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entishramblings · 3 years

Text

The Essence of Arda [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: whoA okay so this fic took me on a whole ass adventure. I kinda just let the story go where it wanted to and ya know I’m kinda happy with how it turned out. Also, “(h/c)” means hair color...there is something I included but I wanted to make sure you guys could still see yourself as the character so yeah! Another also...I’m sorry....this was requested literally so long ago.

Request: @sokkasdarling — heyhey im gonna request smth cus i LOVE U AND UR WRITING HHHH okay so how about a jealous legolas fic where he thinks the reader and aragorn have a lil thing going on but they're just really great friends and she actually likes legolas very much?? please and thank you<3333

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N) and Legolas’s paths cross in an unexpected way and the two develop feelings for each other. However, Legolas is unsure and gets jealous bc of the way Aragorn and (Y/N) interact.

Word Count: 3,661 (sorry I got a little carried away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, cuteness, jealousy, the tiniest amount of nudity

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST | AO3

Legolas had met many wandering souls throughout his travels of middle earth—weathered, withered, and warped humans in particular, for the elements and loneliness seemed to affect them more so. Elves, on the other hand, were bound to nature. It was where their hearts rested and their spirits thrived; therefore, the desperation of the empty lands of Arda did not affect him. However, that didn’t mean he did not wish for company. So, on that account, Legolas made his way north towards the Dundain, in hopes to see his good friend Aragorn once more.

It was there, in the northern wilderness, where he met the most riveting and thought-provoking individual. The intriguing nature that compelled his attention was that she was so unlike the other humans he ventured upon, specifically because she wasn’t exactly human.

The first time he had met (Y/N) was when her sharp canine teeth were at his throat.

A (h/c) she-wolf had launched herself at him with an unhinged jaw and barring teeth. The nimble creature had been so swift that he, even as an elf, did not have time to react. The wolf had pinned him down with a viscous expression—laughing at his surprise. Legolas was only quick enough to pull a knife from his belt once he was already knocked down upon the mud. However, he hesitated just before he was going to strike the blade into the beasts’ belly.

As intimidated as he was, something in those vibrant earthy eyes made him halt. Was it the deep churning of the sea? The fresh breath of the sky? The moisture of the leaves? The pooling of sun-kissed honey? The thickness of clay-like soil? Legolas was unsure why exactly, but those eyes reflected the essence of Arda—they reflected it right back into his soul. And here was his miscalculation, for the natural instincts of a wolf would not suspend for its prey—well, not without a familiar voice calling out....?

“(Y/N), NO!”

The creature froze. She reluctantly backed off of his form but she did not let her guard down. Instead, she circled him with those same barring teeth and low growls.

Legolas inhaled a deep breath of cold air as he tried to re-center himself, for it was not often an elf got knocked on their ass and enthralled so deep in a beauty.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and focused in on his elvish senses—feeling every nerve in his body scream out to be alert.

Legolas’s ears picked up the first indication—the speaker.

A sound of rough, ragged panting carried through the breeze as his gaze whispered upon the being who had previously hollered—a worn down Ranger.

A small grin crossed the elf’s face. Aragon stood before Legolas, with hands on his knees, sucking in deep breathes. An entirely human action. The Ranger clearly had a hard time keeping up with the canine creature—which he surprisingly seemed to be acquainted with.

“Legolas, by the Valar, I didn’t know you were traveling through these parts,” He exclaimed.

The elf chuckled as he stood, brushing dirt off his palms.

“Well, I suppose I am lucky for she listens to you well,” He nodding at the wolf for reference.

The Ranger shook his head and let out an amused laugh. “She never listens to a thing I say. So, you are lucky, indeed.”

The wolf released a snort-like sound as if she was retorting to his words.

The Ranger rolled his eyes before speaking to Legolas again, “Let me show you to where we are camped. A hot meal will be waiting.”

Legolas smiled softly, “Thank you, Mellon Nin (my friend).”

The group—consisting of man, elf, and wolf—traveled through the woodland tundra with small conversation between the two who could speak. They shared their recent adventures and current news across the lands until they come upon a handful of Rangers around a blazing fire. They were clad in similar attire as Aragorn, being worn leather boots and thick fraying fabrics. Each of them had the same haunted expressions as many people Legolas had met, yet nothing like the joyful grin that pulled slightly at Aragorn’s lips.

The Ranger introduced each of his companions to the elf as he settled down upon a log. Legolas did the same, allowing himself to become enthralled by the brilliant flames. The she-wolf left his thoughts.

As the moon rose high and stars stretched across the sky, the rangers began to settle for the evening. It was then when the elf ducked away to relieve himself.

He made his way through the twisting trees in silence for he enjoyed listening to the sounds of night’s nature. But the normal chirps and hoots was not what met his ears; rather it was snapping bones and ripping skin, small groans and weak whimpers—it was pain.

Legolas narrowed his eyes and crept forward cautiously, fearful of what he might find.

The sounds let him towards a rather large bolder that was impeded in the ground and covered in thick moss. He was startled as he laid a hand on the cold stone, for a leg protruded upon the side—a leg belonging to the canine species.

It bended and it snapped, morphing into one of human nature—much like his own. It then disappeared behind the rock once more. He could not hold back the gasp that left his lips for witnessing such a thing was—shocking, confusing, terrifying. It was unnatural, but then again, what was ever natural within the lands of Arda?

Legolas’s attention was drawn upwards as a naked figure shakily stood before him.

She stood straight, with impeccable posture, and a head held high; but that is not what claimed his consciousness. It was that vibrant gaze, burning angry holes into him.

She spoke sharply, “Well, are you going to pass me my clothing?”

Instead of responding or making any motion, he froze as if he was deer hiding from the predator once more. His blue orbs locked onto hers, for he dared not let his gaze wander.

Dreadful silence hung in their air as he processed that the person before him indeed was a wolf moments before—the wolf.

However, that antagonizing absence of sound was disrupted when life was breathed back into him and he could finally move his lips. Though it came out as a whisper, for elves were conservative creatures and such a sight had caught him off guard, it still came out nonetheless.

“You are—are not entirely human.” He stated with an expression that seeped curiousness and inquiry.

“Though, currently, I am shaped like one. So, as you are in my way, I will ask you once again to pass me my clothing.” She reiterated.

Legolas’s brows pulled together and his lips mumbled her words back to her as he searched his mind for the meaning. He twisted around and around until a pile of dark fabrics caught his eye. He grasped them gently and passed it over the boulder between them into her calloused hands.

He turned so his back was facing her. His anxiety and awkwardness reverberated off of every word that non-consensually tumbled from his lips. “You are a shifter then—able to alter your form? A wolf....so I suppose it was you who almost tore my throat out.” He paused before recalling her name, “(Y/N).” He should have stopped there if he could, but alas, he couldn’t. “I have only ever met one other like you. His name was Beorn—a great black bear he was—“

She interrupted him, “Most elves I come across are not so verbal. Though, Strider had mentioned you before, Legolas. A strange fellow you are indeed.”

A small grin of embarrassment flickered across his face, not that she could see. “He called me strange?”

A laugh, sounding of blades of grass rubbing together against the wind, struck the air. (Y/N) spoke, “For an elf he had said. But truly, he was too generous with those extra words.”

Legolas tilted his head at that for it seemed to be an insult; but before he could decide on such a matter, she called out to him again—this time fully clothed and ten feet in front of him.

“Are you coming?”

He quickly scampered after her.

As he and (Y/N) entered the area, Aragorn, who still sat by the fire, glanced up with a shimmer in his eye.

Legolas gridded his teeth and sat down next to the man. In a voice as low and quiet as he could muster, he spoke to the Ranger. “Why didn’t you tell me she was the wolf?”

Aragorn smirked in amusement before whispering back, “I figured you would eventually come to that conclusion and by your expression it was not of the best experiences.”

Legolas shot his friend a glare, but that only made the Ranger grin more.

Luckily for the elf, (Y/N) interrupted the moment. “Strider, did you save me some stew? I’m starved.”

The man passed a bowl to her as he spoke, “You know I always do, (Y/N).”

She smiled gratefully.

The Ranger stood and made his way to his bedroll, clapping the elf on the shoulder as he went.

Legolas took notice of the interaction between the two and turned his attention to the woman sitting across from him.

Once he was sure Aragorn was out of ear shot, he spoke quite bluntly, “You and Strider....are you—“

She snorted, “No, no. His heart lies in Rivendell.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow, “And yours?”

(Y/N) shrugged and glanced up at the scenery around them. “Here. In the lands of middle earth.”

The elf tilted his head, examining her again.

She stopped her chewing and sent him an accusatory look. “What?”

Legolas smiled softly, “I sense that shifters are much like elves in that regard—bound to nature and tethered in the sky.”

She raised a brow, “And what makes you think that?”

He chuckled lightly at her bold fierceness, “Your eyes. I can see the essence of Arda in them.”

(Y/N) shook her head in amusement, “Elves and their poetry.” She paused, taking a moment to think. “Although what you say is true, it is within that where I think we differ. You elves are laced up spiritually whereas shifters are tied animalisticly.” When the elf did not respond she continued, “You care for morals, I care to survive.”

Legolas nodded in understanding, “Yet we both appreciate the beauty of it.”

The corner of her lip pulled upwards and she shook her head in agreement.

......

As time went on and the small group traveled, the female shifter and the elf became great friends—bonding over their infinity with nature. The two had split off from the rangers for a little while because (Y/N) wanted to see the forest of Greenwood and examine what seemed to be haunting it. However, after approximately two moon cycles, they met with Aragorn once more. He was not with his previous companions though, so it was only the three of them.

The months had gotten colder and they traveled upon open plains so (Y/N) stayed in her wolf form. It was easier for the time being. And it was in this shape that she came bounding towards the ranger that she had not seen in a while.

She jumped up upon him, knocking him to the ground as she had once done to Legolas. She plastered wet slobbery licks upon his face as his chest rumbled with laughter.

The elf could not help but feel a pang of jealous encase his heart. He had grown to develop feelings for the shifter as they had grown close over their journey.

Just as he felt bound to nature, he felt bound to her.

So he stood, with a fire burning in his heart, as he watched (Y/N) give canine affection to his human friend.

As the days continued on, Legolas’s irritation grew. (Y/N) strayed closer to Aragorn’s side—rubbing her face against his leg and pawing at his feet in attempt to trip him.

Of course, Aragorn could pick up on the elf’s mood and angry looks. He had thought Legolas was aware of his lover in Rivendell, but perhaps not. The Ranger had wanted to find a moment alone with the elf so he could assure him of the sibling-like relationship between him and the shifter; but with open freezing lands like this, there was no privacy.

The small trio had settled upon large rocks for the night as that was the only shelter available. They lit a brilliant fire in attempt to starve off the nipping wind, but it only did so much.

Aragorn, wrapped in blankets, had fallen asleep quite quickly; whereas Legolas sat brooding, leaning against a boulder.

It was a moment before he noticed those curious eyes on him. They twinkled with the emotions of Arda, searching his soul. With a tilted head, the wolf approached him slowly.

She crawled forward, so close that her wet nose was inches from his own. She resting one large paw upon his thigh but her weight did not hurt him.

Legolas did not move because he was taken by surprise. (Y/N), as partially human, did understand boundaries; yet, she did not seem to care about them in this instance. Instead, she studied him—up close.

The elf knew that she was searching him for answers given she had noticed his mood as well. However, Legolas did not wish to give any. Therefore, he held his porcelain elf features strong, not bending to her intimidation. He starred right back at her. Though this time, his eyes were filled with anger and frustration—and (Y/N) could tell.

Legolas was upset with her for she blatantly gave Aragorn affections.

Could she not see his heart?

He had said he would not bend to her will and intimidation. He had decided he would be cold towards her. He had made a choice—a choice that he could not uphold as he gazed into her soft eyes of nature.

Slowly, he raised a gentle hand. He brought it close to her face. When she did not pull away, he cupped the canine’s features.

To his disbelief, (Y/N) completed an action he had never seen her do before—even with Aragorn. She leaned into his touch.

Legolas’s lips parted as the moment encapsulated his mind.

He let his hand fall slowly and (Y/N) leaped off his lap. But she did not scamper off in a different direction. Instead, she ducked into his side and curled up against him. She let her head rest on his lap.

Cautiously, Legolas began to stroke her soft, (h/c) fur. He let the short strands slip through his fingers, lulling her to sleep.

.....

When Legolas woke, (Y/N) was not in his sights. He sent a confused expression towards Aragorn who was tending to the dwindling flames.

“She will be back,” the Ranger stated simply.

The elf stood and walked towards Aragorn. “Where did she go?”

The ranger shrugged while biting back a smile.

Legolas frowned at his playful expression, “I know you know something, Aragorn.”

The man raised his brows. “I woke sometime in the night. You and (Y/N) seemed quite close.” He paused, the tone of his voice changing, “You know, she never lets anyone touch her like that.”

“Never have you....?” Legolas let his sentence trail off as the ranger shook his head.

Aragorn spoke again, “My heart rests with another.”

Their conversation was cut short by a feminine voice. “Have either of you seen my cloak?”

Legolas’s head snapped in the direction of the sound for it had been long since (Y/N) was in her human form.

The shifter stood before them shivering slightly in her clothes. They were clearly not fit for the freezing air as the fabric was thin—so thin that her the curve of her breasts and nipples was easily seen.

Legolas adverted his eyes and instantly began to ruffle through his bag as he spoke with concern in his tone. “(Y/N), why have you shifted to your human form? Did you not say it was safer for you to travel through this weather as a wolf?”

She sighed, “It is harder to communicate in my animal form.”

Both of the men knew what she was alluding to.

Legolas cleared his throat and pulled out a couple fabrics from his bag. “I have been carrying your cloak.” He moved towards her as he continued speaking. “Wear this as well. It is an elvish tunic weaved from my homeland; it will keep you warm.”

“Legolas, you don’t ha—“

He shook his head, “Please, I insist.”

(Y/N) reluctantly took it and pulled the fabric over her head. She frowned as she handled the wrap around ties, not quite able to figure out how they were supposed to lay.

The elf smiled softly, “Here, let me.”

Ever so gently he took the extra fabric in his hands and begun to weave it around her form. He tied the delicate cloths in a simple knot before moving to fasten her cloak under her chin.

“Thank you, Legolas.”

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, “It is no problem.”

He turned to gather his belongings as they were to continue their way through Arda. However, as he did so, Aragorn shot him an amused playful look. The elf sent him a sharp glare in retribution.

.....

Within a couple days, a winter storm hit the group. Luckily, they were not far from a human town which they gratefully took refuge in. Of course, as they busted into the inn, many weird looks were thrown their direction. It was not often this area was crossed by elves and rangers—and skin changers, but they were unaware of (Y/N)’s less than human nature.

They each paid for a room and took time to settle into the warmth.

Legolas rested on the edge of the cot, fiddling with one of his blades. He had let his thoughts wander to a place he had been avoiding. A bond with nature was one thing he knew deep within his soul, but a bond with another was something untouched and left uncovered. Of course he had had acquaintances with friends and family; however, the bond he was debating over was one with a lover. He knew where his heart craved to be, yet he was unsure how to proceed.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the frame of his open door.

Legolas looked up to see (Y/N). She was wearing fresh clothing, likely washed and pressed by a maid. All the filth and grim had been scrubbed from her skin and her wet hair was pulled into a tight braid.

“(Y/N),” he stated simply. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head as she stepped into his room, “Well, not entirely.”

Legolas frowned at that comment.

The shifter walked closer until she stood only a foot from the elf.

He looked up into her vibrant eyes with question.

(Y/N) cleared her throat as she gently placed something soft and neatly folded into his hands. “Thank you for lending me your extra tunic.”

He smiled softly at her, “Won’t you need it again when we depart? The weather isn’t getting warmer anytime soon.”

A light chuckle rumbled in her chest and she shook her head in response.

Legolas placed the fabric next to him and looked up at her again. He did not notice he was staring until she whispered his name.

“Legolas, why do you do that?”

He tilted his head trying to hid his embarrassment, “What do you mean?”

Her teeth scraped her bottom lip, “Why do you look at me like that?”

The elf adverted his gaze, “My apologizes. I did not mean to offend you—“

(Y/N) interrupted him, “It is not an offense.” She sighed before speaking again. “You look at me like you marvel at nature—as if I am something so breath taking.”

“You are.” He frowned, “Do you not think so of yourself?”

The woman did not say a word; instead, she shifted her vision to the floor.

Legolas reached outwards and took her hand in his own. “You are breath taking, (Y/N)—even more so than nature.”

She shook her head, “I—I don’t understand.”

Legolas could not hold back any longer. He knew he needed to explain what he meant but no words could formulate such a thing. Therefore, he gave into his impulses and did the only thing he could think of to demonstrate it. The elf pulled her into him and grasped her cheeks with his hands. Legolas drew her face downward and smashed his lips against hers. When she did not reiterate any action he instantly pulled away. Had he taken a step too far?

“Legolas,” she breathed out in a whisper.

“I...I am sorry...I didn’t—“

She shook her head and clasped his cheeks, bringing his mouth to hers once again. Their lips moved together like the rhythmic dance of the wind—swirling and intertwining with eagerness. Legolas could taste the essence of Arda upon her lips—the sweet honey from east of the Anduin, the fresh berries from the region of Eriador, the bitter nuts from the mountains of Angmar. (Y/N) moved her body in-between his legs, but she decided that that was not close enough. So, she lifted herself into his lap, letting his calloused hands encircle her waist and hold her steady. She could feel the warmth of sparking fires, the comfort of soft wool, the shield of shelter from harsh winds. Legolas laid down upon the bed, pulling her form with him. He could hear the pounding of her heart and the gasps of her breath. Every sound she made did not escape him, it fueled him. (Y/N) tangled her fingers in his blonde locks and smiled against his lips for she recognized every aspect of nature within the elf, for it was in her too. It was the essence of Arda.

.....

Everything Tag: @sokkasdarling @scxundress @quilledinkpen @hufflepuffinblr @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @swimming-in-stardust

Legolas Tag: @dark-angel-is-back @mylittle-escapingdreams @arandomfandomblog @moriamithril

#lord of the rings #lotr #the hobbit #legolas #aragorn #Legolas x reader #Legolas fic #legolas one shot #legolas drabble #legolas imagines #legolas one shots #legolas imagine #mirkwood #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction

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goblin-gardens · 3 years

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How do you find your found family? With a compass, of course. Hopefully they're always north of you.

EXU, 1611 words, all this is based off of is episode 1 vibes.

He's made it back to the place they're supposed to meet up before anyone else... but as he looks up at the statue he's waiting by, he realizes it looks different than it had this morning. From this angle, the marble statue almost looks bronze. The plaque on the base shares no secrets with him, either. He doesn't remember the name of the mage well enough to look for it among the words.

He sidles politely up to a man selling baked goods from a storefront. "Sorry to bother you," he says. The elf looks friendly enough. "I'm supposed to be meeting my friends by a statue of a mage? Is there one of those nearby?"

"Sure," the elf points first behind Dariax and then to the side. "There's the Vysoren statue at the north end of the Promenade, and there's a few in the park a few streets over. Can I offer you a doughnut for your walk?"

Dariax surveys the choices as the merchant begins to describe each flavor in detail. "I'll take one of each," he says decisively. That's enough to give one to each of his friends and still have a couple for himself.

Armed with fresh supplies, he stops at the crossroads. He can't see any other statues from where he is, so he places his compass in his palm and gives the needle a good spin while he munches on his first doughnut. When it slows, it's pointing off to his left, and as he follows its direction, he sees Opal's shining hair as she turns a corner and heads away from him.

"Hey! Hey Opal!" Dariax almost drops the bag of doughnuts as he scrambles to catch up. "Wait for me! I'm coming too!"

She turns around and waves with a huge smile as soon as she sees him. Dariax triumphantly offers her first choice of the doughnuts.

And they might get lost once or twice more before they find the right statue, but they make it with two doughnuts left. Dariax splits one with Dorian, and Fearne and Ormyn split the other with none left over for the monkey, which Dariax counts as a resounding success.

He's sitting at a bar, enjoying a cup of good ale, Dorian's music from the far side of the room, and the company of the pretty bartender, now that the night is later and the customers have slowed down.

Not all the way down, since it's a big place and she's the only one working. She laughs at Dariax's jokes, but when a trio of well-dressed merchant types sit down at the far end of the bar, she heads off. This time, without any assurance that she'll be back.

It doesn't ruin Dariax's mood any. Without her to talk to, he slips into a quiet, buzzy contentment, happy to savor his ale and the dry warmth after a day slogging through wet mud. He watches the way the firelight flickers on the glass bottles behind the counters for a while, a little drunk and a little hypnotized. When he feels his eyes start to cross, he shakes his head and sits up. He hadn't realized how far he'd slumped over.

The wood of the bar is the same color as parts of his compass rose. He turns the pendant over in his hand and gives the needle an idle spin. It settles pointing to his right, and Dariax is surprised and pleased to find Orym sitting beside him.

He knocks his mug companionably against the halfling's smaller, fuller cup. He doesn't recognize the drink in it. "All right then, Orym? You took some pretty hard hits there earlier."

"All right," Orym agrees. "Thanks to your help."

Dariax fills up to his ears with pride and warmth, and throws an arm around Orym's shoulders, pulling his whole stool closer in. "Of course! That's what friends are for, right?"

The bartender returns, bustling. "Need any refills, lads?"

"I'll have one of what he's having," Dariax tells her, gesturing at Orym's cup.

She raises an eyebrow but turns to grab a bottle from a shelf.

"Wait," Dariax whispers to Orym, "is that very expensive?"

"No," Orym whispers back, smirking. "Just not alcoholic."

But Dariax can't back out now. He only picks up the cup once the bartender has turned away again, and prepares himself to say something polite about whatever it is.

He takes a sip. Then one more. "Hey! That's actually pretty good!"

