#(obviously is not like the one described in ch 6)

[datshitrandom]

“If I can make your heart my home” by @bitbybitwrites

“[...] Blaine leaned over, pulled a CD out of his cello case, and presented it to Kurt.  "Well then, since you like it, it's on here also." Kurt shook his head. "Oh, I can't take it.  I don't have any cash on me to pay you." Kurt also didn't want to mention how he was scrimping and saving his pennies just to stay in his apartment and didn't have much money to spare for extra splurges like CDs. "Well, I wouldn't have accepted any from you anyway." Blaine shrugged. He pressed the CD into Kurt's hands. "Please.  I insist.  Have it.  I don't do this for the money.  I just always wanted to make art and help people." (Chapter 5)

♪ Official YouTube Playlist  ♪ ♪ Unofficial Spotify Playlist  ♪

#CHAPTER 7 IS UP! #klaine #klaine fanfic #klaine fic #klaine au #klaine fanart #more like #blaine fanart #blaine anderson #musician!blaine #if i can make your heart my home #by bitbybit #(told you i have a problem bitbybitwrites 🙃) #(obviously is not like the one described in ch 6) #(but in my defense i started this before reading that ch) #please do not repost #my klaine stuff

[juliasgoodusername]

Sometimes a girl has to go a little crazy. Sometimes a girl has to make a book-accurate floorplan for 300 Fox Way. These things just happen, sometimes.

Obsessive annotations under the cut ✨ but be warned, there's a LOT

Exterior

Okay first of all, I'm no architect, and my only knowledge comes from work experience in the real estate industry + a lot of Sims. The style is sort of neo-rural French colonial. I didn't set out to adhere to that standard so much as I made an amalgamation of homes in Blue Ridge Mountains-adjacent towns in Virginia. Specifically, my headcanon Henrietta template is Orange, VA (I'll save that explanation for another post) so I took inspiration from real estate listings from there.

Alright alright I know there is supposed to be one bathroom, but I simply can't tolerate that in a house with 6+ residents. I can't. There was a possible contradiction in the descriptions of "the single shared bathroom" that I used as an excuse to add a 3/4 bath, and I threw in a powder room for free. Because technically there is still only one full bathroom! But seriously with that many women over 30 most of them probably have IBS or chronic constipation and I'm not making them all share a toilet.

Officially we only have 4 bedrooms listed in text: Blue's, Persephone's, Maura's, and Calla and Jimi's shared one. Everyone else gets rooms that don't qualify as bedrooms via Virginia residential building codes (such as the attic, obviously, which falls below the combined ceiling height and square footage requirements). That really just leaves Orla unaccounted for but I'll get to that later. Other aunts and friends seem to visit during the day and live somewhere else, because in The Raven King only Jimi and Orla were described as needing to move out of the house during the demon stuff.

I designed the entire interior floorplan before I even touched the exterior, so there's a few issues, like how I'm totally missing shutters on the windows that functionally need them most. 🫶 I didn't feel like making the windows smaller to fit them, and I could have added faux-shutters but I think those are stupid. 😘

First floor

"This house is lovely. So many walls. So, so many walls," Malory said as Blue entered the living room a little later.

- Blue Lily, Lily Blue, Chapter 30

Right off the bat, we have an insane number of doors and walls. Old colonial houses are pretty much the opposite of open concept. Functionally I believe that's because it's easier to control heat with closed off rooms, but Virginia is not particularly cold so idk. As for the number of doors, I mean....😤😤😤 I prefer archways/doorless frames in small high-traffic spaces, but every time I thought I could get away with it Maggie would specifically describe doors opening and closing (For example BL,LB Ch 41 gives the reading room double doors, and even the living room gets one in Ch 11. What kind of living room needs a door???). I'm actually missing one of the doorways described in canon, but if you know which one I'm talking about I DARE you to find a place to put that thing!! But I digress.

“Mom," she said as she jumped down the crooked stairs.

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 3

I'm liberally using "crooked" to establish the corner turn stairs. Blue steadies herself on the stair railing when she identifies Gansey for the first time (TRB Ch 15), so I wanted the stairs to have good visual access to visitors. It also sort of has a feng shui-ish effect of separating the public and private energy zones in the house. If that statement made zero sense, I think one of us doesn't know enough about feng shui 👀 and it might be me.

I'm also using that quote to establish Maura's room downstairs, if Blue generally expects to find her mother there, but mostly because everything else was upstairs and it was getting hard to fit. Granted, at one point Blue leads the boys "up the stairs to Maura's bedroom" (TDT Epilogue) but since they were just arriving at 300 Fox Way those stairs could easily be the outdoor ones. There's a handful of little things to support me here, such as Adam grabbing a scrying bowl from Maura's room to use in the reading room (BL,LB Ch 41) implying that her room was the closest place to find one. And speaking of Maura's room-

Calla was overwhelmed by how much shit Maura had in her room at 300 Fox Way, and she told Blue this.

... The mess was taking years from her life. ... Maura liked chaos.

... The psychic hotline rang in the room next door. Calla's concentration fluttered away.

- Blue Lily, Lily Blue, Prologue

Maura is my favorite hypocrite. She claims to detest clutter (TRB Ch 34) and yet her room is literally described as chaos. She probably treats her room like a college student and moves the furniture every time she gets bored/stressed. Thus, I gave her the most insane furniture configuration I could think of while still matching all the contents described.

The phone ringing next door might imply that she neighbors the phone/sewing/cat room, but that area is pretty well described and Maura's room is never mentioned there in any other instance. That leaves us with the kitchen phone (TRB Ch 27) which I put in the hallway with kitchen access as a compromise so it would technically still be in a room next to Maura's.

In the reading room, the man looked around with clinical interest. His gaze passed over the candles, the potted plants, the incense burners, the elaborate dining room chandelier, the rustic table that dominated the room, the lace curtains, and finally landed on a framed photograph of Steve Martin.

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 13

There are so many quotes about the reading room that I just don't feel like citing them, but other details include the mismatched chairs, the shelves, doors etc. It's also described specifically as Maura's "front room" (TRB Prologue) so it's one of the cornerstones that I designed the rest of the layout around. Because of the plants, it makes sense that this room would be south-facing too. (Although idk how much light they get with the wraparound porch awning in the way. Oops lol!)

The outside suddenly seemed vivid in comparison to the dim kitchen. The April-bright trees pressed against the windows of the breakfast area, ...

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 3

Blue Stormed into 300 Fox Way's kitchen and began a one-sided interrogation with Artemus, who was still hidden behind the closed storage closet door.

- The Raven King, Chapter 9

Likewise, I'm using the particularly dim kitchen to place it on the north side, where we also know there's trees in the backyard.

I'll say the kitchen layout is weirder than it strictly needed to be because in the Virginia homes I referenced I adored all the strange kitchens, especially with old timey 'servants area' vibes where laundry kitchen and pantry are all connected. Instead of a kitchen island, they get one of those rolling kitchen carts which I doubled as a bar cart for the drinks they have in the living room.

The kitchen has a doorway to the hall (TRB Ch 13) and the living room is within view when Blue's on the kitchen phone (Ch 27).

Speaking of chapter 27, that's when we get the description "The morning light through the windows turned the drinks a brilliant, translucent yellow." So I put the living room on the east side of the house, where the rising sun would cast really strong light like that.

Second Floor

When she woke up, her normally morning-bright room had the breath-held dimness of afternoon. In the next room over, Orla was talking to either her boyfriend or to one of the psychic hotline callers.

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 3

Blue headed toward the red-painted door at the end of the hall. On her way, she had to pass the frenzy of activity in the Phone/Sewing/Cat Room and the furious battle for the bathroom. The room behind the red door belonged to Persephone, ...

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 11

Blue's room and the Phone/Sewing/Cat room are our cornerstones for this floor. In several examples we know that the Phone/Sewing/Cat room faces the street and has a window (TRB Ch 15, BL,LB Ch 4). While Blue's room is "morning-bright," we also get descriptions of guests at the front door "backlit by the evening sun," (TRB Ch 15) so once again we're probably talking about south windows if it's sunlit at both times of day.

Adam sat awkwardly on the edge of Blue's bed. It felt strange to have so easily gained access to a girl's bed- room. If you knew Blue at all, the room was unsurprising - canvas silhouettes of trees stuck to the walls, leaves hanging in chains from the ceiling fan, a bird with a talk bubble reading WORMS FOR ALL painted above a shelf cluttered with buttons and about nine different pairs of scissors. Against the wall, Blue self-consciously taped up the drooping branch on one of the trees.

- The Dream Thieves, Chapter 49

We get some great descriptions of Blue's room (especially TRB Ch 43), although the above one is my favorite (#wormsforall). Every piece of furniture is accounted for exactly as described except the desk which I added because it seemed practical, and Blue is nothing if not practical™.

Persephone's room is also very well-described, all the way down to the furniture and lighting placement (BL,LB Ch 4 and TRB Ch 11) and it's surprisingly similar to Blue's room, if not a bit smaller. Her room gets strong afternoon sunlight, so I put it on the south too (BL,LB Ch 43).

Calla and Jimi share a room that's also upstairs (TRK Ch 16). Because they are the only two who have to share a room, I have justified that it must be the "master bedroom" (sorry for using that term) and is far bigger than the other bedrooms. I managed to fit two queen beds in there, but some scholars [me] would argue that Jimi and Calla might also share a bed because they are in love. Can you prove me wrong? No, you can't.

As for the bathroom, remember when I mentioned a possible contradiction? Famously, Maura draws the ley line symbol in the steamed up shower door (TRB Ch 1). However, much later we get Maura, Orla, Calla and Jimi all sitting in the bathtub for some kind of ritual (TRK Ch 9). No matter how I picture it, I can't put 4 full grown women in a bathtub together without someone partially sitting on/spilling over the side. But that would be impossible in a combo bath/shower enclosed by glass doors!! Thus, I gave The Bathroom a nice tub and put a small shower in the en suite of Jimi and Calla's room. I know this is a stretch but I don't really care.

Attic

Blue had never been a big fan of the attic, even before Neeve moved in. Numerous slanting roof lines provided dozens of opportunities to hit your head on a sloping ceiling. Unfinished wood floorboards and areas patched with prickly plywood were unfriendly to bare feet. Summer turned the attic into an inferno.

... In one of the narrow dormers, two full-length, footed mirrors faced each other, reflecting mirrored images back and forth at each other in perpetuum.

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 34

Trying to fit the attic access in after everything in the second floor was my biggest challenge, because stairs normally take up a lot of space and you have to be careful about head room. I'm the end, I decided it was one of those fold out attic doors that you have to reach from the ceiling of the hallway. We might get a lot of instances of the attic door being opened (😤 seriously, Maggie... 😤) but technically a trap door in the ceiling is still a door!

Dormers pretty much cemented the French colonial style for me. And you know the drill by now: a hot room probably means a lot of sun, which means I give it a south facing window!

Mud Room/Cellar/Basement

This cellar has absolutely zero mention in the text, but my justification is based in the architecture. So far we've got a funky old colonial house, built without a garage, lots of walls etc. Especially in a low-income/semi-rural area, it's not crazy to assume that 300 Fox Way was built before most residents had refrigerators (1930s-40s). Besides iceboxes, a major way to keep food fresh was root cellars. Modern renovations for old homes convert these to concrete basements, but that's why the basement is so small and connects to the kitchen.

My headcanon is that Orla originally shared a room. Pick whoever you want: Maura, Blue or Persephone, any of them would easily be such a chaotic roommate that Orla snapped and in a fit of teen girl rage moved herself down to the crummy dark basement. Over time, she made efforts to glamorize it, such as a vintage dressing screen to hide the flood drainage pump. The privacy also allows her to bring boyfriends over, even sneaking them through the mud room.

This is really just my artistic license, but I swear it makes a surprising amount of sense in context. There's cases of Orla sneaking into the kitchen (easier if she has a back entrance) and she's almost always using the phone upstairs or in the kitchen (because a basement would get bad reception) even though her calls get kinda ~intimate.

Aaaaaand I think that's everything. Sorry it doesn't look like the photo from the wiki at all, but I couldn't find a source for it and Victorian style wasn't super common in the areas I researched. Let me know if I missed anything major! I'll probably cry myself to sleep if so.

#happy hyperfixation friday everyone #January was a weird month for me ngl this was one of my more hinged projects if you can believe it #please don't let this flop tho like this definitely took longer than any drawing I've ever posted here #trc #the raven cycle #the raven cycle fanart #300 Fox Way #Blue Sargent #the raven boys #my art #trc unraveled

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 6: Shoot

Ellie asks for help and Joel takes you shooting. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-5 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Past SA (vaguely described), past captivity, child loss. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 6.5k 

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It took until the door was closed and locked for the panic to kick in. 

The force of it caught you off guard as you shoved the heavy cedar chest in front of the door and turned off the light in the entryway. It was like your mind had been holding it at bay until you were alone, your heart shooting off like a rocket the second you were, gulping down air, head swimming. 

You made it to the kitchen and chugged a glass of water before opening a bottle of liquor with trembling fingers. You drank it straight from the bottle, wincing at the burn of it even though this was nothing new, and sank to your kitchen floor, pressing your head back against the cabinets as your arms clutched your knees to your chest. 

He’d been so close to you, so fucking close, because you’d let him. You’d walked up to him, stood right in front of him, close enough that you could feel his body heat and smell his skin - he smelled like the coat did, just stronger, and you’d wanted to be closer to him - and it was the closest you’d been to a man because you’d chosen it in years. 

And it was stupid. So stupid, so immensely stupid to be that close to him. It didn’t matter that Joel felt safe - or close to safe, anyway, you weren’t sure that anyone felt safe - he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. 

You didn’t know a damn thing about the man beyond the fact that he brought you into Jackson, he was estranged from Ellie - the only friend here you had - and that he was big. Big enough that, if he backed you into a corner, you wouldn’t have a say. And you’d been right next to him. And you were going to go shooting with him tomorrow. Your stomach churned. 

You drank more than you should have and moved to your living room, sitting against a speaker after you turned up the bass as high as you could go so you could feel the music inside you and drown out any sounds of your creaking house that set your whole body on edge. 

Eventually, you knew you had to sleep. There was work to be done at the stables in the morning, you’d have to be alert to shoot with Joel and you hadn’t slept well the night before, either. You had to sleep. 

So you went to bed. 

When you’d moved into this house, you’d done things to make it livable. Not that it wasn’t comfortable - it was certainly that. And you’d gotten lucky in that there was an incredible stereo and music collection. 

But the house was big. Three bedrooms, two of which you obviously didn’t need. Lots of windows - which were pretty but were also ways for people to get inside. The main bedroom was huge, with a vaulted ceiling and a king sized bed and it was too open for you to calm down enough to sleep in it. It took you just a day to drag one of the twin sized mattresses from one of the other bedrooms to the main floor and wedge it into the closet under the stairs. The space was small and enclosed, you could hear anything coming and going and it wouldn’t be the first place anyone would look for you if they tried to break in. 

It had gotten better since you’d been in Jackson. You’d felt more secure over time, eventually moved into the main bedroom and slept in the big bed - usually piled high with pillows - but you still defaulted to the closet when things were rough. 

It was going to be rough. You could feel it. 

You did everything you could to head off the worst of it. You got changed but not into pajamas, into a clean set of jeans and the one thing you’d had for more than 20 years - Justin’s shirt from the night of the outbreak. It still brought you comfort, even in its threadbare state. You put the coat back on - the smell still calming even though the coat’s original owner is what had made you panicky to begin with. You even put on pair of shoes you never wore outside the house so you could feel something on your feet, something that made you feel like you’d be ready to run if you had to. 

You tried to sleep and not think about life before Jackson, about what had you so afraid to begin with. 

You failed. 

October, 2025 

It was fall. You thought it was, anyway. It had been a while - months? - since you’d been outside and they kept the windows covered in old newspaper. Just enough to let some light through but not enough for you to see outside. But you were cold a lot now, which meant it had to be cold outside. 

It was hard to keep track of time, the only thing you really had to judge it by was when someone brought you food and water. That was twice a day. Besides the food drop offs, it had been at least three days since anyone had been to see you. 

Which was fine by you, but it was to the point that you were getting nervous. They only ever left you on your own this long when they were gone and they were only ever gone this long when shit didn’t go well. 

The main guys always went out on raids, leaving you and anyone else they were holding behind with a handful of low level muscle as security. Those pricks weren’t allowed to touch you, that much you knew. You belonged to Mitchum and him alone - though he was fine sharing you with the favorites of his band of assholes. But when shit didn’t go well, he took it out on you. And you were sure things weren’t going well. 

It was shitty enough for you when things were going well. They kept you chained to the wall by an ankle but there was enough slack that you could move around parts of the room. You found ways to pass the time. You did a lot of pushups and squats to make sure you could actually use your body if you ever made it out of there. You scratched a pattern into the floor with your thumbnail, tiny little lines worn into the wood until your finger bled. You closed your eyes, crossed your arms and pressed guitar chords into the flesh of your bicep, hearing the song in your head. You tapped out music on the mattress on the floor - the one piece of furniture in the room - either pretending you were playing drums or a piano, depending on how much you felt like hitting something. 

But mostly, you slept. Which didn’t help you differentiate the days and the weeks and the months and the seasons, either. You weren’t sure how long you’d been with them - a few years, at least. Definitely more than one winter, though it all blurred together now. Almost stubbornly surviving, much to your own frustration. 

It wasn’t that you’d tried to live through it, not after the first escape attempt landed you chained to the wall and branded, nothing more than property that had wandered off like errant livestock on your father’s ranch. It was just that your body didn’t seem to want to let you die. After a while, you gave up trying to fight with it and instead tried to make it so you might be able to get out. It had been a struggle at first, you’d hardly moved in months, let pain and despair swallow you whole. But you kept at it, something in you trying to survive. You weren’t sure where it came from, what the fuck was left out there to try to live for, but you were stuck living for it all the same. 

That, you were certain, was the only reason the raiders who had you had let you live as long as they had. Before they’d moved you to the camp you were at now, you’d shared a room with a rotating number of other women. They gave up so fast, either dying or going so numb that they didn’t respond and the men got bored. You envied them that, the ability to slip out of their body that way and just leave it behind. Instead, you were stuck here. 

There was a creak outside your door and you lifted your head to watch as it opened, your whole body stiff. 

“Hey, baby doll.” 

Baby doll. When Justin had called you that, it had been sweet. Now it was tainted. And what an apt name for you. Wasn’t like you were anything more than a toy to them. Worse, even. Children, at least, took care of their dolls.

You dropped your head back onto the mattress. At least it was Cody. If you had to pick a favorite monster of the monsters you were with, it’d be him. He didn’t like hurting you, anyway. He liked it best if you pretended to enjoy it, which was more work than zoning out but better than Mitchum, who got off on making you cry and scream in pain. It was a low bar but you took what you could get. 

“Hey,” you said, staring at the ceiling. 

“Sorry we were gone so long,” you didn’t need to look at him to know he was getting undressed. “Shit went south, Mitchum got shot…” 

Your head shot up off the mattress at that and he smirked as he pulled his shirt off. 

“He’s still alive, don’t look so excited about it.” 

“Oh.” You dropped your head back down. 

“Sit up, take off the shirt,” he ordered and you obeyed, holding out your wrist when you were done. You knew the drill. He took the cuff from your ankle and put it around your wrist and pulled your pants off, leaving you naked and exposed. You didn’t wait for him to tell you what to do, lying flat on your back. He nudged your legs apart and dropped to his knees between them, running his fingers over you and moaning. 

“You missed me,” he said. “I can tell.” 

You just hummed and hoped he interpreted it the way he wanted to. He usually did. Your body went loose as he took what he wanted and you stared at the ceiling over his shoulder. He kissed you when he finished and started getting dressed again, leaving you naked and cold with him leaking out of you. You folded your hands over your stomach and pressed your thighs together. He gave you back your pants and you pulled them on before holding out your wrist again. He moved the cuff back to your ankle and handed you your shirt. You pulled it on and sat with your back against the wall, your knees against your chest, and sighed. 

Cody liked to talk after. As though you were friends or lovers and you weren’t enslaved by his boss. He sat next to you, back against the wall, too. He took a deep, slow breath.

“I think I can get you out.” 

You looked at him so fast that your hair snagged on the rough wood of the wall behind you. 

“What?” You asked, frowning. 

“I think I can get you out,” he said again. 

You just blinked at him for a moment, not fully processing what he said. 

“It’s not right,” he shook his head. “What they… what we do to you. It’s not, I know it’s not and… Look, it might not seem like it but I do care about you. And I think I can get you out of here. If you can trust me. Can you trust me?” 

You looked at him for a second, tried to touch some part of you that knew how to connect with another person. You weren’t sure that part of you still existed. 

Instead, you thought of the worst case scenario. If it was a lie and he told Mitchum of your misdeeds or his plan failed, it likely wouldn’t get you much worse treatment than you already got. Or it would just get you killed, which had its own appeal. But getting out, having a life and a body that was your own again, being able to look for… 

“I can trust you,” you said quickly. “I’ll trust you. Just tell me what to do.” 

You got to the stables far earlier than you needed to be there. You’d hardly slept, phantom hands everywhere on your body every time you drifted off. The brand on your hip itched. Eventually, you gave up. At least the horses were good company, their bodies large and warm and safe. 

Animals you could trust. Yes, they might get you killed but it was never out of cruelty. They weren’t capable of that, not like humans. With so many people, the cruelty was the point of it all, the longing to rip and tear and unmake whatever they could reach just to prove their own power. Animals didn’t bother with that shit. 

You let yourself get lost in the work of getting the stables ready for the day and saddling up a handful of horses to go out on a small morning patrol that would be back in the evening. You rushed through the process of getting the horses out of the stable. It was too many people, they were too close, it made your skin crawl and your stomach turn but you had to get through it. When the patrol was gone, you got into Renaissance’s stall with her and pressed yourself against her side, listening to the thick, heavy sound of her heartbeat until you felt like you could breathe again. 

For a bit, you thought you were feeling close to normal. Until a clear, loud voice called through the stable in the late morning. 

“Bambi, I’m desperate!” 

You about jumped out of your skin, spinning to face the source of the sound, your heart in your throat. Ellie rolled her eyes. 

“When are you going to remember that I don’t bite?” She asked, dropping her bag next to Shimmer’s stall and perching on the half wall that separated the horse from the rest of the stable. 

“When I start believin’ that you don’t,” you said, setting the bucket you’d been holding down as your heart rate tried to return to normal. “What’s got you desperate, kid?” 

“I’m going to start this by saying I don’t expect you to actually know this,” she said. “But… I have basically no one else to ask so… do you know how to dance?” 

You blinked for a second, taken aback. 

“Dance.” 

“Yeah,” she winced. “Look, I don’t think you’ll know but there’s that dance next weekend and I was thinking about maybe seeing if I could go with someone and I don’t want to be a total fucking dumbass out there and I’m sure you don’t…” 

“I know how to dance, kid,” you laughed a little as Ellie’s eyes went wide. 

“Wait, for real?” She asked. 

“For real,” you nodded. “It’s been a while since I had to use any of that shit but it was drilled into me pretty hard when I was about your age…” 

“What the fuck for?” She gaped at you. You laughed. 

“My mama was what some might call a ‘society lady,’” you put the words in air quotes. 

“The fuck is that?” 

“Someone who is way too concerned with wealth and social status,” you smiled a little. “So she made me do cotillion when I turned 16…” 

“OK what the fuck is a cotillion?” Ellie asked. “I didn’t expect a vocabulary lesson here…” 

“A cotillion is where stuck up assholes introduce their daughters to the society world as glorified breeding stock,” you said. She looked surprised and like she was about to ask another question but you cut her off. “Sorry, that might be a little extreme… it’s a fancy party where, back in the olden days, girls formally entered society and boys could then try to court them to marry them. By the time I did it, it was a stuffy party for rich assholes with no real purpose. But there’s a dance and so I had to take dance lessons for months.” 

“So you like… wore a dress and shit.” 

“I wore a dress and shit. A white one. It looked a little like a wedding dress, actually.” 

“I can’t picture you in a dress,” Ellie crinkled her nose. “That’s just unnatural.” 

“Kid, my mama put me in beauty pageants when I was real little,” you said. “I got my hair done, glitter on my eyelids, wore a bright fuckin’ purple dress…” 

“Aw man!” She pouted a little. “See, now the worst thing about the outbreak is that there’s no way to get pictures of you dressed up liked that…” 

You laughed and jerked your head at her. 

“Hop on down,” you said. “C’mon, I’ll show you how to waltz. It’s the easiest dance.” 

She obeyed and you pointed for her to stand a few feet to your right. 

“You planning to lead or follow?” You asked. “Usually the boy leads but that’s bullshit, you can lead if you want. Don’t even have to dance with a boy.” 

“If no one else knows how, I’d have to lead, right?” She frowned. “Shit, I didn’t think about that…” 

“It’s OK,” you said. “Waltz is in 3/4 time, you know what a time signature is?” 

“I’m not stupid,” she rolled her eyes. 

“OK,” you smiled a little and tried not to laugh. “Well, it’s real easy, alright? If you’re leading, you start feet together. Then, take a step forward on your left foot,” you demonstrated and Ellie followed suit. “Then step to the side on your right, bringing your foot up so it’s about parallel.” Ellie copied that, too. “Then just bring your left foot in to meet the right so your feet are back together. Then you just do it again but leading with your right foot and you go back and forth between the two.” 

“That’s it?” Ellie looked at you, incredulous. 

You laughed. 

“That’s the steps of it, yeah,” you said. “But there’s hand placement and shit and then the rise and fall that you do as you’re moving and shit. It’s not hard but it takes practice before it’s second nature which is what you want it to be.” You planted your feet again and Ellie copied you. “Alright, let’s do it again, a few times.” 

You counted and led the way. Her steps stuttered a bit at first, especially when she forgot what foot she was supposed to be leading with, but it wasn’t long before it was all flowing together. 

“See?” You smiled. “You got there.” 

“Can I try it like… with you?” She winced as she asked it. You just stared at her for a second. “It’s got to be different with a person, right? Please?” 

Your chest was tight. Dancing with someone meant touching them. But it was just Ellie, your friend who sometimes felt a little like a daughter. She wasn’t a threat. And you wanted to be able to touch her without it hurting, be able to hug her hello and goodbye or reassure her. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, OK.” 

You turned to face her and forced yourself to ignore the alarm bells ringing in your body that there was a person and they were too close to be safe. 

