#ravens dad in my head is from a line of ‘good’ kings but they all have something they are really proficient at and he is an excellent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahtsumu · 4 years

Text

again and again and again ; ushijima wakatoshi

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader

synopsis: every august 13th, a void opens in your chest. the universe is one sick bastard.

tag(s): soulmate!au, very angsty, equally fluffy, reincarnation!au, prince!ushijima, rebel!ushijima. android!ushijima, dad!ushijima, pro-volleyball player!ushijima ; warning(s): lots of death n dying, suggestive themes, light profanity ; wc: 4.8k

a/n: happy birthday ushi!!! inspired by cloud atlas and the raven cycle but you don’t have to have seen either to understand this fic. tbh it’s just a bunch of different au’s tied together by the strings of fate lol. a thousand thank you’s to @dorkyama for beta-ing!

TOKYO, JAPAN, 2020

It’s another August 13th and Ushijima Wakatoshi might die today.

Glumly, you push away the plate of breakfast in front of you, cross your arms over the new space, and rest your forehead down as if in front of a grave.

“Please,” you beg with eyes shut. “Let Ushijima Wakatoshi live today.”

(You’ve whispered this phrase infinite times–– so often that it has a home in your mouth like a cavity.)

SOMEWHERE IN WASHINGTON, 2012

When you first meet Ushijima–– the first first time–– it’s evening and you’re lost in a meadow somewhere in Washington. Where exactly doesn’t quite matter and, even if it did, you wouldn’t be able to remember. At least, not at this moment. Because you see something most peculiar.

Under the half-lit sky, in the glade of overgrown sweet vernal grass and marigolds and daisies, a figure stands paler than the moon overhead.

The body belongs to a young man dressed in a sweater and slacks. His dark hair parts on the side, stopping right above a pair of firm dark eyes. Thin lips press in a perfunctory line, sharp nose radiates an aura of authority.

And yet, he looks lost.

“Hello?” you call out. The boy doesn’t respond, only continues to hover in the middle of the clearing with the same confounded expression on his face. So you ignore the pounding of your heart in your chest and inch closer until you’re just feet away, shivering. It’s a strangely cold day for July, you think.

“Can you tell me your name?” you ask. Seconds pass in silence as he stares past–– no, through–– you. With your thudding heartbeat and shallow breaths still the only sounds in the meadow, you realise that you may have to try something else.

Gently, you touch the pads of your fingers to his shoulder. A fresh wave of ice floods through your veins, raising goosebumps all over your skin. More curiously, though, your fingers fall through said shoulders. It feels like plunging your hand into a bucket of ice.

Eyes wide, you lunge backwards. A ghost?

No, ghosts aren’t real.

(If that’s the case, then what is he?)

At your touch, the boy’s head jerks up. Life floods his gaze. Blinking, he says, “Ushijima.” His voice is low and smooth, but quiet. Firm. He looks around the meadow as if seeing it for the first time.

“Is that all?”

Ushijima’s focus returns to you, this time with the addition of furrowed brows. His eyes are fixed on you in a way that makes you feel as if he’s reading your soul.

“That’s all there is.”

A million questions race through your mind and before you can decide which to ask first, his incorporeal figure vanishes from the meadow.

And you’re alone again.

Oddly enough, the way back to your aunt’s house comes naturally to you. Once inside the ancient wooden manor, you realise that the feeling that guided you back was the same that had led you to the meadow in the first place.

Then, you wonder, had you truly been lost?

Aunt Risa’s an eccentric woman in her thirties, always yabbering on about Mercury in retrograde and events that are yet to happen. Grandma had been the same. Clairvoyance, or what everyone claims is “clairvoyance”, supposedly runs in your family. You wouldn’t know, though, because apparently it skipped your mother. Coincidentally (or not), she’s extremely proud of her normality. And she’s also extremely proud that you, supposedly, are normal, too.

It’s safe to say that you don’t see your mother’s family often.

Still, she sent you here from New York to “connect with your roots”. And even though you know that’s a cover for “raise hell somewhere else for one summer”, you let yourself consider that it means getting acquainted with the mystic mumbo-jumbo you’ve ignored all these years. After all, nothing normal can explain what just happened in the field… right?

Good thing Aunt Risa isn’t normal.

“That’s Glendower’s Meadow you were just in,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes. “Lies atop a very powerful ley line.”

Ley lines, you learn, connect places around the world through electromagnetic forces. They are also able to transcend time, gravity, space… all forces that cannot be seen.

Aunt Risa adds that they do more than just connect places. “Soulmates countries apart can step on any point in the same line to see each other. It’s been said that the power ley lines emit is so strong that even soulmates worlds and years apart can meet in these little pockets of energy. Guess it tides you over til you’re destined to meet.”

Somehow, everything she says makes sense and doesn’t at the same time. Soulmates? Magic? None of this is real, is it?

“Now,” she continues, “it’s odd that you can use ley lines, though. Remember how you couldn’t tell a black jackal from a swan the last time you read tea leaves?”

You frown. At seven years old, you hadn’t exactly been trying.

“I guess there is something supernatural about you! You can’t deny how magical it is to have a love that transcends lifetimes…”

You don’t hear the rest of what she has to say. “Lifetimes?”

“Yup. Soulmates are the only people in this universe who go through reincarnation. The Universe is a hopeless romantic, letting her children fall in love again and again and again.”

And this explanation satisfies you because you’re sixteen, a little naive, and the Universe has never failed you before.

(She will.)

July passes in a honeyed haze: you spend every day with a content curve to your lips, thinking about a boy with eyes and hair dark as night.

Aunt Risa doesn’t have the heart to tell you that she’s seen his future in this life. And when you step out the creaky wooden door for the last time, ready to go back to the bustling jungle that is New York, she calls out to you with an expression you don’t yet recognise. “Don’t you worry, hun. You’ll see that Ushijima boy again.”

But not like this.

You’re about to get out of bed and dress for the first day of school when an out-of-control eighteen-wheeler runs his driver’s black SUV off the road. Ushijima Wakatoshi dies on August 13th in his timezone.

As it happens, you feel a strange sense of loss settle in. It’s like you’d been driving on the highway and just missed the last turn home.

(You’ll learn in the next life that you, in fact, do not have the gift of foresight. But you do have the curse of memory.)

PARIS, FRANCE, 1749

The year is 1749 and sunlight pours through the windows of Ushijima Wakatoshi’s second-floor bedroom.

In this life–– your second life–– you are a brilliant composer. The Universe, as you’ve guessed, follows no rules, no directions. Doesn’t even spare a glance at a linear timeline. Or perhaps, it’s time that isn’t linear. Either way, you try not to think about things out of your control. Life is good now.

At the sound of your fingers waltzing across ivory and ebony, Ushijima slowly sits up in the king-sized, soft linen sheets falling to reveal his chiselled torso.

“Good morning,” he rasps, a content smile tugging at his lips. “You look enchanting as always.”

The melody stops. Between the lid and music rack, your eyes meet–– his gentle, yours mirthful. “You flatter me,” you deny with a cheeky grin. Still, you rise (wearing his robes, Ushijima notes) from your seat and stroll over to your lover, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth. “Happy birthday, darling.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs against your lips. “I live another year just for you.” Ushijima really means that–– in fact, he believes with his whole heart that he was made for you and you him. There’s no other way to explain how your bodies mould so perfectly together, how you understand each other without even speaking, how time feels like it doesn’t exist whenever you’re around. Your meeting at Duke La Trémoille’s ball could only have been the work of Fate’s nimble fingers.

(It was. A ley line runs underneath the Duke’s family château.)

You hum, thankful that this time you have the privilege to love him as he lives. Your last life was spent agonising over the only memory you had of him. “And what does this day have in store for the man of the hour?” The words that leave your lips morph into bubbling laughter as he moves aside on the bed and pulls you into his embrace. Still giggling, you kiss his bare chest, relishing in how secure his arms feel around your waist.

“Mother is hosting a ball tonight in my honour,” he says. That you are not invited to, he doesn’t add. He doesn’t have to, though, because you know that she doesn’t approve of you. Not being French is the main reason why, but there’s also the fact that you’re a musician. A talented, accomplished, royally recognised musician, sure, but that doesn’t change how at the end of the day, all you have to your name is inked paper.

And Ushijima Wakatoshi is first in line for the throne of France.

“Ah.”

It’s hardly fair for you to feel slighted–– you knew what you were getting into the second the Crown Prince, notorious for his aloof nature, invited you to Versailles to perform for him and his friends.

(In his defense, Duke Tendou had forced his hand by threatening to throw a fit in front of the Queen, but only after he’d seen the painfully restrained wonder in the prince’s eyes.)

Still, you yearn for something more.

Ushijima feels your body stiffen in his arms and knows the moment has soured. “You can never be Queen of France,” he murmurs into your neck. Shivers crawl down your spine the same time tears prick at your eyes. “And I can never give you a throne.” It’s not the throne you yearn for.

“I know.” You curse whoever the lucky girl will be. And you curse Ushijima for reminding you that she will definitely not be you.

“I can only promise you my heart.” He presses his lips to the side of your neck. “My undying devotion.” A kiss to your exposed shoulder. “And my soul in every life we meet.” His hand slides under your chin and turns your head towards his. Soft lips move against yours while the pads of his fingers wipe away the tears that had spilled over your cheeks.

“Toshi, I must say that the literature tutor your mother hired is doing a marvellous job,” you murmur once you pull apart.

A short breath of amusement leaves his nose. “He’s only polishing a gem that already exists,” Ushijima counters.