Orym chuckles into his cup. Dariax grins, so wide his cheeks hurt.

It's moved from late at night to very, very early in the morning. The moons have both set, even the crickets have stopped singing and gone to sleep, and Dariax is concerned that the sounds he's hearing in the woods is a pack of wolves coming to rip their throats out.

Dorian is the one who woke him up, so Dariax shouldn't bother him. Opal screamed and slapped time last time he woke her up, so he doesn't want to do that again. That leaves Fearne or Orym... Orym also hates being woken up, and the fucking monkey is curled up like a furry, smoldering teddy bear in Fearne's arms. No good options.

Dariax hears the noise again, and sees a treetop across the fire shake slightly. Wolves climbing trees? That's very bad. He looks anxiously between Orym and Fearne, hoping one of them will wake up on their own.

No dice. Stumped, Dariax picks up his compass rose and gives the needle one tiny little tap. It quivers and points at Fearne.

Maybe that's a good call. Little Mister can go up the tree and fight the wolves there. Dariax leans over and gingerly shakes Fearne's shoulder.

Her eyes pop open and her ears flicker as he puts his finger to his lips, then points out to where he heard the noise.

"I think there's something out there," he whispers. "Maybe wolves."

Fearne sits up quietly, sliding the monkey down onto her bedroll gently enough that he only mutters and rolls into the warm spot she leaves behind.

"I have a way to see," she whispers back, and casts a spell that Dariax doesn't recognize. Everything around them seems to catch fire for just a moment, then the light settles into a dim, smoldering blue, outlining their sleeping friends around the fire, each leaf of the trees and bushes around them...

and the family of startled raccoons staring down at them from the trees.

Fearne giggles, and Dariax slumps in relief. "Not wolves," she says, and pats him on the shoulder. The light around them fades like an ember dying, and they sit and watch the forest wake up around them.

Dariax is feeling very proud of himself for smooth-talking the smith into a discount. His spear is looking sharp and shiny, and he picked up some new daggers for Opal with the extra cash he'd saved. They're just normal, not as pink as her favorites, but pretty good all the same.

He'd offered to get Dorian's axe sharpened as well, but apparently it doesn't work that way.

He's heading back to their spot, following the sunset down the main road, when he hears a noise from an alleyway to his left. It's soft, but as he listens closer, it resolves into music, an unfamiliar melody that seems to draw him in.

Dariax shakes his head and turns back down the well-lit, populated main road, which has no suspicious music.

He takes a few steps away.

He squeezes his eyes shut and counts to ten, but that doesn't make him move any farther down the main street.

He turns to the alley. He turns away. He takes out his compass rose and shakes it, listening to the music all the while. It has a rhythm, but the single notes feel lonely, like it's supposed to be part of a larger piece.

The needle settles, and points straight down the alley. Dariax follows.

There's a little garden at the end of the alley. It's full of flowers he thinks that Fearne would love, and a fountain gurgling cheerfully in the center.

He doesn't try to move sneakily, but Dorian's eyes are closed when Dariax comes around the corner, flute raised to his lips, a focused expression on his face as he repeats a phrase before moving on.

Dariax stands and watches quietly for a moment, swept up in the music, before he clears his throat. Dorian startles and the music ends in a squeak.

"Sorry," Dariax says into the sudden, awkward quiet. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

Dorian fixes on a blinding smile and gives his cape a little flourish, sliding the flute back onto his belt. "Nonsense, my friend! I was just it was time for me to rejoin the group."

He slides past Dariax and starts back down the alleyway. Confused, Dariax looks regretfully at the little garden and hurries to catch up with his long-legged friend.

"You know, I can't play the flute or sing too well, but I bet I could beat on a drum, or a tambourine or something." He searches for the right words as Dorian keeps moving. "If you wanted some accompaniment someday. That song sounded, I don't know. Lonely?"

"Oh," Dorian says quietly. He stops and turns to Dariax. "I suppose it does."

"I bet Opal can sing alright," Dariax muses.

"And Little Mister can play the piano?"

Dariax scowls. "I don't know about that. I just mean, you don't have to play alone all the time. Just, keep that in mind."

Dorian gives him a real smile now, small but honest. "Thank you, I will."

#cr #exandria unlimited #i'm back on my bullshit #and VERY rusty #oof #this is too small and unbeta-read for ao3 #dariax #fearne calloway #opal exu #dorian storm #orym #exu #cr spoilers #exu spoilers #critical role #cr fic

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sunflowergirl522 · 3 years

Text

Runaway: That Was Easy

Pairing: Tiefling!Bucky x Elf!Reader

Summary: Bucky takes a lot of jobs to make a living and this one was no different. Except for the fact that it’s for an elf prince and elves tend to avoid him in general. He accepts and with Sam and Steve they start their journey to find the elf prince’s runaway bride.

Word count: 2443

Warnings: Language

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Someone’s looking for you!” Sif announces as she rushes into the dwarves' cottage. The door slams into the table behind it from the force of her opening it. She’s quick to slam it shut behind her and lock it.

“What?” Before she had barged in you had been eating and laughing with Thor, Volstagg, and Brunnhilde. Thor was just finishing up a dwarf drinking song while Volstagg got himself more beer and Brunnhilde was throwing wise cracks at how bad Thor sounded. Sif’s words though were enough to make the four of you stop and turn your heads to her in confusion.

“I just ran into a halfling at La Luna, he said that he and his friends are looking for an elf princess and I haven’t seen any other elf princesses lately.” Sif comes to the table and starts to unpack the food she had brought home with her and putting some off to the side to pack up for you.

“Did he say why?” You stand up not sure how to react to the news that people are looking for you and in the process stop Volstagg from overfilling his mug, taking the pitcher from him.

“No but his friends were talking to the bartender and you know how loose his lips can be with the right price.”

“They could be right behind you.” Volstagg’s chair topples to the ground in his rush to stand up. Sif just nods at him in response. It doesn’t make sense, why would somebody be looking for you? You were sure that you hadn’t made any enemies in all your years, and the moon elves have no quarrel with anyone, they just live in peace in their kingdom, it was rare for any of them to even leave.

“Milady, you should leave. We can cover for you, tell them you were never here.” Thor looks at you as he starts to help Volstagg pack you up food and supplies.

“They could be dangerous, I can’t just leave you all to lie for me! If anything were to happen to any of you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” The dwarves were some of your closest friends, you had met them years ago while you were out and about and make a point to visit them every time you decide to go on another adventure.

“We’ll be fine Y/n. You must go especially in case they’re dangerous.” Brunnhilde throws more things in the pack as she speaks and you recognize some of it to be the new clothes that she had gone into town to get you yesterday. You didn’t come to them with much, just the clothes on your back and a couple daggers. Your dwarf friends are kind though and along with packing you the clothes and food they get some axes ready to send you off with. Thor comes over and hands you your cloak and the pack while Sif situates the axe holder on your back.

“Tell the others I said goodbye?” Thor just nods at you before leading you to the back door.

“Farewell sweet maiden!” Volstagg yells out to you and you can’t help but smile at it through all the worry.

“Take care of yourself princess, I hope our paths cross again.”

“You as well Thor. I’m sure we’ll all see eachother again soon, I might come back after I take care of whatever is going on.” You kiss his forehead before starting to head out. “Thank you all for everything!” You call out over your shoulder before tossing your hood up and walking into the woods.

As you start to climb up a tree you think about how you can’t wait to change into your new clothes and get out of your dress. Climbing can be such a hassle when the bottom of a dress snags on the bark and branches. Once high enough you begin to travel from branch to branch back to the front of the cottage. You choose one that’s close enough to see the door but high enough and far enough away that no one should be able to spot you if they were looking in the trees. You weren’t going to leave them to deal with it on their own but you also weren’t going to interfere unless the strangers began to threaten your friends. You sit and lean back onto the tree trunk and wait for the strangers to arrive. And then, after waiting a short while, you hear them before you see them.

“Maybe they’ll have some food we can have.”

“Is that all you think about?”

“Only when somebody doesn’t let me eat before dragging me out of town and then doesn’t even let me have a snack out of the food pack.”

You can see the three characters as they approach the cottage from your hiding spot. These must be the people Sif was talking about you think to yourself as you spot the halfling. You sit up straight as they knock on the door, staying alert while Brunnhilde opens it up. The human and the hooded one speak to her for a little bit before the halfling asks her something, causing her to turn around to say something to someone inside. The hooded one looks down at him in what you can only assume is a glare. You bring your hand up to your mouth to help hold in the laugh that threatens to escape as Volstagg brings out a basket of food and hands it to the halfling. The joy you feel from that is short lived though because the hooded one barges into their home. You get into a crouched position ready to jump down to help if needed and watch the other two stay outside politely and you’re pretty sure the human apologizes, though lip reading was never your forte.

You let out a breath as the hooded one comes back out packing something away. They walk straight back into the woods without saying anything to their friends. The halfling is quick to follow him while shoving food in his face and the human stays back for a minute to say something to Brunnhilde and Volstagg before following as well. You follow them from above to see if you can find out anything about them or why they’re looking for you after debating on if you should do that or see if everything is alright with the dwarves.

“Why are you always so rude? This is why everyone tends to hate you.” The halfling must’ve caused something to snap in his friends because he stops in his tracks before turning towards him real quick.

“Everyone hates me before I even open my mouth to talk! Something you wouldn’t understand, you were lucky enough to be born a joyful trusting little halfling!” His hood comes off as he speaks and your eyes go wide as a handsome blue tiefling is revealed. You catch yourself leaning over the branch to try to get a better look at his face. If he wasn’t so rude to your friends you might’ve even had the urge to run your fingers through his dark shoulder length hair.

“Alright you two, all that matters is that we don’t hate you. Now what did you take from the dwarves?” The human steps between the two men and the tiefling seems to calm down a bit at the distraction of the question.

“The Princess was definitely there. I found her crown, they tried to claim that she had traded it for supplies but I know enough about princes and princesses that they don’t just trade away their crowns.” He pulls your crown out of his bag and holds it out to his friends on a hooked finger.

You gasp and your hand flies up to your head to feel for it, even though you can see it. How could you have been so stupid as to leave without it? Of course he knows you were there, crowns are sacred belongings, especially for moon elves. You had crafted it yourself and picked the moonstone that had called out to you.

“My plan is to loop around the cottage, see if there’s a back exit, then figure out which way she went.” As he leads his friends off of the main path you start to panic a little. You don’t want them to start anything with the clan or bother them anymore than they already have. You might as well interfere now if you plan to later. So without thinking about it anymore you make your next moves.

A dagger flies through the air, just barely missing Bucky, and lodges itself in a tree behind him. He jumps back and grabs one of his long swords from a sheath on his back readying himself for a fight. Steve takes hold of his bow and reaches back to grab an arrow to ready one to shoot. And Sam, he lets out a yelp and jumps behind Steve’s legs out of, what he’ll call later, shock. A cloaked figure jumps down from the trees, landing in front of them. Their hood is up, hiding them from the sight of the trio.

“Who are you and why are you looking for the Princess?” Their voice gives away that they’re female but it has a hardness to it that shows that she means business. They point an ace at the trio standing in a threatening stance.

“Why is that any of your business?” Bucky gets into a semi crouched position and takes a step forward.

“I asked you first tiefling.” Bucky snarls at the figure just itching for a fight to start. “You answer my questions and I’ll return the favor. It’s how these things work.” Steve steps in front of Bucky to put something between the two of you and holds his hands up in a way to help prevent a fight from happening at all.

“Let’s all calm down now, there’s no need for anyone to get hurt when we could talk like civilized people.”

“Names, now.”

“I’m Steve, this here is Bucky, and that’s Sam.” He points over his shoulder to their halfling friend.

“Why are you looking for the princess, Steve?”

“We were hired to find her. Are you looking for her too?”

“You could say that.”

“Uh, Steve, did the prince say anything about hiring anyone else when he came looking for us?” Sam scratches his head in confusion as he asks and takes a step forward.

“Prince?” And just like that the cold demanding nature of your voice melts away to a more soft concerned one. The question goes unnoticed by Steve and Sam but Bucky hears it. It peaks his curiosity and he tilts his head to the side while squinting and trying to make out the shadow beneath the hood.

“He didn’t say anything about hiring anyone else but he did seem like he was desperate enough to have.”

“Woah, hold on. What prince?” The confusion in your voice confuses Steve immensely. Who else would have hired you to find the princess.

“Oh you know, sun elf, doesn’t know jack shit about the princess, pretty damned arrogant bastard if you ask me.”

You look down at the ground to wrap your head around the situation. Why would he send a fucking search party for you? You left him a note telling him you didn’t want to fucking marry him. Hell you hadn’t even properly met him yet and you knew he was a prick. Maybe sneaking out wasn’t the best way to go about it but his guards would’ve for sure stopped you from leaving. You take a deep breath before letting out an annoyed and angry shriek and throwing the axe at a tree close to you.

“That self entitled, spoiled, dandelion eating, scorpion prick!” Your voice drops the veil of being threatening and returns to its normal sound as you curse his name.

Bucky smirks at the fact that someone else has the same opinion of the prince as he does. When he looks over to Steve and Sam he’s ready to tell them he told them so about the prince but their shocked expressions stops him. And as Sam lets out a little ‘woah’ he turns back to you just to find that as you pulled the axe from the tree your hood had fallen off, revealing yourself to them.

“You’re the princess.” You blow a strand of hair out of your face as you slide the axe back into its spot on your back before looking back at the group of men behind you.

“Yeah, alright, you got me. I’m the princess, I’d prefer you called me Y/n instead and gave me my crown back. Please and thank you.” As you speak you walk up to Bucky and hold out your hand waiting for your property to be returned to you.

“He said you were kidnapped.”

“Well, Steve, as you can see I very much wasn’t. I’m safe and sound so you can go tell him I’m fine and not to worry about me, it’s not his job to anyway. I’ll just need my crown back and we’ll never have to see each other again.”

“That’s not gonna happen princess. We were hired to find you and take you back so that’s what we’re gonna do. You’re only getting this crown back after you get us to the kingdom.”

His words, as frustrating as they might be, spark an idea in your head. You can take them a long way back so that you can still adventure and visit a friend or two and once you get to the outskirts of the kingdom, you’ll get your crown back and take off again. Maybe you’ll even go home and tell your father about how much of an ass the prince is. You huff to play along with not wanting to go.

“Fine, lead the way, oh wait he wouldn’t have told you where it was, follow me.” You take your dagger out of the tree and place it back in it’s holster on your thigh keeping your eye on Bucky, trying to think of ways to get your crown back before the kingdom. In doing this you miss Sam all but faint at your action. You then turn and start to lead the way back to the main path, smiling to yourself once your back is facing the trio. Steve follows, carrying a frozen Sam over his shoulder. Bucky hesitates, he can’t help but feel that getting you to agree to go back was too easy.

Bucky Taglist: @puddinsqueen @koressecretidentity @stevieintheimpala @unmagically @peachytea01 @the-chocoholic-writer @perksofbeingatrex @99-cats @rachmmb @quokkatrash @vanillamaa @strawb3rrydr3ss @that-sarcastic-writer @spideyycents @mackycat11 @crystalsoul2 @rosiemotion @dissectiontime @lmf @jacelynenursalim @aiyanalevina @mooncaffeine @fanofalltheficsx @jewelsrocks99 @lharrietg @yoongisdumplingcheeks @clubcesspool @sailormajinmoon @girl-obsessed-with-things @corvusmorte @sophielovesbarnes @collywobbl @majo240820 @alina02 @toothhurtyam

Marvel Taglist: @its-the-autism-innit-luv @pogueslandia @obsessedwithbuckybarnes @rorysreallyrandom @sxtansqueen @myalupinblack @aya-fay @lieswithoutfairytales @kakakatey @sugarbutterbailey @1-800-ch3rry @amelia-song-pond @leyannrae @ficsnrec @slut-for-bucky-barnes @neenieweenie @officiallyunofficialperson

Everything Taglist: @florenceyelena @ninuffi @i-love-superhero @kolakube9 @lexy9716 @hehehehannahthings

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #runaway #fantasy au

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kittiesluvyou · 3 years

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Silver Feather

Summary: Knock Out wants to create a new potion that can give him the ability to fly. However, there is one special item that he needs and it would not be easy to get.

Word Count: Unknown

Inspiration: A fantasy au that @seehowsupplethespineis has made and I’m already obsessed with it.

Tw: abuse mention

Knock Out scanned the many jars of his treehouse basement with a frustrated look “I can’t believe I forgot to grab more harpy feathers.” The rows upon rows of shelves filled to the brim with various jars of plants, animal fur, eyes, and other necessities for potion making lined the walls. “Breakdown, I’m heading out to find a harpy feather! Do you want to come with me or hold down the fort until I return?”

Breakdown always had this sixth sense that can tell if his elf husband would be in trouble or not depending on the situation. So when he heard that harpies were going to be involved, he darted to the basement “you’re going to need all the help that you can get if you’re going to catch a harpy for their feathers. They’re fast, tricky, and insanely smart.”

“Then go get your hammer, dear, you may need knock someone unconscious.” He grabbed an empty jar with a label that said ‘harpy feathers’ and strutted elegantly out of the basement. They first began their search by looking up at the beautiful blue sky for anything that looked like a harpy. “If we can’t get the color that I’m after,” Knock Out picked a red rose that was rubbing his right golden sandal, “I can use this to make a dye and color it red.” He gently put the rose in his satchel, being careful not to damage it.

“I don’t mean to sound rude Knock Out, but aren’t you a mage in training? Why couldn’t you use some sort of spell that would automatically give you wings?” “I don’t want to use my magical energies on automatic wing magic that makes me look like some sort of fairy, love. I need to be able to soar through the clouds at high speeds, that’s why I need a harpy feather. It’ll give me the speed and wing power of an actual harpy.”

Breakdown nodded, smiling at how amazingly gifted he is to have a magical elf for a husband. Without warning, he kissed his lips passionately; however, it was short-lived due to the sound of harp strings. Directly above them, a harpy with grey hair with a red streak in the middle, a white robe wrapped around him, and silver wings. He was perched on a branch, staring at them with red eyes that made him look less of harpy and more like a demon “don’t let me stop you now, I love playing for two lovebirds like yourselves.”

“We need something from you, it’s important to my husband. By the way, what’s your name?” The harpy leaped down from his branch and landed with a satisfying thump on the ground “to answer your second question, my name is Starscream,” he gave a sarcastic bow to them. “Well, Starscream, I’m Breakdown and the elf next to me is Knock Out.” Starscream turned his head and looked curiously at him, taking note of their appearances in case he ever crosses paths with them again. “Wonderful, now that we all know each other, what is so important to your husband that you had to interrupt my down time by sucking faces with each other?”

“I need a feather from you. I’m trying a new potion that’ll not only give me the ability to fly, but to also give me the speed of a harpy.” Starscream laughed a little “can I ask why you want have the ability to fly and get the speed of a harpy? Are you challenging me to a race?” Knock Out was about to say something, but paused before he could say something that he might regret. Why do I want to fly? He stared at Starscreams’ massive wings, he looked absolutely gorgeous like some sort of eagle.

“You like my wings don’t you, Knock Out?” He spread them and spun around “take a good, long look, this won’t last forever.” He gave him a confused look “what do you- before he could finish, Starscream immediately pushed himself off of the ground and hovered in front of them “Tell you what, since I’m feeling generous today, I’ll let you two groom my wings. If a feather falls off, you can keep it. However if no feathers fall, you may want to find another harpy. They won’t be as generous as me though.”

“Deal!” Knock Out yelled, reaching out his hand to shake Starscreams’. Starscream did not reply, he instead landed softly, making sure he did not slip on his stilettos due to the somewhat slippery soil as he knelt down on the ground. He then tucked his legs underneath him, letting his wings relax. “How do you groom a harpy?” He whispered to Breakdown, examining his wings with confusion. “It’s simple really,” he approached the right side of Starscreams’ wings and he very, very gently stroked each feather.

“The trick is to not pull on the feather, they don’t like it if you pull their feathers.” “What about scratching the feathers?” “You can do that too; however, you still have to be extremely careful.” Knock Out nodded and began to scratch each feather one at a time. “Starscream? Can I get a third opinion on this?” Starscream yawned “Knock Out is doing it right, you have to scratch my feathers to groom me. However, just like what you keep saying, you have to be careful with me. Megan nearly broke my wing one time because he squeezed it too hard.”

Starscream shook away that memory, he did not want any strangers to worry about him. “You may also want to groom my hair too, you may get lucky with finding loose feathers than my wings.” “I can’t believe that I forgot that a harpies’ hair a made of feathers!” Starscream snorted “all harpies’ hair are made of feathers, dear Knock Out, I can tell that you don’t get out much. You only come out of your little treehouse to look to for plants and other things for potions making.”

“How did you- “I see you all the time while I’m on my hunts. You’re a mage in training, correct? There was that one time that I saw you using a protection spell on your house to protect you and Breakdown from Megatrons’ attack.” “You saw all of that? Then you must know how powerful I am?” “You’re good I won’t deny that; however, you’re going to need a lot more spell books and energy if you’re going to take on someone like Megatron or Unicron.”

After an hour has passed, a small feather has fallen out of Starscreams’ head, just like he predicted. Once Knock Out grabbed it, he and Breakdown stopped grooming and stood back to let Starscream take off again. Starscream turned around, facing them with a smirk “thanks and good luck with your potion, Knock Out, I’m excited to see you fly.” “If it works, we should have a race! The loser will teach the winner any cool tricks that you can think of.”

“You’re so on! I’ll be waiting for you somewhere near your treehouse until they grow in, which shouldn’t be too long if you drink the potion when the full moon is out.” “Why does every potion have to be under the full moon?” “Because a lot of your potions power is drawn to the moon’s light.” He spread his wings to take flight “Wait! If you want to spend the night in our tree tonight, you can.” “Very well, but can I play my harp at night? I got kicked out of my group because I kept annoying them with my harp playing.” “Sure, just don’t play for too long or else I’ll get Breakdown to hit you with a book.”