“So if you’re leading, your left hand goes up, about eye level,” you took her wrist and raised her hand, arranging her arm. “And your partner’s right hand goes on your left.” You put your hand on hers, your stomach tight. “Then your right hand will come around and go on my left shoulder blade…” Ellie obeyed. The fact that her hands were small was reassuring, keeping you from panicking too much. She wasn’t going to hurt you. You repeated it to yourself in your head again and again. “And your partner’s left hand will go on top of your shoulder and their arm will kinda cover yours, like this.” You set your hand on Ellie’s shoulder and she nodded, a serious look on her face. You relaxed a little bit more. It was Ellie. You could trust Ellie. “You lead and I’ll follow.” 

“What’s that mean?” She frowned, looking down at your feet. 

“Means I’ll be the one goin’ backward and you’re gonna be the one pointin’ me in the right direction,” you said. “Don’t worry about me, when I learned girls all had to follow so it’s what I know best anyhow. You go when you’re ready.” 

She nodded and took a deep breath before stepping forward and you followed her lead. She only stuttered once this time, when she forgot what foot was supposed to lead next, and before long she was smiling as she confidently waltzed through the stable. You showed her how to time the rise and fall and she was giggling - actually giggling, in a way that you’d never heard her do before, in a way that seemed like a teenaged girl should - when someone cleared their throat behind you. 

Your body reacted before your brain did, jumping between Ellie and the perceived threat, your arms flying behind you to cage her in and keep track of where she was, shielding her from whoever it was who just came in. 

Joel put his hands up, a rifle over his shoulder, frozen where he stood. 

“Sorry,” he said, voice gentle. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He leaned a little, trying to see around you. “Hey kiddo. Not sure what you were doing but it looked real good…” 

You relaxed a bit, your arms falling back to your sides. Ellie came and stood alongside you, her eyes narrowed. 

“Bambi was teaching me how to dance,” she said. “A waltz.” 

“Don’t know much about dancing,” he said. “But it looked like you were getting the hang of it…” 

“Yeah, well…” she just stood there for a second before she turned to hug you, catching you off guard. “Thanks for the lesson.” You froze for a second before you slowly, cautiously, hugged her back. 

“No problem.” 

She pulled away from you and got her bag, brushing past Joel on her way out. He watched her go before he turned back to you. 

“I really didn’t mean to scare you,” he said after a second. 

“I’m just real jumpy today.” 

“Right,” he nodded for a second, his hands in his pockets. “Ready to go shoot?” 

You looked at him for a second, your heart pounding against your ribs, tension running through your body. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run from him or run to him and you were rooted to the ground with the fear of it. 

“Ready.” 

***

Something had you on edge today. 

Not that Joel was going to pretend that he knew you well. He didn’t. He’d just spent half the night staring at his ceiling going back over every part of his conversation with you the day before. He’d memorized you like you were his favorite song or passage in a book, turning you over and over again in his mind and he knew - viscerally, intimately - that something had you scared today. 

You were back in that threadbare oversized shirt. The one he’d found you in, the one you’d worn when the council had given you the stable job. You hardly looked at him as you saddled up your horse and you kept your eyes almost stubbornly focused on the street in front of you as the two of you made your way out of town. 

“Can I have a gun?” You asked as you neared the gate, looking at Joel for the first time since Ellie had left. 

“When we get to the range,” he shrugged. 

“I mean now,” you said. “Going outside… I’d feel better if I were armed.” 

Joel frowned for a second. He wanted to believe that leaving Jackson was all the problem was but something told him that it wasn’t. 

“Here,” he pulled the pistol from the holster at his side and held it out to you. You reached forward, cautious and slow at first and then quick to snatch the weapon from him, settling back on Renaissance quickly. You checked the safety and tucked it in the back of the waistband of your jeans. 

“Thanks.” 

He watched you out of the corner of his eye. He tried to write it off as what he should be doing. He was, after all, out here to evaluate whether or not you’d be able to handle going on patrol. He was supposed to be watching you, keeping tabs on you. 

But that’s not why he was doing it. 

Something was off with you and he was desperate to know why. To try to help you with it because he wanted to carry some burden for you. For himself, too. Because it seemed like the odd draw he felt for you didn’t lessen after he spent time with you. No, it just grew, already to the point that he wasn’t sure what to do with it all. All of this wanting had to go somewhere and you were the only place for it. 

“You OK, Bambi?” He asked after the two of you had been riding for a few minutes, the sound of the town now quiet behind you. You frowned and looked at him. “Just seem… off.” 

You watched him for a moment. 

“Different from yesterday, I mean,” he said after he couldn’t take not saying something, needing to fill the silence. 

“I’m fine,” you said eventually before you shook your head slightly, like you were trying to clear your mind. “Actually, would you mind if I opened ‘er up? Been a long time since I got to really run on a horse for a bit. At least, when I wasn’t trying to bleed out, anyway. I’ll circle back around to you, won’t go anywhere…” 

“Don’t need my permission,” he smiled a little. 

You smiled a little back and adjusted your grip on the reins before nudging Renaissance forward. Joel watched as you took her into a trot, then a canter and eventually guided her into a gallop, your body moving with the horse’s in perfect rhythm. 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything quite like it. Joel spent a lot of time with horses before making it to the QZ in Boston, plenty more since he’d come to Jackson. When he rode - when the people he worked with rode, too - the animal was a tool. Something that required care and had wants and needs but was a means to an end. 

You were different. 

You and Renaissance moved as one, anticipating each other’s actions

You couldn’t move like that with something that wasn’t an extension of you, something that you didn’t deeply know and understand. Almost like you were more an animal than you were a human being, the things you found kinship with wild and other. 

Joel understood that. Knew what it was like to feel so outside the thing you’d been born as. He’d been like that, too, for a while. More than a third of his life, really. The 20 years since the death of his daughter until he met Ellie were dark. He wasn’t sure what he was then but, if you’d asked him to identify what made him a person, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. In many ways, he felt like he had more in common with the bodies he burned in the QZ than he did with the people living in it. He’d been a person once, like those corpses. But that humanity had died with his daughter, he’d left himself behind with her body. Part of him wondered if he’d done it on purpose, so Sarah wouldn’t be alone. He’d have cut out his heart if it would have helped her, pried it out of his ribs with his own hands and offered it to her. It seemed small, abandoning something like himself when he’d lost something so monumentally huge. 

For years, he’d tried to take it out on whatever other person he seemed to come into contact with, hurting and taking what and when he wanted to. He wasn’t proud of that time. The QZ was different. He found someone else who was a ghost like him and they moved in tandem, scratching out a corner of existence that wasn’t meant for the people who could still take full breaths and feel something beyond their flesh. But it wasn’t human. It was other. 

You were other, too. But he didn’t think you’d left your humanity the way he had. He was able to find it again, to pick it back up after it was carried back to him in the form of a spitfire of a girl that he couldn’t deny even if he wanted to. Yours seemed stolen. The way you hung on the edges of Jackson with nothing to tether you to the place showed that you wanted it back. You were searching for it. You just weren’t sure where to find it. 

You looped around Joel’s horse, coming close enough to him that he could properly see your face as you rode and he caught a glimpse of your eyes as you passed. They were soft and open and deep, without the sharp protection that usually guarded your gaze. You were free like this, found something close to yourself again on the back of a horse that was allowed to run. 

Eventually, you rode back alongside Joel and slowed to match his easy pace, leaning forward on your mount, draping your arms around her neck and sighing contentedly, your cheek pressed against her mane. 

“Sorry,” you said, still leaning over the horse, watching him now. “It’s just…” 

“It’s OK,” he said, watching you back. You looked a little more like yourself now. Or who he’d seen you to be, anyway. 

You sat up and gave Renaissance a scratch. She chuffed and bobbed her head happily in response. 

“So,” you looked straight ahead again. “How’s this work?” 

“Shooting range ain’t far,” he said, nodding toward it. “Go there, see how you do with the rounds we got, I report back.” 

“It’s just target shooting then?” You asked, looking over at him again. Your eyes were closed off again. “Not like… I dunno, some obstacle course shit or something?” 

“No,” Joel laughed a little. “No, nothin’ that difficult. But we’ll see how you do with the rifle and the handgun, you’ll probably need to use both at some point.” 

“And you gotta test it out because you think I managed to survive the apocalypse for 20 years without knowin’ how to use a gun?” 

Joel laughed once. 

“Figure you know how to use a gun,” he said. “But not like I know shit about how you survived, Bambi. Haven’t told me. You can if you want…” 

“I’d rather not,” you cut him off, looking straight ahead again. 

It was quiet again for a few minutes before he glanced your way. 

“What part of Texas you from?” He asked. You frowned, your brows knitting together. 

“How’d you know?” 

“Accent,” he replied. “I know what home sounds like and I know you spotted me as a Texan already.” 

“Yeah,” you smirked a little. “I did. About an hour west of Fort Worth, near Mineral Wells. My daddy had a ranch out there. You?” 

“Arlington, originally,” he said. “Austin, eventually.” 

You nodded slowly. 

“Miss it?” You asked. 

“Miss a lot about what shit used to be,” Joel said after a moment. 

“Well yeah,” you rolled your eyes. “We all fuckin’ do. But I mean anything about the place in particular, not what humans made it be. Like this time of year, I always look for blue bonnets to start croppin’ up. Don’t matter that I haven’t seen a fuckin’ blue bonnet in almost 25 years, that’s what I look for. I miss that.” 

“Damn,” Joel shook his head. “Haven’t thought about blue bonnets in… Fuck, decades.” 

“The shit you forget,” you said. 

He led you to the shooting range and handed you the rifle. 

“You can shoot the targets however you’re comfortable,” he said. “Just get set and let me know when you’re ready.” 

“What percentage are you lookin’ for here?” You asked as you got down with the rifle, setting it atop the fallen tree that Joel used when he practiced out here. 

“Better than 60,” he said. “Don’t have to hit every target, Bambi.” 

You nodded once and got set with the rifle. Joel gave you this much, you knew how to set up the shot at least. You probably hadn’t learned on the fly after the outbreak, he realized, you’d been taught. 

“First few are gonna be shit until I get used to the sights,” you warned. You started shooting then, starting with just one and taking a moment to adjust before firing the next shot. You were at least hitting the outer edge of the targets. He’d seen worse. 

After the first four, you glanced over at him. 

“Now if they’re shit it’s on me.” 

“Fire away,” he smiled a little. 

You obeyed, shooting faster this time. You were a good shot, missing only every fourth shot or so, plenty good enough to be added to the rotation for patrols. But you frowned as you sat up. 

“I’m rusty,” you said, handing the gun back to Joel as you got to your feet. “Used to be better.” 

“Did great,” he said, taking the weapon from you and slinging it on his back. “Anyone patrolling with you will be lucky to have you with ‘em.” 

You shot a little worse with the hand gun, getting closer to the 60% mark but still passing. You flinched every time a bullet missed the target. 

“Always more of a sawed off shotgun girl,” you said, shaking your head after you exhausted the magazine. “Don’t got a lot of practice with a gun like this.” 

“Hopefully you won’t need one,” Joel said. “Most of the shit we take out on patrol is long range, bein’ good with a rifle is the more important skill, anyway.” 

“Well that’s good at least,” you sighed, tucking the handgun away again. “Rather not get my ass handed to me while on patrol because I couldn’t get a fuckin’ shot off.” 

Joel smiled a little. 

“Don’t think you need to be all that worried about that.” 

The ride back to Jackson was quiet but Joel caught you out of the corner of his eye looking like you were about to say something before you seemed to think better of it. 

He wished you’d say it. 

“How’d you learn to shoot?” He asked after you opened and then closed your moth for the fifth time. 

“My dad,” you said. “Grew up on a ranch and that means a lot of risks, animals that go after livestock so it’s good to know how to take them out. Plus I think he was convinced I’d always have a gun on me in case I ran into some boy who couldn’t keep his hands to himself…” 

“A father’s dream,” Joel smiled a little. 

You laughed. 

“Only ever used it for that once,” you said. “And the pest control turned a little different after the outbreak. But it’s good he taught me. I’d probably have dropped dead a lot sooner if he hadn’t. How about you?” 

“My dad, too,” he replied. “Went hunting with him when I was a kid. Then, after the outbreak, Tommy helped me get better. He was in the army, so…” 

You just nodded slowly. 

“It was nice of you,” he said after you’d been quiet for a bit again. “To teach Ellie to dance. Lord knows I’d have been useless…” 

“She’s…” You paused, a distant look on your face for a moment before you shook your head slightly. “She’s a good kid. Got a hell of a mouth on her, though.” 

“Yeah,” Joel laughed. “Yeah, she’s definitely got that.” 

Joel found himself wanting to linger in the stables after returning with you but Tommy got to him quickly, wanting help with a building project, so he said his polite goodbyes to you, expecting that to be the last time he saw you that day. 

But he was wrong. 

It was dusk and he was reading on his couch when Joel heard his porch squeak. He frowned as there was a soft, hesitant knock. You were there when he opened the door but you weren’t on his porch. Instead, you were standing on his front walk, your hands in your pockets, looking up at him. He came out and leaned against the railing of his porch. 

“Bambi,” he said, giving you a small nod. “Can I help you with…” 

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, closing your eyes and shaking your head. “I wanted to… I thought I could… I can’t, though. Sorry I bothered you, I…” 

You turned and walked so quickly away you were practically sprinting. Joel frowned, closing his door and following you, running for a moment to catch up, his hand taking your elbow without thinking. You yanked it back as though he’d burned you. 

“Don’t touch me,” your eyes were wide again. 

He stepped back quickly. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Not trying to… Are you OK?” 

“Fine,” you replied. “Just… Changed my mind. Goin’ home.” 

“Changed your mind about what?” He asked, still walking alongside you. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“Bambi…” 

“I wanted to borrow your damn guitar, OK?” You snapped, stopping in the street and turning to face him. Your hands were in the back pockets of your jeans. “But I had a shit night and I can’t… I thought I could but bein’ on your porch was different and I freaked out because I’m nuts, alright? So just leave it.” 

You turned to leave but he put his hands in his pockets, too. 

“Not nuts,” he said gently. “You can change your mind about whatever you want with me. Really. S’OK.” 

You looked at his shoes and he felt it again, the drive to want to touch you, hold you, take your problems into himself so you weren’t carrying them on your own anymore. 

“I’m trying,” you said quietly. “With this whole place, I really am, I just…” 

Your voice trailed off and you kicked a patch of dirt in the road. 

“Don’t have to try with me if you don’t want,” he said. Your eyes came up from the ground and met his. “Don’t need you to try, just need you to be. OK sweetheart?” 

He hadn’t meant to call you that. Fuck, why had he called you that? 

Your eyes drifted to his lips for a moment before going back to meet his own. 

“OK.”  Next Chapter

A/N: Bambi is making progress, I promise! And she is going to get a guitar in her hands soon. She'll talk herself into it eventually.

Thank you, as always, for being here and for reading. It means so much that you spend your time with these stories.

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Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust@ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost@beccerjune@mumma-moonchild@netonetoneto@mellymbee@purplelye@n7cje@flugazi@evyiione@randomhoex@aliengirl99@orcasoul@reds-ramblings@pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel@jenispunk@panda-pascal@sarap-77

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #yearling #slow burn

[wardenparker]

Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 9

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems.  ✨  Inspired and influenced by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. ✨ Reader is described as disabled and having hair long enough to cover part of her face.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 13.4k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this fic include cursing, food mentions, references to previous sexual assault (multiple characters).** Brief references to previous assault and infertility. This is a HAPPY chapter, guys! Teasing/dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), biting, vaginal sex, unprotect sex, wedding night sex Summary: Arriving in Scotland is a relief for everyone, and the time for weddings is upon us! Notes: It’s the calm before the storm, friends! There’s just nothing about this chapter I don’t love. Apologies for any missed errors in this one, folks, I really started to go cross eyed after a while. 

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

The storm lasted an entire day before it eased, passing during the small hours of your second day in Claro and Harold's farmhouse. On the dawning of the third day your small family prepared to travel again - bundling in warm, dry layers and packing away the food that Claro has insisted will be good provision for your evening meal when you stop after a long day of riding. Two full nights of restful sleep have the four of you feeling refreshed and reinvigorated as you mount your horses again, and even Binx mews happily in her sling as you situate yourself on Caballo's back for the ride. It is just past first light and the morning dew has collected heavily on the world around you, but there is a bit of happiness to share before you are under way again. "We have something we wish to tell you," you begin, looking fondly between Briac and Arwena as he helps her get situated on her horse.

Briac smirks as he looks over at you and then back at his soulmate. “We promise we pretended to be asleep.” He teases making Arwena giggle. “You weren’t that loud.” This entire trip, but especially the last two days have been extremely good for him. He feels more confident, almost as if he were Pero’s equal. Really feeling as if their future was not bleak like he imagined when he first learned he was the beautiful young girl’s soulmate.

Burying your embarrassed face in Pero's chest, you can't help but groan in a way that is very far from a sound of pleasure. "I told you we should have gone to the barn," you grumble good naturedly, fully blaming your soulmate for being an impossibly talented lover.

“They were only waiting for us to sleep so they could do the same.” Pero predicts, in turn making Arwena fluster and look embarrassed.

"Well..." you huff, only marginally less embarrassed as Briac lifts himself into his own saddle and the three steeds are turned toward the road at a slow walk. "That was not what we wished to speak about. Obviously."

Briac chuckles, feeling as Pero apparently does, not embarrassed in the slightest for his want of his soulmate. For as crass as he had assumed the mercenary would be, he was surprisingly gentle in his treatment of you and his advice on love. ‘Unless the wench wants it rough’, Pero had advised with a roguish grin. “What is it that you wish to discuss?” He asks, his mount alongside Arwena’s. “Have you decided where you will go after we are wed?”

“Partly.” It was more like you had decided where you will not go, but that was a technicality. “But more importantly, we wished to ask if you would consent to share your wedding day with us. We have decided to wed after all.”

Arwena inhales sharply, tears springing to her eyes and her head bobbles automatically. “Yes! Yes! Oh you must!” She is practically shouting it at you even before she remembers that it is not her decision alone and turns to Briac. “I—”

The younger man laughs and reaches out to drag his soulmate to him for a quick, reassuring kiss before he looks at both of you. “As she said.” He agrees happily. “We would be honored to share it with you.”

“Pero knew you would not object, but I felt it only right to ask.” After all, while you’re sure there are bridezillas somewhere in the year 1006, Arwena is not one of them. And nor are you, ultimately. Having your soulmate - the man you love - as your husband is enough. What else matters beyond that? “We also thought…it might not be so necessary as we first thought for all of us to part ways.” Insisting that it was safer had really only been a cover for the fact that you intended to travel to the Stones. Now that was erased from your plans and you were free to think of another future. One that could be spent together, if it made everyone happy.

“Truly?” For the second time in as many minutes, Arwena is emotional again. This time Briac mirroring her hope and joy at the news. While you and Pero are older, wiser - it feels as though the four of you belong in the same family.

“Truly.” You nod and reach to squeeze her hand as you ride side by side. “This new life could be a fresh beginning for all of us together.”

“This is wonderful.” Arwena chokes up slightly and smiles at you and Pero. “I— I have come to see you both as the family I wish I had.”

“You need not wish any longer, sister.” The smile you offer her is as soft as the early morning sun, and Pero squeezes your waist in silent agreement. “We can choose to go where no one knows us, and be whatever we choose to each other.”

“I cannot wait to be married!” Arwena cries out happily, the world bright and sunny to her despite the bitter cold.

"It will not be long now." Road signs on your journey led you to believe that you were only another day or two from the border when you stopped, so hopefully getting there would be relatively smooth sailing. Once Arwena and Briac were married her father could cuss and scream and threaten all he wanted to - she would not be his legal possession any longer.

“It will be good to call you my wife in truth.” Pero hums in your ear. “Find a place where I can proudly bear the title of husband.” He wants to find a quiet little village where he can build a life with you, hopefully living out the rest of his days peacefully. Maybe even going East and seeing William again. He wonders if you would like that.

"We could go anywhere." Aside from the language barrier, there is no reason to limit where you settle down, now. Scotland had been the aim because of marriage laws and because of the Stones, but now that you had decided to stay? You could continue on to wherever you wanted and start completely fresh.

“Where would you want to go?” Pero asks you seriously. “You know more about my time than I do on the whole.” He had been thinking about it a lot, you hadn’t given him many historical references but it would be good to know where to avoid making a home.

"There won't be any big witch trials for a few hundred more years, but there will be small wars all over England and Alba for many decades to come." Trying to remember anything you can from high school history class has been a challenge and nothing has truly sprung into your mind besides knowing that the Norman Conquest of England will happen in sixty years' time. "We could go to Rome and simply blend into the crowd of immigrants from all over the Holy Roman Empire, or we could find a farm in the country for the four of us to work together. Or..." You twist slightly in your seat, catching his eye from the corner of yours. "Perhaps you would like to return home to Spain?"

Pero bites his lip, the idea of returning home one that makes his heart hammer in his chest. “We could.” He offers, slowly thinking the idea over. “If they want to come, we could see who lives on the land my parents raised me.”

"Briac's Spanish is coming along quickly." The boy seemed to have a natural talent for language, with as fast as he was learning, and you smile at Pero as the horses start to pick up speed. "It might be a beautiful way to remember your parents, to see Briac and Wena's babes born in the same place you were." If you could give him children, the thought would be for your own babies, but as it stands you will be a doting aunt and uncle to whatever children the younger couple bears.

He senses where your thoughts take you and his arm around your waist beneath the sleeping cat tightens. “Do not blame yourself, Sassenach.” He murmurs softly, kissing your ear. “I would change nothing about you.”

You nod, not wanting to dwell on it, and put your hand over his to squeeze it tightly. "We will bring the idea up to them when we stop for the night. See how they would feel about returning to the continent and heading south."

“Warmer.” Pero huffs, feeling the wind buffet around their little group. “Want to live somewhere we can swim in the river naked and I can lay you out in the sunshine.”

"Valencia may be the right choice, then." The stories he's told you of growing up, of the small farm where his parents raised him near the coast where his father taught him to fish and swim, sound positively idyllic compared to the hell that is travelling on horseback through England in the dead of winter.

“Perhaps we can even visit where—where they are buried.” Pero has taken a very realistic outlook, but the idea of visiting his parents’ grave strikes a chord inside him. To show his mamá that he has found his soulmate.

"When spring comes, we can bring your mamá flowers." The idea of going home again has struck him deeply, and you are now convinced that it was the right suggestion to make. Even if you cannot convince the people living in his old family home to sell it to you, you will at least visit his parents' graves with regularity.

“If they would like to come with us.” Pero agrees, his own attachment to the other couple coming out. He worries about them, is the story he tells himself. Trying to believe they would be lost without the guidance you both can provide.

"I think they will." In fact, you know that if you suggested it right now, Arwena would have an entire daydream of what to grow on your shared farmland by the time you made camp tonight. "It will be something we talk about together." You smile gently. "As a family."

“Tonight when we are around a fire.” Pero has every intention of pushing the horses hard today after two full days of rest. “Where we don’t have to yell over the wind.”

“Aye.” Squeezing his hand once more, you reluctantly move your own again to cradle Binx’s sling against your chest so she does not bounce uncomfortably as you ride. With good rest and full bellies, you will be able to make it much further today than perhaps any day of travel beforehand, and the more distance put between the four of you and the coast, the better. Being so close to England’s northern border only makes you and Pero more eager to drive forward - and prospect of your own marriage and future together makes it all the sweeter.

******

It is later in the day than normal when Pero calls to stop for a meal. The road had been somewhat easy and he wanted to cover as much of it as he could before having to rest. "We will see if we can find some game." Pero grunts as he helps you down. "Take a piss and walk around. I know you are sore."

“I’ll start a cooking fire and see if I can find some clean snow to melt for tea.” Any opportunity for a kiss is a good one, and being that you consider yourselves betrothed now as well, you indulge a little before letting Pero go to hunt with Briac for some small animal to make your lunch. Claro and Harold had furnished you with bread and cheese and it would make for two hearty meals at least when combined with roast meat.

Your lips linger on his as he and the boy make their way through the snow silently. It will be a quick trip away from you. He will hunt longer when you make camp for the night, but this will be a hasty meal.

“Something changed,” Briac observes quietly, careful not to speak loudly and disturb any life nearby. “You never spoke of marriage before.”

“I did not think it was possible.” Pero admits, having kept the idea of you leaving firm in his mind. He hadn’t wanted to beg you to stay. Not when your future was better without him. “Now…it is.”

“Why would it not be possible?” Briac’s brow furrows tightly. “She was not…bound to someone else? Was she?” He can’t imagine that you would have begun such a passionate affair with Pero if you had been, but Briac has to admit to himself that there is much he does not know about you.

"No." He will not be able to explain why it wasn't possible, not without explaining where you are truly from and he will not do that without your permission. "There are...reasons why she felt like she could not wed me. I have convinced her that they are not an issue for me."

“I see.” He is clever enough to know when not to press for more details, and Pero is clearly reticent to speak about your circumstances. “Well…I am glad of it. And I know Wena is, too.”

Pero's lips curl briefly and he nods. "You and your girl will be expecting a babe soon, I imagine." He grunts, having pointedly ignored them every night when they think everyone is asleep. You are, but he just pretends to be resting.

“We pray for it.” The younger man isn’t shy about that, chest puffing proudly at the thought. “The first of many, by our hopes.”

“Never have more mouths than you can feed.” Pero cautions. “Brats are innocent and shouldn’t suffer because you enjoy fucking.”

“Aye.” Briac nods as solemnly as he ever does when Pero gives advice, taking it as gospel and filing it away in his mind to be followed in his own personal law. “And not so many as to leave Wena in pain.”

“As good as it feels to spill inside her, remember that she will go through things we cannot imagine.” Pero tells him. He’s not attended a birth, but he has heard the screams and it sounds as bad as the worst death on a battlefield.

“The magic Sassenach taught Wena to guard against a babe is strong, but we will be ready if the child is more hardheaded than the potion,” the younger man chuckles slightly. “It would just be proof that he is like his parents.”

Pero nods, flashing Briac a brief grin. "Sí." He hums, looking down and spotting the tracks of a rabbit. "And Sassenach and I will stand in as family when that time comes."

“The babes will need godparents.” Of course they had already discussed asking the older couple to stand in for such duties, but it had not been spoken of between the four of them yet. “We will be grateful to seen them well loved and cherished.”

“We will talk around the fire.” Pero promises, nodding towards the tracks. “Let us find our meal first.”

When they return, Arwena has found and cleared a few large stumps to sit on and you have a cauldron of mint and melted snow becoming tea to drink with your meal. “Any luck?” You ask, seeing Pero walk up to the small clearing before Briac.

Briac holds up a fair-sized rabbit, already dressed out. “This will go good with the tea.” He declares proudly.