You smile slyly, another witty remark ready to launch from your mouth, when three sharp knocks at the door cause both of you to freeze.

“My friends, the Devil approaches.” Tendou’s faint voice travels through the opulent front door.

Sighing, you slide off the bed and tug your day dress on. Without being asked, Ushijima ties the laces in the back together. “Tell your mother I said hello, won’t you?” you tease, kissing him deeply on the balcony.

“I’d prefer not to think about my mother with your lips pressed to mine, darling,” he replies.

You giggle softly, and with one leg dangling off the balustrade, say, “And careful not to wear yourself out dancing, Toshi. Expect a visit from me later.”

His sonorous laughter rings through the air as you jump and land deftly on the freshly cut grass below, running the whole way back to your humble apartment in the eleventh arrondissement.

Regrets of not sneaking into the ball will burn into your brain after Tendou arrives at your door later that evening with a faraway stare on his face.

Towards the end of the ball, Ushijima Wakatoshi is led away from the dance floor and into the gardens by his scheming younger brother Goshiki.

He doesn’t return. The beloved Crown Prince of France dies on his twenty-first birthday with a dagger in his chest and poison in his veins.

With two lives under your belt, you reach the cruel understanding that in every life you live, August 13th is the day that Ushijima Wakatoshi dies again and again and again.

In a sense, memory is foresight.

NEO SEOUL, 2144

Tomorrow, the Union Revolutionary Group exposes the government for their crimes against your people.

But tonight, your head rests against his chest–– a habit you picked up sometime after Germany, 1943, even though you are presently in Neo Seoul, 2144. To be honest, you’re not sure if it’s even 2144. Neo Seoul’s calendar isn’t like the one you went through your first few lives with and you’re certain one year here is equivalent to two back on the Earth you knew… or something like that. Either way, every August 13th passes under your nose without detection. Every day passes uneasily, because although you never truly know when anyone dies in any life, you really don’t know when he will in this one.

But hearing Ushijima’s heart beat firmly manages to take the edge off yours. Every pulse is a murmured confirmation that everything is still okay.

You jerk back when he stirs from sleep. Disorientated, Ushijima blinks at your dimly lit figure before registering that it’s you. A confused expression crosses his features. What had you just been doing?

“Is everything alright?” His voice is raspy with drowsiness but he sits upright against the headboard anyway.

“Yeah.”

“No, it’s not. Tell me what’s wrong.” Nothing ever slips past him–– at least, not when it comes to you. Still, you bite your lip and contemplate if it’s worth mentioning. Three years of working alongside the renegade Commander (and hundreds more from other lifetimes) have taught you that words of comfort do not belong in Ushijima’s vocabulary. But it’s the night before you, the only known freed Fabricant working with the Union, are going to expose the Unanimity’s enslavement of Fabricants to all inhabitants of Neo Seoul. And…

“I’m scared, Wakatoshi.”

He thinks you’re talking about tomorrow. His eyes dart to the holographic digits floating throughout his room. 12:02 AM. You’re talking about today, then. He’s not wrong–– you are afraid of today. But you’re also afraid every day.

Ushijima pauses, wondering what to say. He’s never felt fear the same way others do. Others might only see a myriad of ways they can fail or die but he simply sees a chance to prove himself. A chance to emerge victorious. “If you let yourself be scared,” he says, “then you lose without fighting. Fear is a wasted emotion. Even at your last breath, you should never be afraid.”

As you mull his words over in your head, a section of your hair falls in front of your face. Ushijima’s fingers twitch. Would it be too much to––

“Then what should I feel instead?” He stills.

The question hangs in the air, thickening until the spacious room feels suffocating. Normal people–– people you knew a couple of lifetimes ago–– would probably say something like “love” or “hope” or even “don’t”. You think Ushijima might, too.

But when Ushijima speaks, he says, “Feel right now.”

A shift in the moonbeam pouring through your surrounding glass walls casts a muted glow over your features, breaking through the darkness of the room. Ushijima’s olive eyes flash and fall to your shining lips.

His Adam’s apple bobs. Anticipation bubbles in your stomach.

You think that you might die tomorrow. He might die any day. What are you waiting for?

Feeling a fiery rush of blood surge through your veins, you close the distance between your bodies until the tips of your noses touch. Gently, your hand comes up to the back of his neck, feeling his pulse speed up under your fingers. He instantly reaches out, grips your waist firmly. Hot, uneven breaths fan across your face.

“What––”

“I know it’s forbidden between Fabricants and pure-bloods,” you breathe out, “but––”

Ushijima nudges his lips against yours. They move stiffly, unsurely, but it’s sincere. It’s his first kiss and it’s your… you’ve lost count by now. It doesn’t really matter, though. Past, future, or present, every one of his touches feels new.

Both of you might die tomorrow. But tonight, you both are so very alive.

And when his heart pounds, unmuffled, bare against yours, you are reminded to live now.

Twenty-one hours later, a laser beam whizzes past your ear.

“Go faster!” you shout over the wind, tightening your arms around Ushijima’s waist. “We have to get to the broadcast station now.”

“I’m trying,” he grits out, pressing his foot harder against the hoverbike’s pedal. You speed up, but only a little. “Fuck. Remember what I taught you about the laser pistols?”

“Always aim a little higher than you want to.” From the mirrors on the side, you see the corners of his lips quirk up. You reach for the gun in his belt.

Not a single police officer remains on your tail when you step foot into the broadcast station.

“We don’t have much time, miracle girl,” Tendou, a fellow Union soldier, says once you arrive. He punches the elevator button. Instantly, the chute opens. “Cameras have picked up on at least five Unanimity squads headed our way from the city.”

The sinking feeling that today out of all days might be August 13th suddenly weighs on your stomach. A shaky breath leaves your mouth.

Ushijima stops you before you can step in. Cupping your face with his large hands, the brunet gazes deeply into your eyes. “I believe in you,” he murmurs. “I believe in you.” His fingers brush against your cheekbones. You let your eyelids close, relishing in this stolen moment between two new lovers.

Ushijima presses his lips against yours, kissing you as if he’s trying to carve a message into your bones. He whispers his conviction one last time before stepping back and allowing Tendou to push you lightly into the elevator. The thought that Ushijima’s words allude to more than just faith nudges your brain as the two men grow smaller in your sight.

Halfway through your revelations, the Unanimity cuts through the metal doors of the station. Behind the glass panels encasing the radio room, you watch the shootout begin. Every bone in your body screams for you to join your comrades, but you remember what your orders are. No matter what happens, do not stop the broadcast. If the truth doesn’t come out now, the Union will have sacrificed everything in vain.

You will your voice to steady when Unanimity soldiers take out the Union soldiers hiding behind Tendou’s barricade.

You will your hands to unclench when Ushijima deftly slides over his squad’s barricade and tosses a plasma grenade towards a cluster of enemy soldiers, then picks off the survivors with his Union rifle.

You will your breath to endure when the brunet is blown back by a grenade tossed by another squadron. Ushijima’s cranium collides with the floor. His body stills; blood red as cherry wine pools around his head like a cruel halo. Swallowing, you push forth. You’re a soldier.

But you can’t help the way your throat dries or hands shake or lungs tighten when you see his head turn ever-so-slightly in your direction.

He smiles in his last breath.

(The Archivist asks if you loved Ushijima before you are taken away. You tell him you always have, do, will.

The Unanimity guillotine doesn’t scare you like you think it should. Knowing what and who waits ahead, it feels more like a kiss to your neck.)

QAASUURI, 3003

As you step out of the metal carriage, the ground beneath you begins to vibrate. This, as you’ve learned, can only mean that you are standing atop another ley line.

Olive eyes stare at you impassively when you look up. A dazzling array of awards and medals is pinned to his chest over a white military uniform. Compared to all the other soldiers around him, you gather that the deep purple cape over his shoulders means he’s someone important. Possibly your betrothed? You briefly recall another lifetime in which he’d been the crown prince of somewhere, and you, by a spectacular stroke of misfortune, had only been a composer then. Fighting back a smug grin, you muse that this time, you are a princess.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi, Captain of the Qaasuuri Royal Guard, at your service,” he says with a low bow. “King Washijou appointed me to ensure your safety during your courtship with the prince, your highness. These are trying times, especially with the war against Ibis.” Your heart falls. So it’s one of those lives.

Mustering the warmest smile you can, you curtsy and say, “Thank you, Ushijima. I hope we can get to know each other better.”

You do.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the Qaasuuri are a race more android than human. But nothing about him feels artificial. He is as real as he was in Berlin. Atlantis. Cairo. Camelot. Hanoi. Olympus. Tallahassee. He feels as human, too.

You get to relearn the way his cheeks flare up when you call him Toshi and not Ushijima for his first time (force of habit)... and every subsequent time (at your pleasure).

You get to relearn his wry humour, how every-so-often his stony demeanour breaks after one of your quick jabs, usually in response to his agonisingly blunt remarks. (“You should have brought a coat, princess,” he notes with disapproval when you shiver in the chilly spring air. You promise him that you look better with hypothermia than in any Qaasuuri coat. An amused breath blows out from his nose. And though he doesn’t say a word more on the subject, his white jacket over your shoulders speaks more than enough.)

You get to relearn how his hands feel on your skin. The first lesson is your mistake: missing a step down the spiralling staircase on your way to dinner. Automatically, his hand grips your arm to pull you back. He uses a little more force than necessary, though, and tugs you into his firm chest. Neither of you can look at each other for the rest of the evening. The second is his mistake: reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you read in the palace library, somehow knowing it’s one of your pet peeves. Both of you freeze when his fingers accidentally brush against your cheek. Ushijima thinks he’s never felt skin softer than yours–– you think it’s been too long since he last touched you.