“Thanks guys,” Starscream perched back on the branch that was directly above Breakdown and Knock Out “most people aren’t usually this nice to us. They normally hunt us for sport and destroy our homes because they still believe that we’re dangerous beasts.”

#transformers fanfiction #starcream #knock out #breakdown #tfp starscream #fantasy au #tfp knockout #tfp breakdown #tfp #Transformers Prime #abuse mention #tfp megatron #megatron #humanformers

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beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years

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Moonberry Wishes (Ruthari Week 2021 #2)

Pairing: Ruthari

Rating: T

Tags: post-coin Runaan, Runaan pulls an Eljaal, belated reunion, angry Ethari, all the feels, angst, fluff, i missed you, toppy Ethari, Runaan is never gonna be ready to hear about Rayllum

Prompt: Leaving/Returning

Moonberry Wishes

The clang of sword on shield snapped Runaan out of his morning meditation. His eyes opened on the now-familiar view of the rocky slopes of eastern Duren, their golden stone bleached with early morning sunlight. Squinting against the light, Runaan tracked the sound of battle, snatched up his bowblade, and hurled himself off the high stone ledge where he’d made secure camp the night before. The descent to the narrow pass a few hundred meters below wasn’t difficult for one with his skills, and he leaped easily from boulder to boulder as he descended past the timber line toward the old trade road.

The faint flicker of a small cooking fire at the edge of the road caught his eye as he targeted a cluster of figures at the far edge of the road. Someone had camped there in the night, and he hadn’t heard a thing! The assassin tossed his confusion aside and leaped down, skidding dramatically through a cloud of fine pale dust shot through with angled sunbeams, expecting the attackers to turn and run, or possibly turn and stare. To acknowledge his arrival, at the very least--he was a Moonshadow elf, and making himself known on purpose was a rare treat.

But no one did. Not even the traveler he’d rushed in to rescue. The man stood still, his back to Runaan, the hood of his cloak pulled up.

Runaan blinked mid-skid and reassessed, fingers tense on his bowstring.

Half a dozen bandits had clearly attempted to besiege this man. Yet three of them lay sprawled in the dust already, and one hung by his belt from a broken tree limb three meters off the ground. As Runaan skidded in, another bandit got shoved backward through the air and plopped into a muddy patch in the woods with a squelch.

Runaan sought the last bandit as he battled his surprise. He seemed to have found the one human who could hold his own as well as an assassin against half a dozen attackers. He finally spotted the greasy man when his head rose up over the traveler’s hood, caught in the would-be victim’s grip as he was bodily lifted into Runaan’s line of sight by the front of his shirt. The traveler’s other arm dropped to his side, revealing a small round silvery shield strapped to his forearm.

Runaan reassessed again, casting his gaze around the small campsite, seeking clues as to who this strange paradox of a person was.

The traveler had camped in the most foolish location, right where any passing rogue could find him. Yet he’d somehow managed to set up his camp silently in the night. He carried no sword, but he’d bested half a dozen desperate humans with a small shield. His campfire was expertly laid, but the aroma that rose from it was one of stewing fruits.

Runaan’s eyes narrowed. He suddenly doubted that this stranger had ever needed his help at all.

“I have a question for you,” the traveler huffed to his captive, catching his breath from their quick scuffle. “And if you answer me truthfully, you can be on your way.” His voice was soft velvet over cold steel, and its gentle brogue stabbed Runaan in the gut with an icicle made of all the frozen feelings he’d tried to ignore for nearly a year.

The world telescoped around him, streaking past his vision with dizzying speed. His freedom from the coin, his shame and uncertainty over failing half his mission, the strange sense of mourning he felt over feeling his blood oath breaking with his supposed death, his decision to wander in search of new purpose instead of returning home and learning he’d been ghosted. His honor had always been vital to his identity, and he hadn’t been ready to face the risk of having it stripped away despite his best and most dutiful intentions. Three seasons had passed since he’d turned his boots toward the west, and not one step had landed on Xadian soil.

But apparently Xadia had grown tired of waiting for him. This stranger was no human. This stranger didn’t sound like a stranger, either.

Runaan’s breath burst from his mouth in a single disbelieving gasp. “Ethari?”

The traveler dropped his bandit like a discarded cloak and spun to face Runaan. His silvery shield thudded to the dirt unheeded. Warm brown eyes blazed out at the errant assassin from beneath a dark blue hood edged with locks of long black hair, and his dark skin was unmarked by blue Moonshadow paint. He also sported five fingers on each hand.

Runaan let out a soft grunt of pain. This man wasn’t his--

The traveler’s mouth fell open in surprise at the sight of the Moonshadow before him. A quick hand flicked back his hood, and a pale shimmering spell rippled across his body.

Runaan’s eyes widened even further.

The Moon spell danced around the traveler’s hidden features, revealing elf horns, cheek markings, shoulder swirls. His black hair became shaggy and white, and his eyes warmed to a soft sunset, just as wide as Runaan’s were.

The elves stared at each other in shock. To the side, the discarded bandit scrambled to his feet and hesitantly edged away, his gaze darting between the safety of the forest and the big elf who had flicked him aside.

“Never mind,” Ethari told him in a faint voice, eyes locked onto Runaan. “I found him.”

The bandit nodded eagerly as if he’d actually been of help. He gathered up his foolhardy compatriots, and together the humans bolted without a backward glance.

Runaan tracked him with a tense stare until he was out of sight before he let himself drink in the sight of his precious craftsman from head to toe. Tension he’d been holding for nearly a year began to ease from his shoulders. “Ethari.” His voice was a tentative prayer.

“Runaan.” Ethari’s voice was faint, too.

The assassin’s eyes dropped to the shield. Its edge was rimmed with all the phases of the Moon. Runaan wondered briefly how many enchantments Ethari had crammed into its swirlies. “You’re fighting?” he murmured.

“I’m on a mission,” Ethari corrected breathlessly. His chest was still heaving, but Runaan suspected it was for a different reason now.

Runaan felt the first hints of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t smiled since the Silvergrove, but Ethari always had a way of--

Ethari’s brows lowered sharply. “To find Xadia’s biggest dumbass.”

Runaan’s eyes widened. “What?”

With a growl, Ethari charged at him. Runaan managed to drop his bowblade safely into a nearby fern before Ethari seized him by the front of his shirt and backed him up against a nearby tree trunk. Runaan gripped his husband’s wrists and braced for impact, wincing as his horn tip clattered against the rough bark. His toes slipped on an angled root and dangled in the air as Ethari pinned him easily in place. Runaan’s eyes danced from his husband’s furious eyes to his bulging deltoids to his aggressive stance to his fingers knotting in Runaan’s shirt to the way those two soft locks of hair always fluttered right in the middle of his forehead, and finally managed to focus on his mouth, which had been pouring an angry stream of words past his ears for several seconds.

“--where the fuck have you been? Why didn’t you come home? I thought you were dead! Or lost! Or hurt! Or captured again! I was worried sick! Did you ever think about that? Did you?”

Runaan opened his mouth to stammer a reply.

Ethari’s question was apparently rhetorical. He bulled onward: “I gave Rayla your lotus in a jar of water from the pool, and she said she’d bring you back to me. And she started to promise me, and do you know what I did, Runaan? Do you? I stopped her. I couldn’t take another broken promise from an assassin standing beside my ritual pool. I couldn’t take it. So I sent her off without it, and I started to hope again. And the full Moon came, and went, and I couldn’t sleep a wink, for days and days. I waited! I waited for you, you shadowsaken idiot!”

Runaan couldn’t look away. The full force of Ethari’s rage and sorrow poured into his eyes and slammed against his chest, leaving him breathless. “I…”

Ethari wasn’t nearly done, though. “And then Rayla returned to the Silvergrove, with Lain and Tiadrin and Callum and Ezran and the Queen of the Sunfire Elves and her human girlfriend--”

“Her what?” Runaan blurted.

“--and she had to tell me to my face that you’d run away,” Ethari continued. “Left in the night. Bolted. Scarpered. Fled, like some kind of coward. She had to say those words to me, and she had to watch me crumple to the floor and fall apart, again!” He checked Runaan against the tree a second time. “Again, Runaan!” Another shove. “I fell apart again!” And another. “How many times am I going to let you destroy my heart before I’ve had enough?” Furious tears spilled down Ethari’s cheeks and lost themselves in his markings.

“N-No…” Runaan’s whispered denial shivered into a sudden sob. Ethari’s angry slams barely registered compared to the pain of seeing his tears. His fingers fluttered toward Ethari’s cheeks, aching to wipe away the sorrow he’d caused. “I’m so sor--”

Ethari pulled him away from the tree and slammed him back against it with more force, interrupting Runaan’s gesture. “I’m not finished!” he roared. “Don’t you dare be soft with me before I’ve gotten this off my chest! I’ve been carrying it alone for ten months and I’ll be bloodcursed if I let you stop me from unloading every last word now that I’ve found you, do you hear me?”

Half terrified, half dazzled at the raw power in Ethari’s voice, Runaan could only nod mutely and cling to his husband’s wrists for dear life.

“Good!” Ethari yelled. He panted heavily for a few breaths, staring Runaan in the eye with a baleful glare, before asking in a slightly less aggressive tone, “Alright, now where was I?”

A distant light dawned in Runaan’s heart, and his brows lifted softly. “You were asking me how many times you were going to let me destroy your heart before you’ve had enough,” he supplied gently.

Ethari’s fists tightened in Runaan’s shirt. He slowed his breathing and swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice was merely resentful. “Right. Yes. Thank you.”

Runaan felt one of his own tears escape over the edge of his cheek. His heart was absolutely thrumming with Ethari’s presence. His warmth, his strength, the smell of his breath, the shivering rumble of his voice--Runaan was nearly delirious with so much enchanting proof of his husband’s existence right there in front of him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relaxing in Ethari’s grip. When he opened them again, they lingered on Ethari’s hands for a long moment, and he gave his husband’s wrists a long, fervent squeeze. “You’re welcome,” he murmured.

“No, don’t you do that, don’t you be soft and handsome when I’m angry at you,” Ethari protested grumpily. He set Runaan on his feet and checked him lightly against the tree with a quick press of his fingertips.

Runaan let out a soft grunt as his back connected with the bark again. “I keep asking you to tell me how to stop doing that, but you never have.”

Ethari glared balefully at him, and his lip curled once again. But then his bottom lip shivered, and his face crumpled into longing. He cupped Runaan’s head in his hands, bringing their foreheads together with a soft bump and pressing hard. One hand wound into Runaan’s hair, and the other encircled his shoulders, pulling him tightly against Ethari’s chest until their noses brushed tips. “You utter idiot. I missed you,” Ethari breathed, so softly Runaan almost didn’t catch it.

Uncertain but needy, Runaan slipped his hands inside Ethari’s cloak and gripped the back of his broad belt, pulling their bodies flush. He waited, silent, soaking up every heartbeat of this soft, precious, long-awaited contact with his beloved.

“I stayed, for a while.” Ethari’s words rode just above a whisper, and their warmth brushed Runaan’s lips. “For Lain and Tiadrin, and for Rayla. But they knew. They knew. They knew before I did.”

Runaan’s fingers squeezed tighter, clinging, needing to hear the rest but fearing the truth of the pain his absence had caused.

“I didn’t know where to begin, but Rayla helped me. And so did King Ezran, and Prince Callum, and Queen Aanya, and Lujanne, too. I started wandering, following stories of a shadowy hero who always saved people from danger and vanished into the night. No one ever admitted to getting a good look at him, no one remembered his words. They just knew they owed him their lives.”

Runaan huffed in wry amusement. He’d thought he was changing his life entirely, and yet his husband had known him in an instant, merely from stories of his minor exploits. “I can’t ever hide from you, can I?”

“I could recognize you by touch alone,” Ethari breathed, “by smell. I would know you blind, by the way your breaths came and your feet struck the earth. I would know you in death, at the end of the world.”

A wry smile lifted one corner of Runaan’s mouth. “I think we’ve been.”

Ethari cupped Runaan’s cheeks softly and gave him a steady look. “You made me a promise, Runaan, to return my heart to me.”

“I did.”

“But I had to go looking for it myself.”

Runaan’s gaze dropped. “You did.”

Ethari gently lifted his chin with a finger until their eyes met again. “Well? I’m here now.”

Runaan’s brows twitched down. “But… I failed you. I destroyed it, with my carelessness and my pride. You just asked me--”

Ethari pressed his finger against Runaan’s lips. “I asked you how many times. I know. Because it’s happened more than once. I know that, too. Yes, I’m angry with you. But I didn’t hike all over Garlath’s green earth just to tell you to stuff it, you great stupid moonberry.”

“What did you hike all over Garlath’s green earth to tell me, then?” Runaan asked, half afraid of the answer.

“I’m a Master Craftsman, Runaan. You should remember well how many weapons I’ve repaired for you over the years, because it’s been a lot. And I’ve repaired other things for you, too. Your feelings. Your body. Your own heart.”

Runaan went still under Ethari’s touch as a frenetic parade of memories streaked past his mind’s eye. Ethari’s soft words, soft touch, soft kisses, ten thousand times over. Overcome, he pressed his cheek into his husband’s hand and nodded, feeling hot tears slipping past his lashes.

“I’m not a Master Craftsman for nothing. I can repair anything I choose to. Anything at all,” Ethari continued softly. He leaned his forehead against Runaan’s again. “And I choose to repair my own heart when you break it. I choose. To re-pair my heart. With yours.”

Runaan laughed through a sob at his husband’s pun and slid gentle arms around his husband, reassuring himself of his husband’s warm, solid strength.

Ethari sighed in relief at Runaan’s gesture. “I hiked all over Garlath’s green earth to choose you, again. But I need to know, Runaan… What do you choose?”

Runaan sought his husband’s warm sunset eyes and found them brimming with emotion. His own lip trembled at the sight of the pain he’d caused his most beloved. A thousand years of tradition flashed through his mind, its insistence foggy and distant without the pull of his lost oath. Without that urgency pounding through his own blood, there was only one thing he longed to be: with Ethari. With this elf whom he’d hurt, with this elf whom he was very sure he didn’t deserve.

He cupped his husband’s face and bared his heart for whatever fate awaited him. “You,” he said, through an ecstatic sob. “I choose you. Take this heart of yours back, Ethari, if you truly still want it. I did my best to keep it safe, but it deserved so much more care than I could give it… I did you wrong, my heart, so wrong, and I dare not make you any promises, but...” Runaan’s words faded to desperate puffs of breath that ghosted across Ethari’s lips as he leaned closer, drawn by the dizzyingly warm, solid presence of his precious husband. “My heart… I missed you, too...”

Ethari met him halfway, and he tasted as if they’d never been apart. They pulled each other close, full of eager hands and soft whimpers. Runaan’s head spun with the blessed ecstasy of his husband’s kisses, and he clung to Ethari’s sturdy shoulders for balance even as he pressed himself closer against him.

All those months apart suddenly seemed to be happening all at once, endless yet instantaneous. Runaan felt eight kinds of fool for letting his blasted honor get in the way of the love this glorious elf was determined to shower him with. With a soft cry, he buried his face against Ethari’s neck and threw his arms around his shoulders. Ethari wrapped him in a tight hug and rocked him slowly, humming into his hair.

“What do I do now?” Runaan murmured brokenly into Ethari’s purple scarf.

“Come home,” Ethari said promptly. He caressed Runaan’s cheek and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Come home.”

Runaan raised his head, accepting Ethari’s easy words as proof that he hadn’t been ghosted back in the Silvergrove. But in that quiet moment there in his husband’s arms, high in the mountains of Duren, he realized that, for the first time in his life, he didn’t care what the Silvergrove thought of him. Only Ethari’s regard mattered now. “You’re my home. And you’re right in front of me.”

His husband’s eyes lit with eager warmth, and a teasing lilt accompanied his sassy grin. “Then you’d better come here.”

Runaan bit his lip at his husband’s suggestive pun. “My camp’s just up the slope.”

Ethari took Runaan’s face in his hands, backed him gently against the tree again, and kissed him passionately. When he finally let Runaan up for air, he gasped, “What in Garlath’s green earth makes you think I can wait that long?”

Some while later, the husbands ambled along the mountain road, hand in hand, with nowhere in particular to go. Ethari talked as lightly as he could of the things he had seen, and Runaan listened with a full heart and trod with a quiet and grateful step. His hand never left Ethari’s, needing constant reassurance that he was truly there beside him after so long, that he had truly come looking for his long-lost husband. That Runaan was worth searching for, despite all he had done.

If Ethari noticed the occasional tear of humble gratitude slipping over Runaan’s cheeks, he was kind enough not to draw attention to it. Instead, he easily shifted topics to give Runaan time to adjust, telling sweet anecdotes and dramatic retellings and recounting his brushes with powerful figures that Runaan already knew, and some he didn’t. He hopped and twirled and bowed in time with his stories, never once letting go of his wayward husband’s hand, spinning close for the occasional kiss as he always had.

“...and then the Tidebound ambassador arrived and caused quite a splash,” Ethari said as they crested a hill. A warm breeze wafted up from the valley below, ruffling Runaan’s side tails and Ethari’s scarf. “Literally, the elf shot himself out of the well! I could hear the humans yelping all the way back at the blacksmith’s shop. If it hadn’t been for Callum’s quick thinking, that first contact would’ve been quite the wet blanket! But he had everything sorted in minutes. Rayla’s truly chosen well, my heart.”

Runaan’s feet slowed. “Chosen well…?”

Ethari paused, wide-eyed. “Surely they told you when they freed you.”

Runaan’s eyes narrowed. “They mysteriously neglected to mention.”

"But why would she-?" To Runaan’s surprise, Ethari suddenly burst into snorting laughter. “Ah. Clever girl.”

“What?” Runaan asked, suspicious.

“I should’ve known what that wicked twinkle in her eye was about when I told her I’d come searching for you. She’s letting me do the mentioning for her, right now. She knows us too well, love.”

Runaan blinked. Rayla and the human prince? Together? The scheming young couple had left Ethari to search for his husband, and to unwittingly break the news of their courtship to him, knowing that Runaan would take such disturbing news best from the elf he loved most.

That didn’t mean he’d take it well.

“I’ll be right back.” Runaan spun on his heel, stalking directly toward Katolis.

Ethari planted his feet and towed Runaan right back around in front of him, though. He pulled the wayward assassin into his arms and kissed him right on his frown. “Welcome back! I missed you. Again.” His dark brows bent softly.

Runaan’s tense expression broke, and his eyebrows drifted high in dismay at what he’d just tried to do. He clung to Ethari’s muscled arms and pressed his forehead against his husband’s. “Moon help me, I am a great stupid moonberry.”

“Yes, you are. And I love you anyway.” Ethari’s embrace was gentle and warm.

Runaan pressed a soft kiss of apology against his husband’s lips and let it linger, soaking up Ethari’s patience. “Walk with me again, then, and…”

“And?”

Runaan took a deep breath and slid his fingers between his husband’s. “And... tell me of Callum. Apparently, I have quite a bit of catching up to do.”

Ethari grinned and nudged Runaan’s shoulder with his own. “As my moonberry wishes.”

#ruthariweek2021 #ruthari #ruthari fanfic #runaan #ethari #my writing #my fanfic #tdp angst #angst and fluff #soft elf husbands #a whole rainbow of feels in here #they gotta catch up see

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bread-elf · 3 years

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DWC 2021 - Day 1

This story revolves around a side character deeply involved in Jiroki's backstory. For more context on this character, you're more than welcome to read from the beginning, somewhere in the middle, or his end.

Afterlife Shadowlands, pre Chains of Dominion “I love you. I’m sorry.” The last words spoken by Rydras Feathergrazer, his strength waning as he looks up at his most cherished beloved, who he had purposely distanced himself from for so many years. Now laying in her arms he watches the weeping face of the Kaldorei woman, sea green hair spilling out from the bun she had made before the battle. The wounds on him blistered with fel corruption and seared his skin, and he could barely breath as is. But that no longer was a problem once she had honored his last wish. Their hands intertwined together around the hilt of his own dagger, and he only feels a pinch before he lets himself slip away with ease. And yet, he opened his eyes again. Blinded by the luscious blue forests of Ardenweald, he finds himself amongst protectors of the forest, both present and past, for he gave his life for the Wilds. And that was worthy enough to become one with the great forest beyond.

