. His chest and back still ache from the force of impact, but if he concentrates he can move his fingers and toes, so his spine is unharmed. His right sleeve is torn up, and he can feel little scratches all up and down the arm. The same is true for the right leg of his pants. He supposes that’s the part of him that went through the floor first. His right ankle is still aching, and he recognizes the pain as a sprain - irritating and painful, but ultimately harmless. He’s essentially fine. He just aches. 

That survey complete, Kurt opens his eyes again and finds Reza’s face. “‘M fine,” he reports, though he doubts Reza will be very convinced. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. Banged up, is all. Nothing serious.”

“Good,” Reza says. “Because there’s no service out here.”

“Oh,” Kurt replies, suddenly very glad indeed that none of his injuries are critical, ambulance-worthy ones. 

“Yeah,” Reza says. “That means we’ve gotta get you out of here on our own. You think you can walk?”

“Dunno.” He’s willing to try, though. Kurt presses his palms down firmly into the pile of rubble, which shifts and makes unpleasant noises around him. He pushes his feet into it at the same time, and manages to scramble up onto his feet after several seconds of intense pain. He wavers and very nearly falls right back down, but Reza grabs his shoulders and holds him up. Everything is spinning and his legs are shaking and his right ankle isn’t at all enjoying having weight put on it. Kurt bites back a cry of pain and tries to take a step, because for this to stop, he has to get out of here, but his legs won’t let him move and he feels his eyes well up with frustrated, pained tears, and he tries again to make his legs move but it hurts too much and he can’t, and then…

Then he’s moving? But he’s not walking. His vision is still a bit fuzzy and his body is aching too much to feel anything touching it, and it takes him several seconds to realize that he’s being carried, slightly awkwardly but very gently. He doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed about this situation, as he normally would be - honestly, he’s just grateful that he doesn’t have to move. 

He watches as his surroundings (which have become clear again, now that he’s not trying to stand up on legs that really don’t want him to be doing that) change, from the interior of the abandoned house to the outside, and then to the backseat of the car. Reza sets him down on the edge of the seat, positioned so that he’s facing out the door. 

“There’s a first aid kit in here somewhere, hold on,” Reza says, and walks around to the back of the car. It’s not really like Kurt has any choice in this matter, so he stays put. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks, when Reza reappears with a large plastic box in his hands. 

“You’re pretty cut up,” Reza replies, setting the box down on the ground and popping it open. He rifles through it and grabs several different things before standing back up and facing Kurt, sliding medical gloves onto his hands. “I don’t want anything getting infected, and I’m sure you would appreciate not having blood all over your face.”

Kurt raises a shaking hand to touch the side of his face. His fingers come away wet and shiny with blood, and he remembers the cut on his forehead. “That would be good,” he agrees, and then sits silently and waits for Reza to get to work. 

Reza begins with an item not from the first aid kit at all - a warm, unopened bottle of water from the front seat of the car. He pours the water onto a cotton ball and begins carefully cleaning Kurt’s face. Kurt flinches backwards out of instinct when the water first hits his face, but it doesn’t actually hurt, and after a while it actually feels kind of nice. Reza continues the process on Kurt’s neck, then sets down his cotton ball and picks up a pair of scissors. Kurt eyes them warily, trying to think of what exactly they might be for. 

“Sorry about this,” Reza says, and Kurt doesn’t have time to panic about what that might mean before Reza is cutting away the right sleeve of his shirt near the shoulder, and the right leg of his pants slightly above the knee. 

“So I can see what I’m working with without your torn-up clothes in the way,” Reza explains, after he’s finished mutilating Kurt’s clothes. Kurt just nods, glad that he hadn’t been particularly attached to this outfit. 

With his work area now exposed, Reza grabs and wets another cotton ball, then repeats the cut-cleaning process on Kurt’s right arm and leg, as well as his left hand. “Can you feel anything anywhere else?” he asks, and Kurt concentrates for a second, then slowly shakes his head.

“This next part might hurt a little. Sorry in advance,” Reza says, and Kurt watches as he grabs a pair of tweezers and a small bottle of something, which Kurt identifies by the smell as rubbing alcohol once Reza opens the bottle and begins pouring it onto the tweezers.

“I can only see a couple cuts with anything in them,” Reza says, which Kurt supposes is something of a reassuring statement. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

True to his word, the process is quick, but stinging and painful. Kurt knows it’s hardly that bad in the grand scheme of things, but it still hurts, and for a few seconds afterwards he sits there and takes deep breaths and blinks his eyes rapidly and mentally yells at himself to get it together. 

“You ready to keep going?” Reza asks after a moment, and Kurt nods. “This part also might be a little uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t sting or hurt that bad,” he continues. 

“What is it?” Kurt thinks to ask, staring warily into the contents of the box. Reza bends down and grabs a small tube, turning the label so Kurt can see it.

“Nothing bad, just an antibiotic,” Reza assures him, and Kurt gives another nod. Reza dabs the ointment on with a gloved finger, and it does feel extremely uncomfortable on the big cut on Kurt’s forehead, but on the majority of the rest he hardly feels a thing. When Reza’s finished, he sticks a bandage to the large cut and to a few of the bigger ones on the rest of Kurt’s body, leaving the rest alone. 

“Done,” he announces, finally, and returns to the box to put away his items. Kurt watches curiously as Reza continues rummaging around in the box after everything is already put away, until eventually he stands back up triumphantly and holds up a small packet of painkillers. “Thought I lost these,” he says. “You want them?”

Kurt nods, and Reza tears open the packet, shaking two small, round pills into Kurt’s left palm, which is the less cut-up of the two. He passes over the now half-empty bottle of water, and Kurt swallows the pills and then drinks the remaining water. 

“How’re you feeling?” Reza asks, when he’s finished. Kurt attempts a shrug and winces in pain. 

“Okay,” he says, which is not really true. He does feel better than he had when he was lying on the floor, and certainly much better than he had when he was trying to stand. 

“Sure you’re okay,” Reza says. “Not like you just fell through a floor or anything.”

“Better, then,” Kurt amends, and Reza nods. “Good. Then let’s go.”

That sounds very agreeable to Kurt, so he turns - very slowly and carefully - until his body is all the way in the car. He tries to buckle his seatbelt but gives up very quickly, and Reza does it for him, then shuts his door and opens the driver’s door. He starts the engine, and Kurt watches out the window as the old, abandoned house disappears. As they rejoin the bustling roads of Malmö, a very worrying thought crosses Kurt’s mind for the first time.

“How are we gonna explain this to Rask?”

thanks for reading!!!! i rlly had a fun time writing this and i hope u liked reading it!

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

Space girl

The beginning of most love stories: the moon falls in love with the sun.

(The problem, however, is that most love stories aren’t set in the Boiling Isles. To confirm that the metaphor works adequately, there must exist at least one moon and one sun in your admittedly bonkers world. Is there a sun? A moon?)

Amity shivers where she’s sitting at her window, stares up at the bright bluish orb hanging over the sky and decides it does, in fact, qualify as a celestial body, whatever the hell that means. Luz has been teaching them about the intricacies of the human world, every bit of knowledge that they would require if in case they ever got transported there accidentally, and that includes something called a smartphone, a bus and the shortest way to the nearest vending machine, preferably a vending machine that stocks Mars Bars. Amity suspects the last is just another one of Luz’s whims, but has no way of confirming.

(And what is the point of confirming anything anyways? It is enough to sit in front of Luz, or beside her or anywhere with a direct line of sight to her, so Amity can listen to her blabber on about chocolate chips and scrambled eggs and something called a Tumblr; enough to get lost in the insistent, sunshine shaped cadence of her voice and forget about the perils of the week.

Plus, is the sun ever wrong?)

A month ago, Amity would have been alarmed at how easily she writes down her utter devotion towards a very human someone who gets beaten up on the regular by some ancient eldritch horror. Now the words just walk out of her quill and plant themselves firmly on the page like they couldn’t belong anywhere else, except maybe her paramour’s heart. That’s the problem with the moon falling in love with the sun. it’s annoying yet ineffable and inevitable. It’s also the easiest thing she’s ever done.

*****

Emira figures it out first. Which probably means that Edric knows as well, since Amity is pretty sure the twins share a single mind and keep passing it to each other like they’re in an eternal Grudgby match. However, he’s not the one who appears in her room in the middle of the night to scare her half to death. That’s all Emira.

“What,” Amity starts, one hand on her chest, other reaching instinctively for her training wand at the sight of a green cloud of smoke that’s materialized in her room out of nowhere, “in the world are you doing here?”

Her sister leans against the doorway, like she’s been there all along, takes in her room. Amity knows it’s clean, knows that there is not a speck of dust hiding beneath the floorboards or an errant cape strewn on her bed, and yet can’t help following Emira’s gaze anxiously as it travels across her neatly arranged trophy on the shelf, her table and the loose floorboard she now hides her diary under, before she comes to rest on hers.

“You never told us what happened at the library the other day,” she says, finally.

Amity blinks. “I did tell you what happened. Otabin turned into a monster and tried to sew me, literally, into a book. Had to be fought off.”  

She doesn’t continue with the subsequent thoughts in her head. Luz was there. Brave, idiotic Luz with a tendency of barging into adventures without a second thought. Luz, who I would’ve jumped into fire for. Luz, who made (makes) me laugh.

“You mean you and Luz?” Emira asks, innocently.

She bites the inside of her cheek, tries hard not to betray the smile that’s trying to creep up her face at the sound of Luz’s name. Nods.

“Luz is pretty cool, is she not?” Emira continues, and okay, there’s no reason to say someone’s name this much in one conversation. She ambles around her room, touching things at random, while Amity regulates her breathing. This was pathetic. The sound of someone’s name wasn’t supposed to make her feel like her heart was going to burst out of her, wasn’t supposed to climb up her throat and turn into absolute warmth all over her face.  

“Uh huh,” she manages. “I guess. Yeah. Eh. Yeah.” Too much too much too much too much.

Emira is suddenly in her face then. She places her hand on Amity’s shoulders, stares right into her eyes.

“Aw, Mittens,” she chuckles. “You’re adorable when you have a crush.”

And then she disappears.