The third is neither a mistake nor just one of your doings. It happens on a cool autumn evening as the two of you walk through the palace gardens with your hands dangling haphazardly at your sides, knocking against each other again and again as if begging for an opening. Finally, you acquiesce. You slip your hand into Ushijima’s cold palms. And though nothing shows on his stony face, his heart whirrs like an overheating engine for the rest of your walk. He doesn’t let go until the iron palace comes back into view.

“We should stop,” he pants between fervent kisses, “before this gets out of hand.” You nip at his neck. “You’re betrothed to the prince––” you suck on the skin between his collarbones and throat, drawing a low groan from his lips “––and I can never give you a throne.”

You pull back, knees on either side of his waist, and stare down into his eyes. “I don’t want a throne.” Ushijima watches you with rapt attention. Sometimes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he remembers. Slowly, you repeat his words from lifetimes ago. “I only want your heart.” An unreadable expression crosses his face. “Your devotion.” It’s not recognition. “And your soul.”

It’s conviction.

By now you’ve seen many breathtaking things: entire cities built from ice, the end of the ocean, a Venusian sunrise. None compare to Ushijima Wakatoshi with his pupils blown wide, hair tousled, lips flushed. Red with love.

None compare when he promises, “You have that and more.”

A pause.

“Show me.”

With an effortless flip, Ushijima’s muscled body hovers over yours, olive eyes flashing wildly in your dim chambers.

Amid fast breaths and guttural moans, amid steely olive eyes and parted lips, amid the subatomic space between your bodies, you feel it cloak your skin like armour.

Love.

(The Ibis storm the Qaasuuri castle one month before the wedding. Ushijima fights the invaders valiantly, superhuman modifications undoubtedly being of help. But there’s just too many of them. The last thing he tells you is to run. The world burns when you look over your shoulder, only to see a Ibisian sword drive through his heart.

The Qaasuuri are a race more android than human. But they still bleed the same.)

TOKYO, JAPAN, 2018

The oldest you ever witness him live to is thirty-two years old.

It’s the morning of August 13th and you walk into the kitchen to the sight of Ushijima Wakatoshi lifting your daughter up into the sky, spinning her little body around in circles, the pancakes on the stove slowly bronzing to a mouthwatering shade of gold.

“Mommy!” she giggles when she sees you. Leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed, you watch your husband set your daughter back down on the ground with a soft smile on his face.

“Sleep well?” you ask, ruffling her hair. She nods happily and bounces back to the stove. Her latest obsession has been cooking in the kitchen, though you’re not sure when exactly she moved on from “potion-making” in the backyard.

“Morning,” Ushijima murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Happy birthday, handsome,” you tease, leaning into his chest. As the words leave your mouth, the sunny morning haze cools into desaturated blue. But it’s been thirty-two years, you reason with a hard swallow. Maybe the cycle has broken. Your eyes dart to your daughter’s little figure on the stepping stool, her small hands gripping the spatula flipping a bronzed pancake over to its pale side. How would she…

You steel yourself, though a small fissure can’t help but open in your heart from the force.

She isn’t your first child and she won’t be your last. Time, you’ve learned, likes to play games, likes to set you on the same storyline again and again just to see if another ending will show itself. There will be more tomorrows and more yesterdays. There always is.

But that doesn’t make todays hurt any less.

Ushijima tilts his head to the side, olive eyes peering into yours. “Is everything okay?” He never misses (or missed) anything–– not when the two of you were heisting in Switzerland or revelling in Alexandria like Dionysians, not when you were crammed in the same codebreaking room during World War I or sailed across the Atlantic to your doom in 1912. Not now.

But you’re tired of carrying each bygone lifetime into the next. Willing yourself to forget the fact that you’ve seen him die again and again on August 13th, you put everything into the lie that slips your teeth: “More than okay.”

You choose to cherish the present.

“Order up!” your daughter exclaims, proudly presenting the plate of pancakes to you and Ushijima. “I even made one shaped like a heart for Dad for his birthday!”

With a grin, you come closer to inspect the heart-shaped pancake. “Excellent work, sous chef!” you compliment, tapping her nose lightly. It’s sharp like her father’s. She, however, inherited your eyes. You turn around to face your husband. “What does Head Chef Ushijima think?”

Smiling softly, he takes the plate from her hands and, without a second look, says, “It’s perfect. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Breakfast passes in a blur of laughter and honey.

(You think you have gone through another August 13th unscathed when night falls and all of your friends exit through the cherry wood doors of one of Tokyo’s finest restaurants. On the car ride home, however, your white SUV swerves to avoid a deer in the road and flips once, twice, three times.

You wake up neither a mother nor a wife.)

TOKYO, JAPAN, 2020

A subtle sigh of relief exits your lungs when Ushijima Wakatoshi enters through the front door at 12:01 AM, red Team Japan suitcase in hand. He’s back from the airport. More importantly, he’s alive.

“Did I make it?” he asks with an upturned corner of his mouth. His olive eyes are half-closed from the exhausting transatlantic flight and his muscles are still a bit sore from how vigorously he played the game against Argentina (Oikawa’s team, for god’s sake)... but he’s here.

And he can’t be any happier.

You know that he’s talking about the time, probably hoping to joke that coming home to you is the best birthday present he can imagine. In that regard, he technically hasn’t made it.

And yet, you leap into his arms and press kisses all over his face as you repeat “yes” again

and again

and again.

#ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima scenarios #ushijima imagines #ushijima fluff #ushijima angst #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! scenarios #hq!! scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #hq!! x reader #hq!! imagines

1K notes · View notes

actualbird · 3 years

Note

Lmao Nightstar anon's fic idea made my brain go along the lines of like NXX crew but in NSB AU, cause I really can't see Aaron crushing on luke at all, since he's like a dad/doc/wingman figure. Ig if the shoe fits ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ - Book

oh, i dont think NightStar meant that aaron was crushing on luke (iirc correctly, aaron's got a wife he loves very much) but more like another person in the NSB that's close to him in the same way aaron is close to him

that being saaaaid, BOOK, DONT DO THIS TO ME. i love spy movies so much and hRGH the NXX crew as a spy team oh god, oh GOD

luke stays as he is in canon, ruthlessly efficient field agent scarily good at all forms of combat

artem maaaayyybeee a field agent too? less combat heavy tho, more subtle reconnaissance. artem looks damn good in a suit and imagining him at fancy galas expertly using information he does have to get information the mission needs, mmmmm

marius seems like he'd be really good at being head honcho, picking the missions, setting the objectives, working with what orders are being received from above and placing the right people in the right jobs to get it done

vyn could be a handler? it fits my interpretation of him having the tendency to go for control of situations and it's funny to me to think about vyn speaking to luke and artem through their earpieces and very serenely telling them the best way to do things and dunking on them when they get in trouble because they didnt follow him like "ah, raven, i did tell you to go to the other route because i foresaw that target's anxiety. but of course, it's always your choice whether or not to follow what i say :)"

and mc hhhhh i want to make her a field agent too but what is her specialty? she doesnt strike me as combat heavy and reconnaissance doesnt fit either, also i dont want repeats. maybe she could be the team's lawyer, for when shit gets out of control. like an on call NSB lawyer dealing with the ridiculous collateral that sometimes happens lol like

mc: so you caused so much public damage on the last mission. the mayor is not happy. anything to say for your team, king?

marius: not my fault, ask raven, he was the one who did the fucking car chase

luke: not my fault, libra was the one who gave me the information to give chase

libra: not my fault, adjudicator told me this was the best way to get to the target

vyn: not my fault, king was the one who assigned us all into these places in the first place

mc: how are you guys functional????

#hc #yeah this is goin in my hc tag because iM THINKING ABOUT IT NOW HHHH #Book!anon #asks #tears of themis

49 notes · View notes

plant-flwrs · 4 years

Note

Can I request a ilvermorny transfer x one of the twins? I think it'll be cool if she wore roller skates to school (charmed by yours truly) since it's the 90s and she's cool but super sweet and caring - maybe when they invite her over to the burrow for the summer or their birthday she can give them a pair? Thanks ily!!!

roller skates // fred weasley

masterlist!

a/n: ok i always feel bad when my fics take so long to set up and theres barely any like actual romance and i am trying to work on it. i think its hard for me to go into a fic where a relationship is already established, so i like writing them coming together and the immersion of it. but i hate reading fics where it takes forever to get to the good parts so just know that i will be trying to work on that flaw in my writing! thanks so much for reading! (i made the reader from florida just because my mind blanked on any other places that don’t have snow lol, but it’s not really relevant in any other situations so ignore it if u please) also just realizing all of my summaries sound scary and ominous also just realizing how i say way too much in these author notes im so sorry bye

summary: The American transfer student draws attention to herself with her accent, but Fred is drawn to something else about her.

(10.4k hehe sorry :D)

-----

Looking around at the students bustling past you, the only word you could think of was “proper”.

Looking down at your muggle clothes, loose and mismatched, your hair resting naturally, the only word you could think to describe yourself with was “improper”.

A boy with a permanent scowl and striking blond hair glanced your way, and the taller adults behind him followed his eye line. The three of them looked you up and down and their mouths all distorted into nasty grimaces. You felt your father’s comforting hand clasp over your shoulder, trying to help you remember everything he had said to you before arriving at King Cross Station.

