#and I never thought of get jinxed being particularly light-hearted | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lifeofkaze · 3 years

Note

hello i have fallen i love with your charlie fic (❤❤!!) and i want to ask if you could you write some angst where barnaby has a crush on mc and they're super oblivious and later they start dating someone else ans barnaby realizes he lost them?

My dearest anon, let me say: I AM SORRY. Writing your ask took me forever (literally, lol) even though I had it in my head the moment I got your asks all those months ago. But I never felt the right inspiration to actually write it down until today. Today it just hit me. I do hope you're actually still around and reading what I made out of it.

I'm really truly sorry. 😅

So, without further ado, I present to you:

Missed Chances

Barnaby Lee x Reader

Barnaby Lee wasn’t the smartest kid around.

He was by no means dumb, he just wasn’t as clever or booksmart as most of his peers, a fact he was well aware of. But it didn’t bother him that much, really. He had found his means of getting by during classes and ever since distancing himself from Merula Snyde back in their third year, he had been able to gather a circle of friends around him he could fall back upon.

There was popular Penny Haywood for Potions, shy but gifted Ben Copper for Charms, and ever so patient Rowan Khanna when he had troubles with Transfiguration.

Barnaby’s favourite study sessions, however, were those for Defense Against The Dark Arts. Not because he was particularly bad at the subject; on the contrary, he was a skilled duelist and most charms and jinxes came naturally to him. No, the real reason those lessons were his favourite was because it was you who was teaching him.

Ever since he’d been drawn into your close circle of friends, his above average DADA marks had been plummeting, since he kept getting distracted during class. The professors weren’t impressed but neither surprised at his apparent lack of academic skills and under normal circumstances, Barnaby would have tried everything in his power to prove them wrong, that he could do better, that he wasn’t as stupid as everyone made him out to be.

But when you offered your help in catching up on the subject, Barnaby had changed his mind. You were always top of your DADA class and what better way to spend some time alone with you while listening to your beautiful voice explaining the differences between a curse and a hex.

Barnaby knew most of the things you were telling him already, so he had ample time to just watch you talk during your study sessions. He knew no one else could get so excited over dark creatures and cursed objects like you did. The way your eyes were sparkling when lecturing him on the differences between a werewolf and regular wolf had him enthralled every single time and the proud smile you gave him when he answered one of your questions correctly never failed to make Barnaby’s heart beat hard in his chest.

He would have loved to see that smile more often, but he made sure to let his real knowledge of the subject shine through sparingly. He was afraid that if he got too good, you might want to drop studying with him and that was something he couldn’t risk; spending time with you had become the highlight of his day. No one he knew rivalled the warmth you radiated and the unbroken faith you had in him, a sentiment that was completely new to Barnaby.

When the big news of the Celestial Ball was announced, it was all his peers could talk about. What to wear, how to look and who to bring were the questions dominating all of the four common rooms.

Barnaby never had to think twice who he wanted to be his date for the dance. He thought about how to properly ask you out for days on end; you were no common girl after all. You were the most extraordinary girl he knew and thus deserved an extraordinary invitation. But when he finally plucked up the courage to ask you out, you looked at him sheepishly.

“That’s so sweet of you, Barney. I’m so flattered, really. But I already promised Rowan and Ben to go with them. You know, just as friends.”

His heart sank at the words. Why hadn’t he acted sooner? Maybe people were right about him being stupid after all.

Seeing his disheartened look, your face changed into something softer. “But I’m sure Rowan and Ben wouldn’t mind if you came along with us? As another friend?”

Barnaby beamed at her. “I’d love that. We’re going to have such a great time together, as friends,” he added, not quite sure whom he wanted to reassure, you or himself.

He would probably never forget the night of the Celestial Ball when he saw you in the dress André Egwu had designed for the first time. Rowan and Ben had arrived at the ball before you and when you stepped into the Great Hall all on your own, Barnaby’s breath stopped for a moment.

You were dressed in a beautiful, burgundy dress with intricate patterns embroidered around the neckline. Your waist was accentuated by a small belt and the skirt of your dress flowed around you in several layers of fabric. You looked like an ethereal being to him as you walked through the crowd over to him, Rowan and Ben, your skirt trailing slightly behind you.

His eyes didn’t leave you for the whole evening even for a second. He could hear you laughing when you danced with Rowan and Ben, the sound like silver bells to his ears. When he asked you for a dance with him, your hand just happened to fit perfectly into his and your bright smile made Barnaby forget everything else around you and him. He did take great care to not step on your dress, however. You looked so perfect, he didn’t want to ruin it with his own clumsiness; although he pretty much doubted anything could have taken away from your beauty.

When the Celestial Ball was over, Barnaby took the chance to walk you back to your common room. You had your arm linked with his and marched in step with him. As he was taller than you, it required some effort on your part, the strange walking rhythm making you giggle. The sound had Barnaby’s heart beat faster.

Barnaby was almost reluctant to let you go when you had reached the concealed entrance to your common room. He wasn’t quite sure what to do; all he wanted to do was put his arms around you, drawing you as close to him as possible and never letting go again. But he hesitated; what if you didn’t feel the same?

To gain some time, he cleared his throat. “I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“Me too,” you smiled at him. “I’m glad you came along. You just have the most fun with your friends, right?”

The word ‘friends’ put a damper on the butterflies that had been swarming in Barnaby’s stomach until this point.

“Yes, friends,” he echoed, “because we’re friends.”

A look of confusion crossed your face for a moment. “Are you alright?”

“Of course I am,” Barnaby lied quickly, glad that the flickering light of the torches hid the blush spreading on his cheeks. “Just exhausted from dancing, I guess.”

“Oh, alright. I’d better get to my common room then. Good night.”

There was a short, awkward pause, before you smiled at him, waved and vanished into your common room. Barnaby sighed; at least for night, he had definitely botched his chances.

Ever since the Celestial Ball and the anticlimax of its ending, Barnaby had made it his mission to convince you there was more to him than being your friend. He’d ventured into the library on his own and gathered together all books on romance he could find and read every single one of them. Most of them, especially the older ones, had given him quite some headaches, but he knew you enjoyed reading old love stories, so maybe they had some useful information to offer. How someone could spend their free time reading things like Jane Austen for fun, however, remained a mystery to him.

And apparently, the tips he had sourced weren’t that helpful either. Barnaby tried it all, he complimented you, he brought you flowers and small gifts that reminded him of you and tried connecting with you over things he knew you loved. Whenever he saw the chance to ask you out he tried. But as soon as he had gathered his courage, you had already promised one of your numerous friends to go with them instead. It was exasperating, really.

All the while, the study sessions with you continued. Barnaby had stopped pretending to be as oblivious as he made himself out to be in the beginning; he knew it was risky, in case you might want to drop studying with him if he got better, but he was too addicted to your smile at this point. No matter how hard his day had been, a smile from you and everything else was forgotten.

Barnaby wished you would finally notice just how much he adored you, but as long as he could spend time with you, listen to your voice and hear your laughter, everything was fine with him.

Until it was not.

He had noticed you were distracted lately and not as talkative as he was used to. Today’s Potions class was no exception. Professor Snape, who was even moodier than usual, was lecturing the class on the importance of knowing potion recipes by heart.

“You will not always carry a textbook with you,” he droned, “and while I wouldn’t trust half of you to brew a potion even with proper instructions, maybe some of you will be able to produce something remotely resembling a proper concoction by sheer luck. If I see one piece of parchment on the table, you will clean your classmates’ cauldrons after class. Begin.”

Dreading the next two hours of guessing which ingredients to use in what order, Barnaby glanced over to you. But you hadn’t been listening to the instructions, it seemed. Your attention was focused on a piece of parchment in front of you, hastily scribbled lines running across it. Barnaby tried catching a glimpse but when you noticed, you blushed deeply and quickly covered the parchment with your hand.

Barnaby, however, wasn’t the only one who had noticed the piece of parchment. Before you could do anything, Professor Snape had appeared next to you and snatched the parchment out of your grip.

“I thought I said no notes allowed, or didn’t I express myself clearly enough for your convenience?” he snarled.

“No, Professor, you misunderstand,” you gasped, “these aren’t Potions notes, it’s private. Can I please have it back?”

You reached for it, but Snape jerked his hand up so it was just out of reach. “That gives it even less reason to be present in my classroom,” he said coldly, a cruel smile stealing onto his face. “Let us share with the rest of the class what is distracting you from my lesson.”

Your cheeks were glowing bright red as Snape started reading the content of your note.

“Do you like me? Yes or No. Circle your answer,” he read out loud. “How droll,” he sneered over the chuckle of your classmates, “I suggest, next time you concentrate more on your potion and less on your silly personal bearings. Perhaps the result will be more decent then. 10 points from you and detention tonight.”

As he swept past your table, Barnaby noticed your hanging head. You had your hands clasped tightly together in your lap and seemed so small all of a sudden that he felt furious. Even though Snape was his head of house, he had no right whatsoever to embarrass you in front of everyone like that.

“Are you okay?” he asked you gently.

Not looking at him, you shook his head. “Why did he have to do that?” you whispered. “He could see I wasn’t taking notes. There was no need to read it out loud.”

“There wasn’t,” Barnaby agreed. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and lightly placing his hand on your arm. “He’s just a big, old, mean bat. Everyone says so.”

You sniffed, a small smile already spreading on your face again. “That’s true. Thank you.” You covered his hand with yours and squeezed it lightly. The touch sent jolts of energy through Barnaby from where your hands connected. His skin was still tingling when you turned towards your cauldron again, breaking the contact.

“Who was your note for, anyway?” Barnaby asked, trying not to sound as if this wasn’t the question burning red hot on his mind.

You looked at him wide-eyed. “I can’t possibly tell you.”

“Why not? Do I know him?”

Blushing again, you could only nod before dropping your gaze.

“It’s someone I’ve been friends with for a while now, but I don’t know if he feels the same. I don’t want to ruin our friendship by making a stupid move.”

Barnaby held his breath. You couldn’t possibly be talking about him, could you?

“How could it ruin your friendship?” he asked. “If he’s your friend, he’s your friend and nothing can change that.”

He took a deep breath. “Maybe you should just tell him,” he said deliberately casually, “who knows, maybe that friend of yours has been feeling the same for some time now, too.”

You looked up at him in surprise. “You think so?”

Barnaby nodded in agreement. “Definitely. Just try your luck, maybe you’ll be surprised.”

After the class was over and you had parted ways for the rest of the day, Barnaby counted the minutes until the evening when you had agreed to meet for another study session before your detention. He was positively bouncing with energy ever since lunchtime. You had come over to him with a nervous smile on your lips to ask him to meet up with you later.

“Chances are, I’ll need to tell you something,” you had said with a shaky laugh before joining your other friends for lunch. Barnaby had swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to look unfazed, but his insides had been burning with impatience ever since.

That was why he had arrived earlier than usual at the library that evening. He picked all the books out you would be needing and stacked and restacked them several times at the table you were usually working on.

It felt like an eternity until you finally entered the library, each second dragging into an eternity of its own. Barnaby saw you first. You stood in the entrance to the grand room and all of a sudden the library seemed to be a little brighter just by you being there. You scanned the rows of bookshelves with your eyes and a wide smile appeared on your face as they fell on him, waiting for you between books and quills in your favourite spot.

You quickly bounded over to him, a spring in your step that was a stark contrast to the miserable mood you had been in this morning. Before Barnaby even had a chance to ask what made you so happy, you had flung your arms around his neck in a tight embrace.

On instinct, Barnaby put his arms around your waist and held you for a sweet moment that he wished would last forever. He could smell the flowery scent of your perfume and breathed it in deeply, trying to commit every last detail of how you felt in his arms to memory. He was sure you had to feel his heartbeat; how could you not with how hard it was hammering against his ribcage?

“He said yes, Barney! He really said yes!” you squealed, not caring one bit about Madam Pince’s indignant shush.

The sheer happiness coursing through his veins turned into ice that froze him from the inside in a matter of seconds. Confused, he loosened his hold on you and pushed you far enough away from him to look you in the face. The joy visible on it almost broke his heart.

“What?”

“My crush!” you beamed at him. “I followed your advice and asked him out, just now! And he said yes!” you repeated, hugging him again.

“You’re the first person I wanted to tell,” you said. Barnaby could feel your breath on the skin exposed by the open collar of his shirt. He hated himself for the shiver running down his spine.

“Why?” was all he managed to whisper in response.

“Because without you, I’d never have the courage to talk to him upfront. It’s all thanks to you that I have a date now. You’re really the best friend I could ask for.”

Every word you spoke was like a dagger pushed up to the hilt into his broken heart, every second he saw you smile at the prospect of going out with the boy you wanted to be with - the boy that wasn’t him - a twist of the blade until he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. His heart, that had beaten so wildly just moments before when he had held you in his arms, could have stopped beating right there and then; Barnaby doubted it would have felt much different to the consuming emptiness he felt at this very moment.

You were rambling on and on about where you wanted to take your date and what you would wear but Barnaby wasn’t listening. He didn’t even know who you were talking about; all he knew was that it wasn’t him and that thought was louder in his head than your words could ever be.

“What do you think of that?”

Barnaby realised you had come to the end of your explanations and expected an opinion from him. He forced himself to smile apologetically at you, when all he wanted to do was scream.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” he croaked out.

Your brow creased. “Are you okay? You’re so pale all of a sudden.”

“I’m good,” Barnaby answered with a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat and started again. “I’m good, I just caught a cold, I think. I should go see Madam Pomfrey later.”

You made a sceptical sound and raised one eyebrow. “If you say so. So what do you think? Is Madam Puddyfoot’s Tea Shop a good idea or not?”

Barnaby had never heard of this tea shop before, but he’d go to Knockturn Alley for a date if it only was with you. “It doesn’t matter where you take him. He’s lucky he gets to go with someone like you in the first place.”

“That’s sweet of you to say.”

“I’m just happy you’re happy,” Barnaby said and even meant it, in a way. He just wished the source of your happiness was him and not somebody else.

You hugged him once again and he was glad that you couldn’t see the pained expression crossing his features for a moment. “You’re the best, Barney. I’m so glad to have you in my life.”

You let go and turned towards the table laden with books Barnaby had so carefully set up. “Shall we?”

He sat down with you and watched as you started taking out your notes on objects cursed with minor jinxes. Your eyes were sparkling even more than usual and even now, you were so beautiful to Barnaby it hurt.

With a sigh, he concentrated on what you had to say for a change. His time spent daydreaming about you was over for good now, so he might as well do what the two of you were here for and study.

No, Barnaby Lee wasn’t the smartest kid around.

But even he knew that when it came to you, he had missed too many chances.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #harry potter hogwarts mystery #barnaby lee #anon ask #fun fact #this is exactly what happened in game for my mc lizzie #went to the celestial ball with barnaby #and ditched him afterwards #whoops #and for talbott of all people #because yknow #that old let us date the quidditch kids discussion #but we're not getting into that now

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harpyloon · 3 years

Text

i’ll catch you

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x fem!Reader

Summary: "Up close, Y/N could see the familiar freckles splattered all over his nose and cheeks. He was towering over her like he always did. She used to be the little second year Hufflepuff always idling by the entrance to the Great Hall hoping to bump into the famous Charlie Weasley. Studying on the Quidditch pitch, watching him behind her textbook, captaining the Gryffindor team. Climbing the beech tree by the lake again and again, hoping Charlie Weasley would somehow walk by once more to offer her a hand..."

☞ Curse Breaker reader x Dragon-tamer Charlie Weasley

Warnings: Fluff, sprinkles of angst, dragons (duh), mentions of a dead animal, mentions of dragon eating dead animal (lol), post-war timeline (although not that important)

WC: 4.5k+ , Part 2 coming soon!

Read on AO3

Beautiful rays of golden sunlight were peaking through the blinders of Y/N's cabin. It was going to be a lovely day with the perfect weather to seek out a bit of adventure, and although she was sure she had countless other affairs to address before kicking off with her assignment the next day, a blathering Bill Weasley was not one of them.

"Are you even listening?" his tone was way beyond impatient. "You know what? Don't answer that. I know for a fact that you never pick up anything I say. Ever."

Y/N rolled her eyes as she busied herself with stuffing her socked feet inside a pair of brown chunky hiking boots. She didn't plan on going very far. Her colleagues were currently lounging in the dining hall about five cabins down, sipping piping hot ciorbă, munching on breakfast toast, and relishing their only foreseeable off day before the start of the big dig tomorrow. Some were even dozing off still, earning as much sleep as they could to compensate for the long nights to come.

It's true what they say about grumpy Curse Breakers. But nobody realized that they just spent too much time with their eyes wide open.

"You know, Bill," Y/N mused, "you always call me the drama queen. What does that make you then?"

The floating head over the fire scoffed, "A concerned superior."

"Well, there's nothing to be concerned about."

"Where are you headed?"

"I'm going for a walk."

"No walks," ordered Bill, his face stern.

"Everyone's out and about today!"

"No walks for you."

Y/N laughed. "Oh yeah?"

Bill sighed. He knew trying to be hard-nosed was futile. "No walks alone at least."

"Are you sure there's no bun in Fleur's oven yet?" Y/N teased. "You're sounding more like a papa bear with each passing day."

She heard a soft melodic laugh within the fire where Bill's head was when suddenly, another floating head appeared right beside his. This time, all blonde and very French

"There iz no bun yet, mon cher. But I think he az been practicing fatherhood with you." Fleur gave Y/N a wink. "I 'eard zer are many 'andsome men in Romania. With a leetle beet of exzploring yo—"

"There will be no exploring," barked Bill, sending his wife a warning glance, which she ignored.

"—you might find someone az adventurous az you are," Fleur beamed, "And very macho."

"Darling," Bill sighed, "is this necessary?"

With a flying kiss to Y/N, Fleur was gone.

Shrugging on a light parka, Y/N gave Bill a knowing look, "You see? Your wife said I could use a macho man."

"Oh please. You're in a Curse Breaker camp."

"Hey, there are loads of macho men here."

"Macho enough for you?"

Y/N wrinkled her nose but ignored the question.

"Well, William," she said, emphasizing Bill's full name, "I, am a Curse Breaker in the middle of the Southern Carpathians." Stuffing her wand through her belt loop, she looked at him with finality. "And I am not passing up this opportunity."

"Remember when they assigned you to Egypt with me and you went on exploring? Your exploring is bad luck, Y/N, and I did not assign you to Romania to bring bad luck."

"Excuse you, the Egypt Goblins loved me."

"Goblins don't love wizards," retorted Bill.

"I think they were particularly fond of me."

"You Reductored an entire bloody Pyramid!"

Y/N was losing her patience. She wanted to sift through the mountains in the morning sunlight. Discover hidden caves and wade through cold springs. She had her breakfast way earlier than everyone else for this sole purpose.

"I promise I'll be good."

"Take Weiss with you."

Y/N glared. "Absolutely not."

"Take someone."

"I'm walking out on you right now. Don't forget to put out my fire."

"Y/N."

"I'll see you later!"

"I have to tell you—"

Without looking back, she waved at Bill and stepped out into the crisp Romanian morning.

The skies were bright and cloudless, the sun slowly rising up east. The Curse Breaker camp in the middle of the Transylvanian Alps was in for a late morning. It was quiet, apart from the whispers of the forest beside them; chirping birds, singing crickets, and the distant sound of a nearby stream.

Trudging up the rough pavement towards the foot of the nearest hill, Y/N felt an ounce of guilt seep through as she marveled at the scenery before her. Bill was the reason she got the Romania assignment. She wasn't half bad a Curse Breaker. From an outsider's perspective, some would even call her brilliant. She's aced all her missions in her first year on the job—way ahead of all the others in her year, and was even able to crackdown a dark magic-infested tomb in an assignment she co-lead in Egypt. She was quick, smart, and as brave as the career entailed.

Only one thing stood between her and a good reputation in Gringotts. Her impulsiveness.

She couldn't help it. Y/N's successes partnered with tragedies—accidents; her brilliance came with sheer will and almost violent haste. The problem is you can't think twice Bill would always say. Not everything is done in a snap, Y/N.

Bill Weasley was the only senior Curse Breaker with enough patience to supervise her. It must have been fate or a miracle that had him in temporary assignment at the London Gringotts when she graduated Hogwarts. If she were received by anyone else, or if he were back in Egypt instead, she didn't think she'd ever make it out into the field. Or worse, last a few months.

"I'll be good," she mumbled to no one in particular. Or maybe she hoped that Bill would hear. She'd floo him again later.

Trekking up the slope with hands snuggled warm inside her faux-fur-lined pockets, Y/N inhaled the fresh earth surrounding her. This was her calling. Nature. Adventure. The unknown. She was fantastic with spells and jinxes and once thought of becoming an Auror—but Aurors spent too much time indoors, on desks, drowning in paperwork and tailing dark wizards. She knew in her heart she wasn't born to enforce the law.

On the opposite side of the hill was a deep gorge between two towering mountains and a long serpentine stream. Elated at the sight, she followed the gentle flow of water over the rocks. Without thinking (because when does she ever), she slipped off her boots and socks, and despite the chilly morning, prepared to wade the ice-cold water. She dipped one toe in for good measure—a pause.

That couldn't be right.

Submerging one whole foot into the water confirmed her confusion. Strange. Almost all waterways in Romania led to the Black Sea, if not the Adriatic. Why was it warm?

This isn't the bathing stream she thought. The senior Curse Breakers back at camp had instructed them of assigned fresher areas where warming charms would be cast. She didn't remember this gorge being part of last night's tour.

Ankles deep in the water, Y/N trailed the soft currents. It was deliciously warm. A deliberate contrast to the icy breeze left by the trail ends of winter. It was supposedly mid-spring, but the winds still gave her the chills.

She took no notice of how far she was going, the water neither rising nor falling. If she were to guess it must've almost been half an hour given by the direction of the sun. The warm water and small pebbles were therapeutic beneath her feet. The walk didn't tire her at all.

Finally, the chasm's end came to view. Heart beating with excitement, she hastened her pace, dampening the legs of her trousers that she attempted to roll up. But just as her feet crossed the lip between the two mountains flanking her, she felt the oddest sensation: it began at the top of her head, traveling down her arms to her toes—as if a big fat raindrop landed on her scalp and entered her body.

She glanced at the clear blue sky. There was no cloud in sight for miles.

And then, it was suddenly very humid.

"What the..." she glanced back through the gorge. Nothing was out of order and nobody was in sight. Looking down at her feet, her surroundings were now as warm as the water she stood on. Her parka felt too thick.

Again, strange.

Trying to shake away her curiousness, Y/N trudged on.

All is well she chanted inside her head. All is well and the wind just blows differently on this side of the alps.

But no matter what she told herself, ripples of unease still disturbed Y/N. She was beginning to sweat and it wasn't just her nerves. The wind didn't blow differently on this side of the mountains because there was no wind. It was dry, dank, and very very warm.

To rattle her nerves even further, the water she was wading on was getting hotter as she went on that she had to leap on land once again. But as soon as her bare soles made contact with the grass, she yelped in pain.

"Merlin—OW."

The earth was burning. As if it bathed in the sun for too long. As if she were in the middle of a dry desert. She knew the feeling, she's been to Egypt. But why the bloody hell would Romanian soil feel this hot? Moreso in the heart of the Southern Carpathians?

Locating a jutted-out slab of rock, Y/N hopped over to sit and gather her bearings, drying her damp feet and staring at her boots and socks. She didn't want to slip them back on. The heat was intense. But it was either the boots or the sizzling soil.