Arwena squeals proudly, already on her feet again to wrap him in her arms and kiss him before taking the animal to butcher for the fire. “How marvelous,” she hums with a smile. “Cheese, bread, and rabbit.”

"Good meal." Pero notices that you have already made sure the horses are watered and given them a bit of the grain that you are carrying for them. He moves over to you and pulls out a small bit of the hide, some of the organs saved for Binx. "For her majesty."

"You spoil her." It's not even scolding, and you give him a kiss in thanks before laying the hide down on the damp ground beside you where Binx is sitting. There will be plenty of nuzzles and headbutts of gratitude from the cat to Pero later on, as she happily dives into her meal immediately.

Pero chuckles at the ferocity in which Binx is inhaling her food. "She is a good gato." He hums, wrapping his arms around you. "How are you feeling amor? Too cold?"

"I'm warm enough." You still keep close to his side though, enjoying the calm of having Arwena putting together the afternoon meal while you sit in Pero's arms. "And warmer now."

"Good." Pero presses his lips to your neck and sighs softly. It is nice to be off the horse for a bit.

"What did you wish to speak to us about?" Briac asks after a few moments of quiet. The crackling of the fire took over after the murmuring between couples subsided and now and the younger man is curious to know what you have been speaking about.

Pero looks over at you, getting a small nod before he turns towards the couple. "We are thinking of going to where I was raised after we marry." He tells them.

"To Spain?" Arwena's eyes widen, her head popping up immediately at that news. "Truly?"

Pero reaches for your hand and sends you a small smile. “Yes. And we were—would you like to come with us?” He asks. “You don’t have to, but you are welcome.”

Arwena is ready to agree immediately, eagerly near-bouncing in her seat, but looks to Briac first for his reaction. As much as she would love to see the beautiful shores and skies of Pero’s home, Briac still has parents and siblings in Brittany that he will be missing.

Briac hums and thinks, only taking a minute before he is nodding. “Yes. I believe that we will come with you.” He looks over at Arwena with a smile. “You are our family.”

“And you are ours.” You reach across to pat his knee in the most unintentionally mothering way possible and then move to start pouring tea into the cups you have all kept tied to your belts as you travel. “We have become very good at taking care of each other.”

“I will have to work on my Spanish more.” Arwena nearly bounces on her stump with giddiness and relief that she didn’t want to separate from you at all and now she doesn’t have to.

"It will be a chance for you to continue to learn." You hand Arwena her cup of tea and sit back again, giving Pero his own cup in turn. "I do not think you have ever had a chance to swim in anything larger than a pond before. The coast will be new for you as well."

“I am sure it will be very good.” Briac nods. “We still have much to learn from both of you.” His hand reaches for Arwena's again and he chuckles. "It seems as if we are bound for your home after our weddings."

"It will be our home," you promise him, and Pero grunts his agreement as he tugs you closer to his side. Whatever hands of fate brought the four of you together, it truly seems as if you are meant to stay this way.

******

"This is it?" Pero lifts a brow and wonders what exactly he was expecting but it wasn't this. He twists in his saddle and looks around, assessing and taking it in. "We are here? This is what we have killed ourselves to get to?" He might have driven them hard over the last two days, sacraficing sleep and rest to make it here.

"I know it doesn't look like much." The blanket of snow that covers the valley around you makes it look positively plain if not downright unwelcoming. Bare trees and a general lack of life in nearly every direction is discouraging, but what else could be expected for the middle of January? On Caballo's back, you twist to look around, finding Pero's eyes doing the same as you head in the direction of the small village of Gretna in the distance. "But this place will come to be known as a place of pilgrimage for lovers who would otherwise not be able to wed. This is Gretna Green, of course it is not as beautiful as it could be in the cold of winter. Just...trust me, amor. I know that this is the place we are supposed to be."

"There is a priest here? In the village?" He asks, skeptical about your knowledge but he is willing to trust you. You are far more knowledgeable than he is. Right now he is unsure that he will be able to find lodging for the four of you in the small village.

"Yes." There should be both a Christian church and a pagan community in this village if it was like the other Scottish villages you had lived in during your journey south, but Gretna has the advantage of being just over the English border...and having a more generally lax attitude toward the rules, if everything you have heard and remember reading is correct. "There will be lodging, because this is the first village after leaving England, and there will be a priest."

Pero nods, nudging the horse forward. "Let's go find this priest." He murmurs, holding tight to you and looking back at the road one last time. The feeling of someone chasing your group had never diminished and he feels like he needs to get your vows said quickly.

"A church or a tavern should be easy enough to spot." One or both of them will be along the main road, and hopefully the tavern will have rooms enough to give each couple their own bed behind a closed door tonight.

"A bed." He growls, his arm tightening around you. "A bed to consummate our vows. A bath to soak in after I fuck you full."

"You'll be letting me bathe before those are said, amor." You can't help but sigh in turn, though, knowing that with privacy and the security of having said your vows, you will not be getting much sleep tonight.

He scoffs and leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek. Your neck is covered in layers and he doesn’t want to make you cold. “I do not smell you.” He teases playfully.

You hum at him, laughing quietly as you shake your head. "I will not have you feasting on an unclean cunt, cariño. Just like you would not make me suck a filthy cock."

“Hmmmm, I get my cock sucked tonight?” He lifts a brow and the said appendage twitches happily in his breeches. “That does call for a bath. Those pretty lips around my shaft have been sorely missed. Just like my tongue is eager for your cunt.”

"I want to take the time to bring my husband as much pleasure as possible." All but purring to him as you ride, you toss Pero a playful wink and turn around again to watch the village get closer.

It is Arwena who spots the inn first, pointing it out in the heart of the village at you approach. The sign above the door is a griffin painted in silver and outlined in green, and some fifty yards to the right - across the square - sits a small church with a priest milling around outside. He is breaking icicles off of the eaves of the church and cleaning the windowsills, whistling to himself as he works and doing his best not to stare at the new arrivals to his village.

“Shall we go see about having our vows arranged?” Pero asks, although he is already guiding his horse in that direction. Briac and Arwena are close behind him. The feeling turns to one of anticipation when the priest has an excuse turns to them with cause to study them as Pero comes to a halt in front of his heavy robed body. Squeezing your waist, Pero dismounts and holds the reins, stepping up to him. “God give ye good morrow, Father.” He uses his most respectful voice and nods politely to the man of the cloth. “You are just the person we are seeking on our travels.”

“God give ye good morrow, my son.” The priest nods, making the sign of the cross to complete his greeting and looks on the group with curious eyes. “What service can the Church provide your party with this day?” There are many who see the way Father Malcolm comports himself and compare him more to a monk than to a priest, but the man has never minded that. It is simply that he is more humble - and perhaps more jolly - than another in the area. And surely that cannot be a fault.

“We are two pairs of soulmates who wish to wed, Father.” Pero can hear Briac dismounting his own horse and coming forward. “As God intended.”

The sound from the young priest’s throat is pleased, and he looks between the man in front of him to the rest of his traveling party once more. “I think you have traveled far to do so, and if it is your sincere wish then it shall be so.”

Pero nods, relived that the priest has agreed. “We wish to clean up from our travels, but we want to be bound in the eyes of God as quickly as we can.” If they could be wed within the hour, perhaps two, it would lift a giant weight off Pero’s shoulders.

The priest’s smile turns knowing, understanding that the demands of the flesh can be heavy when neglected. He is a man, after all, even as a man of God. “Can any of your party read and write, traveler?” He asks, knowing that the skills are not common amongst most of his parishioners. Even his own skill in writing is meager.

Pero nods, proud of the work that you have made him put in. Even while laying in bed. It was a wonderful motivator for you to reveal inch upon tantalizing inch of skin when he read the words you had written in the book for Arwena. “My soulmate is learned and she has taught very basic skills to us.” He motions to all three of them.

“There is typically a cost of a few coins paid to the church for a wedding, as I am sure you know.” He shrugs a little, as if he does not approve of such things. Like the reading of the bans - it is all well and good to announce one’s intentions before God but not all circumstances allow for the luxury of three weeks’ planning. “There are always roofs to be repaired and things of that nature, I fear. However, I would be happy to wave such a fee if your soulmate would consent to take down a letter from dictation? It must be sent to my bishop and I am afraid that my own abilities with a quill are meager.”

Instead of answering for you, Pero turns to you, wanting you to be the one who says yay or nay. “It would be her decision. Although we have funds to donate for a roof, or strong backs if you have need.” Now that a wedding is guaranteed, Pero does not mind staying for a week or so to rest before they continue on their journey. “Sassenach?”

The priest smothers a laugh at such a man calling someone else outlander, but as soon as the hooded figure sitting astride the war horse behind him comes to earth to step forward he swallows his mirth. The cloak pin she wears is one that was once his mother’s - long since gifted to the white witch that saved his life from a vicious ailment. Your name - your real name - falls from his tongue in wonder and he stares as you remove your hood.

“Am I known to you, Father?” Carefully stepping to Pero’s side, it takes you longer than a few moments to recognize the man that was no more than Briac’s age when you came through the Stones and were taken in by his clan nearly eight years ago. “Malcolm?”

Pero frowns fiercely for the few moments before you recognize the priest. His hand had automatically fallen to his sword even though the man was proclaimed to be a man of the cloth. He didn’t care about the church or his eternal soul in that moment, for it was a sin to hurt a priest, he cared about protecting you. When you gasp his name, he relaxes and looks at you in confusion. “You know this priest?”

“He was not a priest when I knew him last.” The feeling of pride in your chest is undeniable, seeing the healthy and hearty man standing in front of you, instead of the willowy wisp of a thing sick in his bed so long ago. “Malcolm’s clan were the ones who took me in when I first arrived here.” The look you give Pero is pointed - this priest knows the hidden parts of your story that even Arwena and Briac still do not. “He left home to follow God’s word some months before I left to begin traveling south.”

Pero nods, smiling at the obvious affection in your voice. “The world is smaller than we realize.” he hums to you.

“I prayed to God to deliver me from sickness and swore to Him my eternal soul if He would send an angel to save me. He sent me an angel with healing hands and I kept my promise.” He chuckles softly. “This is your soulmate?” The priest’s voice is full of obvious surprise, not because he is passing judgement but because he knows you are not of his world.

“Aye.” Slipping your hand into the crook of Pero’s arm, you beam an affectionate smile at the man who holds your heart before looking back at your other friends. “Our companions are soulmates as well. We have come very far to be married and hope to do so with haste.”

Pero’s eyes soften when you look at him before turning back to the priest. “The other couple can prove that they share marks if that is your concern.” He decides that he will be honest with a man who you trust. “We are being chased by the girl’s father. He wishes to force her to wed a man who is…ungodly.”

Father Malcolm’s eyes narrow and he nods. Ungodly men are many and their sins are more so, but he knows you to be kind and good so he will not question that part of the matter on the street. “Come inside,” he urges, motioning to the church behind him. “All of you. I will learn your stories and then take you to the tavern for rooms and a hot meal before you wed. If haste is your concern, it will be done before sundown.”

“Thank you, Father.” Pero is grateful for his understanding and motions Briac and Arwena closer. “We are very grateful for your understanding and haste. I will defend my soulmate and the boy’s with violence if necessary, but it is our hope that once wed, they will see that it is futile.”

“What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.” Father Malcolm intones seriously. He helps tie the horses to the post along the southern side of the building before leading the four of you inside and shutting the door fast behind you. “You need not fear me, child.” He tells Arwena honestly, beckoning her forward. “I mean to be your friend if you will tell your honest story.”

Arwena wrings her hands together, nervous to trust him because she believes it was her own priest that had alerted her father to her soulmate status. She had confessed earlier in the day when he had found out. Her eyes flutter over to you questioningly and you nod encouragingly. “I—F—Father, I must confess, everyone here knows this story.” She murmurs sadly. “The man my father wishes me to wed forced himself on—on me.” Her fingers twist tightly around themselves to the point where they look as if they will break. Briac reaches over and gently pries them apart and laces his own fingers with hers in support. “It—it was not my— I did not— ask for it.” Her voice shakes and she is quickly wiping her eyes. “I cannot wed a – a monster who would do that. Not when my true soulmate, the man God intended me to give myself to, is a Godly man.”

"I see." Father Malcolm's head bows only once before he looks Arwena square in the eyes. "How old are you, child?"

“I— seventeen years, Father.” She raises her chin and squares her shoulders slightly. The fact that he is not condemning her like she had feared helps her face him bravely.

"Old enough to make this decision for yourself." Raised to be strong-willed and steadfast in conviction, the priest offers the girl in front of him a smile of reassurance before anything else. "If it is your wish, and your soulmate's wish, to be married this day, then let it be so. Should anyone come to question your union, they may answer to me." Many would say that a man may make choices for his daughter at any stage in her life, but thankfully Father Malcolm is not many men. "I will only ask that you bear to me some mark that will not impugn your modesty, that I may see with my own eyes that you are soulmates."

Wena nods, looking exponentially happier as looks over at Briac. “The shoulder.” She decides, figuring that would be one that would be the most modest to bear. “I— the man who— he—he cut me— while—” she breaks off her words and lets Briac help her out of the layers that she had been wearing on the road until just her dress and chemise remains. Turning around, she pulls the fabric off her shoulder to reveal the ugly scar that had been marked into her skin.

The young man’s shoulder bears the identical mark, and Father Malcolm nods again. A definitive expression sets itself in the priest’s countenance and he steps back from the couple politely. “I thank you,” he says after a pause. “Your blessed union will be a celebration of God’s love and your own.” Their clothing set easily back into place, Father Malcolm moves quickly to the door of the church and motions for the group of you to follow. “The inn across the square will have rooms for you. I will prepare for your nuptials while you refresh.”

"Father...." Pero squeezes your hand and follows him. "We thank you for your help. Sassenach said that we would be welcome here and it is satisfying to learn the truth of it."

“Gretna is a welcoming place.” Father Malcolm begins to usher the two couples across the square, right to the door of the Silver Griffin. “It was God’s Will that I be here to help you, it seems. I am only newly arrived myself.”

That is most fortunate and Pero raises his brow in surprise. "We will only require two rooms, Father." He tells him quietly, knowing that he and Briac will stay downstairs with the priest while you and Arwena clean up.

"Of course." He chuckles slightly, walking up through the crowded room with all its long banquet tables and benches for seating, studded with the occasional spare chair in odd places. There is a group of men in one corner playing a game of cups and dice and a trio of ladies in another bent over some shared sewing in the light of the windows. The priest approaches the group of women and murmurs something in her ear. She is a tall and sweet-faced women in her middle-forties whose most imposing quality is that she is so gentle in appearance that you would hate to be the one who upsets her just like you would hate to upset a favourite aunt. "Friends, you say?" She hums at the young priest. "Rooms for friends of Father Malcolm. Aye. We can manage that."

Pero lets go of you and nods towards Briac. "We will go get the bags." There isn't much they could in leu of fresh clothes, there were none, but you could at least bathe and feel better before your vows are exchanged.

"We would be grateful for two rooms, mistress." Armed with Pero's coin purse, you are prepared to make certain that everything is ready for the four of you to have a wonderful wedding night.

“Baths as well?” She asks, smirking slightly at how excited the younger couple looks as they reluctantly part.

"Aye. Please." You can't help but smile a little more broadly, tucking the thing up in the corner of your mouth like a pleasing secret even though it is no secret at all. "Baths and rooms, and meals if they can be supplied. We have come a long way to be married here and wish to celebrate."

“Ye traveled to Gretna to be wed?” She asks, slightly surprised. “A good friend of Father Malcom then.” She motions for you to follow her to the stairs and calls out for bathing tubs to be brought to the rooms. A wedding. It has been some time since a wedding had occurred in the village. “We will make it a blessed occasion.”

"It is a beautiful little place," you tell her honestly. If you weren't already talking about Spain, you must just suggest staying here in Gretna. But you can't resist punctuating the thought with a private joke all for yourself. "I think in the future people may flock here for just such a purpose."

“I will be doubtful. The Sassenach do not much like our ways.” She chuckles slightly and shows you down the hall to two doors across from each other at the end. “Our best rooms.” She offers with a smile.

"Thank you, mistress." From Pero's purse, two silver pieces make their way from your hand to hers and you smile again. "We may be here some days and will be glad to pay the full amount in advance when we decide how long we will linger."

She shakes her head and smiles at you. “A friend of the Father’s does nay need to pay in advance.” She murmur. “Go in and rest. Your baths before your vows will be sent up shortly.”

With more thanks given, the innkeeper disappears toward the stairs and you reach to hug Arwena before she can disappear behind the opposite door. She is grinning from ear to ear with shining eyes and restless energy, and you cannot help but laugh. "I am glad that you are so excited to finally be his wife."

“You too.” She giggles quietly and tosses her head knowingly. “You cannot wait to marry your Spaniard.”

"I cannot deny it." You cannot and will not, especially not to her. Not to one of the only two people in the world who stood by you and watched you fall in love with Pero.

“I wish-“ Arwena shakes her head after opening her mouth too quickly. “It is foolish, but I wish I had time to finish the dresses I was making at home.” She had secretly been sewing dresses to take with her when she left come spring. Including new dresses for her wedding to Briac for you and her.

“That is not so foolish a wish.” Opening your arms, you give Arwena the space to hug you as earnestly as she wishes in that moment before you sigh slightly. “Where I am from, brides wear great white gowns to their weddings made of every kind of luxurious fabric you can possibly imagine. As a little girl I had dreamt of wearing my mother’s gown when I wed my soulmate. But it does not sadden me to be without it now.” You pull back from hugging her and send her a wink. “Briac and Pero would likely tear off whatever beautiful dresses we wore anyway.”

“Tonight will be very special.” Arwena grins as she wrinkles her nose. “We will no longer be sinning in the eyes of the church.”

“Any babe that comes now will be a welcome one, I think.” You hug her tightly once more before shooing her toward her own door. “A mother or sister might give advice to you tonight, sweet girl. But you need none. Love Briac well and embrace this new chapter of your life.”

“I am happy I am sharing it with you.” Tears spring up in her eyes and she blinks them away with a grin. “We are about to married women!”

“And happily so.” There is time for one more squeezing hug between you before two young women appear in the hall with the large bath tubs that have been ordered. In a matter of perhaps an hour, your vows will be said and everyone will be safer. And you will finally be able to relax in Pero’s arms.

Arwena paces in the nicely appointed room until the door opens and the round wooden tub is carried in. She’s nervous and excited, all of it twisting together in a small knot in her stomach. All of this is right, but she can’t help but feel as though there is something looming on the horizon. Not sure what it might be has her worried.

******

Father Malcolm, the sweet man that he is, has decorated the small parish church in dozens of candles in the time between parting with your group and your return to the church an hour later. The ceremony will be brief and there will be no witnesses to speak of beyond the five of you, but he has put out what decoration he can to make the event memorable. He had even brought Pero and Briac down to the village blacksmith to see about rings in the brief time you and Arwena were bathing. All was as it should be, despite the palpable tension in the air that seemed to be coloring the two couples’ excitement.

Pero shuffles nervously as he stands in the church, confession had been lengthy and he wasn't quite sure that God wouldn't still strike him down for setting foot in his space. Briac hums beside him, his own nerves setting him on edge and both men listen for your approach with eager ears.

Your clothes aren’t exactly clean after weeks of travel, but the clothes that had been packed in Arwena’s mare’s saddlebags are a bit tidier. Her blue-gray tunic is soft and light, letting her give off the impression that she is about to take flight at any time. The crisp air blows around you both, and the long sleeves of her dress mix with yours as you hold hands walking across the square the church. Her blue against your deep green is water lapping at the shore, and you fiddle with your hair just one more time before stepping up to the church door. Arwena had insisted that braiding it would be beautiful, and the loose plaits you both wear are studded with dried rose buds from your case of herbs. It’s all you can do not to look back - terrified in the bottom of your gut that her father might suddenly appear over the horizon at any second. Inside. You remind yourself, pulling in the heavy iron latch and letting Arwena duck inside first. Inside we are safe.

The heavy wood door closes and Pero sighs, his eyes fixed on you as both you and Wena walk towards the men. There is something about the fact that he is going to marry you that has him emotional. Looking at you to memorize every moment from now until you are wed in the eyes of God. He thinks you've never looked more beautiful.

In that moment it doesn’t matter that you’re not wearing white, or that the wedding match isn’t playing, or that it’s Scotland in 1006. The absolute only thing that matters is that Pero is standing at the top of the beautifully candle-lit aisle and he is there to marry you. He even shaved for the occasion, freshly clean face flushed with either nerves or excitement. Or maybe, like you, both.

The ring that is in his hand nearly cuts into the skin he is gripping it so tightly. “Mi amor.” He breathes when you are close, reaching out with his other hand lightening fast and dragging you the last few steps to him for a desperate kiss.

Father Malcolm chuckles softly, clearing his throat to bring the Spaniard’s attention back to the actual wedding ceremony. “There will be time for that, my friend,” he tells Pero with an indulgent smile. “After God’s law is followed.”

Pero flushes slightly, shuffling as he left you go so you can stand beside him instead of plastered against him. “Forgive me, Father.” Briac chuckle at his friend’s eagerness and receives a half hearted glare in return.

“It is not a sin to be in love, my son.” The young father smiles and beckons the two couples forward to kneel at the altar in front of the church. To the left of your grooms, you and Arwena are bright spots of color in the flickering candlelight. “Now,” he clears his throat, standing before the altar. “Who gives these women to be wed today?”

“We give each other, Father.” Arwena speaks up, her voice clear and bright as she looks up at the priest. “We are chosen sisters, united by our faith and spirit.”

"And each of you consents freely to these marriages with your soulmate, with no unspoken burdens left to confess?" The priest asks, looking between the four of you. One by one you all agree, having made your confessions and come here freely - after a great deal of effort. "Very well, then," he smiles one more time. "Gentleman, have you acquired rings for your brides?"

Pero nods, holding open his hand to reveal the plain gold band he had purchased for you. Briac does the same with Arwena’s ring. “You deserve a ring, hermosa.” Pero murmurs softly.

"Te amo." The quiet whisper is just for him, though the appreciative tears rising behind your eyes are obvious to anyone. He could have tied a string around your finger and you would have showed it off like the most precious diamond in the world. “Let us begin.” As it turns out, a medieval wedding ceremony is not so different from all those weddings your cousins had when you were little, or even the unconventional ones your friends had been having since college. The familiar vows to have and hold are sworn by all of you - for better or worse, in sickness and in health, til death do you part - and the largest difference is that Pero and Briac touch the wedding rings to your and Arwena's pointer fingers, then middle fingers, then ring fingers before slipping them on those fourth digits to remain for good.

There is a small smile on Pero’s lips, unable to believe that he is kneeling before a priest and saying his vows to marry you. “Hasta la eternidad.” Until eternity. He whispers to you, his thumb brushing over the band on your finger.

"Para siempre." Forever. You don't resist the urge to bend and press a kiss to his fingers as they caress the ring and your skin, only momentarily lamenting the fact that men in this time do not wear wedding rings. If you could give him something other than your marks to wear to signify that he holds your heart, you would give that gift again and again for the rest of your lives.

“Te amo.” He whispers softly, eyes flicking down to your lips and he wants to kiss you but the father has not blessed you yet.

"Te amo." In fact you're probably vibrating with it, and the amused priest finally bestows the kiss of peace on each groom to then grace their brides with.

The slightly sour look Pero has from being laughed at by a priest disappears the second he pulls you close. Briac has already dove into his kiss with Arwena, the younger couple gasping but Pero takes the time to brush your scar with his hand and tug you close to press his forehead against yours. “Esposa.” He breathes before he takes your lips in the tenderest kiss he can manage.

The warmth that floods your system is half arousal and half complete bliss. "Mi esposo." The words you genuinely never thought that you would say, breathed after your first kiss as man and wife. There is something utterly enchanting about this moment that you have never anticipated before, and for the first time in weeks you feel as though everything in the world is right.

Arwena giggles and cries as she kisses Briac, the boy himself shedding tears of joy and relief. Now that they are wed in the eyes of God and the Church, there was nothing that her father could do. Their names were now recorded with the Church and the priest, he could not do anything but try to kill Briac and Pero had taught him how to defend himself well.

Two couples, now wed and bound, rise from their knees to sign the church register that Father Malcolm had prepared. Two couples with tears of pure joy in their eyes bid the same father good day with repeated thanks, and when they exit the church they find nothing but welcoming sunshine and the well wishes of a few passing villagers. You will go and settle your grateful debt with Malcolm tomorrow. Until then the only thought in your mind is Pero.

“The room, Sassenach.” Pero and Briac had cleaned up outside the rooms while you and Arwena had gotten ready, but he wants to lock himself in the room with his wife and make love to her. “Our meals will be brought to the door?” He asks. “Because I am not letting my wife out of my bed for the night once we climb into it.”

“The innkeeper said she would deliver trays to us tonight.” You grin at the eagerness in his tone, knowing you are every bit as ready to have him behind a closed and locked door as he is to have you. “I asked if she would simply leave them in the hall and gave her enough extra that both rooms could have a bottle of mead delivered as well.” It is a celebration, after all, and it’s not like champagne will be invented for almost seven hundred years.

“Good.” He has no doubt the patrons of the inn, mainly the ones drinking and socializing in the small space downstairs will hear you tonight. He doesn’t care. You are his wife, you bear his name - under the laws of man and God, you are his. It’s something that has his entire body primed with desire, surprising even him. He had never expected to be a greedy man when it came to marriage, he never expected to marry, but he is gluttonous with the need to make his talent for satisfying you known.

Briac and Arwena - teary and giggly and proud - are first through the doors of the inn with you and Pero following closely behind. There are more patrons now, all of them seemingly having heard of the weddings happening under Father Malcolm’s authority, and the cacophony of fist pounding tables and boots stamping the floor when the four of you walk in is just as sweet as the applause of any family. They may not be sitting outside your rooms to get an exact transcript, but these are the witnesses to the final act of your marriage - those who will vouch for overhearing the consummation - and they are as necessary a part of the legal contract in this time as the priest you just left. Without consummation, the marriage contract is not binding.

Pero grins at the way that Arwena seemingly melts under the realization that these people will be straining their ears for any sounds of pleasure. Sure that there will be ribald jokes and gentle ribbing. “We will make sure we take the attention off you.” He leans in to whisper in her ear.

“We’ll send up yet supper when it sounds like ye have worked a good appetite.” A man behind the counter chortles, which earns his a good-hearted glare from the innkeeper even though she smiles a second later. “No one will disturb ye,” she promises, waving toward the stairs as if to gentle shoo the four of you away from prying eyes.

The entire room is silent as the four of you start up the creaking stairs. Pero is probably the one most used to it, to being judged and weighed when he comes across a new village. His hand is on your waist as you proceed him and he turns to give the group a good-natured scowl.