“They aren’t that different from us,” he repeated, and you could tell he was doubting himself as he glanced at the uptight children and their matching parents.

He guided you forwards, and you pushed your large cart in front of you, navigating through the crowd. It started to separate around you, and even more odd glances were thrown your way. You supposed you should have felt a little insecure- you looked quite out of place- but the feeling could not overwhelm the excitement you felt. You had read all about Hogwarts, its history, its architecture, and you even picked up a few books about muggle London.

You were stood in your father's embrace, about to board. Your things were stored away, and you heard the train roaring louder and louder. You glanced around, the fathers in their dress shirts and ties, mothers in long skirts and blouses. Their children wore sweaters and jeans, or suit jackets and dress pants.

Something caught your eyes, though; a few feet away there was a large family, mingling in embraces. They all had flaming red hair, and their clothes looked like yours. In fact, your clothes resembled the oldest woman’s clothes, mismatched and colorful. Her eyes watered, and she smoothed down the hair on a fidgeting boy.

“Ronald, hold still!” she shouted at him, and he reluctantly allowed his mother to soothe his red hair down into a part on the side.

Once the woman had moved onto another child, Ronald roughed his hair back to the mess it was before. The woman now clutched a smaller boy, who looked like he was Ronald’s age, by the shoulders. She moved a hand to soothe his unruly hair off his forehead. Your eyes widened when you saw the lightning bolt on his forehead.

The books you had bought about the English Wizarding World did not neglect to mention the boy who lived. Elbowing your father, you both cast glances at the family. Your father nodded his head, looking impressed at the sight of Harry Potter.

“Thanks again Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said, and it sounded like he had said it millions of times before.

Mrs. Weasley waved off the two boys, who went to gather a girl with large bushy hair.

“Come on ‘Mione! We’ve got to get a good compartment,” Ronald said impatiently, tugging the girl's arm onto the train.

Mrs. Weasley was left with four other children. One of them looked like all the other proper British people you had seen at the station, a permanent sneer on his face. He shook his head stiffly at his mother and shook his father’s hand. You thought it was quite odd, and two identical boys standing with the family couldn’t contain their laughter.

“Yes,” one of them started, doubling over in a bow, “good day, mother,” he said pompously, imitating his brother.

“May you have a wonderful few months,” the other started, moving to shake his father’s hand as his brother had moments ago, “I’ll be looking for your owl,” he said, sounding incredibly posh.

The younger girl, with the same fiery hair, began to giggle, earning a scowl from the eldest brother as he boarded the train.

The girl pulled her mother in for a hug, and then her father, and waved to them fervently as she followed after her brother.

“You boys, stay out of trouble!” Mrs. Weasley said to the remaining twins, waving a finger at them.

“We always do, mum,” one said, and it was obvious by his tone that they didn’t often stay out of trouble.

They waved to their parents at the same time, stepping onto the train with a certain enthusiasm.

You averted your gaze, looking anywhere but at the family you had been staring at. You looked up at your father, hugging him one last time. When you pulled back, you heard his name being called.

“Mr. Y/n?” the voice called out, approaching the two of you.

It was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Mr. Weasley already had his hand stuck out to your father.

“I’m Arthur Weasley, I’ve been the one to hire you at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry. This is my wife, Molly. Funny to meet you here,” he said politely, looking at you and your father in a nicer way than any other wizard had during your time at the station. His eyes didn’t wander down to your brightly colored shoes, or your patterned pants, and he didn’t even cast a second glance at your oversized, offensively colored sweater. You beamed at him.

“Oh! Yes, it’s great to meet you,” your father said, shaking his hand. He squeezed your shoulder, jostling you a bit, “This is my daughter, Y/n.”

“Oh, would you hear that accent, Arthur!” Molly gasped, smiling as if she was astonished. Your father chuckled at her reaction. You supposed it would happen to you a lot at Hogwarts.

They both smiled at you, and Arthur offered you his hand to shake. You held your hand out, but the sleeve of your sweater swallowed the limb. You shook the extra clothing away, and Molly chuckled. Finally shaking his hand, you held it out to Molly. She bypassed your hand and began to roll up the sleeves of your sweater.

“Thank you,” you said, and she nodded, accomplished, at you.

“Better get her going,” your father said, and the Weasleys nodded at you.

“Have a good term, dear,” Molly said to you, patting your shoulders the way she had done to Harry.

“Thank you,” you repeated, moving past them and heading onto the train.

You waved one last time at your father, and the door closed behind you.

You wandered down the isles, looking for an empty place to sit. You pretended to look like you knew where you were going, hoping fewer people would stare at you if you did. Your plan didn’t work, and you caught the eyes of almost everyone you passed.

You had made it to the end of the train, and your eyes peered into the last cabin. It was empty except for a girl and a boy. They seemed friendly enough, so you slid open the door.

“Mind if I sit with you guys?” you asked, and the boy looked at you quizzically when he heard your voice.

“Not at all,” the girl said.

She had strikingly blonde hair and gray eyes that poured deeply into you. She had a faint smile on her lips, and her head was cocked to the side.

“I’m Luna Lovegood,” she said, and her voice was light and airy, “This is Neville Longbottom.”

The boy shifted in his seat, casting a shy glance at you. He raised a shaky hand and gave you a curt wave.

You smiled widely at the two of them, glad you seemed to have picked the right place to sit.

The train ride went fast enough. Luna asked you all sorts of questions about America, and you asked her all sorts of questions about England. When Neville warmed up to you, he asked some questions about Ilvermorny. They asked what house you had been in there, and you told him you were a Thunderbird, the soul of the witch.

“Where do you reckon she’ll be sorted into here?” Neville asked Luna. You leaned forwards, curious for the answer.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, peering into a magazine she had balanced into her lap, “but if I’m lucky, it’ll be Ravenclaw.”

“Which one is Ravenclaw?” you asked, trying to remember what you had read.

“The wise and witty,” Luna said, moving her robes to show the crest on it. It was blue with a bird over it.

“A raven, clever,” you said, looking closer at Neville’s red-trimmed robes.

“You’d think,” he said, “but it’s an eagle. I’m a Gryffindor, we’re meant to be brave but,” he trailed off, and Luna placed a comforting hand on his arm.

“Oh, stop it, Neville,” she said gently, her gaze back onto you, “there's Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.”

You nodded, recalling what little you read.

“My dad said he figured I would be a Hufflepuff. The Ministry told him he was a Ravenclaw, he had to do the silly sorting hat and everything,” you said, and Neville smiled at you.

“Hufflepuff? They’re quite nice, I suppose,” he said, sounding disappointed that you weren’t in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.

“Well, we won’t know for sure,” Luna said, closing her magazine, “until-” but the train’s brakes began to screech.

Her smiled widened, and you looked down at your robes you had changed into. Maybe now people would be less inclined to stare, you thought.

You were right, but only briefly. Once you had gotten to the Great Hall, you were shuffled in with the first years. Your face burned a slight red the whole time, your larger and older stature standing out amongst the sea of younger students. Your name was called, and you heard a faint whooping coming from the table of red.

You glanced at it, seeing Neville lowering a cheering fist from the air. He looked around nervously, and you saw one of the Weasley twins glancing at his quizzically. You smiled at Neville’s support and sat in the stool.

An old and tattered hat was lowered onto your head, and suddenly it began speaking in your ear.

“Hm, very interesting. You’re not from here, that’s obvious,” it spoke quickly, echoing in your skull, “but I think the choice is simple. I’d say,”

Suddenly the voice left your skull and boomed into the room, for everyone to hear.

“Hufflepuff!”

Cheers from a table full of yellow sounded off, some raising from their seats and clapping for you. You beamed, moving off the stool and skipping cheerfully towards the table. You walked down the aisle between the red and yellow, and Neville’s hand stuck out at you.

“Congratulations!” he said excitedly, holding his hand up for a high five.

You hit his hand, and he waved you off.

A girl with a yellow tie and dark hair waved you over. She inched over, giving you room to sit with her.

“I’m Sarah, happy to have you in Hufflepuff!” she beamed, and you didn’t think you would ever get used to the British accents.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you watched her eyes widen at the sound of your voice, “I’m Y/n.”

“You’re American! You must have come from that American school, what’s it called, Ilmorny?” she asked, ducking her head and whispering as the sorting continued.

“Ilvemorny,” you corrected her, still smiling.

Sarah asked you a lot of the same questions Neville and Luna had asked, but you didn’t mind answering them. She had even offered to give you a tour of the school tomorrow, with the promise that you would choose the bed next to her’s in the dorm.

Sarah had lived up to her promise. You walked with your head permanently tilted upwards, admiring the greatness of the castle. Sarah ate with you at every meal and even insisted on walking you to your classes until you knew the way on your own. She had been so nice to you, and when Luna told you about the upcoming Hogsmeade trip, you knew you had to ask her to go with you.

The two of you walked through the snow, wrapped up in matching yellow and black scarves. She had linked her arm with yours and pulled along to all her favorite shops.

The two of you ducked into The Three Broomsticks, sick of the ice sticking to your face.

You saw a red scarf and a blue scarf sitting at a table, and when you saw the flow of blonde hair peeking from the blue one, you knew who it was. You pulled Sarah over to Luna and Neville, and Neville told you to pull up two chairs. You introduced Sarah to Luna and Neville.

“We’re just waiting for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to meet us,” Neville said, smiling cheerfully.

“Oh, should we go?” you asked, offering to free up your chair.

“No, no, stay,” Luna urged you, pulling your arm back down, “I’ll introduce you.”