She shrugged off her parka after lacing up her boots and was grateful for her reckless choice of wardrobe this morning. She opted for a ribbed shirt under her jacket—instead of a sweater—in urgent intention to get away from a nagging Bill. Now it served her well. It wasn't as thin as she would have deemed appropriate for the current temperature, but at least her neck and arms could breathe.

Gazing over the expanse of the clearing she emerged in, she suddenly became aware of the lack of green in the area. The grass was almost a withering brown—crunchy and dry. Trees weren't scattered about like the thick oaks all over the Curse Breaker camp; instead, they were clumped, almost systematically, in relatively rectangular patch formations. As if deliberately rooted as such.

Muggles Y/N thought. It was only them who had the peculiar habit of reorganizing nature.

Tying her parka around her waist, she treaded the clearing, the grass crisp beneath her boots, and approached the nearest cluster of trees. She wondered if this were one of the areas they'd be digging up. Senior Curse Breaker Digby Youssif oriented them of specific crackdown areas to look forward to in the next few months. Although almost all wizarding families were well-accounted for in Romania, there were still trifling amounts of intel on hidden vaults under protective spells cast by untraceable ancient tribes.

Y/N loved digging assignments. She was particularly fond of discovery. And if Ancient Runes was Hogwarts' least-loved lesson, she rather enjoyed Professor Babbling's classes. Well, most of the time. It was her pride and joy to have snagged an 'Outstanding' for her O.W.Ls—

Crack!

A sudden gust of wind whipped through the trees ahead of her. On instinct, Y/N drew her wand from her belt loop. Nothing was so dangerous about the wind. But it felt so...

The sound came out of nowhere, she thought it was imagining it. A steady drumming beat. Powerful and humming. An engine? she thought. But that was impossible. They were told that the area was blocked off from muggles for the duration of their stay. She paused in front of a towering ashtree. The sound was growing louder and louder. Nearer. She didn't know why but she was compelled with the need to hide.

Climb.

She felt ridiculous, clambering up an ashtree and settling on its thickest branch. Her superiors back at camp were clear that the mountains were safe, its perimeters were secured for their dig. Curse Breakers always made sure missions wouldn't come across outside interference.

Then why was her heart beating so fast?

The drumming sound was growing nearer. Behind her—above.

Peering at the sky through the leaves, a massive dark figure swooped overhead and landed with an earth-shaking thud on the clearing right in front of her tree.

Y/N felt like she was going to choke on her own spit when a deafening, earsplitting roar echoed through the mountains.

Dragon.

Fully grown, enormous, and vicious-looking, the beast had emerald scales that glinted in the morning sun. Its body was bulky, way stockier compared to the common dragons in textbooks. It had a massive head that seemed even larger than its body, and on it sprouted two long glittering golden horns. Its claws had the same golden color, and it was rearing onto its hind legs, hunching over a figure... chewing...

All the breakfast Y/N had only hours before felt like rising up her throat. An enormous dragon only meters in front of her was chewing on a dead animal, clearly having his own meal. And there she was, perched on an ashtree, ready for dessert.

Don't panic she told herself, but feeling green. She's never faced a dragon on a mission before. They tackled them in her first year on the job—Curse Breakers didn't really need training, the task calling for hands-on work—but never in her life did she ever think she'd have to face a real dragon.

I don't have to face it Y/N thought, I just have to stay here until it flies away, and run back to camp.

Wiggling up to a squat, she eyed the neighboring branch a few feet to her right which was higher up and positioned behind a thicker cluster of leaves. It didn't require a jump, but more of a really careful split; hugging the trunk tightly, she stretched her right foot across, shifting her weight to her right leg, her arms choking the tree trunk in a death grip, legs spread wide midair—

"Scuzati-ma?"

Y/N didn't fall. Thank Merlin she didn't fall. But she lost her momentum in surprise and panic, her left foot sliding from the previous branch, making her push off the trunk in haste, throwing her weight across completely. She grabs a dangling thin branch above her at the last minute, her body tilted towards the forest floor.

A forest floor where a man now stood, peering up at her curiously.

She was breathing hard, her heart thumping erratically, both from the fear of falling and being heard by the dragon so close by.

"Er—esti bine?" the man asked. Y/N saw that he had his arms out as if braced to catch her if she fell. When she didn't answer, the man spoke again, "Ai nevoie de ajutor?"

She blinked down at him. "What?"

He chuckled. She hated it. It hurt her pride. "I said, do you need any help?"

He was loud. Too loud. She righted herself on the branch, pulling to lean back on the trunk behind her. Then risking a peek, she checked on the dragon who was still munching on the dead cow with gusto.

She looked back down to find the man with his eyebrows raised at her, his face painting amusement. It was impossible not to take note of his red mane pulled into a low bun. He looked awfully familiar... and he was going to get them killed.

"Could you," she whispered as loudly as she could, "keep your voice down?"

The man snickered once more, showing no effort of lowering his tone. "Why?"

"Are you blind?" she wanted to strangle him. "There's a bloody dragon!"

The redhead glanced at the scaly beast and heaved out a sigh. "Okay. Yeah, you're right. It's way past breakfast. He's missing nap time."

Y/N looked at him incredulously. He shrugged, "But what can I do? He slept in this morning. Lazy beast." Looking back up, he asked, "Want to meet him?"

He's mental she thought. That had to be it.

But the redhead only laughed. He keeps laughing. He must've noticed the stupefied expression on her face because he simmered. "Give him a minute and you can come down. It's already his fifth haul so he's bound to get dozy and fly back to the nest." He started walking towards the clearing when he paused and turned back, "Although, you can come down now. I promise he won't eat you."

Y/N watched as the man walked up to the feasting dragon—she was peering behind the thick tree trunk, using it as a shield. He's insane. Drawing a wand from a sheath attached to his calf, the man aimed a stunning spell right by the beast's tail.

"Alright, Darius, I think you've had enough," he called. He kept his distance, a good few meters away, but his gait was calm, almost lazy.

The dragon glanced at the man, its fangs bloody. Y/N wanted to grab the redhead and run. But it was a crazy thought, and she was rooted on her spot on the tree branch, frozen in fear.

The man gave a sharp whistle and the dragon grunted, smoke coming out of its nostrils. It ignored him and continued to munch on the cow.

Another stunning spell was aimed right by its claws and the dragon emitted a low growl. Y/N didn't know if she was imagining it but the creature seemed sluggish on its feet, swaying... almost drowsy.

"Off you go," said the man, "up." He sent one more stunning spell right in front of its snout. It was a clear miss, purely intentional.

The dragon heaved a loud angry roar. But instead of diving for the man like she expected, it started flapping its wings, gaining momentum. Y/N held onto the tree trunk tighter so as not to be swayed by the sudden rush of winds the creature was yielding. And then with a strong push off the ground, up it soared, growling low in its throat, and was out of sight.

Y/N's legs felt like jelly slugs, but her arms refused to let go of the tree trunk. What in Merlin's name just happened?

"Y/N."

She gave a short yelp, coughing on her next breath. "Excuse me?"

The man was back, now by the foot of the tree once again. "Come down."

"How do you know my name?" she demanded.

He had a really handsome smile. A really familiar, handsome smile...

"I should be offended," said the man. "Come down." There it was again, that smile. "I'll catch you."

I'll catch you.

I'll catch you....

"Come on, Y/N, I'll catch you!"

"No you won't!" said Y/N. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

She was perched on the beech tree by the Black lake, her legs dangling above the shallow water. She had attempted to retrieve her Spellman's Syllabry textbook that Cassian Loxias chucked up the branches for fun.

"Yes I will, I promise," consoled Charlie. "I'm a prefect, remember?" he gestured to his badge, "I'll make sure you're safe."

Sniffing up snot that was escaping her nose, she hiccuped softly against the back of her hand. "Our prefect doesn't do that very much."

Charlie chuckled. "I'll make sure to have a word with Professor Sprout about her Hufflepuff prefects."

When he saw the horror on her face, he held up his hands, "It didn't come from you of course. Will you come down now? I swear I'll catch you."

Y/N looked into Charlie Weasley's eyes and saw nothing but pure candor. Biting her lip, she said, "Do cross your heart, or hope to die?"

He traced a cross right above his chest. "Cross my heart, or hope to die."

"Y/N. Y/N?"

Y/N blinked.

Charlie Weasley. Charlie dragon-tamer Weasley. Charlie the hot brother Weasley—

"Are you still breathing? Do you need me up there?"

Trying to gather her bearings, Y/N extracted herself from her hold on the tree trunk, went down onto a squat, and leaped off, landing on the crunchy grass with a thump.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at her as she dusted her trousers, "I see you don't need catching anymore."

She took in the man before her. "Charlie Weasley."

His grin was dazzling."Caught on, have you?

From up close, Y/N could now see the familiar freckles splattered all over his nose and cheeks. He was towering over her like he always did. She used to be the little second year Hufflepuff always idling by the entrance to the Great Hall hoping to bump into the famous Charlie Weasley. Studying on the Quidditch pitch, watching him behind her textbook, captaining the Gryffindor team. Climbing the beech tree by the lake again and again, hoping Charlie Weasley would somehow walk by once more to offer her a hand...

There were so many things she could've done, seeing him again for the first time after all these years. He was gone as soon as he graduated Hogwarts, flying to Romania to study dragons. Everyone always thought Charlie would be going Quidditch pro, being captain and seeker. He had the build, the skills, and the charm. Hogwarts alone had fan clubs in his name and rumor had it that the Falmouth Falcons were just waiting for him to finish seventh year.

But others didn't see Charlie as Y/N did. They didn't see him hoarding books on care of magical creatures in the library. They didn't notice him sneaking off to Hagrid's on the weekends, taking Fang for walks or feeding the Blast Ended Skrewts in the garden. Nobody paid attention to the copy of Fantastic Beasts And Where to Find Them that Charlie practically glued to his side. Only Y/N did. And now that she thought about it, she didn't like that she knew so much. It made her feel like a creep.

So instead of hugging him in delight like she actually wanted, she took a swipe at his shoulder.

"You git," she hissed. "You scared me to death! How did you do that? I thought taming dragons was impossible."

"It is. Most of the time," Charlie shrugged. "Darius is a Romanian Longhorn. Mostly harmless compared to the others especially when he's full. Not that difficult to send him back to the nest when he can barely stand on his feet."

"Harmless? I could've been dessert!"

Charlie laughed. He was still always laughing. "You look delicious, yes, but I'm not letting Darius have you."

What the fu—Y/N inhaled slowly, cautiously. Then exhaled through her nose. She didn't know how to respond. Seeing him again after so long, without warning or preparation, was messing with her senses

"It's good to see you, Y/N," he said and walked closer. Close enough to tugged at her braid. She didn't know why he did it, but he looked like he just had to. "You look good."

Y/N's heart was beating rapidly once more, but this time, for all the wrong reasons. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Charlie gazed back into her eyes as if seeing her for the first time.

"Too long."

Again, she didn't know how long it took her to reply, but she cleared her throat, "How—did you know it was me? The first time?"

Charlie's eyes were still roaming all over her face. "No. Not until you spoke."

Y/N must've held a questioning look because he added, "I'll never forget that voice."

He was saying such strange things. Were they strange? Or was it just because he affected her so?

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, you wouldn't come down, would you? I see you still have a thing for trees."

Y/N rolled her eyes.

"I didn't know the dragon reservation was in the alps," she said. "Do you know we're camping nearby?"

"'Course I do. You lot are beside dragon territory for a reason."

Excitement and fear raised Y/N's nerves. "What are you talking about?"

Charlie bit his lip. "You'll see."

"Are we digging in the reservation?"

He was walking out into the clearing now, beelining back towards the opening of the gorge.

"Charlie!" Y/N jogged to keep up. "Are we?"

He only smiled, "Patience, darling."

Darling. He used to call her that all the time even when they were back in Hogwarts. She always tried to ignore the fluttering feeling her chest made when he used the endearment, reminding herself that he must've used it on everyone else, not just her.

"Why did no one back at camp tell us anything?"

"I probably should've kept my mouth shut," was his only reply. They were crossing the two mountains flanking the stream, and as soon as they cut through the border, Y/N felt the same sensation she did when she went through the clearing. But this time in reverse, it was as if the raindrop was sucked back up.

She glanced up at the mountains. "Did you feel that?"

"Shield spells," explained Charlie. "To keep the muggles out. Temperature charms as well to regulate the reservation climate. Although the dragons do enough of their warming on their own, it's for precaution."

They walked up the stream, tracing back Y/N's previous path.

"Are you bringing me back to camp?" she asked.

"That, and I have to see Digby. Iron out tomorrow's schedule."

"So we are digging inside the reservation," Y/N didn't know if she was more thrilled or afraid.

Charlie glanced at her, "You heard nothing from me."

Studying his features as they strolled, Y/N couldn't help but admire how much Charlie Weasley grew up to be. He's always been lean and strong, especially with being an athlete back at Hogwarts, but now he seemed so much larger than life. Red tendrils were escaping his low bun and framing his chiseled face, there were a few scars on his nose and one under his lip. She shouldn't have been able to see it but she couldn't stop staring. He was big. Stockier than she'd ever seen him; hands wrapped in gauze and rope slung over a hook on his hip.

Charlie Weasley, dragon-tamer.

And he was staring right back at her.

"You have to take me to see more dragons," Y/N breathed. She didn't know where her voice went. It was all airy and she didn't like it. She hoped he would assume it was because of their walk.

Charlie stopped, deep brown eyes boring into her own. He was panting slightly too. Maybe it was the walk.

"Okay," he exhaled. "Promise."

"Cross your heart?" she almost whispered. Almost.

Two fingers traced a cross over Charlie's chest, his gaze not leaving hers, "Cross my heart."

#by gabi #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley fluff #hp post war #charlie weasley x fem!reader #i have no idea where this idea came from but here it is #there will be a part 2!#part 2 coming soon

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philliamwrites · 3 years

Text

killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.02]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 3.5k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla,“ sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia’s hands.

Notes: Part 1

Masterlist

Chapter 2

At the barracks’ canteen reigns the unspoken rule that no one is allowed to cook borsch, and trying to do so is punished by cleaning all windows with cold water only in the middle of the night. Can’t see anything because the nights at the outskirts of Zapolyarny are blacker than out in the taiga? Tough luck. There are so many different recipes as there are families out there, and everyone has their very own way to make it. Fatui agents have brought each other to the hospital wing over fighting which recipe is the best, therefore a couple of years before Tartaglia and you enrolled, this rule was established.

Sitting out in the cold of Jaroslawk at four in the morning, you’d kill for a hot bowl of your mamochka’s borsch—the best in Morepesok even though Tartaglia begs to differ, but the only problem with his claim is that he is fucking wrong.

Through your binoculars you see everything is quiet and dark on the other side of the compound, which is a good sign. Unfortunately, good also means very boring. You’ve been lying in the exact same position for nearly three hours now: on your belly, elbows slightly propping your upper body to see the Baron’s estate that’s embraced by a forest like a mother cradling its child. Tales have it if you make even one little mistake inside those cold brick walls, Baron Igor would personally see to it that you don’t leave these woods alive and whatever his hellish guard dogs don’t finish eating up, his servants would send to your family as a small parting gift and warning to get as far and fast away as possible.

If only he were as thorough covering his tracks as he is scaring people, but Baron Igor has never really excelled at multiple things and now, months after the first little bird brought some interesting insight, you can’t wait for Baron Igor to finally slip and confirm the rumours about him selling information on one of Il Dottore’s gun research labs to a spy from Sumeru. Intel has it exchanges usually occur once every full moon and with the orb now hidden behind thick, black clouds, this is the last chance to get some evidence before the ship leaving to Sumeru carries whoever deserves a knife in their windpipe back to their God of Wisdom.

Baron Igor has messed up, got too arrogant, and now you and your team are here to make sure he eats up his mess. It wasn’t easy to infiltrate his mansion. Mitsuki only passed because you took out two of the other contesters for one of the Baron’s favourite restaurants down in Nowobirsk. That man bows to greed and when introduced to the place’s new maître d’hôtel—the best of his kind, the most exotic to own during their flimsy ceasefire with Inazuma—Baron Igor acted swiftly and hired him. Mitsuki had gagged at those words while lieutenant Scaramouche had shown the patience of a man barely holding himself back from violence. Two days later, Mitsuki took his position as spy and head waiter of the Baron’s personal restaurant taking up the whole second floor in the right wing of his stone mansion.

“Fuck me, I look like a penguin,” Mitsuki had said on the night before his work began at the estate, glaring at himself in the mirror dressed in a sharply tailored tuxedo.

“Then we know who to call if Baron Igor decides to open a zoo,” Mikhail had said, but he was in no hurry to turn away his appreciative gaze from how tight Mitsuki’s black pants tugged his slim legs and ass.

That’s the team, Mitsuki, you and Mikhail—Lock, Shock and Barrel, one of your fellow division’s comrade likes to call you for unknown reasons, simply laughing to himself and shaking his head as if trying to get rid of a good memory. Though for all that Scaramouche is concerned, to him you’re triple double and a clusterfuck he doesn’t want anywhere near him or so help him Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, he’ll stake your heads and scatter your remains to the seagulls terrorising the coast of Port Odessa.

“He loves us,” Mikhail likes to joke, even though you aren’t sure the words love and Scaramouche should be used in one sentence.

“One day, he’ll kill one of us with his bear hands and feel nothing,” Mitsuki commonly remarks, sounding like whatever you’d do to receive such a punishment is probably ghastly enough to justify being murdered.

“His hat is pretty neat,” is usually your only contribution and they both look at you as if you’re crazy.

“Any movement?” a voice asks from your right. Mikhail shakes still fresh snow from his head and shoulders as he dugs under the narrow doorway, looking like a puppy trying to shake itself dry. Now that a year has passed since a Geo Vision user crushed his right arm and healers had to amputate it to save his life, he’s adapted pretty well to only one arm and hand at his disposal. He’s balancing a cup in his palm while holding two paper bags with his fingers and somehow makes it look easy. He rejoins you at the window, carefully placing the steaming cup and one bag in front of you. You hand him your binoculars so he can see for himself, and inspect your breakfast. “Do I even want to know where you found,” you peak inside the bag, “pirozhky at a time like this?”

“Couple of blocks down there’s this place. Really nice lady, gave me one for free and added a little extra to our coffee.”

You take a sip, and instantly begin coughing and pounding your chest as it goes down burning. “Archons, that’s disgusting. Who in their right mind puts Fire-Water in their coffee?”

“I know, right?” Mikhail beams. “It’s genius.”

It’s ghastly. You take another sip. Horrible, really. But it keeps you warm and awake. So maybe it isn’t that bad at all.

While Mikhail observes the area, you dig into your beef and onion pirozhky. There’s nothing fun about pulling an all-nighter but sometimes sharing a cup of coffee and eating warm food helps to get through them. Also knowing someone suffers with you. Sharing pain is gain, after all.

“Well, they sure like taking their sweet time,” Mikhail mumbles, getting a little more comfortable on the cold stone ground. He puts the binoculars away and digs into his own food. “What are we gonna do if nothing happens today?”

“Then we’ll come back next month and do it all over again.” Hopefully you don’t have to. Fyrva’snezh was two weeks ago but this winter started off particularly brutal. Two out of three units are still missing from their outskirts training and you don’t want to be in the poor lasses’ and lads’ shoes who are still at the infirmary recovering from severe hypothermia. “What worries me more is that Mitsuki might lose his sanity if he stays there another whole month.”

“Well, what doesn’t kill him makes him stronger,” Mikhail says, wiping his greasy fingers off his pants. “I just want to wipe that smug smirk off the Baron’s pig face.”

He and probably every citizen populating Jaroslawk. “Once Mitsuki locates the communication point, we’ll go in and neutralise the target if we can’t catch him alive,” you say. “Baron Igor will try and weasel his way out of it but so far all evidence stands against him. The rest is up to Her Majesty.” And the Tsaritsa is known for many things, but mercy isn’t one of them. That will show anyone else trying to make business behind her back.

“Do you really think Mitsuki will endure another month in that stupidly tight uniform?” Mikhail sounds like he very much wished for another month out in the cold like this if it meant Mitsuki would bless him for a while longer wearing his uniform.

You stretch your leg and kick him in his shin. “Don’t jinx this, Nozhyalensky,” you say. “No matter how good his ass looks in those pants, it isn’t worth freezing your own ass off out in this cold. If we have to extend our mission, I’m going to steal your coat and own it for the whole time.”

“You don’t care if I freeze to death?”

“I really don’t.”

He puts his hand on his heart in mock despair. “That’s harsh.”

It would be his own fault, no hard feelings. You sit in silence, sharing your scalding hot coffee. In the mansion on the other side, a light flickers on in the east wing. Mikhail shifts and makes a disgusted grunt. “I did not want to know the Baron is banging the Duchess of Pavlovich.”

“Might be good leverage in the future.” You quickly dot it down in your notebook, squinting at the barely illuminated page. “Especially if the Duke refuses to pay his taxes again. I’m sure we can get to him through her.”

More minutes pass in silence. Mikhail continues his watch while you start to mindlessly doodle a little Foul Legacy Child in the corner of your page. You wonder what time it is in Liyue. Is Childe also out on a mission or tugged in and sleeping well in a land that knows nothing of harsh winds and freezing nights. Does he spare a thought of home? Is he missing you as much as you miss him or has he already filled the gnawing void with faceless, warm women that comfort him at night?

“Heard anything from our comrades in Liyue?” Mikhail asks nonchalantly, but he’s always been the poorest liar of you three and it’s pretty obvious where this conversation is going. Part of you hungers for that conflict.

“They still can’t find whoever killed the Geo Archon. But Lord Childe might have located the Gnosis and has begun his infiltration.”

Chances are good he might succeed in another month or so, though from the letters you’ve received so far, it sounds like he might succeed fucking the consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor before that. Tartaglia has never started anything serious with guys before, safe from occasionally drunk making outs, but new cultures could change a lot in you and it’s Tartaglia’s first time staying for so long in Liyue and meeting a man like this so called Zhongli.

Mikhail clicks his tongue in disgust. “I can’t believe this guy is over there for three months already and is still nowhere near finishing the job.” He spits at the ground and twists his mouth in a very familiar manner of annoyance—only usually this expression is meant for initiate Fatui members who can’t tell a shotgun from a sniper rifle.

“How can you still be mad at him for handing you your ass three years ago,” you say. A man’s ego is such a frail thing, thank the Tsaritsa for being a strong, independent woman.

“This isn’t about that stupid fight,” Mikhail splutters, red blotches creeping up his neck. His inability to lie is abysmal. “I don’t get how you stand that guy. His arrogance needs its own giant room to fit inside. Someone needs to knock him down a peg or two and maybe beat out this need to whore around as well—”

You move in a flash. Mikhail doesn’t have any time to react before he finds himself on his back, pinned down by your weight with a knife to his throat. “Mikhail, I love you like my own kin and you know I’d take a bullet for you any time,” you growl. “But speak another filthy word about Childe and I will cut off your tongue and feed it to street dogs while watching you bleed out like a slaughtered pig. Are we clear?”

You feel Mikhail’s chest rising and falling under your spread hand, his body warm, proof of his life. How easy it would be to take it from him, to warm the cold, dirty ground with his blood.

Mikhail’s dark eyes don’t give away anything. He’s holding very still, like a cornered animal faced with its hunter; don’t move and maybe it thinks one is dead. Eventually, he says quietly, “If you could see what an unlikeable, unpleasant person he really is, maybe...” He doesn't finish. There is no need to. You know very well what point he’s trying to make.

“I don’t need your supervision,” you say. “Or your pity.”