Amity does manage to chuck the object nearest to her (which happens to be her training wand) at Emira’s retreating figure. Then she sits on the floor and curls up into an embarrassed ball. You know, as one does.

*****

The whole jumping into danger for Luz thing would be a lot more avoidable if Luz didn’t have an equally huge jumping into danger for Amity thing as well.

Which is such a godforsaken Luz thing to do. The idiot immersed herself in a cauldron full of sludge for Willow, who she had met minutes ago, of course she would take on her burden for Grom night. Of course she would somehow break the cage Amity had conjured up for her to come save Eda and Edric and Emira and of course she would help her make things right with Willow. If the girl had one coherent thought when she woke up every morning, it was probably this – Ooh, someone’s in trouble? Let me fix it!

(She does inevitably manage to turn a tiny cut into a gushing wound in absolutely no time at all, but would Luz even be Luz without shenanigans?)

Amity loves it. It gives her a heart attack, but she loves how Luz is always ready to help out a random stranger. She’s never met anyone with a heart bigger than Luz’s and a personality sunnier than hers.

(Also hasn’t met anyone who’s cuter, or prettier, or better-looking in a strange black-pink-frilly-yet-well-tailored attire, but let’s not go there)

Either way, it’s completely understandable that she immediately reaches for her wand when Luz climbs up onto her balcony after Grom night, ready to fight whatever it was that was evidently bothering her.

“No!” Luz holds up her hands, shoots her a quick smile. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Oh,” she says, feeling herself relax. “So, um — why are you — here?”

“I could go! If you — wanted to, sleep or—”

“—no! Absolutely not!” Curse her for picking the absolute worst way to phrase a question. Why hadn’t she said Hey Luz, it’s so nice to see you, what brings you here? Or Hey Luz, please walk into my room and never leave.

(You know. Either works)

“I’m glad you’re here,” Amity says, then fumbles for something, anything, to add on to that revealing statement. “I mean, I couldn’t sleep anyways.”

Luz nods, and then giggles when Amity joins her onto the balcony and in the moonlight.

“What?” she asks, a little self-conscious. Also very charmed. Making Luz laugh was like some form of intoxicating elixir; Amity was hooked onto the feeling. Luz laughing made the world brighter.

(God, she was so gone for this idiot.)

“Your pajamas have tiny owls all over them,” Luz points out.

“Okay, that’s it!” she says, half-turning to go back into her room, when Luz’s hand grabs her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Luz is still laughing. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. You look cute.”

Thank you, Luz. That’s very nice of you, Luz. You look nice in your strange clothes and oversized jacket as well, Luz. Those were all potential responses she could deliver.

Instead, she makes a choked-off noise that sounds suspiciously like hngg and closes her eyes.  

(She’s so gone for this idiot)

*****

“Does your moon look like the one here?” Amity asks, one night of many, when they’re sitting on her balcony staring up at the gigantic thing. There’s some quiet song about stars and lovers that’s playing on that infernal device Luz is always toting around, and Luz is next to her, her arm brushing against Amity’s, radiating warmth out from the point of contact.

Amity wouldn’t mind if she died happy right at this moment.

“It’s a little different, I think,” Luz tilts her head, regarding it thoughtfully. Then she picks up her phone, taps at it and holds it out in front of Amity. “Here, that’s the moon back home.”

It isn’t bluish like this one. Nor is it smooth, unblemished. It’s got marks all over it, remnants, Amity presumes of outside forces long gone by. Enraptured, she leans in for a closer look.

“It’s orange!”

“It was just that day,” Luz informs her. “It isn’t orange all the time.”

“It changes colors?” That was surprising. Also fascinating.

“Not — not all the time. It’s complicated, I guess.”

Amity likes the wide smile Luz holds when she talks about this. Luz is so expressive, she couldn’t hide her feelings to save her life. Most of the time in school, when being faced down by exasperated teachers Amity thinks of it as a curse. Now, however, at midnight, while it’s just the two of them, and she is privy to this unbridled display of everything that makes up Luz, she’s enamored.

“Why do you like the moon so much?” she asks, curious.

“Why do you like the sun so much?” Luz shoots back, playfully.

Oh. That one’s easy. “Because it turns everything golden. Because it’s airy and light. Because it makes me feel warm inside.” Because your eyes turn a particular shade in the sunlight and it’s hard to look at you directly, you shine so bright. Because every time the sun comes up, it is a precursor to me seeing you in school.  

Because it reminds me of you.

Luz looks at her, her eyes uncharacteristically wide and serious. “I like the moon because it makes me feel seen. Because it’s almost as lonely as I am. Because I can trust it enough to know that it’s mostly always there, even if it’s behind the clouds at the moment.”

They’re staring at each other, eyes wide, and Amity can’t breathe. She thinks of a lonely Luz staring up at the night sky back in the human world, talking to the moon, and it twinges, sorrowfully, like a ukulele out of tune, at a place deep underneath her chest. Some strange mixture of I’m sorry you had no one to talk to and I wish I’d been there, I wish I’d known you back then — I’d have listened to all your stories.  

“Plus,” Luz smiles, “it’s pretty.”

Amity blinks, and the spell is broken. Luz jerks, as if coming out of a dream, and stands up straight. Stammers, fumbles, makes a truly terrible joke about broomsticks and King and the annoying owl slash security guard slash housekeeper and runs off, leaving her completely confused.

*****

It’s when Gus finds out that Amity discovers that everyone and their parent has known about her Grometheus sized crush on Luz the entire time.  

“But why didn’t you tell me?” He’s still sulking about it in a corner, while Amity is faced down by Willow, Edric, Emira, Eda and King at the same time.

“Nobody told anyone, strange little child,” Eda waves a hand impatiently at him. “We just have eyes.”

Edric casts a momentary silencing spell on him, but Amity is pretty sure he’s mouthing the words “But I have eyes too”. Not that she’s too worried about Gus. He’ll be fine.... eventually. It’s more the fact that she now has to figure out which parts of her behavior have apparently clued in the whole world to the fact that her heart is waddling around in an idiot’s chest, most times.

“How about the fact that you can’t stop smiling when I bring her up?” She does not—

“Or that you did some pretty advanced magic trying to save her when that Slither-Beast had us?” How did he-

“You nearly combusted when she picked you up after our Grudgby match?” It wasn’t that bad.

She buries her head in her hands. Then looks up at King.

“Do you want to add anything?”

“No,” he replies. “I had no idea until today. I just didn’t want to be lumped in with Gus over there.”

She stands up, picks up her bag. “Okay, I am clearly at a disadvantage here—”

“Mittens, come back,” Edric grabs the back of her shirt, lets her flail for a minute before she gives up.

“I just — I just wanted to get her something nice for her birthday tomorrow, okay? And instead I’m being ambushed by the entirety of Boiling Isles.”

“But we are trying to help you, kid,” Eda tells her, now lounging on the couch with King on her lap. “God knows I love that child, but she has not an ounce of common sense in her. There is no way she’s ever going to figure out you’re in love with her if you don’t—”

“—whoa, whoa, whoa, love? That’s — please — completely crazy — idea. I’m not — in — love. That’s—”

She’s not. She’s not. So what if she keeps interrogating Gus on human things so she can impress Luz with her admittedly flawed knowledge on all things non-Boiling Isles? So what if she hasn’t slept more than five hours for the past one month because Luz comes over at night and they end up talking until past midnight? What does it even matter that Luz is the only person who she feels any form of innate comfort around? Or that every time she lends Luz her jacket when it gets chilly, the sight of an awkwardly clad Luz in that oversized thing makes her heart feel full to the point of bursting?  

That’s not love.  

(Some strange whisper echoes through her head, leaving echoes of But it could be behind)

Luz is the sun, okay? Bright and beautiful and adored by everyone. There’s no reason she could, or that she even should pay attention to Amity. Her affection is easily given, evenly split between all her friends and the citizens of the world; there’s no way Amity could ever hope to exert enough gravity to make Luz notice her, no way she could dare to hope for a greater portion in Luz’s long list of priorities.

(After all, does the sun even know that moon exists?)

*****

“Come on, Amity!”

She presses her lips flat, tries not to burst into laughter at the sight of an impatient Luz, vibrating by her side, hands opening and closing in the air.  

“I know you have a gift for me! And you’ve been hiding it from everyone! Nobody at the party knew!”

“Aren’t you tired from the party?” she asks, knowing the abrupt change in topic is just going to annoy Luz more. It had been a hectic affair, after all. Monster complications in the morning aside, the Owl House had seen an impressive number of guests who wanted to wish Luz a very happy birthday. An impressive number of guests along with an impressive number of gifts.

All except one.

“Nope. Not tired at all,” Luz tells her, promptly. “Completely alert and ready to receive the gift that I know you’ve gotten me but aren’t giving me yet, because you like messing with me.”

Amity twists her face into the visual equivalent of Who, me but conjures up a wrapped box either way. It falls into Luz’s outstretched hands, and then she has to tell her to shush unless they want Amity’s parents grounding her, forever.

(Not that it pleases her, much. She hates telling Luz to quiet down, because it tends to break her out of whatever spiel she is embarking upon, and Amity adores it when Luz rambles. Her eyes shine, and her hands move around animatedly, and her voice, her voice is so, so sweet she doesn’t mind it telling her about things she cannot comprehend)

She puts a hand on Luz’s right arm just as she’s about to unwrap it. “Luz,” she starts, already embarrassed, but determined to power through, “this, is probably not the best gift, and probably not even accurate as well, so you have to tell me if you don’t like it, okay? I’ve got other backup gifts I’d planned on giving you, so no worries, okay? Just—”

“Amity,” Luz cuts in, her excited smile morphing into something a little quieter, gentler, “I already love it.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet.”

Luz shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, still looking at her. Only resumes unwrapping it when Amity nods. Opens the box, and thankfully isn’t looking at her when Amity starts talking.

“I tried — to make it as close to the real thing as possible,” she says, watching Luz look at the off-white orb in wonder. “King helped. He went on something called the, the internet? And turns out your moon has a lot of craters! But it’s pretty regardless, so I tried — to. Yeah.”