A new purpose given, and no longer in the mortal realm, he reformed himself. No longer Night Elf, no longer Rydras, he chose to glide through the forest as an Owl, once a favorite form in life. But now he embodied it, another soul amongst hundreds of thousands to serve the forest. He knew of other souls who lived here, such as Arileath and Sheradal, a couple who once treated him like a son, parents of once a dearly beloved of his. Both now at peace, guardians as well for their duties. Years pass for the living as the dead remain secluded. Though the Owl had anticipated eternal peace, a drought begins in his precious forest, and the Drust soon follows. Strange times indeed, apparently even the dead can still live in vain. And what’s more, mortals from the living world begin to slowly spill in, doing everything in their power to keep the delicate balance of the Shadowlands intact before all is ruined. Some souls steered clear of the living, as did the Owl. Having no need to interact with them, nor did he want to be reminded of the flawed emotions of the living. And each time he found himself watching any of the living, inklings of curiosities and old faces beginning to surface, he reprimends himself and widened the distance of his past self. Even now, up high in his chosen roost, he finds himself shooing away the past as another soul scurries up the tree in haste. “Spriggans! Spriggans!” The soul in the shape of a squirrel, though the Owl is familiar with this one. “Spriggans attack the mortals!” “And?” The Owl rarely spoke, but he chose to do so to regard the squirrel. “Why are you here? Go and tell the Wild Hunt. There is nothing I can do.” “You were asked by name!” The squirrel lingers near the edges of the Owl’s nest, trying to be respectful, but still urgent. The Owl’s head swivels hearing that, but the soul continues to speak. “And for Arileath and Sheradal! A mortal you all know!” “What-?” The Owl feels something inside of his stomach and chest. A sudden clutching of anxiety, and fear. “But-” The squirrel seems to have no other information to offer, suddenly scurrying back down the tree and leaving the Owl alone. Large wings spread, and the Owl now finds himself sweeping through the forest once more to find this mortal. Only a few faces come to mind who would know of all three of these souls. Faces that the Owl had worked hard on dismissing. If their time comes and they come to Ardenweald, then he would welcome them. But who knows if they were alive or elsewhere in the Shadowlands, and he had already accepted he would never see them again. And now the wall he had worked so hard on began to crumple, memories of his former life beginning to trickle in. Of his dear friend Brethilon, of his time as a druid, with his Shan’do Arileath, the way he had denied himself of her for so long. Much of Ardenweald had decayed away due to the drought, so his scope to look around is much smaller, for better or for worse. Though he spots the familiar souls of Sheradel and Arileath, both bears, regarding a being made of living flesh and bone. An elf like he once was, tall and proud but shaking with emotions, sea green hair spilling down to conceal her face as she wept. Something lurches inside of the Owl, his flight faltering as he quickly makes a landing. Though he had no heart, it was like he was still in his mortal flesh and something squeezed it, and for the first time in ages he felt the desire to run. For a moment he scrambles, clumsy as an owl on the floor and feeling out of breath, and in his desperation he takes on his spiritual elven form and uses those legs to run. A ghost from the past, Rydras Feathergrazer stops at a hard halt once Jiroki is just yards away from him. The last image of her burns inside his mind’s eye, her moonlit eyes weeping and filled with sorrow as she puts him down like a dog. Though as the woman turns, she is different than he remembers. Scars line her cheek and ears, her tangled hair decorated in a way he’s never seen before, those moonlit eyes now the dark side of the moon. But the way

they widen, how she reels back in shock, the sudden tension of her body; the way that only she can move that he remembers. Jiroki clasps her hands over her mouth, already beginning to shed tears as she once again see’s the face of her first love. Even Rydras feels something stinging at his own eyes, though he had no means to cry. But he feels a surge of emotions inside of him; so much love, so much regret, so much grief. No longer thinking straight as a jumble of words come into his mind, his chest and head feeling like they’re about to explode, and so he lets it all out like a flood.

youtube

“I’m in love with you!” He blurts out words he could never make himself say until the bitter end, and that causes Jiroki to create a shocked and confused expression. But he will never have another chance. “You heard me!” Jiroki blinked back tears, trying to process this sudden occurrence between the two of them. He is the first to turn her into a woman, and also to break her heart, yet also the longest love she has ever had, will ever have. And after killing him, after living with her biggest regrets all these years, he stands before her now speaking this. In his desperation, he continues. “I’m in love with you!” Hands come up to grip the sides of his head, as if trying to prevent it from splitting open. “And I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable! And that we’re all doomed...” His hands throw out to the surrounding forest of the Afterlife, slowly withering away. “And that one day, all of our labors will be returned to dust! And I know that the sun will swallow the only earth we will ever have!” And then he looks at her. “... And I’m in love with you!” Suddenly the energy is sapped out of him, his confession finally spoken after all this time, and weakly his arms fall. “... Sorry...” A strangled cry escapes Jiroki’s throat, no longer able to bury it. She feels like throwing up, but she endures, just so she can run to him. The reaction is unexpected to Rydras, but he himself runs to her as well, and they embrace as best they can as soul and mortal. Her body trembles and she cannot stand, so he slumps to the ground with her, both on their knees as they weep together. Though no longer living, Rydras feels his insides tearing up as he mourns with her, at the loss they both share, yet there’s something else mixed in. He can finally be at proper peace, for he told the woman he loved his feelings. @daily-writing-challenge

#stories #Youtube

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tenspontaneite · 3 years

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Beyond the Moon Gardens - Extracts (1)

For lack of anything else to post today, I’m releasing some extracts from one of my non-public fanfictions – Beyond the Moon Gardens – as my participation in the @raayllum valentine’s event.

Information on and context of the story itself is below the cut. The 10k of snippets are also below the cut.

(General overview of the content of the snippets: established rayllum, fluff, domesticity, horn care, silliness, cuddling.)

Story information:

‘Beyond the Moon Gardens’ is a successor to ‘In the Moon Gardens’. The former was written in a month in late 2020, and has been worked on sporadically since. The latter was written in approximately three weeks between December 2019 and January 2020. Both are currently incomplete. I do not intend to publish either to the public in full, but may well post further extracts in time.

‘In the Moon Gardens’ is a story about Callum and Rayla getting married; however, the circumstances are deeply unpleasant and the experience is traumatic. ‘Beyond the Moon Gardens’ is considerably longer, and is focused on trauma recovery, hurt/comfort, relationship development, and fluff. The story is structured around a plotline involving rescue and disaster relief efforts in a Sunfire elf city called Lux Marea.

All snippets presented below take place on day 7 of the story’s timeline. They have been carefully curated for fluffiness for the purposes of Valentine’s day, and do not contain any of the hurt/comfort or post-traumatic scenes prevalent in the story at large. Some extracts have been edited to slot together and minimise empty space.

I may potentially post further snippets throughout the week if people are interested.

The extracts:

(Snippet 1: domesticity, fluff, city descriptions. Context: Callum and Rayla are staying in fancy diplomatic quarters in the city, where they arrived somewhat earlier in the day.)

Rayla turned away from her reflection and went for the door.

She glanced around, and found Callum in his own robe sat at the sofa in front of the window. Surprisingly, he wasn’t drawing. He was just staring out across the city, looking pensive.

“Not drawing?” She asked, and he startled, looking up at her in surprise.

He blinked. “Oh. I didn’t hear you.” He said sheepishly as she approached.

She snorted, and moved around the sofa’s edge to plant herself down beside him. “So I noticed.”

Callum smiled at her, looking for all the world like the best thing that had happened to him today was her sitting down next to him, eyes settling on her like he’d be perfectly happy to do nothing but look at her forever. She withstood that expression for only a single second before she had to lean in and kiss him. He made a pleased sound, reaching out to rest a hand on her back, fingers stroking reflexively over the thick wool of the robe. “You smell nice.” He said happily, turning his face sideways to tuck his nose behind her ear. He was undoubtedly getting a face full of wet hair that way, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Fruity, sort of.”

“They’ve got a lot of soaps in there.” She said, and her voice came out more soft than amused. Stars, but she loved him. “It’s nice. There’s all these soaps, and towels, and I think bath oils too.”

“You think?” He inquired, curious, still with his face in her neck. He pressed a kiss to her damp skin.

“Didn’t check them out properly or anything, but there was a drawer full of some fancy stuff. Bottles and the like. Looked like it might be bath oils.”

With a final kiss to the edge of her jaw, he pulled back to resume staring at her contentedly. “We’ll have to have a look later.” He said, and paused to give her an appreciative once-over. “That dressing gown looks nice on you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You say that about literally everything I wear.”

“That’s because you look good in everything.” He claimed staunchly, and honestly, he wasn’t looking half-bad in his dressing-gown either. The colour was familiar on him, but the casual comfortableness of it was weirdly pleasing to look at. Made him look cosy and cuddlable.

Rayla shook her head, then leaned in to kiss briefly along his jaw. It prickled a little. “You might want to see if they’ve got razors in there.” She said dryly. “You’re starting to prickle.”

He blinked, startled, and raised a hand to his jaw, feeling along it. Mercifully, he grew facial hair extremely slowly, making it less of an issue on the move, but it did still grow. He’d last made an attempt at shaving some two weeks ago, and that had sufficed up to now. “Elves don’t grow beards, though.” He said, after a moment. “I’d probably better just stick with mine.”

Once or twice, they’d made an attempt at shaving his bristles with Rayla’s swords, which had been kind of nerve-wracking, and plenty memorable. For lack of proper razors to be found in Xadia, they’d eventually ended up getting him a small knife that he claimed was alike enough to a ‘straight razor’ to work, though it periodically needed to be sharpened to an absurd degree. It was all very strange to her, even after a good half year of living with him. “Maybe.” She agreed at last, and gave him a sniff. Fresh from bathing, his state of uncleanliness was far more obvious to her nose than it had been before. “You should be getting washed up first though. You’ll make your dressing gown stink.”

He snickered. “Bet I reek to you now that you’re clean.”

“Just a tad.” She prodded him in the side until he started moving. “Off with you. Wash up.”

Evading her hands, he leaned in and planted a final kiss on her forehead before leaving, disappearing into the bathroom while she shook her head at him. She heard the water start up quite soon after, and eventually ended up staring out of the window like he had.

The city was still bright, both with sunlight and with the ongoing glory of the temple’s radiance. Settling into a sort of quiet lassitude, she watched it with eyes half-lidded, following the patterns of steaming light as though the smoke from a fire.

It was a striking city. Unlike Lux Aurea, which was so much gold it hurt to look at, Lux Marea was a thing of contrasts. The buildings were all built from the same dark stone as the bathroom had been done in, a grey that cast deep black shadows behind the gaze of the sun. And yet – every building was lined with gold. Accents on the corners, or moulding between the bricks, or running in thick channels up the walls…it gleamed, rich and distinct against the stone. Some of the largest, richest buildings had elaborate golden murals on their sides, luridly metallic and shining in the sun. All of that gold was glowing with magic now.

Rayla wasn’t much for aesthetics. But even she could appreciate the beauty in that view. She watched it for a while longer, lulled a little by the twisting patterns of glowing haze rising from the buildings, then stood and went to find something to do.

(Snippet 2: Calum and Rayla investigate the supplies their fancy bathroom is stocked with, discover bath bombs and are confused, Rayla points out various horn-care items, and Callum makes her very flustered by offering to use said items)

After that, they went through and classified each of the mysterious drawer goodies a little faster. They found more varieties of lotion, some weird nearly liquid soaps, and a pot of some mysterious mini chalky spheres whose purpose neither of them managed to guess until Callum’s hair dripped on one and it sizzled. “Is it supposed to go in water?” Rayla wondered, befuddled.

“No idea. Try it.” He suggested, and they took the rinsing pot, filled it with water, and dropped the thing in. It fizzed and foamed magnificently, releasing pleasant odours and bits of dried flower as it dissolved, and both of them stared at it with fascinated consternation.

“Is that for baths?” She asked him, befuddled. “What’s the point?”

“…Fun, maybe?” He offered, reaching out to swirl a finger in the foam. “It looked pretty cool, after all. Maybe you’re supposed to throw them in the bath for the fun of it?”

“Fun foam and nice smells?” With a huff, she put that pot aside as something to maybe experiment with if she felt like it. “Well, maybe.” She snorted, and in the last unexplored corner, found something highly important. “Oh thank god.” She said, in that way she’d absolutely picked up from Callum, and he looked over with interest.

“What did you find?”

She brandished it triumphantly. “Toothbrushes.”

“Oh thank god.” He echoed instantly, peering over. “My teeth feel disgusting.”

“You’re not the only one.” She withdrew both toothbrushes from the drawer and set them aside. “Well, at least we know what everything in there is now. Mystery solved.” She went to close it, but was stopped with a hand on her wrist.

“Wait, but what about those?” he asked, indicating the small collection of things she’d already set to one side of the drawer with the horn-scrub.

“Oh.” She’d forgotten he wouldn’t know those on sight. “Right. Well, this thing here-“ She plucked up a narrow, vaguely curved implement with a soft-smooth coating. “-is a horn buffer. For making horns smoother once you’ve already scrubbed all the rough bits out with a proper scrub.” She planted it in his hands, since he seemed fascinated by it, and withdrew a sort of soft spongey thing with a texture like felt. “Horn polisher. Same thing, kind of.” He took that as well, and she pulled out a pot of thick paste that turned out to be exactly what she thought it was when she uncapped it. This one had obviously attempted to smell as pleasant as possible, but it still had a very strong and distinctive edge to it. She wrinkled her nose. “Horn polish.” She said, closing it up again. “To be applied and used with the polisher. And lastly-“ She picked up one of the remaining bottles, “horn oil.”

He looked weirdly interested. “What’s the oil for?” He asked, leaning in. “I mean, I guess the rest of it’s to make your horns smooth and shiny, right? So what about this?”

“It’s kind of fancy and unnecessary, and expensive, so not everyone uses it, but usually you put it on after scrubbing or polishing.” She explained, withdrawing the bottles one at a time. “They smell nice, which is good after the polish, and letting it sink into the horns is supposed to make them healthier and glossier-looking. You can technically put it on multiple times a day if you’re really into your horn presentation, but pretty much no one bothers.”

“Because it’s expensive?” Callum guessed, and she made a so-so noise.

“Well, there’s that.” She said dryly. “But it’s just kind of a lot of hassle, you know? If you’re already washing and doing your hair and keeping your horns not-gross, it’s just extra fuss you don’t really need.” She shook her head. “It’s less effort than full on polishing, I suppose, but I’ve never been bothered about polishing my horns except on special occasions anyway. It’s a lot of work.”

“Huh.” He said, in a sort of weird tone of voice. Rayla turned to him, and found his expression similarly strange. Thoughtful, interested, and a little bit furtive.

She eyed him suspiciously, picked up an armful of the supplies they’d set aside, and stood up with them. “What’s that look for?” She asked archly, setting things onto the broad side of the bath. He followed her lead, picking up the rest of it and standing, looking a little shifty.

“What’s what look for?” he asked innocently, putting it all out in neat rows.

“I know that face.” She told him, unimpressed. “I’ve told you so many times I know that face. That’s your dumb idea face. So out with it.”

For a moment, Callum looked sheepish. Then he cleared his throat, and looked at her, and she reflexively fell silent. “I…was wondering if you’d let me do your horns.” He said at last, and she made a strangled noise in the back of her throat.

“What?”

(Snippet 3: tail end of the horn-care discussion, domesticity, Rayla bemused by the concept of room service, Callum pestering Rayla for details on how horn care works, and discussion of one of Rayla’s newer hobbies)

“That’ll be nice, then.” He said, sounding very at peace with the idea. “I can wash and comb out your hair, maybe. Give you some hornrubs.”

Her cheeks heated. “Callum.” She complained. “That’s so sappy.”

He pressed his face close alongside hers, and she could feel his smile against her cheek. “Treat you real good.” He said, very contentedly. “I’m gonna spoil you rotten.”

Rayla managed a strangled, deeply embarrassed sound in the back of her throat. A little indignant, she protested “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I can, and I did.” Callum grinned against her skin, and leaned in further to kiss her near the corner of her lips. “Love you.” He lifted a hand from around her waist, fingers settling at her jaw with a gentle suggestion of movement. Feeling near to bursting with mortification and adoration, she grumbled wordlessly but followed his hand, allowing him to lead her face around so he could kiss her on the mouth.

“You,” she muttered, into his lips, “need to get dressed.”

He paused, then huffed a surprised breath over her skin. “That’s right, I’m still just wearing a towel.” He remembered, ruefully. “At least I’m drier now.”

“It’s been ages, of course you’re drier.” Rayla shook her head at him, then nudged at his arms until he let her go, extricating herself from his embrace. She had difficulty looking him in the eye when she turned, after all of that. “…Get dressed.” She repeated, softer, and shoved the dressing gown he’d hung nearby into his arms. She leaned in, kissed him once on the lips, and then turned away to leave the bathroom.

She settled on the sofa, ensconcing herself beneath the soft blanket she’d found, and stared out at the city while her heart recovered. Sometimes, she loved Callum enough that it was a little hard to cope with, like she was afraid that the emotion in her would rupture if it built too far. He was used to her retreating a little at times like that, just long enough to breathe and feel slightly less overwhelmed.

He took long enough in the bathroom that, eventually, she guessed that he was shaving. That disappointed her, a little. She liked to watch him when he shaved. It was always so strange to her, something quintessentially human; a bizarre banal grooming ritual that reminded her again and again that he wasn’t an elf, he really was a whole different kind of being to her, and his humanity was made of so many little things. He never failed to chuckle at her for how she watched him shaving, but had grown very used to her keeping him company for it.

She sighed, and looked out on the city under the sun, and regained her emotional footing. By the time he emerged, clad once again in the dark red dressing gown, she had her equilibrium back and looked up gladly at his return.

“Where’d this blanket come from?” He asked, bemused, coming over to join her. She held one end up so he could sit down under it with her.

“One of the drawers. There’s a bunch of stuff in here.” She informed, and once he was seated she didn’t waste any time in reaching out to run her fingers along his still-damp jaw. It was so smooth. She murmured, pleased, cupping his face between both hands.

He coloured a little, looking across at her with soft eyes. “You’re so weird.” He told her, sounding utterly besotted, and she leaned in to kiss him lightly along that jawline.

“Love you.” Rayla said contentedly, and drew back just enough to nestle firmly against his side. He wove an arm around her back and turned his head to kiss her at the brow.

“Love you too.”

After a good bit of cuddling and watching the city together, Callum admitted to wanting a drink and Rayla to not knowing whether their waterskins were still filled. They were, as it happened, but-

“You know, if you wanted fresher water, or moonberry juice, we could just ask for it.” He pointed out. “All we’d have to do is open the door and ring a bell and someone would come up, and we’d ask for a drink, and they’d have it up for us just like that.”

She shook her head, utterly exasperated at the idea. “That’s so weird.” She said, and then actually considered it. “…Let’s do it.”

He laughed, and obligingly got up and went to the receiving room to fetch the bell. He mostly-closed the intervening door for her sake, so that when a servant responded to the ring she didn’t feel particularly on edge about it. They couldn’t see her. It was fine.

After a short conversation with the servant, they were off, and Callum shut the outer door before returning. “Five minutes.” He said, and true to his words, there was a knock at the door not too much later. He went to answer it and brought back an actual platter, balancing an entire jug of moonberry juice, an entire jug of water, and two glasses.

“Did you ask for a whole jug?” She asked, disbelievingly, as he set it down on the low table ahead of the sofa. “Or the water?”

“Nope. Actually, they passed along their apologies for not leaving a jug of water in here in the first place. Apparently that’s their usual thing to do, but since they were hurrying for us it got forgot.” He poured her a glass of juice, and then some for himself, and sat back.

She snorted. “What a terrible standard of service.” She said, mockingly. “I mean really, forgetting to leave us wee little glasses and chilled water, what is this place coming to?”

He snickered at an inopportune moment, very nearly making a mess with the glass he’d been in the process of drinking from. “Don’t say that around Vervain, I think she’d actually explode.”

“Right there on the spot.” Rayla agreed. “It’d make a terrible mess.”

They traded a few light-hearted quips on the subject of the accommodations while they had a drink, then they set it all aside for later. Callum, who was clearly angling for it, managed to get her onto the topic of how exactly a proper horn care-and-polish was supposed to go, and she spent pretty much the entirety of that torn between being increasingly embarrassed and increasingly amused. He was so interested, like she was sharing arcane magical knowledge instead of stupid basic grooming tips.

“I mean, I’ve seen you using your horn-scrub on the road sometimes, to file away rough or flaky bits, right?” He was saying, while she leaned over to lay against his chest. He reflexively put an arm around her even while gesturing with the other one. “You kind of go…with the sort of curvy lines in your horns? Like one at a time?”

“They’re called ridges, Callum.” She informed him, incredibly amused. “And yes. You need to file along them all one by one, and be careful to keep the shape too. If you do it badly you’ll flatten out the tops of the ridges and it looks really stupid.”

He stared down at her horns with fascination, and lowered his gesturing hand to trace the shape of – she presumed – one of her horn-ridges in detail. She made a flustered sort of murmur at him, but he seemed too busy to notice. “Right, so, hm.” He almost seemed to be speaking to himself. “Yeah, if you just file it from the top it’d all flatten out. So you have to sort of work around each one? Following the curve?”

“That’s why Moonshadow horn-scrubs are so much more complicated.” She informed him. “We need the wee fiddly parts to get between all the ridges and file it right without losing the shapes. Takes forever. Our horns are more of a pain than almost any other kind of elf’s.” She grinned up at him. “Unlucky for you.”

“Are you kidding?” He asked, incredulously. “This is great. Means I get so much longer to spend on you. You never let me spoil you enough.”

She processed that, and groaned, burrowing her face into the wool gown over his chest. “You’ll change your tune soon enough.” She muttered, but wasn’t entirely convinced. Callum really was an incredible sap when it came to doing things for her. “It takes so stupidly long.”

“I’m counting on it.” He declared happily, and she huffed.

“You’re ridiculous.” She informed him, and after nearly ten more minutes of him trying to wrangle intricately detailed horn-polishing knowledge out of her, just rolled her eyes and said with exasperation “It’s like polishing armour, Callum. Or boots. You just buff it up, then go at it with polish on the polisher for ages. There’s not much of a trick to it.” She paused, but did add “Gets kind of messy though. The filing stage puts horn dust and bits everywhere, and once you start polishing you get like…murky polish liquid all over your hands. Better put a towel down.”

Eventually, after enough sitting around that the cuddling alone wasn’t engrossing enough anymore, Callum did go and get his sketchbook and immediately sat down to begin producing what Rayla was certain would be the first of many, many drawings of the city. He drew it as seen from above first, and Rayla settled in to watch with half-lidded eyes.

She’d grown very used to spending time watching Callum draw. In large part, this was because he tended to spend a lot of his free time doing it, and she was often around when that happened. It was quite satisfying, to sit there and observe as the shapes on the page took form. But even so…

There was only so much of watching him draw that she could do before she started getting bored. Throughout their journeying, it had rarely got to that point. What with the time constraints of camp-craft and travelling, there’d been little enough spare time that Rayla hadn’t felt compelled to find anything else to do. Now, though, she found with surprise that her fingers were itching for her knives.

“Huh.” She said to herself, with interest, and Callum turned his head to peer at her.

“Hm?”