Mikhail barks a loud, humourless laugh. “Lassie, if I had an ounce of pity left for anyone else than myself, I wouldn’t be very good at this job, would I?”

You shift your weight. Mikhail groans as you put pressure on a wound a Pyro Vision user inflicted on him a week ago that hasn’t fully healed yet—a favour for Mikhail to prevent him from following his train of thought. You don’t know what is worse: His unrequited love for Mitsuki or Tartaglia and you knowing what you both want but can’t have.

Mikhail quietly says your name and gently lowers your hand. The sharp knife has bit into his skin just enough to leave a fine, red line on his throat. “All I’m saying is, I am not the bad guy here.”

He is right, of course. But that makes it even worse, because without a bad guy, who could you put blame on? Who would be the target of your frustration and your scorn? Who would pay for countless sleepless nights wasted alone or in a stranger’s arms?

If there is no good, no bad side, no villains or heroes to put blame on, what does that leave for you? Just the law. It is hard, but it is the law.

There is no one but yourself who carries the burden. Even knowing Tartaglia goes through the same doesn’t soothe the pain steadily growing in your heart. You’re like two stars gravitating to each other, seeking the sweet collision to finally become one and create something bigger, the most exquisite light in the endless black galaxy, but whenever you manage to come close to each other, other forces pull you apart.

You shift your position from towering above him to slumping back on Mikhail’s lap, your anger deflated like a balloon.

“Arguing with you is no fun,” you mumble, sheathing the knife back in its place inside your boot.

Mikhail arches one dark brow. “Learnt from the best. You don’t want to get into an argument with my mama.”

“Are you two leaving me out from a team bonding session?” comes a static voice from your left.

“Darling, we would never leave you out from a potential threesome,” Mikhail says back, a wicked grin flirting with his mouth.

“Blergh,” you groan in disgust and roll off him, grabbing for the plastic piece from where Mitsuki’s voice has sounded; Il Dottore’s newest invention, a voice transmitter agents use for long distance communication.

“So, how’s it cooking, good looking?” Mikhail asks, ignoring your eyes rolling back. “Anything new at the front?”

Mitsuki is silent for a moment. Somewhere, a dog barks. “I think someone might have tipped the Baron off.”

Immediately, you feel Mikhail's body tense next to you. “Do you need us to come in?”

Oppressive silence fills the room. Mikhail jerks, but before he can jump to rash actions, you grab his arm hard enough to bruise. He freezes, and you both stare at the voice transmitter in Mikhail’s hand.

A moment later, static crackles, and Mitsuki says, “I received a note on the caviar shipment. Roads are all clear, it should come in around seven in the morning.”

Mikhail relaxes, but a sweat bead rolls from his temple and disappears behind his black turtle neck sweater. He sags against you, exhaling very loudly.

A couple of years ago, after you three had been working together and hadn’t tried to kill each other as often as other teams, you guys had decided to come up with your own secret language for times like these. Mikhail had first complained about the hours put into learning it the most—the semantics always changing depending on what line of work you’d infiltrate—but eventually even he had agreed it was a pretty neat trick. What Mitsuki has said simply means all is in order and the mission is proceeding smoothly.

“Little fucker,” Mikhail grumbles, ruffling his own hair just to keep his hand busy. You agree. It feels like you’ve aged five years in those last five minutes.

That relief is short lived. A small explosion from the right wing inside the mansion lights up the night like a firework show. Mikhail is out of the window in a flash. You grab your rifle, keeping an eye on him as he crosses the street in a flash and climbs over the iron gate.

Two shadows tumble through the hole in the second floor. You sway your scope, laying eyes on Mitsuki as he wrestles with a cloaked figure. Purple sparks fly, clashing with crimson flames that rise skyward and turn into black smoke. At least something is according to plan even though your Cryo Vision would be more effective.

You watch them fight for a moment, unable to get a clear shot as both are short distance fighters. Mitsuki moves quicker than a flash, whirling two hatches over his head, parrying a deathly bow from the Sumeru’s Claymore. Mitsuki is smaller than most of his comrades. People like to underestimate him, but that’s part of the fun, according to him. Proving people wrong. He dodges another swift strike, rolling out of the way and giving you a clear sight at your target. But over his shoulder, Mitsuki catches your eyes and gives the tiniest shake of his head. Not yet.

You wish he could see the stingy eye you’re giving him right now. You’ve waited long enough out in this cold and your whole body shakes with the need to move, the need to fight. A quick look to Mikhail shows he’s fending off two of the Baron’s guards himself. Luckily, they can’t really hold their stand against a fully trained Fatui agent. He quickly takes out his opponents, closing in on Mitsuki and the Sumeru agent. Mitsuki has driven him to the edge of the forest. So that’s his plan. You wait until the spy is right beneath a long, thick branch, then pull the trigger. The shot is muffled by the silencer, slicing through the air with infused Cryo power. It hits its target, cutting the branch off. The Sumeru spy is too slow. When the branch buries him under its weight, Mikhail finally catches up to Mitsuki, and through your scope you can see him patting Mitsuki down for injuries. Mitsuki pushes him away, not hard or in a mean way, just enough to signal this isn’t the time. The job isn’t done yet.

Mitsuki advances the spy and kneels, looking for signs of life. He looks up, his dark eyes searching your scope. He holds your gaze, picking up his voice transmitter.

“I have good and bad news,” he says. “The spy is still alive, so we’ll get our answers. But now I’m pretty sure the Baron knows what’s going on.”

“Then don’t just stand there, someone go after him, quick!” you yell in your transmitter.

Before Mikhail dashes off, you hear him curse. “Lord Scaramouche is going to kill us.”

He will, considered this was supposed to undergo without the Baron noticing anything.

* * *

Dear little tygress,

forgive my horrible handwriting. I am still shaking from all the laughter your last letter gave me. Zhongli-xiansheng was actually worried for my wellbeing because I had choked on air and almost died. I swear, you will kill me one day, little tygress.

Speaking of little and potential lethal beasts, I’m surprised Scaramouche didn’t use your head as a toilet plunger. I really do think he's fond of you, little tygress. Any other team would be six feet under by now. You have to tell me your secret once I’m back. Scaramouche still doesn’t know I broke his favourite, ugly cup with the bear on the front from Fontaine, and I want to be prepared once he knows.

Everything is the same in Liyue, and at the same time, everything is changing. Rex Lapis’ murder is still unsolved, and I do enjoy watching the little traveller boy run around looking for answers. Once I return with the Geo Archon’s gnosis, dinner will be on me.

How are things at home? I hope Tonia hasn’t finished all mooncakes by herself again and saved some for the rest of the bunch. I can’t bear to hear Anthon cry again about me only sending sweets to Tonia and Teucer. Has the old man gotten in touch with you? He still doesn’t reply to me, but mama says he’s reading the letters. Maybe a bottle of Liyue’s Baijiu will loose his tongue, or hand for that matter. It’s almost as good as Fire-Water, promise.

Till next time and don’t get too much on little ‘Mouche’s nerves, otherwise there will be no room left for me.

Yours, Red Fox

__________________________________________________

please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #genshin impact #genshin impact childe #childe #tartaglia #genshin impact tartaglia #reader #reader insert #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact childe x reader #genshin impact tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you #childe x you #genshin impact tartaglia x you #genshin impact childe x you

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galesh · 3 years

Text

Wish fulfillment au of Severus who was born in Albus' Dumbledore's time. I just wanted to post it as a reply on a discord server but then it got out of hand. So

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- Two clever swots duking it out... in academics!

- Debating each other of old spells and whether or not they're dark and the librarian jinxing them out of the library with hexes for being too loud

- Albus and Sev rubbing their stung bums and arguing about the hexes the librarian used

- Albus and Sev both discovering they're poor halfbloods and railing against the arswholes in charge who think they can sting their bums and get away with it

- Them stinging each other's bums because it's a fascinating body part and maybe rubbing them with a different set of hands because maybe it'll help, and they're experimental

-Albus viewing the fascinating kid with so much dark potential with new eyes.

-Sev keeping an eye out for the twinkly eyed twit because it's unnerving, really, and because he always found the goodness in others fascinating. He doesn't believe he can emulate it, but maybe some would seep through him in osmosis. That's what that muggle book said anyway

- His ma always said he had a thing for redheads. He's starting to suspect her of practicing black magic

- Albus and Sev working on potions and transfig together because none of them can tell the other they're bloody brilliant and that they're fascinated, and could we just get to stinging bums and rubbing out the soreness please

- Sev visiting the Dumbledore's on summer break because his father is dead and his mother as good as, meeting the creepy girl creature because he's nosy and of course he'd look at the one room Kendra told him not to

- Abe running to Ariana's room because she screams bloody murder. It's only when he gets there that he realises that that bloody snake they let into their house is being accosted by a happily shrieking Arianna who wants to meet this strange new black haired scarecrow her brother likes

- The older one

- Sometimes, Arianna suspects

- Sev being horrified by Ariana's sad tale, and not wanting her to waste away, working with Albus to make sure she can get out

- Abe (begging to) help them because he really wants to, and because he doesn't trust the snake

- Sev learns Abe can't bloody spell after the third time.he has to squint if the bottle has fluxweed or filchweed (Dyslexia is not recognised yet, but it will be, in the muggle world) amd tries to help. It's more insulting than helpful, but he tries!

- Albus feverishly searching for a way to fix what those muggle boys and their mother's imprisonment and his neglect have wrought. Searching in the darkest grimoires, because really, what is honor and goodness if it can't even help his sister?

- Ariana getting her father's silver signet, carved with the runes of protection, family, forgiveness and renewal. They can't fix her magic, but the magic she once loved has caused her loved ones only harm, and really, it's time to stop listening to the voice inside her, who wants to rip her mother to shreds and burn the whole world down

- In the end it's abe, who comforted her when her mum looked at her with hate and Albus ashamed who puts her ring on as she says the words the runes describe. It's hard to forgive her mother and those muggle boys, but Arianna thinks they've suffered enough (it'll be years later that she realises that she left one person, but as she watches her daughter's delightful coo as she Dan's her nose with a glowing goden finger, she is only thankful that her lack of forgiveness didn't take all her magic away).

- She kisses her brother-in-law to be on the cheek, as is only proper for a member of family.

(Ariana has a very feeble grasp on social niceties. She tries, okay! You try learning everything from books while trapped in a cottage like a demented princess, with a brother who even she knows has an unhealthy fascination with goats who'd talk to her normally)

(Arianna's husband and her daughter, who she names Severus --because every universe must have a second child with a severusly controversial name -- would really come to fear her social skills, or lack thereof. Severus blames her godfather and her uncle with a the raging hate of a 10 year old who's been denied Uncle Sev's sweets)

- Sev and Albus competing for the top spot in the classes with professors and the bottom in the classes without

- Albus meeting Gellert in the evening he's supposed to leave for France and noticing the same dark charm. Severus noticing, but wanting to taint it than emulate it

- A black owl pooping on Gellert's golden hair because he Does Not Share!

- Albus sharing his plans to Change The World which would kill a girl with beautiful, uncontrolled magic and put a vengeful father in a prison of his own despair

- Sev agreeing to them and adding some rather inventive and cruel revenges he'd have on the Wankers who disowned his mother for following her heart

- Albus crossing out those points with eyes that twinkle in gentle admonishment, because really Severus, where would you even get a fully grown basilisk, and ignoring the calculating glitter he gets in return

- Abe following the idiots because Ari orders him to help the idiots and he can deny her nothing

- Gellert becoming a Light wizard after being at the wand end of a particularly dark spell (they teach *that* at Hogwarts, the light school!?!?!?!?) By a vengeful gargoyle after he drunkenly kisses*Bruder* Dumbledore

(years later, Headmaster Dippet can't figure out why his newest Dada teacher is so militant about students knowing everything about Dark magic and why some magics should never be studied, or why flinches everytime he sees a mistletoe. He has enough experience at 300 Not To Ask)

- Albus learning the most beautiful healing spell at the hands of a scowling-dark-phoenix with moist, angry black eyes after the 12th use of a dragon's claw soon after he discovered the 12th use of their blood

(Fawkes could never forgive Severus Snape for stealing it's thunder. Also he smells owl. They're the worst!)

-Severus stealing the Flamels' thunder by creating a philosophers stone after being at their home for a month.

(Perenelle suspects it's because Nicholas, who can be really old fashioned about these things, forbade their apprentice and that brilliant boy with no thoughts from rooming together)

- Severus lacing Albus' lemon drops with the elixir of life because clearly, that imbecilic martyr thinks dragon claw wounds are amusing

- Albus lacing Severus' tea with it because it would be such a horrible thing to live alone

(or without the one person who matters, no offence to his family. Oh, alright Abe, you're definitely not it!)

(the elixir of life prepared yearly mysteriously dissappears into tea and lemon drops. Albus stops worrying over Severus getting killed by vampires while he gets their teeth in exchange of galleons like a demented tooth fairy, and Severus stops worrying about Albus getting nicked by antsy Dragons or Phoenixes or Nifflers, or whoever Albus scraps with in his spare time)

- Albus putting his demented convoluted plans in motion by destroying wizarding currency through inflation. It somehow leads to a goblin revolution, equal rights for magical creatures, and the adoption of muggle currency. Don't ask

(Rumour has it that Gellert, Wizarding Britain's champion one look at the the scowling face of a Severus Snape and proposes negotiations.

Muggle currency was great, really. Made mathematical sense, easier to handle, and twinkly eyed not quite evil overlords can't dependably reproduce all the identifiers. They hope

Quite coincidentally, as Severus will assure you, all the pureblood families --including the Princes, coincidentally-- lose all their accumulated money in the resulting changeover.)

- Albus rules everything from behind the iron curtain with gentle fists and an open smile. Everyone learns to agree with him because behind him stands the spectre of DEATHOMgWatdidyoudo that you want to always keep happy)

- An excited Tom Riddle learns about magic from a charming Professor who's really interested in how he speaks, and who agrees that muggles are awful but keep it down will you?

- Tom Riddle learns to confide in and trust the person who introduced him to the magical world; and tells him when he accidentally discovers the chamber of secrets while hissing open at one of the taps in the girls loo that just wouldn't dispense water (he was under a lot of pressure okay! No, he's not a creep!)

- Tom Riddle grows up to be a politician with a particularly hard view on those muggles. Being backed by the Headmaster of Hogwarts helps. The society has made great strides in the concept of equality and democracy however, and most creatures really don't like him for some insane reason. Albus Dumbledore wins the elections by a landslide again. Tom is tenacious, and plots for when he'd get the position after the old man dies

(On his deathbed, Professor Emeritus of Hogwarts, Professor Tom, curses todgy old men with unnaturally long lifespans)

-Harry Potter, who grew up loved and a headmaster who didn't want to train him in any way, shape, or form (Harry was glad. Headmaster Grindenwald was nice and all, but he really didn't want to know all about the Dark arts and why not to use them kplzthnx). He went on to work at the ministry because his mother instilled in him values of fairness, kindness, and Get Out The House And Go To Work You Bum!

(He named

- Ariana's first kid is named after Abe. Her second is called Severus. Severus being a girl, never forgives her, and years later, when her son is born, names him Ariana with a vindictive gleam in her eyes.

(Ariana never really learned a the social niceties. They're horribly ineffective, and Abe tells her she's always charming in any case)

(Severus Smith is comforted by the fact that her godfather is a immortal wizard who gives her the best sweets)

- Severus and Albus never really fall out of love, even though they fall out of bed many times. They are a different breed of men, really. Eternal devotion means eternal devotion, as they find out. The Flamels' are happy they finally get to go on what the muggles call double dates.

- They also never stop stinging each other on the bum, but that is a rather more mature tale.

#pls ignore #severus snape #albus dumbledore #snumbledore #for spider #discord has a 2000 character limit #how rude

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writing-fool · 4 years

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mlqc | special kind of sadness

I’ve been having strange dreams lately. Maybe it’s because of the quarantine, or maybe because of my messed up sleep schedule. I don’t actually have severe nightmares, but somehow an idea for Victor + nightmares came up. It was going to be very short, so I included other types of comforting scenarios. Ahh...besides that, you might have noticed my url is writing-fool, right? It’s actually based off of a Korean song called Swimming Fool. But I think it fits with MLQC too, what with Lucien calling us ‘his little fool’ sometimes~ What a happy coincidence...

Love,

Warning(s): TW! Lucien’s scenario includes a panic attack.

Victor

You’re all about showing the world that you’re a grown woman with big girl pants on. You’re especially keen on proving to Victor that you can handle yourself, thank you very much. Even though he’s supposed to be your soft, loving boyfriend, he seems to grow stricter the longer you’re together.

“Really? You’re not capable of being a producer if you can’t even get these reports done.” Ouch. Your life doesn’t seem to be getting easier anytime soon.

So...you chalk it up as a grave, grave moment of weakness when you instinctively call his number at three in the morning, after waking up in a cold sweat. By the second ring, you regret your rash decision. What if he’s asleep? What if he thinks I’m some kind of weak child?

By the third, he answers.

“What. Why are you still awake?” His voice sounds as strict as ever. ‘Why are you still awake?’ is a question you would’ve asked if you were in a clearer mindset. Alas, this situation allows little clarity.

You decide against hanging up. I’m bothering him already, might as well apologise. “I-I must’ve misdialled. Sorry to bother you,” you mumble. You hate how your hoarse voice and ragged breaths betray the sobs that have barely subsided.

“...I’m coming over,” is all Victor says before abruptly hanging up.

It’s a twenty minute drive from his luxurious penthouse to your apartment, but you know he’ll make it in fifteen. Running to the bathroom, you try to fix your appearance to make you look more like a successful producer, and less like a woman gone mad. But while your hair can be combed down and your tears can be wiped away, nothing works against your bloodshot eyes, shaking hands and pale complexion.

The doorbell rings, and you’re in full panic mode. You really don’t want him to see you like this. But without him, you’re probably not sleeping tonight. Also, he’s here already. Wiping your sweaty palms on your pyjama pants one last time, you open the front door.

Even when he has his sleeves rolled up, shirt partly unbuttoned and hair mussed from running his hands through it, Victor is handsome. But today, you can’t bare to look at him. Your apartment floor suddenly seems incredibly interesting.

A small gesture encourages his entrance. The door is barely closed again, and he’s already got his arms wrapped around you, your face pressed against his chest. The warmth of his hug and his rapidly beating heart open the floodgates again, and while your boyfriend strokes your hair, you sob your fears out on his black dress shirt.

Later, when you’re both huddled in your queen-sized bed, he asks you why you didn’t tell him about the nightmare right away. “I thought you’d think I’m pathetic or something. You’re always so strict.” You look up at him, mouth formed into a small pout.

For a moment, he’s dumbfounded. Maybe he never considered the idea? Victor hesitates, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I’ll be more considerate from now on.”

And as Victor rubs your shoulder, legs intertwined with yours, you doze off under the cloudy night sky. But not before hearing his sweet whispers. “Lean on me more, next time. I’ll always be by your side.”

Lucien (TW: panic attack, minor mentions of death)

Disclaimer: I know this could be taken wrongly. I have no intention to romanticise mental illness. It isn’t something that makes you broken, nor is it a ‘fun’ or ‘special’ thing. The story is partially taken from my experience, so I know how this feels. I wrote this as a way to bring awareness in a light manner, and to show that sometimes, panic attacks can be alleviated with someone around. I hope it brings comfort to those who wish they had someone in moments like these.

Listening to Lucien’s lectures tends to transport you back to the time when you were still a university student. Ah, it is a nostalgic feeling. A part of you misses being in school; going out with friends, listening to the teachers drone on about various subjects, eating in the school’s cafeteria.

But if there’s one thing you don’t miss, it’s the immeasurable amounts of stress. So why is that the thing I’m reliving right now?

As a young adult, you struggled with anxiety and spontaneous panic attacks, rendering you vulnerable to a work overload. You’d think it’d gotten better, especially since you have to deal with a lot of projects as a head producer nowadays. However, it seems as though old habits do die hard...This week has been particularly taxing—emotionally, what with your father’s death anniversary, and mentally; an important and popular show just got compromised by one of the actors’ companies. All that, and the prospect of an even tighter schedule during Christmas season has sent you into a full-blown panic attack.

Your initial plan was to just...ride this one out. That’s what you always did as a child. In an hour or two, your hands will stop cramping, your tears will stop falling, your breathing will return to normal, right? But it seems fate, and Lucien, disagree. I forgot I gave him the key to my apartment.

Lucien senses something is wrong when you don’t come out to greet him by the door.

“My love? Are you alright?” he yells out. Hearing little besides your irregular breathing, he kicks his shoes off, speeding towards the living area. You’re sat on the white sofa, knees to your chest, shoulders heaving and thick tears streaming down your face.

Lucien’s brows furrow in deep concern as he kneels down by your form. Even though he’s right in front of you, your eyes do not meet his. You’ve gone too deep in your own shell to even be able to acknowledge his presence. A tentative hand removes one of yours from its tight grasp on your other arm, and Lucien lets out a sigh of relief as he feels your hand clutch his. He takes it as a sign to lift you fully into his arms, and takes a seat on the sofa.

“Breathe. In,” he mimicks a deep inhale, “and out.” Lucien blows out, repeating the motion a couple more times. He rubs your back and your hands, constantly alternating between helping you breathe and gently uttering soothing phrases.

“Easy, I’m here with you. Do you feel my heartbeat?” When your hands have finally relaxed out of their cramped up form, he presses one of them against his chest. The slow, rhythmic thumping grounds you. Lucien. A stiff nod from you makes a soft, wry smile appear on his face. “Good girl. You’re getting there, my dear. Just stay with me, here. You’re doing great.”

You don’t know how much longer you stay like that. All you know is that he stays with you through the entire attack. Hours later, you two are having a steaming cup of tea at the dinner table.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t want you to worry,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Don’t be ashamed of yourself,” Lucien’s violet eyes bore deep into yours, “Besides, how could I not worry when someone so dear is having a hard time?”

You shrug, a defeated look on your face. Your fingers fidget with the wood of the dinner table, until Lucien swiftly takes your hand in his again.

He sighs. “Take tomorrow off. I’ll take care of you.” Even though his tone is soft, Lucien leaves no space for argument. You know you should agree. There’s no way you could function properly if you were to go to work tomorrow.

“...Thank you.”

Lucien brings your hand to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses on your knuckles. “No thanks needed. You can be greedier with me.”

Gavin

There’s perhaps no person in the world who enjoys rejection. Sure, there may be those who bounce back quickly, those who see rejection as a new opportunity. But rejection, failure in itself, doesn’t evoke positive feelings.

As the producer of Miracle Finder, you’ve gotten used to rejection; it was hard to get the show back on track during the first year or so. Maybe you were arrogant, thinking it’d get better, or less painful, the more often you got rejected.

Things did get better, and last week you were even offered a deal with Loveland TV for a second weekly show. The company had seen the success Miracle Finder had, and had offered you the chance to come up with something wholly original. Something...you. That night, a mere week ago, you took the girls out for dinner and drinks. You were on cloud nine that day. In hindsight, maybe it was karma. Maybe I jinxed it. Cheered too soon, and all that.

This morning, you got a devastating e-mail that stated, in polite (but somehow still rude) terms, that your new show would not be broadcasted. The relaxed mood at the office rapidly turned somber once you mentioned the unfortunate decision. Your employees decided to give you some space afterwards. Not being able to stand the sadness, and feeling somewhat bad for them, you sent everyone, yes, including Anna, home early.