She’s not exactly surprised when Luz leans over and hugs her. They’re sitting side by side so the angle’s a little off, but it’s not like she cares. Luz, beautiful, happy, Luz is here and she’s solid in her arms, and she can feel her smile against her neck and Amity is going to die—

“Thank you.” Luz disentangles herself from the embrace, but still pretty close. “I — Amity. Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

But I want to. I want to give you things, and I want to give you things that you like and that will maybe remind you of me. She places a hand on the orb between them, sees it light up.

“It also does this,” she informs Luz, unnecessarily. Then places a hand again, watches it turn orange. “Changes colors. Like yours does.”

She finally looks at Luz again, after a moment of complete silence, only to see her staring back. The look in her eyes is so — so intense (Amity can think of no other way to describe it), that it makes her want to turn away and cover her face. Like it’s going to burn her up if she keeps looking into her eyes.  

And then Luz quickly darts forward to press a kiss to her cheek, and Amity combusts.

(Only inside. You’d think it was possible, wouldn’t you? It was the Boiling Isles, after all. But no. Nobody had spontaneously combusted since Elaric the Great and as far as anybody could tell, it didn’t have anything to do with romance)

The kiss lands half on her half and half on her skin because she’s pretty sure Luz hasn’t exactly thought it through either. There’s a single, blissful moment of peace, and then then her heart goes into overdrive, beating away like it’s trying to catch a train.

Speaking of things trying to catch a train, however....

“I have to go!” Luz scrambles away, gets up. Her face looks red as well, and Amity, a little stumped, watches it happen, as though in slow motion. Even through her haste, she picks up the replica of the moon carefully and wraps it up in her jacket. “I’ll — see you tomorrow! At school! Where we both.... go. So. Yeah. Goodnight!”

“Goodnight?” Amity replies, softly.

Right before she’s about to climb down, Luz stops. Turns around, and very quickly says something that Amity for the life of her cannot figure out.

(Also, because she’s still in the tummy-woozy, mind-blank state of just having a kiss pressed to her cheek by the most perfect girl in the world)

“Can you say that again?”

“I, uh,” Luz slows down, deliberately, her voice coming out quieter. “Did you totally hate that?”

Oh.

Oh, gosh, the idiot.

Amity shakes her head, grins at her, hoping that says what she isn’t brave enough to say yet. “No, Luz. I didn’t hate that.”

*****

She keeps the picture of Luz’s tremulous, answering smile wrapped in the fist she presses to her heart a long time after she’s gone.

*****

And that’s how the story ends. With the sun smiling at the moon.  

[riotwritesthings]

When is a bed not a bed? (When you’re not in it)

WinterIron, T, 2.7k, crack, bedsharing, pining | AO3

Dear @hddnone​, I hear you like bed sharing fic. I also like bed sharing fic, and I ADORE your work and also you. So here’s this. I wrote it in a night I never do that who even am i. As always, thanks to Stella for title assistance.

-

“I take it back,” Tony calls out the open doorway, “this safe house is not well stocked, they forgot one very important thing.”

Bucky appears in the doorway a second later, looks around the small bedroom, and then fixes Tony with an unimpressed look.

“There’s only one bed,” Tony says slowly, in case Bucky somehow missed it, but Bucky just shrugs. And of course it’s not a problem for him, he’s not the one uselessly pining away like a character in an old timey romance novel.

“So you take it,” Bucky says, “I hardly sleep anyways.” Then he turns to leave, like that’s just the end of the conversation.

“That is not the end of this conversation!” Tony says, following him back out into the equally tiny living room.

-

Turns out, that is the end of the conversation. For about three days.

For three nights, Tony tosses and turns on the lumpy single mattress, feeling ridiculously guilty even though it had been Bucky’s idea to sleep on the tiny moldy couch. He also has to keep listing out all the reasons in his head that he shouldn’t invite Bucky to come share the bed with him, laws of physics be damned.

Like the fact that it took long enough for Bucky to be comfortable around them all anyways, especially around Tony, and the last thing Tony wants to do is screw that up. Especially because he would almost, tentatively, say that he and Bucky are friends now, and it’s not like Bucky wants more than that, why would he? It’s Tony.

Tony doesn’t sleep very well, is the point.

-

On the fourth night, Tony puts his foot down. “Your turn with the bed,”’ he says after their nightly meal of tasteless canned meat, “little piece of advice, it does slope to the right, so be careful not to roll off.”

“No,” Bucky says eloquently.

“Yes,” Tony shoots back, then twists sideways on the couch and starts kicking Bucky in the hip as he says “go on, get out of my new bed, some of us need our beauty sleep.”

Bucky moves not at all except to grab one of Tony’s ankles. “I told you, I don’t need-“

“This is purely selfish,” Tony interrupts him with a bright grin, “that bed is terrible, okay, every inch of me hurts and I’m hoping this couch is better. Have fun with the torture bed.”

Bucky gives him a suspicious look, but slowly rises from the couch and heads for the bedroom. He doesn’t shut the door behind him, and Tony listens with satisfaction as the old bed frame creaks under Bucky’s weight.

The couch smells terrible. Tony is kind of tempted to hold his breath until he passes out, because for a while that seems like the only way he’s getting to sleep. But he feels way less guilty, and it's way less tempting to go crawl into the bed with Bucky. That would just be rude.

Eventually, Tony manages to get past the smell and the lumps and the way the one tiny window rattles in the lightest of breezes, and actually falls asleep. He wakes up in the bed, blankets neatly tucked in around him.

“Are you kidding me, you stubborn bastard?!” Tony demands as he storms into the living room.

“What happened?” Bucky asks, smiling innocently at him over a can of peaches.

“This isn’t over,” Tony tells him, very seriously, and then, “I was saving those peaches!”

-

On the fifth night, Tony comes out of the bathroom to find Bucky pretending to already be asleep on the couch.

“Bucky,” Tony says, standing over him, hands on his hips, and then continues saying it until Bucky finally squints an eye open at him. “Bucky,” Tony says, as reasonably as he can, “go get in the fucking bed.”

“I slept in the bed last night,” Bucky says and oh, Tony can absolutely see the smirk trying to break free from behind Bucky’s flat expression.

“You most certainly did not,” Tony says and he can’t help a small huff of laughter, because he has to respect the dedication.

“Agree to disagree,” Bucky says, shrugging one shoulder, and then closes his eyes again.

“I do not agree to that,” Tony says, “and I will stand here all night to make a point, don’t think I won’t.”

Bucky peeks his eyes open again, and Tony raises one eyebrow at him.

Falling asleep on the couch is at least easier the second time, but halfway through the night Tony wakes up in bed again.

“Damnit Bucky!” He shouts, struggling and failing to break free of the blankets tucked tightly around him.

“I’m sleeping!” Bucky shouts back, and Tony is pretty sure he can hear a smothered laugh. It’s unfair, really, that the sound of it has Tony’s heart beating just a little faster.

“The hell you are,” Tony grumbles, and falls back asleep before he can work up the energy to free himself and go kick Bucky off the couch again.

-

On the seventh morning, Tony wakes up to Bucky looming above him.

“What th’ fuck, Tony,” he demands, sounding something almost like plaintive.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Tony says brightly, feeling incredibly smug despite the way his entire body aches from sleeping on the ground.

”Mornin’, angel,” Bucky says flatly, “why aren’t you in th’ damn bed?”

“You can keep putting me in the bed, but you can’t make me sleep in it,” Tony says sagely, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

“I can tie you t’ the bed,” Bucky growls, and Tony is incredibly thankful he managed to pull the blankets down with him because hello.

Tony can’t help the way he immediately responds by smirking wide and wiggling his eyebrows, he really can’t. It’s just instinct.

Bucky rolls his eyes and stomps out of the room.

“I’m counting this as a win,” Tony calls after him.

“I’m eatin’ your powdered eggs,” Bucky calls back. Like that’s any kind of a threat.

-

So it continues like that, they have nothing to do during the day except hurry up and wait, and there’s only so many times Bucky can clean his guns and sharpen his knives, only so many times Tony can tear apart the toaster and put it back together. At least fighting over the bed gives them something to do.

Tony would even dare to say that Bucky is enjoying the game, too. Especially on the eighth night, when Tony wakes up just as he’s being gently lowered to the mattress, decides to aggressively throw himself out of the bed, and nearly brains himself on the nightstand. Bucky laughs so hard he nearly collapses and Tony seizes the moment of opportunity, almost crawls all the way out of the room before Bucky grabs him by the foot and drags him back.

On the ninth night, when Tony tries to roll out of bed, he gets tangled in the sheets and ends up pinned awkwardly to the side of the mattress and has to yell for Bucky to come free him. Bucky stumbles in looking sleepy and smug, so gorgeous that Tony almost does something incredibly stupid. Like tell him that.

No matter where Tony falls asleep, on the couch, on the scratchy rug in front of the empty fireplace, on the kitchen table just to make a point, he always wakes up in bed. He doesn’t even stir when Bucky moves him, most of the time, and that’s as endearing as it is terrifying.

After the tenth night stuck in the tiny safe house, things start to get weird.

-

“Bucky,” Tony calls pitifully, and waits a full minute before continuing with “frosty, sweetheart, light of my life, oh kind and generous angel, would you please get in here already.”

Bucky finally appears in the doorway and Tony knows he took so long on purpose, this house isn’t that big. “What’s up, sugar?” Bucky asks and he’s trying to hide his smirk behind his coffee mug but Tony can absolutely see it in his eyes.

“Not much, just one little thing really,” Tony says pleasantly, and then flails his entire body as hard as he can. It accomplishes not a goddamn thing, because the blankets on the bed are all tucked in so tightly that Tony might as well be in a straight jacket.

Bucky chokes on his mouthful of coffee, clearly trying not to laugh, and good, Tony hopes it went up his nose. Bucky doesn’t actually move to help him though, just stays leaning against the doorframe and grinning.

“Bucky,” Tony says again, putting on his best puppy dog eyes.

“Darlin’,” Bucky says back, smiling sweetly. When Tony continues to stare him down, he takes a slow, obnoxious sip of his coffee before asking “what’s up?”

Tony attempts to flail again, then demands “would you just get over here, what the fuck, did you staple these sheets in place?!”