That only earns a wave of good-natured chuckling from the assembled revelers, and they go back to their conversations and cups easily enough after you disappear upstairs.

At the top of the stairway, Pero lets you guide him towards the room that will be yours for at least the next few days. “Come wife.” He growls playfully. “I am needing you in my bed.”

“I think you like that word,” you tease, tugging him close to your side as Arwena and Briac sprint ahead to disappear behind the slamming door of their room with giddy anticipation.

“I do.” Pero admits, leaning in to tuck his head against your neck. “More than I ever thought possible. It is…kismet.”

“Come, amor.” Pressing a kiss to the line of his jaw, you push open the door to your room and nudge him inside. “We have much to celebrate.”

Once the door is open and he sees the bed that is already made with fresh sheets, Pero pushes into the room with you and kicks the door shut. Fumbling behind his back with the bar so he can keep his lips locked onto yours once he has found them.

It’s a testament to how little clothing Pero actually wore on a daily basis in the cottage that you’re having trouble getting him out of his clothes now - blindly pulling at laces and ties ties to strip away his layers piece by piece. The fire is roaring and a pitcher of water sits on a far table for refreshment, but everything is ignored in favor of getting your husband naked as quickly as possible. Your husband. The thought only makes you that much more insistent.

Chuckling, Pero covers your hands with his. “Let me strip for you.” He hums. “Show you what you have taken as your husband.” He wants you to watched to see the way your expression turns to one of lust when he strips bare. Never having someone a eager to lay with him as you are, it’s thrilling.

It’s not that Pero was touch starved before you, but in a sense he had been affection starved. He and William showed their brotherhood with with trademark teasing and roughhousing of men at arms. But you? You have never been shy about your desire for him since the day you confessed your mutual attraction and requited love. You have pleaded and begged for him, worshipped every inch of skin in his body and voiced the pleasure he has given you countless times. And somehow it only seems to make him want you more - not taking for granted the way you desire and love him, but appreciating it all the more. Now, at his request, you reluctantly take your hands away and move to the bed. Sitting in middle of the soft, downy mattress, you obediently sit on your hands so you can’t reach for him in impatience. “It has been whole weeks since I have seen my husband’s glory,” you tease, chewing on your bottom lip in obvious anticipation. “I think I have forgotten the exact planes of his body and need to be reminded.”

He feels powerful, like a king when you look at him like that. When your body squirms in anticipation since you know how he feels. His mouth salivates at the prospect of tasting you again, making you cry his name for the inn to hear. “Be patient.” He grumbles at you, even as his lips give away his delight at your impatience. “You will have me. My cock stretching out that cunt like it deserves to be. My hands stroking your skin.”

“How am I supposed to be patient with that promise to look forward to?” You complain with a playful pout. He looks so proud to see how much you want him that you would never deny him the pleasure of watching you squirm.

He chuckles, the sound low and deep and dragging the ground. “Show me your tits, wife.” He orders with a smirk on his face. “It has been weeks since I’ve seen those beautiful, tasty nipples.”

“I don’t know how you’ve survived without them,” you tease him, returning his smirk even as you unknot the belt over your waist. The deep evergreen coloured tunic you wore for a wedding dress lifts away to reveal your stays and chemise underneath, both of which you unlace as fast as your eager fingers will allow - leaving you only in your stockings once your slippers have been kicked away. But Pero very often prefers you in just your stockings, so you leave them in place for him to enjoy.

He growls, cock twitching behind the leather of his breeches as he drinks in the sight of your tits. His own tunic is slow to slide over his head before he reaches down and cups his cock. “You want this, esposa?” He grunts. “You want to see the last cock you will have?”

“You say that like you are testing me.” It’s still a tease, even more so because you’re about ready to crawl off the bed to get to him. “That is my favourite cock in eternity, and from me that is literal.”

He looks at you from deep under the lids of his eyes, a smirk hovering on his face and looking every inch in the predator he could be. “Good.” He rasps, thick fingers unraveling the laces to tease you with the thatch of dark hair that grows above his length.

You all but lick your lips, undisguised desire taking over. Medieval wedding night striptease definitely wasn’t ever on your checklist of moments in life, but since you’re here you’re not about to waste a single second of enjoyment.

Pero watches as you spread your legs unconsciously. Loving how it’s not even a planned action. He smirks as he teases down the pants, drawing out the anticipation and basking in your attention.

"Mi amor..." You would call him cruel except he's enjoying teasing you so much, and you shift forward on the bed again so you're basically on the edge of the mattress. The whine in your voice and pout on your lips is exactly what he loves in a reaction and you'll give it to him every single time. "Let me see all of you. Please?"

When you beg, there is nothing on this earth that Pero would deny you. His breeches pushed down, he reveals the thick length of his cock, already ready to sink into the warm walls of his wife. “Is this what you wanted?” He huffs playfully, kicking his breeches off and standing proud for your perusal.

“Fuck” If he had shared your bath you would be on your knees in front of him in a heartbeat, ready to have your lips wrapped around that cock for the first time in weeks. Instead you shift forward again, crawling the final two inches off the mattress like a magnet is pulling you to his side. “Tan guapo. Tan fucking guapo.” So handsome. It’s a goddamn understatement, but since there is no good Medieval equivalent for ‘sexy’ you’ll make do with the words that you have.

His hand strikes out, whip fast as it grabs your arm and drags you back onto the mattress as he propels himself forward. Teasing is over, now he wants to make you cry out. “Hermosa.”

The speed of his movements knock you clear off your feet, bare ass landing on top of the blankets and furs laid over the mattress as he leans over you. If you ever teetered on the edge of forgetting he is a warrior, these are the times that make you remember. The times that he is the hunter and you are the hunted, and nothing in the world can keep him from being the victorious conqueror. “Esposo.” It comes out of you in a whisper - a sort of wonderment - and your lips curl up in a genuine smile.

Pero groans, deep in his chest. As if that is the secret to the wonders do the world and you have found it. Something he never thought he would have, would deserve, is right here in his grasp. His fingers fan out over your cheek and jaw. “Te amo.” He manages to choke out a split second before crushing his lips to yours as if he needed to kiss you to keep living. In that moment it was quite possible that it was true.

He crawls over you, dragging you backward until you’re sprawled out on the furs beneath him. Your grasping fingers knead his flesh, constantly trying to coax him closer and your legs open immediately, welcoming him to lay between them and take everything you have to offer.

“Fuck, you look so good.” Pero groans, ducking his head down and biting on your shoulder. “All mine.”

"Yes." Your thumb on his chin brings his eyes back up to yours, a stillness in the moment of almost desperate wanting. "Since the day you came into my life. And now forever."

“Hold on to the bed, amor.” Pero presses his lips to yours roughly before he starts a frantic journey south, his mouth paving the way with hot open mouthed kisses and little love bites. “Hold onto the fucking bed while I eat your cunt.”

The appetite he has for pussy eating makes you the luckiest damn woman in the world, and you reach up to grasp the headboard of the sturdy wooden bed with two eager hands. Any usual inclination you would normally have to run your fingers through his hair and tug is stifled by his instruction, because you've learned over time that there are sometimes when being a little submissive in bed yields amazing results. Yielding to Pero's appetite is one of them.

The scent of you is heavy in his nose, filling his senses and all he can think about is you. That first touch, first lick isn’t gentle. It’s not tentative. He opens his mouth and immediately gorges himself on the cunt that is attached to his wife with a pleased groan.

Your own sound is more like an ecstatic gasp when he attempts to swallow you whole - cunt first. Pero’s tongue is talented for more than just trading barbs and you will let every prying pair of ears downstairs know it. It’s been weeks since you felt him lick through your folds like a man starved and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.

Instead of grabbing your hips like he normally does, he grabs your tits. Groaning into you while he huffs and snarls into your cunt at the taste and your reaction. Dark eyes fixed on your face and he smirks while sucking on your clit when your back arches.

When he is determined like this it always feels possible that you might just float away without warning. There is no part of you that he does not taste or touch, though his hands always return to your tits to pinch and roll your sensitive nipples between his calloused fingers and make you keen.

Every moan and sigh makes Pero work harder. Ignoring the ache in his jaw from not being used this way for weeks. He pushes deeper into your folds, his tongue curling up inside you.

He can tell you're working up to your peak, the pitch of your moans getting higher and your breathing shallower as your tits heave in his hands. The way your thighs start to shake at his ears makes him chuckle in that dark, wicked pleased way that he has and your back arches again, grinding your pussy down on his gorgeous smart-ass mouth for all your worth.

He loves when you seek out pleasure from him. You had introduced him to face sitting as you called it, and he loves when you do it. Not because you suck on his cock, but because he loves how you writhe on his lap. He pinches your nipples and twists, eager to feel you soak his face when you cum.

His tongue curls inside you, tugging at that last divine thread holding you together and flicking it apart with practiced ease to topple you off the edge of pleasure. You wouldn't exactly call it screaming when your orgasm starts to roll through you, but the people waiting downstairs now unmistakably know your husband's name.

Pride fills his chest as he drags you through the pleasure. Keeping his tongue flicking and curling around your clit while your legs squeeze his head and shake around him. Feeling your heartbeat through your cunt and tasting your release on his tongue.

"Fuck--" You groan out the curse, a deep and indulgent giggle rolling up from deep in your throat as you pull at Pero's shoulders to get him to crawl up your body.

Giving into your whines and pulling is no great feat, already needing to be inside you. He wants to feel you shudder around his cock. “Feel good, amor?” He asks, the thick line of him resting against your wet cunt.

“God yes.” He always feels good no matter what part of him is on or inside you, and you cant your hips upward to slick the underside of his cock with your wetness as you keep your legs spread wide. “My husband is exceptionally talented.”

“El hechizo de tu bruja.” Your witch’s spell. Pero chuckles, leaning forward and his teeth bite your chin and he rocks his hips forward to rub against your folds.

"If anyone is under a spell, it's me." And you don't mind admitting to that either. That the way you love each other is more powerful than anything else you have ever felt.

“Then we will be bewitched together.” Pero angles his hips and he catches at your entrance. Sliding inside you with the ease of practice and the sense of coming home.

The feeling of it is so natural that you barely even notice shedding a very real tear as you put your arms around him. Having Pero close to you - so close that you have literally become one - is a kind of comfort and peace that you never thought possible. The magic of soulmates, you think, right before he steals all other thoughts from your mind as he starts to move inside you.

It is hard to keep from speeding up, from making this rough and hard and making you scream, but he keeps his hips slow. Steadily rocking into you as if he has all the time in the world. In a sense, he does. You are staying with him, making your home here, with him and he can’t kiss you enough while steadily burying himself inside you.

This evening is so different from your usual time spent in bed together. There is no frantic chase and playful banter or teasing. The roll of his hips is steady and true, bringing him back to you over and over again - home again on even thrust and breathing you in with every shared gasp. It's hypnotic. A true bewitchment in any sense of the term as the rest of the world dissolves around you to be forgotten in favour of each other. Every droplet of sweat an offering on the altar of your bodies and every pronouncement of your names or curse of pleasure a new enchantment that ties you together just that much tighter.

Pero gasps, eyes closed and his jaw tight when your nails dig into his back. Not harshly, you wouldn’t draw blood, but it seems to scorch his nerves. “Te amo, te amo.” He grunts, dragging his cock through the tight clutch of your body.

It becomes a symphony: words of love and promises made by firelight mixing with endless sounds of pleasure. There is no difference between your voice and his as you both rise higher into the night, exultations only pausing when the pleasure is so great that it steals your breath altogether.

There’s no better place to be than right here. Pero has never been in a more perfect spot that right here between his wife’s thighs. Every look on your face, every whispered word of love is etched onto his heart and without a doubt, you have changed everything for him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” You have never felt it more intensely than you do in this moment. The past is your present and now your future, and Pero’s strong arms wrapped tightly around you while he buries himself in your grasping body over and over again. Nothing in the world has ever been so right.

His lips are near your ear, breathing where you can hear it. He feels how his groans affect you. “Break for me, esposa. I want to f-feel you.”

It’s almost more of a prayer, begging you to join him at his peak as you can feel his thrusts start to grow erratic, and you hitch your legs up a little higher on his waist to deepen the angle of his cock as it enters your slick walls. Like this you can practically feel him in your belly and you cry out a little louder, nails burying themselves in his back all over again. The small difference is enough to have your pussy fluttering, the vibrating feeling of orgasm right behind it.

Pleasure is something that Pero has become well acquainted with since discovering you as his soulmate and the two of you exploring sexually. But this, this is like the black powder explosion that knocked him off his feet and made the world spin. Disorienting him to everything but the gasp of your walls around him and the flash of light that seems to fill him as he growls out your name and gives you everything he has in him.

Pero’s speed picks up, rhythm left behind in favor of chasing the tingling dramatic of orgasm. You plummet over the precipice first, the head of his cock dragging back against your g-spot so perfectly that your vision whites out when you cry your husband’s name one more time and tense completely underneath him.

He’s sure everyone on the planet can hear both of you. Not that he gives a damn, he only cares about the way you cry his name, taking his seed as he gives it to you and moaning at the feel of filling you. It’s heady, breathtaking and wholly consuming as he strains above you, your arms locked around him until you both come down together.

“I love you so much.” Whispered into a kiss, it occurs to you that the words just truly aren’t enough - but they’re the biggest words you have.

“Hasta la eternidad.” Until eternity. Pero promises, kissing your lips again and again until he feels like he had caught his breath.

“Para siempre.” Forever. It seems a little too much like a dream, this hazy feeling of bliss you’re living in, but you kiss him again before shifting slightly in the sturdy bed. “Lay down, amor,” You murmur against his lips. “Lay with your wife.”

It’s not a hard request, one that he willingly fulfills. Kissing your forehead, he lays beside you and pulls you close. “You are warm.” He chuckles, “I will keep you warm like this anytime you wish.”

“I’m sure it will be a great hardship,” you tease, laughing with him. The flush you feel makes you hum and you tuck into his side easily. “Fucking your wife will be a terrible chore.”

“Someone must do it.” He intones solemnly, as of it is a hassle. “A woman as beautiful as my soulmate must be taken care of properly.” His fingers trail up your arm and the teasing gives way to a serious thought. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, amor.” He promises. “Even if it means I must rip my own heart from my chest.”

“Let us hope it never comes to that,” you intone seriously, looking up at him from your place against his chest. “But I would do the same for you.”

“I know you would.” That’s the part that terrifies him. He knows you would protect him if you had to. His arm curls around you tightly. “Sleep.” He huffs, smirking at you. “I will wake you in an hour to do this again.”

You just giggle softly, pressing a kiss over his heart before you lay your head down again and sigh. The utter contentment of the moment is nearly overwhelming and you adore it. “By then our super tray should have arrived. We will need the energy tonight, I think.”

******

The shuffling outside the door wakes Pero an hour later. Dinner arriving. He smirks at the way you are draped across him, obviously still asleep and deeply at that. Binx lifts her head from the corner she is curled in and yawns, stretching her front paws before she settles back down as if to say it was his responsibility to worry about what was beyond the door. It takes a few moments, but he manages to extract himself from under you silently and shuffle into his breeches to open the door and retrieve the heavily ladened tray. The room is gloriously warm, the chimney from the kitchen below keeping the room nice and toasty.

“Amor?” Stretching to find no warm body beneath you, you frown and crack your eye open. The sun has since set on the day but Binx is resting comfortably, and you twist under the furs on the bed to find Pero coming towards you with a tray - hot, roasted meat, fresh crusty bread, stewed vegetables with gravy, a chunk of creamy white cheese, and a bowl of dried berries that look like a purplish cousin of blueberries. Two goblets and a bottle of mead complete the meal, and he sets it on the table by the bed while you sit up. “Our wedding feast?” You guess, not bothering to cover yourself. Why should you?

“It looks to be a tasty one.” There is nothing wrong with leering at your nude body as you slowly amble out of the bed. It is a sight Pero has been greeted with many time in your little cottage and now here in the inn where you are spending the first night as husband and wife. He thinks that makes it even more special.

"You can have me after we eat," you hum, grinning at the way he is drinking in every inch of you with hungry eyes. "But I know we will be up every hour or two during the night to fuck as many times as we can, so we must have food."

He chuckles, knowing that you are well aware of his intent. “I swear I have never thought with my cock as much as I have since arriving at your door.” He muses, sending you a small wink as you sit your bare ass on the wooden chair.

"I will take that as a compliment." Sending the wink right back to him, you pick up a few of the little dried berries from the bowl on the tray and pop them in your mouth, humming at the sweetness. They're almost exactly like dried blueberries and you had never realized that you missed blueberries until now.

His soft cock twitches at the lusty moan that pours out of your mouth. Your eyes roll back and he watches you hold onto the table while you do some sort of body shake. “Is it good, bruja?” He asks, amused at your reaction.

"I used to eat something like these...before." He knows what you mean, but usually you call it 'back home'. That has to change, obviously. Since your home is with him. "I have not had anything like them in years."

“Then have them all.” Pero pushes the bowl towards you. “We will get some more of them before we leave. Take them on our trek home.”

“My husband spoils me.” You grin and blow him a kiss before picking up a few more of the sweet berries and humming at the taste. “Eat, amor. You cannot survive on my cunt alone.”

“I would die a happy man trying.” He tosses you a dirty grin before he sits down across from you and opens the mead. Pouring it generously into the cups and handing you one. “We did it. We are married and there is nothing that bastard can do to you or to the girl.”

“I was thinking,” you tear the small loaf of bread open and hand him a chunk before taking one for yourself. “We should hire a ship to take us to Valencia instead of riding. It may be a little harder on our stomachs but we will avoid having to double-back through France and perhaps run into her father on the road.”

“Let us run into the bastard.” Pero’s expression is one of anticipation. “Now that the girl is safe, let the bastard squeal at the end of my sword.”

“A ship passing would also be faster,” you point out, although you’re smirking slightly at Pero’s glee. “Arwena’s safety is assured, but that doesn’t mean we parade her around like a symbol of victory.”

“You are right.” Pero nods, biting into a bit of the bread and chewing as he thinks. “We can see if we can stay.” He eyes you to see your reaction. “See if we can trade some labor for lodging, spend the rest of the winter here and travel come spring.”

"You like Gretna that much?" It surprises you, but the idea is a sound one. Travel in spring is safer and faster than travel in winter, not to mention you are going to have to start watching your coin purse soon. It would not make you sad to spend the rest of the winter here - not with Malcolm nearby and the prospect of many more warm nights in Pero's arms on the horizon.

He shrugs slightly as if it is of no consequence to him. “I have spent winters in far worse places.” He admits, picking up a chunk of the cheese and taking a healthy bite. “You have your priest so you will not be feared of being a witch.” Having a priest in your corner is the best kind of protection against claims like that. “And I do not care where I spend the winter as long as I am with you.”

"I love you, too." Pausing with your goblet of mead in one hand, you reach across the small table and squeeze his hand gently but end up smirking. "I would not mind staying. We will see what Arwena and Briac think when they eventually emerge from their room in a few days time. Mi casa eres contigo." My home is with you.

“Sí.” He nods in complete agreement and watches as you finish the dried berries. “Plus you can eat all the berries you wish.”

 ______

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Wilder Girls Ch. 4

📚📖 I was able to get done with Ch. 4 today.

Below are my thoughts and summarization of the chapter.

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***Spoilers ahead, If you don't want spoilers, please quit reading.***

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Ch. 4

Once outside the fence, the only way to open it is with the big cast iron key around Welch's neck. What if she were to get lost or something. How would the girls get back in?

On the island is a flower called The Raxter Irises. It's petals also darken at the tip when picked. Even before the Tox. Could there be something on this island that caused the Tox? Again, is the main land even infected? Are they being lied to? Or am I just reading into things?

While they're out, Hetty mentions the shakes of the earth again. She mentioned on the roof in ch. 1 or 2. They do end up running into a black bear while out. I don't know if he would cause the earth to shake like she describes or could feel from the roof.

On her first Boat Shift, Hetty hears the boat before she sees it. Thre is only gray past a certain part of the ocean. Then, all of a sudden, out of the gray comes the boat. Once close, they use a crane to drop the pallets on the boat deck (forgot that they actually called it. The deck protruded out to the ocean. For boats to dock, and let people off.)

Once the boat gives the all clear; they don't want any interaction between the boat and island, they can grab what they dropped off.

Hetty sees on the pallet that there is far more stuff than the 6 bags they usually bring back. Hetty is excited until she learns, this is how much they always get. Enough to feed everyone for a week. Welch says some of it isn't good. It has pesticides that aren't good for the girl's already compromised systems. Is Welch lying? Is the food really good?

Hetty seems to hesitate as if she wants to say something, and Welch says she needs to keep the pallets to herself. If not, Welch threatens to take care of things as she reaches for her revolver, saying if you can't keep a secret. Why would Welch kill a student over this? Obviously, something is wrong here. Why really can't they use the food? Is Welch going crazy? We find out that Welch also hasn't told the headmistress about the extra food as well.

The food they don't use, they throw over the cliff. Welch says this is because if the Navy saw they left anything, they wouldn't bring as much the next time. It's such a waste. They only use original sealing and sealed food. Nothing that has been opened and put in another package. Is Welch paranoid, or is there really a good reason for this?

On the way back from the dock, they hear something and split up. Welch and Hetty come across a bobcat. Hetty says they used to be small and scare off easily. Now, this one's shoulders are up to her waist.

The bobcat has the Tox. "Dried blood crusting where its skin has fallen away in patches. Sores bubbling along the inside of its front legs. Bile stained the white fur on its neck." pg 74. So the Tox affects animals too.

While Hetty is running from the bobcat, she finds a place to hide. As she goes to make a spot to sit on. She finds a cooler in the ground covered by foliage. Thinking it's old as it's covered in grime and looks like it's been there a while. But when she opens it, she finds it clean. Inside is a bag closed with red tape. Inside the bag is a vial of blood, labeled "Potential Rax009" in a handwriting she almost knows. Did Byatt take it there? that'd be too easy to see coming. Are people being experimented on? Used for a cure? Again, is the mainland really infected? Could Raxter be a test site?

Once back inside, Hetty seems to be tired, so the headmistress tells her to go lay down. I wonder if the headmistress suspects something up. She seems to be there when Boat Shift comes back. She tells Hetty to go to sleep, and Byatt takes her.

**original art is not mine**

#books #book recommendations #book review #currently reading #fiction #my thoughts #read with me #reading #writing #wilder girls #love

[stiricidewrites]

The Damage You Do: ch 23, pt 6

Hey look! I finally got to the yoga part of the arc named "I don't think this is a legit yoga pose" after like... tens of thousands of words...

Anyways, I decided to keep this as the same chapter, it'll just end up being super long. Also, the next week or two of updates will be shorter, because I have yoga regrets. So. Much. Research. And trying to make sure I'm describing movements in a sensical way ._.

It has been a time.

I did my best with describing the poses and using the proper terms, but I'm not promising I didn't mess anything up!

Enjoy!

Previously

~

“Have you done yoga before?” his dom asked, somehow managing to grab them both mats without releasing his hand.

“Huh?” wwx asked, watching that huge hand manhandle the mats. “What? Oh, uh… a bit? I had a friend who was into it when we were teens?” nhs had been ridiculously into it, actually. Still was, as far as wwx knew. He wouldn’t be surprised if the little pimp was able to do all the fancy moves… positions? He felt like there was an actual word for them? What was it…

lwj’s hand tightened around his for a moment, drawing wwx’s eyes to their clasped hands. His were tiny, compared to his dom's. Cute and petite. They would be almost girly, if he took care of them. He didn’t. Even just a few days after his mani-pedi they were already in need of some love. Broken nails and cuticles he’d ripped off. Calluses and a weird dry spot on the top of one. He supposed that taking care of his hands was technically part of his job now. lwj obviously wouldn’t want to be groped by someone who didn’t have baby soft skin everywhere! He had the money now, so maybe he should make himself an appointment?

“So, I guess I have a little experience? I might fall over, though, just so you know.” He smiled down at his dom as the man arranged their mats. “But, I mean, if you do this often, I’m gonna suck in comparison… What were you doing, before I arrived, I mean?”

“I have a standard morning routine.”

“Oh?” wwx had never had a routine. They gave him hives—not that Wen Qing believed him when he said so. More, he just got itchy inside? Which was totally hives adjacent, if you asked him. It was like all the monotony of the routine was rotting his insides. He had a bit of a schedule now, with his kid, but he was always throwing in whatever spontaneity he could. Even then, his schedule wasn’t his, it was A-Yuan’s, and that alone was enough to calm his twitchy brain down. To make it chill and enjoy the randomness of the things he could control.

lwj hummed, listing off his routine. Get up. Weigh himself. Get dressed. Drink some sort of fancy, healthy green juice. Go for a short run. Exercise his brain—that one wwx was interested in, and the first few minutes of their exercise comprised of lwj listing off the puzzles he played every morning as they relaxed into the mat and opened up their chest… or had the other man said back? Hips? wwx had already lost track.

“I eat breakfast after that. Sometimes, I plan my day, other times I go straight into exercise. The exercise varies day to day. Today, I was doing calisthenics.”

“So—” wwx broke off in a groan as his Cat-Cowed himself, back rounding and arching as he moved. Fucking hell did that feel good. He didn’t stretch nearly enough, man. “So, in other words, I’ve completely messed up your schedule, Mr. Lan?”

The man hummed as he pushed himself gracefully up, motioning for wwx to stay down. “It is fine,” he said as he leaned over his body, positioning his arms and legs, his hands and feet, into a slightly different configuration. “Flatten your hands. Balance your weight equally between your limbs.”

“Alright,” wwx squeaked as he tried to flatten out his palms, tried to ignore lwj’s weight hovering over him. They wanted to resist, his fingers slowly dragging upwards before he had to remind them to stay on the fucking mat.

#fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #wangxian #stiricidesmobji #dark lan zhan

[aviangrian]

ahhh i just wanted to say i love starboy SOOO much!!!! i did not/still dont know anything about f1 but the way you write it is so easy to follow along with and read!!! i love how you write the characters, especially scar/grian/joel/lizzie, you write them so so sooo flawlessly... i love how it seems like were there with scar in the moment of everything going on and how you describe everything from his perspective. i also LOVE how you write scar and grian especially because they both seem just so *real* and *raw* and i usually never see that from fics. the way you write is just so in detail that it really allows the reader to imagine everything thats happening and i LOVEEE that!!! i also love how you write grian and mumbos friendship, like they obviously care about each other so muchhh and i love how the readers able to see that even through scars perspective!!!!! esp the scene after grian fell asleep watching topgun and mumbo helping him lay down into a more comfortable position,,, and how they hugged when grian finally got p1 😭😭❤️ NOT TO MENTION THE LATEST CHAPTERRRR AND SCAR AND GRIANS FIRST KISS????? THAT WHOLE CHAPTER WAS GOLDDDD i loved that chapter so much,,, so much happened between grian and scar???? that scene of them in the club??? scar (and us) finally getting some insight to what happened in grians past from grian himself??? grian being comfortable enough with scar to actually open up to him??? AND THEM CONFESSINGGG??? ☹️☹️☹️❤️❤️❤️ might be my fav chapter if im being honest

i also just wanted to ask a few questions while i was here though;

first, do you have a set upload schedule? or is it like a whenever you have time to work on it thing?

second, do you think youll be posting more content abt this au after starboy is finished? like a grians pov or something? ive become so interested in this au because i can tell so much work has been put into it and id love to see more it!!

lastly, is this going to be an eventual mumscarian fic??? i think its obvious Somethings going on/has happened between grian and mumbo but i just dont know What... like that one scene with them all at the dinner??? or the car scene with grian standing up through the sunroof???

i cant wait to read more chapters!!! but im also scared As Hell because SO much has happened already and its only been 6 chapters. we still have 5 more longgg chapters left and im so scared but also excited for how things are going to go... i hope youre having a good day, i cant wait to see what you have in store for this story!!! 🫶🫶 sawrry that this was a lot of rambling though,,, 😭😭❤️

anon i’m crying?? 😭 thank you so much.

the goal of the fic is real and raw! it’s an unusual setting (maybe not for me considering this is my second racing centric fic) but everything that happens is a product of the environment! the wins from his own team left scar feeling bitter at times, but watching grian win had him so proud he knew he’d get in trouble w his own team if he showed it lol. it’s all about where they are and it makes me sooo happy (like you would not believe) when people who aren’t f1/sports fan still enjoy the fic!

last ch was a lot and contained a lot of really vital stuff that i couldn’t wait to see the reactions of. grian finally opening up is so important to me and scar letting it happen in its own time is a huge part of why grian begins letting him in, which is evidently not something he’s used to at all. mans has been through it in this universe

as for the questions: i don’t have an upload schedule but i try to churn out the chs when i have time. it fits that valentine’s was right before midterms season for me so i got to get something out before i get swamped by all that 🥲 i don’t like to let a full month go by without posting but we’ll see how my semester keeps going lol

and i’ve been thinking of content once i’ve finished starboy. i’ve had ideas of grian’s pov hitting all the major plot points or even a jimmy spin-off one shot but nothing is planned for now. definitely floating around in my mind

mumscarian is not the endgame but the mystery behind grian and mumbo will be revealed! grian is mysterious and mumbo being mumbo goes along w it, but it does come full circle eventually!

i didn’t even realize there’s already only 5 chs left! that’s crazy, considering how much of the story i have left!

thank you again anon, this is all very much appreciated. i love your rambling because it allowed me to ramble too haha

#ask #so sweet i just wanna 🩷🩷🤍🩵💚💖💖 #starboy

[dee-dee-monster]

Then Out of the Aether - (Ch. 6)

Summary: You and Eddie hang out on Friday’s now. It’s becoming a whole thing. 

Warnings: Mention of deceased parent, but in a “happy memory” way. 

A/N: multi-chapter slow burn. Henderson!Reader

< Click here to find previous chapters >

__ So. There is a “next time.” 

And then another time.

And then there’s suddenly just this whole second half of your Pick-Dustin-Up-From-Club routine.  On Fridays you drop off Mike, you bring Dustin home, you go to Bradley’s grocery store, and then you drive over to Eddie’s trailer. 

Eddie had initially upheld his solemn vow to let you pick the movie the second time you came over; he’d even been suitably pleased with your selection of Tron. Had complimented you on it, in fact. 

“I 61% take back my slight on your cinematic tastes” 

Which isn’t nothing, you suppose.  Better than zero.  

You’d laughed at his answer. 

Since then, you’ve expanded your entertainment options beyond movies. You start bringing over music after Eddie mentions it again. Once more true to his word, he is totally fine playing a variety of music — if you’ll listen to his, he’ll listen to yours.

“So long as you don’t bully me into playing only The Monkees all night or something”

You don’t think anyone could manage bullying him into such a thing, and you told him so.  He had seemed proud of your acknowledgement.  Which is how you’re here.

Sitting on his kitchen counter trying to carefully rip into a Chips Ahoy bag while Eddie pulls out the tapes you’ve brought. 

“Beach Boys?” he scoffs as he thumbs through the stack. 

“Yup… …I have a couple albums because my dad used to have like all of their vinyls…”

You hear Eddie’s quiet “ah fuck,” and he slides the cassette back into the pile after having tossed it aside. 

“Yeah?” he asks more evenly. 

“Mmhmm... I remember listening to Surfin’ USA when I was little, and we’d act like the couches were surfboards…” you smile at the memory, and Eddie mirrors it back to you. 

You sit in the happy memory while you nibble on a cookie. It’s a few moments before you see Eddie shifting his weight like he’s not sure whether or not to be uncomfortable. 

“...was that weird of me to bring up?” 

“No? …I don’t fucking know,” he falls back on honesty. “Am I…allowed to ask a question?” he checks, voice slow. 

Which is fine. You’d brought him up; it feels okay. 

“Okay,” he nods when you make your decision, and he’s more formal about it than you’ve ever seen him. “Did he…was it recent?” 

You know what he means. 

“No. Back in grade school…Dustin was just a little guy. He doesn’t really remember him. Just pictures and stories…” 

And that fact has always twisted your gut in a weird way that you can only describe as guilt. Even though it’s not your fault – it’s no one’s fault. 

“Sounds…sounds like that’s too bad,”  Eddie clears his throat, and you note his thumb tapping rapidly against the stack of tapes still in his hand. “Like Dustin missed out on something good, I mean. Someone. Someone, obviously…” 

Another hissed “fuck” under his breath that you’re not meant to hear. 

“...you’re doing good,” you assure him with a small smile. 

“Yeah?” Eddie glances at you from under his bangs. 

“Really good. That was sweet of you to say – and true,” you promise.

He nods and flips open the Beach Boys tape in his hands.

“You don’t have to play it just because we talked about it,” you slide off the counter to take it from him, feeling oddly watched now. 

Eddie holds it out of your reach and palms your forehead to push you back. 

“I –hey! Seriously?” You brush his fingers off of your face. 

“Then backoff and respect the ruler of the radio,” he orders you, nonchalant as you please. 

“Ruler? Wow…” 

He cackles on his way over to said stereo waiting on the table.  

“In the presence of royalty, baby…” he assures you as he switches out tapes. “I may never voluntarily choose to play this again,” he admits as he snaps the cassette door shut, “but I’m sure it’ll go good with a smoke…” 

He raises his eyebrows in invitation. Checking. 

“Nah, I’m good,” you shake your head. “…but I’ll sit with you…” 

Eddie fishes his pack of Camels off the counter instead before he ushers you out the door.  You don’t mind the smell of the nicotine. You curl up on the couch out front and scoot close to his side because it’s a breezy night. 

“No cushion surfing?” Eddie checks before sliding a cigarette between his lips. 

You roll your head over to look at him with narrowed eyes, but a smile is on your lips. You find the look on Eddie’s face is soft. Fond. 

“...no. I retired the surfing lifestyle,” you decide. 

He chuffs and inhales his cigarette to life. 

“Good thing in Indiana,” he judges and leans back so he can fling an arm up over the couch behind you. 

He just…rests it there. Hovering behind your shoulders and offering a little warmth by proximity, but not touching you. He does things like that sometimes.

Well, to be fair, you both do. 

You get close, just not too close. Something comfortable but nothing more than that. Cozy. Friendly. Those are all positive things. So what if it confuses you a little? So what if said befuddlement also makes you a little nervous…in a nice way.

Eddie doesn’t seem nervous. He always appears perfectly at ease. Confident in however you’re interacting, whether it’s here at his place or off at school. Maybe you’re embarrassingly unvaried in your friendships, but he seems comfortable. Like he knows what he’s doing. It’s heartening.  The two of you are quiet for a while as a few tracks play through.  You hum along here and there, but Eddie doesn’t have much to say. 

“...how much do you hate it?” you grin over. 

“Hate is a strong word… …but it all sounds the same…”

You laugh because plenty of people would probably say similar about his brand of music, too. At the same time, you get it. It’s mostly just a nostalgia listen for you. You’re not even sure why you’d brought this tape except that Eddie seems to genuinely appreciate that you like to dip your toe in many waters. 

“You can change it…” 

“Oh, I’m going to as soon as we go inside,” Eddie promises, though he’s lighting a second cigarette just now. He slides his eyes over to you. “I’m sure I can get with other things your old man liked…” 

The consolation is nice, if unnecessary. 

“He’s how I got into Janis Joplin” 

“There ya go,” Eddie nods around his fresh smoke. 

“And Jimi Hendrix”

He hums approval of this, too. 

“But you brought the Boys, huh?” 

“To broaden your horizons, Munson,” you nod.

“Christ almighty…” 

You lapse into fresh silence, which is cut short by yelling nearby. 

You jerk and twist your head around expecting to find someone on the lawn, but there’s nothing to see. Just yelling that jars over the quiet music.

“...at it again…” Eddie grumbles and slouches back. 

“Hmm?” 

“Two doors over. They have a, uh, quaint little on-again-off-again situation going…”

Huh. 

“Quaint...not sure that means what you think it means...” you tease automatically in light of your discomfort. 

“Hey, s’okay,” Eddie drags his hand back to tickle his fingertips over your shoulder, making you pull your gaze around to him instead. “They usually pop off hot and fizzle out quick…”

You nod. 

“Guess people do that behind thicker walls in the suburbs…”

You’re startled for a moment but then find yourself nodding. Lindsay’s stories about parents come to mind, though they’ve never gone at it in front of company.

“Guess so…”

You don’t know why it makes you squirm. You don’t know them and no one is yelling at you. Still, you feel like you’re intruding…

“Alright?” Eddie’s fingers brush through the hair at your temple to push it back from your face. He’s watching you. 

And if you were feeling edgy before, then the faux-intimate brush of his touch has you reeling straight into bizarre territory. That swoop in your chest? Best to ignore it... 

God. You are the lamest. 

“...yeah. I’m. Ugh, I don’t know why it’s uncomfortable…” you laugh it off. 

Eddie obviously isn’t bothered. Maybe this is foreign to you, but you should just trust him and take his cue. 

“You can go inside,” he shrugs. 

Sure, you could. 

“It’s fine” 

He sighs some smoke out his nose and reaches for the ashtray on his other side. 

“No, no – it’s fine. Go ahead and finish,” you grab at the shoulder of his shirt to yank on it. 

When he acquiesces, you shift in just a little closer and lean on that arm he’d been offering. You’ve never done that before, but it’s...cozy.

Eddie simply accepts your move. 

More than. 

His arm shifts, and he raises his hand to just kind of …cup the crown of your head. He doesn’t really play with your hair but sort of pets a thumb back and forth over it. Which doesn’t even feel like much, but it’s kind of nice all the same. Grounding. 

Shortly, a nearby door bangs open. 

“Go then!” someone shrieks. 

“I am!” a deeper voice roars back. 

A tall silhouette marches outside, and seconds later a car peels out over the gravel drive. 

“See?” Eddie nods as he stubs out the last of his smoke. 

He isn’t saying it in a gloating way, all Look-At-Me-I-Was-Right.  Mostly like he’s just stating reality. Like this is the rhythm of the neighborhood and he’s got it tracked. 

“C’mon…” 

He shoves up off the couch and offers you a hand to tug you along with. He ushers you ahead of him to get back inside and immediately sets upon the stereo.  He chooses some Black Sabbath – “to cleanse the air,” he says, but he throws in a wink. 

He tells you about how Black Sabbath was one of his first concerts – like actual concert. Something big. Something he saved for.  Tells you about how his Uncle always encouraged his interest in music but couldn’t usually swing concerts; getting them both tickets and the cost and time of travel to take him was just a little too much. So Eddie saved money from odd jobs around the neighborhood so that once he got his license he could just take himself. Wayne let him do it, trusted him enough for that. 

“Worth it!” he cheers.

You think it’s a nice story. 

“Nice? No – it’s awesome. Rocking across state lines? On my own?  Probably a little too young? Fuck yeah…” 

You laugh. 

“Oh. Sorry. I meant: how very metal of you…” 

Eddie beams for a moment.

“Better. But you’re on thin ice, honestly…” 

Then he throws his head back into Supernaut, air guitar and all. You lose his attention until after the solo, but you’re not offended. Rather, you kind of like it. He either doesn’t mind the attention or fails to notice while he enjoys the build of a song he likes and purges some of his energy into it. 

It’s …kind of inspiring. 

“Alright, alright,” he focuses up when the song winds down, and he slams his hands onto the table between you. “I know you’re not much of a concert girl - whatever that even means – but have you actually been to any concerts? You know I can’t just let you have that opinion if it’s not tested…” 

For a second – okay, maybe two – the idea of a concert with Eddie sounds fun. 

“I have been. Lindsey’s Aunt used to be some kind of groupie, I guess? She takes Lindsey to a lot of different shows – says she needs to see real cities,” you smile because Lydia is honestly the best. “I’ve gone a few times…”

“M’kay, m’kay,” he waves you on, pleased.

“I liked The Cramps,” you note Eddie’s scrunched nose. “And we saw Heart last year in Chicago…” 

“Okay, that answer could’ve been a lot worse …” 

“Kindda full of yourself, Munson…” 

His nod is enthusiastic, not at all put off, and you laugh.  

“You bring any Heart?” he reaches back for the pile of your music. 

“No, but I can”

“...I’d allow it.” 

You stage-whisper something about him being “so stuck up” and he smirks as he pushes a few of his own cassettes in your direction to pick through. 

You enjoy this. The easy back-and-forth. Swapping stories. New music, which gives as much insight as the stories sometimes. You both like different things about music but are open to each other’s perspectives.

And to think people probably believe Eddie likes what he likes just because it’s loud and dark and shocking. 

Which…ya know, is probably all true. 

But it’s not the end of things.  So the music gets turned up and down as you talk or just sit back and enjoy a track. 

Until shouting picks up down the way again. Then Eddie interrupts conversation to tick the dial up a few notches and try drowning it out. 

That would be fine if you hadn’t been in the middle of defending a little Joan Baez:  “We’re staring down 1986, Henderson!”  versus “I like what she’s about – and her voice is nice!” 

The two of you stare at each other across the table a while until Eddie rolls his eyes and yanks the stereo’s cord from the wall. 

“Grab snacks. Come on…” 

He heads down the hall, toward his bedroom. 

You’ve been in the living room, kitchen, and bathroom, but never Eddie’s room. 

That’s…

It seems…

Well, hell, you don’t know what it seems.  You grab the pretzels and M&Ms and follow after him. He’s already brushed through the door, but you tread along the worn carpet with caution. Step into the mouth of the room with slow, careful feet. 

“Hope you weren’t expecting anything too posh…” 

Eddie is watching you while he wiggles the stereo plug into a new outlet. His tone may sound bland, but his eyes have something searching about them. Cautious. 

“Perish the thought…”

His room is about what you’d expected. Not that you’d thought about his bedroom!

Just. 

It seems fitting, is all. Haphazardly decorated in a smattering of very Eddie-like things: music posters, worn out band t-shirts, some sheet music, a few skull posters. Lots of red, black, and greens. 

It’s cluttered and there’s a lingering scent of weed clinging in the air, but it’s not dirty. His bed, where you definitely do not let your eyes linger, is in unmade disarray, but you rarely make yours either so zero judgment to be found on that front. 

You spot a record player on top of a thin dresser next to you. 

“And we’re shuffling tapes?” you tap the top of it. 

“Easier,” Eddie shrugs but takes the hint and lopes over to start fingering through his milkcrate of records. 

You move a smidge further into the room now that you’re over the surprise and Eddie appears to have decided you’re not judging the state of the place. Your foot knocks into something that crinkles, and you have a joke in mind about textbooks…only you look down to find a comic. 

Heavy Metal. You’ve never heard of it, but the cover is …eye-catching? Some sort of dragon and a woman who is scandalously clad. You think maybe it’s not about music, and you reach down to take a better look -- but a foot beats your fingers and kicks it over under the corner of the bed. 

Oho! 

That certainly confirms something. 

“...well, well…” you grin up at Eddie.

“Leave a guy some secrets, huh?” 

“...are you blushing?” 

He scoffs, face twitching in offense. Then he glances for the ceiling and just shrugs. 

He is. 

Is there part of you that wants to dive for the floor and flip that comic open? Yes, absolutely. But ultimately you’d rather keep this evening going.  Soon, Hendrix is playing through the room. Eddie adjusts it to a decent decibel and then kicks the door shut to cancel out whatever is left of the neighbors’ argument. 

He’s still avoiding your eyes – he’d definitely been blushing

“He played at Woodstock..”

Eddie frowns and cocks his head over at you, now. He doesn’t have to say “Yeah, obviously” because it’s written on his face.

He says it anyway. 

“...you know who else played at Woodstock?” you suck in your lips in an obvious attempt to hide a grin. 

Eddie looks thoughtful for a moment, but then your face probably gives you away. Smug.

His look falls into something deadpan and unamused. 

“Don’t you dare…” 

“I’m just saying – Joan had a whole set, too…” 

“Get out of my home!” He complains. 

“...c’mon. She even plays the guitar. Gotta respect that…” 

His eyes tighten, and a couple of his long steps eat up the space between the two of you. He towers over you and leans in close. 

“...are you going to mount an argument comparing her to Hendrix?” his breath fans over your nose. “Is that what you want to do right now?” 

You just know he’s already crafting a whole dissertation against you, but you’re momentarily distracted by his proximity. By sharing his breath. 

Luckily his challenge is crackling in the air so you can’t be too lulled. 

You laugh in his face. 

“No” 

He straightens up and relaxes. 

“Thank Christ…” he exhales slow. “But remember that thin ice?” 

You flick the center of his chest right over the demon head on his Club shirt. A grin twitches one corner of his mouth and he backs off to flop onto his bed.   You take over his previous spot at his milkcrate, then, and browse through his records. The air seems to have thinned back out, and it’s all quiet save for the music while you kneel down on the carpet and inspect the collection. You slide several out just to look them over, though you don’t feel inclined to change music. 

Most of the sleeves are worn, slightly tattered in the corners. Not in a careless way, but used. Well-loved, like music should be.

“...you’re quiet,” you realize and glance over your shoulder. 

Eddie’s sitting on his bed watching you. When you meet his eyes, he shrugs. 

“...just enjoying the music.” 

“Would…you rather we not hang out in here?” you scratch your thumbnail over the edge of the box in front of you. 

Bedrooms are personal, and you’ve already snooped. Well, not really snooping because he’d left the comic sitting out, but that only serves as evidence he hadn’t intended to come in here with you in the first place. 

“S’fine…” 

You feel torn between your general belief Eddie is a truthful guy and feeling like something is off about him. He never seems like this, and the only new turn is coming in here. 

You try to think of a way to distract him. Commentary on one of his tour posters would probably do it – there’s got to be a few stories wrapped up in each one. Or–

Oh.  To the left of his cluttered desk, you spot a familiar drawing. Your drawing from that first time sitting out by the tree.

“You hung it up…” you call this out before you can decide if you actually want to. 

“Uh,” he follows your sight. “Yeah…” 

You get up to cross the room, but Eddie hops to his feet and beats you there. Smacks a hand over the sketch. 

“You’re not stealing it back, are you?” He’s suspicious. 

“...no.” 

You've only gotten up because … …because it’s surreal to see it here.  

Your art fills your own room and is scattered around your house, but nowhere else. Well. That’s a lie. Your work is in the art classroom, obviously. And Lindsey has a couple doodles stuck to her mirror and those rocks you two had painted are out on her back porch …but you’ve known her since you were, what? Seven? 

Seeing this thing here…it feels like a lot.  

Maybe because Eddie doesn’t owe you anything – wouldn't have hung this just to be nice because you hadn’t been close. That means when he put it up he probably assumed you’d never know. 

He just…likes it. Apparently. 

You clear your throat and shake off the idea. 

“You know…” you try to cover the fact that you’re just standing there next to him like a dope. “You never did make a guess about it.” 

He’d wanted to know what song inspired it, but he hasn’t brought it up in quite a while. 

“Oh. Yeah,” he grins. “I kind of don’t want to know...” 

Talk about a change. 

“Really?” 

“Well…I do. Like, if you told me I wouldn’t want to punch you in the face,” he scoffs and you laugh. “But I don’t really care. I sort of like just wondering about it sometimes...” 

What the ever living–

What?

You just stare at him. Blink. You’re flabbergasted, and for a second you don’t know what you feel. Something light is in your chest. Flutters to life.

You’re…

Flattered? 

“Was…that rude?” Eddie cringes, unsure, when you glance back to his face. 

“What?” 

You’re just gaping like a fish. You’re the rude one. 

“Well, I said I don’t care, and I don’t mean it like that…” he assures you. 

You laugh. A funny, relieved little sound. 

“...you hung up something I made and told me that it’s still interesting to you. And you’re worried that’s rude?” 

Absolutely not. 

The direct opposite. 

“Well. When you put it that way…” he smiles at you but then glances away, maybe blushing again. “So…uh. So how would you draw this song?” 

“Huh? Oh…” you give a thought to what is playing – The Killing Floor -- and shrug. “I dunno.” 

Eddie rifles around his desk and pulls out a legal pad and a pencil, both of which he tosses to you. 

“There. Do your creative little thing…” 

If anyone besides Eddie said that, you might be offended. But you know by now that he digs it -- that he does his own “creative little things” too. 

“My little thing,” you roll your eyes anyway. 

“Yeah…it’s all right up there,” he rubs at your temple. 

He’s good at that. 

Better than you, anyway. 

The touching. He’s a toucher. Whether it’s shoulders and knees pressing together because of proximity or because he just reaches out and does it, he’s a toucher. Just for casual reasons.

You’re mostly past being surprised by it. 

In fact, you’re trying to find more reasons to reciprocate. If he’s a tactile person, you want to meet him there. Plus…it’s satisfying. 

Warm. 

Personal.  

You feel you’re quicker and flightier about it than him, but you’re getting there. 

“Fine…then you have to, too,” you rip a piece of paper off for him. 

“Ugh, no fair,” he drops back down onto the edge of his bed.  But Eddie digs up another pen and plays along. He flops onto his bed, you sit on the floor, and you both doodle.

He pulls the stereo back over so you can use that and jump music more quickly. After the first couple songs, he gets more into it.  Closes his eyes to feel the music and then requests a replay so he can get to making something. 

“...maybe it would be easier with paint or markers,” you decide after he scratches something out, balls it up, and holds out a petulant hand for a fresh piece of paper. “You wouldn’t feel like you have to, like, actually make something literal to represent the song. Color and texture counts…” 

“Hah! So you bullied me into doing things the hard way!” he gripes and throws his pen across the room in a grandiose display of frustration. He’s left huffing when it bounces off the wall, rolls across his dresser, and falls down behind it. 

“Yup,” you laugh at the ill-fated projectile.  “Threatened your life and everything to make you come into my world…” 

“Meh,” Eddie shrugs. “I like your world…” 

You catch his eye and hold it, your breath clogged up in your chest. Geeze, he’s just saying…things tonight.

Shit. 

You swallow. 

“...how about your world?” 

Eddie guffaws. 

“What about it?” 

You roll your eyes and swing your head toward his dresser. An electric guitar is propped up there. You gesture to it, then to the acoustic one in the corner. 

“Play something?” 

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me twice!” Eddie abandons the fresh paper you’d given him and practically soars off the bed. 

You keep your seat on the floor and watch him retrieve his guitar, then fiddle with the amp shoved in the corner. He flicks a couple dials and strums a cord before making a couple more adjustments to scale it down. 

“Alright,” he seats himself back on the bed again. “Any requests from the crowd?” 

You decline the chance to give him any direction, and he tutts at you.

 A moment later he’s doing his own thing.

He doesn’t play anything you immediately recognize, which doesn’t necessarily mean it’s original music, but it could be – you’ve never heard Corroded Coffin play. Watching Eddie here and now, you assume you’re missing out. Even unaccompanied and relatively quiet, he’s into his music. Moving his body rhythmically. Letting his eyes fall shut now and then. Fingers dancing.  

You become hyper aware of the pencil between your own fingers. You start paying more attention to Eddie than what he’s playing, strictly speaking. But, like…drawing him right in front of his face would be weird, right? 

…right. 

Most definitely.  You straighten up the pencil and start drawing anyway. Nothing crazy. Only…it’s comfortable. 

A genial little bubble, both of you doing your thing. 

Time just kind of floats for a while. 

The tune and tempo of music changes easily. Some snippets you recognize and could pick out a name for if you tried, others you don’t. Eddie’s obviously not sticking to one whole song, but it all flows. Gradual. Connected. Like he’s done this a million times and it fits for him. 

Just like the moment is easy for you, too. 

You love this. Love when time slips away and you can get lost in something. A moment. A piece of work. When the journey from your mind to your fingers goes easy. Sometimes you can’t quite get there. Other times you’ve spent hours in that headspace.  You’ve…

You’ve never felt that way with someone else around, honestly.  On that thought, you stop working. You chew on your lip and bring a critical eye to what you’ve got so far.

The moment had been lovely, but your drawing itself is…fine. 

“...what’s that face for?” 

You snap your eyes off the paper to meet Eddie’s. His fingers are still moving, but his gaze is on you. How long has he been looking? At what point had he clocked what you were up to?

Is it…okay? Did it make him uncomfortable? 

“No face…” 

“You’re making a face,” he assures you, nodding. 

“Just…not my best,” you glance back down. 

Hands aren’t really your sweet spot. Proportions and angles always get you. Plus he’d been moving…which is a sorry excuse, but one you’re personally willing to live with. 

“Let’s see,” he cranes his chin to try seeing over your knees.

Shiiit. 

“....can I decline?” 

His smile is charming and dimply even as he shakes his head in the negative. 

“Yeah… I figured,” you sigh your resignation. 

“We’re both sharing. C’mon, c’mon,” he encourages.

Right. Very true.  But giving Eddie an audience is clearly a lot more fruitful than giving you one, so it’s another few seconds before you get up and step up to the bed. 

Eddie scoots over to indicate there’s plenty of room for you, so you perch next to him on the mattress and twist the paper his way. 

“It is me!” he cracks, like he hadn’t quite been sure if you would. 

He stops playing so he can snatch it from you. 

It’s not much, really. 