“My knives.” She said, and then realised this wasn’t especially helpful. “My carving knives. Just realised I’m hankering for them a bit. That’s never really happened before.”

“Oh.” He thought, then looked pleased. “Looks like you’re starting to make a habit of it after all. That’s really nice.”

“Less nice when I don’t actually have the knives.” She snorted, and considered her empty hands.

Rayla, on the whole, tended towards active ways of passing the time. She liked to train, and she liked to exercise, and if Callum was free she always liked to go flying with him. But inevitably, after half a year spent together, there had been plenty of afternoons and evenings in their off-time when she was too tired to go out for training, or Callum was spending time drawing and she wanted to be around him, and she ended up with nothing to do.

He’d been the one to gently pester her into taking up some sort of hobby. At first she’d just grumpily sharpened her weapons over and over again, but with enough work he’d got her to try other things. He’d suggested either knitting or whittling, on the basis that both involved the use of stabby implements, and she was a fan of those. Knitting she hadn’t taken to. But whittling…

At first, she’d just done it because he’d prodded her into it, and she didn’t hate it, and there was nothing better to do, so she might as well. But now, considering her empty hands with consternation, Rayla realised for the first time that she actually kind of wanted to be doing it. When had that happened?

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Pick up some things in the city tomorrow, maybe.” He suggested, and turned back to his drawing.

“Bit of a waste, when I’ve got a plenty good enough set of knives at home.”

“You don’t need to get a full set. But it could be nice to have a couple of the main ones around, for travelling with.” He shrugged. “You can practice on any random bits of wood, right? So it’s mainly the knives you need.”

She snorted. She’d learned enough to know that the type of wood one chose was, in fact, very important. But…yeah, for messing around like she did, random wood was usually fine. If splintery. “Maybe.” She said in the end, already thinking of the knife she used most. “It’s not a bad idea. Clothes and supplies are the priority, though. So maybe if there’s anything left after that.”

“We’ll need cold-weather gear, if we’re going through the Shiverthorns in winter.” He remarked, and huddled into the blanket like the mere thought was making him cold. “Thick cloaks and stuff.”

“Which are expensive.” She reminded. “And also heavy. It’ll slow you down.”

He shrugged. “I figure that’s okay. We won’t be in a huge hurry to get back, after all.”

(Snippet 4: Callum and Rayla discuss dinner options, watch the sunset, and investigate the light fixtures. Context: in this story, I worldbuild Sunfire elves as some weird blend of French and Roman.)

He hummed by way of agreement, and pulled her tighter in to his side. “For now, let’s try not to worry about that.” He said, determinedly. “Today our job is to relax and rest up, and that’s it.”

Rayla sighed, and shifted around to lay part-way across his front, face half into the red wool at his chest. “I can probably do that.”

They cuddled for what actually didn’t end up being that long, because there was a knock at the door. It echoed sharply through the polished wood, even with the intervening door closed. Rayla, who’d heard no footsteps of any kind due to the ostensible soundproofing, stiffened immediately.

Callum blinked, then carefully extricated himself from her. “I’ll go get it.” He said, and she didn’t object. She didn’t relish the thought of being seen by strangers when she was in her bathrobe. That was private.

He unlocked and opened the receiving room door, closed it behind him, and then unlocked and opened the outer door. There was actually a decent degree of sound loss between there and Rayla’s current spot, so she couldn’t hear what was being said beyond stray words. After a while, Callum said something in a distinctly goodbye-ish sort of voice and the encounter ended. He considerately locked both doors for her on his way in.

Over his arm, he was holding a neat stack of clothing and armour. “Already?” She asked, startled, and watched as he set it all down on the bed.

“Already.” He agreed, seemingly pleased. “I guess their drying spells really are useful. Look, they’ve cleaned your armour. And our boots.”

Rayla lifted herself from beneath the blanket to go over and look. All of their things looked fresh and new, bereft of the dull beige hues imbued by travel and sleeping in dust and dirt. It half looked like they’d re-dyed some of it, honestly, to get the clean colours back. She lifted Callum’s scarf from the pile, sniffed it, and hummed at it.

“Laundry smell?” He asked, amused, and she shrugged.

“Unsurprisingly.” She considered putting it on him, but in the end decided she was enjoying the look of him in the bathrobe, all cosy and comfy-looking. “What else were you talking about?”

“Hm?”

“With the servant.”

“Oh.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “Dinner stuff. He wanted to tell me the options they’ve got, so we can order ahead of time.”

Rayla made a thoughtful noise, and drew him by the wrist back over to the sofa again. “And?”

“You want me to list it all off?” She nodded, and obligingly he went off listing the various items on the menu, many of which were evidently examples of bizarre Sunfire ideas about cooking. Snails, really? Frog legs? Her nose wrinkled at that one, and Callum’s lips quirked. “They serve glow toad too.” He admitted ruefully. “I mean, I guess I heard they were delicious, but it’s one thing to hear it and another thing to have it on the menu, you know?”

She made a face. “Ez would never forgive us.”

“Bait would never forgive us.” He agreed, snickering.

“And besides – ew.” Rayla shook her head, and waved her hand. “What else?”

He went through all of the selections, drinks and desserts included, and then finished up by saying “He left a sort of booklet thing behind with it all written down, if you want to look over it.”

She stared at him with exasperation. “Callum. You really just stood there and said it all when you could have just handed me the bloody menu?”

“Well, you did ask.” He said, like this was reasonable, and she sighed fondly at him.

“You dumb prince.” She told him, affectionate, and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek before going to look for the menu.

By this point, it was around four in the afternoon, and the sun seemed to be making a very definite bid for descent. She retrieved the Booklet of Food Options and retreated to the sofa with it, where Callum had already planted himself to watch the city. There was a hint of yellow-green in the bright clear sky, and the angle of light from the sinking sun was casting some particularly dramatic shadows. The temple was still gleaming with light off to the side, and the golden circuitry through the city still exhaling. She stared at it for a moment, certain that tonight’s sunset really was going to be spectacular, and then opened the menu to start looking.

It had been long enough since lunch that the sight of so many food options was plenty enough to make her start considering the idea of an early dinner. In an hour or two, maybe. Some of it was too weird or too exotic to consider, but there was a lot that wasn’t.

She passed the booklet over when she was done making selections, but Callum seemed too occupied with the burgeoning sunset to want to look at it. She snorted, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and then leaned comfortably into his side to watch the city.

The sun fell over a period of around half an hour, sinking lower and lower, until the sky filled with such intense yellows and deep reds that it seemed almost to have caught fire. The grey slate of the city turned bloody red in the light, every golden trace lit up and shining in the growing dark. The few wispy clouds left in the sky were shining too, until the sun began to pass beneath the lip of the sea on the horizon, and the blue-green edges of the dusk glittered with stars.

“That,” He said, very softly, when dusk was ebbing into twilight, “was a really incredible view.”

Rayla had little artistry in her heart, but she’d appreciated that sunset. She knew that by contrast it must have touched Callum deeply. She looked at him, taking in his expression, finding it every bit as amazed and awed and happy as she could have hoped for. Her heart fluttered, happy for that he was happy, and in the warmth of that contentment she reached over to cup his cheek with her hand.

He looked at her, leaning into the hand, and offered her a small and very soft smile. Her thumb smoothed over his cheek as he lifted his hand to settle atop hers. Wordless, she leaned in to kiss him, warm and brief, and lingered there close by his face for a long while after their lips parted. He sighed very quietly, entirely happy and entirely at ease. It was peaceful in a way she’d dearly missed.

Feeling utterly suffused with warmth, Rayla nestled in beside him, fingers hooking lightly in the soft red wool of his robe. His arm came around her, and both of them sighed, and both of them settled, and it was quiet.

Neither of them felt the inclination to move or speak for quite a while. The sky was dark and full of stars by the time she shifted, and the city’s golden circuitry shining boldly through the shadow. The Moon, ascendant in the sky, was very nearly full.

“Might not be so bad after all, staying here a while.” She said, finally, and pressed her lips to his neck. “Comfy, nice bathroom, nice views…and the food options look kind of incredible, honestly.”

He chuckled, soft and fond. “Bit of a weird honeymoon.” He murmured into her hair. “But I’ll take it.”

She huffed. “Honeymoon.” She repeated, shaking her head.

Well. She supposed if they’d had to go through that whole forced marriage ordeal, they did at least deserve to get a nice holiday out of it. Even if most of that holiday was going to be spent working, the not-working parts of the day looked to be a lot fancier and more luxurious than they were back home.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Was her conclusion, in the end. “Did you decide what you’ll be eating?”

“Pretty much.” He kissed her brow. “You ready to order? It’s still kind of early.”

“Eh. It’ll do.” She shrugged, and listed off her selections. He kissed her again, then gently untangled himself from her limbs to go off and summon a servant.

The room had gone darker while the sun set, and the soft yellow glow of the fireless light fixtures along the walls had grown more prominent. Now a little curious, Rayla took the opportunity to investigate one, and on closer inspection found it to be some sort of…weird bioluminescent plant. Or maybe animal? It had long rigid tube-like structures that had plainly been cultivated into ornamental shapes, that looked almost like some sort of stone, though it had obviously been painted or dyed the usual deep red. It exuded a number of softly glowing yellow-orange tendrils from the openings at the end of the tubes, short and blunt but weirdly pretty.

She reached out cautiously to touch one, and at once the tendrils retracted inside the tube, the light dimming. Startled, she drew back to watch it, but the tendrils didn’t start to tentatively reappear again for another minute, during which she heard the light murmurs of Callum conversing with whatever servant he’d summoned.

When Moonshadow elves wanted light after dark, they just used enchantments, or glowstone, like normal people. Fancy Sunfire elves, however, apparently favoured plants. Or animals. She honestly wasn’t sure which this one was. Some sort of land-coral?

“I ordered the food.” Callum said, when he returned. “They said it’ll be about half an hour. And they’ll bring it all up at the same time so we don’t get disturbed twice.”

“Perfect.” She pronounced, with satisfaction, and then dragged him over to meet the light fixtures. Predictably, he spent a good ten fascinated minutes investigating the weird glowing polyps, and then a while longer sketching one out, and was half-way through that when the food arrived.

(Snippet 5: after dinner, Callum and Rayla engage in some silliness, then cuddle. Domesticity.)

“I’m so full I’m not going to move for a week.” Rayla announced, after staggering her way back through to their sofa, followed by an amused Callum. “It’s going to take at least that long to digest all of that.”

“That might make it tricky to get supplies.” He said, pretend-thoughtful. “But I’m sure we can work something out.”

She snorted, patted him on the shoulder, and then promptly pulled him into her side when he started looking at her in the imminent-cuddles sort of way. He hummed contentedly, turning his face into her shoulder, breath warming the wool over her collarbone.

“This bathrobe is so comfy.” He said happily, words muffled by wool. “It’s so nice.”

Having had very similar sentiments about his bathrobe earlier, she quite agreed. “Shame they didn’t include wool pyjamas, really.”

He didn’t offer any response for that, just snuggled, putting an arm around her waist. It was almost a little uncomfortable, really, what with how full she was, but she didn’t protest. She just held him close, smoothed her free hand over his hair, and looked out over the city. In the dark, watching the vaporous light rise felt very much like watching fire. It was very entrancing.

Some time later, Callum started to show signs of beginning to fall asleep on her. She looked down at him, snorted, and then nudged him until he stirred. “If you fall asleep now you’ll be up too late.” She informed him as he made plaintive noises at her. “I’m not having you exhausted and useless for your magic channelling nonsense tomorrow.”

“But you’re too comfy.” He complained, and she smirked.

“That sounds like an invitation to be less comfy.”

He opened an eye to peer at her suspiciously. “What do you mean, ‘that sounds’ – hrk!” His words cut off as, unceremoniously, she swept him up with an arm under his back and another under his knees, on her feet with a quick shift of her weight and his. She grinned down at him, finding him instantly and distinctly awake. “….Honestly this is still pretty comfy.” He said, weakly, when he’d spent enough time staring wide-eyed at her to recover his words.

Rayla pretended at thoughtfulness. “That sounds like a challenge.” She said, and he looked alarmed.

“It wasn’t! It wasn’t!” He protested, to no avail; she stepped around the sofa, judged her angle, and tossed Callum at the bed.

He wasn’t particularly aerodynamic, but her aim had been good enough anyway; he sailed neatly between the posts at the corners and impacted decadent Sunfire quilting with a muffled oof. She was laughing at him outright when he turned, staring at her with a sort of red-faced stupefaction that told her exactly what he thought of the whole experience. “Your face right now,” she managed, doubling over to snicker in his direction. Hilarious.

“You know, there’s a saying,” he began, a little dazed. “About trusting someone as far as you could throw them.” He pushed himself up on his elbows. “You could probably trust someone a lot, is what I’m getting at.”

“…I actually do sort of know how far I could throw you, now that I think about it.” Rayla said, thinking back. “It comes up in assassin training sometimes. Throwing teammates at walls and the like, to give them a leg up. I lobbed someone about your size around six, seven metres once.” She paused, and added “Lengthways, I mean. Throwing someone upwards is a lot harder.”

This did not make him any less wide-eyed. “That’s like, over twenty feet,” he marvelled, looking at her with plain admiration. “You’re amazing.”

She huffed, reflexively bashful at the praise, and shook her head. “Amazing at throwing people, at least.” She said dryly, and went over to stare down at him from the foot of the bed. “How’s the bed?”

“…Very nice, actually.” He said, after a pause for consideration. “You’re pretty bad at making things less comfy.”

“You’re definitely awake now though.” She pointed out smugly. “So my work here is done.”

He snorted, sitting up fully to beckon to her. Obligingly, she bent forwards to meet him with a brief kiss. “Hard not to wake up when someone throws you half-way across the room.”

She rolled her eyes. “It was not that far.” She said, and after a moment made the executive decision to fall forwards onto the bed, face impacting the plush duvet and sinking in. Her feet hung from the edge, and Callum giggled.

“Hehehe toes.” He said, and reached out to poke one. He found her four-toed feet amusingly charming every time he was reminded of them, which would have been funnier, except her feet were pretty ticklish and she twitched every time he prodded like this.

“I will kick you.” She warned, and he subsided with another snicker. Instead of messing with her any further, he shuffled over and started playing with her hair. “Mm. Better.” With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tipped her head forwards, face smooshing deeper into the bed. His fingers carded through her hair, nails trailing lightly at her scalp.

“You didn’t brush it.” He noted, carefully working out a couple of tangles, and she shrugged.

“Couldn’t be bothered. ‘Sides, it only tangles again when we cuddle, anyway.”

He hummed, and went through it again more purposefully, parting it carefully around her horns as he looked for and eliminated a few knots. He brushed around her hornbeds and she shivered. Apparently noticing the reaction, he did it again, more deliberately, chuckling at the way she murmured and pushed her head into his hand. “You look like a shadowpaw when you do that.” He said, affectionately, scritching gently around her horns. “Headbutting people’s hands when they pet you.”

“Anyone else and I’d be cutting off their hands, trust me.” She mumbled at him, already a little indistinct and fuzzy around the edges of her thoughts. Hornbed-scritches did that. “…Suppose the shadowpaw’d do that too. Except they’d bite the hand off instead, if they didn’t like you.”

“What I’m hearing is that if you were an animal you’d probably be a shadowpaw.” He sounded very fond.

“Mm. Guess so.” What would he be? Something doggish, probably. Friendly and playful and loyal, and then all teeth and fierceness when threatened. That sounded about right…

She drifted, a little. It was hard not to, when collapsed onto a comfy surface with one’s hornbeds being rubbed. He stopped after a while though, evidently noticing her drowsiness, and stroked a hand over her head between the horns as he chuckled. “Now who’s falling asleep?” He teased, and she made a half-hearted rude noise at him.

“’s your fault.” She muttered at him, indistinct around the duvet in her face.

“Uhuh.” He sounded amused, and stroked the back of her head again.

(Snippet 6: very detailed depiction of horn care, which in-setting is considered intimate)

She was suddenly very glad he’d interrogated her so persistently on the procedure earlier, because she wasn’t at all certain she’d have been able to tell him anything more sophisticated than ‘um’ when he was literally about to do her horns for her.

“You’re so cute.” He told her affectionately, obviously very aware of her current emotional state, and then finally set soapy hands onto her horns.

“Oh my god.” She muttered, cheeks flaming, feeling the weight of his hands, the subtle pull at the rest of her skull. She had never been quite so aware of her horns as when he started soaping them up and washing them, and it didn’t take long at all for the warmth of his skin to soak far enough through the keratin so that she could feel it in the living horn. A little while later, he applied the coarse-bristled-brush-side of the horn-scrub to her left horn, and she made a tiny embarrassed sound at the ceiling. “You should scrub them harder than that.” She managed after a moment, since he really was being too gentle about it. “Horns are tough, you know.”

He hummed with interest, and obliged, scrubbing hard enough that it pulled at her head a little. The towel-pillow had been a very good idea of his, really. “How much horn care do you normally do?” He asked, curious, getting the washcloth to rinse her horn before scrubbing again. “I’ve seen you file them, but…”

“…Usually just this. A good scrub to make sure they’re clean, and then filing down the rough bits.” Rayla offered a mortified noise. “But it’s been weeks and I’ve not even done that. They’re probably so dirty…”

“Shush, they’re fine.” He huffed at her, and kept on at her left horn until he was satisfied with it, moving over to the other one. Rayla regarded the ceiling with a persistently red face the whole while, cheeks feeling nearly as warm as the half of her body that was still in bathwater. “I wonder if your face is going to be this red the whole time.” He remarked, when he’d apparently finished with the washing.

“Probably.” She muttered, self-consciously, and felt her gut squirm when she felt the first experimental scrape of the fine filing parts on her horn.

Callum laughed softly, and started setting to work with the file. “If you say so.”

For all that he’d never done this before, the muted sensory feedback Rayla gleaned from her inner-horns and her ears suggested that he seemed to be doing fine with it. He readjusted the file enough that she could be relatively sure he was respecting the curve of the ridges, and worked slowly along the shape of each one, from the hornbed to the pointed tip, over and over again.

As she’d told him, it was a long process. It took a long time. Long enough that, contrary to her words, her embarrassment did start to burn out a bit, the red of her cheeks easing until she only felt a little flushed, a little flustered.

“I see why you thought the cloak would be a good idea.” Callum said ruefully, a while in. She could only imagine how much horn-dust and flaky bits of keratin must be littering it. “This does get kind of messy.”

“Told you.”

“For now this is just making your horns go sort of…pale, and scratched-looking.” He commented, working the file around one of the ridges on the underside. “I guess it goes dark again once you start buffing it?”

She made a small despairing noise, but agreed “Yeah, basically. Honestly all you really need to do is wipe it over with a wet cloth and it’ll stop looking like that. But…”

“But I’m not stopping there.” He said, with evident satisfaction, and a little more heat rose in her cheeks.

He was slow and meticulous about the filing, but got through it a lot more quickly than she could have if she’d done it herself. It was hard to work on your own horns – the angle was bad, you couldn’t see what you were doing, and adjusting to get the undersides was a huge pain in the arms. By contrast, doing it for someone else was just…a lot easier.

Finally, he set the scrub down and went for the washcloth again, soaping up and rubbing her horns clear of dust, poring over them for any spots he’d missed. When he was finally satisfied, he said “and now I buff them?”

“Mmhm.” She confirmed, bringing her hands up to hide her face for a moment. So, at her confirmation, he started on that part next. He evidently hadn’t expected how vigorous the buffing and polishing stages of horns were, because she kept telling him to press the buffer harder, and he kept making worried noises about it, and she had to keep assuring him that no that’s how it’s supposed to be, and eventually she start started laughing helplessly at him.

“I feel like I’m going to hurt your neck,” he complained at her, when the strength of the requisite motions pulled at her head. “Or like, hurt your hornbeds, or something.”

“I’ll be fine, Callum.” She assured him, still laughing, mirth and embarrassment squirming in her chest. “This is just how it goes, you know.”

“At least I brought you a pillow.” He sighed, and obligingly kept on. A fair while later, when he was done with the buffing and had washed her horns again, he leaned back a bit to admire his work. “That really is looking a lot smoother and shinier.”

“And you’ve not even done the polishing yet.” Rayla felt very weird then, laying back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She’d been through embarrassment, and then amusement, and now…now, there was something else. She felt almost calm. Almost settled, like she’d finally started to grow used to this. Like the novelty of his hands on her horns had worn through.

Now, she felt kind of comfortable. At ease, in a way. Her mind was drifting in the way it did when Ethari or Runaan had helped her with her horns before, like this was just a normal thing. A normal thing that took ages, and that one had to daydream through to pass the time.

“I’m actually really looking forward to seeing what they look like when I’m done.” He was saying, as he put the buffing things down and went to get the bottle of polish and the polishing tool. “I’ve never seen your horns all done up before.”

“Maybe now you’ll finally understand what I mean when I say my horns have gone gross.” She pondered, and he laughed. “Finally you’ll know what well-kept horns are supposed to look like.”

“I have seen other Moonshadow elves’ horns, you know.” He informed her, obviously amused, and she heard the cap of the polish opening. A moment later, she smelled it, because there was really no mistaking that smell. “Yours still look nice no matter how long it’s been since you scrubbed them.”

Rayla made a disagreeable noise at him, and he snickered back, and then finally set about the polishing.

She’d told him, earlier, that horn-polish was pretty potent stuff, and that’s why you applied it to a sort of spongy cloth attached to a handle, rather than scrubbing with it by hand. At full strength, it actually melted the outer surface of the horn – just a little, just enough to meld it all down into a smooth, gleaming, perfect surface. Diluted polish was fine if you did it regularly, but with how long it had been for her…she’d told him to keep it undiluted. And it stank.

Her nose wrinkled, even with all the pleasant soap smells competing, and held her neck lax as Callum worked on her horns vigorously enough to pull her head back with every other movement. That was just how it went, so she wasn’t bothered. The towel was enough padding that it didn’t hurt, so she just laid there and let him work.