“Had to make sure you didn’t go anywhere,” Bucky says, completely unapologetic, but finally moves to free him.

“You’re a bad, bad man,” Tony tells him, already plotting how he’s going to steal the mug of coffee Bucky left on the nightstand.

“Whatever you say, doll.”

-

Tony wakes up slung over Bucky’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Disappointing,” Tony tells the small of Bucky’s back, “I always imagined you carried me like a delicate princess.”

“Not when it’s the third time tonight,” Bucky grumbles, voice low and sleep rough in a way that does things to Tony, “would you just stay in th’ fuckin’ bed.”

“You sleep in the bed,” Tony replies, “and leave me in peace.”

“You can’t sleep in th’ bathtub,” Bucky says heartlessly and drops him onto the bed, surprisingly gentle.

“I argue that I was sleeping in the bathtub just fine,” Tony points out.

Bucky yanks the pillow out from under his head and shoves it in his face.

-

“Are you serious right now?” Bucky asks, leaning heavily against the doorframe, his hair in his face and his eyes still mostly closed.

Tony freezes in the act of building a Tony-shaped lump of pillows under the blankets. “No?” He tries.

Bucky glares at him until Tony shamefully un-builds the Tony-shaped lump and crawls back under the blankets himself.

-

On the fourteenth night, Tony has a new plan. It’s not a good plan, but it is new, and considering how stir crazy he is that’s about the best Tony can do.

He’s pretty sure Bucky is already awake when he stumbles into the living room, so Tony just heads straight for the couch and throws himself down on top of Bucky. It’s super awkward, because Bucky is curled up on his side to fit on the tiny couch, and Tony definitely ends up with a metal elbow somewhere around his spleen.

“What th’ fuck, doll,” Bucky slurs out, and maybe he hadn’t been quite as awake as Tony had thought.

“I want the couch,” Tony says, “I don’t care where you sleep. Although I should point out that the bed is empty, so you might as well use it.”

“What the fuck,” Bucky says again. He tries to shift, probably because Tony’s knees have to be digging into his legs, and it would probably send Tony tumbling to the ground if not for Bucky’s other arm snapping up to wrap around him.

“Give in and surrender the couch,” Tony says, like Bucky isn’t the only thing keeping him from face planting into the ground.

“Why are you like this?” Bucky asks with a heavy sigh, and in one smooth move manages to push himself to his feet while simultaneously slinging Tony up into a bridal carry. He smirks when Tony makes a couple nonsense noises and asks “happy now, princess?’

“Thrilled,” Tony says with as much sarcasm as he can manage, but it still comes out entirely too honest as Bucky starts carrying him back towards the bedroom.

“Why won’t you jus’ stay in th’ damn bed,” Bucky asks and oh, apparently he actually wants an answer to that.

Tony ran out of reasonable excuses about two days ago, so he blurts out “I feel guilty hogging it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but there’s a warm smile hovering around the corners of his mouth as he says “told you I don’t want it.”

“Oh, well if you told me,” Tony says with an eye-roll of his own, because really, it’s like Bucky doesn’t know him at all. Bucky does huff out a soft laugh, so maybe he does, but still, Tony has a point to prove. As soon as Bucky sets him down oh-so-gently on the bed, Tony leaps into action and tries to throw himself over Bucky’s shoulder towards the door.

“Damnit Tony,” Bucky snaps, but he’s shaking with suppressed laughter as he catches Tony around the waist and tries to toss him back down onto the bed. “Shit,” he swears again as Tony gets his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and clings for all he’s worth, “sweet thing, would you just- fuck, Tony-“

At some point in the ensuing scuffle, in which Bucky tries very hard to set him down and Tony tries very hard to not let that happen, Tony’s heel collides with the back of Bucky’s knee. It knocks Bucky just enough off balance that they both go tumbling down onto the bed and the frame groans dangerously.

It also knocks all the air out of Tony’s lungs when Bucky lands heavily on top of him, and after a second Tony manages to wheeze out “tell my bots... they failed me.”

“Tha’s fucked up,” Bucky says with another soft laugh. Then he wiggles one arm under Tony, says “hold on,” and proceeds to somehow roll them both over without rolling straight off the bed. “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Bucky says, dropping his head back and even managing to land on the pillow, “you’re makin’ this so difficult.”

“I am proud of myself,” Tony says, face smashed against Bucky’s chest and eyes already falling closed, “‘cause that’s what I do.” Honestly, Bucky is about as lumpy as the mattress, in terms of laying-on, but in much better ways. And he’s so warm, and his arm still draped around Tony’s waist feels so nice, there’s not a damn thing Tony can do to stop himself from drifting off.

“Are... are you falling asleep on me?” Bucky asks, and there’s something in his voice that Tony can’t quite place. Maybe he can figure it out later, when he’s awake.

“No,” Tony says, and then passes the fuck out.

-

On the fifteenth night, Tony falls asleep on the couch and wakes up sprawled out on top of Bucky on the tiny bed, both of Bucky’s arms wrapped tight around his back.

“‘S this your dastardly plan to keep me in bed?” Tony asks, not bothering to lift his face from where it’s tucked so nicely into the curve of Bucky’s throat.

“Worked last night,” Bucky says, voice more of a low rumble than anything, and tightens his hold just a little.

“You fiend,” Tony says, and falls back asleep.

-

On the sixteenth morning, Tony wakes up still sprawled out on top of Bucky, drooling on him a little, Bucky’s fingers running through his hair. They don’t fight over the couch, after that.

-

It’s another three goddamn days before someone finally comes to pick them up, and they share the very last can of peaches to celebrate.

“Am I gonna have to worry ‘bout finding you sleepin’ on the kitchen table still?” Bucky asks with a small grin that still manages to light up his whole face.

Tony takes his table to think about his answer, sucks the last of the sugary, corn-syrupy fruit juice off his fork. Takes stock of the way Bucky watches him do it. Considers. Runs the odds. Decides to take his chances.

“I think you’ve learned there’s really only one way to be sure,” Tony says, raising one eyebrow and even letting a nervous little smile show on his face.

Bucky’s grin widens slowly, and then it’s a full on smile, nearly splitting his face and Tony can’t take it anymore. When Tony kisses him Bucky tastes sugary sweet and he still won’t stop smiling, even as he pulls Tony in closer.

Tony really doesn’t mind.

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

The Bard, The Flowers, And An Hourglass

Rated T and up for graphic descriptions of injuries' Geraskier/Gerlion featuring a cameo by Regis Cross posted to Ao3 

Jaskier hated it. He absolutely without a doubt loathed when the witcher took a dangerous contract and refused to let him come along. Never mind that he hadn't even told him where he would be and therefore where to look if he didnt come back. Normally Jaskier would just trust that Geralt was not going to get himself killed and he would play his lute, sing, dance and be merry until the witcher returned. Not tonight. Tonight could not be any more cliche in his mind. 

He stood in the darkened room he was renting and stared out the dirty window waiting for the witchers return. The skin around his nails ached from being picked at and torn while he stared out the window into a dark and writhing tempest. The sky rent open with lightning and the wind ushered to and fro by thunder. The clouds in the sky swirled forebodingly and ominous moving as restless as Jaskier soul. The witcher had seemed concerned about this contract. Something had to be off about it, of that Jaskier was certain. He had informed Jaskier that he would be gone for a minimum of 4 days. It was the fifth night and there was no sign of the witcher. 

Jaskier had spent the last three nights playing music. That was his profession after all, no sense in squandering opportunity. He had played the fourth evening as well, though not as late. When Geralt hadn't returned, he'd walked to the town gate and waited in the dark, cloak pulled tight against the sting of spring air. He hadn't slept since against his better judgment and failed attempts. 

He couldn't recall all of the details, only that Geralt would have to pass through a very old swamp on the edge of a lake, likely filled with drowners, echinops (if the rumors he'd heard were true) and a variety of other things he didn't want to think of. Of course Geralt could have gone around it, since his contract was to take out an Archgriffin that was pestering a number of farms at the base of the mountain range and near the edge of the swamp. Instead the Witcher was, Jaskier was very certain, being foolish and going straight through it instead of around like all of the normal sane people. Jaskier could hear the excuse clearly in his head,  "I need to know how bad the swamp is. Might need to bring the others next spring." Of course Geralt would. How dare he just do the task at hand and move on. For all his airs he really was a good man, better than the people gave him credit for and better than most deserved. 

So now, Jaskier is staring out the window of his room in the middle of the night as the first of the spring storms rage, waiting for the bastard to come back. With a sigh and worried eyes, Jaskier pushes away from the window and paces the length of the drafty room instead. The fire roaring in the hearth doing nothing to stave off the chill of rain and night, or the dispare growing every hour in his gut. It sends chills down his spine, so he tries to focus on anything but his missing friend. Maybe he got laid up by the weather, that was certainly a possibility. Still, that it was going to take him 4 days to complete the contract had seemed odd, and he had hoped that it would be significantly less time. Instead it had been the opposite. 

The distractions he attempts to conjure don't last long. His mind is fixated on the witcher, not uncommon these days, he thinks. He returns to his vigil and watches the darkness on the edge of town. It's nearing 2 in the morning and he knows he really needs to sleep. He can feel it in his body. He's too tightly wound to try though so he remains at his self appointed post. He blinks bleary eyes and squints at movement caught on the edge of darkness. He turns his head to follow the shape more fully. 