This was how you were going to meet Harry Potter, you thought, huddled up at a small table, drinking a foamy beverage that left a little white mustache on your upper lip.

Harry was just like every other kid, and he was with the people you had seen at the station that day.

“What did you say your last name was?” Ron asked, leaning over the table so you could hear him.

“Y/l/n,” you said.

“Does your dad work for the Ministry?” he asked, and you nodded, “Our dads work together!” he said, elbowing Harry.

“Her dad is the bloke my dad was raving about all summer, the guy from America,” Ron said to Harry, and Harry nodded at you.

“What a coincidence,” you said, dipping your head to take another sip of the drink Sarah had ordered you.

You all fell into a natural conversation, and Hermione asked to switch seats with Sarah at one point. Sarah had no protests, filing easily into the seat next to Harry, glancing at him dreamily.

“Will you tell me about America? I’ve been to other parts of Europe for holidays, but never America. What’s it like? How different are the wizards?" Hermione sounded off questions like she had them rehearsed, but you were happy to answer them.

You and she were in a fit of laughter after she had told you about her parents’ reaction to her letter. Your eyes were shut, brimming with tears, as Hermione recounted her mother’s jumping up and down.

You were so involved with your conversation with Hermione, you hadn’t noticed Ron’s brothers come into the restaurant.

“Hello, Ickle Ronniekins,” one of them teased, messing a hand through Ron’s overgrown hair, “when are you gettin’ a hair cut?”

“Mum’s gonna cut it all off the second you get home,” the other said, pulling a chair in between Luna and Ron. The other pulled a chair in between Harry and Sarah, and you didn’t miss Sarah’s annoyed sigh at the interruption.

You and Hermione were recovering from your laughter, clutching your stomachs and breathing heavily.

“What’s so funny ladies?” one of them said, shoving Ron aside so he could rest his elbows on the table.

“Just telling Y/n about how my parents reacted to my letter from Hogwarts,” Hermione sighed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“You’re the famous Y/n?”

“The American?”

Ron elbowed each of his brothers in their sides, frowning at them.

“That’s me,” you answered cheerfully, smiling at them, “Are you Ron’s brothers?”

“More like,” one of them started.

“Best friends,” the other finished.

“He really would be nowhere if it weren’t for us,” they said at the same time.

A smile slid across your face; it was easy to smile around your new friends, you found.

Hogwarts was better than you could have ever hoped. You wrote to your father nearly every week, recounting the amazing things you had done with Sarah, Luna, Neville, Harry, Hermione, and Ron. The seven of you were becoming inseparable.

Luna’s blue tie dangled over your face as you lay on her lap, she was trying this odd head charm she had read about in the Quibbler. Your head rested in between her legs, back on the ground. Her skinny fingers were pressed to your temple, and they hesitantly pressed into your skin.

“Is that right?” she asked, consulting the cartoon pictures that moved on the Quibbler laying next to her.

“I don’t reckon, it doesn’t feel like anything’s happening,” you said, sitting up and rubbing where Luna’s fingers had been.

“Neville,” Luna said, motioning him over. His face grew white as she pulled him into him, moving to where you had been. Luna’s fingers pressed against Neville’s head, and his eyes fluttered closed. Luna began to hum to herself, and Neville smiled.

You crawled over to sit by Ron under the tree. Sarah was talking to Harry, her eyes dazed over as he gently brushed off a leaf that had fallen on her shoulder. Hermione was near, her head resting on her bag, laying on her back with his legs crossed. She was deep into a muggle book you recognized, and you couldn’t blame her for not wanting to put it down.

“Hi, Ron,” you snapped him out of his thoughts, ending his obvious staring at Hermione, “enjoying the weather?”

“Yeah, it’s just about my favorite time of year,” he said, twisting a blade of grass in his fingers.

The snow had melted, winter break had ended. Ron was able to shed his mother's heavy knitted sweaters and wear some of his more comfortable shirts.

“I quite liked the winter,” you said, your head leaning against the tree, “it was my first time seeing snow.”

“Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell us that?” Ron asked, seeming bewildered.

“Don’t know,” you shrugged, smiling at him.

“Hermione! Oi, Hermione! Y/n had never seen snow before she came here,” Ron said, calling out to Hermione.

“I know, she’s from Florida,” Hermione said, uninterested, head still buried in her book.

“Florida? Why didn’t I know that?” Ron asked, feeling out of the loop.

“Don’t know,” you repeated, shrugging again.

“Because you don’t ask, Ron,” Hermione said, sounding unpleased with Ron’s loud volume.

You stifled a laugh, but Ron looked at you, feeling guilty.

“Hermione’s right, I guess,” Ron said, casting a sad glance at you.

“It’s alight, Ron, I won’t hold it against you,” you reassured, and Ron perked up a little.

“Tell me one thing no one else here knows about you,” Ron said urgently. To this, Hermione closed her book and lay it on her chest, interested in what you were going to say.

You thought about it. You didn’t have anything to hide from your friends, but you felt yourself blanking on even the littlest fact about yourself. You tried to think of any special abilities you had, besides being a wizard, or any life events that were significant. The only thing you thought of was the hesitance you had when packing your trunk for school, debating on whether or not to bring your roller skates with you. Ilvermorny had allowed them, and you skated to nearly all your classes. The school's cold granite floors were just begging to be skated across, you had thought, and it was ten times faster than walking.

You thought about your skates, you missed them more than you thought you would. The white boots with slick, black wheels and rainbow laces were one of your most prized possessions. You wondered now, again, if you would have gotten in trouble for bringing your roller skates to school.

“Oh, alright, I’ve thought of something,” you began, and Hermione sat up a little, resting on her elbows.

“I really like to roller skate,” you said proudly.

“Roller skate?” Hermione and Ron repeated at the same time. Ron sounded confused, but Hermione sounded entertained.

“Yeah.”

“Like from the 80′s?” Hermione asked, still sounding entertained.

“They’re making a comeback,” you defended.

“What’s roller skate?” Ron asked, looking between you and Hermione.

“It’s like shoes with wheels on them,” Hermione said, used to having to explain muggle inventions her friend, “You tie them up and you skate around.”

“What do you do that for? Do they go really fast?” Ron asked.

“They can,” you said, “but it’s really just for fun. I used to take them with me to Ilvermorny and go to my classes on them, but I didn't know if Hogwarts allowed them.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Ron asked, “Are they dangerous?”

“They're not dangerous, I suppose you could fall on them, but it’s not as bad as that Quidditch game you guys play,” you explained, “I just didn’t know if Hogwarts allowed those kinds of muggle things.”

Ron and Hermione nodded, and Hermione looked to be in deep thought.

“I’m sure they would,” she said, returning back to her book.

“What do you reckon they’re doing down there?” Fred asked, looming over George’s shoulder as he held the Marauder’s Map in his hands.

“Do you think Ron’s finally gonna get a girlfriend?” George teased, looking at you and Ron sitting together under the tree.

Fred sneered at his brother. Ever since he had told George he thought you were cute, it seemed George wanted to push his buttons any way he could. He would make jokes about you and Ron flirting, and for some reason it made his blood boil. He hadn’t even spoken to you on more instances than he could count on a hand, but he was enticed by you.

Your eyes were always moving, and they were always wide with excitement. He thought you were beautiful, you were always wearing your muggle clothes when you didn’t have to wear your uniform. You dressed kind of like his mum, he realized one day, but in a cooler way. That’s the word, cool, he thought you were cool. You fit in easily with Ron’s friends, you could talk about anything, and you were always so sweet.

“Where are they going now?” George wondered out loud, watching the names on the map begin to move.

You got up and dusted off your pants, feeling the baggy jean material under your fingers. You helped Ron up, offering him a hand and pulling him off the ground. You, Ron, and Hermione trailed after Harry and Sarah, who trailed after Neville and Luna. You had all been feeling a bit warm outside, so you decided to go to the Gryffindor common room for the rest of the afternoon. You and Sarah were always excited to go to the Gryffindor common room, feeling it was a nice change from yours in the basement.

Fred’s eyes watched as you, Ron, and Hermione walked together towards the Gryffindor common room. He suddenly felt nervous, even though he was up in his dorm with George. He stood, and looked at himself in the mirror. He pulled down at the bottom of his shirt, tugging uncomfortably at the way it clung to his arms. He hadn’t been dressed to impress, and he usually didn’t, but at the sight of your name getting closer to his on the map, he ignored George’s torments and changed into nicer pants and a more flattering shirt.

Harry stepped passed Neville, who had forgotten the password, and held open the portrait for everyone as they stepped through. You, Sarah, Luna, and Hermione occupied the biggest couch in front of the fire, and Neville and Ron took the armchairs on either side of you. Harry sat on the floor in between Ron’s chair and where Sarah had sunk into the corner of the couch.

Sarah beamed at you, taking notice of the small action, and you wiggled your eyebrows back at her. She blushed and leaned over the side of the couch, resting her chin in her hand and starting a conversation with Harry.

Hermione pulled her book from her bag again, reading the pages eagerly. You and Luna sat shoulder to shoulder as Luna began to tell you about her plans for the summer.

“I think I’ll try to learn French,” she said, toying with some sunglasses she pulled from her pocket.

“You’re going to learn French?” you repeated, a smile pulling up your lips.

“I think so, might also help my dad with his plums,” Luna said, turning to you as she slipped on the sunglasses. They overcame her face, entirely oversized and wonderful. They were bright green and had purple lenses that were reflective. You could see your wide and amused smile in them.

“Your father grows plums?” you inquired, always enjoying conversation with Luna.