By three p.m., you’re the only one left at the office. You sit at your desk, head in your hands. I know it isn’t the end of the world...but right now, it almost feels like it is. With a deep sigh, you push yourself up, heading to the small kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. Maybe you’ll have a biscuit too. Anything to cheer yourself up.

Your mind automatically goes to Gavin, and without thinking it over too much, you dial his number. After a couple of rings, your call goes to voicemail. Stupid. He’s probably working. I’ll just leave a message.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I-uh, the thing I mentioned last week? The new show deal with Loveland TV? Yeah, that’s not happening,” your voice cracks halfway through the last sentence as you try to push down the disappointment that bleeds through, “I’m staying late today. Need some time to-to process things. I’ll be fine. Love you, hope you’re safe.”

Time passes agonisingly slowly, so slowly you might as well think Victor’s behind it, while you dive into a mountain of work. It distracts you from today’s events. but the lingering sadness is still present in the back of your mind.

Around eight, you start cleaning up your desk, shutting down your computer and gathering the papers. A knock on the window catches your attention as you’re about to head out. You turn around, noticing a tall figure on the balcony outside. Gavin! You hastily run back, opening the sliding door for Gavin to enter.

“Hi,” That’s the most awkward thing you could say. “I didn’t know you would come. Did you hear my message? You really didn’t have to...” you trail off when Gavin wordlessly opens his arms to you. His golden eyes look anywhere but you, and a slight blush is visible in the dark room, only illuminated by the bright lights outside.

You gingerly step into his arms at first, clutching the back of his signature denim jacket tighter as time goes on. A couple of stray tears that you’re not able to hold back create wet splotches on his shirt. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, your voice muffled by the soft fabric.

“No biggie. Are you feeling alright?” he asks you. A non-committal shrug is all you respond with. “I know it was a big project for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t really know what to do now.”

Gavin bends down a little, kissing the crown of your head. “You move on, and you don’t give up.”

You fall into comfortable silence. Gavin’s thumb rubs up and down your waist, soothing you. “...Have you ever been rejected?” you suddenly ask him.

Gavin chuckles. “Sure I have. I got rejected by my very first love.”

You raise your head to look up at him. Gavin sees his own reflection in your large, teary eyes, and smiles. “And what happened then?” you ask, your voice lightly tinged with jealousy. Who was his first love?

“Well, she’s in my arms now, isn’t she?” Even though he’s embarrassed to say the words, Gavin forces himself to look at you. At those eyes that shine with love for the world, for him.

Bonus:

“Come on, I’ll take you home.” you pull out of the embrace to get your coat by the coat hanger, opening the door to head out again, like a normal person.

“How? You didn’t come here by bike, did you?”

Gavin’s already facing the window again, but he turns back with a smirk, holding his hand out to you. “I never said we were going by bike.”

“Gavin, no, babe, no, no, nonononononono—Aah!!” Your protests are cut short as Gavin swoops you into his arms bridal style and flies off. The wind rushes past your ears, almost making you miss Gavin’s gleeful laugh. “Gavin! I didn’t lock the doors!”

Kiro

On many occasions, you’re envious of Kiro’s Evol. But even without his Evol, Kiro is so bubbly and kind, you can’t help but like him. You sincerely wish you had that ability. And I know I’m supposed to make my own wishes come true, but I can only do so much to make people like me. I’m not going to bend over backwards and become a pushover just to be liked.

Still, it hurts when people are purposely mean to you. Especially during high school reunions. You were by no means a popular kid growing up...but you didn’t think that some people would still be stuck in a high school mentality. You held your own during the reunion, ignoring the backhanded compliments and blatantly condescending insults in favour of catching up with your old friends. Yet, all you can think of on the drive home are the negative comments.

“Oh, you still can’t drink alcohol? Seems like ‘someone’ hasn’t grown up yet!”

“You’re the producer of Miracle Finder? I hate that show, it’s so unrealistic.”

“Isn’t that a kids’ show?”

“My, you look adorable! My daughter also likes to wear those types of clothes, you know, to go play at the park.”

I can’t believe I missed game night with Kiro for this. With a terrible mood, you shuffle into the house. Kiro’s on the sofa playing A Chinese Ghost Story, a bag of chips on the coffee table in front of him. He turns to greet you with a smile, but it quickly falls after seeing your somber expression.

“Welcome home Miss Ch—eh? What’s wrong?” Kiro takes his headphones off to stand up in front of you. His hands instinctively move to your waist to pull you close.

“How was the gathering?” he asks carefully. His eyes are big, just like a puppy’s. Had you felt better, you would’ve commented on his cute appearance.

It’s as if that question flips a switch. “It was horrible!” you sniffle.

“Wha—Miss Chips!” Kiro grows panicked at your sniffles and sobs, and roughly pulls you to his chest. You retaliate by hugging him tightly, crying all your frustrations out on his shoulder.

Somehow, you move into a cuddling position on the living room sofa. You straddle his slender legs and his arms are wrapped around your torso, rubbing comforting circles on your back. Pulling away from his embrace, you start ranting about the terrible evening.

“...and I don’t even know why I’m this upset! It’s so frustrating. I’ve worked so hard to become who I am today, and the moment someone says something to me, I just break down. Maybe I am a child,” you look up at Kiro, eyes wide and brimming with tears, “Kiro, am I a child to you?”

Kiro chuckles. “Well, Miss Chips...sometimes you can be childish,” you jut your lip out in a pout, “b-but I’m childish too! And there’s nothing wrong with that. Some people want to grow up too fast, so they drink alcohol and dress up in dark colours and stiff fabrics to feel properly imprisoned in the ‘harsh adult world’. But most of us could be happier if we just...let our inner child out.”

He cups your cheek. “Never be ashamed of being childish, Miss Chips. It doesn’t make you a child,” a mischievous grin appears on Kiro’s youthful face, “Besides, I wouldn’t do this if I thought of you as a child!”

With the hand on your cheek, Kiro draws your face closer to his. Your lips meet in a swift kiss that takes you by surprise. He swallows the startled gasp that escapes your mouth, retaliating by slowly swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You can feel him smile into the kiss as you lean into it, closing your eyes. Your tears are long forgotten as you tangle your hands in Kiro’s blond locks. Slowly, you part your lips, allowing Kiro’s tongue to slip into your mouth. The teasing flicks of his tongue make you go weak, and he chuckles when your grip on his hair loosens.

Kiro notices you’re growing light-headed, so he gives you time to regain your breath while he peppers little kisses on the corners of your mouth and on your swollen lips. You kissing demon.

His satisfied hum is disrupted by a vicious punch to the chest. “Ah! Miss Chips, why would you hit me?” It’s Kiro’s time to pout now.

“Who told you to do that?! You’re so sly, it’s unfair!” you scold him, cheeks flushed a bright red.

“Yes, yes,” he pets your head, “but it helped, right? You’re not upset anymore, right?”

Your face scrunches up. “I guess not...I’m still mad at you for surprising me like that,” Kiro giggles, “But thanks.” His smile is contagious, and soon you’re both in a giggling fit.

When the giggles have subsided, Kiro pushes you back into his chest. As he snuggles into your shoulder, he whispers in your ear. “Don’t worry. Every time you feel sad, I’ll be there to cheer you up.”

I’m not saying dark clothes are bad! I have a black wardrobe myself...but we all need to remember that we don’t need to be so hard on ourselves sometimes.

For some reason I’ve never properly depicted kissing like that in my writing. Ehhh, forgive me if it’s bad. Little note...do you guys know what Chinese drama ‘A Chinese Ghost Story’ is featured in?

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

On This Night and in This Light (3/3)

Emma Swan knows she’s pretty good at what she does.

Helping the magically afflicted and affected find jobs in this realm isn’t the most glamorous thing in the world, and, sure, there’s a lot of paperwork, but she figures she’s helping people and that’s the important thing. It’s structured. Calm, even.

Until. It’s always until.

Killian Jones shows up with his stupid smirk and his tendency to lean against the door frame in Emma’s office and his distinct lack of magic. Or knowledge of what they’re really doing at Mills Personnel. Everything kind of goes off the rails after that.

—-

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 6.5K of magic and eventual happily ever after

AN: There’s some magic here. Some kissing. Some curses. And happily ever after, of course. Thanks for reading along with this little distraction from the legitimate stress of the real world. You guys are all an absolute delight.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the top

—-

“Are you good?” Tilting her head up to meet Killian’s vaguely crinkled forehead and passably confused expression, Emma almost regrets the question she didn’t plan on asking. That’s the problem with him. And them, at least in the abstract sense.

Words tumble out of her without much thought to their meaning or collective, if not slightly metaphorical, weight. Defenses she’s spent a lifetime cultivating feel as if they’ve crumbled at her feet, which is impressive since she’s laying down, but the metaphor still checks out and Emma keeps asking questions.

Without being wholly afraid of the answers she’ll get.

“Be more specific,” Killian murmurs, and her heart does something stupid. Skips a beat. Sparks her magic. Threatens to leave her glowing in the tangle of sheets she’s absolutely stolen in the middle of the night.

“Just—I mean with everything.” Nosing at her cheek, Emma can practically hear Killian’s smile. “‘Fraid that’s not any more specific, my love. But if we’re going to speak in the abstract before coffee—” “—Oh, we should make coffee.” He kisses her cheek, that time. “Then I am exceptionally good.” “Pretty vast adverb.”

“Well, you asked a very broad question. But I stand by my answer, particularly when you’re not wearing any clothing. Why, am I giving off not-good vibes?” “Maybe lame ones if you keep using the word vibe in actual conversation. I just—I don’t know, wanted to make sure, I guess. Working for Mills isn’t exactly the height of luxury and it can be a weird place, and I...we never really looked at apartments for you, because we can do that if you want to, but—” Stumbling over the words, Emma wishes her hands were free. She’d like to wave them around. Use them as a distraction to whatever has settled on her face and in the pit of her stomach, and this wasn’t really the plan. Granted, the plan occurred while she was overly exhausted and reeling a bit from rather large emotional realizations, but telling him the truth about absolutely everything is suddenly a bit more daunting in the light of day.

And they haven’t even had coffee yet.

Killian’s hand moves. Faster than Emma’s entirely ready for, his fingers brush a strand of wayward hair away from her eyes and then he’s kissing the bridge of her nose and pulling her against his chest and—

“This was not my plan. In some great expectation for my life, I’m not sure I could have ever imagined this is what it’d be like. But,” Killian adds, as soon as Emma’s magic shifts into something far closer to dread, “if all of this ended with your freakishly cold feet waking me up every morning, then I can’t be very upset about it.”

Swooning pre-coffee can’t be advisable. Emma’s heart doesn’t care. It flips and flops and does that possible explosion thing again, and she’s a little concerned the force of her smile will have adverse effects on the paint in her bedroom.

“You don’t think Mills is weird?” “Do you?” Emma shakes her head. “Nah, no questions for questions. This is—” “—An inquiry?” Her shoulders slump. Under the blankets, and she’s really got a shit ton of blankets. “I don’t know, Swan. Mills is...a place, a job. One where you work, and that’s mostly why I’m interested in continuing to work there. Should I not be thinking that?” The last few words come with a bit of understandable concern and maybe a hint of frustration, and she should have said something earlier.

It’s very frustrating to realize how much smarter the part-time cricket is than Emma.

She hopes he’s enjoying his job, too.

“My feet aren’t really that cold.”

Killian scoffs. “I promise, they are like little ice cubes attached to your legs.” “Lucky you’re here to provide external heat, then.”

Burrowing her face closer to the crook of his neck, Emma gives herself a moment to relish in that warmth, like he’s some sort of personal sun or a battery or another bit of science she doesn’t understand and David always likes to say that science is just explained magic. Emma wonders if it works the other way, too.

Magic is something that simply hasn’t been explained yet. No rational reasoning, or anything except the kind of gut feeling that can change everything.

“I am,” Killian says, and it probably isn’t meant to sound like a promise. “Are you good?” Dots of light appear behind Emma’s eyelids every time she blinks, trying to come up with an answer that won’t send him running and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he runs. Energy prickles at the tips of her fingers, curling around either one of her wrists and lingering in the slight bend of her left elbow because at some point her left palm has flattened itself against Killian’s stomach. “Mills can be kind of weird,” Emma mutters, trying to pick her words more carefully now. “And that’s...there’s a reason for that, and a reason I started working there and—” A phone starts vibrating.

Loudly enough that it also immediately falls from the nightstand it was charging on, and keeps buzzing around on the floor. Killian sighs.

“Hold that thought.”

Emma wishes she could. But her hands are already back underneath the blankets, and she’s all too aware of how bright they’ve gone in the last few seconds and the state of Killian’s shoulders make it obvious he’s not all that pleased with whatever he’s being told. “Yeah, yeah, I can—I mean, it’s like twenty blocks the wrong way, but—God, yes, Scarlet. I can come back for a few minutes.”

He doesn’t bother to plug the phone back in, and for like a solid half second Emma gets distracted by the lack of clothes before her eyes fly up and Killian’s sighing again and the weight in the pit of her stomach grows.

“Coffee later?” Emma blinks. “Sure. Is everything ok?” “No idea, just that Scarlet said he had to talk to me and it couldn’t wait and—” Killian shrugs, fingers finding the back of his neck. “I probably won’t be that late, but if Regina asks—” “—I’ll tell her.” Something tugs at the back of her mind, a warning Emma can’t place, but she can sense a lie with almost startling accuracy and she knows Killian isn’t lying to her. She just can’t figure out why Will would lie to him.

Halloween’s not her favorite day.

People assume all magical and mythical creatures thrive on this one day of the year, but more often than not Emma finds that it’s just another busy day when those same magical and mythical creatures come out of the metaphorical woodwork in droves to get jobs. And sure, some of the rumors are true. There are certain times when the fabric between realms can be a bit more flimsy than usual. Both midnights, for example. Eleven-eleven’s another big one. So, teenage girls had that one right, at least.

And yeah, ok, Halloween also means Regina bakes half a dozen apple pies for the whole office, but when the whole office is already overrun by inquiring applicants, Emma can’t find it in herself to be very excited for a dessert she only kind of likes.

She’d never admit that to Regina.

Self-preservation instincts, and all that.

Plus, days like this are always cold. Fraught with that certain nip in the air, and leaves that crunch under Emma’s boots. Only to also get stuck to the bottom of Emma’s boots, and she has to twist her wrist to get rid of her leaf-based trail on her way to her paperwork-covered desk.

The same one David’s leaning against.

“You tell him yet?”

She missed one leaf. Figures. Emma never even went trick-or-treating as a kid. Halloween’s a sham. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” “Sure you don’t. It’s dumb that you haven’t yet.” “Voice your opinion a little louder, please.” “Nothing is going to happen,” David says, but Emma barely hears over the sound of sudden and complete disagreement that scratches its way from the depths of her soul. Maybe Halloween makes her a little maudlin, actually. She can’t believe she didn’t get to tell him. “It hasn’t yet.” “Why are you jinxing things like that?” “There is no such thing as jinx, and c’mon, if you guys can get through today with a hundred magically unemployed people, then sky’s the limit.” “Not even clever.” David shakes his head. “You’re impressed and swayed, I know it. Plus it’s not like you’re a bad witch or anything.” “I’m sorry, a bad witch?” “Yeah, you know. None of your intentions, even when lying to the guy you’re stupid into—” “—Opinions keep coming fast and furious, don’t they?” “Because he’s right,” Ruby calls, twisting around desks to involve herself in a conversation Emma doesn’t want to participate in anymore. “You really didn’t tell him yet? That’s nuts. And you’re a good person, Em. With a very good looking face. Who wouldn’t want to make out with that? Ad nauseum.” “I’m going to be honest, using a word that sounds like nauseous isn’t helping your case much,” Emma says. “And I’m going to tell him. I am, just—things got crazy this morning.” Ruby howls. With laughter. Drawing more than a few curious stares, and rather pointed glare from Regina’s direction. David pales noticeably. “Did they?” Ruby presses. “How crazy are we talking and was it also vaguely acrobatic, because I feel like Jones could move if he had to, but that’s strictly theorizing on my part, so—” Sentences without end are quickly becoming Emma’s least favorite thing. Only slightly edging out ringing phones. The one on her desk lights up, which doesn’t happen very often, but she can’t imagine the light is supposed to be green.

David’s talking. She’s dimly aware of it — the soft hum that sounds more like Charlie Brown’s teacher than any of the human characteristics Emma is certain they both have, and that’s another quasi-Halloween reference. Rocks appear to have landed rather forcefully in her stomach, and that’s what she gets for optimism.

“Swan,” Killian breathes, as soon as she pulls the phone to her ear. “Swan, Emma listen to me, you can’t—” Seriously, the lack of sentence structure is becoming intolerable. Killian grunts, the sound turning into a gasp almost immediately and a few shouted no, no, no leave them alone and Emma doesn’t remember standing.

Only that she’s knocked her chair over in the process.

“Is this Ms. Swan?” a new voice Emma almost recognizes asks. “Because it seems I’ve got something of yours, while you have something I’m particularly interested in. Let’s make a little exchange, shall we?”

It’s disappointing that her mouth goes dry. Emma assumes that’s because she’s all but panting, bent awkwardly over her desk while her eyes scan the room for something or someone and—it clicks. The voice.

“Zelena. This is Zelena, isn't it?” Both David and Ruby make matching noises of disbelief, but the buzzing is back and Regina is moving and the line’s gone dead anyway. “She’s not supposed to be here,” Regina says with enough calm that it grates on every single one of Emma’s already-fraying nerves, “magical control sent her back to Oz.” Emma can’t cope with this. Any of it. All she wanted was to drink coffee with her decidedly human and very normal, if not ridiculously attractive boyfriend and they’ve never actually used relationship qualifiers.

That’s disappointing.

“Right, right, yeah, ok, of course” Emma mumbles, and she doesn’t bother to fix her chair. “Happy fucking Halloween, I guess.”

It takes her all of five minutes and one person dressed in costume to realize that running is absolutely and completely pointless.

Emma’s a goddamn witch.

And it’s raining.

Drops slide down her temples, drip down the back of her neck and work under her jacket because she never even got the chance to take her jacket off. Which is something of an exceptionally small miracle now, but she’s already cold and she’s always so fucking cold and—

He called her Emma.

He called her—

“My love,” she whispers, entirely to herself and that part isn’t really true. Shadows hover just outside the edge of her vision, what Emma knows are her friends waiting for instructions or a plan, and she’s got to come up with a plan and she doesn’t know where Belle and Will live.

She doesn’t have to.

Reaching her hand back, Emma’s fingers lace through Regina’s, and her soft instruction of “all instinctual,” doesn’t get lost in the hum of the city or the bustle of a holiday that requires masks and chocolate-based gluttony. It takes root. In Emma’s mind, and those same pieces of her soul, finds the tiny bits of space between her stomach rocks and spreads out from there.

Warming her from the inside out.

She closes her eyes.

“What the fucking fuck?” Will shouts, Emma’s feet slamming into hardwood floor that was probably highlighted in this apartment listing. Eyes bugging, he’s plastered to the wall opposite her, and Emma’s pleasantly surprised to find he’s not gagged, but she also kind of figures it’s because Belle is and there’s something inherently villainous about allowing the love interest to make noise while their partner is being tortured.

By a woman wearing a pointed witch’s hat. “Kind of cliché, isn’t it?” Ruby muses, and Emma’s not surprised they’ve started their rescue mission with sarcasm. She also can’t respond. Her eyes are too busy trying to take in the scene.

Stacks of books litter the floor, half the living room furniture on its side as if it’s been knocked over in a fit of inevitably-magical rage, and Belle doesn’t look as scared as annoyed that she’s been bound in one of the few upright chairs. Emma’s heart stutters. Catching her breath is impossible, head on a swivel as she tries to find—

“Killian,” she exhales, and he’s not gagged either. No visible restraints keep him a few feet away from Will, but Emma can feel the magic rippling off him and it smells strongly of bitter lemons. Or expired key lime pie.

Neither of those things are inherently Halloween, or all that magical. But then Zelena’s turning slowly and the green splotches on her face ensure any attempts at passably funny metaphors or desperate attempts to maintain her sense of reality disappear.

“Huh,” David says, “that’s new, actually. We ever see anyone change color before?”

Regina clicks her tongue. “She’s not changing color. She’s giving in.” “To what, exactly?” “Jealousy. Isn’t that right, Zelena? Been the crux of the problem forever, hasn’t it?”

Emma’s head is spinning. She’s not moving. “Wait, wait, what the fuck is going on?” One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up, amusement in his gaze and that can’t possibly be right. “You are stuck to the wall, idiot!’ “Oh, Swan, you do know how to flatter a man.” “What is happening?” He can’t shrug, but Emma knows he tries and that should not be as charming as it is. Mary Margaret squeezes her hand. The one that’s almost neon. “Turns out Scarlet didn’t actually want to talk to me this morning. We definitely could have had coffee.” “Is that a euphemism for—” Ruby starts, only to snap her jaw closed when Regina gapes at her. Emma’s starting to lose feeling in her fingers.

And she sees the exact moment any sense of teasing and entirely false bravado leaves Killian. Lips going thin, his shoulders still don’t move, but Emma swears his fear reverberates through her and that’s not the emotion she was interested in sharing that morning. “You’ve got to get out of here, love. Now, it’s—” Zelena’s hand moves so quickly, it’s not much more than a passably-green blur. Nothing else comes out of Killian’s mouth. His jaw moves, working against a shield none of them can see, and Emma’s stomach is somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.

Even with all those rocks.

“How did you get back here?” Regina asks, stepping towards the front of their ragtag group. Fire bursts from her hands, flames that flicker up her forearms and draw another grunt out of Will. Whether it’s surprise or just the generic sound of being impressed, Emma’s not sure.

Bits of green cling to the end of Zelena’s mouth when she smiles. “Shall I start at the beginning, then?” “God yes, please,” Emma sighs.

Zelena doesn’t take her hat off. Really, she’s almost making it work for her. As far as costumes go, this one’s kind of basic, but there’s no cape or a broomstick and Emma’s never met a witch who was interested in flying a broom anywhere.

“Wanted to stay conspicuous, you understand,” Zelena says, “Draw too much attention to myself and—ah, well, that’s not what’s important now.” “What?” “Why you, Emma Swan. Obviously.” “This isn’t the beginning,” David mumbles, and both Emma and Regina shift before Zelena can so much as lift her chin. One of the windows on a different wall flies open, half a dozen pigeons descending on the living room and nipping at the ends of Zelena’s hair. They pull on the sides of her dress and peck at the green spots that are growing on her cheeks.

Whistling, Mary Margaret jerks her head and the pigeons fly away, looking a little like an avian synchronized swimming team. “Leave him alone.”

“Shit,” Ruby says, “that was impressive and aggressive. Ignore the rhyme.”

Emma tilts her head. “Slant rhyme, right? Can’t rhyme matching sounds.” Someone makes a noise — it comes from the general direction of Killian and Will, but it can’t be Killian and Emma wants it to be him anyway. Zelena doesn’t look very impressed with any of them. That’s fair, it’s probably frustrating to have your monologue interrupted so often.

“If you don’t mind,” she sneers, Emma waving her free hand like she’s capable of giving the bad guy permission to keep talking. “It had been quite some time since I’d been in this realm, and plenty of things had changed. More magic, a certain kind of power that hung in the air. Energy that could change the course of everything, strong enough that it could probably rewrite time itself if it wanted to. And I want it to.” “To what?” “Were you not listening? Rewrite time.”