"That looks like Roach” His mind supplies as the shape takes the form of a horse and single rider, a silhouette against the black of night.  “Oh no." He tears across the room, down the hall and takes the steps two at a time. He pulls the inn door open and darts into the  downpour without a second thought. He sprints through the mud slipping and sliding all the way. By the time he reaches the witcher and his stead, his fears begin to come true. Geralt is injured, badly and barely astride Roach. Panicked he does everything he can to keep Geralt in the saddle until they reach the stable. There is nothing but the deafening roar of wind and thunder in his ears, the hammering of his heart in his chest as the rain stings his face. Inside the stable Geralt falls uselessly from Roaches saddle and the stablehand, woken by Jaskiers shouts, jumps to action tending to the mare. He can see that her rider is badly injured, blood oozes from a tear in his armor, and he can’t even stand upright. Jaskeir ducks under Geralt's arm and uses his own around the witchers back to support him. It’s everything he has to get the man to their room, he's practically dragging him along by the time they reach the top of the stairs. Geralt's legs have gone limp and he’s barely standing. Huffing with exertion, Jaskier barely manages to get the white haired man to the chair and starts undoing his armor with dexterous fingers and practiced ease, before he slumps unconscious. This is the epitome of not good. Jaskier will have to go for a healer, but first he will do what he can to stop the bleeding. The armor comes away quickly followed by Geralt's undershirt and the flickering light of hastily lit candles is not enough to tend to the mottled, torn,  and bloodied flesh of his friend. Jaskier pushes down the horror in his throat and investigates the wounds as well as he can. The gash is long, it stretches from right hip bone up and over Geralt's left shoulder, diagonally across his chest, and stops just under his shoulder blade. There are large chunks of skin and muscle torn away and flapping loosely now that armor and shirt have been removed. And Jaskier is certain he can see Geralt's ribs; and is that what a stomach looks like?  He swallows against the nausea that assaults him at the sight and sets to cleaning the wound. He bites his tongue and clenches his teeth to keep from vomiting as he works. The wound will be bandaged and he will administer a dose of Swallow and then go for a healer. This is the only thing Jaskier can do for his friend now.

 Geralt opens his eyes and groans with the pain, which is a good sign. Quickly Jaskier pushes the vial of Swallow, the most important potion, the only potion Geralt had actively taken the time to show him and explain about, to the witcher's lips and he drinks understandingly. His eyes are hazy and Jaskier knows that he needs to get him to the bed now or he will be lying on the floor to recover, so he resumes his position under Geralt's shoulder and tugs until the larger man pushes himself to his feet and stubbles in the direction Jaskier leads him. It's everything he can do to keep his injured partner upright so he can bandage the wound and as soon as he is done he heads back out into the onslaught of rain and wind. There isn’t time to consider that donning his cloak would have been wise. Instead he rushes in the direction of the town's healer. It had not taken him many weeks of traveling with the witcher to learn that the first thing he should do upon arriving in a new town was inquire as to where the healer lived. And this time, like so many times before it had become a piece of information he wished he didn’t need. As he ran through the muddied streets he slipped and fell into the water and mud, dirtying his stockings and doublet. He was completely drenched, shivering and covered in filth by the time he made it to the house. Knocking loudly and insistently his teeth rattled in the cold and his knees knocked together. After what felt an eternity the man opened the door. One look at the bard and he knew the witcher was injured. Jaskier was invited to stand in the entryway while the physician dressed quickly and haphazardly and gathered his supplies. “How bad is the injury?” He asked, calm and composed in the face of emergency. “It stretches from the back of his shoulder across his chest to his right hip bone. I- I can see his ribs in places and I think his stomach. I did my best to clean and bandage it before I came but I’m not a healer.” He stutters out between involuntary shivers.

Regis, it turns out is rather spry despite his looks and old age and they make it to the inn rather quickly. Despite the speed of their travel the doctor too is soaked and shivering when they arrive. It doesn’t stop him from following quickly and silently on Jaskies heels as he takes the stairs two at a time and jogs down the hall to their room. Jaskier steps to the side and stays out of the way as the physician moves towards his patient. Only, in the shadowy and flickering light of the room it almost seems like a predator advancing on prey, and in a way he supposes that is exactly the nature of physician and patient. When Regis asks him to bring the other chair over to the bedside to act as a makeshift table he does so without hesitating. It’s easy to follow the orders of someone so calm. 

Regis is the epitome of calm under pressure. He doesn’t flinch away from the carnage of Geralt's torso, doesn’t blink at the vast quantities of blood loss. The physician doesn’t so much as sweat as he works. Finally, Jaskier thinks to inform him that he gave the witcher a vial of swallow, that he knows that another needs to be administered in 4 hours. Geralt had been clear with him about this. It was important when they were on the road miles from help. The witcher hadn’t wanted to disclose the information at all. He had wanted the bard to leave him be and go away, but when it was clear that that wasn’t going to happen and he had been injured a little too seriously one to many times, he accepted that he had help and gave up the information begrudgingly. Regis only hums at him, sideburns twitching with the motion. Jaskier can’t keep up with anything that the man is doing, he moves almost inhumanly fast. But now, as he finishes cleaning the wound his face draws grimm and he looks to the distressed bard. Jaskier swallows, he knows this look. He has seen it before on physicians and healers when someone is near death. He runs a shaky hand through dripping hair and pushes it out of his face, waiting. The action does nothing to calm his nerves. “There is an ingredient I need if I am to save his life. But I do not have it, nor is it found in this town.”  Jaskeir blinks dumbly at the man, opens his mouth to say something and closes it. “In fact, I do not believe they keep it in our sister town.” “What is it? What do you need?” Desperation colors his words dripping with despair as he looks wildly between the healer and the witcher. “There is a cliff just under an hour's ride from here, at the top of the cliff is a field. In the field grows orange lilies. I need three of them, root and all. It is the only way I can think to ensure he survives. He may as it is, being a witcher, but the chances are slim. This wound is deep and I fear infection has already settled in, his heart is weak.” “I’ll go. I can get them. I’ll leave now.” He says already moving around the room, gathering what he might need. “The road will take you through the edge of the swamp. Then you must climb the cliff face, there is no path to the top. And Bard,” He turns to meet Regis eyes, they flicker in the candle light and it sends a shiver of fear down his spine. His feet stay planted to the ground where he is and he waits, unmoving, for Regis to finish. “He doesn’t have long, no more than three hours. And the magic in the lilies will only last for one, once they have been uprooted.” He stares at the man, this harbinger of death. He is no physician, he is Charon waiting to usher the dead to the afterlife. Still, this is the best chance he has at saving his friend, the man he loves. With a firm nod he gathers his knife and cloak and a bag to put the flowers in and turns back to Regis. “Three hours?”  The physician gives a nod, and as if summoned by magic, produces an hourglass. It was larger than a normal one and Jaskier suspectes it is magic. With a grim smile Regis turns it and the time begins. The physician set back to work and Jaskier raced to Roaches side. +++++ “Roach my dear, I am so sorry about this, but I need your help. You and I both know that Geralt is right and Pegasus is slow as molasses. You’ll help me won’t you? To save Geralt.” His voice is harsh with worry. He knows that Geralt speaks to her often and he has no idea if she even understands but she is amenable to him as she stomps, almost impatiently and whinnies. He moves quickly to saddle her and she's ready to move as soon as he climbs into the saddle. 

The rain drops stings like bolts of fire as they pelt against his exposed skin. He squints against the wind and the thousands of ice spears. It’s everything he can to keep hold of Roaches reigns, his fingers have long since gone numb. The road is dark before him and Roach gallops onward into the void before them, following the road as it turns and bends and finally dips into the swamp. He doesn't have time to be concerned with wolves or other creatures of the night. He doesn’t have time to fear what he does not know, or the possibility that he may need to fight the creatures of the swamp. He leans forward over the mare's chestnut mane and ignores the pain in his joints from the cold, or the whipping around of his clothes and hair as the wind sends shutters through the trees. Blowing over those too old and rotten to stand strong against the gales. Branches fly around him and he knows that he is insane. That this entire quest is insane and yet he can’t bear the thought of Geralt dead. Of not having at least tried to save him by gathering the lilies. There is no room for fear or thought as he focuses on trying to remain alive and press on towards the cliff. Steam rises off Roach in puffs of mists. Her nostrils flare and blow steam as she snorts at the shadows surrounding them. The woods are alive and foreboding caging them in on both sides; he doesn't know the road but he knows to keep going. He prays to the gods that he makes it, that Geralt makes it. And presses onwards ignoring the feeling of being watched, of being stalked. Roach seems to know what is happening and carries him quickly out of the grasp of enemies he cannot see. Though he can feel the brush of claws, the breath of a monster too close to his flesh. 

Finally the cliffs come into sight and Jaskeir could whoop with glee. He stumbles as he dismounts and barely manages to steady himself by placing a hand on Roaches shoulder. He aches muscles tight from the ride and the constant shivering. He adjusts the now soaked satchel over his shoulder and the dagger he had brought with him in its sheath. Hesitantly he assesses the cliffside and shudders. Slowly he wraps his arms around himself to brace against the cold and his fear. There is no way he can scale the cliffside, none at all. He doesn’t know what he was thinking. Sure he had to try, but now he was here in the dark and the cold and the wind swirling around him and he knows with numb fingers and toes he can’t even attempt to climb the cliffside. It's sheer and steep and flowing with waterfalls and rivulets of ice cold water. Looking at it he isn't even certain he has the strength to climb it. 

He steps forwards towards the cliff and stretches out a shaking hand. “Get a grip Jaskier. If you don’t do this… if you don’t do this, Geralt will die. You have to try. You have too.”

Slowly he steps forward and stretches up, taking hold of the moss covered rocks and sharp edges and pulling himself up. He pushes up with his feet and they to find footholds. Craning his head backwards he tries to look for the next handhold and fails, the rain stinging his eyes. Instead he closes them and reaches blindly. He looks down and gets an idea of where he can put his feet to support his weight, but knows he can’t let himself think about how far he could fall. He swallows down his nervousness, fingers convulsing around the rock ledge in his hand. As he climbs he recites tales he had heard ages ago to himself. He needs to keep his mind focused but his heart hammers in his chest and his breathing comes out in ragged puffs as he pulls himself further up the cliffside. He’s halfway up when his worst fear seems as though it will come true. He loses his grip with his right hand and left foot simultaneously. He screams and scrambles to find purchase anywhere among the rough and jagged edges. He feels stone slice into the palm of his left hand as he manages to catch his right foot on an outcropping of stone.

He pulls himself as close to the solid formation of the cliff, irregular edges digging into his chest and hips. He rests his forehead against the stone and gulps down lungfuls of air. Rainwater drips down his neck, trails down his spine and shivers again. When he has settled himself enough he begins climbing again. He tucks his chin to his chest and grits his teeth against the exhaustion and the pain. The ends of his fingers are beginning to come raw as the calluses of many years playing are pulled away from the skin. His muscles twitch with every heave and pull against gravity as he lifts himself inch by inch up the side of the cliff. Finally he pulls himself over the edge and onto a bed of soaking wet grass. 