“Yes, they’re Dirigible Plums.”

“What are those?”

Luna pulled her hair back and showed you a pair of earrings she wore. They looked like little orange balloons, but leaves hung from them.

“Oh, those are very pretty, Luna,” you said, admiring them.

“My dad says they make you wiser,” she explained, “so he grows them in his garden.”

“And you wear them as earrings,” you said, smiling at her.

“Yes,” she nodded and gave you a crooked grin.

“What are your plans for the summer?” Luna asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. My father will be working, so I’ll probably be home all day,” you said, feeling a little lonely already, “I’ll have my roller skates though.”

Luna looked at you, confused, but you were more talking to Ron anyways, who you noticed was listening to your conversation.

“You should come to the Burrow this summer! Everyone does, even for just for a week,” Ron said, standing and moving over to sit on the coffee table in front of you.

“That sounds cool, I’d love to,” you said, grinning at Ron.

You looked around you and felt so lucky, lucky to have found such kind and accepting people at your new school.

Pacing upstairs, Fred smoothed down his hair before ruffling it again and then smoothing it. He knew you were downstairs, and he knew he wanted to talk to you, but you just made him so nervous. He never gets nervous.

George sat with his elbows on his knees, eyebrows raised, watching his brother obviously losing his mind.

“Just go down and talk to her,” he said, a little afraid his brother might explode, “you’re gonna wear a hole in the ground.”

Fred stopped where he stood, near the door. He sighed heavily and nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing hard, “I’ll just go talk to her.”

Fred recalled the day he had formally met you at the Three Broomsticks. He was smooth, able to mask the way your curious gaze had made his stomach flutter. He couldn’t very well go down there and make a fool of himself, could he?

“Oi Fred!” he heard Lee call from where he stood near Harry, which was also near you, “Come over here a minute.”

Fred sauntered over, forcing himself not to stare at you.

Hermione had put down her book, and Luna had left to go to her own common room to do some homework. You and Hermione sat cross-legged facing each other, playing a muggle card game.

“Yeah?” he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning against the banister of the fireplace.

Harry and Lee sat at two wooden chairs near the fireplace, only a few feet away from the couch you were on. This angle allowed him to watch you as your head threw back in laughter as Hermione scowled at her losing the game. His eyes easily flickered back to Lee, who pulled him into the conversation he and Harry were having about Quidditch.

Ginny walked through the portrait hole, returning from some Quidditch training she had been doing. Ginny was taking Quidditch very seriously this year and had taken to exercising on the pitch with Angelina every weekend.

“Ginny!” Ron called out to her, putting down the newspaper he was reading. He waved her over with a hurried hand.

“What?” she said, plopping down on the empty space next to Hermione, “What game are you guys playing?”

You looked up from the deck of cards you had begun to shuffle as Hermione told her.

“Ginny,” Ron said again, pulling his sister’s attention back to him.

“Hm?” she said, and it was very obvious she was tired from her day's activities.

“Have you asked anyone over for the summer yet?” Ron asked, and his eyes flicked to you, “I just invited Y/n, so I don’t want it getting too crowded.”

Ginny looked over to you, her gaze becoming analytical. You raised a hand to wave and cast her a kind smile, and she returned it.

“I don’t have anything planned, it should be fine,” Ginny turned away from Ron and back towards you and Hermione, “When are you lot coming? At the same time?”

You looked towards Hermione, not knowing the answer.

“Oh, I didn’t have any specific ideas yet, Ron’s just asked me. Still have to write to my dad,” you said, and Hermione nodded.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be the usual time for me, though,” Hermione said, and Ginny smiled.

“What’s the usual time?” you asked, beginning to deal the cards to you and Hermione.

“A few weeks before school starts, Mrs. Weasley takes us all to Diagon Alley for our school things,” Hermione said, speaking fondly of the memory.

“Should I ask my dad to come then, when Hermione does?” you looked towards Ron, “Unless I should come at a different time,” you said, not trying to intrude.

“That would be perfect! Harry comes ‘round that time too, so we’ll all see each other,” Ron said.

He looked over at Harry, and upon seeing his brother, he called Fred over the way he had done to Ginny.

“Fred, have you invited anyone home for summer yet?”

Fred’s gaze immediately went to you, and he found you looking at him too.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing himself off the wall and over to Ron.

“Who?” Ron said, curious because his brothers usually didn’t have people over to the Burrow during holidays.

“George,” he said, smirking.

“Git,” Ron mumbled under his breath.

“Why do you ask, Ickle Ronniekins?”

“I just wanted to make sure it wouldn’t get too crowded when Hermione, Harry, and Y/n come ‘round,” Ron said, squirming as Fred forced himself into Ron’s seat that was only big enough for one of them.

Fred’s cool demeanor dropped for a moment, his eyes widening. He quickly recovered, wrapping an arm around Ron.

“How considerate of you,” he said, giving his brother an unwanted side hug.

Ron got up from his seat, leaving Fred to sit by himself. He watched you with unblinking eyes as you listened to Ginny talk about her time with Angelina on the pitch.

Looking down at your packed to the brim suitcase, you glance to the corner of your room. Your pristine roller skates sat there, one on their side. They looked sad and forgotten, but you knew that wasn’t true. Ever since you had gotten home from Hogwarts, you had taken to skating around ‘muggle’ London. You had also just gotten used to saying ‘muggle’.

Your father left early and got home late, and part of you was jealous that he got to see a Weasley every day and you didn’t. To ease your envy, you took to your skates.

You weren’t sure if you should pack them with you for Ron’s house. You were leaving when your father got home for work, the two of you setting off just before dark. You shoved a sweater deeper into your bag, making room for the skates.

Your father was to eat dinner with the Weasleys, sleep on the couch, and set off with Mr. Weasley for work in the morning. No point in two trips, they figured.

You were traveling by Flu powder, and your father went first. He heaved your bag into the fireplace with him and erupted in green flames. You carried a backpack on your shoulder, filled with little things that couldn’t fit in your suitcase.

Fred was more nervous and excited than he had ever felt in his whole life. He was determined to chat you up this summer, at least do something to make sure you knew he existed. He had been pacing in he and George’s shared room, but George pulled him down to the kitchen and made him drink some tea, hoping to calm him down.

You twisted your fingers, looking nervously into the fireplace. You were extremely excited to spend the remaining weeks of your summer with the Weasleys, but a small part of you was scared. You were nervous that Ron’s parents wouldn’t like you as much as they did at the train station. You were nervous that Ron, and his siblings, would get sick of having you around. You were nervous that you would become a burden.

You had been writing with Hermione, and she ensured you of how kind the Weasleys were. She told you that you had nothing to worry about, and you felt a little relieved.

You had visited Sarah a couple of times during the summer. She lived fairly close, close enough for you to take muggle transportation. Her family was welcoming and all had wide eyes at your accent. Thinking of their kindness, you felt confident enough to finally step into the fireplace.

Green flames surrounded you, and within seconds, you were stood in a different fireplace. It was a little shorter, and you were glad you had hunched over a little. Mr. Weasley and your father were shaking hands off to the side, over by a large couch. Mrs. Weasley was looking into the fireplace and waving you out. Ron was trudging your suitcase upstairs already, and Hermione and Ginny stood by Mrs. Weasley smiling widely. You noticed Fred and George sat at a large wooden table near the kitchen both drinking some tea and eating.

You took a step from the fireplace, making sure to wipe off any ash that may have stained your clothes, and allowed Mrs. Weasley to pull you into a hug.

“Oh, so good to see you again, dear!” she said, rocking you back and forth in the suffocating hug.

You didn’t care if you couldn’t breathe, you decided at that moment that Molly Weasley gave the absolute best hugs. She released you, patting your shoulders and running a loving hand through your hair, tucking it behind your ear. You beamed at her, and she smiled back at you.

When she moved away, Hermione quickly replaced her. Hermione’s arms pulled you close, wrapping around your backpack.

“I missed you!” she said, smiling at you.

“I missed you too!” you said, nearly ‘awing’ at everyone’s kindness.

Ginny hugged you too, and when you stepped away, Ron had come back downstairs. You hugged him, and then Harry, and finally you were left to be able to breathe your own air.

The house around you was adorable. It was better than you could have ever imagined. Magic was everywhere, and everything just felt like home.

“You’ll be staying with me and Ginny,” Hermione said to you from her spot next to you at the table.

“Perfect,” you replied, the same awestruck smile plastered on your face since you had arrived.

Fred looked at you from across the table. He felt like his dinner was moving in his stomach, and his hands were sweating. He’d nearly dropped his fork three times. He breathed deep, and when the conversation lulled, he took his chance.

“How has your summer been, Y/n?” he asked, and you looked up from your plate to him.

He nearly died, your happy eyes looking at him.

“Great!” you said, wiping your hands on your napkin in your lap, “I’m glad to finally be here.”

He smiled back at you, and it took him a moment to realize he’d been staring for a little too long, and that you had asked him a question.

“My summer? Oh, my summer’s been good too,” he replied, nodding.

You looked to George, who was next to him and raised your eyebrows, inviting his answer.

“It’s been good,” he said casually, and then an evil grin spread across his face, “but I think Fred’s just about worn my ear off talking about you.”

Fred coughed, choking on his mashed potatoes. His face went red, and he looked at his twin with an anger George had never seen before. Fred quickly looked back at you, as if to gauge your reaction. Your head was tilted down, but a shy smile was on your face and a blush crept on your cheeks.

Fred’s anger subsided at the sight of it, but when George kicked him from under the table, he was reminded.