Breathing out of her mouth is not attractive. It’s loud and makes Emma’s tongue feel larger than it actually is, especially when she has to keep using it to lick her lips. “That’s—that’s insane. You’re insane. You didn’t just want to get a normal job? I mean...you were at Mills. I saw you.” “Power of the Universe at my fingertips and you think I’d be satisfied with a normal job? No wonder you have no idea what you are. Which,” Zelena glances meaningfully at Killian, “means you, Emma Swan, are the reason I’m here.” “Speak English!” Zelena huffs. “I am. What I felt when I returned to this realm? It was you, my dear. Your power, your magic, your ability. And, yes, I could have given into the hum-drum existence of this place and the structure of Mills Personnel, but where exactly is the fun in that?”

Emma hopes she’s not expected to answer. She doesn’t have one. It’s entirely possible she’s going to snap several of Mary Margaret’s fingers in half.

“Anyway,” Zelena continues, “locating that power wasn’t easy, but Regina Mills’ ability to make things happen is legendary. Finding a person’s niche, that’s her greatest talent. And so I did come to Mills, looking for a position that would help me get the rest of the requirements.”

Ruby keeps shaking her head. Emma can’t seem to move. Or breathe. Her eyes keep darting back towards Killian, trying to make sure he’s breathing or reacting in a way that doesn’t threaten to make her cry. Nothing.

He’s plastered to a wall with magic, of course not.

“You see, a time spell is one of the more complex out there. Need all sorts of things in addition to the kind of magic that can fuel it. Which is what I wanted when I got to Mills. Hoped I could get placed in a hospital or something of the sort.”

On the increasingly small scale of things that surprise Emma, that somehow makes the cut. “You need, like, an IV drip or something?” “A baby,” Zelena replies easily, and Belle whimpers against the gag. “Pure of spirit, you understand. Other things too. Courage, wisdom, maybe a heart if I could get lucky—” “—An actual heart?” Will balks. “Spend a lot of time in Wonderland, did ya?” “I mean, she could probably get the heart in the hospital too if she wasn’t picky about her choices,” Ruby reasons, and this whole thing is absurd. Maybe that’s the theme for Halloween as a whole, though.

More of Zelena’s face is green.

“I had hoped I’d get someone competent who could help me. Or even the source of the power. Naturally,” she jerks her head in Killian’s direction, “I ended up with this sot. Who suggested working at a clinic or agreeing to something called an orderly position. Well, I knew he wouldn’t help me, but I did get something out of it. I knew you were there, Emma. And—” Zelena’s eyes rove towards Belle, and the hands collapsed over the front of her stomach. Realization crashes over Emma in waves, the rocks disappearing only to be replaced with a bone-deep chill that douses any bit of light in her. “So I do have a few options for you all now.” “What are you trying to fix?” “Hmm?” “Fix,” Emma repeats, “or change, I guess. I mean—that’s not how life works.” Zelena hums in what can only be passing interest and something almost like an agreement. “Seems unnecessary to tell you my whole plan, but when it works it won’t make much of a difference. I want to get rid of the girl. That nasty little thing that fell in Oz and ruined everything. Robbed me of my chance to prove myself, claimed there had to be good witches and bad witches and you’re absolutely right, Ms. Swan. That’s not how life works. Nothing is quite so cut and dry as all that.”

Words hang off the tip of her disgustingly dry tongue. Want to be said and proclaimed, and for all the mistakes Emma has made — good and bad, right and wrong, trusting and the opposite, she’s happy to find she’s not particularly interested in changing them.

Not if she ends up here.

Well, maybe not here—with her boyfriend, they’ll get to that eventually, magically silenced and Belle doing her best to glare daggers at the half-green witch who commandeered her living room, and Ruby’s teeth are definitely getting longer. But maybe here-adjacent. With people who care about her, who followed her without question or thought and the guy who is still somehow staring at Emma like he’s got every intention of keeping her feet warm.

Ad nauseum.

“I’m not really interested in anything you need.”

Disappointment flashes across Zelena’s face, only to immediately morph into something much closer to fury. “Hero types, always so sanctimonious. That’s why I said several options. It’s one now, but—” Flicking her wrist, Killian slides down the wall in what Emma knows isn’t actually slow motion. Still, the amount of time it takes for his knees to crash to the ground seems to last forever and Zelena doesn’t try to stop Emma from rushing forward.

Eventually, she’ll realize why.

“Regina discovered what I was trying to do,” Zelena explains, “my fault. Kept coming back to Mills, demanding better placement and as much as it pains me to admit she’s smart...well, she sent me back to Oz.” “So how are you here?” Mary Margaret demands.

Emma doesn’t need that answer, either. Halloween is a bullshit, overrated holiday. Pulling Killian close to her, he’s far too limp and impossibly silent, and Emma barely spends a moment thinking about either of those things before she’s kissing anywhere she can reach, mumbling apologies and half-explanations into his skin and—

“Ah, I’d be careful if I were you,” Zelena says, a soft lilt to her voice that rattles down Emma’s spine. “See, your option is to give me your magic, Ms. Swan. If you won’t do it willingly, I’ll take it by force.” “I don’t—”

Movement catches Emma’s attention, the soft flutter of fingers across her back and she has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. At first. All it takes is a few seconds, and that’s probably another sign. She hopes so. Tracing letters on her jacket, Killian’s eyes flutter shut like he’s exhausted and determined not to sleep and— “No,” Emma exhales, but Zelena’s smile looks victorious. It’s too late. They’re too late. And there’s nothing they can do to change that.

Slumping against her, Killian’s eyes don’t open again. His breathing evens out, and Emma supposes that’s something of a very twisted victory because he isn’t dead, but he’s even more obviously sleeping and sleeping curses are notoriously hard to break.

“Especially when they so often require a kiss,” Zelena grins. “True Love, and all that. So let me ask, Ms. Swan. Do you think what you and the plebe have is True Love and, more importantly, will you be willing to sacrifice your magic for it? Because the only way he’s waking up is with a kiss and the next time you kiss him, you’ll lose your magic.”

To suggest that it kind of all goes to shit after that is something of an understatement.

Light pours out of Emma, unsteady legs under her even as she juts her chin out. To her credit Zelena doesn’t back down. She stands there and she turns a bit more green, and magic is so goddamn weird. Emma’s also never been in a magic fight before.

Spending so long hiding that part of her — certain it was going to be the reason everyone left, the opportunity never really presented itself. Fighting for the sanctity of time itself and Killian’s consciousness seems as good a reason as any to flip the script, so to speak.

Heat races through Emma, wind swirling at her ankles as frames clatter to the ground. Shards of glass fly on the manufactured breeze, Mary Margaret darting towards Belle and David sprinting towards Will, and it’s something of a confidence boost when they’re both able to pull them away from the battle.

Although Emma can’t really believe she thought the word battle, even in her head.

“Not exactly the magical dominance you were bragging about, huh?” Emma quips, twirling a finger in the air. Bands of light circle Zelena’s calves, twist up her legs and turn her answering laugh into a gasp that also does dangerous things to Emma’s ego.

“I never—” Zelena grunts, twisting against bonds that don’t even flicker. “—You were the powerful one, I thought I made that blatantly obvious.” “I mean,” David shrugs.

Ruby nods. “She did kind of, Em. That’s true.” “Whose side are you on?” Emma snaps, but the retreat back to absurd is almost comforting in a familiar, banter-filled sort of way.

“Please,” Regina sighs. Her hands are on fire. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and I know you claimed you didn’t have to tell Killian the truth before.” “Yeah, well, cat’s pretty much out of the bag on that front, don’t you think?” “Flew out on pigeon’s wings, I think.”

Laughter has no place in a moment when Zelena’s entire face has turned green, and her own fireballs are threatening at her palms, but Emma can’t help herself and maybe the dumbest thing she’s ever done was suggest Killian shouldn’t have worked at Mills. Or that she couldn’t be head over heels in love with him.

That helps, honestly.

“You’re not getting my magic,” Emma announces, all too sure she sounds as ridiculous as she feels. Heroic soliloquies are also overrated, it seems. “And you’re not getting Killian or—God, were we actually talking about Dorothy that whole time?” Zelena snarls. That must be the response.

“Well, you’re not getting her either. Sneaking back here on Halloween was dumb. Trying any of this was ridiculous and threatening Killian was the worst of all your ideas. Because—” Emma takes a step forward. Nothing shakes. If anything her knees almost lock out, the hair falling over her shoulders noticeably brighter than usual and Zelena recoils. Seriously, her confidence is through the roof. “Magical job placement might be boring, and it might have a shit ton of paperwork, but it’s also a chance to help people and that’s...that’s the point, isn’t it? Finding that sense of belonging? Giving a person a chance. Being able to—” “—Fall in love,” Mary Margaret cries, scrunching her nose when Regina and Ruby shush her. “I mean…that’s what it is, isn’t it? Love’s not a weapon. It makes Emma glow.” And that makes Emma curse. “Maybe we phrase it differently?”

“Maybe we worry about language once we actually defeat the witch, huh?” Regina challenges, and that seems like a legitimate plan.

Balls of fire fly through the air. Ricochet off Emma’s lights, and every window flies open as Mary Margaret calls upon not only pigeons but what look like several sparrows and a few nightingales if the sounds they’re making is any indication. Leaves swirl around the room, partially from the actual wind and also from whatever Emma is apparently capable of.

A lot more than she thought, honestly.

Warmth rises in her spine, sets her shoulders in a straight and determined line and she gives Will an appreciative smile when he pulls Killian out of the fray. Only to immediately jump back in, ducking and twisting and there’s a lot more cardio involved than she thought, but then a flash of magic nearly singes her ear and Emma’s thankful for her own agility.

She moves. Refuses to back down, ignoring the growing ache in her muscles and the weird popping thing her hip is doing. And Zelena starts to cower. In an especially villain-type of way.

Backing into the nearest wall, she stumbles over her feet as light tightens around her. It pins her arms to her side, curls around her ankles and guarantees she can’t run away when Emma stalks forward.

With a smile on her face.

Oz authorities appear at eleven-eleven, which seems to suggest it is somehow still morning and Emma cannot rationalize that at all.

They thank Emma for containing the fugitive, nod towards Regina and well—that’s that. Leaving the rest of them in a slightly singed apartment with pillows that somehow haven’t burst, and what feels like a distinct lack of oxygen.

“So,” Will drawls, “what do we do now?” He doesn’t have to look at Killian. The still-sleeping form is the far-more-attractive-than-an-elephant elephant in the room, draped across a couch that David had to lift on his own. One of his feet is hanging over the side. “True Love’s Kiss isn’t a real thing,” Emma whispers, but the words taste like ash on her tongue and Regina makes a very obnoxious noise.

“Dumb, dumb, dumb.” “Do you think I’ll lose my magic?” “Do you actually care?” Shaking her head, Emma doesn’t bother saying the words. Not when she knows they’re so obviously painted on her face and sudden realization is almost as annoying as not ending sentences. She knows what he was tracing on her back.

Maybe she is the idiot, actually.

And for a moment, Emma’s mind falters. Remembers that other moment, standing frozen as a different set of lights threatened to blind her and metal snapped around her wrists and she’d been so certain then. Never again. Nothing else would get through the defenses. No one else would know. No more mistakes.

This isn’t a mistake.

Careful to avoid the glass on the floor, Emma tiptoes forward and crouches next to Killian. She brushes her fingers over that scar on his cheek, the ends of lips that are somehow still tilted up into half a smirk and—

“God, just do it already,” Belle shouts.

That’s that, again.

Kissing at this angle isn’t particularly easy, and Emma’s knees aren’t particularly pleased with the amount of pressure she’s putting on them, but it does allow her to basically drape herself across Killian and that also makes it easier to get her hand under the hem of his shirt. And nothing else really happens.

No sharp inhale. No tilt of his head. Absolutely no sign of his tongue, which Emma has come to find herself almost obsessed with in the last few months. She doesn’t care. Doesn’t allow herself to stop, not when there’s a flicker of hope and all that want simmering between her ribs, mixing with her magic and how ridiculously in love she is and it’s annoying that she’s the one who gasps.

As soon as arms circle her waist.

Emma can’t really tumble when she’s above him, but the edge of the couch digs into her thighs and Killian’s doing an admirable job of trying to get her parallel to the rest of his body. Her fingers find his hair when he arches up, his own hand roving the expanse of her back before his arm curls tightly around her like he’s trying to make sure she’s still there. Leaning into her palm against his chin, Killian’s lips drag across the back of Emma’s wrist, sparking another round of magic and even more glowing. “Oh shit,” Emma mumbles, not able to pull herself away from Killian. Because of his arm. And...other reasons.

“Was that a response to me, or—” “—No, no, I just—well, there’s still magic. I’ve still got magic. And, uh, I’m a witch.” He laughs. Throws his head back and lets his body shake under her, which really isn’t helping Emma’s state of mind at all, but she’s admittedly preoccupied with the overall volume of the laugh and how wide his smile is. “Swan, Emma love, did you honestly think I didn’t know?”

She—

Has absolutely no idea what to do with that.

Ruby might fall over. Regina’s eyes bug, Mary Margaret using David to stay upright, Belle covers her mouth with her hand, Will cackling loud enough for the both of them.

“Did you,” Emma starts, but Belle and Will shake their heads and Killian’s tongue click is awfully put-upon for a guy who was just cursed.

He taps on her jaw until she’s able to look at him. And his stupid blue eyes. “I could feel it, love. Also you have a tendency to...glow. Which I'm assuming is a compliment, for me. Or us. There's an us, right?" She nods. Can't do much else. "And you’re not very subtle. Extra cinnamon in the cabinets, moving the remote so I don’t have to look for it. Working at a job placement agency that helps the magically afflicted. Plus there was paperwork. Was Freddie really a gold statue at one point?” “Yeah, but they un-statue’ed him with water from Lake Nostos. Not True Love’s Kiss.” “So we won, then?” “Competitive weirdo.” “Absolutely,” Killian nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I figured you’d get around to it at some point and then you were talking today and—” “—We’re not such shitty friends that we’d demand Killian show up back here before nine,” Will reasons. “Plus, it’s been kind of nice to have a free couch.”

Killian gags. “Did I say congratulations yet?” “We were busy.” “Wait, wait,” Emma sputters, and she’s going to go into cardiac arrest. Or magic overload. “So this whole time. You knew.” “Well, not the whole time,” Killian objects. “Most of it though, yeah.” “But you’re still here.” “Where else did you expect me to go? Aside from your apartment now that we’ve defeated the wicked witch? I’m assuming we defeated the wicked witch.” Emma nods. “Well, then I’ll apologize for drawing you into that, too. She was half the reason I started to suspect anything, honestly. Told Regina about her and the last thing I expected when I got here was to see her, or to have her demand I get you here. I tried to avoid that.” More nodding. More aching muscles and poorly performing hearts, and Emma wouldn’t mind if Killian traced several other sentiments into a variety of different areas, but they’ve got an audience and a pregnant lady and they never did get coffee. So, it makes sense to ignore that for a second. Or several.

“I love you,” she says instead. Shouts, really. “More than I realized I could and I—” Any other words get lost in the feel of Killian’s mouth on hers and the ability of his tongue to incite butterflies in her stomach, and she hardly hears him say I love you back. It doesn’t matter. She hears it on loop for the rest of the day, once they’re ushered unceremoniously out of Belle and Will’s apartment. Neither of them think much about getting coffee.

And she’s just on the cusp of sleep, eyelashes fluttering and blankets halfway to stolen when Emma hears something else. Pressed into that one spot below her ear.

“I’ve got no intention of leaving,” Killian whispers, “not because of the magic or the power that comes with it, only because I love you. A ridiculous amount, honestly.”

Sleep seems kind of pointless after that.

He decides to leave Mills, eventually.

“I don’t have magic,” Killian rationalizes, and Emma supposes that makes sense. “But I will need some help finding a job.”

Sliding a file with his name written in swirling script across her desk, he’s got the gall to smirk at her and Emma resists the urge to magic him into her chair. “Luckily I do have other skills, including a job offer—” “—If you’ve got a job offer, you don’t really need my help.” “Yeah, but you’re very pretty and I hear you’re real good at what you do.” “Which is?” “Moving in with me,” Killian says, which isn’t the last thing she expects but it still manages to catch her off guard. Lights erupt at the end of several strands of hair. “The reaction I was going for, absolutely.” “No, no, that’s—that’s dumb.” “Is it?” “I was going to ask you to move in with me. First.” “Competitive weirdo.” “I have an apartment,” Emma argues. “With laundry on site.” “Ah, yeah, that is a marker in the pro column. Plus, you’ll be there right?” “In my apartment? Yeah, probably,”

Pushing back on the chair he’d never really been sitting in, Killian leans across Emma’s desk. To kiss her. Hard. Magic flares in the air around them, causing bulbs to flicker and more than a few cries of get a room . “What I’m trying to do,” Killian mumbles. “If you’re asking me to move in, Swan, I’m going to accept.” “Make it sound less like a warning next time.”

He chuckles against her mouth, either ignoring the desk that must be pressing into his stomach or not bothered by it at all, and Emma tries not to throw herself at him too quickly when he brings a whole box of recently-bought blankets with him.

“So you don’t get cold, love.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #on this night and in this light #MAGIC BATTLES #MORE KISSING #MAGIC BATTLES WHILE FLIRTING

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fromashescomephoenixes · 3 years

Text

Beauty and the Beast?

author’s note: Howdy all! This piece is a very late contribution to Reese’s disney writing challenge! This was in celebration of their achievement of 800 followers, due to their amazing fics. (find the other submissions here) I am so overjoyed I could have a part in this, and I wanted to say a very special congratulations to them! ( @probably-peeves) In the month it took me to write this, they’re only a couple followers off of 1000! So, go check them out and drop a follow! Without further ado, I present my first ever Remus fic!

word count: ~2000

summary: you’ve spent years admiring Remus from a far, but who could ever learn to love a beast? this fic is loosely based around beauty and the beast

warnings: lil bit angsty and a hint of language. also it switches pov’s every so often so I’ve put in the beginning of each section who’s pov it is :)

•••

(your pov)

“He’s so perfect,” I sighed thinking to myself. I would have told a friend, but- well, they all thought I was a bit odd.

I was currently seated in the great hall, glancing up from my thick book. I had just been traveling to the optimistic world of Anne Shirley, when I had been distracted out of the corner of my eye by Remus pouring himself a steaming mug of tea. I took a sip of my own mug and continued to discreetly peer over its rim towards Remus.

He was sat, as usual, beside Peter Pettigrew. Today he looked a little more tired than usual, but I figured that must have been exam season getting to him.

I returned to my book as I realised that the amount of staring I was doing was reaching a nearly creepy amount.

I was never going to tell Remus I liked him. He was perfect. And me?

I was just a beast.

•••

(Narrator pov)

“She’s so perfect,” Remus sighed for the fourth time so far that breakfast.

“Bloody hell mate, do you need me to ask her out for you?” Sirius smirked as he took a particularly suggestive bite of toast. Remus wrinkled his freckled nose.

“You know exactly why I can’t Sirius,” Remus said quietly. “Look at her!” He gazed steadily towards you, at your end of Ravenclaw’s table.

“She’s perfect, and beautiful, and smart, and-“ Remus looked so miserable in that moment that Sirius, James, and Peter were about three seconds from tackling him in a large group hug. His despair faded to resigned dismay, and he finished.

“I’m just a beast,” he shrugged sadly.

•••

(your pov)

The library cooled my heated forehead just enough to hear my own thoughts for a minute. This full moon was going to be a long one. I hated the way standing outside at this time of night made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. Or the way I could smell the scent of Remus’s cologne (which I normally loved) from here- even though he was still in the great hall.

I performed another subtle cooling charm and returned to the detailed essay on the precise wand movements required for jelly leg jinxes.

“Can I take a seat?” A familiar yet unknown voice asked, motioning to a chair. I looked up to see the soft honey gold eyes of Remus gazing into mine. “Your corner of the library is so cool,” he smiled in a tired manner. It was then that I noticed the flushed tone of his cheeks.

“Of course,” I answered softly, incredibly shy around anyone- especially Remus. I swallowed my heart that was trying to escape it’s rightful place, and tried to start conversation. “Long day?” I asked gently. Remus rubbed his temples before responding:

“I guess you could say that,” the small, tired smile was back again. I pulled a small mint leaf out of my tiny container.

“I find mint always calms me down,” I popped a leaf into my own mouth, and handed him one.

I turned back to my work and managed to write another line before I was distracted by a slight rustling noise. Another affect of the full moon... heightened senses. I glanced up to see Remus digging through his satchel bag for something. Triumphant, he pulled out a bar of Honeydukes chocolate.

•••

(Narrator pov)

“Oi, Prongs,” James glanced up as Sirius’s hard elbow hit his side. “He finally got the courage to sit with her!” Sirius had a gleeful grin on his face. James’s face lit up as well and he quickly got Peter’s attention. Peter let out a soft round of applause and gave a watery smile.

"Well, I ought to go help-" Sirius stood up to go talk to Remus, but James promptly yanked him back by his coller.

"You tosser! You'd make it worse!" James chuckled slightly, and they all resumed their studious work.

•••

(Remus’s pov)

I held up the bar and raised an eyebrow slightly. “Would you like any?” I held the chocolate towards her. As much as I hated sharing my chocolate, it was only kind. Especially after I saw her eyes meet mine again. Anything was worth seeing those eyes again.

She nodded shyly, and I broke off a chunk of the bar and placed it into her palm. She gratefully accepted it, and resumed her rapid writing. Godric, how does anyone write that fast?

About a half hour later, I stood up to take a break. Stretching my back out, I noticed y/n gazing at me. I couldn't tell if she was judging me, or just curious. Her eyes were so focused and clear. The golden yellow eye color suited her so perfectly. She truly was beautiful.

•••

(your pov)

Remus and I had met several more times in the library since then. In the past few weeks his face had brightened up a lot from the tired look I had seen the first time he sat with me.

"Hey Remus!" I nodded as he approached our now usual spot. It was odd how he always happened to be in the library when I was. I suppose we must have similar study habits. My heart began to beat rapidly as it always did when I was nervous. Helga, at this point I should be used to talking with people.

"Good afternoon y/n," He grinned brightly and set his books down. "Any good assignments today?" I bit my lip. Would he really want to hear my raptures on the benefits I had recently discovered of sage? I decided to give it a shot and told him my recent potion experiments.

He held on to every word as I explained. I blushed, realising that for once someone actually wanted to listen to my words instead of calling me a nerd or strange.

"Thanks for letting me talk about that," I let out a small, nervous giggle.

"It's fascinating!" He responded, his eyebrows shot up. He proceeded to ask me multiple questions, and show a bit of his own knowledge by linking it to a specific charm he had read about.

After chatting for a while longer, I focused on my work again. At this point I was simply adding finishing touches to my foot long parchment. Roughly an hour later I noticed Remus's steady gaze trained on me.

"What?" I smiled softly.

"Er-" Remus paused, blushing slightly. "Well, you're-" I smiled a little wider at his stumbling around. Although I couldn't think for the life of me why he couldn't find his words. I noticed his chest rise, as he took a deep breath.

"Would you like to go to a ball with me?" He asked finally. I blushed, and grinned myself this time.

"They're holding a ball?" I hadn't heard any announcement about a ball, but I tended to zone out during meal times anyway.

"Well, you see-" Remus took another deep breath. "It would only be us."

•••

(Remus’s pov)

And that's how, like the fucking idiot I am, I ended up standing outside the room of requirement in a slightly shabby suit. Sirius had kindly advised me that I looked like a slimy salesman, and James had helped me comb my hair before sending me out the portrait hole with a pat on the back.