With his eyes closed he breathes deeply forcing his heart rate to steady. He can’t feel the rain as it falls against his skin or the brush of grass. He can’t feel the wind whipping around him slicing into his skin. It takes every ounce of his consciousness not to fall asleep where he is and to sit up instead. He casts his gaze around the clearing, skin buzzing with electricity as he crawls towards the blossoms whisking in the wind, twisting, twirling and fluttering to and fro. When he reaches the nearest one he pulls the knife out and sets to work cutting the flower from the ground and shoves it into the satchel. He repeats the process twice more and makes his way back to the cliff edge.  

Fear causes him to hesitate with his legs over the edge. The ground is very far away and he can barely make Roach out among the trees below him. He bandages his palm as best he can and turns onto his stomach. He doesn’t have a choice now. He must climb back down the cliff and he knows that the trip down will be far more difficult than the climb up. His feet slip at the initial contact of sole against stone and it takes a moment for him to regain his composure and try again. The rain slick rocks and hurricane like wind around him distract him from the slowly lightening sky. Looking down he tries to move quickly finding holes for his feet and ledges for his hands. He slips several times as the burning in his fingers and toes and calves increases. Still he pushes himself to climb faster. He doesn’t know how long he has been gone, but he knows he has been gone too long already.

Roach snorts below him and he turns his head over his shoulder to see her, but can’t make out what has her distraught as she stomps around and circles. He hadn’t tied her up, she was too well trained to go wandering far. Turning his head back to the stones he seeks out another foothold and misses, the ache in his shoulders is too much and he falls. Spots color his vision as he looks up at the cliffside, the coppery taste of blood sits on his tongue and his side aches. The throbbing in his arm catches his attention and he manages with a hoarse groan to look at it. White bone, covered in blood sticks through the sleeve of his doublet. The darkness consumes him. When he comes too Roach is nuzzling his forehead and prodding at his chest. He raises an arm to bat her away or pet her and yelps. It comes back to him in a rush, Geralt, the climb, the fall, and the time constraint. Looking at the sky he notes that it is still dark, It’s a good sign, but he has lost time. Agony threatens to rip him apart as he forces himself to his feet. He cradles his arm close to his chest and struggles to mount Roach. They need to fly, speed is the only thing that will save Geralt now, and that's all that matters to Jaskier. All this time and he had never told the man how much he meant to him. That he loves him. Choking back tears of heartbreak and physical pain, he nudges Roach into a trot and then a gallop. It is excruciating, every jostle, every movement in time with her steps sends ripples of pain from his arm to his brain. He bites down on his lower lip until he draws blood to keep from crying out. The swamp seems more dangerous now than it had before and he isn't sure why. The tempest has begun to die down and he can see that the road is clear. The shadows surrounding it are still, eerily so and he flicks his eyes hither and there attempting to scan for danger. He knows that anything predatory can likely smell his blood and fear and so he tries to calm himself. It’s no use his stomach is in knots, he’s exhausted, his best friend is dying and he might be too late to save him. All he can do is lean forward on Roach and pray for a miracle. A felled tree on the road threatens to bar their way but Jaskier nudges Roach on and she jumps it with ease. He screams, his arm, his ribs, his head and all of his muscles protest the movements and nothing but adrenaline is keeping him going. Nothing but the knowledge that if he does not get there that Geralt will die, and he likely will too. He nearly slips from her saddle as the pain keeps him from focusing on the necessity of riding. Finally the town begins to come into view and Roach seems instinctively to go faster. The poor girl is at her breaking point; he's certain, as cold and wet as he is, exhausted from carrying Geralt and himself and still despite her heaving breaths and frothing mouth she carries on dutifully. Absently he thinks to make sure she is given extra oats and to sneak her some sugar cubes or an apple or two when Geralt isn't looking. 

He slips from her saddle much the same way Geralt had and when the stable hand sees him he cuts off his ranting and stares. Jaskier moves past him and knows that he will attend to Roach, he will pay the man well tomorrow. There are more important issues to be dealt with now. He pushes himself along the wall, vision swimming and crawls up the stairs and down the hall. At their door he pushes himself to his feet and unlatches the door. Regis looms before him just on the other side. The man's eyes flash over him and he steps back to let the bard in. “How is he?” Jaskeir manages strained and hoarse and stuttered by exhaustion as he removes the satchel and hands it to the physician. He looks at the hourglass and lets out a heavy sigh, there is still sand in the top. He had made it. “Alive yet. Change and sit by the fire. I’ll tend you next.” Moving on instinct Jaskier does as he is told. He feels compelled to obey this man and so he struggles out of his soiled clothing and pulls on a long night shirt and sits in front of the fire. He could sleep if not for the pain and the fear still echoing in every fibre of his being. Regis is grinding the flowers, adding water and other ingredients. The movement makes Jaskiers head swim and he leans over on the floor, stretches out on his back and takes deep breaths. When he wakes the sun is high in the sky and Regis is sitting at the table calm and collected and dressed differently than he had been. There is a pillow beneath his head and a mountain of blankets over him. Taking a moment to gather himself Jaskier sits up using his unbound arm. His head is no longer swimming and he takes that as a good sign. “Geralt?” He tries and fails but Regis looks at him knowingly. He doesn’t have a voice, he can feel the constriction in his throat. He has a cold. He sniffles and stares at the grey haired man. 

“The Witcher will be fine, and so will you. You made it in time. Though you seem to have done some substantial damage to yourself in the process.” Ancient eyes bore into him as they pointedly look to his arm and chest and then back up. Jaskier feels the need to join him at the table so slowly he finds his feet and wobbles unsteadily to the empty chair across from him. He braces on its back and manages to find his way into it without collapsing too much. Leaning forward he rests his weight on his good arm, and holds the other protectively to his chest. “Fell on my way back down the cliff.” “I can tell.” The physician lips quirk up on the corners. “You have several broken ribs and your side and back are bruised heavily. You're lucky not to have fallen further or you would be unable to walk.”  The man pours him a glass of water and he takes it gratefully. Sitting back he sips at it thoughtfully and lets his gaze slide past him to Geralt. “He may stay unconscious a few days, I recommend poppy milk and bed rest until he is completely healed. Perhaps more of that potion of his.” Nodding slowly he manages to croak, “There wasn’t much time left in the hourglass.” “No. But there was enough.” That isn’t as reassuring as he would have liked it to be. His throat constricts with an ache and tears threaten to spill down his face. It has been a very long couple of days and he wants nothing more than to curl up beside the witcher and sleep. But there are things he must do today. He must speak to the stable hand and thank him, and to the innkeeper as well. “The stablehand and the innkeeper came to check on you both this morning. He seemed overly concerned about you, and he thought that the innkeeper should make sure he didn’t have two dead patrons in his establishment. He thought you were a ghost when you came in soaked through, pale, and with a bone sticking out of your body. They’ve agreed not to bother you until tomorrow at my insistence.” “Thank you, Regis. Uhm…” “Yes?” Blue eyes drift to his broken arm, his strumming arm. “How long until I can play again? I will be able to play again, right? And how long do you think Geralt will be,” he coughs hard and his eyes water as his ribs move freely despite the bandages around his waist, “ Unconscious?” He wheezes out. “Give your arm six to eight weeks. It will take time for the bone to heal properly. You should also wear it in a sling. I’ve treated several witchers before and each healed differently. It could be a couple days or it could be over a week. He was badly injured. The lillies and Swallow will do their jobs. I had best be going, I have other patients to see but I’ll be back to check in tomorrow morning. If he starts to wake, give him two drops of this.” The physician waves a vial of white liquid in front of him and he nods, “Take some too if you need. A drop only.” And with that the physician leaves. Mustering enough energy, Jaskier stands and makes his way to the bed on shaky legs, he sits beside the witcher and runs fingers through milk white strands. He doesn’t have the energy to cry so he lays down and sleeps instead. ++++++++ It’s three days before the witcher wakes and when he does he is on high alert. Regis has gone for the day and Jaskier is sitting at the table picking at lunch and trying to compose song lyrics. It’s much harder without his instrument. Looking up at the rustle of fabric Jaksier locks eyes with Geralt as he sits up and reaches for a sword that isn’t by the bed. “Geralt!” He yelps and the witcher blinks at him. “Jaskier” rasps the older and still badly injured man, “How did I get back here. Who has been here? It smells like…. A vampire?” Geralt's gasps and reaches for his chest. And then looks back to the bard taking him in. “What happened to you? And why am I not dead.” “A vampire, Geralt. I think you’ve hit your head. The only other person to be here is Regis, the town physician. Roach brought you back unconscious and injured four days ago. You’ve been unconscious since. You were nearly dead, Geralt,” He chokes and breathes in deeply through his nose, fights back the aching that the words leave in his chest. “I had to go and get an ingredient he needed to save you. Orange lilies but they only grew at the top of a cliff and I fell on the way back down. I’m alright though, just a broken arm and some banged up ribs. You on the other hand. Dear gods what happened, I could see your ribs, and your organs.” 

The walk to the bed isn't a long one and he makes it much more steadily than he had the first few days. Regis had come back with some herbs for his cold and it had cleared up miraculously fast. In part, Regis said, to the herbs, and in part to the amount that Jaskier was sleeping. It was a lot, even he acknowledged that, but it felt good and he was content to lay beside Geralt and hear his heart beat steady and rhythmically in his chest. Very much alive and not dead.  

“God, I was worried you’d die. You can't ever do that to me again Geralt. Do you understand? I don’t think I could handle it if you died like that. Bleeding out in my arms. I can’t. Geralt… Geralt why are you looking at me like that?” “You could have died saving me.” “Yes but I didn’t.” He can’t help the sweet smile that graces his lips, it's small and sad but he wants to convey everything he can in it. “You could have, and I don’t think I could handle that too well now.” “And why is that. Am I finally worthy of being considered your friend?” He doesn’t mean for it to be a jab, or to cause pain, but it does and he can see it in Geralt's golden irises, pupils shrunk to avoid the light, it’s so utterly enthralling he can’t tear his gaze away until calloused fingers brush his cheek. “Youre so much more than that to me.” Geralt whispers, agonizingly soft in the midday light of the room and Jaskiers heart beat picks up, hammering in his chest. He wonders if the witcher can hear it, rattling around in there like it has far more room than it actually does. But then Geralt continues and he could shout for the joy that fills his being. “And I wonder, if I am to you.”