A section of the neck of his guitar with some frets dashed in, and his hand wrapped around it to press at the strings. Something isn’t quite right about it – either the real movements of his hand had hindered you getting a good position or your rendering isn’t portraying a proper illusion of potential movement. Something. 

Not that Eddie seems to care. 

“Not what I was expecting, but I like it – me and my baby,” he lovingly strokes the body of the instrument in his lap. 

It makes you chuckle. 

“...why don’t you like it?” He checks

“I don’t dislike it. There’s just things I would touch up if it was a real drawing…”

You’d fuss with his fingers – especially the tips. You’d finish filling out the faces of his rings. 

“Looks pretty real to me,” he decides and rips the top page off to set it on his nightstand. 

“Oh –” you blink. “If you like it I can make you a nicer one. On better paper or something.” 

“Shh,” he throws two fingers over your lips. “I like it.” 

He only moves his hand away when you smile and hold up your hands to indicate you’re backing down. He nods, and his arms fall back around his guitar like it’s natural. 

“So what were you expecting?” you ask since it’s clear he’d watched you watching him. To some extent, at least. 

“No clue… …drawing the music — oh!” he lifts a hand to snap his fingers. “I’ve got it – yup, great idea. New game…” 

His eyes dance. 

“...why am I scared?” you laugh because you’re not. 

Mostly. 

“Nah, don’t be scared. New guessing game,” he clarifies with a glance over to where your old sketch is taped up by his desk. “I play instrumentals.  You guess the song.” 

He starts in before you even agree, picking away. 

“Smoke on the Water. Come on…” you nudge his knee with yours. 

He may find some of your tastes questionable, but you do know things. 

“Just easing you in… …” 

He continues for a little while and then filters the song into something else.

“...Crazy Train. We were just listening to that...” 

He nods but continues the song just, it seems, for the joy of it. 

When he switches it up again, nothing comes immediately to mind. You close your eyes and think on the melody… Eddie peppers in several songs that are easy, but a few take time. You think he takes satisfaction in stumping you and telling you to get a proper education… plus then he gets to play the songs he likes longer.

“Ugh,” you groan in frustration and drop back against the rumpled bed. “I don’t knowww…oh!” you startle yourself when you consider your current position. “Crap. Does this bother you?” 

Sitting on his bed is one thing when invited, but laying on it might be another. 

Eddie glances over his shoulder without stopping his playing. His eyes dip down to you before he shakes his head in answer. 

You don’t notice the strong line of his jaw from this angle.

You absolutely do not.  …except for how you do.  You really, really do. 

You kind of clench up thinking about it, and you continue to stare at him even when he looks away.  You forget to pay attention to the music until he starts singing along to it. Softly first, then more obnoxiously. 

“...can’t you see? Can’t you see? …No, no, nooo!...” 

“--you got the best of meee!” you laugh and nudge at Eddie with your shin when recognition comes. 

“Don’t disrupt me– give me my moment, woman,” Eddie gripes as his fingers slide. 

“I knew that I knew it!” you more or less ignore him. 

“But it’s cheating! Doesn’t count!” his hair flicks as he shakes his head. 

“Boo – you didn’t make rules,” you laugh, recalling this conversation in reverse. 

“I’m making them now,” Eddie smiles over his shoulder in a way that suggests he remembers it too. “You gotta guess it before I start singing.” 

“...see, by your tone you seem to think that’s a threat. But you have a nice voice…” 

“Yeah?” 

You nod. 

He’s still peering over his shoulder, and you feel caught in the personal mess of this compliment. As if it isn’t personal enough that you’re sprawled out on his bed. Or that you both know you were staring at his hands earlier. Or that you’re sharing pieces of your passions with each other in the first place. 

And then there’s that damn jawline. 

You squirm uncomfortably 

…or maybe you’re a little too comfortable? 

“Thanks,” he grins when he decides to take the praise for what it is. 

And that smile? 

You’ve seen it countless times now, but suddenly you can’t stand it. 

You shove yourself back up to sitting. 

“So…do you and the band do covers then? I’m an asshole for never asking …”

Yes. Yes, put yourself down and move along. Classic.

“You’re not an asshole,” Eddie chortles as he continues to pick across the strings. “And, yeah, a bit…we add in some of our own stuff to test out. Covers get us invited back, though…” 

“Guess that makes sense” 

“I like to pick up riffs and licks of shit I hear and dig,” he shrugs. “I don’t always know a whole song…” 

“Oh. Well. Then I’m no longer impressed” 

He catches your eyes again like he’s checking, but he laughs when you smile. 

“...I impress you, huh?” 

You don’t often hear him double-back for validation – that’s more your game. But he’s staring at you, grinning…so maybe he’s teasing? Or both. 

You can feel the heat in your cheeks under his gaze, and finally, in that moment …you fully accept you might have an Eddie-sized problem. 

It’s occurred to you before, of course. In those moments that his touch feels extra warm or when he says things that feel so strangely personal. 

You always shove it away. 

Now it’s kind of …weedling deep into your brain. 

Your inclination is to deny his question. To lean into the joke and insist he is a complete and utter bore. 

“...yeah. I guess you do,” you say instead. 

Because he does, honestly. 

“Ah,” he shakes his hair out and puts on a show of preening under this praise. “I told you – flattery will get you everywhere.” 

Damn. 

In your mind, you imagine taking that and running with it. Of smirking and saying something like “Oh yeah? Like where?” just to see what happens. To gauge his reaction. 

But…then what? You can’t quite picture the other side of that conversation. 

“Jeeze…you’re going to be impossible now, aren’t you?” 

“Nah,” he glances back again. “Not for you…”  . Whaaaaaaat the fuck is he doing? 

No. Seriously. 

Eddie hasn’t known what he’s doing ever since the two of you had stepped into his room together – he’s just flying by the seat of his pants. Or…he hadn’t known what he was doing before that, either, if he’s honest (and he doesn’t want to be).  

He has no idea what he’s doing any time you come over, really. 

At this point, he can pretty well admit to himself that he is into you, but to hell if he knows what to do about that. 

Well. He knows what to do…like, ya know, if it came to fucking around.  He’s done that. A bit. With some old classmates – college Freshmen who’ve come back to Hawkins on spring break, who’ve opened their minds just a little and now Eddie maybe seems more fun than freaky. The rebellion becomes more intriguing than scary for once. Okay, maybe twice.

Fine. Cool. 

Only he’s pretty sure this isn’t that. Is it going there? Maybe.  But it probably isn't. No one is saying it is!

He’s definitely not saying it is. 

Fuck. 

You just. You have a good time together, and it’s so easy. So easy, and shit like this is never easy. Not for him. 

And you’re nice and you’re smart and you’re funny... 

Which is why he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. Or saying. 

He’s a mess. 

See, he doesn’t date. He’s never dated…at least, not at any age where it would count. Being the Hawkins Freak doesn’t really lend itself to having an easy time in the friend department, so fucking forget about the romance department.  

That’s what he wants, though. Sometimes, when he squints …he thinks you do, too. 

He could always be conflating things, though. That sounds like something he might do. 

He should cut it the fuck out, is the thing. 

He should stop saying things. Things that are suggestive from certain angles. Telling you stories. Inviting you to share your shit. Telling you he’s possible, whatever the fuck that meant. Sitting there and jamming while you draw him.  Jesus H, that had been fucking hot.  Even before he knew what you were drawing, it didn’t even matter. You could’ve been doodling Yoda, and he would’ve still gotten wrapped up in watching you, how you glanced up toward him now and then but otherwise just relaxed and listened to him play and got all up in your own world, just for a while…

“...s’matter?” 

Your voice tugs him from his thoughts, and he realizes he’s just sitting there. He’s lost the thread of whatever he’d been saying and playing. The room is quiet, save for a passing car. 

“...just thinking…” 

“...want to share with the crowd?” you tease and kick his ankle lightly. 

“Nothing interesting…”

You tilt your head in consideration and then prop your elbows on your knees. 

“Let the masses be the judge of that…”

Hah. Masses. Someday, maybe, he’ll play for the masses. For now it’s just Gareth’s neighbors, the regulars at The Hideout…and you. 

“I’m hungry,” he announces. 

And that’s the truth, if not all of it.  

Eddie unplugs his guitar, sets it gently against his pillow, and gets up to fetch the snacks you’d set down by the record player and haven’t touched since. 

He recalls you kneeling there beside his records, thumbing through them like it was a comfortable place for you to be. How he’d watched and realized that, besides the guys, people generally aren’t comfortable here. It’s small and old and not on the right end of town… there’s a fucking demilich tacked up on the wall. 

He’s pretty sure you don’t give a fuck. 

You can’t be pretending, right? 

“...sounds like Phiefer has quieted down,” he points out once he’s scooped up the food. “Movie?” 

He watches your eyes dart around and realizes you’re looking for a clock. Yeeeeah, he’s not the greatest with alarm clocks. 

He twists up his arm to check his watch. 

“...what time you gotta be home?” he asks though he knows you don’t really have a curfew.  

You’re one of those teenagers who gets a lot of leeway at home because you’re not a trouble starter.

“Not too late,” you answer the same as you always do. 

“Then you’re good,” he makes the promise he always makes. 

“...no slashers?” 

He rolls his eyes at you and strolls down the hall. 

“No slashers?!” you repeat, following swiftly. 

“...next time,” Eddie vows. 

“Then I’m sorry to inform you, this will be the last time I ever come over…”

He laughs because you jest. Or…he’s pretty sure you’re joking. He’s gotten in a few horror flicks and you have yet to bail in the middle of one. 

“You pick,” he waves you off to the Munson Movie Collection and veers into the kitchen to grab a beer.

Salty, sweet, and beer? Sign him up, thanks. 

Since it’s his movie shelf, he’s not worried about what he’ll have to end up watching. Though he has to admit he hasn’t been disappointed by Tron or Caddyshack when you’d brought those, you’ve been threatening him with Flashdance so you’re on notice. 

As it is, you narrow the movies down to Dark Crystal or This is Spinal Tap, then make him pick. Spinal Tap, it is!

Eddie lets you set it up and situates himself on the couch. He sits close to the middle with his arm up over the back…his regular invitation these days. You’ll usually sit close but not really touching, not leaning in. He’s perpetually disappointed by this, though it does leave an easy road open for casual touches while you chat or share food and drinks. 

Sure enough, when you sink down on the couch you leave the slimmest gap between you. 

“...it’s been a nice night,” you face him once you’re sitting, and Eddie perks up because that’s usually the kind of thing you say on your way out the door. “Thanks…” 

“...thanks?” Eddie twists his mouth up so his confusion will come off friendly rather than dismissive. 

“...yeah. It’s been a cool night. You playing for me, doing some art together…” 

Oh. 

“Well, I’m not sure if I was really doing art, per say…” he chortles.

Your fingers cover his mouth, and his lips are on fire. 

“...looked pretty really to me.” 

You’re quoting him at him, and he smiles against your hand. You do that sometimes, and he loves it – thrills on knowing someone was actually listening. So many people don’t. 

“You’re right,” he keeps smiling when you slide your hand away. “It was art. Fine art, even.” 

“Ugh. Ego!” 

“Facts are facts, Princess…” 

You chuckle but straighten yourself up.

“Anyway…what I’m saying is, it’s nice. I don’t really do that kind of stuff with anyone else…” 

Your confession seizes something up high in Eddie’s chest, and he is going to kiss you. 

He knows it, just for a split second. 

He’s going to do it. 

He is.

He’s so fucking sure of it that he drops his hand to your shoulder. Squeezes. He’s going to draw you in, and it’s going to be so fucking soft and warm and… Then he clocks your smile. How it’s one of those small, tentative things you use sometimes. You’re unsure, and he knows it.  You get that way occasionally. 

He’s not always sure why. 

…but he knows you’re saying something here. 

Really. 

You are. 

You’re testing some waters, and the brakes in his head slam on when he realizes he doesn’t want to cheapen it by doing something he’s only half sure you’re going to reciprocate. That would be fucked. And selfish. 

And just…fucked. 

You don’t do this with other people. 

At least he has the guys to jam with and nerd-out with over D&D. He doesn’t think you have that. You have Lindsey, but you share friendship not, as far as he’s seen, passions. 

It doesn’t seem like you have people in Hawkins. 

Maybe…maybe Eddie can be your people. 

“Yeah…” he squeezes your shoulder again but stops short of pulling you closer; he doesn’t lean in. “I enjoy it, too. You don’t have to thank me, though.” 

It’s not like he’s doing you some favor. Maybe he should be more exuberant, say more than “I enjoy it.” That’s kindda fucking lame... 

But what’s he supposed to say? 

That he buzzes on spending time with you? That he wants to know more of the things you like even if he doesn’t like them, that he wants to crawl inside your head and see how you see shit? 

(How you see him, but that’s a whole other matter…)

Eddie’s always been proud that he is himself all the time no matter what anyone says or does. But you? …you’re yourself when you feel safe, so the fact that he gets to see you…well. That makes him a little proud, too. 

But, like, he doesn’t know how to fucking say that. 

“Too late – I already thanked you,” you tell him cheekily. 

Eddie huffs. 

“Yeah, because you’re weird” 

“...says the freak.” 

That surprises a laugh out of him because you never say that. Given the givens, he’s not offended since it’s you. 

Your responding smile is something wider, more fitting to your face. And your eyes dance instead of search. You’re relieved. 

…should he say something? 

Before he can, you lean forward and pick up the pretzels and pour the M&Ms in. Then you shake the bag up. 

“Fucking genius,” Eddie groans. 

“Yeah, huh?” 

Pleased little smirk in place, you sit back and close the gap so your side is pressed up to his. 

…maybe that’s not a lot. 

But it’s not nothing either.  ______

Next Chapter >>>

#Eddie Munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson slow burn #slow burn #Getting cute though #stranger things fanfic #henderson!reader

[olreid]

hey, love your tlt posts! i had some thoughts on your posts on cavaliers and animal language – not trying to criticize or hate, just something i thought it could be interesting to point out.

i definitely agree with the idea that cavaliers are subjugated and treated as workhorses/batteries/lesser than necromacers in tlt, but i think it’s a bit misleading to highlight animal language deployed exclusively to describe cavaliers, because there are a lot of other instances of animal metaphors in the series. i personally think tamsyn muir either just likes animal metaphors, or is doing something slightly more complex with them that i can’t quite grasp.

here are some examples (just from searching for the word "animal," not an in-depth reread):

animal language for harrow:

gtn ch 14: “My mother and my father and my grandmother together … and I’ve advanced so far beyond them. One construct or fifty—and it simply slows it down … for all of half an hour.” She shook away frustration like an animal with a wet pelt, shivering all over before fixing dead black eyes on Gideon. “Right,” she said. “Right. Again. Keep watching, Nav.”

gtn ch 24: “Thanks for backing me up, my midnight hagette,” said Gideon, placing her back down. Harrow had not struggled, but gone limp, like a prey animal feigning death.

htn ch 6: Your vision swam. It became apparent immediately that you could not move. Your clinical brain rose to the fore as your meat brain shied and ran around and barked like the badly behaved animal it was.

htn ch 19: It seemed hateful to you that in death you should be treated like a prey animal some domestic predator had brought inside. You heard the Saint of Duty say in his flat, joyless voice: “I don’t answer to you.”

htn ch 27: When you laid your head back against Ianthe’s pillow, you smelled the thin putrefying off-apple smell from her bedside table, and you smelled her, and that scent was now familiar. It was the animal yearning for the familiar that undid you. You closed your eyes, and you were asleep.

animal language for isaac:

gtn ch 9: From three tables over, the loathsome teens greeted his audacity with low moans: they lost all appearance of restrained respectability and instead chorused his name in slow, hurt-animal noises, lowing “Magnus! Maaaaagnus,” which he ignored.

gtn ch 18: The awful necromantic teen rose to stand now. His eyes were raw and red, and his fists were dirty with blood. The numb agony on his face was like an animal in pain: when he spoke one expected only tortured baying.

gtn ch 22: “I wanted you two because Magnus liked you both,” she said. “So you get the warning. Don’t say I didn’t tell you.” Then she led Isaac away, him looking like an expectant prey animal, her like dynamite, ushering him back through the salt-warped door.

cytherea/dulcinea:

gtn ch 15: Dulcinea was breathing a little harder. She was wearing a filmy, foam-coloured dress and Gideon could see her ribs expand beneath it, like a shocked animal’s.

gtn ch 15: Dulcinea herself was smiling with what she obviously thought was infinite sweetness and what Gideon knew to be an expression of animal cunning.

ianthe:

htn ch 27: She sprawled in a puddle of red as though it was her shadow. Her long hair tumbled over her face and shoulders like a veil, and she grunted hard through her teeth, breathing in long terrible breaths like a dying animal.

mercymorn:

htn ch 36: The communicator crackled. Somebody breathed deeply. Then there was a lowing over the system—a terrible animal call of uncomprehending pain—and it did not sound like the Saint of Joy.

htn ch 46: Mercymorn was still juddering and crying out—it didn’t seem like she was actually dying, but she was frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal.

judith:

ntn ch 13: In a different voice she suddenly said, “Where am I? Where’s Marta? Where’s Lieutenant Dyas?” Then she threw back her head and howled like an animal. Crown and Palamedes both held her down.

hot sauce:

ntn ch 7: Then Hot Sauce reached out and put her hand quietly and firmly on Honesty’s shoulder, and that calmed him down, but he was sweating, he was warm. He smelled like overheated animal.

all necromancers (from an outside pov):

ntn ch 17: The Angel said, “What, right now? ’Course not, start running in the opposite direction … No, don’t fight them, Hot Sauce,” she said, as Hot Sauce opened her mouth. “If you valorise paranoia so much don’t be a hypocrite about it, all right? If you’re scared of necromancers, run from them. If they really are a necromancer, there’s no point in fighting them, is there? It’s like big animals, you can’t actually exert your will on them."

hi! yeah i def don’t think i said that muir only uses animal language for cavaliers, or at least i didn’t mean to! from my reread i think the most accurate way to put my interpretation of how animal language is deployed in the text is that muir describes many characters with animal language, but does so more often with cavaliers than necromancers; furthermore, cavaliers are most often described as beasts of burden, or dogs, which i would associate with loyalty/obedience and the outsourcing of physical violence in this context. the animal i remember most often associated with necromancers, particularly ianthe, harrow, and cytherea the first, is a snake, which is an animal whose deployment i would argue connotes power and cunning. 

it’s interesting that in the examples you highlight, necromancers seem to be linked to animals through pain and proximity to death, which is something that i think we can say on a cultural level is typically outsourced to cavaliers, the extreme circumstances of canaan house notwithstanding. this is not to say that necromancy is not physically demanding in its own right, but rather to point to cavaliers’ positioning as the first on the ground and thus the first to die, as well as the cultural practice of resolving conflict through cavalier duels. what comes to mind for me is when harrow says she has been “unmanned” by grief; there is a sense in which examination of animal language points to the way that humans become animal through cumulative exposure to pain, loss, and trauma which strips them of their higher faculties and reduces them to base instinct. in the necrofuture, it is a structural truth that cavaliers are more often exposed to those things, more often made animal because they are more often in pain or wounded or dying. this is not to say that necromancers are never wounded or dying or pained, as your citations show. however, what i would argue - and this is what i am interested in here - that in the case of cavaliers as a class, their deaths produce a recursive feedback loop of violence that renders them animalistic, at which point their animality is used to justify their exposure to further violence.

while both cavaliers and necromancers are capable of being rendered animal by violence, i think the second part of that process really only applies at a societal level to cavaliers. overall what i mean by discursive linkage is that when the animal language is taken in context with the societal positioning of cavaliers, repeated association with animals takes shape as a tactic used to subjugate them and make their deaths hold less weight than they otherwise might. in absence of the structures set up to situate cavaliers more proximate to death than their necromantic counterparts, it would be easier to read the use of animal language as what you suggest: a particular affinity on muir's part for animal metaphor in her prose. however, when taken together with the structure of the imperial core, i personally find it hard to write off as a stylistic choice, and even if it wasn't intentional i think it creates particular effects in the text regardless.

wrt isaac, there is definitely something to pick at re: the association between the innocence of youth and innocence of the [prey] animal, but i would have to chew on it more. my instinct is also to read into the fact that isaac is fourth house, generally thought of as “cannon fodder,” and that perhaps the fourth house's proximity to the machinery of war has something to do with deployment of animal language in his and jeannemary's case. 

but yeah tldr i don't think that only cavaliers are associated with animals in tlt and it could very well be that muir is doing something more complex or nuanced with her use of that device! it just struck me on my reread that cavaliers are controlled not only through mechanisms which actively facilitate their deaths but also through cultural and discursive work that makes those deaths more acceptable to the nine houses, and association with animals is one vehicle through which that work is accomplished.

#guy who has had a melatonin. hopefully this scans #asks #onefleshonepod #locked tomb trilogy #ntn spoilers #animacies

[salami2]

Ch. 5 - The Nina Project

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary - Jason has finally found you and Eddie’s hiding spot. You barely manage to escape, but end up witnessing something horrible in the process. Other then that, Eddie has been acting strange with you…

w/c - 2k a:n - after the tragic event we’ve all lived through, i decided to keep going and write a happy ending instead!

Warning(s) - spoilers for ep.5, obviously, a small description of getting ‘vecna’d, blood, water and swimming, fire, mentions of drinking, eating, sneaking around, eddie and reader being suuuper insecure, reader is described as underage to drink but over 18!

Chapter List - Ch.1 , Ch.2 , Ch.3 , Ch.4 , Ch.6

Tag List - @lokigirlszendaya @httpjiikook @castiels-gracex @notxmoo @lily-sinclair-2006

By this point, your arms felt like they were on fire. As you used your power like- no, as your life depended on it. Eddie tried to flick the engine on, with pure desperation.

Eddie spit the hair out of his mouth, exhausted. “C’mon! Why wont this piece of shit work!?”

His and yours eyes laid on Jason and Patrick, who were inching closer to you with every kick and stroke.

Contemplating on whether you have enough time to use your powers, the poor basketball player’s body started lifting up into the air. Making you really wonder:

‘How the fuck did we get here?’

From what happened today, you remember slamming doors and a frustrated Eddie.

In a short span of time, you became better at your telekinesis and mind reading. Almost effortlessly lifting things off the floor while checking your nose. Yep, a smidge of blood left your body.

Eddie tapped your shoulder, handing you a bowl of spaghetti-o’s.

“Thanks!” he simply nodded, walking away with the walkie.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, Eddie Munson had a problem.

His problem: Having a crush on the most beautiful woman he’s ever met in his life. And this woman was, wait for it- You!

The poor boy has never felt this way before about anybody. At one point, maybe Chrissy, but the way he felt about you was different. Too different.

As much of a confident persona Eddie puts out there, he knows who he is deep down. A metalhead, un-graduated adult man who was a freak. A freak that nobody could ever love.

His insecurity will be his downfall. He’s not as strong and fearless as you, he thought.

You, on the other hand, have been questioning why your new favourite brunette was avoiding talking or touching you. It was hard to figure out, so your mind went to the most logical answer.

He thought you were a monster.

I mean, just looking at the powers you have. You can read people's minds, make things levitate. You’re an abomination!

“Wheeler! Hey! Uhm, I’m gonna need a food delivery, like, real soon.” “But, didn’t Y/N get you some food?” Nancy asked, confused.

“Yeah, yeah she did. But she couldn’t pick me up any because she’s ‘underage’,” He quoted. “I am! It’s illegal!” You perked up, causing him to roll his eyes.

“I know it’s shit drinking right now but uh, I really-“

He was cut off, a smile forming on his face. He put down the walkie and munched on his spaghetti-o’s in bliss. Guess Nance said yes. You snatched it from him.

“Nancy! How have you guys been? I’ve been worried sick!”

You could imagine her rubbing the space between her brows, like she always does. “We’ve been peachy. Max almost died and Dustin and Steve have been acting like complete children. On the bright side, we do have a lead.”

Well, at least that brought some joy to you.

“So far, things over here’s been fine. No sudden attacks at all. Eddie’s been acting funny, though.”

“I bet he’s not used to being surrounded by a pretty girl. You just protect your new boyfriend and we’ll get back to you when we’re finished,” Robin interjected.

A light blush formed on your face. You pouted, scoffing at your friends' antics.

“Nice to hear from you too, Robin. How’s Steve?”

She chuckled. “Worried. Did you and Munson do anything? Y’know, just to make Steve worry a little less than he already is.”

You couldn't believe her! If you weren't dramatically red as a tomato, you would march down there and knock some sense into her.

“We didn’t do anything!” Your whining voice echoed, making her burst out in laughter,

“Alright, alright. We’ll be there soon. I’ll pick up your favourite snack, ok?” She proposed, making you a little better. “Ok.” You defeated, “Bye! Tell Steve and Dustin I miss them!”

And with that, you put the walkie down. Running a hand through your hair. Wondering how you got stuck with a bunch of dumbass friends (which you love very much, but still!)

You sighed, stepping into the kitchen and opening the fridge. Pulling out some fresh ingredients to make a fine dish for you and Ed.

“Hey, Eddie! What do you want to eat?” You called out. To no avail, since he did not respond.

“Ok, I’ll just choose…” You mumble under your breath. A tone of annoyance.

As you get everything ready, a very frantic Eddie comes rushing over to you. Spinning around after having him shake your shoulders. A look of serious distraught on his face.

You were confused and worried. “Eddie, what’s-“

“We gotta hide! NOW!”

It was quiet. Desolate. The sheer sound of flies buzzing around and your hitched breaths was still enough to make the both of you fidgety and scared.

Currently, Jason and his posey were searching the house. Trying to find the suspected perpetrator: the man sitting right next to you. Scared shitless and trying to reach out to Dustin- or anybody.

You, on the other hand, were trying to devise a way to distract Jason enough to get a successful getaway.

But a sudden headache interfered with that.

Eddie stared solemnly at you, noticing something was up. “Hey, are you feeling ok?” he asked.

You nodded your head.

This headache felt not like the ones you got while practicing or regular ones. It felt like someone was rattling around in your head.

Like there was something… ominous nearby.

But, you shook it off. Right now, it was Eddie’s and yours lives on the line.

“Ok… calm down. There’s a boat here, and if we’re sneaky enough, we can make a quiet escape.”

Eddie sunk into the floor. By his posture it was clear he felt meek. Frightened. He his his face in a ball he formed with his body. Squeezing his knees closer towards himself.

“Eddie?” You called out. “Please, I need your help for this to work. I can make a distraction while you pull the boat into the water. Together, we can find those knuckleheads and give them a piece of our minds.”

He didn’t say anything. Only keeping dead silent.

“Alright, uhm, I’ll go do the.. thing- yeah.”