“Think I might actually nearly be done.” He pronounced at last, sounding genuinely a little out of breath. She’d told him it was hard work, and evidently he’d found that out for himself. He sounded very pleased, though. Like he’d done a good job and knew it, and was plenty proud about it. “Just got to wash all this polish muck off, right? Soap your horns up again.”

“That is the last stage.” She agreed, trying to glance up at him, but all she could really see was the top of his head. “Aside from oiling, I suppose.”

(Snippet 7: aftermath of horn care, domesticity)

It was then, by the sink, that Rayla finally removed the towel from her head, and Callum made a loud noise of pure joy at her. She stared at him, alarmed, and then noticed where he was actually looking. Oh.

“Shiny!” He exclaimed, gleeful, and reached out to stroke her horns. “Oh my god.”

“Callum!” She complained, but she was already laughing, because honestly she should have predicted this reaction. He practically groped at her horns, bright-faced and beaming, and she flushed all the while she stood still and let him. “Are you going to let me see them any time soon?” She asked him, dry. “Or are you just going to stand there groping them?” He subsided at that with a very high-pitched giggle.

“Hehehe,” he offered, and then “yes, go look! You need to tell me how well I did.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her to the mirror, his face lingering by her shoulder in her reflection with the enormous grin still very much in residence there. He was such a dork, honestly.

Finally, Rayla tipped her head forwards and inspected her horns. They were…shiny. Very shiny. Every ridge had been filed and buffed and polished to a gleam, and when she turned her head, the light glimmered off of them like they’d been waxed. Her eyebrows went up, and she lifted her own hand to feel along one. It was smooth. Entirely dry, but as she ran her finger along one ridge, it felt so smooth. Their dark colour was actually glossy. “…Wow.” She said, a little admiringly, and tilted her head to watch the light move. “That is shiny.”

He looked absolutely delighted by that response, as if he’d needed her go-ahead to be certain that, yes, that was definitely impressively shiny. She smiled, helpless to stop it, and turned her head to kiss him on the cheek; her reflection mirrored her.

“You did a great job, Callum.” She told him fondly, her cheeks pink at having seen exactly how great a job he’d done. Stars, but the second anyone saw her they’d know exactly who was responsible for those horns. “My horns haven’t been this shiny in years.”

Callum looked at her like she’d hung the Moon, like this praise was enough to render him utterly overjoyed. He tugged her around enough to kiss her, deep and excited and full of energy, so much so that she made a muffled noise of surprise into his lips. It caught her off-guard, and she was feeling a little breathless and a little dazed when he drew away a few moments later. “You have to let me do this again.” He told her, beaming. “I’m going to keep your horns this shiny, just you wait.”

Her cheeks flamed, and she ducked her head, suddenly flustered. “You can’t just say things like that.” She complained at him, and of course he looked utterly unrepentant. He leaned in and kissed her, then moved and kissed her on one cheek, and then on the other cheek, and his hands were already up and stroking along the wide bases of her horns again.

“Smooth,” he commented, gleefully, fingers warm around her horns. His face was very, very close to hers. “They’re so nice.”

The heat in her face decidedly didn’t abate. “Oh my god, Callum.” She mumbled, shaking her head, and he just kissed her again. Feeling increasingly dazed, she said into his lips “you know, it’s a lot faster if you’re doing it regularly. You can skip the filing and just buff and polish instead.”

He considered this excellent news, if the way he kissed her was any indication.

Finally, she summoned the force of will to reach up and peel his hands from her horns, stepping away. It was not easy, because – because when he looked like that, so elated and alive and full of delight, when he kissed her so enthusiastically, it was hard to think of pretty much anything. She looked across at him, incredibly flustered, and couldn’t see anything except how beautiful he was. “You, calm down.” She ordered him, gruffly, and led him by the shoulder to the basin. “We came in here to brush our teeth, you numpty. Not fondle Rayla’s horns.”

“But Rayla’s horns are really really pretty.” Callum pointed out cheerfully, and she made an involuntary noise half-way between embarrassment and pleasure.

“Be that as it may, Rayla and her horns want you to brush your teeth now so we can go to bed.” She said, and she shuffled over to the basin to make good on her words.

(Snippet 8: Callum and Rayla go to bed finally. Cuddling, fluff.)

It proved as magnificently soft and comfy as she might have expected, when she peeled back the covers and climbed in. Callum meanwhile was perusing the canopy with consideration.

“Curtains or no curtains?” He asked her, and she considered it.

“Curtains.” She decided, and watched with satisfaction as he reached out and unhooked the bed’s attendant drapery. She reached to the one closest to her, and he got the rest; it all fell into place, a rich dark red that blocked out the light from the room around them and cast their bed into soothing shadow. Something settled in her then, that hadn’t quite been at ease in the unfamiliar surroundings, or the openness of the room. She sighed, and burrowed down under the duvet, laying her head back on the pillows.

He joined her, lifting the covers and slipping in, closing his eyes for a second in obvious profound enjoyment. “This is so much better than hard cold floor.” He murmured happily, and she smiled, tugging him to her with a hand at his shoulder. He went gladly, and within moments they were pressed close, legs tangling, the warmth of his skin comforting against her own.

“Been a long few weeks.” She sighed, resting her forehead against his, and he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek.

“Kind of an understatement.” He murmured back. “I’m glad we’ve got a chance to rest now.” A pause. “Sort of, anyway. Aside from the work.”

She understood his meaning, though. There was something strangely safe about the idea of the time they’d spend here, whether it would be a week or longer than that. This wasn’t home, where there’d be people to explain things to, or where they’d have to adapt their old life to fit around what had happened. This was a new place – unfamiliar, but easier to cope with for that unfamiliarity, in its own way.

Here, she thought, they’d be able to find their footing a little. Settle a little more into their new normal, before the vagaries of travel and normal life needed intrude again.

“Me too.” She agreed, at last, and reached a hand across to press lightly around the back of his neck. He made a soft, pleased sound, then shuffled to give her better access, face smooshed into the pillow. She kissed him on the cheek, and he peered at her with one green eye, a smile fluttering on his lips.

“…Thanks for letting me do your horns.” He mumbled back, eventually. “I liked it.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’ll repay you sometime.” She promised, and moved her hand to smooth down along his upper back, enjoying the warmth of his skin. “Tomorrow, maybe. Give you a nice backrub or something.”

“Sounds great.” He shifted closer, tucking his face against her shoulder with a sigh. She kissed him at the top of his forehead, stroking him gently from the nape of his neck to his shoulders and back. He made quiet contented noises at her, drowsier and drowsier, and steadily began to drift off.

She lingered there, holding him, trailing fingertips over his neck as he settled into sleep. It really had been a long day for him, for all that they’d spent the latter half of it indoors and resting. Now, finally, he’d be able to sleep properly, in a bed comfortable enough to ease the ache of his overworn muscles. Now, finally, without the city’s doom hanging over them, they could rest a little.

Rayla smiled into his hair, nestled against him, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but it took her anyway; almost between one moment and the next, she was gone.

#rayllum #rayllumvalentines #moon gardens #these snippets will probably not get posted to ao3 #i'd like to reiterate that I have no intention of posting the entire story either #but i hope you can enjoy these extracts regardless #i adore this fic tbh #it's a delight to write #which is probably how i managed to write 120k of it in one month #still proud of that #one heck of a personal record really

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adenei · 3 years

Text

Untitled (no really, that’s the title)

Hello Romione lovers!

I’ve been waiting about a month to post this fic. It was written for the 2020 HPRomione Discord Secret Santa Exchange for @gurinpotte ! I really enjoyed writing this Shell Cottage fic that explores where Ron and Hermione’s relationship stands. I know it’s not Christmas related, but I hope you enjoy this fic filled with nightmares, pining, angst, and fluff (with a teensy bit of some side hinny as well). I promise the title will make sense once you get to the end!

Please like and reblog/leave kudos on Ao3

Also stay tuned for my Hinny Incognito Elf fic that will be posted soon, too!

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Hermione assured him she was fine. That he could go take a break. Eat something, have a shower. Get some sleep of his own. Fleur had just given her a new dose of potions, and had changed her bandages, and Luna would be sleeping in the extra bed. So at her insistence, Ron gave her some space when he saw Luna come into the room to settle in for the night.

He turned back to Hermione, who smiled and gave him a firm, “go,” and he turned to exit the room, swapping places with Luna. But Luna didn’t enter right away. Instead she shut the door and looked at him pensively.

“You truly care for her, don’t you?” she asked.

“I- yeah,” responded Ron, a bit taken aback.

“She cares for you, too. And I don’t think she really wants you to go, but she’s worried about you just as much as you are for her.”

Ron looked at Luna in confusion. “She doesn’t need to be worried about me. I’m fine, I’m not the one who was tortured,” he said low in his voice.

“No, but you haven’t slept, you’ve barely eaten and no offense, Ron, you do have a smell to you. Hermione probably feels guilty that you’re so focused on taking care of her that you are forgetting about yourself. You will make her feel better if you take some time for you. I’ll keep an eye on her, and if she needs you, I’ll come find you,” Luna told him.

She really was brilliantly insightful, even if she came off as rather aloof much of the time. “Thank you, Luna,” Ron said sincerely. “I’ll be-”

“Downstairs. Now go on, so I can tell Hermione all about the plimpies in the pond near my house.” Luna smiled happily as she turned to enter the room.

Ron found himself wandering into the bathroom first to take a long, hot shower. He didn’t entirely believe Luna when she said he smelled, but just in case. He turned on the faucet, undressed and stepped into the hot water, which admittedly felt good against his skin. Ron began thinking about what Luna said. That Hermione was just as worried about him. She didn’t need to be! He could take care of himself just fine. It was her who needed the attention.

He’d never admit it, but he was afraid that something would happen and she would relapse into unconsciousness again if he was gone for too long. Plus, he wanted to care for her, show her how much she meant to him. He needed to tell her how he felt. Time was proving much too short, what with his close call running into the snatchers after he’d left, and now their capture and her subsequent torture. The likelihood that they were going to make it out of this alive seemed to become slimmer with each passing day.

Ron turned the water off and stepped out with a new resolve. He’d figure it out. He’d find a way to tell her. Maybe tomorrow, when they both were fresh off of a steady sleep. He couldn’t say good, not when the nightmares of her screams taunted his mind. After he’d toweled off, he’d summoned a fresh outfit, and got dressed. He went downstairs and attempted to eat some more of the leftover supper Fleur had made earlier, and then tidied up so she didn’t have to worry about it.

Dean and Harry were laying on their respective sleeping bags as Ron grabbed a blanket and flopped onto the sofa. “How’s Hermione doing?” Dean asked.

“She’s okay. Insisted I leave, so here I am,” Ron sulked slightly.

“Everyone likes their space now and then, I reckon,” Dean offered.

Dean had a point, and maybe Hermione just needed some space. Maybe he was smothering her a bit. Not that he cared. He made a vow that he’d never leave her again, and he wanted to be there for her, especially right now. Ron still felt guilty about his abandonment, even though she told him she’d forgiven him. He figured he’d never make it up to himself for doing that to her, and wasn’t everyone their own worst critic?

Ron looked at Harry, who was laying there quietly, staring at the Marauder’s Map. “Harry…” Ron said slowly.

“I know. It’s just a habit,” he said as he tapped it and put it back in his mokeskin pouch silently. “Are you staying down here, then?” he asked.

Ron felt slightly guilty. He’d been spending so much time at Hermione’s side that he’d neglected his best friend. Sure, he’d gone out for Dobby’s burial, but his mind had been distracted. Hermione hadn’t woken up yet, and he kept looking up at her window, half expecting Fleur to come open it and summon him in.

“Yeah,” Ron said slowly. “Listen, Harry, I’m sorry I’ve-”

“You don’t need to apologize, Ron. I get it. I’d have done the same thing,” Harry said, giving him a hard look. They didn’t talk much about Ginny, but he knew that’s what Harry meant. “Just, when Hermione is well enough, we should discuss next steps.”

Ron gave Harry a curt nod. “Yeah, alright.”

Harry then waved his wand to extinguish the lights, which meant he didn’t want to talk anymore. Ron was perfectly fine with that as he rolled over and figured he should at least try and get some sleep. He chanted the same mantra in his head to help him relax. Hermione’s safe now. No one is going to hurt her here. She’s safe upstairs…

Ron wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he was awoken to the sounds of blood curdling screams. He wasn’t sure if he was even conscious as he found himself running up the stairs. Luna was on her way down to get him and he almost bowled her over. “What happened,” he said in a panicked voice.

“She’s having a nightmare. I can’t get her to wake up,” Luna called after him since he didn’t bother to stop.

Ron tore into the small bedroom to find Hermione thrashing wildly in the bed. As soon as he’d broken the barrier of the silencing charm Fleur must have cast seconds ago to keep the rest of the house quiet, Hermione’s shouts of terror and screams hit his ears.

“I don’t know anything! Please, no! I don’t know anything!” More screaming ensued as Ron went over to her.

Ron let his instinct take over, and sat on the side of the bed. He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders to help steady her and stop the wild movement. He began speaking softly to her.

“Hermione, it’s okay. It’s just a nightmare. It’s not real. Not anymore. Please wake up.” Her screaming dulled to a whimper, and he watched her eyes scrunch tighter than before. “Hermione, wake up. It’s alright, you’re alright,” he reassured her until finally he saw her eyes open.

Ron watched as it took her a moment for her vision to adjust. The look on her face said it all as he helped her sit up. “It was a nightmare, that’s all. She’s not here, she can’t hurt you.”

Hermione nodded as understanding began to flood her system. She looked around the room and noticed Bill, Fleur and Luna looking on in concern. That’s when the tears started to flow down her face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I probably woke the entire house up.” She placed her head in her hands.

“Hermione, you don’t need to be sorry,” Bill said immediately. “You just went through a terrible trauma. It’s normal. I’ll admit I had nightmares for a spell after Greyback attacked me. I’d turn into a full on werewolf at the full moon and I didn’t know.” Bill shuddered at the reminiscent thought as Fleur rubbed his back consolingly.

“ ‘Ermione, are you sure I cannot give you dreamless sleep? It eez no trouble,” Fleur offered.

“You didn’t take any tonight?” Ron asked her.

“No. I’m trying to wean off the potions. I don’t want to become reliant on it,” Hermione told him.

“But-”

“No, Ron.” Hermione then looked at Fleur. “I’ll be okay.”’

Fleur nodded reluctantly. “Let us know if you need anyzing,” she said as let herself and Bill out of the room.

“I’m going to go downstairs for a bit,” Luna said, wanting to give Ron and Hermione some privacy.

Ron was just realizing as Luna shut the door that his arm was still around her shoulders, and she was leaning into his side. “What do you want me to do, Hermione? I’ll stay if you want. I can sleep in the chair again. It’ll be fine. Please let me-”

“Ron, you’re not sleeping in the chair,” Hermione started.

“Fine! The floor then-”

“Will you let me finish?” Hermione interrupted him again. Ron stopped and looked at her. “I want you to stay. I was stupid to think I didn’t need you here.” She turned her head away from him.

“So the floor, then?” Ron asked.

“N-no. I was hoping that you’d...that you’d…” Hermione’s face turned pink at her cheeks.

“Where do you want me, Hermione?”

“Next to me.” Ron didn’t need her to gesture to the bed to know what she meant.

“Yeah, of course,” he said without thinking. He gently released her as he stood up while Hermione moved over and held back the blankets for him. Ron climbed in, hardly believing that he was about to spend the night in a bed with her. It didn’t even matter that it was only because he wanted to provide some comfort for her if the nightmares started again.

“Thank you,” Hermione said as Ron lifted his arm up and she gladly settled into his side. She felt so right there, almost as if she fit like a perfect puzzle piece. He breathed in the scent of her hair as he committed this very moment to memory.

You should tell her, he heard his brain murmur. Maybe it would help comfort her to think about something happy. Well, he hoped it would be a happy and welcome thought. He really needed to stop over analyzing things and just go for it.

“Hermione, I’ve been so stupid,” Ron heard his voice say. What the hell was that? That’s how you’re choosing to start your profession of love to her?

And yet, her response surprised him more than he surprised himself. “So have I.”

“I should have been more obvious-”

“Me too,” she agreed.

This was going to be harder than he thought, not that he was complaining about her interjections. But he kept going. “I promise I’m always going to be there from now on. You’ll have to hex me away. I shouldn’t have even left you tonight-”

“I’d never hex you away,” she said. Hermione adjusted her body as she turned on her side to face him. He rolled over to meet her.

“Er, Hermione, I hate to break it to you, but you have done before,” Ron smirked, flashing his famous lopsided grin.

“I won’t anymore, how’s that?” She smiled shyly back at him.

“I suppose that works. Hermione, I’ll- I’ll respect whatever you want, but I need to be honest with you and- I don’t want to waste any more time. I know we’re in the middle of the war, and helping Harry is our main focus, but I can’t let this go any longer without telling you-”

Hermione raised a finger to his lips to stop him. “I don’t either, but Ron….”

Ron kissed her finger as he lifted up his own hand to gently move hers away. “Don’t. Don’t think of all the reasons it’s not the right time. Feels like we’ve done enough of that already.”

“I know…”

Ron could tell Hermione was thinking intently about something. He was holding his breath, waiting for her to go on. Maybe he hadn’t outright said it, but he knew deep down that she understood him, so the quaffle was on her side of the pitch now.

��I want this. I really do,” her eyes were pleading with him. “But I’m scared. Scared of losing this before we’ve even had a chance…”

He knew what she meant. He feared the same thing. “Me too,” he admitted. Then he had an idea. “So, what if we don’t give it a title. At least not until the war’s over. Y’know, so it doesn’t feel like we’d be losing anything if...if…” Ron couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Hermione nodded slightly. “O-okay,” she said.

Whether they decided to put a title to it or not, it was clear they were past the point of ‘just friends,’ what with the fact that they were about to fall asleep in the same bed. Without thinking, Ron leaned in and kissed her on her forehead. They lay there quietly for a while before Hermione reluctantly turned over to make herself more comfortable. Ron kept his arms around her as his fingers interlaced with hers. He closed his eyes and listened to the steady sound of Hermione’s breathing as he fell asleep.

When he woke up again, the sun was shining brightly into the window. For a moment, he forgot where he was. It took a moment to realize he was lying in bed, his arms still wrapped around Hermione, who had shifted at some point in the middle night. Her head was nestled in the crook of his shoulder and her arm was draped around his stomach, her legs tangled with his. He smiled at the sight of her there. He turned to check the watch on the bedside table. It was 8:00. He’d slept through the night. She’d slept through the night. As he adjusted himself to sit up a bit, he must have disturbed her.

He felt her stretch out, and her eyes opened lazily. It took her a moment to realize he was there. “Morning,” he said, his voice deeper than usual from sleep.

“Morning,” she returned. “What time is it?”

“Eight,” he said. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Y-yeah, actually, I did,” she said surprised.

“So did I.”

Hermione sat up in bed. “So...it appears sleeping together keeps the nightmares away.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Or maybe it’s just a fluke?”

“Maybe.” Hermione pursed her lips as she thought for a moment. And then a smile crossed her lips. “But we should definitely try again tonight to see.”

“That sounds like a brilliant plan,” Ron grinned back at her as he heard Luna call for them on the other side of the door. For the first time in a long while, Ron had something to look forward to.

*******************

Looking for more great romione SS fics? Check these out and give them a like/reblog, too!

@avatarvader for be11atrixthtestrange

@be11atrixthestrange for smjl

@accio-broom for roy of the ballerina type

#ROMIONE #hp shell cottage #hp fanfic #2020 HPRomione Discord Secret Santa Exchange #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #side hinny

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pellucidity-is-me · 3 years

Text

Remus Lupin Meets Newt Scamander

Summary: The year is 1971. Remus and his friends are invited to Slughorn’s annual Christmas party, and Remus is introduced to an unexpected guest.

Wordcount: 3086

"Remus Lupin!" bellowed Slughorn as Remus and his friends arrived at the party. Remus cringed. "Well, well, well! You ended up coming! Come in, come in. You boys are very well-dressed. Yes, yes. The festivities are in full swing!"

Remus could tell. It was so loud—louder and more chaotic than a Quidditch game, with shouts and screams and house-elfs running all around and the scents of tens of students and food and confetti and music—the music was so loud—and his skin was all clammy and the full moon was less than a week away... Heightened senses, to the non-werewolf individual, seemed to be a blessing. They were not.

Remus smiled at James, who was looking worried. "I'm fine."

"You're pale."

"I'm always pale."

"He's got a point," said Sirius, laughing. "Come on, James, let's go dance!"

"I'm not leaving Remus all alone. He's scared..."

"I'm not scared!"

"Boys, boys, boys," said Slughorn ambivalently. "I actually have someone that I want Remus to meet! Wonderful person. Very famous! I invited him here myself."

"I'll come," said James immediately.

"No, no!" chortled Slughorn. "You go dance! He'll be with me. He's okay! Right, Remus?"

Remus nodded. "You three have fun. I'll catch up later."

Sirius pulled James away, and James didn't protest. Peter followed them, his face alight with happiness.

And then Remus was alone. He wasn’t sure he liked being alone.

Wait, no. He wasn't alone. Unfortunately, Slughorn was standing right next to him... yes, Remus would have preferred solitude.

Slughorn put his hand on Remus' shoulder, and Remus jumped and shooed his hand away instinctively. "Calm down, my boy! I'm not going to hurt you! There, now, this way, then..." Slughorn was shouting over the music, and Remus' ears hurt. He let himself be guided away, trying not to inhale too deeply. He sort of wanted to go home.

Slughorn stopped in front of a man with a large gob of curly, greying hair and blue eyes. "Here, this is who I wanted you to meet! Have fun, you two!" Slughorn said something else that Remus couldn't quite make out before ambling away.