"You're going to crush it mate, she'll love you." James called. Sirius leaned out after him, and shouted:

"You look hot!" I felt the very tips of my ears turn red, and jogged up to the room of requirement. I glanced behind me as I fleed Sirius's compliments, just to make sure he wasn't following me.

I finally arrieved, slightly out of breath, next to the tapestry. She came around the corner slightly afterwards, and all I could do was smile. She truly was beautiful.

•••

(Your pov)

"Sorry I'm late," I blushed. Remus looked incredibly handsome, and I I felt like all of my ability to converse had somehow disappeared. Remus kindly took my hand, and smiled. Then, just like that, my power of speech was returned.

"I had to jog here, don't worry." I laughed slightly at his admission. He held out his arm for me to take.

"Shall we?" I accepted his arm and we turned to the golden door together. It spread open right on cue, and we passed through the glowing arch. The warm yellow light reminded me of the sun, a pleasant difference to the harsh light of the moon.

The room had transformed especially for us, into a circular ballroom with high, arching walls. Gold accents and soft, creamy colored walls lit up the space, and the ceiling had tiny slivers of moonlight poking through. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle slightly, and I grasped onto Remus's arm slightly tighter to steady myself. I noticed him pause and stiffen as well, surely because of the way I had just dug my nails into his arm.

The room worked it's magic and closed the gaps in the roof, replacing them with flowery vines. I relaxed, and concentrated on thinking of a nice song to dance to.

The first few notes of a soft piano caught my ear, and I quickly realised the room was playing 'Tale as Old as Time' from Beauty and the Beast. How fitting, I thought. My beautiful Remus is here with me... a beast.

Remus placed one hand upon the small of my back, and took my other palm in his. I rested my free hand on his shoulder and let the music wash over me for a moment.

In sync, we began to glide across the floor to the soft music. I was immediately lost in the flowing and spinning, and the only thing I truly registered was the honey brown of Remus's eyes, steadily trained on my yellow toned- golden eyes. I realised as I stared that his eyes became slightly more yellow as we continued to gaze at each other. I felt my neck hair prickle again, and my cheeks flush as I felt a hint of my moon sickness. It was as if my werewolf tendencies were being amplified by Remus somehow.

My cheeks continued to flush, and we continued to dance in sync. I felt as if I was floating upon a cloud, gliding along in someone else's dream land. I was so close to Remus I could count his constellation of freckles, see the golden flecks in his, see the pinky color of his lips.

"Thank you, Remus," I whispered. I felt frozen in this moment, but I didn't mind at all.

I leaned in slightly and Remus's soft lips caught on to mine. I deepened the kiss before pulling away, the horrible truth causing my brow to furrow.

"Remus, I have to tell you something," I placed my hands on his chest as he held my waist, keeping me close against him.

"What is it my dove?" Remus frowned, and brushed a stray hair from my face.

"You can't love me!" It all became to much, I pulled away and tried to explain it all before the hot tears came streaming down my face. I felt the salty streams dash down my face, and I realised it was too late.

"I'm a werewolf," I sobbed, returning to Remus's arms despite my better judgement.

To my surprise, Remus's warm, husky laughter began to echo off of the arched wall. I weakly hit into his chest, annoyed that he was laughing. He wasn't muggle born, and his father had written a large amount of the anti-werewolf legislation that made my life living hell.

"Me too y/n," He answered, curbing his laughter. I looked into his eyes and felt the slightly woofish sides of my returning again. I hugged him even tighter.

"So we're beast and the beast?" I joked.

"Hm?" Remus's deep voice vibrated against where my forehead was tucked into his chest.

"This whole time I thought that we were Beauty and the Beast," I paused and took a deep breath. "Obviously you were Beauty," I mumbled.

"Perhaps we're both the beauty in our own way?" Remus smiled.

p.s. i’ve got another fic coming in the next few days so keep an eye out!

#remus lupin #remus x you #remus x reader #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #harry potter #disney crossover #beauty and the beast #disney x harry potter #reader insert #hp reader insert #hp #HP Fandom #harry potter fandom

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confusedweasleys · 5 years

Text

Our Little Game - George Weasley x Reader

A/N: Hi loves! I’m back! I’ve had soo much school work, but I had fun writing this one for you guys! Some qs: Are you tired of these types of fics? Do you want some already dating fluff? Enemies to lovers? Let me know what kind of fic you want in the request! I love you guys and always leave feedback if you want!!

Request: @rubinstein1798: 16 and 17 from fluffy prompt list with George?

Prompt: “I dare you” (#16), Is that a challenge? (#17)

Triggers: Cursing, Drinking

Word Count: 1,534———————————————————————————————————

I was having a great time. It wasn't like I didn't party often, or that this party was particularly amazing, but O.W.L.s were over, I was stress-free, and I was having a great time.

And honestly, the party was pretty great. There was a huge, blazing bonfire on the sand a few feet away from me, charmed to burn different colors. Students from all houses danced around it, feeling spectacularly light with the stress of final exams lifted. Music played from seemingly everywhere, likely the work of Lee Jordan's superior charms skills. Even better, bewitched shots of Firewhiskey floated through the air around the party. Grinning, I snatched one out of the air and downed it in one motion.

“Feeling thirsty are we?” I heard someone ask me. Attempting to wipe the smile off my face, I turned around to face George Weasley. George and I had a - well - complicated relationship. To say the least. We flirted, we fought, then we went back to being friends - and pretty close friends at that. We were at the friends stage.

“You know, I think I am,” I said, smirking. I jumped in the air and grabbed another floating shot. George snorted as he watched me. “What? I asked, turning to the red-head. “Got something to say?”

“No, not a word,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Just that you might want to pace yourself if you're gonna make it through tonight.” I rolled my eyes and huffed, stalking off in the direction of the Black Lake. He ran after me, walking by my side after catching up. “Where are you going?” he said, laughing.

“Right here,” I said, plopping down in front of the water and laying on my back.

“Come on back,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling.

“Nope,” I said, fighting as he tried to pull me up. He gripped my hand strongly and pulled again.

"Please?" he said, flashing me puppy-dog eyes.

"Fine," I said, rolling my eyes as his face brightened. “On one condition,” I added, smirking.

“And what might that be?” he asked, confused. I laughed and pulled him back to the bonfire, weaving through other students. When we reached the center, I plucked two glasses of Firewhiskey out of the air, handing one to George.

“We are going shot for shot,” I announced.

“Are you sure that's such a good idea?” he said, laughing at my already tipsy state.

“What are you, scared? I fired back, quirking an eyebrow. I watched as his competitive side came out.

“Is that a challenge? he said.

“Well yeah,” I said shrugging my shoulders. “I thought that was obvious.” George rolled his eyes as I watched him give in.

“Alright fine. But then you have to jump in the Black Lake,” he said. His eyes glinted mischievously.

“Hell no,” I said. “I don't care if it’s Spring. That lake is still fucking freezing. Besides, this was my condition.”

“Oh come on. I dare you,” he said, smirking, knowing I could never resist them temptation of a dare. “Well then it looks like I've won this game rather quickly,” George said, shrugging his shoulders. I flashed him a look of pure hatred, before turning away without a word. I walked through the crowd without looking back. I stopped at the bank of the lake, peeling of my tight shirt and leaving myself in my bra and muggle jeans. I dove into the lake without hesitation. Fuck that was cold. I came up sputtering and quickly bounded out of the lake and back to the middle of the bonfire, where it was warm. A large number of people clapped and whistled, excited at the first event of the night. I shot George a smug look.

“You really thought it would be that easy? I asked, giving him a challenging look. I locked eyes with him as I downed another shot. I gestured to him and George shook his head as he took his shot. “I dare you to take off your underwear and charm it to float over the bonfire.”

“Are you fucking kidding me Y/N?” he said, looking at me in disbelief.

“Oh, come on,” I said. “After what you had me do, I'm letting you off easy.” He rolled his eyes. “I dare you,” I taunted. He sighed and got up to go take off his boxers.

A few minutes later, I started to giggle uncontrollably as I watched a pair of niffler-covered boxers rise above the bonfire. Others noticed too, and soon the party had stopped so people could laugh and speculate as to who's boxers were floating in the air. George grumpily returned to our spot. I laughed at his expression. “Nifflers George, really?” I started laughing again.

“They're my favorite magical creature!” he said defensively as he took his shot. I took mine right as he said, “I dare you to jinx the last person you kissed.” I nearly spit out the Firewhiskey. I laughed.

“So this is how it's gonna be tonight?” I strode over to Seamus and slyly cast a Jelly-Legs Jinx. It was harmless, really. Honestly, it just gave one the impression that Seamus was a very bad dancer. I made my way back to George, who seemed annoyed.

“Really Y/N? Finnegan?

“Yup,” I said, popping the ‘p.’ He rolled his eyes and drank his shot. I was well past tipsy now, but I was never one to back down from a challenge. I drank my shot and prepared my dare. “Weasley, I dare you…”

And that was how our little game continued for a long time. George would dare me, and we would both take a shot; then, I would dare him and we would both take a shot, and so on. After about an hour of this, I had taken a shot in my animagus form (a hummingbird), let Dean Thomas pierce my ear, been jinxed to have a purple tongue, sat on Lee Jordan's lap, drank a bottle of Skele-Gro, and kissed Zachary Smith. George, on the other hand, had gotten his legs shaved, publicly (and loudly) declared his love for Lavender Brown, dyed a strand of his hair bright blue, apparated to the middle of the Black Lake, made out with a piece of driftwood, and kissed Pavarti Patail. We were pretty much the main source of entertainment, since most of the party-goers had come to watch our little game over the course of the hour. They shouted out suggestions as I contemplated George’s next dare.

"Make him jump over the fire!"

"Have him tell us who he likes!"

"Jinx him!"

“Alright Georgie,” I started. “I dare you to go...and to do - well," I stopped, struggling to get out a coherent sentence. After all, we'd been playing shot-for-shot for more than an hour. We were both well past extremely drunk.

"Aaand that's the end of this game ladies and gents,” Fred shouted, swooping in front of George and I. He shooed the party-goes away, watching them scatter back around the beach, looking for another form of entertainment.

“Booooo!” George and I chorused. We fell over giggling at Fred’s stern face, rolling around on the sand.

“The game is not over Fred!” I exclaimed.

“Come on Freddie there's no winner yet,” said George, pouting.

“You guys can't even get a sentence out to give each other a dare,” he said, his strict facade crumbling as he laughed down at the two of us in our drunken state. We had fallen to the ground again after picking ourselves back up, and were slumped over each other on the sand.

"Fine" I huffed. "But you need to pick a winner."

"And it will be me,” George said. "There no way i'm losing to this," he said, tapping my head, which rested on his shoulder. Fred rolled his eyes down at us.

"Fine," he said. “George, I dare you to say who you think is the prettiest girl at this party.” George rolled his eyes at his twin.

“No can do Gred because she's sitting right next to me.” I felt my heart deflate a little bit. Who was sitting right next to him? Fred rolled his eyes.

“Y/N, I dare you say the name of the boy you’ve fancied for a year.” I rolled my eyes to hide my panic.

“Shhh Fred he's right here!” I whisper-shouted, gesturing towards George, whose shoulder I still rested my head on. Fred groaned.

“You two are hopeless. Alright, let me make this even easier for you guys. I dare both of you to kiss your crush. Who ever does that first wins. Got it?” He rolled his eyes one more time, and walked away. George looked at me gleefully. I'm gonna win he said, before smashing his lips onto mine. I pulled away triumphantly, only to inform him that I had just won our little game. “No, I just won,” said George, shaking his head fervently. For the rest of the night, we alternated between making out and arguing about who had won our little game. We didn’t realize until the next morning (when we woke up in his dorm together) that technically, we both won.

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #georgeweasleyimagine #george weasley oneshot #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley x you #george weasley x oc #george weasley x reader #george weasley fluff #george weasley smut #harry potter imagine #harry potter #imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #weasley imagine #confusedweasleys

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whatshouldjustbeours · 4 years

Text

Find Me (Jeller)

A/N: Hi, guys! So this is my contribution to the amazing @holidayblindspot.

Set somewhere on season 2 after episode 2x13 and Jane is not serious with Oliver yet or it's over between them or let's just ignore his existence. Ok? Hahahaha. Well, enjoy!

He spent the whole Christmas Eve dinner thinking about her.

The tattoo database had been mercifully silent that day, allowing them to stay at the NYO and not in the field getting shot at. By the end of their shift, the whole team was in Patterson’s lab, sharing a drink and their plans for the holiday.

Kurt watched as Jane tried to hide her pain, her… loneliness. She smiled when she knew she was supposed to but he still could read her like an open book. Even after everything that had happened, that hasn’t changed. He knew her and the conversation was making her uncomfortable and sad which probably meant she had no plans and no one to share the day with.

“What about you, Jane?” - Patterson had asked her, suddenly putting her on the spotlight.

She had fidgeted in place, looking from one member of the team to the other and just shrugged.

“I’m going to share a meal with Roman and go home, I guess.”

“You want to swing by my parent’s house later?”

Jane had smiled - and this time Kurt noticed it was genuine and reached her eyes - always in awe of how precious and empathetic Patterson could be.

“No, it’s okay, Patterson. I’m tired. I could use a few more hours of sleep. That is if nothing happens until tomorrow.”

“Oh, come on, Jane! Don’t jinx it!” - Zapata had said, laughing and saying her goodbyes.

It bothered him that she only had a brother with no memories, a glass wall between them and a take out meal as her Christmas Eve but couldn’t bring himself to invite her to his plans. Even if things were better between them with each day that passed, and especially since after the night she brought him some beers and made him company, having dinner with him, Allie and Conor probably wasn’t high on her list.

“You okay, Kurt? You seem a little distracted.” - Allie’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he found himself with only her on the table beside him, their empty plates gone.

“I’m good.” - He smiled apologetically at her. Allie only rolled her eyes, letting him know she knew he was lying.

“How are things at the NYO?” - And it was his time to roll his eyes. She was digging, trying to figure out what was wrong with.

“Crazy. The usual.” - He really wasn’t in the mood to talk about the recent developments, like Roman or how Shepherd was observing him since his military academy days.

“How is Jane?” - She asked unceremoniously, and Kurt raised an eyebrow at her.

“She is fine.” - He was even less inclined to discuss Jane.

“Good. I can’t imagine what she went through at the hands of the CIA. They are not the good guys all the time. But Jane is, even if she made mistakes. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“So have you forgiven her?”

He had never truly stopped to think about it but the answer came easily on his mind: yes. He had. He had had time by now to go through all the things that occurred: her mistakes, her choices, his mistakes, his choices. They had both done so many terrible ones. He analyzed so many scenarios in his head of how things could be different if one of them had been more smart, more honest, more rational. Except there was absolutely nothing rational about their relationship from the beginning and they both had paid the price.

Well, she had paid it much more highly than him, he could admit it now.

“Yeah.” - He smiled a little, his answer without a trace of doubt.

“And have you told her that?” - Allie knew he hadn’t. They had been together for almost a year when she finally got tired of his walls and lack of communication.

“What are you doing, Allie?”

“You arrested her. She spent three months at the hands of the CIA, being tortured day in and day out. She got herself free. You guys dragged her back to the FBI. Hated her. Distrusted her. Don’t you think she deserves to hear you say it?”

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He avoided reliving the night he had arrested her with everything he had in him. It was one of the biggest mistakes of his life. One he would never forgive himself for. One that would always bring him agony.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” - Allie touched his arm. - “It’s none of my business.”

He opened his eyes, knew he wouldn’t be able to hide the emotions her words had caused but not particularly caring. He should have talked about it with someone a long time ago and Allie was one of his best friends.

“She deserves it. I’m just terrified she might say she can’t ever forgive me.”

To his surprise, Allie smiled, her hand squeezing his arm.

“Remember when I worked with you guys and she saved my life?” - He nodded, a shiver going through him. Things came fairly close to go to hell that day. - “When I told her I was pregnant with your child, she looked absolutely devastated.”

“Allie,”

“And when we did the gender reveal party, I observed her when she thought no one was looking and she still felt the same but was trying her damn best to hide it.” - She lifted a finger to prevent him from talking. - “That woman is in love with you. She never stopped loving you, even now, even after everything you did to each other, she still loves you. So yes, she will forgive you. She already has.”

It is possible to lie to someone and still love them very much.

“This pregnancy is making you mellow.” - He growled, not meaning it and she laughed.

“Talk to her.”

“Why is this so important to you?”

“Because we go a long way, Kurt, and I’ve never seen you look at another woman the way you look at her. Not even me. You two have a connection. Everyone knows it. You know it. You are just too stubborn to do something about it.”

He shook his head, not quite believing this was how his night turned out to be: talking about Jane and confronting his feelings for her. Two things he tried his best not to do.

“I’m going to check on Conor and bring us more wine.” - She got up and he followed, ready to be somewhere else.

“I think I’m heading out, Allie. Thank you for dinner.” - He hugged her tightly. - “Merry Christmas. Thank Conor for me.”

“Will do.” - She had a look that told him she knew exactly where he was going. - “Merry Christmas, Kurt.”

“See you.”

He let himself out, got out of the building and stopped on the sidewalk, letting the cold air clear his head. Did Jane love him? How could she, after everything he’d done? She cared about him, of that he was sure and that alone could explain a lot of her actions, couldn’t it? Allie was just flooded by hormones, making her a lot more sentimental and amplifying her romantic side.

Right?

He cursed under his breath, the image of Jane’s sad eyes haunting him for the thousandth time that night.

He started making his way to her safe house, telling himself it was just to keep her company and not to check if any of the things Allie said could be remotely true. No. It didn’t matter. She had moved on. He had moved on. They were friends. That was it.

xxxxx

She was on the couch, buried under the covers and reading a fiction book Patterson had recommended when a light knock on her door almost made her jump. It was past eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve so who the hell could it be?

When she opened the door, she was left speechless. Kurt Weller was the last person she expected to find out there.

“Hi.” - He said sheepishly, a small smile on his lips.

“Hey.” - She couldn’t help but smile at him too. He always had that effect on her. It was a great surprise and from his expression, he wasn’t there because the world was on the verge of ending.

“Well, I bought these delicious beers and immediately thought of a thing a friend of mine once said.” - Her smile grew, remembering exactly what he was referring to. - “There's really no reason that we both should be sitting home alone when I’ve got these amazing Pennsylvania beer.”

“Well, this friend of yours is very wise.” - She replied, stepping aside and letting him in.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” - He said, nearly feeling guilty for intruding on her night like this. It was almost midnight after all.

“No, no. It’s okay. I was just reading something.” - She gestured to the kitchen and he followed her there, depositing the six-pack on the counter, grabbing two, opening them and handing her one.

“Thanks.” - She took a sip, studying him. She had no idea what had led him to her safe house but her traitorous heart was telling her no matter the motive, he still made time to see her on a day like today and this knowledge warmed her from the inside out.

Stop it, Jane. He moved on. He is with Nas.

“So, how was your dinner with Roman?” - She focused on his words, trying to get out of the dangerous path that was letting Kurt Weller into her heart. Though part of her was certain he had never left it to begin with. But she wouldn’t, couldn’t think about it now.

He is with Nas.

Sometimes she thought if she repeated it enough, she could move on. Forget him. Forget what she felt for him.

“It was great. He might not remember much but he’s still my brother so it was special, even if we ate out of little cardboard boxes.” - She laughed and he couldn’t help but wonder the last time he heard her laughter.

“I’m glad you could spend it with him, Jane.” - Roman was dangerous, unstable but he made her happy so his sentiment was genuine.

“Yeah, me too.” - Her last Christmas had been horrible. It was a few weeks after her torture session, courtesy of Thomas Carter; she was trying to push Kurt away and more confused than ever with Oscar’s snippets of information and mysterious missions. It was a time she often thought as the beginning of the end of the life she had started building since coming out of that bag and her relationships with the people in it, especially the one with the man in front of her right now.

She focused on him again, not wanting to dwell on that part of her last year.

“So how was your dinner with Allie and her boyfriend?”

“It was great.” - And confusing, and revealing, and I really hate Allie right now. - “Conor is a nice guy. I’m glad she found him.”

“I thought you’d be meeting Nas after your dinner.” - She went straight to the point, the way only Jane could do with him. He stared at her, at a loss for words. So she knew? He thought they were discreet.

“No. I have no idea what she’s doing tonight or who she is with. It doesn’t matter.” - He calmly stated, watching her closely, hoping she got the message.

Jane felt her heart leaping with this news, understanding what he was not saying and tried desperately to tamp it down. It didn’t mean anything for her. For them.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Kurt just shrugged, not seeming to care about the end of his relationship in the least. She wanted to ask him why it didn’t work but couldn’t find the courage to do it so she just stayed quiet, enjoying her drink. They were getting closer but it still wasn’t close enough for her to ask whatever came to her mind.

“This movie is a classic.” - He broke the silence after a few seconds and pointed to the muted TV with his bottle. She looked in its direction, not recognizing it. To be honest, since she lost her memories, she had a lot of popular culture to catch up on, particularly movies.

“Is it?”

“You still haven’t watched the Christmas’ classics?” - And when she shook her head, he sighed dramatically. - “We need to fix that, Jane.”

She laughed at his expression and bit her lip, considering her next words.

Screw it. You are here. He is here.

“So are we starting tonight?” - She could see her question took him by surprise and she hid a smile. It was good to catch Special Agent Weller off guard sometimes.

“I was thinking of coming back here tomorrow and we could watch some of the favorite ones. It’s kinda late.” - And this way, he would make sure they could spend Christmas Day together.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” - She aimed a grin at him, both her eyebrows raised. Was she challenging him? Flirting with him?

Was he losing his mind?

“No.” - This is where I want to be.

“So come on. I ‘ll grab some snacks, you grab the beers and we can move this party to the couch.”

He couldn’t think of a better plan for his holiday.

xxxxx

The movie was about Christmas wishes and how they could become true, no matter how impossible they seemed. By the end of it, Jane was silent, a contemplative expression on her face.

“So, Jane…” - He found himself saying, the three bottles of beer he already had surely boosting his confidence. - “If you had one Christmas wish, what would it be?”

She thought about it for a while. There were so many things she wished could have happened differently. So many things she missed about her life before her lies and mistakes. But every time she thought about what she would have changed - and she thought about it a lot -, she always came back to that fateful night.

“I wish I had met you in that park after seeing Oscar.”

If she had met him in the park, she would have told him the truth. They would have dealt together with what her old organization was demanding of her and what to do about their little missions. Mayfair would probably still be alive. Oscar would probably be behind bars, and if decided to cooperate to save his ass, maybe they would have already caught Shepherd, Phase Two stopped before it could cause innocent deaths, like those of the FBI agents on that failed raid. Maybe she and Kurt would be together, the way she envisioned in that wonderful dream.

“Jane…”

“Everything would be different.” - She took a gulp of her beer, suddenly needing the burn of the alcohol in her throat. Maybe it could burn the tears she felt at bay away. - “Everything.” - She finished quietly, not looking at him. If she did, she wasn’t sure she could hold herself together much longer.

Kurt felt his heart breaking for her. He knew what it was like to be stuck in one day from the past, wishing his actions were different, so the outcome could be different. She was putting herself through an agonizing process, one that didn’t change absolutely anything.

Scooting closer to her on the couch, he tentatively touched her arm, letting his hand stay there when she didn’t flinch nor tried to pull away.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Jane.” - He was almost whispering, scared she would retreat further into herself and push him away. - “You did the best you could out of an impossible situation.”

She looked startled at him.