Every pretense went out the window. Every reason he believed he couldn’t have this, that it would never exist, that it wasn't a good idea went with it, because in that moment, in that room, sitting beside one another all that mattered was the truth and so he spoke, truely and clearly. “You are. I would have died happily to save you because I love you, Geralt.” Any further words are hushed by uncertain, dry chapped lips, against his own. It’s not the best kiss he has ever shared, but it is the most important.

[nautiscarader]

One more stocking next year - pregnancy/impregnation Hiccstrid. Astrid wants to give Hiccup a memmorable snoggletog gift. They fuck on furs by the fire all night long. Astrid wants to make absolutely sure it works so she times her getting filled with the rising solstice sun for the gods blessing.

(okay, so first of all, i LOVED that detailed and well-thought prompt, this is how you ensure yourself a spot in my heart. I had to make one tiny change to make it better with the idea of polar night during Snoggletog, though. Also ages might be wonky given the canon, but w/e)

(Ao3)

Also, if you enjoyed my work, here's Ko-fi link if you'd be so kind ❤️ .

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Never before has Astrid been that nervous during the Snoggletog day. true, this day was usually hectic, filled with preparations and last-minute shopping, but this year was different. This was their first Snoggletog on New Berk. First Snoggletog without dragons. And first Snoggletog as a wife.

The past few months she helped Hiccup preparing the Vikings for the winter in new place. Finding new sources of food, gathering supplies, mapping the territory. And now, on top of it was the celebration itself, draining the time from the ever shorter days, as their land approached the short two weeks of never-ending night.

Sitting by the table, amongst her and Hiccup's family, Astrid nervously looked in the window, at the last rays of the setting Sun, hoping her nervousness wasn't too noticeable. But she was wrong, as Hiccup's keen eye quickly spotted her behaviour and reached his hand to hold hers, noticing she hasn't touched the dish she helped preparing.

- Is something wrong? - he whispered, leaning towards her, while his mother sang with Gobber - No, no.. - Astrid smiled - I just wished we were alone already... This day was so... exhausting.

Hiccup looked into her tired eyes, and after a moment of thinking kissed her on the cheek.

- I hope you are ready for one last act. - The what?

Hiccup sat back in his chair, reached for a bottle of mead, and when everyone else were staring at the singing couple, he pretended to pour himself a cup. The peaceful musical moment was shattered with the cup that tumbled to the ground, as Hiccup began moving erratically in his chair.

- Oh, oh dear! - he babbled - It seems we might have brewed a bit too strong mead this year.

He winked at Astrid.

- Aye, yes, you are right, my husband. - she acted best to her abilities. - I don't think I can stand on my leg! If only there was someone strong that could help me walk to my bed! - Don't worry, lad, I'll carry ya!

Hiccup stopped wobbling at once when Gobber reached towards him.

- Between you and we we have two working legs, so we'll be there lickety split.

Astrid pierced him with a stern gaze.

- Er, don't you think tat tis should be Aye, his betrothed wife to carry him, and, er... scold him for clouding his mind too much? - Ar, ye might be right. Just wanted to help, that's all. - So, that's settled then, we are so sorry we cannot stay longer, but...

The two exchanged knowing looks.

- I have to make him a nice cup of yak nog!

This time, Hiccup didn't have to pretend to lose his balance.

- Yes, right, that should do it...

Five minutes later, Hoccup and Astrid were laughing as they waddled through the thick snow away from the chieftain's hall back to their hut, and just before they entered, Hiccup ceremoniously grabbed Astrid and carried her through the door, much to her enjoyment.

- Okay, first emergency exit from family meeting as a new chief. I don't think it was that bad. - It was. It was horrible. - Astrid kissed him - But we don't have to worry about it. - Astrid, go to bed, I'm gonna make you some tea, maybe? - Hiccup took her coat - That should calm your nerves. And I will do stuff around the house...

But as he undid his coat, Astrid's arms closed around his neck, just as her lips met with his in a long, fiery kiss that truly made him feel drunk.

- Actually, I wasn't feeling tired... - she looked into their living room, illuminated by just a dash of light from outside. - I was hurrying up to.. to give you my gift. - Oh, milady, you don't have to do this today, you can wait till tomorrow- - No, no I can't. - she said sharply.

She pressed her lips against his again and walked into the room, leading Hiccup with her. And with each step, her fingers undid one layer of his clothes, and when his hands reached her waist, she let out a prolonged moan, happy that he was on with her plan.

- Here? - Mhm. - she murmured, kissing his jawline.

His ceremonial clothes felt to the floor, and so did hers, tied with dozens of knots and strings.

- We have all night... - No, no we don't. - she repeated, making Hiccup raise his eyebrows. - Okay, time out. Is there something I don't know about? - Hiccup...

She leaned against him, still undoing her clothes.

- Today is the last day of the Sun.

With her other hand she grabbed a piece of wood and threw it into the fireplace. Hiccup at once readied his fiery sword and ignited it, filling the room with pleasant warmth and light.

- Hiccup, I did some calculations, and it's today. Today is the best day for me to... give you your present.

She took his hand and placed it above her sex, just as he was about to undo the bindings there. But then, he looked at her, and noticed the fire in her eyes, burning so much brighter than any reflection of real one would.

- Astrid...! - Don't you want it? Gods would approve, it's a perfect... perfect moment...

She turned around again, hoping to see the light between the thick wall of trees that surrounded their house.

- Well, if so, then we are losing time, milady.

Astrid yelped again when Hiccup took her and lay her on the thick, fluffy furs, one of the few new spoils of hunts on the New Berk. He didn't bother with the last bindings of her corset, and went straight for her delicate panties, kissing her thick thighs, so ideal for the gift she wanted to give him.

- Hic-Hiccup, maybe-maybe don't... - I am not going to leave my lady unsatisfied. - he replied sternly, continuing his foreplay. - Oh, Hiccup...

Astrid threw her head back and let his subtle kisses coat her wet, overflowing sex. She straight out cried his name when his tongue dipped between her folds, revealing how wet she really was.

- I think you did your math right. - he kissed her folds - It's a good thing I didn't drink at all... - Hiccup, don't-don't let me wait... I want to do it all night, but the first... The first one has to be now!

Her husband slid onto her, and as soon as their lips met, her legs locked behind his back, as if her life depended on it. She moaned when his tip parted her soaking folds, and with his first thrust, she arched her back, aligning her sex to better suit their animalistic needs. a moment later she felt something underneath her back, and realised that their clothes, bundled together would serve as a makeshift pillow, shaping her body into an ideal position for her carnal desire.

But even then, Hiccup took it a bit further. He grabbed her legs and threw it on his shoulders, just so he could sink an inch  or two deeper inside her, an action Astrid welcomed with an unbridled "Yes!". her legs locked behind his neck this time, together with her hands, and in the intimate, tight position, the two began rocking their bodies, running against the time and Sun itself.

Every few seconds Astrid looked to her right, at the small window, and to her left to see shadows of the tree getting longer and longer, trying to find the right moment when they would disappear. but it was easier said than done, as with their biological needs came also the frivolous ones, when Hiccup sneaked his hand between their bodies just to stimulate her swollen num above her entrance.

Astrid lost her mind, kicking and scaring his shoulders, as they drew closer and closer to hers and his fulfilment. The two often finished at different moments, but this one? It had to be simultaneous, Astrid decided, there was no other way.

Astrid moaned, nervously shifting her stare between her husband and the frosted window, trying to postpone his release, despite her body demanding the pleasure that has been building up in her loins. Her needy, quickened, ragged breath coincided with his grunts, and only when she lost track of the Sun that hid behind the horizon, she dug her nails into Hiccup's neck and screamed her plea.

- N-Now! give me your seed! All-all of it!

Never to disappoint his lady, Hiccup gladly fulfilled her plea. He let out a prolonged, deep groan as his hips smashed against hers one final time, and he finally let go, flooding Astrid's fertile womb with streams of his seed, while her body arched under the pleasure that shook her body. Hiccup collapsed on top of her bosom, quickly trying to find her lips, while his body, twisted with hers, continued the sacred ritual they've been preparing for, sending more and more life-giving fluids inside her thirsty body.

Long minutes have passed, as their bodies shook together, and when the two opened their eyes, all they could see in the dimly lit room was the fire's reflections, dancing in their eyes. Hiccup was sure that Astrid cheeks have never look more flustered, the combination of heat from the fire, sultry atmosphere, and an even sultier passion that connected their bodies.

- Do you think it worked? - Hiccup sneaked a kiss between her breasts, knowing well that Astrid would jitter when he brushed a particularly sensitive spot - It better did. Otherwise I will be really pissed at the gods.

She cupped his face and pressed his head against her chest, still rising up and down, desperate for air she expelled when she cried his name.

- But still, I wasn't joking, Hiccup. - she suddenly added, catching his attention - I meant it when I said I want to make love all night.

He blinked.

- Not until the Sun rises again...

Hiccup's eyes opened wide just as he was about to kiss her breasts again, as the meaning of her words finally dawned on him.

- But... it's gonna be two weeks, maybe even fifteen days until... - I know. - Astrid cupped his face and tightened her grip on him - We've been gathering the supplies, and for the next two weeks, we're not gonna leave the house. And you...

She crossed her legs, locking them tightly behind his back, bringing his face inches away from hers.

- You're not gonna leave me.

To prove her point, she gave him a gentle kick to his butt, and with that, he started advancing again, seemingly delving deeper with each trust even though she thought he has reached his limit already, just to ensure he would plant his seed as close to her womb as possible. And though he already filled her once, he was more than happy to do it again.

As it turned out, Astrid really wasn't joking about her plan. Though the two did leave the house, of course - perhaps just to watch the northern lights against the dark sky of the short polar night - she was relentless with milking Hiccup of the chief's seed at least twice a day, ensuring that not a drop of his cum would be wasted, though she sometimes had to use her fingers to clean up after a particularly messy finish that overflowed her sex. Still, she was his wife, so it belonged to her, even if she has to preserve it in her belly...