Remus, who now thoroughly regretted coming to the party, glanced at the man (out of the corner of his eyes, since it was impolite to stare). The man was tall. He was holding a glass of punch. He, like Remus, very much looked as if he wanted to be somewhere else. Remus stood there silently, unsure of what to do. "Well, this is awkward," said the man.

Remus tried to laugh. "Er... yeah."

"Yes," the man repeated, and then he lowered his voice a little. "Listen, I... well, I'm not a fan of parties. Too stuffy and loud. Slughorn's watching us, but if I create a distraction... we can slip out the back. Undetected. Sound all right to you?"

Remus nodded a little. He wasn't sure what the man meant by "distraction", but he reminded Remus a little of James. And James' ideas were sometimes stupid, but they usually worked out.

The man reached into a briefcase and pulled something out, clenching it tightly in his hands. "Here, watch carefully," he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He opened his hand wide, and three pixies flew out. Remus gaped.

The pixies flew around the room—one landed right on top of Slughorn's balding head. Chaos promptly ensued. The man motioned for Remus to follow, and Remus did—sure enough, there was a door in the back of the office, and Remus managed to slip through without Slughorn noticing.

They ended up in the corridor, and Remus kept following the man. He guided Remus through another door. Now they were standing directly in front of...

"A broom cupboard?" Remus asked in disbelief.

"Shh!" said the man, pushing Remus into the cupboard. It was a very large cupboard, as cupboards went, and there was plenty of room for the both of them. Much better, at least, than the lavatory in which Remus had been trapped with James Potter earlier that day (it was a long story).

The man entered behind Remus and shut the door, lighting up his wand so that they could see. "This is the largest broom cupboard at Hogwarts," he explained. "I spent plenty of time in here when I was your age."

Remus was confused. Why would anybody spend that much time in a broom cupboard?

"No, no," said the man suddenly, looking at Remus' face. "Not... not snogging or anything... how old are you?"

"Eleven," Remus said.

"Oh. That's probably not what you were thinking, then. Er, I didn't have a lot of friends. Came here to be alone. I don't like people much. Honestly, I'm surprised: this cupboard is in exactly the same condition as it was when I left. Sorry to push you in here, I just thought that perhaps Slughorn would come and hunt us down. I'm... er, I'm quite famous, and he was pushing me to come for what seemed like hours. I didn't want to, but he's... persuasive. Well. Annoying."

Remus giggled a little. He was entirely overwhelmed.

"I'm not sure why he wanted us to meet. Not a big creature fan, are you?"

"No, sir," said Remus.

The man waved his hand. "No need to call me 'sir'. I never grew up to begin with." The man chuckled nervously, and Remus was amused in spite of himself.

"You said you're famous?"

"Yes. A little. I wrote one of the textbooks. And did a bit of field work, some research, you know. I'm currently writing a children's book. Did a few political things, too, though I'm not proud of all of them. Erm, don't tell anybody. I don't... I don't really like being famous? I know that sounds like such a privileged problem, but I'm not a fan of being stared at."

Remus could relate. "May I ask you your name?"

"Oh! Right. You must be so confused; how impolite of me." The man stuck out his hand. "Newt. Newt Scamander."

Remus stared at his hand in horror. Newt Scamander?

"Do you know who I am?" the man asked.

Remus knew exactly who he was. Of course he did. Every werewolf on earth knew who Newt Scamander was, and not for good reasons. This man—the polite man standing in front of Remus Lupin, who was a werewolf—had created the Werewolf Registry.

"N-Newt... Scamander? Er, I..."

"Are you okay? Are you ill?"

This man was the reason that Remus had to suffer every single January—was why he was questioned by people who hated him—was why the Ministry knew about his condition and hated him for it. Remus had read Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. It was one of the most famous books on earth, and it had been penned by Newt himself. Remus had memorized the paragraphs that Scamander had written on werewolves. It was all correct, of course, but was also very scholarly. Remus ran through the words in his head, and there was no indication as to whether Scamander hated werewolves or not. No bias whatsoever—not one way or another.

It didn't matter, though. It didn't matter! Even if Scamander didn't outright say that he hated werewolves, his actions had certainly proved that he did. How could someone who respected werewolves as people possibly think that they should be marked and listed like animals? It was humiliating, it was degrading, and it was the worst part of the year by far besides Remus' twelve annual transformations...

Remus hated Newt Scamander.

Did Scamander know, though? If he had created the Registry, did he keep up with it? Did he pop in every so often and check the lists? Had he met Remus before? And why on earth did Slughorn think that Remus would want to meet Newt Scamander? Of all people?

Scamander dropped his hand and leaned in a little closer. "Being a magical creatures expert, I can read body language fairly well. You don't like me, do you?"

"I... sir, I..." It was not flattering that Scamander had just compared Remus to a magical creature, though he probably hadn't meant anything by it. Remus thought he might be sick.

"What's wrong?"

"I... er, my friends are waiting for me. I think. I should go..." Remus tried to open the door, but Scamander had locked it. That was disturbing. "Sir! I really need to go..."

Scamander held his hands up. "I'm not going to hurt you; I just want to make sure you're okay. In my experience, frightened animals tend to do reckless things—and although you're not an animal yourself, I like to think of magical creatures as people."

Remus was confused. In essence, Scamander had just compared him to an animal again. But then he said that magical creatures were people. Scamander was tilting his head now, and Remus felt a little like some sort of specimen of which Scamander was trying to gain the trust. The thought did not improve matters.

"I'm not going to do anything reckless... I only want to find my friends..."

"Pixies," said Scamander, completely ignoring Remus' pleas. "The Cornish variety. Not sure what they're doing now, but that horrid man certainly deserves it. Er, don't tell him I said that. There are only three pixies in that room, of course, but three can wreak as much havoc as ten. Fortunately, any somewhat adept witch or wizard can get rid of them. I expect someone has it under control. Most every staff member probably knows that they belong to me, of course, and they’ll keep them safe until I return. Cornish pixies also recognize faces; they know that I'm the one who feeds them. I've set them on numerous people, and they've found their way back every time. Quite useful, don't you think?"

"You shouldn't use a magical creature," Remus said boldly. During Scamander's speech, his fear had well given way to anger. "For any means. They're not tools."

"Good point, good point," said Scamander, unfazed. "I always try to give them a choice. If they prefer, they can go back into my briefcase. But I find that pixies often like wreaking havoc. So it's more of a win-win situation. I know what they want, trust me."

"I don't," Remus mumbled.

"Know what they want? Well, taking Care of Magical Creatures in your third year might help with that. That was my favorite class, you know..."

"No, trust you. I don't trust you, sir, and I want to leave."

"Oh." Scamander still did not look hurt; more like thoughtful. "Well. I suppose humans need choices, too. I'm sorry for keeping you here, I thought that perhaps I could help you feel more comfortable. But I, er, often overestimate myself. Hope you're all right. You don't look well, you know."

Remus tried the doorknob, but Scamander was still rambling, and the door was still locked. "I don't know a thing about humans, to be honest," Scamander babbled. "My wife always wants me to stick around, even when she verbally asks me to go away. Confusing, if you ask me. Not all magical creatures are the same, but at least they don't get bogged down with words. Language is ever so confusing, don't you think? Creatures don't do things like sarcasm and lying."

This one does, Remus thought dryly, and jiggled the doorknob a little more loudly. Scamander was obviously lost in thought, however. "I can't think of why you wouldn't like me, though. Oh, well... that sounded pretentious. I mean, you seemed to like me all right before I told you my name. What have I done that merits such fear? I don't think I'm particularly terrifying. I mean, not everything I've done has been good. Never really been proud of the..." Scamander's voice trailed off and his eyes drifted to meet Remus'. There was silence.

This was it. Scamander was going to kill him. Turn him over to the Ministry. Tell everybody.

"Well, that makes sense," Scamander mumbled. "Er. This complicates things, doesn't it?"

Remus suddenly remembered that he was a wizard as well as a werewolf. He pulled his wand out of the pocket of James' robes and tapped the door. "Alohomora," he said, and then he fled down the corridor.

Remus never once imagined that he'd be escaping to a party instead of from it.

~~oOo~~

It had been a very long day for Newt Scamander.

Currently, he was trying to catch a Pixie who was swimming in the punch when Slughorn tapped him on the shoulder. Newt inwardly groaned. "Sorry, Horace," he said. "The Pixies must have gotten loose while I was..."

"No matter, no matter!" said Slughorn lightly. "Where's...?"

Newt held up a hand. He really didn't want to know the boy's name. That would only complicate things further, and he figured that the boy deserved as much privacy as he could get. Newt lowered his voice. "You wanted me to meet him because... of his condition?" Newt wasn't a hundred percent sure that Slughorn knew, so he was being intentional about stepping around the subject. Although he wasn't sure how the boy could attend Hogwarts without the staff knowing...

"Of course!" said Slughorn, absolutely jovial and not nearly quiet enough. "Seeing as you created the Werewolf Registry. I figured he knew who you were! Oh, and there's someone else I want to introduce you to... a boy in Slytherin, an absolute magical creatures whiz..."

"Please lower your voice; I assume you're sworn to secrecy and we're in a public place," said Newt sharply. Slughorn definitely knew... unfortunately for the boy. "Do you actually know what the Registry is?"

"Of course," Slughorn scoffed. "The sub-department in the Ministry that keeps the Werewolf Register. I know you're much cleverer than I am, but I do know some things!"

"It's not pleasant, the Registry," said Newt. "Not pleasant at all. Sort of like..." Newt hesitated. He wasn't sure how to word this. "Sort of like staying at St. Mungo's, but you feel fine and all the Healers hate you and treat you like a criminal."

"Hm," said Slughorn, not comprehending this at all. That was fine. It hadn't been a very good analogy, after all. "So, how did it go? I figured you two would get along. You have a lot in common, you know..."

"Werewolves don't like me, Horace," said Newt slowly. He couldn't fault Slughorn for failing to understand a complex topic that didn't concern him at all, but it was a bit annoying. "I made their lives twice as complicated. The Registry was a good idea in theory—it felt necessary during the war—but it's incredibly badly-kept. So all it does is alienate werewolves even more. If they're Registered, they're subjected to dealing with the horrid Ministry workers who keep it. And the only werewolves that really need to be monitored are the Unregistered ones. I am not very well-liked in the world of werewolves."

"Oh," said Slughorn, looking remorseful now. "But he's..."

Newt shushed him. "I do not want to hear his name, or any other information about him. Just..." Newt rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Leave him alone, would you? I'm sure he has enough to deal with. Now, where is this Slytherin student of yours?"

~~oOo~~

Remus was hiding behind the curtains in the back of the room, drinking a glass of punch. It tasted a little odd so close to the full moon (the strawberries were over-ripe), but overall not bad. He wasn't exactly sure what to do.

On one hand, maybe Scamander wouldn't tell anyone. Then Remus could continue to stay at Hogwarts, even though he knew he was on borrowed time and his friends would find out at any moment. On the other hand, if Scamander did end up telling someone, he could be in serious danger. Logically, he should be in Dumbledore's office by now, all packed up and ready to go.

But he just couldn't bear to leave Hogwarts, even though it was loud and stressful and he was terrified out of his wits. Remus was a little odd like that. Perhaps, he thought with a smile, it was the Gryffindor in him: recklessly staying in a place that could turn on him at any moment. It was stupid, Remus knew, but maybe James and Sirius were rubbing off on him.

Or maybe it was just because he was all emotion-ed out today.

Suddenly, the curtain pulled back and Scamander was only a few feet away. Remus wasn't sure what to do, so he nodded at him and took another sip of punch. Maybe Scamander was going to curse him within an inch of his life. Or actually kill him. Or turn him over to the Ministry and come up with a false story about how he was an irredeemable monster.

Well, he was an irredeemable monster, technically. One night a month, at least. And there was nothing Remus could do about it now, was there? Remus figured that he really was emotion-ed out; he was usually much more expressive than this.

"Hey," said Scamander, a little breathlessly. "How are you?"

Remus looked at him and blinked. "Wonderful."

"I'm sure," said Scamander with an odd sort of laugh. "I'm not going to tell anyone. Thought you ought to know."

Remus nodded slowly. "Thank you." He wasn't sure what else to say.

"Well. Have a nice day." Scamander turned to leave, and then he paused and turned around again. "And... I'm sorry. Really." Then he gave Remus a small smile—still looking him in the eyes, to Remus' great surprise—and said, "Sorry. Leaving now."

Remus watched him go, entirely befuddled. Then he went to go join his friends, who were trying to teach a wayward house-elf how to dance. It was his last evening with them, after all, and what was a little noise and discomfort compared to what was going to happen next week?

~~oOo~~

Looking back, Newt was glad that he had gone with the simple apology. Because really, there were no words. Being famous and influential had more disadvantages than perks, but Newt had always been a responsible person.

Somewhat, he thought with a snigger as he remembered how he failed History of Magic for five years straight.

AN: This is a scene from my fanfic (link in blog description) and I totally forgot about it until I started editing it lol. Little bit of a Christmas special!

#newt scamander #remus lupin #harry potter fanfiction #marauders era #fantastic beasts #of marauders and monsters #pellucidity

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hag-rambling-on · 3 years

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Boys hc’s feats Diaspro

Riven

Riven Cassios was born to two Omega prisoners. What surprised everyone, because staying healthy enough to carry out a pregnancy on a planet that sucks your magic is... Obviously the Rocalucce Council keeps an eye on the planet, they took him out of there because no child would pay because his parents, and he has been in foster homes, although it doesn't last long since the requirements for his adoption were more strict than most -which in the long run the Council would realize was COUNTERPRODUCTIVE for his character-. That is what Darcy detects and why the high spheres are somewhat "permissive" with him.

His mother died giving birth, it was already miraculous that she lived so long and ‘bout his father I think I'm going to kill him too, maybe. The father I assure you would be love him (he called Riven to himself Daru, his gift) thought was not his initial idea, the mother always saw him as an experiment (she was a witch who followed the Ancenstresses). Ohm, also in his blood there are dark elves and giants.

Riven surname is actually the name of the galaxy where he was born or a derivation of it, as is common for orphans. So the boy knows NOTHING about the above.

Timmy and Riven are the only specialists who have passed the full course at Fonterossa, without skips. In the end they bond about it. Timmy gives him a recommendation to work as a part-time mechanic at Magix (good boy face, he knows how to use it)

Timmy

Timeus “tshhhh, it’s Timmy.... i’m not my grandfather” fulfills the physique requisits as much as any other specialist, but it is true that his physique and abilities, adapted to the distance, give him a more "feline" air.

He is also the one who wakes up at night and moves silently, scaringthe rest of the squad if they wake up unexpectedly.

His glasses are for both sight and Aura Vision. His parents are rich enough to pay for an operation, but since he would have to wear glasses for his ability anyway, why? Practical guy.

And the glasses make people look down on him, something that when his self-esteem is high and he’s being rational and cunning he knows it’s wonderful, although many others times may hurt. He is mostly leprechaum with something human.

Nex

Nex is still a Paladin born in Lymphea and with blood of literally ALL races. He adapts well to any planet, although not its people at first. His race mix makes his face “charismatic”, like always draw attention even if people don’t know very well why they are draw.

His ability is Delay Sleep. It allows him to hold over his need to sleep for days without going crazy or losing physical capacity or needing many days to recover (he can stay awake for 5 or more days, sleep 8-10 hours and go back to being his usual self). Sometimes he does not control this well and has plenty of energy in need of drop but he is the one who has the most control of his ability.

One of his parents spent time in Rocalucce Fortress as a "guest" so at times he feels like he has something to prove.

Roy

Coming from Andros, most of the population are merpeople with a few elves and humans. which avoids the 100% aquatic population. Roy, unlike Aisha is mostly human-elf with a bit of merpeople in a grandgrandgrand level. One of his parents comes from one of the colonies on the moons of Andros and he was born there although they moved almost immediately.

Roy’s paladin ability being the canon “Triton Aura” used to breathe underwater. That and learning to swim and drive all kinds of water vehicles was what made him feel "adapted" to Andros. But he always try to be useful.

He only became a Paladin at the beginning of season 6, and it was visiting him that the season began. He’s bi but he thinks of himself as straight.

Nabu

I plead guilty to liking Nabu even though I shipped Aisha with Flora and Nex. So I have a hard time thinking about him. Except, EVERY time I try to think of something. EVERY TIME. Rapunzel. So, he will never cut his hair.

But with an island instead of a tower and a babysitter (male and wizard) more dumbledoor (not, actually more like Newt Scamander mentor like).

Sometimes he misses out on some "social customs/things/normalcies" whatever is called due to his little dealing with people. He may seem naive or that don't understand sarcasm. He understands and learns quickly, but people were very respectful to him and there are things he is not used to. 1/2 merpeople 1/4 half elf 1/4 human as both of his parents are half merpeople.

He likes to swim as much as any merpeople, but they didn't let him do it much because they were afraid he would go away or lost, so he usually went off "to the heights", going up to the rooftops and things like that.

Helia

Helia is trans but keeps his first name as chosen name which I don’t understand. Also he has formally tried study practically everything he wanted. Specialist, Paladin, Wizard (of Threads). Painter.

He can't make up his mind, his family hurries him just to STOP making them dizzy and spend a few years with everything -and actually end a single “major” choice- he wants to experience, that he has a very long life and can dedicate a few decades to Everything and they can support them. Well, more or less, but he was vip pass to all these options because family connections.

Long story about Sky, Brandon and Dia.

Sky, Brandon and Diaspro's first meeting was a show. Has it all. Costumes, lies. Confusion. Kidnapping. And that is why Diaspro insists on the wedding (I would like to mention that although I don’t know her romantic orientation yet surely bi or lesbian, here, Dia is asexual. And Sky is non-binary but his parents do not approve so go for he/him to avoid problem with them. And here our story begins)

A bit of background. Brandon actually hails from Isis, the son of the military and was chosen by the whimsical chibi!Diaspro as a playmate and future personal guard (because then she believed that touching children gave "lice" and her character and age did not have the 18like wall of royal education, then in a random encounter he called her among many things what Dia's mind translated in a strange way "uncracked geode", which is a double-edged compliment in Isis that many would not accept from strangers but she liked it). Rarely they would end up becoming friends in the end. When the series begins, Brandon and Diaspro keep up with calls, which will prevent Dia's reaction with Bloom on the one hand.

On a visit (officially only from the kings of Erakyon to to the kings of Isis) for the children to get to know each other, somehow, they all ended up happily dressing up, with Sky and Dia looking like two pretty princesses and Brandon assessing whether his dress would be green or yellow because Diaspro insisted that she and Sky had already taken the blue and red and so it would be more "thematic".

Here began the first of many attacks on Sky's head, because before it had begun to be rumored (true) that Erendor had fertility problems (btw his race dwarf-high elf and Samara is leprechaum-high elf, Sky gots mostly high elf part). When they came in and saw two girls and a boy, Brandon, not the highest IQ, but one of the wisest of his team and definitely the best fighter, played along so he ended up pretending to be Sky (also helps that his hair colors looks like Erendor) Everything worked out well in the end, although Brandon ended up as Sky's squire (better for him, worse for Diaspro), and Diaspro made Sky promise that he owed her a big favor. Anyway they grew up over the years in friendship and they both knew they were not of each other's true love interest, but, they could put up with each other (because that's what royalty does).

Sky and Diaspro have a sonorous (affectionate) war over Sky's hair to annoy/exasperate Brandon. Diaspro always complains that he doesn't grow it and it would look great then. Sky says that he is fine as with his hair at it is (it's actually Erendor's thing). The soft part of Diaspro that she doesn't usually show off has taught Sky many ways to style his hair and subtly put on makeup to look more feminine if he wants to.

How I am amused by that image from wikipedia and that Diaspro entered Sky's guard so quickly. Another headcanon is that Diaspro would sometimes change her appearance a bit and go into Sky's guard to be with Brandon to annoy him and Sky, when Brandon has to talk about her without giving details, she is simply "his sister Charbonne" (she hates that alias). They were discovered when she was 15 years old but she had already trained and the royal families considered it a sign to formalize the engagement since “they search each other” (people only sees what they wants).

The Diaspro family is not good, first Brandon was a shield (emotional) because as a child they were not “that” bad and then Sky joined him (physically and politically), handling things with Bloom so like that was not a good idea when the floor was full of cracked bottles.

... omg i’m sorry you three i’m sorry what I did to you

Also, Brandon's ability as a green user is very interesting and helps with this a lot. I temporally call it “Keypoint Warning” and I like it a lot, it's like a "tic" that tells him "be careful, what you say, what you do now, even the smallest thing could change everything for youself (for better or for worse)”. He actually has a scar on his forehead (not a lightning bolt) that his hairstyle hides after “that” day but a little less fine on the words and the kidnappers might have broken his mouth so... His parents have been cured (spoiler: no) of heart attack since then.

#winx #winx club #rewinxing #winx rewrite #winx specialists #winx paladins #winx timmy #winx brandon #winx riven #rambling about winx #winx helia #winx sky #winx roy #winx nabu #winx nex #winx diaspro

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years

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Seeing Stars (Thranduil x Reader Oneshot)

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2189 Summary: A snowy walk with Thranduil goes slightly awry.

You’ve never breathed in air that felt so crisp and clean before. The cold was so much that you could barely feel it as you walked among the trees, bare during the winter. Your breath was coming out in a misty vapor, nearly freezing the tip of your nose, but once more, you could not feel it. The snow had paused for the moment, which was why you had decided to take this walk, and to your surprise, the grand King Thranduil of Mirkwood had decided to join you, leaving his covered throne room to walk outside. The stars were beautiful tonight, though the King was a distraction from the sights around you. And the sounds, since you could hear the animals in the forest scurrying around, getting the last of the food before hiding away for hibernation. There was no such thing as perfect in the world, but if there was - this was the closest that you believed anyone or anything could come to it.