“What is wrong with you?” Fred asked, nearly yelling at his brother in the privacy of their own room.

“I gave you a push,” George answered, not looking up from the Zonko’s catalog in his hands.

Fred simmered, coming to the realization that George was right. He fell onto his bed, thinking back to the pink on your cheeks and the bashful curl of your lips.

He didn’t know how he was meant to sleep, painfully aware of the fact that you were asleep just a room away.

“Did you hear what George said to Y/n at dinner?” Hermione asked, pulling Ginny into the argument you were having once she got out of the shower.

Ginny shook her head, removing the towel from her hair, “No, what’d he say?”

You rolled your eyes at Hermione as she divulged into every little detail of what George had said.

“And Fred could not stop staring!” she finished, and you let out an exaggerated breath.

“He was not staring!”

“Yes, he was,” Ginny said cheekily, sitting down on her bed.

“Ginny!” you said, giving up hope of having her on your side.

“He totally fancies you,” Hermione said.

Your face twisted for two reasons: the word ‘fancies’, and the fact that she thought Fred Weasley might fancy you.

“He does not!”

Ginny sat on her bed, listening to you and Hermione go back and forth. She knew Fred fancied you, he had since they had been at school. She saw his longing looks, the way he looked at you first after he told a joke, and the pure admiration he had in his eyes any time he looked at you. It especially convinced her when Fred had been talking about you all summer. She came to a decision.

“He does,” she said, watching Hermione’s face change into the proud one she wore when she answered a question right in class. Your mouth hung open.

“What?” Hermione’s gaze turned towards you, and she smiled widely. You liked to think it was her infectious smile that made your mouth turn up, and not the idea of Fred liking you.

“He has been talking about you all summer, I’m surprised Ron didn’t tell you earlier,” Ginny said, bringing the towel to her hair again to catch some dripping water.

“He probably hasn’t even noticed,” Hermione said, the tone of annoyance dripping off her tongue.

Ginny flashed her a sympathetic look, but Hermione ignored it, continuing.

“Do you like him?” she pried, and the whole room felt like it was frozen.

They both looked at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

You didn’t know. Fred was handsome, and funny, and clever, but you hardly knew him. You knew he was mischievous, and that he tormented Ron, but other than that you might as well have been strangers. You could not deny, however, that he was attractive.

“I don’t know,” you said, honestly.

“You don’t know?” Ginny repeated, confused.

“Yeah, I mean, I barely know him,” you answered, the obvious energy in the room shifting to something of deep thought.

“Do you fancy him, though?” Hermione asked, her eyebrows raised.

“I think he’s cute, yeah, but how can he fancy me? We’ve barely spoken to each other. Are you sure Ginny?” you asked again, still doubtful.

“I’m sure he’s noticed the little things more than you think he would, Fred can be pretty considerate when he wants to be,” Ginny said, and you breathed out loudly. You flopped on your back, the mound of blankets around you and Hermione soothing your landing.

“See? I wouldn’t know that!” you said.

You knew it was a little silly, to focus on something like this. You had an older, attractive, popular boy head over heels for you, but you were harping on the fact that you didn’t know whether or not he was considerate.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Hermione said harshly, “I mean it’s not like you’re forced to marry him. You go on dates with people to get to know them, after all.”

You were nearly offended by Hermione’s tone, but you figured she was just getting irritated on the subject of crushes.

“I know, ‘Mione, I’m just confused by it,” you reassured her.

“Well, test the waters tomorrow,” Ginny said suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows.

You cringed away from her, and swells of giggles were coming from Ginny’s room nearly all night.

The three of you slept late into the morning. The Burrow’s eventful noises were nothing compared to the sounds of muggle London, so you slept peacefully. It wasn’t until something began tapping on Ginny’s window, did the three of you wake up.

“What the-?” Ginny started but soon fell silent at the sound of a loud crashing noise. Shards of glass scattered around the room and Hermione was lucky that she had rolled away from the window in her sleep. You put your hand up, flinching at the noise, and when you dropped it, the warm summer air flooded into the room.

A small golden snitch was soaring around the room, averting every swipe of Ginny’s hands, and ducking behind her dresser.

Ginny slipped on some shoes, and carefully navigated through the glass. She leaned cautiously out of the window, and that's when the screaming started.

“Harry! Are you mental?! What on Earth-” her screams divulged into threats and insults, and you looked over her shoulder, watching Harry hover many feet away on his broom, his face looking quite guilty.

You found your shoes and moved over to the window. You then realized that Fred and George were hovering closer to Ginny’s window, silencing the snickers and amazed faces they wore. At the sight of Fred, your eyes widened, and his eyes met yours. He smiled kindly at you, and before you knew what you were doing, you ducked behind the window, crouching by Ginny’s feet.

You heard George’s laughter, and Ginny’s ramblings stilled.

“What are you doing on the floor?” she asked you, lowering herself to crouch with you.

“I don’t know,” you answered, whispering. Your cheeks were red and your eyes were wide. Ginny’s threatening look turned into a smile.

She began to giggle, and soon enough, Fred and George hovered just above the window, peering into Ginny’s room.

“What are you girls doing down there?” George asked, resting a hand on the part of the windowsill with no glass on it, peering into the room.

Ginny looked at you, her smile wide. You looked around and began to pick up large shards of glass.

“Cleaning up the glass,” you said casually, although you could still feel the distinct burn of blush on your cheeks.

You could only safely pick up two large shards of glass without cutting your hands, so you raised yourself from the ground, meeting Fred and George’s eyes. Ginny followed you, crossing her arms and smirking.

The boys wore their practice robes, their names and numbers on the backs. They both had discarded goggles hanging from their necks, and their hair was wild. You looked between the both of them, swallowing thickly.

“Could you keep it down?” Ginny finally said, trying to ease the situation, “We’re trying to sleep.”

George removed a hand from his broom and glanced at his watch, “It’s nearly 12 in the afternoon,” he said sarcastically.

“Really? Well, we need our beauty sleep,” Ginny said, and you noticed she nearly reached out to close the window.

George rolled his eyes and zipped away on his broom, leaving Fred.

“I’m gonna go get a broom, clean this up,” Ginny said, huffing as she navigated her way back through the glass on the floor.

You and Fred were left there, staring at anything but each other. Fred moved slightly up and down on his broom as he hovered. He finally cleared his throat and looked at you.

“Sleep well?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

You nodded and smiled, rocking back and forth on your feet, “You?”

He nodded too and looked away quickly.

“Oh, I think George, is calling me,” he said, and it was obvious George was not calling him. He flew away on his broom, and you closed your eyes, letting out a restrained breath.

You groaned and threw yourself on Ginny’s bed. Hermione rolled over, a large and entertained grin on her face. You covered your face with a pillow and ignored Ginny and Hermione’s imitations of the incident while they swept up the glass.

Mrs. Weasley was furious to see Ginny’s window. She had come in later in the day, a basket full of laundry on her hip.

“Hello girls,” she said pleasantly, “Do you have- what the bloody hell is that?”

Ginny’s eyes widened at the sound of her mother’s deep and serious tone.

“Mum! It wasn’t us,” Ginny leaped from her bed and ran to her dresser, she quickly caught the snitch from where it had been hiding behind her dresser, “It came through the window this morning when the boys were playing.”

Mrs. Weasley looked at you and Hermione, and you both nodded your heads furiously. She huffed out a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers.

Finally looking up, she set the laundry down and stood in Ginny’s doorway.

“BOYS!” she shouted, and you heard the sudden halting of George and Fred’s laughter, and Harry and Ron’s footsteps upstairs silenced.

The sound of four hesitant feet walking to Ginny’s room was the last thing you heard before Mrs. Weasley’s screams burst your eardrums.

The Burrow was crowded now that the boys had been banned from leaving the house. They had only briefly been allowed out of the house to de-gnome the garden, but Mrs. Weasley stood at the door, making sure they had absolutely no fun.

Your suitcase lay open in Ginny’s room, the three of you dressed and having absolutely no ideas as to what to do. You had all already ran through your spending money going to Diagon Alley on your first days there, and without the boys offering some entertainment, the three of you were idle.

Ginny paced, looking through her own things with interest. She twisted her broom in her hands, offering the idea of Quidditch, but Hermione wasn’t interested. Ginny was scanning her room, and her eyes fell on your bag. A pair of white shoes with wheels on them lay tucked away in the bag. She walked over to them and pulled them out hesitantly.

“What the bloody hell are those?” George said from the doorway.

The three of you girls turned, looking to the door. The four boys crowded in the hall, all peering into the room with interest. It seemed they were bored too.

“Are those the roll skates?” Ron asked, mispronouncing the word and shoving past George and taking the roller skate from Ginny.

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes flicking up over the top of your magazine.

The rest of the boys filed into the tiny room, nearly all of them shoulder to shoulder. Hermione rose from her spot next to you, picking up the other one from your bag.

“I remember seeing commercials for these things when I was a kid,” Hermione said, spinning the wheel in her hand.

“Commercials? What are you on about?” Ron said, and Harry caught your baffled look and smiled.

“What are they?” Fred asked, taking Hermione’s seat next to you on Ginny’s bed.

You lowered your magazine and looked at him, only to find him already looking at you. He gave you a crooked smile and nodded in greeting. You successfully fought a blush and smiled back at him.

“They’re roller skates. They’re like shoes with wheels,” you explained, taking the skate from Ron.

You rolled up your jeans a little and slipped on the skate. Fred watched your delicate fingers lacing up the shoe, noticing the way your hair fell into your face as you looked down at them.