“The best?” - She laughed sarcastically. - “I lied to you, for months. I betrayed your trust, the team’s, Mayf… Mayfair’s.” - One tear escaped and she cursed herself. - “I got her killed with my little missions.”

“Jane.” - God, he wanted to hold her close and never let go. Stop her suffering any way he could.

She tightened her eyes, taking a deep breath and getting herself back under control.

“Look at me.” - He said it so firmly she couldn’t do anything but turn her head and stare at him. - “Oscar killed her. Not you. We all made mistakes back then, ok? And…” - He looked away then back at her. Her hopeful expression was all the incentive he needed to keep talking. - “For what it’s worth, I forgive you.”

She blinked, not quite believing her ears. He was forgiving her? Her mind took her back to her first days back with the team, with him.

I don’t like being in the same room as her.

The anger in his eyes. The absolute disappointment.

And now… she fixed her eyes on him again, still not quite knowing what to say. She knew they were friends again, knew he was doing his best to put their past behind them and go forward, but to forgive her?

“You deserve to hear it. You are a good person, Jane.” - He smiled a little, his thumb caressing her arm. He felt a thousand pounds lighter. This conversation was way overdue. And maybe, just maybe, his words could help her lift some of the weight she was always carrying on her shoulders. - “And I hope someday you can forgive me too.”

“I’ve already forgiven you, Kurt.” - She covered his hand with hers, still processing everything he just told her but needing him to know that immediately so there wouldn’t be a doubt in his mind about it.

“Thank you, Jane.” - He said quietly, and she could hear his relief in every word.

“Thank you, too.”

They shared small smiles, their eyes never losing contact. And they stayed like that for a while, reconnecting in a way they hadn’t allowed themselves to do since she came back. She could almost see his walls completely crumbling down for her again, feeling a thrill at what it meant for her. For… them. For the first time since everything went wrong, she let herself hope he could feel for her what he did back then.

If she could have one more Christmas wish, it would be this moment right here.

“What about you, Kurt?” - She was curious to know what his answer would be. Maybe it would give her a glimpse into what he was thinking at that moment. - “What’s the Christmas wish you have you wished it could be true?”

He licked his lips, let his eyes roam slowly over her face, glanced at her mouth and let it be his answer.

“Kurt…”

His free hand palmed her face, his thumb drawing circles again her cheek, giving her enough time to pull away and stop him. Except she just stayed there, her eyes momentarily falling shut and then opening again, looking at him with that expression she used to wear in the beginning, when she seemed completely lost but somehow could find answers in him.

You. You are my starting point.

“I want another chance with you.” - He said, feeling the butterflies in his stomach. This was risky. Maybe Allie was wrong. Maybe she could forgive him but not love him back. Maybe it was too much to expect it from her. - “If you want it too. If you still feel the same. I know things,”

“I do.” - She interrupted him, her other hand now going up and covering the one on her cheek. She was dreaming, wasn’t she? That was the only explanation for what was happening to her that night. - “I want that too.” - And she smiled at him, a real, stunning, Jane Doe smile. His breath caught in his throat and he realized only in that moment how much he missed her and their unique, strong connection.

“Are you sure?” - She had to be because once they started this, he was not letting her go. Not ever.

“Yes.” - Her answer was fast, confidant. It was the easiest thing he had ever asked her.

He gave her a smile she would remember for the rest of her life before pulling her head to him and kissing her. By a silent mutual agreement, their kiss was soft, just lips reconnecting after a great time apart.

She remembered her dream and smiled, forcing him to pull away.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… this is the best Christmas I can remember and I know that’s not much coming from me but,”

He covered her mouth and kissed her again, effectively shutting her up.

“Mine too, Jane.” - He murmured against her lips, his forehead resting against hers. - “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Giving me another chance.”

“We owe it to ourselves to see where this goes, don’t you think?” - One of the things that devastated her the most after her mistakes was not knowing what they could be together and where their relationship could go. The “what ifs” often enough drove her crazy.

“Yeah.” - He kissed her on the forehead and leaned away. - “What do you say we go on a date tomorrow?”

“I’d love that.” - She smiled brilliantly, a shine in her eyes only he could put there.

“Good.” - He got up, taking her with him. - “I should go. It’s late and our date will start at breakfast if you have no objections.”

She almost looked disappointed but then her face changed, she wounded her arms behind his neck, preventing him from going anywhere.

“Stay.”

“Jane…”

“Stay, Kurt. We’ve already wasted too much time.” - She used her best pleading eyes on him, hoping he still couldn’t resist them. - “Besides, I’m afraid if you have time to think, you will change your mind about dating me. Have you met my mother?” - He had and they both laughed at her joke.

“I won’t change my mind about you.” - He said, with that serious expression only Kurt Weller could muster.

“Stay.” - She repeated, her eyes flickering to his lips and back to him. It reminded him of another night, of starting points and how he hadn’t stayed that day.

Tonight, it would be different.

They did own it to themselves. They deserved as many happy moments as they could grab.

“Ok.” - He hugged her, crushing her to him. - “Merry Christmas, Jane.”

I love you, Jane.

“Merry Christmas, Kurt.”

They spent the rest of their holiday making a lot of wishes come true.

And it was just the beginning.

#blindspot #blindspot fanfic #jeller #christmas

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alindakb · 4 years

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Letters to my Parents - Tuesday 22 September 1992 - by Alinda

Tuesday 22 September 1992

Dear mom and dad,

Draco did it. He’s in the house team. I knew he could do it. Is it stupid that I’m happy for him, even though he ignores me all the time? I feel stupid about it. I should hate him by now, shouldn’t I? Ron and Neville have made up their minds about him, saying he’s a lowlife. Ron said that his parents were right that there could never come anything good from the Malfoy family. Hermione is a little more tactful, not really saying she thinks he’s an idiot, but I know she thinks it. Ron thinks Draco is only on the team because his father had bought new brooms for the entire team. But I know better. Draco was one of the better players to try out for the opened up Chaser position. Only no-one believes me when I say that. Hermione just gives me sad looks whenever I do.

Ron and Hermione confronted Draco a couple of days ago. I think they are worried about me. It turned ugly very quickly. When I walked up to them fighting I heard Draco say: No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood’. He looked so angry, it frightened me. And why would he say that to Hermione? Wasn’t she his friend? Wasn’t he all our friends. Well, you can understand that Ron also didn’t take it lightly to hear someone call his girlfriend a Mudblood. He pulled out his wand and yelled that Draco would pay for that. He pointed his wand furiously at Draco’s face and then a loud bang echoed around them. A jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron’s wand and hit him in the stomach, sending him reeling backwards onto the grass. Hermione turned to him and was all concerned about him.

I felt like a bad friend at that moment, because I was happy that Draco didn’t get hurt. That Ron’s wand had backfired and that Draco was okay. Isn’t that just stupid? Why would I care more about that bastard that used me last year and now even insulted my best friend? Why do I care so much about him, mom? And what do I do to make it stop?

Ron started spitting out slugs by the way and Hermione and I took him to Hagrid’s hut. Draco started laughing when he saw what was happening to Ron and I just gave him a dirty look. Why was he acting like this?

Hagrid said Ron just had to wait for it to stop, with the slugs. It was nice to see Hagrid again. I hadn’t visited him since I was back at Hogwarts. Hagrid is doing good, he just gets annoyed about professor Lockhart. It’s weird seeing him criticise a Hogwarts professor. Hermione, of course, thought that Hagrid was being unfair, that headmaster Dumbledore wouldn’t have hired him if he wasn’t the best man for the job. But Hagrid said he was the only man for the job, that it was starting to get very difficult to find someone to teach the Dark Arts job because they think it’s jinxed.

After that Hagrid wanted to know who Ron had tried to jinx. And Hermione told him that Draco had called her a Mudblood. She didn’t seem to know what it ment, only that it was really insulting. So Hagrid explained it to her, that it’s a foul name for someone who’s muggle-born, and that only wizards that think they are pure-bloods use it. I’ve heard it before, it’s a common slang in the Slytherin common room. Mostly used for Gryffindors like Hermione. Draco hasn’t used it since I asked him to stop it, that I didn’t like it that he was insulting my best friend. And now he has started again. I’m really starting to think that Draco’s friendship last year was one big joke.

That evening I also had to do my detention. The one I had gotten for flying to school in Ron’s car. I had to help Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail. Professor Snape said that he had requested me particularly. Ron told me he had to go and polish the silver in the trophy room and I wished I could switch with him. Everything is better than to spend time with Professor Lockhart.

It was horrible. Professor Lockhart thought he was doing me a favour by letting me do my detention with him. I had to address the envelopes while professor Lockhart just went on about his fans, his fame and his books. Oh, he thinks he’s amazing because he’s won Witch Weekly Smile award for many years in a row. And I know he looks good, but he’s not that beautiful. He’s got nothing on Draco. But that doesn’t stop all the girl in school to gloss over him.

But that wasn’t the worst of the detention. I heard a voice. And not a nice voice. It was ice-cold and it was saying: come… come to me. … Let me rip you. Let me tear you. Let me kill you. It freaked me out. And the worst was that professor Lockhart didn’t hear anything. Am I going crazy, mom? I think I am. Why else would I hear a voice that chills the bone marrow that talks about killing people?

The next day Ron complained that Fitch had made him buff up the Quidditch Cup fourteen times. And then he had another slug attack all over a special Award for Services to the School. It took ages to take the slime off.

After breakfast I took Hermione apart and told her about the voice I heard during detention. She doesn’t know what it is and that I shouldn’t worry about it. That maybe it was just me being tired. That he hadn’t been sleeping well, and that it was probably nothing. And maybe she is right, but I don’t know. It sounded real. And I don’t want to go crazy. Life is already hard enough without voices in my head.

And yes, I haven’t been sleeping all that well. I keep having dreams of Draco walking away from me and then falling over the castle walls. I run to the edge and when I look over the bannister he’s gone. I don’t know what it means, or why I keep having this dream, but it wakes me up sweating all the time. After that, I never can get back to sleep. I just stare at Draco’s drapes, hoping he’s still sleeping behind them. And I want to open his drapes and crawl into bed with him. Just to hold him and make sure he’s really there. I know it’s stupid since it’s clear he doesn’t care about me.

I’m glad Blaise still talks to me, and when we have a class without the Gryffindors he sits next to him in class. He told me he asked Draco why he was acting like a stupid fool, only to get the same treatment as Ron and Hermione. Blaise said Draco screamed at him, saying he would never understand and that it was none of his business anyway. I told Blaise it is okay, that I still have my other friends, including him. And he promised me that he really liked hanging out with me. But he’s also hanging out a lot with this crazy Ravenclaw lady. He says she’s a lot of fun and that I should come to join them in the library one day. I promised him I will. So maybe life without Draco isn’t going to be so bad after all. I just need to start forgetting about him. I’m sure that one day I’ll find someone else to give my heart to. It can’t be that Draco will be the only person I will ever love, will it? Mom, did you ever love anyone else but dad? And what about you, dad?

I go and have some sleep now.

Love you both,

Harry James Potter.

#letters to my parents #fanfic #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #drarry #dreams #letters #bullied harry #2nd year #detention #AlindasStories

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youhearstatic · 6 years

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I had two blupjeans cuddle requests - one from a while ago. (There’s also a ‘platonic’ cuddle prompt still in the list! People want the blupjeans cuddles!)

what about blupjeans just lazing around and holding each other and making each other laugh? just being very comfortable and happy together.

How about early morning cuddles? Just snuggled under blankets, not ready to head out and brave the day (and the cold floors), when it's so toasty in there and Lup looks so cute with her messy bedhead.

Lup wakes up. Sleeping is something she’s really gotten into while living on the Starblaster. When 70% of the crew go down for 7 or 8 hours every day, you fall into the habit just out of boredom sometimes.

It’s got other advantages now. Like the criminally wonderful snuggling it affords her. Barry has absolutely perfected the art of cuddling. He’s warm and soft and his arms go around her with this perfect amount of pressure. Not so tight she feels strangled. But never too loose.

There’s something about him, she’s realized. Like right this moment he’s still snoring beside her, curled on his side with one arm under his pillow. But his other arm was tucked around her when she woke up, a warm and reassuring weight. As soon as she moved he let her adjust and then, still asleep, his hand sought her out again. Now the backs of his fingers are curled beside her arm, just close enough to brush against her skin. She moves her other hand to his and his fingers twine with hers.

She’d moved because she wants to look at him. When she wakes up first she likes to watch him sleep. Human’s lives seem so much more fragile and brief. As much as she loves snuggling, as much as she thanks the miracle of the bond engine and whatever magic stitches them together anew each cycle, she’s aware, all too keenly aware, of how precious time with him is. So she likes to lie here beside him and watch the micro expressions flit across his face as he dreams. She likes to listen to the comforting sounds of his snoring. She likes to appreciate the fact that she gets to lie beside him, experiencing these private moments.

And sometimes she drifts back to sleep.

---

Barry wakes up. Lup has moved from the spooning position they fell asleep in and now she faces him, their fingers wound together between them.

He studies her face, memorizing the soft planes and angles of her skin, the way her hair falls around her, the way the early morning light of the day/night indicators sits on her skin, the way the gentle sound her breathing seems like magic to him.

It’s a moment before his brain feels that shocked bloom of awareness that reminds him: he’s allowed to look at her like this. He’s not stealing glances across a room with a guilty pang. She’s here beside him in their bed, they fell asleep wrapped together, and miracle of miracles, she loves him.

He closes his eyes and takes a slow inhale. A smile spreads across his face because that breath comes with the scent of her shampoo, the lingering fragrance of the perfume she sometimes uses, and the particular combination of shampoo, perfume, detergent, soap, cooking, hairspray, and just her own unique self that all alchemizes into a smell that’s just… it’s Lup.

There are things he should do, work in the lab, chores around the ship, the gnawing demand of his empty stomach, all vying for his attention and calling for him to get up and get moving. But none of them can compare with the absolute decadent comfort of lying in bed with Lup.

Besides, he can’t take his fingers back. He might disturb her. Oh, no, nothing to be done, he thinks with a grin. He’s trapped.

Barry could stay right here for the rest of eternity and feel completely content. He can’t imagine there’s a better feeling in the multiverse. For such a long time he counted himself lucky to get to watch her, be around her, be her friend. And then she was his best friend, his co conspirator in the lab, the person who above all others he would do anything to keep safe and happy, and again, he counted the blessing of such a position.

He’d never really imagined it could be like this. He’d loved her quietly, desperately, hopelessly, adoringly, entirely, and, he thought, completely unrequitedly. And then for a decade or two he’d thought… maybe. Sometimes it seemed he wasn’t the only one with furtive glances. Every now and again a friendly hug or a late night crash on the couch seemed to… linger.

Then, cycles passed that’d he’d been sure. Or mostly sure. The times they’d gone off alone to search for the light or track down some new thing they thought might help them or whatever excuse they could find because, in the handful of years before Legato that’s what they often were: excuses.

For a few years they didn’t talk about it, didn’t admit anything to anyone. Barry didn’t even acknowledge it to himself, too afraid to jinx it somehow, and much too busy soaking in every single moment. Every private dinner, every research trip, every tour of some new plane taken by only the two of them. Every secret, private moment that had built and built until there was no containing it, no suppressing it, no way to do anything but let it come out in their music and then, finally, after everything, to put it into words shared between them.

“Hey, handsome,” Lup says. “How long have you been layin’ there watching me?”

Barry blushes - something that’s just never going to end with her, he’s starting to realize, and realizing he doesn’t mind - and answers quietly, “I dunno, a while. Not long enough.”

Lup squeezes his hand and runs her other hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. Half of it immediately falls back across her forehead and she laughs then tries to blow it out of her eyes at least. Barry reaches over and tucks a lock behind her ear. The gesture turns to a soft caress of her cheek and she closes her eyes and turns her face into his touch, sighing happily.

“I was watching you earlier, too,” she says, eyes still closed. “But I fell asleep again.”

She lets go of his hand and scoots forward to put her head against his chest. His arms wrap around her and she rests her arm loose on his hip, fingers toying with the fraying waistband of his boxers. “It’s just too comfortable and nice to do anything else but lay here.”

Barry tilts his head down and presses his face into her hair, tucking kisses into the tangles and curls. “It is,” he agrees.

“It’s decided, then,” she teases, tugging the waistband of his boxers for emphasis. “We can’t get up.”

“You’re right,” Barry murmurs, smiling into her hair. “Just have to stay right here. Nothing else to be done.”

Lup raises her head and sticks her lips out in an exaggerated kiss expression. Barry smiles and dips his head to meet her lips. The kiss quickly turns from silly to serious, the two of them fitting together automatically.

When they pull apart she closes her eyes, sighs contentedly, and rests her head on the arm he has beneath her.

“I’m never going to get enough of this,” he says. His voice is so quiet it’s unclear if he even intended her to hear, but her superior elven hearing catches every word.

Lup smiles in response and tugs at his boxers teasingly, swiping her finger along his side in a half-hearted tickle. He squirms and squeezes his arms around her, hugging her tighter to him.

Still not opening her eyes, Lup continues her lazy tickling, walking her fingers over his hip and back up his side, slipping under the faded and threadbare shirt he’s wearing. It’s the exact match to the one she’s wearing, perhaps an extra cycle or two older. Both of them have admitted to having a particular fondness for seeing the other in Barry’s old IPRE shirts.

She hits a particularly sensitive spot and he shrugs sideways, trying to get out of her reach. Instantly her eyes open and she’s on the move, trying to find the spot again. He’s only mildly ticklish but every now and again she finds one of these spots - spots that seem to move every time she hunts for them - and she delights in exploiting the opportunity.

He squirms and writhes for a moment then catches her hand. In a flash he captures the other and rolls over, trapping her wrists and propping himself up over top of her. She wraps a leg around his, hooking behind his knee. Her ploy works. Instantly the sardonic expression shifts and he leans down to kiss her. She kisses him back enthusiastically. After a moment, though, she suddenly leverages her leg and trapped wrists to twist him over, flipping them so he’s on his back and she’s on top. She pins him with her gaze and moves her face closer to his at a glacial pace. At the last inch she changes her angle and kisses him on the tip of his nose then flops down beside him, curling along his side.

Barry laughs and pulls his arm around her. With one hand she rubs lightly over his belly, the soft fabric of the well worn and well loved shirt as familiar to her now as her own skin.

Minutes pass in content silence. Their breathing synchronizes, chests rising and falling in time with each other. The hand on Barry’s stomach finds a rhythm, matching a quiet hum that Lup doesn’t realize she’s making at first. On Lup’s arm, Barry’s fingers begin a delicate dance that would accompany her song if his fingers were on piano keys. Lightly, his voice joins hers, both of them humming their song softly together.

When they reach the end, their arms pull tight around the other. Barry has to use one hand to rub at the grateful tears threatening to spill free from his eyes. He loved her for so long, was fine with it, never expected it to be returned. If he’d ever guessed what it would feel like he couldn’t have borne it, he’s sure. Being loved by Lup, having these precious hours lying lazy and thankful in each other’s arms? It’s better than he could have dreamed, better than he deserves, better than anything.

“I love you,” he says, and his voice catches on the words.

Lup raises up on one elbow to look at him. “Hey,” she says. She wipes her thumb under his eye and then repeats the motion even more gently over his eyelid. He raises his hand to hers, cupped on his cheek. “I love you,” she answers.

She drops back down to rest against him once more, her head in the crook of his shoulder. His left hand and her right hand find each other. Their fingers twine together and rest on the soft, round hill of his belly. They both slide back into the comfort of sleep again, their fingers still wrapped together.

#blupjeans #barry and lup #barry bluejeans #lup #taz balance #taz fic #mystuff #mywriting #cuddles #post legato #this one is almost 1900 words #thanks for the prompt!#both of you #anon #answered #writing prompts

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alicescripts · 6 years

Text

Part 3, Chapter 3: “Means of Escape”

Keisha: Beyond the sink is a bed. Sitting on the bed is a person in a gray hoodie, hood pulled up. Their face is lost in the shadow. But I think I know now I could go as close as I wanted to that hood, and still wouldn’t be able to see a face.

They sit on the edge of the bed, body toward us, a hand on each thigh. I expect to feel a wave of powerful energy coming off of them, but I don’t.

Alice: A cloud passes over the sun. It gets dim in the trailer.

Keisha: “We’ve come a long way to talk to you,” I say. They say nothing back. Anxiety is working my gut, but it does the same when I’m ordering pancakes at a truck stop, when I’m getting up to pee in the middle of the night. I can’t trust my anxiety.

Alice: But there were no clouds in the sky.

Keisha: “Hello?” I say. Silly. If they wanted to respond, they would.

I reach out, hesitant but knowing what I need to do. I touch them. They slump backwards. The Oracle is dead.

Alice: From outside, I hear a wet huffing and whooping. I don’t even have to look out the window to know…

Keisha: The trailer is surrounded by Thistle Men.

Alice Isn’t Dead by Joseph Fink. Performed by Jasika Nicole and Erica Livingston. Produced by Disparition. Part 3, Chapter 3: “Means of Escape”.

Alice: I don’t know where this trip started, what counts as the first moment, but for lack of a better answer, I’ll start with this. I’ll start with the amazing painted rocks.

I needed to pee, and it seemed a more interesting stop than a fast food place. As I was coming back from the bathroom, I went to look at the rocks, because why not, right? I was there.

They were better than they had looked when Keisha and I came back years later, but not by much. They were rocks, they were painted. They delivered on both fronts. As I stood there, I noticed movement on the rise above the rocks, a person thrashing around. Choking maybe, or a heart attack. No, not a person, two people. A man attacking a woman.

I have anxiety too, I don’t know if Keisha ever knew that. But my anxiety doesn’t turn inwards. I project it. I see the whole world as being as scared as I am, and I get this irresistible urge to come to its defense.

So I ran up that hill and attacked the man. His skin was baggy and his teeth were sharp. He was strong.

I had misunderstood my abilities in this situation. But the woman who he had attacked clambered to her feet and together we fought him. She pulled a knife from her belt, stabbed him through the throat. He gurgled, leaked yellow pus and fell to the ground.

I couldn’t move. We had killed someone. But the woman, she didn’t look at the man we had killed, she looked only at me. “My name is Lucy,” she said, “and most people wouldn’t have done what you just did. We could use a woman like you. How would you feel about a job?

Keisha: A patter of hands on the outside of the trailer. Gravity made wild moves. They were pushing the trailer back and forth, tipping it over just for the fun of knocking us around before the real violence began.

The body of the oracle we had come to see fell sideways onto the mattress, and then slumped to the floor as light and small as a child. I started toward them, but what would be the point? They were gone. Soon we would be too.

[howls] “Ahoooooooooooooo!” said a voice from the outside. [spitty] “Lumffffffffffffffffff,” shouted another. The Thistle Men were getting excited.

I took Alice’s hand, I kept my eyes on the body of the oracle, and then the oracle was alive again. They were still limp on the ground but also simultaneously standing over their own body. [whispers] “I’m already dead! Run! RUN!” the oracle said. And then there was only the body.

In my head, I saw a black boat floating forever at the mouth of a river. I pulled Alice with me out of the trailer. There were at least 20 Thistle men and they cheered upon seeing us, but I concentrated on a gap in their number and I made for the SUV. I wasn’t ten feet away when I saw the SUV had been disabled. Tires slashed, steering wheel sitting in the passenger seat.

The exhaustion of my despair was mixed with an adrenaline jolt of fear. Behind us, the Thistle Men flapped their lips as they tore toward us, making a strange jittering sound.

Alice: I took the job. If there were monsters in the world, then I couldn’t pretend everything was fine. I have the urge always to protect, and so I followed that urge.