You sighed, pulling yourself up and rolling up your sleeves. If he wasn't going to help you, you were going to have to girl-boss this shit by yourself. As annoyed as you were, you couldn't blame him.

He’s scared for his life. And you’ve got his back.

Slowly sneaking out of the boathouse, you make your way to the back of Reefer Ricks shack. Not before grabing a couple rocks. Slipping into the kitchen like a mouse.

Quickly, you chucked a rock near the living room. A lamp shattered and the boys immediately went over to see the damage.

You crawl up the stairs and close a door behind you.

There was no plan you could form. Having to go off what’s in the room. Searching through the drawers to get an idea, maybe.

That’s when you saw your plan; a lighter.

You wasted no time tying it together. Pulling together tight knots and making a rope.

Fire was always a distraction. If you maybe scared them off with a fire so you and Eddie could escape, then everything could come together. Smoke could distract them while you escaped.

Opening the door, you carefully light it on fire and hide in a closet in the hallway.

“What the fuck? I smell smoke! Guys, upstairs!”

You hear one of them come upstairs, all clamouring into the room. Before you could, you grabbed your backpack of stuff. Your gun, supplies and such.

You snuck out sprinting to Eddie in the shack. Heart as fast as a scared bunny. Breath staggering to keep up.

To your surprise, Eddie was there. Boat in the water and trying to start the engine.

A smile krept onto your face, laughing a little. Guess he was listening to you.

You take off your skates and dive in. Catching up to him and hopping in.

“I started a fire. That should distract them long enough!” You gleefully told him. Hoping and praying it worked.

He nodded affirmatively. “Great. Now we just need this-“ he slaps the motar hard, “piece of shit to work.”

“Don’t worry. Maybe I can make it work with my powers.” You say, kneeling down to it.

Before you could do anything, you glance at something in the distance. Quickly becoming fearful.

There was Jason and his other friend, discovering the two of you on the boat. The distraction may have worked on the others, but supposedly Jason wasn’t as stupid. Still is for going after a falsely accused man.

“Shit!” Eddie cursed, pulling with all his strength on the motar boat.

You started to take the rows and rowed like your life depended on it. Well, it did. Taking looks back at the slowly- but steadily- approaching Jason. Almost invisible in the darkness of night.

He was close. You didn’t want to have to rely on your powers, might it have to come down to it.

Steadying your hands, you concentrate on Jason and Patrick.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Eddie called out, noticing the boat not moving.

You didn’t say anything to him, only directing your energy on the enemy. In seconds, Jason's body started floating. He stumbled in the air. “What the-'' he said, confused, wondering why his body was being lifted into the air and going backwards.

Before you could triumphantly get him to the shore, something happened.

Patrick.

His body floated. Not taking control from you.

His bones snapped. Body contorting backwards. Eyes falling into the back of his head as the big finale. It was just as gruesome as Eddie showed you. And the effect on the people watching…

Really did start to make sense.

Without even realizing it, Ed knocked you and himself into the water. Fear glazing his brown eyes. He pulled you closer to him and started kicking away.

“Eddie…” You called out, still mortified, “Eddie, we gotta go!”

You started to swim away with Eddie in tow.

As you made it to the land, you tried to get the haunting image out of your head. You and Eddie running away into the deep, wooded thicket.

The sun peeked through the trees above. Trudging steps, both ghosts quiet as you move through the forest.

Thankfully, the sun's heat started to dry both of your soaking bodies.

Your arms were crossed together. “Uhm, Eddie?” You called out. He stopped in his tracks and turned to you, waiting for you to catch up.

“I just wanted to say… I’m sorry.”

Your cracking tone said it all. Trying to hold back escaping tears. His eyes softened to your face, almost breaking down. Eddie shook his head.

“Shouldn’t be sorry. If anything, I should thank you.” He replied.

You both continued to move. “No, I meant with what we saw back there. It was mortifying.”

“Listen,” you expressed, “You shouldn’t have been a part of this. All this… should not have happened to you. All that shit I’ve just seen was horrible, and I can’t imagine going through it twice. You’re completely innocent in this and this should've been handled by me and my friends. We’ve been through this shit enough to be prepared.”

His eyes glossed. You meant everything you said, and he knew it. This whole situation was pure bullshit. And you wanted him to know-

“So, I’m sorry, Eddie. I know all you wanted was to graduate…”

And with that, you walked past him. Keeping those arms firmly crossed together.

There was nothing more that Eddie wanted to do then to hug you. Let his emotions cry into your shoulder.

But he didn’t want to do that to you. Again, his insecurities push those hopes deep down inside him. Your voice perking up in front of him.

“By the way, where are we going?”

He pauses for a second.

“The plan is to find another walkie, and then, heading to Skull Rock.”

You and Eddie started to once again trudge through the woods. Wondering what’s going to happen next, if everyone would be ok.

But most importantly: if you and Eddie would make this out alive.

@salami2 , pls like & reblog

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #x reader #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson series #stranger things series

[gg-madsness]

FINAL AUTHOR’S NOTES

Cover art for MEMORIES by AlisonLee - @alisonleeqwq​ (edited and reposted with the artist's permission)​

 ***

A STORY MIRRORING THE HALLOWS – LOVE, CONFLICT, AND REDEMPTION

The most attentive readers probably noticed already that I intentionally split the story into three main themes, being Love (Ch. 1-5), Conflict (Ch. 6-9), and Redemption (Ch. 10-12), for each one of them is to resemble the way in which the Deathly Hallows shaped Albus’ and Gellert’s lives.

Love is the first theme we encounter, and as it is an impossible one it must be hidden from sight. Since they ultimately lived their love only in the memories of their death, in a separate world of their own, we find out the true purpose of the Cloak of Invisibility they failed to see when they were younger.

The Elder Wand is clearly the Hallow that symbolizes conflict in the story, and one may find it interesting that I took the exact opposite approach to the chapter that carries its name and put it in the first story arc, as it was one where they accepted each other, even if briefly, for a single night, and let go of their ideals to dive into their love. However, some conflict is still present in the mind of Albus as he splinched, only to be taken away by Gellert’s healing magic emanating from the Hallow itself. I quite enjoyed the paradox myself, as the conflict in the second arc is not about the wand itself, but their ability to face each other in the most turbulent period of their lives.

Finally, the third and last theme is obviously embedded into the Resurrection Stone, as both Albus and Gellert find redemption in death, – not on the act of dying itself of course, but how they approached it – as Albus was finally able to confront his own guilt through the Hallow itself and also through his memories as his last days pass by. On the other hand, it’s clear that Gellert hopes his silence about the Elder Wand's whereabouts as death hit him may somehow undo some of the damage he caused to the man he loved. Thus, in their final heartbeat, both men were able to find peace within their own.

 ***

GELLERT’S PAST

My particular take on Gellert’s past was based on how he was able to connect to Albus beyond their shared brilliance in the magical arts. Personally, I see Gellert as a half-blood, (his mother a witch, and his father a muggle). In my mind, after the traumatic events Gellert went through during his early years, he did everything he possibly could to distance himself from that experience, looking for ultimate power in the Elder Wand instead of being powerless. No longer watching horror unfold in front of him, he would be the one to do the horrible things instead. Also, I see his despise for muggles for seeing them as weak, – for his father  not being able to deal with his own life after Gellert’s mother was taken – and promptly attacking wizards at the first opportunity to get some sort of advantage over them. Those views would likely be reinforced even further when he learned about what Ariana went through.

 ***

THE GREATER GOOD

Although the Hallows first united them, Albus and Gellert could both see how the Statute of Secrecy destroyed both of their families, and so I see their original plan to overthrow it as the right thing to be done. For some time, it is settled that they agreed on what would be the best way to do it, as we know from what Albus described in his letters, however, the events that followed were far from the ideal world they were set to build. Their blood troth not only represents their love but their commitment to a new world, a world they were supposed to build together as equals, side by side, and so in the end, I found fitting for the artifact to be able to create their own shared world at last. It’s still worth pointing out that I myself truly believe that if both of them hadn’t lost themselves into guilt and hatred, Albus and Gellert would’ve managed to lead a successful revolution, finding a middle ground where they couldn’t later in life, after being apart for so long. As we know, they end up clashing on opposite sides, both asking for the other to give up their ideals – to not start a war against the Muggles, or to not keep living like rats in the gutter, hidden away and breeding Obscurus. It is left to the reader to decide what would be the worst outcome, as the Greater Good utopia is long-lost in their past, and will likely never be revisited again in the future by anyone else.

 ***

ARIANA’S DEATH

Ariana’s accidental death was sure the turning point in Albus and Gellert’s relationship. It shaped the fate of both of their lives, as Albus closed himself the to outside world while drowning in guilt that he would carry for his entire life. Personally, I do feel that Gellert experienced profound sorrow for it, not only for empathizing with Ariana’s suffering from being locked away while repressing her magic but also for how much losing her broke Albus. To me, the image of Albus shutting Gellert out after it happened is a particularly appealing reason for why he would leave so soon after her death, as I get a feeling that Gellert sincerely grieved over Ariana, expressing it by attending her funeral in secret, as to not further damage Albus already shattered emotional state – not only by Albus’ own guilt but also by the one repeatedly imposed to him by Aberforth, which perdured through their whole lives although the younger brother was equally responsible for it. Thus, such a central point to the story would likely be further connected to Albus and Gellert’s final confrontation.

 ***

OBSCURIALS AND VISIONS

As much as Ariana’s death is one of the most important aspects of their relationship, the entire Obscurial plot brings the emotional side of the story into an actual physical threat. Although it is ultimately proved fruitless in the end, Gellert’s resolve into making the Greater Good come to be - even though is a twisted version of the original plan - steps over his own self to make it happen, aiming the Obscurus' destructive powers at Albus in a futile last hope to succeed. Although I find the parallel of Credence and Ariana a very well thought plot line, it was poorly explored in the Fantastic Beasts franchise so far and so it doesn’t leave much room left to extend on it besides drawing an emotional life over Albus seeing his own sister in Credence. For this, I feel like the most likely outcome after Gellert’s plan fails is for him to understand what his vision truly meant, and recognize that what would truly kill Albus Dumbledore would be his own guilt.

 ***

BREAKING POINT

The final breaking point of Albus and Gellert’s relationship comes to me as their oath shatters in the events during the elections in Bhutan. Although they followed their separate ways to extreme opposite sides over the course of their lives after Ariana’s death, something still lingered between them, a bond that could not be broken, until it did. The fact that Albus’ didn’t manage to destroy it, and likely understood that he couldn’t do it anyway even if he tried until his last breath, shows how powerful not only their magic but their love and commitment were at the time. Such an extreme bond between the two men would leave marks in their lives that would never fade, and so I think of the marks of Albus’ betrayal to be engraved in his skin forever. The little hope any of them had for reconnecting was broken beyond repair with their troth shattering, as Gellert continued to pursue his own vision for the Wizarding World and Albus stepped away from him one final time. Their stalemate left both men ultimately destroyed, but it also grew resolve into Albus, while Gellert was left to be utmost merciless to the rest of the world after losing the one final bond with the man he loved.

 ***

THE MOST POWERFUL MAGIC

Love is often regarded as the most powerful magic of all by Albus, and one might wonder why he would know so much about it… Following his final memory in this story, we don’t need to wonder anymore. Albus experienced it first hand in his final encounter with Gellert. Their legendary duel, said to be the greatest and most terrifying duel of all time, was no more than a light show for the curious spectators compared to what was truly going on between the two most powerful wizards of their time. It is clear that after the blood troth breaks, what keeps Albus from facing Gellert for over a decade is his fear and guilt to discover what truly happened the day Ariana died and to know, for sure, that his own spell was the one who actually delivered what would turn out to be the killing blow. Neither he nor Aberforth saw what happened amidst their heated duel before it was already done, but Gellert was watching. So, taking Gellert’s courage into his own for confronting their past, Albus decided that it was time for him to do the same. As they started their final duel, I do believe they had the intention to kill each other as a last resort to put away the whirlwind of emotions that drowned their lives. However, something happened along the way. As Gellert hesitated in killing the man he loved when he had the chance, he was due to make the ultimate sacrifice to prevent a future worse than death for Albus, and so, he willingly let go of his own life to preserve the life of the one he loved the most (in a way, emotionally mirroring Lilly’s sacrifice). Love, after all, turned out to be the only magic able to defeat the devastating powers of the Elder Wand.

 ***

RESTORING THE OATH

Over fifty years later, as Albus gets closer to finding his final fate, his heart that was purposefully shut by the man himself starts to open up. Slowly, over the course of the last year of his life, Albus revisits the memories of his past with Gellert. For this, I see Albus changing, little by little, as the memories play out in front of his eyes, now much older than the time he lived through them. As he comes to terms with his own self, his change of heart culminates in the memory he never had the courage to revisit, which is curiously enough, the most important one of his life, and the one responsible for his knowledge of the most powerful magic there is. Thus, the troth restored, as the seven memories merge back into a single one – a new one – is intended to represent the exact opposite of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Together with his family reassuring him through the Resurrection Stone, Albus restoring the oath is the ultimate way for him to become free of the guilt that haunted him for his entire life.

 ***

GELLERT’S LAST STAND

The vision that came to him the day before Albus died shattered Gellert in a way he thought nothing else in the world ever would. His intricate mix of emotions that had settled as he lingered to life through the decades resurged all at once, overwhelming him, but also giving him one final purpose. No matter how broken he was after the sight of Albus, dead, fixed inside his mind once more, Gellert persisted as he found the only way he could make amends of some sort. In his final heartbeat, he felt whole again, and his act of defiance against Voldemort to protect Albus one last time in his life awakened the restored troth’s magic. So, as both of them had finally found themselves, they would now be able to find each other again.

 ***

MEMORIES OF AFTERLIFE

Perhaps one of the most important points of their story is the fate both Albus and Gellert encounter in death through redemption. My personal approach to the afterlife in the Wizarding World is solely and ultimately based on the famous Dumbledore quote “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”. As this afterlife (limbo) world would then be represented by the subconscious mind, I deliberately had Albus imprint his own magic into the Golden Snitch to meet up in Harry’s mind before he revisited his last memory of Gellert, as Harry still notes internal conflict within Albus, which would not be the case after Albus restored the troth. The magic of the Resurrection Stone is thought to operate on the same principle.

In that sense, I’ve attempted to capture the essence of the subconscious mind in Memories’ ending, as Albus and Gellert would be forever together inside a shared memory, – a new one, built from the ones they shared along the course of their lives – frozen in time, awakening the true desire of their hearts, even if it only lingered for a single final heartbeat…

 ***

A FAREWELL

So, here we are, at the very end. I really hope all of you who have been following this story, as well as all the others that will encounter it after, enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Since the Wizarding World is my home, you might expect me to return to it eventually, as there are many other stories within it still waiting to be told, so keep an eye out for any magical headlines that might pop up in the Daily Prophet!

Thank you all for reading!

“It's not really goodbye, after all.” – Albus.

***

Find me on Twitter: @GG_MADSness  

[redactedgoose]

I posted 2,379 times in 2022

That's 332 more posts than 2021!

32 posts created (1%)

2,347 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@guardianrex

@a-disgusted-green-dorito

@yallwedead

@52catsinatrenchcoat

@roanawayspoons

I tagged 625 of my posts in 2022

#lmao - 22 posts

#show n tell - 15 posts

#bnha - 15 posts

#point and laugh - 9 posts

#danny phantom - 7 posts

#orv - 7 posts

#wbrad - 6 posts

#weewoo homestuck police - 5 posts

#mha - 4 posts

#yeah - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#it was literally only in late junior/early senior year that i finally figured out how people behaved and how to read it and respond normally

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

okay so this is for the people that read Switchblade by Cacid on Ao3. I have Ideas and Theories and I’m losing my mind. Is this what Todoroki felt like when he finally came up with the whole “Midoriya is All Might’s secret love child” thing??

Anyway it’s below a readmore because it’s severely spoiler-y for people who aren’t caught up with it or haven’t read it yet. If you haven’t read it, it’s definitely a recommendation.

Okay so. In chapter 69, Izuku dreams about a past memory in which Chris/ Chikara/ Destro gets disappeared out of the bowling alley that the MLA was in. When he comes back, “reeking of ozone and iron“ and “exhaustion was clear in his every movement and the tears in his clothes were indicative of a vicious fight“ he says that the rest of them wouldn’t believe him about where he was and that he thinks that he “just killed the Soulstealer’s creepiest minion.” However, he also says that “It’s not going to happen again” and that it “wasn’t a conventional meta ability“ and getting disappeared  “can’t happen again, we made sure of it.”

In chapter 79, Izuku/ Izuho comes upon Shigaraki talking to Garaki about some device that they’re building. Shigaraki says “I want him here” and that they’re not building it fast enough. When the budding device and the lab area is described, Izuku says it reminds him of the portal that the PLF had built before, and that the air was “thick with scents of burning-hot metal and ozone.”

In chapter 82, we get another look at the device that they’re building. Garaki tells Shigaraki “you have to picture it in your mind, exactly the location, the circumstances, everything” to get the thing to work. Shigaraki replies that he knows exactly what he wants, and that he “can see it perfectly clearly in my mind. I can see him there. I know what I’m after!” And he asks why it isn’t manifesting. A little later, Izuku thinks “Whatever they were planning to do with this machinery, they seemed convinced it would deal a decisive blow to the Chain.”

My thought: are they trying to bring Destro to the present to fight with them??

Obviously this is not how it would go, re: Izuku’s memories and him knowing that Destro and the original MLA would absolutely hate the PLF’s guts and eliminate them with extreme prejudice, just like how they would other radicalized splinter cells acting under their name but not their ideology.

However, they don’t know that. They don’t know that at all. And it would fit!! Plenty of things that Izuku’s seen in his dream flashbacks have been relevant to the plot. Who’s to say the one weirdass time Destro just up and vanished without a trace for a bit isn’t important?

I included the parts about Destro smelling like ozone and iron and the machine room smelling like hot metal and ozone for a reason. Destro also comes back looking like he was in a vicious fight and was bruised even though his quirk is super fucking strong and, according to the fic itself, similar to Dark Shadow’s nomu form’s abilities (ch. 80- “None of Re-Desto’s strikes were landing on the nomu’s body proper, merely glancing across the quirk’s extended, umbral form. It was... so strange to see them fight because Dark Shadow’s current abilities were a lot more like the original Destro’s power than the power of Destro’s supposed descendant.”)

So. Shigaraki brings Destro from the past, maybe in a final battle type thing where Izuku’s exposed. They’re facing off, Shigaraki brings his trump card out, summoning Destro from the past. He touches down, Izuku calls out to him maybe (False Flag said that she thought Izuku was Switcher himself because of the little mannerisms when he fought, etc, so Destro would be more likely to believe him?) and he fights and wins against Shigaraki and gets put back after he makes sure that Izuku and co. are going to destroy the machine.

Thus, Destro gets into a fierce battle and after says that he killed the Soulstealer’s creepiest minion. Also explains the “it wasn’t a normal meta ability” thing and also “we made sure” that it can’t happen again.

So that’s my conspiracy theorist rant. Thoughts?

8 notes - Posted July 30, 2022

#4

wait wait wait wait wait--

so, danny half died in the portal, yeah? that, uh, portal that brings you to the GZ. so how did he stay in amity park? did he instinctively come back from the GZ? or did someone toss him back?

15 notes - Posted December 3, 2022

#3

Vet strats:

Step 1: stay quiet d1, don't alert n1

Step 2: talk mad shit d2/ try to lead, end the day with some sort of riff on "gn everyone!!" and then Blast

Step 3: Profit

See the full post

35 notes - Posted March 31, 2022

#2

A Family that Slays Together Stays Together

PR225/ PL65/ Brie/River/ Human : Halfa!Jazz AU: Jazz has been protecting Amity Park from other ghosts for years now! So who does this Phantom character think he is, coming into her haunt and trying to tell her how to do her job???

--

Jazz grits her teeth as she dodges another ectopus tentacle while keeping a hand on it. It’s harder than she makes it look-- or, it would be if anyone could see it. 

No, she’s just grappling with four--

Five, she mentally corrects as another squishy body impacts her lower back and she has to stifle a grunt. 

--five ectopuses hundreds of feet above a busy street while keeping her invisibility stretched over the darn things. 

In the beginning, she really hadn’t known what was happening. Sure, her parents always talked about ghosts, but she had just chalked it up to obsessive behavior as a reaction to a childhood trauma. Most people had trauma from their childhoods, and those people dealt with it in different ways. The Doctors Fenton had chosen to fight… ghosts.

There were worse things to do than chase a fantasy. At least they hadn’t become serial killers or started an underground fight club or messed with the mafia or something.

(It gave them agency, she used to think. Building better and better weapons to combat more powerful, unknowable beings that were always out of their reach was certainly A Behavior that likely stemmed from a very deep trauma in their early lives, so while Jazz had dearly wanted them to change their behaviors, she really couldn’t begrudge them this.)

(Now she knew differently.)

And then she started seeing things. 

The green, glowing goop in the basement had been the first step. Everything had been normal before that. Or, well, normal for her. She would get up, dress herself and her baby brother Danny, feed herself and Danny, and then walk him to the elementary school before rushing over to the middle school before she was late. 

One day, though, in her first year of high school, her parents had called her down to the basement to show off their newest, exciting discovery in the esteemed field of ecology: ectoplasm. 

Jazz had taken one look before marching back up the stairs, wondering which one of them had finally caved and bought the ingredients to make the glowing slime to further the other’s delusions. 

And then the hotdogs came to life. 

Jazz had very carefully resealed the ziplock bag and tossed it into the trash, putting the whole thing out of her mind. Some parasites, she had researched later, could make it seem like the tainted food was wiggling. 

She’d paid a careful amount of no attention at all to the glowing blobs or orbs or similar that she had started to see out of the corner of her eye. It was stress, most likely. Change is always stressful, and moving up to high school is one of the most important big milestones in a youth’s life. 

Or, maybe, sleep deprivation. The possibilities were simultaneously truly endless and well-documented and explained. 

Jazz was usually very careful with eating anything that her parents had made for them because of a few-too-many times getting food poisoning, but she had let down her guard around the takeout her parents had brought home one day after their “ghost hunting.”

Danny hadn’t been there to eat, thankfully. He’d been off with one of his friends, Tucker Foley. He was staying the night at the Foley residence to work on homework and generally hang out with one of his friends. It was very healthy, productive, and de-stressing behavior that Jazz generally approved of. 

And then she’d thrown up the blindingly green substance later that night. 

It stained the toilet a neon green, the tips of her hair that had caught the vomit turning a seafoam blue, the polar opposite of her own hair color. 

It was almost welling up in her. She couldn’t stop throwing it up and the more she expelled, the more her eyes and nose seemed to water, until she touched it to find that those areas were leaking ectoplasm as well. 

She had stripped down to her leggings and tight undershirt almost immediately, irrationally concerned for the state of her clothing if the ectoplasm would drip on them. 

The leaking wouldn’t stop, so she did the logical thing and started to run a bath. She could get clean and hide the sound of her puking her guts up every few minutes. A great idea, in her opinion. 

Less of a great opinion, she thought a few minutes later when her strength started going while she was in the tub. 

The entire thing looked like it was filled to the brim with ectoplasm, the substance having started to leak out of her very pores a few minutes after she had climbed in the tub. 

The last thing that had passed through her mind as she had slipped under the surface of the ectoplasm laden water had been: I hope Danny doesn’t find me.

And then the first thing that she thought when she shot up again some time later was: I’m going to be late for class!

See the full post

136 notes - Posted April 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

cale: *does good things for seemingly no reason*

cale: "why do people keep following me??"

407 notes - Posted April 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[packedwithpackards]

Examining the sources of the Plymouth Colony Pages [Part 34]

Ebenezer W. Peirce, Civil, Military and Professional Lists of Plymouth and Rhode Island Colonies (Boston: A. Williams & Co., 1881; reprinted Baltimore: Genealogical Publishing Co., 1968; Baltimore: Clearfield Co., 1995).

This book is available online in some places. On HathiTrust there are the following results for Samuel Packards:

Inn keeper on March 8, 1671 (would likely be Samuel Packard), described on a later page.

Ensign in October 1689 (would be Samuel Packard's son)

Along with varying other results. Of course, in two-page preface, he does not outline his sources. Obviously, some primary sources are used, but which ones? Some other results show a "Samuel Packer" listed as a Surveyor of Highways in 1672, the position of which is described later.

Charles Edward Banks, The Planters of the Commonwealth. A Study of the Emigrants and Emigration In Colonial Times ... 1620-1640 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1930; reprinted Baltimore, multiple editions).

This book is only available through a limited search on HathiTrust, with "Samuel Packer" noted on page 194. It can be found some other places but not many in general.

Henry Edwards Scott, Vital Records of Plympton Massachusetts to the Year 1850 (Boston: New England Historic Genealogical Society, 1923).

This book is on Internet Archive but is also indexed online separately. Births in Plympton, MA:

Mary Holmes, ch. Perez [q. v.] and Mercy Bradford (Sherman), July 27, 1844, in P. Orlando, ch. Perez [q. v.] and Mercy Bradford (Sherman), Oct. 15, 1846, in Halifax. Orlando Hinds, s. Isaac of W. Bridgewater and Mary Jones, Sept. 6, 1817. Perez, h. Mercy Bradford (d. Lt. Joseph Sherman and Nancy of P.), s. Isaac and Mary Jones of W. Bridgewater, Dec. 4, 1821, in W. Bridgewater.

And marriages in the same place:

Cynthia (see Sintha). Elizabeth, wid., of Middleborough, d. Benjamin Pratt dec'd of Middleborough, and Alfred Churchill of P., s. Ebenezer and Lucy of P., Oct. 6, 1841, in P. Mary Jones of Abington, wid. Isaac of W. Bridgewater, d. Samuel Foster of Abington and Mary Jones, and Ezekiel Ripley of P., s. Ezekiel dec'd of P., int. Apr. 3, 1831, cert. given Apr. 18. Perez [dup. abt. 21] of P. s. Isaac of W. Bridgewater and Mary Jones, and Mercy Bradford Sherman [dup. 19 y. 4 m.] of P., d. Lt. Joseph and Nancy of P., Jan. 1, 1843 [dup. in P.]. (Reuel) and Molley Harlow, ch. Barnabas ((s. James)) and Molley ((d. Dea. Peter West of Kingston), ----). Sarah of Bridgewater and Caleb Loring of P., int. Mar. 7, 1802. Sintha [int. Cyntha] of Bridgewater and Levi Churchill of P., Sept. 19, 1799, in Bridgewater.