Astrid never before believed what her mother or Valka told about women's instincts, until she awoken two weeks later to the first rays of newly reborn Sun. She felt ill, was sweaty, hot, though instead of her forehead burning, sudden warmth radiated from within her core that just a few hours earlier has been once more overfilled by Hiccup's virility. And when she placed her hand over it, she knew it has happened. She wouldn't even have to ask Gothi for her wheat seeds that she'd have to pee on to see if they'd sprout. She just... knew.

She turned to her husband, sleeping after another tiring session and though she was eager to tell him the news, she just closed her arms around him, sneaking a kiss to his cheek. And when he turned and closed his arm over her belly, he knew it too.

===========

Also, that “peeing on wheat seeds was a surprisingly reliable pregnancy test. 

[bestworstcase]

farran rereads lost lagoon: chapters 5-6

- mixed feelings about eugene’s first impressions of cassandra here. on the one hand, she did make a snide remark about him being a thief, which must sting when he’s already making an active attempt at self-improvement and attending classes in criminal justice. this isn’t tts eugene - who spends 6-7 months loafing around the palace basking in luxury until cass drags him for being self-absorbed and lazy. this eugene has a work ethic and seems to feel some actual responsibility regarding his new role as rapunzel’s consort. it’s not fair for cass to make a snap judgment about him based on his past and decide to be rude to him because of it.

on the other hand… he and rapunzel did just barge into her space against her will and her subsequent prickliness was reasonable, which eugene doesn’t seem to have any awareness of. and taking into consideration the likelihood that this cass is supposed to be about 17 while eugene is an established adult, that isn’t a fun vibe.

- sort of amused by the role reversal of eugene, in the licensed fanfic cassunzel s1 au, is the one who introduces rapunzel to the library. i guess the key to unlocking rapunzel’s romance option is to not show her the books. but also, why is eugene the one showing her around lol

- did he steal from the coronan palace so much that he just knows where everything is

- the dialogue in this chapter is… hm

“You can take these books back to your room if you want,” Eugene said.

“I can?” I said, staring at the stocked shelves around me.

“I think I’ll open a window,” Eugene said. “It’s a little musty in here.”

like what’s going on here? is this a dialogue bug introduced by spot editing that didn’t get patched before publishing? does eugene have adhd? is this a romance novel™ thing to demonstrate that while eugene and rapunzel talk to each other plenty they’re not on the same wavelength to such an extent that raps asks a question and eugene responds with a complete non-sequitur, which will be contrasted with how completely rapunzel and cass ‘click’ together later? hello?

- one point in favor of the romance novel™ theory is that immediately after this eugene conks out instead of sharing in rapunzel’s discovery and exploration of the library and it is implied he is having a fun flynn rider dream ie he’s lost in his own fantasies and oblivious to rapunzel’s. symbolism!

- anyhoo, this is when the plot device of the ‘lost lagoon’ book of poems turns up. i will say that, having spent the better part of my teen years working in an actual library, it beggars belief to say that a book got shoved behind other books in a popular section (sports) by mistake and got left that way for so long that dust blooms out of it when it’s finally cracked open again; likewise, anyone who attempted to intentionally hide the book this way is an idiot. my dude, you are in a palace riddled with secret passageways. maybe hide the secret book there?

like it’s not even well-hidden. rapunzel pulls out one (1) book from the sports section and immediately spots it. which also just feels dumb. like… there’s a million other ways this book could have been hidden. inside another book would have been more believable. rapunzel rips a bone-dry book of census records off the top shelf because she’s insatiably curious about corona’s people and surprise! it’s got this slim little book of poetry crammed inside it. like ??? i know it’s juv fic but make an effort

- coronans canonically speak english according to this i’m die

- rapunzel hides the book from arianna just… because, and i can’t help but feel this is another case of anxiety written by someone who doesn’t quite get it. she’s ‘just not ready’ to share this book of poems that means absolutely nothing to her yet except that she thought it sounded pretty.

but like. this girl grew up with gothel, who made a habit of belittling her interests, thoughts, feelings, and desires. everything rapunzel had she had because gothel deigned to give it to her, and anything she valued could have been snatched away just as easily. in the film it’s made clear that rapunzel hides pascal’s entire existence from gothel, and while the reason for this isn’t spelled out, it’s clear to me that she was afraid gothel might hurt or get rid of pascal should she learn of his existence. so, like. this is all a recipe for rapunzel having this general anxiety about things being taken for her and with this fear being linked to mother figures it makes sense that arianna would tend to trigger it especially. there is a perfectly obvious, understandable reason for rapunzel to be terrified of sharing anything she found by herself and sees value in or is excited about with her new mom, even if she knows rationally that arianna would never take it from her.

as it is, it really comes across more as an arbitrary plot device to keep the lagoon a cassunzel-only thing.

- there’s a lot of odd characterization decisions in this book but i think rapunzel being resistant and reluctant with regards to the idea of having a human companion is probably the weirdest. ??

- arianna feels like she’s characterized the way a lot of fanworks characterize her, i.e. the authorial mouthpiece who (in the case of cassunzel fic specifically) overtly ships cassunzel and does things to facilitate that relationship. don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to see her doing stuff at all, but… i dunno, i find this brand of arianna doing things just a little wearying. let her just be her own character.

- implication is that arianna and the captain agreed that cass would be rapunzel’s lady-in-waiting, arianna okays this with rapunzel and then tells rapunzel to announce it to cassandra at this public holiday feast. with no prior warning. wow. i think the kindest possible reading here is that the captain has been telling arianna that cass would be delighted and honored to receive this position and arianna assumes he’ll give cass a heads-up as a courtesy beforehand, but that paints the captain in a pretty bad light on account of him lying and essentially manipulating the queen in order to force his teenage daughter to accept this huge responsibility that she vocally does not want. in any case, absolutely nobody involved in this shitshow gives a damn what cass wants.

- lagoon comes in hard with the saporian!cass symbolism l o l. rapunzel reads a saporian poem out loud, not knowing what it means but loving the sounds, while daydreaming about becoming friends with cass.

- arianna seems to genuinely believe cass will be thrilled to have the lady-in-waiting gig sprung on her, which seems to lend credence to the theory that cap has been talking it up as something cass wants. or the intention here is to paint arianna as an out of touch noblewoman, but i don’t think that’s what howland was going for. i don’t know, it’s an odd conversation.

- eugene calls cassandra “sport” lmfao

- lagoon cass has never read a book in her life, apparently

- i don’t want to keep harping on this too much but it keeps leaping off the page at me; cass’s behavior throughout this dinner scene really just bleeds teenagerhood. eugene and rapunzel both make actual stabs at conversation by asking her about things they know she’s interested in, and cass brushes them off/stonewalls them. in tts, on the other hand, cass is actually pretty open to deep conversations with both rapunzel and eugene—it’s just that they never. ask her about herself. eugene goes 6-7 months before he asks cassandra a personal question in cassandra vs eugene, which if i remember right is the only time he asks her a personal question. rapunzel gets very invested very fast in becoming friends with cassandra, but she does it by strong-arming cass into being her partner in a contest, and when cass decides to open up to her it isn’t in response to rapunzel asking her things. the dynamic is totally different.

- actually now that i think about it - lagoon cass feels a lot like the cranky new dreamer version of cass (you know, the flavor of new dream fans who resent cass for ‘being mean’ to eugene, ‘being controlling’ of rapunzel, and ‘stealing’ eugene’s narrative spotlight). this cass is rude, she does come off as a bit spoiled and very bratty, she is nasty to eugene for no good reason, and while i do sympathize with her on the grounds of her evidently being a child i don’t find her to be especially likable or compelling as a character. if cass acted like this in tts i think the cranky new dreamer contingent of the fandom would have a much stronger leg to stand in - especially if she was still supposed to be 22.

like… this:

“So,” Eugene said, distracting me. “What’s it like to be the daughter of the captain of the guard? You obviously have a thing for weapons.”

“So,” I said.

“Have you been training since you were a little kid?” Eugene pressed on. “Do you have friends in the castle?”

“No,” I said. “Who needs friends?”

“Jeez!” Eugene muttered while Rapunzel whispered with the queen. “I don’t need just any icebreaker here, I need a pickax.”

I rolled my eyes.

this is way more interest in cass as a person than eugene shows in tts… like ever. at this point, eugene has met cass ONCE for a few MINUTES and he already knows more about her than he does in cassandra vs eugene, after six or seven months of frequent contact. yet cass scoffs and gives him monosyllabic answers and radiates way more hostility for way less reason than she displays even in tangled before ever after. i think eugene is totally justified in going, yeesh, what’s this kid’s deal?

- rapunzel goes straight from “i’d like you to be my lady-in-waiting” to “you’re my new lady-in-waiting!” without waiting for cass to answer. and i mean, at this point it is a done deal, queen’s orders and all, so i can’t hold this against rapunzel at all. but man, the adults involved in this decision sure aren’t concerned at all about making sure rapunzel learns how boundaries and consent works.

How was I going to train? How was I going to live the life I was born to live?

Fury heated my blood as I stared down the moon.

heh.

i wonder how much howland knew regarding the planned villain arc, because on the one hand lines like this are drenched in foreshadowing, and she’s done a much better job establishing cassandra’s belief in destiny than tts did. but on the other, had she known about the gothel twist, she would surely have known that cassandra is several years older than rapunzel, and that doesn’t square with how cass… acts.

this is half-remembered hearsay so take it with a grain of salt, but i seem to recall something about cass, in her original conception, being younger than rapunzel (and also aware of her parentage, and secretly villainous all along). could howland have been working from information given to her during the transitional stage between that proto-cass and tts cass? that would explain a lot.

- the last paragraph of 6 is the most effective passage in the book thus far:

This was a decision that had bars around it. I couldn’t protest without falling out of favor with the king and queen, and then there would be no way I’d ever be allowed in the guard. I couldn’t argue my way out of this with my father. A royal assignment was the final word. My fate had been sealed. I fell to my knees and stifled a scream.