It was torture hiding it from Keisha. But I had already been going regularly on business trips. I kept the same schedule, but instead of selling bathroom supplies to large office clients, Lucy and I hunted down the Thistle Men.

When we weren’t working, Lucy trained me. Hand to hand combat, first aid, target shooting, basic tactics. The tedious step by tiny step nature of detective work. Most of all, she trained me to trust her.

It was the murder of Bernard Hamilton when it happened. We were looking over the body and I thought, “Oh my god. This feels normal. This feels like a day on any job.”

And I didn’t recognize myself, this person who was so used to violence. My heart surged. I couldn’t breathe. I was in a panic over how calm I was. I didn’t let it show. I kept doing the job.

It went on this way for years, maybe could have gone that way forever, but circumstances changed and my double life became untenable.

Keisha: The Thistle Men were on us and we kicked and pushed them, pulling each other along, staying just ahead of their grasping hands. There was an old sedan, a boxy 90’s model. The tires were low, looked like it barely run. One of the vehicles that Thistle had arrived with, presumably. We made it to the car, and the keys were in the ignition. Alice fought off a particularly fast Thistle Man, and then fell backwards into the car next to me.

“This is in (all wheel drive)”, I said. “How did they even get this out here?” but there was no time to consider that, I could only do my best to steer it away from any ruts or patches of heavy sand that would snare it.

I pointed it toward the highway and started driving. Soon we were a good mile away, and I was able to start breathing again. “Foolish,” I said. “Just foolish.” “At least we’re safe,” said Alice, and I went to slap her shoulder for jinxing us, when the car ran right into a hole I hadn’t seen and stopped dead. I tried to start it, but whatever dark power had kept its old engine together was done. The car was done.

Alice: Thistle was going after family members. Lucy told it to me plain with a minimum of emotion. She never got emotionally invested in much. She wasn’t cold, just – practical.

The family members of Bay and Creek operatives were being found out and murdered. Word wasn’t coming down from the top, because they didn’t want panic, but Lucy thought I should know.

The choice was simple to me. I needed to leave Bay and Creek. I believed in what we were doing, believed in the importance of our fight, but Keisha was (all of it) for me, and I wasn’t gonna give her up.

“It won’t work,” Lucy told me. “Thistle won’t care if you’re still active, they’re in it for the carnage, not the strategy. And how much worse will it be without Bay and Creek’s protection?” I didn’t know what to do. I stopped sleeping, mostly stopped eating. I had joined because I wanted Keisha and everyone like her to be safe, and now my actions had put her in even more danger than before.

Lucy kept bringing me stories, more Bay and Creek operatives dead. Chaos in the head office. No one knew what to do.

That last time I left home, I thought I would come back. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Keisha, who was frightened about even the minutia of daily living. Having to face one of those boneless loose-skinned boogeymen? She would be helpless, and it would be my fault. I would indirectly be her murdered.

So I didn’t come back. It destroyed me. But I am a protector, I had to remove myself from Keisha’s life, letting her think that I had died. I just didn’t know any other way to do it.

Keisha: We had been walking for two hours and still no highway. I was staring to lose sense of direction. For all I knew, we were heading deeper into the wilderness. The afternoon heat was brutal. We had no water, and so we carried our thirst in our bodies. Thirst is heavy. It made us slow, made us stoop. The howls of the Thistle Men came from all sides. Hooting and laughing and whooping. We couldn’t tell distance at all. They could be right upon us or miles back.

I stopped, looked back at Alice. What were we doing? If this was it, did we want to spend the end wandering purposelessly? “Keep going,” she said. [sighs] “Keep going where?” I said. I searched out surroundings, not recognizing any landmark. And then, I saw a glint against the horizon and pointed at it before I knew what I was looking at. I thought of a time in Death Valley, a light in the sky above the Badlands. Alice laughed in relief. “A reflection off a car,” she said. “It’s the highway. [sighs] Oh, thank god you saw that.” “Yeah,” I said, “Thank god.” I don’t know what I saw.

We were so close to the highway, maybe 40 more feet, when I heard Alice gasp. I turned. A Thistle Man, his crooked baggy face grinning at me, as he squeezed his arm around my wife’s throat.

Alice: It felt as though the part of me that was human was gone. What is a person outside of the context of others? As George Eliot wrote: “What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other?” Stripped of that, I still ate and breathed and shit, but I was not Alice. And I wanted nothing more than to be Alice.

I took no comfort in my hollowness, there is nothing romantic about it. It was a sickness, and I had left the only cure behind. Home was a person and I wanted to go home.

“How would you explain it to her?” Lucy said to me. “Where would you say you’ve been?” “I don’t know,” I told her. “I’ll figure it out.” “No,” Lucy said. “You try to explain it to me, right now, out loud. Where you’ve been as though you were talking to Keisha. I wanna hear the story you’d tell.” Of course I couldn’t. I couldn’t. The conversation ended there.

Month passed, then one day I considered a sight that had become ubiquitous in my life. The news crews covering the violent event we were investigating that day. In my despair, I stopped and I watched the crew film. Without allowing myself to think about what I was doing, I pushed my way through and stood at the front of the crowd of onlookers and I stared straight into the camera. Hoping that somehow, Keisha would end up on the other side of the stare.

Lucy was furious, as you can imagine. But I didn’t stop. A fire outside of Tacoma. Landslide in Thousand Oaks. A hostage situation in Saint Joseph. I kept doing it. Would I have done if it I had known it would lead Keisha to doing what she did? Probably not. I had sacrificed everything to keep her safe, and here my impulsiveness sent her careening out into the most dangerous places of all.

Keisha: [breathless] “Run,” said Alice. “Just run, please!” The Thistle Man snorted. It sounded like a boot pulling out of mud. [terrifying] “Yeah, run chipmunk,” he oozed. “Run away.” Branches cracking interview eh brush around us, yelps close by. Alice was sobbing and she was mouthing “go” over and over as the ropey arms circled her tighter and tighter.

Well fuck that and fuck the Thistle Men! I charged toward him, howling back sounding for all the world like one of them. I had become more than willing to meet their violence with my own, and I had learned a thing or two about how to do that. Alice thrashed as her oxygen was fully cut off, but I was already driving my thumbs into both of the Thistle Man’s eyes, pushing inward and upward as hard as I could, until I felt them squish beneath me. He screamed and let Alice loose, thrashing blindly at me. His hand connected with my head once then twice, and the world went away for a moment. I couldn’t hear out of one ear, I could hardly see.

Alice regained her breath, went in for a kick but caught the rebound from one of his swings and was on the ground again. He turned, sensing her vulnerability, and I used that moment to heft a rock and take it to him, over and over until he was down, Alive but incapacitated, in a puddle of that yellow glob that fills their bodies. “Hffffffffffffff,” he shouted at me. “Woooooooooooooooo.” I used the rock one last time, right onto his face, and he didn’t say anything after that. “We have to go,” I said to Alice, pulling her up. “I’ll help you,” she said, trying to put her arm around me and I could almost laugh. Almost. “Hun, you can hardly walk. I will be helping you.” I could hear out of my one good ear that the rest of the Thistle Men were upon us. I pulled us the last 30 feet to the highway, where I began wildly waving for help. a truck driver stopped and I hurriedly but successfully convinced him that we were one of his kind and just needed to get a ride to whatever the next town was.

From there, we were able to rent another car. We got the nicest one they had, because we knew that our line of credit would be burned anyway once the other rental company realized they weren’t getting their car back. So might as well run up that bill if we were gonna skip out on it.

The nicest one they had was only OK. It was a small town agency. And from there, back to Midland and our truck.

As we pulled up to our home on the road ,I stopped the car and turned to Alice. “I saved you,” I said. “I saved you, OK? So go ahead, kid yourself that everything you did was because I needed protection and so that justifies it somehow. But you remember this. you remember that I saved you and not the other way around.” I got out of the car and into our truck, and from there we went out of town and onto Texas, and onto whatever was gonna happen to us next.

Today’s quote: “Does anyone suppose a private prayer is necessarily candid, necessarily goes to the roots of action? Private prayer is inaudible speech, and speech is representative. Who can represent himself such as he is, even in his own reflections?” from Middlemarch by George Eliot. Thanks for listening.

#alice isn't dead #part 3 #part 3 chapter 3 #means of escape

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infinitesimal-grey · 6 years

Text

Borrower Jane Doe: Part 1

Word count: 1,356

Aka: In which Jane just wants material for her jeans, but is an idiot in how she does it. Alex is not amused.

SFW

Warnings: Slight blood/gore

...

Jane scanned the carpeted floor in front of her before quietly slipping through the slit in the wallpaper. The carpet swallowed up her boots until her legs were surrounded up to mid thigh, and she trudged through the thick, scratchy fibers trying to trip her. At least the resident knew what a vacuum was, unlike their neighbor.

The unruly long carpet would get better once she was further from the wall, on worn carpet. But of course, that would mean being out in the open. With the way she lived, that thought made her heart race with terror and an odd sense of excitement. Jane had always been curious about humans. She would collect small trinkets and such that wouldn’t be missed was a hobby to help try to satisfy these curiosities.

When her race averaged out at three and a half inches, that curiously was understandably frowned upon. Jane’s family was not fond about her unnatural interest in humans. Her parents told her the dangers of being Seen at least twice daily. Once she was 21, Jane couldn’t wait to move out. She already had her sights set on a townhouse not too far away. It took her quite a bit of stubborness to convince her parents she’d be fine living on her own. (Well kind of her own, but her very large roommate didn't need to know she lived right under their nose.)

So she made her journey to the chosen townhouse, arriving there shortly after new humans had moved into each of the two homes.

Finally reaching the edge of the giantess’ wooden dresser, Jane listened once more for any movement. The bedroom was silent aside from the sleeping giant’s steady breathing. Her sharp climbing hook unsheathed, Jane sent it soaring up to catch on the side of a partially opened drawer. She didn't even bother tugging to assure the hook was sturdy before starting her assent. Jane had developed near perfect aim soon after learning to climb, and it was the skill she was most proud of.

With practiced stealth she pulled herself up. In no time the tiny was hoisting herself onto the ledge of the drawer, dangling her legs over the inner edge. There wasn't much variety visible in the dull light, mostly ripped jeans and black leather.

Jane looked over to her right. The dresser was right next to the bed and gave her a level view with the back of the resident giant’s head. She sat and stared for a moment longer than necessary.

Jane finally forced her eyes away and wasted no time grabbing her hook. The cuff of a pant leg muffled the short jump down. She didn’t bother to wind the string up, keeping it dangling so she could simply re-attach the hook for a swift exit. It wouldn’t take long to get the fabric she needed.

Jane’s eyes easily found the objective of this dangerous trip, a particularly shredded pair of jeans with tons of thread hanging off. She sprinted over to it, hook in hand, trusting any padding noises her feet made on the thick fabric would never possibly be heard through the wooden dresser by a fast asleep human. With so much extra material, there's no way anyone would notice any missing. She desperately needed the fabric to make a new pair of jeans since her only pair was basically scraps from the knees down after the long trip to her new home. So the young woman grabbed a fistful of thread and set to work hacking at the fibers with her hook.

In her concentration, she didn't even notice the subtle change in pattern of the breaths being drawn into those massive lungs.

A sudden sharp rustle rang like a gunshot in the dead silence of the bedroom.

Jane jumped and the hook cut clean through the last fibers and slashed forth, tearing down the side of her right arm like paper. Blood from the wound dribbled right down onto the frayed white threads, staining them a dark crimson. Hopefully the stain would be shrugged off as ketchup, because there was no time to cut the stain out. Jane had to run, now.

Thinking quick, she starting wrapping the fabric she had around the wound tightly and hissing in pain. There was so much blood... The impromptu bandaging would have to do. Pants material would need to wait, right now she needed to get out of there.

More fabric rustled and resettled as a being over twenty times larger than herself moved not more than a foot away from Jane. It felt like her heart would burst out of her chest.

BadoomBadoomBadoom.

The frantic rhythm slammed and it felt like the thudding of her heart reverberating through her would be the thing to give her away. Jane attempted to stand. Her vision swam and forced her to sit back down. Consciousness tried slipping through her grasp as maroon roses bloomed along the white fabric on her forearm. It didn't help that Jane had never been one to stomach gore.

There was no way to get out of the drawer in this condition, Jane realized bitterly. Her only hope of surviving is to hide and keep pressure on her gash until the bleeding stopped. Hopefully the giant isn’t really waking u-

A thundering yawn broke through the air. No no nonononoooo. Jane groaned inwardly, cursing herself for jinxing it. A sharp groan of bed springs snapped the tiny woman into a frenzied rush. Jane pulled at her climbing rope to keep it out of immediate sight. Not even bothering to wind it up properly. She just grasped at it one handed with the other arm pushed hard against her chest.

But even her best attempts at covering her tracks couldn't hope to be fast enough.

Wood scraped wood in a jarring cacophony and the ground underfoot jolted forward.

Jane fell onto her back as her hiding spot slid forward, and the drawer ceiling vanished from above her. Barely holding back a scream of pain, she held as still as possible. She was still too far from the opposite wall to duck for cover there, and too weak to lift the cumbersome cloth to hide under. So she sat there frozen, hoping the giant wouldn't notice her in the dark.

A huge arm stretched over her, and pinched her climbing rope into a sleepy, curious grip for inspection. Lifting it and letting it drape over their fingers for a couple seconds. The mattress creaked and groaned in the dark to re-accommodate a new distribution of immense weight. A switch clicked on. A burning light burst into existence from above, blinding the poor, shaking woman in the drawer.

The sudden blindness made her heart beat a thousand times harder and a cold sweat broke out across her skin.

Uncontrollable shivers and shakes danced over her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes slowly adjusted, but Jane almost wished they hadn’t. In view were fingers longer than her body stretching towards her like snakes moving in on prey. All Jane could do was squeeze her eyes shut and wish that she'd wake up in her bed, putting this nightmare behind her.

There was no stopping the intent of a force as large as the giant, in a second the fingers were upon her. The digits coiled tight and fast under and around her small form, pinning Jane’s injured arm to her chest, the other was pinned against her side.

Jane was covered up to her collarbone, steel toed boots dangled far above solid ground. The hand was uncomfortably warm, and Jane squeezed her eyes shut. She had broken the biggest rule in borrowing, don’t get Seen. Don’t let human’s know you exist. Her breath stopped in her throat, waiting for the human’s hand to tighten. To break her, just like the horror stories told to her all her life.

Nothing came. The silence was deafening. Slowly, Jane peeked out, scared at what she would see. The giant was just staring at her with a blank expression. And Jane stared back in shock. The borrower waited in fear for the human to do something, say something.

“It’s too early for this shit.” Was not what the borrower expected.

...

Reviews and critique appreciated! Part 2 is in the works, the more feedback/notes I get the more priority it gets above my other projects ;)

Originally shared this over on the @brothersapart Discord, and from there I got the courage to post it here. Many thanks to all the lovely people over on there ^.^

#jane doe #borrower jane doe #alex #human alex #gt #g/t #borrower #borrowers #borrower oc #giantess #tiny #tiny oc #infintesimal-grey #infinitesimal-grey #blepblepblepblepblep #i love queue

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iwantthedean · 7 years

Text

Dance With Somebody

Summary: AU. Jensen is a bartender at San Jac. Over time, he finds himself more than a little intrigued by a regular customer. Pairing: Jensen x Reader Word Count: 1800 Warnings: None. Challenge: @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian and @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid Divas of Storytelling Challenge. My prompt was Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”.

A/N: Knock on wood so I’m not jinxing myself, but writing has been going so much better the last few days! Tried to get back to some good ole fluff with this one -- enjoy!

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At eight-thirty on the dot, same time as always, she walked into San Jac and took a seat at one of the tall tables next to the window. Jensen set a glass tumbler on the smooth counter in front of him, went light on the ice and sour mix, heavy on the whiskey, then made way for the table.

“Y/N, sweetheart. Right on time, as usual,” he greeted, setting the glass in front of her.

She sipped at it and smiled. “Mmm, delicious as always. Thanks.”

Jensen returned her smile then headed back for the bar. He kept an eye on her as he usually did, pacing out her drinks but making sure she never had to ask for a refill. Y/N had been coming in to San Jack for as long as he could remember now, and was one of his favorite regulars. She never asked for much, never caused a stir, and never stayed later than midnight.

She also never got out of her chair. Jensen would catch her wishfully watching other patrons dancing to the music provided by the live band, but she never joined them. Though he often wondered why, it never occurred to him to actually ask her why she was always alone, always just watching.

Then, one night, she came in with a man. They sat at the bar, and Y/N introduced her date to Jensen. She ordered her usual, and her date ordered a local brew. Jensen kept an eye out as the couple chatted, all smiles and seeming to have a good time.

This must be it, he thought to himself. She’s finally going to get out on that dance floor tonight.

As often as Y/N glanced at the dance floor, though, she and her date never left their barstools. They went through a few rounds of drinks, but, as far as Jensen could tell, they never even mentioned dancing.

For a few nights after that, she didn’t come in to the bar; Jensen was starting to worry when she finally returned — this time on her own.

“Miss me?” she grinned as he set her whiskey sour on the tall table.

Jensen nodded and winked at her. “Of course I did. Everything all right?”

“Fine,” she replied, sipping at her drink. “Tried a couple new places with my date from the other night. Wasn’t too impressed. I like it here.”

“I like having you here,” Jensen smiled. “You’re here earlier tonight — you ate before coming to drink, right?”

Y/N laughed. “Yes, I promise. Didn’t come to drink on an empty stomach.”

“Good,” Jensen chuckled. He wiped down the table next to hers and then went back to the bar to attend to his other customers.

It was almost a comfort to have her back, sipping her whiskey sours, occasionally making conversation with him, and watching the dance floor — watching but never joining the crowd.

One rainy night, the bar was exceptionally slow. Jared, the bar’s owner, called and asked if Jensen thought that it would be better to just shut down and send everyone home for the night.

Jensen looked over at Y/N in her usual spot; she was twirling the stir stick around her drink, her chin rested on her hand. Her glances at the dance floor tonight were particularly longing, he thought.

“Why don’t we shut down the upper level, and I’ll let the band down here decide what they want to do? Me and one waitress should be enough to cover the people who are here.”

Jared trusted Jensen’s judgement, so he let his friend make the call. After a few minutes, Jensen asked the waitress to cover the bar while he went upstairs to make the announcement that they’d be shutting down the upper level of the place. The band downstairs decided to call it a night, but the acoustic act from upstairs stayed on to keep music playing on the main level.

With the few remaining customers satisfied for the time being, Jensen took the seat across from Y/N. She looked up at him, brow raised.

“Do I need to leave so you can go home?” she asked.

Jensen shook his head. “Nope. Just figured since things are slowing down, I’d figure out what it is that has you so down tonight.”

“Maybe it’s just the rain,” she sighed, leaning back in the chair.

“No, I don’t think so. C’mon. I’m the bartender — might as well be a shrink, right?”

That earned a hint of a smile. “Just life, Jay. That’s all.”

He raised his brow, urging her to elaborate.

“It’s just — I moved down here from my hometown a few years ago. Started coming into the bar because I didn’t know anyone. The bar was new, I think, and so was I. It was a comfort. I figured having a regular place to go would help me meet people while I got settled. Yeah, I met you, and I’ve met some people at work but … I don’t know. Still feels like something is missing. Or someone.”

Jensen thought for a moment. “Someone you left back home, maybe?”

“Definitely not,” Y/N snorted, catching his drift. “There was a guy there, but he was more part of the reason that I left. My life seemed so shattered when we fell apart, I had to start completely over.”

“You never got over it,” Jensen surmised. “Him, yes. Having someone, no.”

She sighed again. “You could be right.”

A new customer, wet and shivering from the rainstorm, approached the bar. Jensen stood from the chair and squeezed her hand. “Hang in there, Y/N. You’ll dance again.”

This time she laughed; not even a sad laugh or one that wasn’t whole-hearted. The laugh was genuine and cheerful, and warmed Jensen’s concerned heart.

After that, she started coming into San Jac with dates more often. Jensen never saw any of them more than once, but she never seemed upset again like she had on that rainy night.

“I’m trying,” Y/N told him. “It gets discouraging at time, but the guy’s out there. The one who’s gonna ask me to dance and be someone I can depend on and be my friend before anything.”

Not so much to ask for, Jensen thought to himself.

He did his part, serving drinks as requested and encouraging her when the guy spent the whole time on his phone or ignored those ever-present glances at the dance floor. He kept her laughing on the nights she came in alone, and even provided her company on the nights when the bar was slow.

It was one such night when Jared was able to come in and check on things, as he did every once in a while. There were three customers, including Y/N, and Jensen was the only employee there. Even the usual acoustic act had opted to go home for the night.

The two men stood behind the bar and chatted while the customers sipped at their drinks and listened to the jukebox play. Jared watched his friend glance at the woman sitting by the window one too many times for him not to say something.

“Tell me, Jack,” Jared said, “she the reason you don’t close on slow nights?”

Jensen looked in the direction of his friend’s pointed finger, but he didn’t need to — he was only playing dumb at this point. He shrugged and did whatever he could not to look Jared in the eye.

“No, of course not,” Jensen replied.

Jared snorted. “Yeah, that’s convincing.”

Jensen rolled his eyes. “C’mon, man. She’s just a regular. Been coming in here since you opened the place.”

Jared still wasn’t convinced, but he left it alone for the time being. They stayed open for another hour, and when they announced last call, Y/N was the last one to leave. Jensen introduced her to Jared, and the three of them chatted for a few more minutes before she made her way home. She turned at the door to wave at them, and the shine in Jensen’s eye told Jared everything he needed know about this woman who was “just a regular.”

Ten days — that’s how many she was gone after that night. Jensen knew because he counted. He had lost count, however, of how many times he watched the door of the bar when it opened. Each time, he hoped her smiling face would come through, but it was always someone else.

After all those days, he was prepared to track down her number. He didn’t know how he was missing someone so much that he had never seen outside of the bar and didn’t know much about, but here he was, wondering what had happened and why she stopped coming in. His yearning convinced him of one thing: if Y/N ever came back in to the bar, he’d get to know her better. Hell, maybe he’d even ask her out for dinner or something.

Just after eleven, a new customer came in and took a seat at the bar. Jensen had given up hope that Y/N would come in that night, so he was caught off guard when she greeted him cheerfully.

“Glad to see the place wasn’t falling apart without me.”

He recognized her voice immediately, and the shock wore off quickly; Jensen was simply glad to see her. He neglected to tell her that the place hadn’t fallen apart without her, but he nearly had. “Hey, stranger. Thought maybe you’d fallen off the face of the planet.”

“Nah. Just went home to see family.”

Jensen smiled; that was a reason he could deal with. He listened closely while she told him about her trip, which included many details about her friends, family, and hometown. He asked questions and even shared some stories about his own family. Before either of them realized it, the time for last call had come. Only a few other patrons remained, but they paid their tabs and left quickly. Y/N slid off the barstool and reached for the cash in her back pocket.

“Keep it,” Jensen said, pushing the bills back to her. “It’s on the house tonight — my welcome back to you.”

Y/N smiled as she shoved the cash back in her pocket. “Thanks, I appreciate it. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait, Y/N,” Jensen called, coming around the bar to catch up with her. “Uh, if I can get the band to stay for another song or two — will you dance with me?”

The pink on her cheeks was almost as bright as the shine in her eyes. Her smile reached from ear to ear as she took his outstretched hand.

“Yes. I’d love to dance with you.”

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