“Is it hard to live in the forest during the winter?” You found yourself asking, then realized with horror that you had not addressed Thranduil in the way that he liked. “Your majesty,” You quickly added on. He, being taller than you, flicked his eyes downwards with amusement at how you hastened to add on the title.

“It has flaws, though they are few, of course. We elves have learned to deal with things like ... temperature.” You could feel the ego in his voice. The ‘better than thou’ attitude that you had gotten used to from him, but you never spoke aloud about. Because you also knew that it was all just on the surface. If he truly thought he was better than humans, he never would have kept you around, surely.

“With your very long lives, you might have learned some manners?” You said, more as a suggestion. You really were overstepping your boundaries, you knew, but you were of the human reason, which automatically meant a stubborn streak. He raised an eyebrow at you, very much like the Drama King that he is.

“Manners?” He pondered, looking straight ahead of him. He’ll rise to the bait, he supposed, if only to prove you wrong. “Will you accompany me out of the forest tonight?”

“Why, what’s out there?” You asked, a shiver going up your spine. There may be peace in middle earth now, with Aragorn as King, but there were still dangers lurking about, like wild animals and bandits.

“Less trees, I imagine,” Thranduil said. He offered you his arm, and you took it. This was very rare indeed, since it’s not as if you were of elven nobility. You were just a messenger that Legolas had sent from Minis Tirith, a human that he trusted to get the message across. You had expected to return right after getting an answer, but Thranduil had invited you to stay and curiosity got the better of you. It wasn’t everyday that you were invited to stay in a beautiful Elven city.

“I almost think you’re up to something, your majesty,” You added his title on quicker this time. He seemed to like that since his hand patted your own which was against his arm. His footing was sure, quick and light, while you felt like an Oliphaunt next to you. While he didn’t make a sound against the ground, managing somehow to avoid any fallen brush and branch, you sounded like you were trampling through a forest thicket.

“At least any animal would be scared away by your noise,” He retorted. You curled your nose at his direction but didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. He hummed, amused by that, as you walked out of the borders of the forest, and into wide open space. It was almost scary how far you could see. How far, perhaps, someone could see you. The thought made you hold onto him a little tighter. “It’s not as lonely if you look up.”

So look up you did.

There were so many stars that at first, you thought that you had walked out to see a swarm of fireflies. But it was the wrong season for those, and once it reached your mind that it was indeed the sky, and that the cold of the night whisked away the clouds so you could see them properly, and the moon was barely a sliver so it’s light was not a distraction, your breath caught in your throat. Your neck started to hurt from bending it upwards at the angle, but that didn’t matter.

Thranduil stood beside you, not looking up, but looking at your profile. His eyes were narrowed at your reaction, a curiosity with a touch of confusion. He’d seen the stars many times, but did not pay them attention the way you did.

“I’ve heard that humans have stories for the stars. Tell me,” He commanded gently. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting somewhat patiently. He didn’t like to not be the center of attention for the moment. He wanted you to look at him, or at the very least to speak.

“Stories?” You asked, finally giving your neck a break, and turned to face him. “Oh, I guess that there are a few. Don’t the elves have special meanings behind the stars?”

“Yes.” He said, but gave no other answer. He was still waiting for you to do as you commanded. There was an expectant look in his eye that drew you in, which made your mouth start to form the words.

“I guess the big one is shooting stars,” You started. “When you see one fly across the sky, you’re supposed to make a wish. It’ll make it come true. Though I haven’t tried that since I was young. My wishes never came true. I decided it was a waste of time and-”

“What did you wish for?” Thranduil cut in.

“Adventure,” You said with a laugh. You looked back upwards for a second. “I guess that it did come true, though it took some time.”

“Patience is a virtue,” He said, rather hypocritically, but you weren’t about to point that out. “Let’s begin the walk back.”

“Alright,” You said, falling back in line with him, but a step behind. “We also use constellations to find our way.”

“So humans do have some sense after all,” He said, the corner of his mouth going up in a rare smile. You laughed a little at that, smiling down at the ground.

“That’s almost a compliment, King Thranduil. Are you feeling alright?”

“Perfect,” He responded. “Does everyone wish for adventure on these shooting stars?”

“No, I imagine not. People want a wide variety of things. Love, maybe. Money, definitely. Gold. Power. The list could go on and on.” You two walked in silence for a moment, before a thought came to you. “What would you wish for?”

He turned to you, his perfect white hair hardly moving as he did so. There was not even a trace of a wind here amongst the trees.

“I am King of these woods. What makes you think that I have want for anything?” He questioned you. It wasn’t as severe as the words would have made you think. He was softer at that moment, like he had thought of something. It seemed more that he knew something was missing, and he was asking you to tell him what it was. You crossed your arms in front of you to keep in the shivers, as the still air still had a chill to it. You could smell snow in the air.

“A wish could be outlandish if you wanted it to be. The only limits are your imagination.” You let yours spread as you looked at the canopy that blotted out the stars above. “I would wish, right now, for my mother’s cooking. The way that she made bread, oh and the wine, and the cakes that were always moist! If I think about it anymore, I’ll be beside myself with hunger.”

“You’ve never tried elven cakes,” Thranduil said, as close to snorting as a distinguished elf could be. “They’d put your mothers to shame.”

“I ought to slap you for even making that comment. You’re lucky that you are a King, your Majesty. Such a thing is almost treason back home.” Your cheeks were starting to get red, as well as your ears. Those very words were fighting ones. Were you not getting closer to the company of guards, you would have yelled at him.

“And then I would have to imprison you for laying hands on the King. I’d end up having to keep you here forever. Perhaps that would be my wish,” He said, with a smirk that made orcs seem tame. Your human temper was flaring up now.

“That would be a cruel use of a wish. If I were you, I would use it on something more important, like a personality to go with those looks,” You shot back, your irritation was definitely clouding your judgment. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m the only person who spends time with you who isn’t a part of your guard. Maybe that should tell you something.”

“That I should attempt to swat the gnat that flits around my face?” He asked, clearly enjoying himself while your mood went darker and darker.

“You’re cruel,” You said with narrowed eyes, stopping your walk by going in front of him and standing. You were not the tallest human by any standards, not even as tall as Thranduil, but you knew some tricks to make you seem big. Puffed out chest, head held high. “And you’re arrogant, and you’re-”

As you leaned in to try to seem more threatening, your mind gave you a bunch of warning signs. A guard could come along and shove a sword through you at any moment for threatening the King. Thranduil himself could knock you away from him in a blink of an eye. He was a skilled warrior, after all. You froze, only a few hair widths away from the face of the King, who looked as if he were made of stone. He wasn’t moving. You weren’t moving.

But then thinking about all that he had just said, the fire returned. How dare he? Just because he was an elf, he thought that he was better than you. He thought that he could just imprison you.

You wanted to scream into his face, but that would just make things worse for you. An elf would come along and take your arm with ease and lead you to the dungeons. The tale of Bilbo and the Dwarves had reached your ears some time ago, but you would not have the same luck escaping, you knew that much. So you did something else. Something that Thranduil’s all-seeing eyes would not have been able to see coming.

Your soft lips touched his own cold ones, right at the corner where they went into a dimple, leaving just a trace of a kiss there. There was a thin line between love and hate, between lust and anger. Let him stew over this reaction for a while.

You blinked and settled back onto the soles of your feet, having somehow managed to go on your tip toes without realizing it. Thranduil stared at you still, not having blinked once during the encounter.

“I should keep you here,” He said, his voice low.

Well, that wasn’t the reaction that you wanted, or were expecting. And now you became nervous, almost terrified at the prospect of him locking you up because you went with a smug impulse. You weren’t so smug now, that’s for sure.

“That is my wish. There is a shooting star somewhere. I’ll wish on that right this moment. I wish for you...” You closed your eyes like a coward, expecting the worst. “- to stay here in Mirkwood with me for the rest of your natural life.”

“I don’t know if your son would like it that his friend,” You emphasized the word, though you were more of a messenger than a friend to the elf, “-is being kept a prisoner by his father.”

Thranduil laughed. Oh, he laughed, which would be damn adorable if it didn’t seem so threatening given the circumstances.

“Perhaps prisoner is a strong word,” He said, a rosy glow on his cheeks, which you noticed when you slowly opened your eyes once more. “I’d like you to continue to stay as my guest.”

“As your guest?” You questioned. “Even though I just kissed you?”

“It was certainly unexpected,” He said, offering you his arm to continue the stroll despite being near his palace once more. “I’m curious as to what you would do if I gave you compliments rather than teasings.”

#Thranduil #Thranduil x reader #Thranduil oneshot #The Hobbit #The Hobbit oneshot #x reader #LOTR #LOTR oneshot #request #oneshot #oneshots

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pit-and-the-pen · 4 years

Text

Don’t Underestimate Me

Here it is! This story is becoming a spider web of ideas for me so i can promise most of the chapters are just going to get longer from here!

so a little clarification since I have the ideas in my head and I want to make sure it’s completely clear. The OC and main character is named Skylar. When she is in the castle being “herself” she goes by Abigail. They are the same person and from Freds POV he caller her Abigail in the castle. So just wanted to clear that up because it will happen a lot as the story progresses and didn’t want anyone to be confused!

Warnings: None

Taglist: @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @magical-spit @birdie-writes @ickle-ronniekins @heart-of-tempered-steel @wand3ringr0s3 @thoseofgreatambition @things-that-start-with-f @elf-punk @bitchywhisperswizard @a-little-too-much @izzytheninja @kpopgirlbtssvt @shadowsinger11 @harrysweasleys @obsessedwithrandomthings (let me know if you want to be added! or taken off)

Word count: 2.8K

Chapter 1: The Fine art of Bullshit.

She let out a grunt as she got slammed into the ground for the second time in a row, knocking the wind out of her. A feeling she’s never fully gotten used to since it happens so little.

“Come on, really? You’re not focusing!” Her brother yells at her from where he stands.

“You could have blocked that in your sleep.” He continues goading her. Sighing, she stands up and brushes the dirt off of her palms. Cracking her neck and rolling her shoulders, she takes a deep breath and tries to focus.

Every time she tries all she can think of is the unopened letter sitting in their kitchen. The one made from heavy parchment with the red wax seal of the royal family.

“What if they know?” She asks again for what seemed like the thousandth time since they started practicing.

“Then you better go down with a fight.” He responds with a laugh.

“Mace! This isn’t funny. Do you know what they would…”

“How could they have found out? You haven’t done anything wrong. Now stop making excuses and bow.” She huffs at how casually he can brush this off but bows anyways. The sounds of them counting seem to be far away and her body picks up the familiar hum of energy, like a snake getting ready to attack.

This time she manages to block everything he throws at her. Colorful and powerful swirls of magic aimed just so perfectly. “Fight back!” Mace yells. “Stop blocking and fight!” His words distract her for a split second and she’s fumbling over her feet and when she goes to block the next spell, her balance is off. She stumbles and falls over her own body, something she hasn’t done in years.

“Stop. Enough of this. Just let me read the letter.” She calls, rolling out of the embarrassing position of falling straight on her face.

“Oh how the mighty fall.” Mace laughs. His laugh is cut off when he gets blasted off of his feet and lands on his back.

“Cheater!” He calls after his sister as she runs into the house.

The house isn’t anything special. Smaller than most for this area actually, but it’s home. A small part of her thinks her father kept it small to stop people from wanting to visit. Or come to fight. No one would think the best duelers in the entire kingdom would live in a house like this and that keeps them safe. More than anything it keeps Skylar safe. If someone found out that there weren't three children in this house, if someone pieced together all of it, she would be doomed. Or not be able to fight, snap her wand and tell her she could never duel again and at that point they might as well just kill her.

She closed the screen door behind her, letting it slam harder than she normally would. Every thought on the tiny innocent letter that could ruin her life. Vaguely, she processes that Mace is now in the kitchen with her.

With shaking fingers she rips open the seal and pulls out the letter.

“We hope this letter finds you well.

On Behalf of His Royal Majesty, William Weasley,

The presence of both Mason and Skylar Green are being requested to partake in the Tri Wizard Tournament.

A carriage arrives to pick you up on the first of May.

Best regards,

Alastor Moody, Assistant to the Royal family.”

“May first. That’s a week away.” Mace says once he finishes scanning the letter over his sister's shoulder.

“I can't go!” She screams. Voice wavering slightly.

“It doesn’t look like you have a choice. You don’t turn down a royal summons.” He says grabbing the letter out of her shaking fingers.

“I’ll write back and say I have dragon poxs. Something.” She shoots back after a moment of thinking.

“And risk them sending a doctor? Absolutely not.”

“I’ll hide. Run away?” Mace just shakes his head.

“Calm down. We’ll think of something. Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise.” He says and grabs her to pull her into a hug.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She cries into his shoulder.

The week goes by quickly, and they still did not have a plan. Not one that was rational at least. And Mace shoots her down everytime she suggests just disappearing.

“We do not back down from a challenge” He says sternly.

“This isn’t a challenge. This is crazy.” Was her response to that comment.

The general feeling of dread seems to intensify as the two go to bed on the last day of April.

“Merlin, just let it turn out okay.” Skylar says to herself before she blows out the candle that night. She stays up most of the night tossing and turning. A small part of her contemplates waking up Mace but what good will that do in the long run. He’ll just say she’s overreacting again. So she tries her best to sleep and ends up falling asleep shortly after the sun rises.

A loud knock startles her out of her sleep. Mace opens the door with a grim face. Behind him is a server-looking woman with square glasses. Her black hair is pulled back into a tight bun that gives her entire face a very pitched looked. She was wearing an emerald traveling cloak. Skylar jumps out of bed before she remembers herself. Standing next to her bed she realizes that they’ve already been caught.

“I’d rather hoped you had come up with a plan on your own.” The older woman sighed as she walked into the room, closing the door on Mace. She suddenly reached into her bag and pulled out a large page hat. “That’ll cover your hair enough to get you into the castle.” She pushed Skylar into her vanity chair and promptly started braiding the girls hair. Once done she pins the hat over her hair in a way that shades her face as well.

“That’ll do.” She says in a satisfied voice. With that she walks over to the small closet and looks through it. “As will these.” Pulling out clothes she throws them to the very confused girl. The woman gives her a look and up and down and Skylar suddenly realizes she wants her to change now.

“Girl I’ve raised more children than you can count. Change. Now.” She sighs when she notices the look on the girls face. She at least gives her the decency of turning around while she strips to her undergarments. Hiding her embarrassment, she pulls on the itchy tweed pants and the green linen shirt she had also been thrown. McGonagall gives her a stern look over and simply nods her head.

“Pack all of the clothes you have. Leave the dresses. It looks like the princess might have some that will fit you.” With one more stern look Skylar realizes she had been given another instruction.

“Oh..Yes..Yes ma’am.” She says as she went to grab her small suitcase and starts throwing all of the work clothes she had. That plus some of her more favorite dueling wands.

She doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows raise when she sees them.

“Okay.” Skylar says looking around. “That’s everything then.”

“Perfect. Let’s go get your brother and we’ll be off.” She pulls out a pocket watch. “Better be fast. We’re already running behind.” She shoos the girl out of her room and grabs her bag before closing the door.

“How did you know?” Skylar asked the woman when they got outside of the house.

For the first time she sees her smile. “I’ve seen all the birth records for this area and nothing matched up.” Skylar pales at her words. The woman gives a small laugh. “Nothing to worry about by seeing them I changed them to match what everyone already assumes. Although I’m glad you can see the severity of being found.” The smile falls away. “I have been in charge of raising the royal families children but I do have other duties in the kingdom. So now my job is making sure you survive this whole ordeal.” She looks the girl up and down and sighs.

“Lady Minerva McGonagall.” she says, extending her hand slightly. Skylar grabs it and gives her hand a firm shake. “I do hope you have a better plan than what I saw today?”

“My plan was just to run away but Mace says we never back down from a challenge.” Skylar responds.

“And what a challenge this will be. Alright enough chit-chat.”

Mace has now joined them outside. Carrying a small bag thrown over his shoulder.

“Time to go.” McGonagall says and gestures for the two of them to climb in. After throwing their bags in the luggage carrier in the back they hop into the carriage and set off for the main city.

The castle has been in a flurry all morning. Getting ready for the Tri wizard tournament champions to arrive. Maids and security running around getting rooms ready and greeting everyone at arrival.

Fred sighed heavily to himself. This is the biggest deal anyone has made of the Tri wizard tournament in over a century. Leave it to Bill to try to outdo is father. Everyone in the family knows the real reason he’s trying to make this a bigger event than it needs to be, and while he understands it, what it symbolizes is terrifying.

He stares out of the large bay window in his room. Sunlight just started to peak over the horizon making the grounds one of his favorite shades of pink. He should have been down in the rink to start his training about an hour ago but couldn’t find the energy to be around some of the new fighters that have come in. All so loud and determined to prove themselves. Once word got around that the Green brothers were coming it became chaos. Most of them personally having lost to them, it became a matter of pride. Seeing how they trained, how serious they must take the skill and most of all, trying to learn them well enough to figure out their weak spots. Training is something typically done in private so training with the same people you compete against is out of many of their comfort levels.

A knock on the door pulls him out of his thoughts. “Yes?” He called in response. Already knowing who it was.

“You never showed up. Come on, everyone is waiting for you.” A voice said from the door.

“This is so pointless, George. You see that right?” He didn’t move when he spoke.

“Mate, I hate this as much as you do but we have to set an example right?” His twin responded.

“Says the one who gets to keep his nose buried in books all day. Why didn’t I choose to do more schooling?” He sighed once again and went to grab his training bag from it’s hook.

“Because we share one brain cell and we have found out we can’t both use it at the same time.” The thought makes them both laugh. George always has a way of cheering him up and vice versa. The beauty of being raised alongside someone. If one was sad then they both would suffer so they do their best to keep each other in light spirits.

“Let's get this over with.” He says, clapping his brother on the shoulder and closing the door.

Of course the arena was already crazy by the time he arrived. George takes his place on the sidelines , notebook in hand to write about the events of training as normal for the competition.

He ran into what he thought was a wall, but typically walls dont yelp. Fred looks in front of him and is confused, thinking he imagined it until he looks down on the ground and sees a mess of fabric and curls.

“Oh no.” He scrambles to give her a hand up, wrapping his own hand around her shoulder.

“Merlin are the hallways in this castle not big enough-” The girl starts, then her eyes go round as she sees his face. She instantly pales and he fights the urge to laugh at her expression.

“I could definitely ask someone to fix that for you.” He said with a laugh. The first thing he really notices about her are her eyes. Now that they seemed to have gone back down to their normal size. He’d call them brown but that doesn’t seem to do it justice. Standing as close to the window as they are, he can see little flecks of gold and even some blue in them. Like someone splattered paint at a chocolate brown canvas. And her hair seems isn’t exactly curly or straight but a sort of wild middle. He’d be an idiot to say she wasn’t pretty but with how shocked she looked she just looks funny.

“I am so sorry. Pri-” He holds up a hand cutting her off for the second time. Formal too.

“I should have watched where I was going. And you must be new around here. Fred.” He holds out his hand and he can see her freeze. “It’s polite to shake it, ya know?”

That seems to unfreeze her and she jerks her hand out, almost robotically. He noticed how her hand felt a little too rough.

“Are you here for the tournament?” He asked once he let her hand go.

“Umm...no..why would I be?” She responded a little too quickly.

“My mom sent out a bunch of personal invitations to some of the ladies in the court. And some others.” Fred says remembering the way her hands felt rough. Like she actually does something besides sit around and try on hats and gossip.

“Ah. Yes. Something like that then.” She says with a small laugh.

“Sorry this is just my first day in the castle and I haven’t seen anyone.” This makes him laugh.

“So definitely your first time in the castle. So what’s your name? Since you seem to know mine, it’s only fair.”

“S..Um Abigail.” The girl responds. “Abigail Jones.” He laughs again.

“You sure? You don’t seem so sure.” He giddies her.

She nods. “Absolutely sure.”

“Glad we could get that established.” She can’t help but give a small laugh at his tone.

She has the kind of laugh that seemed like it belonged in one of his meetings. It was a deep belly laugh, even if it was just a little one. He made the decision right then and there to make her laugh more.

A clink of heels echo through the hallway.

“Oh there you are!” A familiar voice calls from down the hall. Fred’s head immediately snaps up. Used to people constantly looking for him.

“Minnie!” He calls when he sees the woman standing in front of him.

“Minnie?” the girl next to him whispers with a small giggle.

“I have been looking for you everywhere!” McGonagall comes stomping down the hallway with a certain fury in her eyes that makes Fred feel like he just pulled one of his first pranks all over again. She completely blows past him and grabs Abigail's wrist.

“Fred. Trouble as always I see” Minerva says with a slight smile. “You. Now.” She pulls the girls arm and starts heading the way she came.

“Well it was nice meeting you!” Fred calls at the retreating girl.

“Same to you.” She flashes him one of the biggest smiles he’s seen in a long

“Now if i have to explain the simple rules of a duel to you one more time. I will hex you into the next century.” Mace screams into Krum’s face. A hand is suddenly on his shoulder.

“I got this.” A voice deeper than what he’s used to saying in his ear. That one was his idea actually. A spell to make her voice deeper to actually pass off as who she’s trying to. Forces her from being mute, especially when you have to count during duels.

“Krum. You and me. Now.” Skylar shouts across the pitch.

His chest actually seems to puff up more as he walks into the dueling area.

The two face each other and bow. Through their masks, Skylar never takes her eyes off of the man.

“One. Two. Thr-” Before the last syllable is even out of his mouth, he gets blasted onto his back.

“Now next time, you’ll figure out that we have those rules to be fair. If that’s the only way you can beat someone. Do better.” Skylar calls to him before spinning on her heel and turning away.

Fred just stares in awe as he walks away. Krum is one of the biggest douches there is and if he’s going to be the one to constantly put him in his place, then maybe this tournament is worth it after all.

#royal au #oc royal #harry potter oc #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley au #dont underestimate me #royal!au #royal!weasley

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