And deaths of Packards in the same place:

Orlando Hinds, s. Isaac dec'd of W. Bridgewater and Mary Jones, Jan. 23, 1837, a. 19 y. 4 m. 17 d., "at ..his father-in-law, Mr. Ezekiel Ripley," in P.

Note: This was originally posted on Apr. 27, 2018 on the main Packed with Packards WordPress blog (it can also be found on the Wayback Machine here). My research is still ongoing, so some conclusions in this piece may change in the future.

© 2018-2022 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.

#packards #genealogy #lineage #family history #genealogy research #immigrants #Plympton #bridgewater #deaths #births #marriage

[cheri-translates]

Hello! Just wanted to say thank you for all the translation of MLQC content (especially Gavin). I fell into a deep hole of MLQC by binging your translation. Just wondering what’s your perspective or analysis on the dynamic/relationship between S2 Gavin and mc. Are they friends just working together but obviously there’s something between them? Since S2 where they’re more mature and on the same wavelength

Hello Anon~ May you enjoy your stay in the deep and cosy hole of MLQC ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ 

🍒 S2 spoilers under the cut 🍒

Short answer: As of Ch 17, I’d describe their relationship as old friends who have complete trust in each other, and will protect each other with their lives. Also, Gavin has a crush on her.

-

Long answer:

1. Old Friends and Gavin’s crush

It’s strongly hinted that Gavin has feelings for MC, both as a teenager and as an adult! 

While MC gets flustered by him (e.g. shooting game in Ch 9) and cares deeply for him, I’d say that the crush is more one-sided on Gavin’s part.

Papergames wouldn’t want to step on any toes by making it seem as though MC is inclined towards a particular love interest unless it’s in a split chapter or a date!

In Throbbing Date, baby Gavin secretly bought her strawberry milk and said he'd protect her 🥺 THIS BOY DEFINITELY HAD A CRUSH AS A TEENAGER.

Despite how the writers tried to mislead us multiple times from the karmas that adult Gavin and MC are adversaries given their respective organisations, it’s crystal clear that Gavin doesn’t view her as one. Amongst other things, he:

gave her a ginkgo bracelet in Ch 1

was open to letting her listen in on his call in Ch 2

asked her for assistance in an interrogation in Ch 9

said he’d always protect her in Ch 9

unconsciously drifted to her house at one of his lowest points in Ch 11

gave MC his oxygen concentrator in Ch 16

was only vulnerable around her in Ch 16

The question here is whether he’s treating her simply an old friend or if he likes her romantically. 

I’ve done an analysis on their early dynamics here which describes how Gavin has a soft spot for MC even when he appears guarded. When we see their banter in [R&S - Reunited Yesterday], he seems to treat her more like an old friend. 

But we later on, it’s evident that Gavin’s feelings do extend beyond mere friendship.

In Chapter 2, Gavin prohibited Tang Chao from making physical contact with MC.

In STF Filming Project, Gavin was visibly jealous when MC mentioned “a very kind person” i.e. S1 Gavin.

In Chapter 9, Gavin went into blush mode just because they shared his jacket underneath the rain.

In Chapter 11, MC asked why Gavin chose her to work with him in such a dangerous operation. Gavin hinted that it was because the people keeping an eye on him knew how important she is to him:

Gavin: Cough. Under these circumstances, the person I’d want to involve least in this matter… Without a doubt, that person would definitely be you.

-

2. Complete trust in each other

Gavin’s trust in MC can be seen in most of the bullet points stated above. 

As for MC’s trust in Gavin, she:

was relieved that Gavin was handling the investigation of Kiro’s incident in Ch 2

was not fearful at all when they were surrounded by flames in Ch 2

expressed how much she trusted him in the rain in Ch 11

let herself fall off a rooftop, knowing he’d catch her in time at the end of Ch 11

-

3. They protect each other

There are so many instances of them protecting each other in Season 2!

Notable Instance 1: Throbbing Date

I let out a faint sigh, slanting my umbrella towards the kitten next to me.

And then:

A shadow suddenly cloaks me from above. When I lift my head in shock, a large and warm school jacket covers me, including my head.

This scene is especially significant if we contrast this with the way they met in S1. Back then, MC covered the kitten with a handkerchief. 

Just as an umbrella is more durable than a handkerchief, MC is more courageous in S2 as compared to S1. Even so, Gavin still steps in anyway, protecting her with whatever he has to offer.

-

Notable Instance 2: Chapter 9

But the jacket doesn’t seem to be large enough, and isn’t sufficient for two people to walk while standing side by side. After a moment of thinking, I stagger slightly, standing in front of Gavin.

Here, Gavin’s jacket isn’t enough to cover the both of them. 

Symbolically speaking, Gavin’s methods of protecting MC aren’t always enough for the both of them. In S1, he lost control of his Evol and he had no choice but to leave her side for a period of time. 

While S2 Gavin cleared MC’s name from false allegations multiple times, he didn’t even know that MC was involved in the Hunter Game till in later chapters.

So what does MC do? She stands in front of him, which is a protective stance. She works on being stronger herself, and strong enough to protect him.

As we see in later instances, they do protect each other.

-

Notable Instance 3: Chapter 9

Gavin: When it rains, you should keep the umbrella for yourself.

Here, Gavin is discouraging MC from getting involved in dangerous situations. As far as possible, she should protect herself first. Let’s compare this with Chapter 11.

-

Notable Instance 4: Chapter 11

I walk over slowly, lifting the transparent umbrella over our heads. Rainwater patters against the surface of the umbrella, becoming the only sound in this silence.

And later on:

Gavin takes the umbrella in my hand, his eyes carrying with them resoluteness and certainty.

Gavin’s a Commander who has been through field training under intense conditions. He doesn’t need an umbrella. Furthermore, the rain had already drenched him to the bone. 

In such a sorry state, there was absolutely no need for him to accept MC’s umbrella. Yet, he did.

Symbolically speaking, the acceptance of MC’s umbrella represents his acceptance of her protection. This was likely the moment when he decided to involve her in his investigations of the New Years Eve Incident.

-

The remaining two notable instances are self-explanatory:

Notable Instance 5: Shooting Stars Date

Gavin: Don’t worry. Since I agreed to let you come along, I have sufficient certainty that I can protect you. You won’t face any accidents.

MC: ...

Before I can say anything, the controlled “meteorites” plummet straight to the ground. I seem to hear the piercing sounds caused by the intense friction.

Gavin: Give me your hand.

Gavin offers me his hand. I stare into the depths of his eyes, neither anxiousness nor worry in my heart. There’s a courage from simply standing beside him.

MC: Okay. In that case, I’ll bind my safety to Captain Gavin. I won’t let you come to any harm either.

-

Notable Instance 6: The oxygen incident in Chapter 16

Just before the final wisp of oxygen leaves my chest, I halt my breathing, feeling for the portable oxygen concentrator I carried along with me.

…at the very least, Gavin has to leave this place safely.

In the dark waters, I try my best to feel for the corners of Gavin’s mouth, stuffing the portable oxygen concentrator into it.

All of a sudden, I feel the corners of my mouth being pried open by something icy cold.

MC: Mmph?!

I take a breath instinctively, but don’t get choked.

When I open my eyes, Gavin’s frantic expression crashes into my line of sight. The tips of his fingers press against my lips, and he seems to be confirming if I’m biting on the object in my mouth properly.

In the dim light, I see that the portable oxygen concentrators in our hands are on each others’ mouths.

#teatime with cheri

[theresthesnitch]

Fic list

Here's a list of all my published fics. All of my writing is tagged with #snitchwrites!

Also, check out my WIP list!

Separated by categories as follows: 

Jily

WIPs

Completed

One-Shots

Drabbles

Wolfstar: 

WIPS

One-shots

Drabbles

Hinny: 

Completed

One-Shots

Drabbles

Other HP writings

Jily - James Potter + Lily Evans

WIPs:

Briefly Falling - Tumblr and AO3. 

A series of 100-word drabbles that are connected but independent for Jilytober, watching Jily fall in love. Will be 31 chapters when completed. 

The Last Diary of Lily Potter - Tumblr and AO3

Rated M. Written for Jilytober 2021. An entry a day in Lily's diary describing their last month. Posted to Tumblr daily and AO3 weekly.

Ignite - AO3

Rated: E. Canon 7th year fic with a twist.

5 chapter, 62,878 words (WIP) 

It's a well known fact that James Potter and Lily Evans hate each other with a burning passion. When they are named Head Boy and Head Girl, everyone wonders whether it is a mistake. However, a burning passion can ignite something far more powerful than hatred. The only question left is whether they can survive the blaze.

Rated: M. Modern muggle AU.

Save the Groom - AO3

6 chapters, 9,964 words. (WIP)

At 19, James and Lily promise to get married if they were both still single at 30. At 29, James tells Lily that he is getting married. Lily doesn't care. She shouldn't care. Except that she does very much care. Can Lily help James down the aisle, or will she have to find a way to Save the Groom?

Completed:

Three Strikes 'til you're out - AO3

Rated: E. Modern, muggle celebrity fake dating AU. July Jilychallenge fic

11 chapters, 69,094 words

Lily Evans knows nothing about baseball. Or baseball players. She knows even less about James Potter. However, when some bad press risks James's endorsement deals, Lily finds herself thrown into a fake relationship with him. Can they convince the world they are together and save James from the tabloids? Can Lily keep her heart as she learns about James? Or will they both strike out?

One-shots

She's a Wildflower - AO3

Rated: G. Efkgirldetective's Summer of Jily Prompt 10: flowers + you're the only one I'll wait for. Jilytober 🎃

James opens a flower shop, and one of his first deliveries is to the cute redhead down the street. The only problem is that she isn't thrilled to get the flowers. Can he find a way to brighten her day?

A Guide to Proper Hair Maintenance - AO3 or Tumblr

Rated: M (cautiously). Modern muggle Jily meetup fluff. August 2021 Jilychallengr fic. Shirtless Lily. 

James and his friends are meeting up with Remus's high school friend at a music festival. However, James is not prepared for Lily. James loses his head a little bit, but finds out just how important a perfect hair routine really is.

To Go On Without Him - AO3

Rated: T. Lily Lives AU. Angst, obviously. 

Lily shows up with Harry in tow at Sirius and Remus's door late on October 31, 1981. James is not with them. How will the four of them manage to go on without him?

Chill Out - AO3

Rated: E. Canon fluff. Written for efkgirldetective’s Summer of Jily Prompt 7: Ice cream + I don't want anybody else touching you like I do

James comes up with a fun way for he and Lily to cool off on a hot day.

Just a little kiss - A03

Rated: G. Canon fluff. Written for efkgirldetective’s Summer of Jily Prompt 5: stargazing +  I've got plenty of affection / I'd be glad to show you some time. 

James and Lily are on a camping trip, but they find themselves sharing a little affection. 

Musings from the middle of the night - AO3

Rated: G. Canon angst feat. new mom Lily. 

Lily is a new mom, which is sometimes a hard place to be. Over the course of a sleepless night, Lily works through a lot of struggles of being a new mom.

Pretty enough for the both of us - AO3

Rated: T. Canon angst(ish). TW: injury. Shirtless James. 

Lily heals James after he returns injured on an order mission.

Love like a fairytale - AO3

Rated: G. Canon pre-Jily pining fluff. 

James shares his favorite childhood stories with Lily.

Courage is a little like love - AO3

Rated: G. Canon fluffy Jily first kiss. 

A fluffy Jily first kiss one-shot, with some bonus Remus/Lily friendship to go with it.

Shirts vs. Skins - AO3

Rating: M. Canon fluffy Lily pining over James. Shirtless James. 

A pick up quidditch match, a contest, and a very thirsty Lily Evans.

Let’s have a baby - AO3

Rating: T. Canon, fluffy, domestic. 

Everyone assumes James and Lily accidentally got pregnant with Harry. What if they did plan it? What if they really wanted to have a baby precisely when they did?

Drabbles

Unrivaled - Tumblr

Rated G. Fluffy, canon, first kiss. 516 words.

Remind Me Why I Put Up With You Again? - Tumblr

Rated: G. Fluffy, canon, domestic. 754 words.

Portkey Prank - Tumblr

Rated: E. 596 words. What happens when Sirius plays a prank on James using a portkey. Fluffy.

Tango - Tumblr

Rated G. BlackEvans brOTP. Fluffy, Canon. 791 words

We Need To Talk About Harry - Tumblr

Rated G. Angst. AU. 417 words. 

Head’s Office - Tumblr

Rated: M. Fluff, canon. 355 words. 

Wofstar - Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

WIP: 

Twist of Fate - AO3 

Rated: M. Modern Muggle AU. 

2 chapter, 6,846 words (WIP)

Remus Lupin has never really been one to rely on it. Sirius Black perhaps relies on it a bit too much. However, a chance encounter in a dark nightclub leaves both of them hoping that Fate will come through one more time. Will these two find each other again, or will they be stuck in a cruel twist of fate?

One-Shots: 

Bathed in the moonlight - AO3

Rated: E. PWP, canon. 

In the light of the moon, they came together and became something new.

Drabbles:

Remus reading HC - Tumblr

Rated G. Mini fic, canon, angst.

Blackbird - Tumblr

Rated G. Canon, mutual pining. 466 words

Liquid Gold - Tumblr

Rated E. Canon, fluff.

Hinny - Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley

Completed: 

Happily Ever After is a Journey not a Destination - AO3

Three one-shots in the same story. 3 chapters, 6,643 words. 

Harry and Ginny find that getting to Happily Ever After is a little harder than they expected.

One Shots: 

It’s all for him - AO3

Rated: G. Canon, fluffy, HBP missing moment. 

Hermione spots trouble on the horizon, and tries to intervene before it is too late.

I’m not afraid to drown - AO3

Rated: T. TW: depression. Prompt: Ocean by Lady A. Angst, canon. 

Ginny is suffering from depression, and has to find within herself a way back. Harry is by her side, always.

If this is it, let it be enough - AO3 

Rated: T. Angst, canon. HBP missing moment. 

Harry struggles to say goodbye.

Make them remember your name - AO3

Rated: T. Prompt: Harry comforts Ginny. Angst to fluff, canon. 

When Ginny’s confidence is rocked, Harry is always there to make it better.

All the little pieces - AO3

Rated: G. Written for clarenjoy’s Hinny ficfest. Prompt 60: "I heard that." "You were supposed to." Fluff and angst, canon. 

A series of vignettes over the course of Harry and Ginny's lives.

It’s more of a show than a tell - AO3

Rated: T. Written for clarenjoy’s Hinny ficfest.  Prompt 28: "Just... talk to me. Please?" Angst, canon. 

Harry gets a little comfort from Ginny

The Midnight Flight - AO3

Rated: G. Written for clarenjoy’s Hinny ficfest.  Prompt 77: I wish I could kiss away your scars. Angst, canon, comfort. 

“I didn’t even know I needed it until we were in the air. How did you know?”

Ginny turned to face him at last. “I could tell just by the way you were standing and talking that it was all getting to you.” Her brown eyes found his green one, and Harry felt something like a small flutter in the pit of his stomach. “I see you, Harry.”

Baby, it's cold outside. - Tumblr

Classic Christmas song with a Hinny twist.

Drabbles: 

Silence - AO3

Rated: T. TW: Injury. Part of Harry and Ginuary Bingo event. Prompt:  N 42: “I want to go to the beach.” “It’s the middle of winter.” “I don’t care.” Angst, canon. 

The one where Ron begs for a memory Charm - AO3

Rated: M. Part of the Harry and Ginuary Bingo event. Prompt:  O 75. “I don’t know what made me fall for you.” “My charms, perhaps?” Fluffy, humor, Canon. 

The fire is warm - AO3

Rated: G. Part of Harry and Ginuary Bingo event. Prompt:  N37. We’re taking shelter during a big storm and you’re really close to me and I’m just going to casually move closer and cuddle with you…. Canon, pining. 

Crooked - AO3

Rated: G. Part of Harry and Ginuary Bingo event. Prompt:  O 73. You've dared me to do this as a joke but there's no way I'm backing out now. Fluff, humor, canon. 

Campfire memories - AO3

Rated: G. Part of Harry and Ginuary Bingo event. Prompt:  N 32. "Is that flammable?" "We're about to find out." Fluff, domestic, canon, with kids!

Green-eyed Boy - AO3

Rated: G. Part of Harry and Ginuary Bingo event. Prompt:  B 1. "It's just that he has a great reading voice. Who wouldn't want to sit in on storytime?" Fluff, canon, domestic. 

A Letter from Home - AO3

Rated: M. Part of Harry and Ginuary Bingo event. Prompt:  O 63: “I’m having the worst day and you've just handed me an envelope with…” Angst, canon, love letter. 

The Boy who wouldn’t Break - AO3

Rated: T. Part of Harry and Ginuary Bingo event. Prompt:  G 51. “You really don’t want to open that door.” Angst, comfort, canon. 

Muffin Chaos - AO3

Rated: G. Part of Harry and Ginuary Bingo event. Prompt:  I 23: "Why is there zucchini all over our kitchen?" "Do you not like zucchini?" Fluff, canon, domestic. 

Loving Ginny - Tumblr - Rated G

Loving Harry - Tumblr - Rated G

Other HP Writings

This section are still HP related writings, just not necessarily very ship-y. 

I walk a lonely Road

A series of fics about Remus’s life. 

The night the world collapsed - October 31, 1981: Remus finds out about James, Lily and Peter’s Deaths, and Sirius’s betrayal. Rated G - AO3. 

All aboard all over again - September 1, 1993: Remus boards the Hogwarts Express to return to Hogwarts again. Rated G - AO3

I’ll be seeing you (in all the old familiar places) 

A series of fics about James and Lily watching the people they’ve left behind. 

I’ll be here for you (if you need me to) -  From the Forbidden Forest to the final spell, James, Lily, Sirius and Remus watch Harry in what could be his final moments. Rated G - on AO3. 

When you can’t go to him -  Only moments after Lily's death, Lily and James prepare to welcome their infant to the afterlife. However, things don't go quite as expected. Rated G - AO3. 

Greeting Death like an Old Friend

A series of fics where, after death, one of their loved ones comes to help you to the afterlife. 

Over the Moony for you - Remus - AO3 

Howl I go on without you - Sirius - AO3

Ratted Out - Peter - AO3

You’re so deer to me - James - AO3

I’ll wilt for you - Lily - AO3

#fic list #snitchwrites

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 6)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: Special Grade

Next Chapter: Bird of Flame

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty <3

We are finally past the introductions and getting into the bulk of the story🥰💕 excited for this to unravel.

Chapter 6: Speed of Sound

You had a physical and cursed energy examination along with the second years the next day. Much like when you had your height and weight measured at the clinic. But this time, it was your power, speed, stamina, defense level, and flexibility with and without your cursed technique that they were measuring.

“Ugh, it’s so windy out today.” Mai complained. The sun was really bright as the four of you first years stood there.

“Y/n.” All of you turned to look at the source of the voice. You smiled brightly upon hearing him. “It has been a while.”

“Noritoshi senpaii~” you skipped your way towards him with a huge smile on your face. “How have you been?”

Noritoshi was always busy, with clan affairs, missions (now that he got recommended for grade 1 and is enroute to a semi-grade 1) and studies that you only had a short time to say hi whenever you passed by the other in the hallways. But he always secretly looked forward to seeing you.

He nodded his greeting to the other first years before turning to smile down at you as you came up to him. “Not too bad. Hope you’ve adjusted well to campus life?” he murmured, eyes softening.

“I’m okay, don't worry about me. Shared class today, this is my first time. I wonder how it will go?” You excitedly said.

“The usual, you might find it boring. Ah, and I’ve heard that you were given the title Special Grade. Congratulations.” He said.

“Is that something to be celebrated?” you asked while tilting your head to the side. “Thank you though.”

He mimicked you, tilting his head in the same direction and leaning forward so that your eyes were both still in line with each other’s, “It’s proof that you’re strong and that’s also a good thing.”

You hummed in thought. “I don’t really care about rankings to be honest. I just need to be strong enough to protect the ones I love.”

Noritoshi’s eyes slightly widened at that. He was about to speak when he was rudely interrupted.

“TSUCHI CHAN! You owe me a fight.” Todo senpai boomed with Momo sighing tiredly beside him. You jumped about 4 feet into the air at the sound and Noritoshi protectively held a hand in front of you again. “That’s enough Todo. It’s still early in the morning.”

“A fight, or else I will reveal who your ideal type is to everyone here.” He grinned.

Oh no he didn’t. The winds picked up around you as your cursed energy flared dangerously. Everyone except Noritoshi took a step back from you.

You looked up at him with the coldest eyes you have, “You promised you wouldn’t senpai. But I am not backing down from a fight. Don’t cry too badly when I bury you 6 feet underground.”

“There it is! Her dark side.” Miwa cried out. “You’re gonna die senpai.” But Todou just laughed. “I knew you were interesting the moment we met Tsuchi chan. It’s settled. A fight later after class.”

“Todo’s gonna die later. I look forward to seeing it.” Mai yawned nonchalantly as Mechamaru just nodded. Momo just laughed as she settled in beside Mai.

Soon Utahime called you all to attention and you went on with the activities. You were competing with Todo for almost every measurement (with the use of cursed energy of course. You were not so strong without it).

You just laughed at yourself as you found out you had the weakest physical punching power among the first years. Yep, you rely too much on your cursed energy to back you up.

You had the highest score though when you used your cursed energy. You warped the space around your hand in a spiral motion, the wind picking up around your fist, before you propelled yourself to punch the target. BAANG! It was pushed a number of meters back further than Todo’s target.

Todo just clapped. “Well done.” And the entire time, Noritoshi was closely monitoring you, staying by your side and asking questions about your technique.

At that, you tugged on his sleeve and he smiled and bent down for you. You told him quietly that you would tell him more about it later when you’re alone. His eyebrows raised, but his smile widened, “Thank you for that. I don’t mind telling you about mine too.”

The others were just silently watching you both out of the corner of their eyes.

“Mai chan, wanna bet as to when those two will get together?” Momo whispered. Everyone else except the two of you heard her.

“Depends on what you wanna bet on. But I’m willing to bet they’ll get together in the next maybe 4 months or so.” she smirked.

“3 months” Miwa piped up quietly.

“Maybe 2 months lol.” Mechamaru said.

“No. They might take… a few weeks. 3?” Todo said seriously.

Utahime cleared her throat out loud gathering all of your attention. “Last activity. Running laps. This track field is 400 meters long as you all know. Finish 1 lap. First without then with your cursed technique. Nishimiya and Tsuchimikado flying is permitted.”

You perked up at that and clapped your hands excitedly. Then stopped and thought about it remembering your father’s words:

“ ‘You don’t have to max out your abilities. We keep our clan’s abilities as much of a secret as possible to prevent any information leakage that may be used against us. Remember to use your technique wisely. You’re the strongest in our clan, sweetheart.’ You nodded, ‘Okay papa.’ ”

So God speed mode of a Mach 4 is out of the picture. Mach speed 3… maybe out. ‘No I can limit it to just under the speed of sound.’ you thought determinedly.

You zoned out the next hour until it was time to run with your cursed technique. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.” Noritoshi put a hand on your back to support you.

You quickly shook your head “I’m fine, no worries.” He didn’t look like he believed you but let you go ahead.

“Tsuchimikado. It says here on your report that you can move at mach speeds.” Utahime spoke. FUCK. Oh well. You turned to her with the stiffest smile on your face as she realized you didn’t want the information disclosed.

You took your starting position, still determined to keep it under half the speed of sound. “Ready… go!” You whipped around the entire trackfield in just under 3 seconds.

“Tsuchimikado. 2.4 seconds.” You nodded and jogged back beside Miwa who gave you a high five. “That was sooo cool, you need to let me fly with you next time.” She excitedly said.

You laughed. “I’m not the best at holding people with me when I move at high speeds. But slow flying is fine.”

“Why don’t you go faster?” Todo asked. Everyone quieted down as you turned to him. “I have a feeling you've been limiting your output. You’ve obviously been holding back this entire time, are you not taking it seriously? We are here to challenge ourselves, there is no need to hold back.”

Your eye and finger twitched. “That’s not it.” This man was amazing at pushing your buttons. But you sighed as there was no reason to hide it anymore. “Utahime sensei can I-”

“Go ahead. When you’re ready.”

You took your starting position again. You could push Mach 5 if you wanted to, though just above Mach 1 should be enough.

But you can feel Todo just silently egging you on from the sidelines. And it honestly worked. “Start!”

There was a loud BANG! You were back in the starting line in less than a second. The only proof of your movement was the smoke and dust rising above the tracks.

“I am so sorry, but I didn’t catch that. I physically can’t. That was less than a second. Your speed please?” Utahime called out. “Mach 2.”

You stepped right up to Todo with a challenging glint. “Prepare yourself for later.” He just huffed out a proud smile, then you stood aside with Miwa and Noritoshi.

“Was that, just now a sonic boom?” asked Noritoshi. “No it was my ringtone.” you deadpanned. The others choked a laugh out at that.

He turned to you with a pout, but you just bumped his hip with yours and laughed “It’s called sarcasm Noritoshi senpai~” He quietly chuckled along, which he was surprised at how easy it was to do so whenever he was with you.

You all finished up. Momo was also pretty fast, going at 10 seconds around the track. Noritoshi senpai blew you out of the water to be honest. His record was 35 seconds on foot. How. That was over the world record for men’s running.

You noticed a red marking forming over his eye and remembered seeing it for a bit when it came to the strength measurement test earlier. He was just a bit behind you, Mechamaru and Todo in terms of power.

And Mechamaru and Todo were largely… disproportionate to him, being way bigger and bulkier. But he could somehow manage.

“Are any of you going to spar after this? If so I will be supervising.” Utahime sensei called.

“We will.” Todo senpai motioned between the two of you. Noritoshi surprisingly spoke up too, “I also wanna have a go against y/n if that’s fine with you.” He turned to you with a concerned look. You just smiled, “Of course it’s fine Noritoshi senpai!”

“Okay, try not to break anything, limit the damage here on campus please. I will be calling a close if it gets too bad.” Utahime warned.

“There's no need for that.” You smiled to yourself.

Author's Rambles: Mach Speed (AKA Supersonic speed) is described as a speed greater than the speed of sound. Mach X means that the speed is X times greater than the speed of sound. A Mach 5 would be categorised as Hypersonic speed^^. O/C uses her Psychokinesis to move her forward as fast as she can.

Blood Bound Chapter Masterlist

#kamo noritoshi #kamo noritoshi x you #jjk kamo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk imagines #noritoshi imagines #noritoshi x reader #noritoshi x y/n #noritoshi x you #zenin mai #nishimiya momo #todo aoi #mechamaru #miwa kasumi #iori utahime #noritoshi fluff #jjk fluff #blood bound #red strings of fate #blood manipulation