Hermione handed you the other one, and you did the same to the other foot. You stood easily from the bed and nearly lost your balance. It was lucky that Fred’s strong shoulder was there for your hand to clasp onto, or else your feet would have slipped from under you.

You looked down at your hand still on Fred’s shoulder, even though you were standing fine. He slipped your hand off but kept it in his hand. You then became aware that you were just holding hands at this point. He stood with you and turned to face you. He pulled your other hand into his, and pushed you away from him, smiling widely as you rolled easily on the hardwood floors.

Everyone knew then that they had found their entertainment for the day.

The sound of joyful laughter flooded your ears as Fred pulled you around the limited space in Ginny’s room. Your hands fit together perfectly, and he walked backward as he pulled you, keeping his smiling eyes on you the whole time. Soon he was pulling you into the hallway, and everyone trailed after. You felt Ginny’s small hands pushing your back, and you began to gain speed. Fred hadn’t caught up, and you were coming closer and closer to him. You looked down but didn’t want to put your toes down to brake, in fear of scuffing up the floor. So, you let yourself fall into Fred’s arms.

The two of you stayed upright, but his long arms were wrapped around your waist. Your hands fell to his chest, and his chin pressed against his neck as he looked down at you. His hair fell into his eyes, and yours fell gracefully in its natural place. You smiled, and he smiled, and soon you erupted into giggles at the silence behind you. George catcalled, and you stuffed your giggles into Fred’s chest, tucking your head under his chin. You felt him take a sharp inhale, and his arms became a little tighter around you.

When Mr. Weasley got home, he was accosted by his children.

“Dad!” They said in unison, all waiting for him by the door.

He jumped at the sight of them all, then began taking off his coat.

“Look at these!” Ginny said, pointing to your feet.

You did a little spin, careful not to make any marks on the floor. Fred watched you spin elegantly, your arms coming out a little like a ballerina.

“Remarkable!” Mr. Wealsey cried, moving to look at them.

Questions came from his mouth faster then you could answer them, and you slid the wheels against the floor under the table while you ate dinner.

“We had an idea, Dad,” Fred said, looking at you proudly.

“Yeah, think you’ll like it,” George added, glancing at you with a smirk and then looking back at his dad.

“We need you to conjure some sort of track outside,” Ron finished, talking with his mouth full.

“A track! That’s brilliant!” Mr. Weasley exclaimed, missing the worried look from his wife.

“It was Y/n’s idea, she’s brilliant,” Fred said, looking across the table at you.

You giggled as George made a gagging noise.

“With what? Stone?” Mrs. Weasley inquired, placing a hand on her hip.

“Oh no, they’re usually made of wood or asphalt,” you explained, “they have a whole building of them in the muggle world. People rent the skates and pay to skate on a big rink.”

Mr. Weasley's eyes widened with excitement, and Mrs. Weasley’s worry tamed.

“Let’s do it tonight.”

The eight of you walked to a clearing on the side of the house. It was where the boys usually played Quidditch, but it hadn’t been in use for days. Mrs. Weasley hadn’t stopped the boys from helping with the track, and you were grateful.

“Hold it higher, Ron!” Mr. Weasley called out, and Ron raised his father's wand with a bright orb of light coming from it.

The track was nearly done. It was huge, a large hoop secured to the ground. There was an enchanted orb of light in the center of the circle, and it illuminated the entire rink.

Your friends watched you blaze around the track, your hair whipping around behind your face, the sides of your cardigan flapping in the wind. You heard loud cheers when you successfully began skating backward.

The rest of your trip to The Burrow was spent out there. The boys were lifted from their punishments, and the rink became the one place you all went to when you woke up, and the last place you were before bed. Soon enough, though, your father appeared in the fireplace with your school trunk by his side. He quickly took back the bag you had been keeping at the Weasley's, and you went through your trunk one last time, making sure you had everything.

This year, walking through the train station, you were still stared at. But you didn’t care because an entire family surrounding you, and they all looked like you.

Your father gave you a lasting embrace before Fred followed you onto the train. He had waited for you, watching as you hugged your dad. He waved to your father, and his hand grazed your lower back as he walked behind you. The two of you found the compartment that had to be the most crowded of the lot.

Lee, Luna, Neville, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Sarah, George, and now you and Fred, packed into a compartment, the entire room filled with busy conversation the entire ride.

It was weird to be in the Hufflepuff common room, your bedroom devoid of Ginny’s huffs as she rolled over to get comfortable, or Hermione’s anxious mumbles she said in her sleep. You pulled your blankets off of you, your legs feeling sore from the constant skating you had been doing for weeks.

Speaking of, you had made the decision to bring your skates to Hogwarts. You slipped them on, tightening the rainbow laces. You pointed your wand at the wheels and cast a silencing charm, so the turn of the wheels would be silent.

You carefully climbed the stairs from the Hufflepuff basement and looked both ways before you skated towards your destination.

Fred had been sitting under his covers, looking over the map as he usually did before he snuck to the kitchens. Out of habit, he looked at the Hufflepuff common room for your familiar name. He was shocked to see you across the castle, in a long-abandoned classroom. He suddenly lost his appetite and slid into some slippers.

He rested his forearm in the crook of the door, leaning against it. He watched you illuminated by the candles lit on the wall. You easily glided between the desks, twisting and turning, spinning, and navigating between them. His eyes followed you, your body moving naturally. He watched the sway of your hips as your wait transferred from foot to foot, the skates rolling against the smooth stone. You moved to the open space in the room, skating backward, your back to him. You turned just a few feet in front of him, and when you saw Fred, your surprise ran through your body. Your feet faltered and you bumped into a desk, making a loud crash.

He jumped from his spot in the doorway, closing the door behind him. He moved to you in two long strides, crouching to reach you on the floor.

“Are you alright?”

“You scared the shit out of me, Fred!” you said, smiling up at him.

“Couldn’t help it, I had to come see you,” he said smoothly, bringing the map from his back pocket.

“What? How did you know I was here?”

He unfolded a piece of paper and held it out to you. You took it in your hands and realized what it was. Before you could look at it for long, Fred took it back, a worried expression on his face.

“Filch is coming, he must have heard the noise,” Fred folded the map and put it back in his pocket.

Suddenly, his hands were on your waist, and he was guiding you to your feet. He looked around the room and saw the door to the supply closet.

With a wave of his wand, the flames of the candles were extinguished and he was pulling your gliding figure to the closet. The door closed just in time, and Filch burst in. You and Fred were pressed together, his hands still on your waist. You opened your mouth to ask him about the map, and one of his hands covered your mouth. He felt your soft lips, and his eyes locked onto yours. You heard Filch’s heavy feet stomping around the room and the screech of the desk against the floor.

Your mind was occupied by the lack of space between you, your back pressed to the door, and Fred’s warm hand on your face. He looked deeply at you, and his face was inches from yours.

You thought back to the day Ginny told you about how Fred felt, and you realized that you no longer had any hesitations about Fred. Standing this close to him, his leg slid between yours, his chest against yours, you felt what he felt. You fancied Fred.

Fred felt your lips curl into a smile beneath his hand. It was dark, so he couldn’t see your face, but he wished more than anything that he could. He heard the door close, and Filch was gone, but neither of you moved. Fred’s hand retracted from your mouth, moving to your neck. His fingers slipped under your hair, and his thumb rested in your jaw.

“Why did you come here?” you whispered.

“I like to watch you skate,” he answered, his voice devoid of any laughter.

“You’ve watched me skate for weeks,” you said quickly, inching your face closer to his, craning your neck to look up at him.

“I like to watch you,” he said without thinking, “I like you.”

You closed the space between you two. His lips were slow, and so were yours. You arched your back against the door, anything to get closer to him. His face was warm, and yours was cold. His lips pressed hard against yours, and the kiss held everything he had felt since he talked to you in the Three Broomsticks. It was all the nights he had ranted to George about you, all the times he had mentioned what little time it was until you’d finally be at The Burrow, all the times he looked at the map just to see your name, all the times his stomach had flipped just at the thought of you.

You pulled away, breathless, and he lowered his head to rest on your shoulder. His breathing was heavy, and your eyes had fluttered closed. He reached for his wand and said “Lumos,” just so he could see your pretty face and swollen lips.

He walked you back to the basement, and you shared another slow kiss. He had almost followed you down the stairs, watching you leave with your skates hanging from around your neck.

The next morning in the courtyard, Ginny was the first to notice.

“What happened?” she said, skeptical of your dazed face and the constant flush you had from just being near Fred.

He sat a few feet away in his own world, avoiding George and Lee’s conversation about the upcoming Hogsmeade trip.

You smiled at Ginny, and she furrowed her brows at you. You were about to tell her, but Ron fell with a thud onto the ground next to you.

“It’s been three bloody weeks and Snape’s already assigned 100 pages of reading,” Ron groaned, pulling a heavy textbook from under his arm. Hermione and Harry trailed behind him, sitting with much more grace than Ron had.

Hermione also noticed your at peace look and looked at you analytically.

You were finally able to tell them in the hall, during an extended period between classes.

“He kissed me last night,” you said with a blush.

“I told you!”

“Finally!”

You hushed them, a bashful smile coming to your lips. Fred passed the three of you, his eyes locked on yours as he walked. Over his shoulder, he sent you a flirty wink. You felt weak at the knees and was glad that you were leaning against a wall.

“Maybe he’ll ask you to Hogsmeade,” Hermione said, tugging you off the wall and in the opposite way Fred was walking. You looked over your shoulder to see him walking backward, watching you walk away.

“Knowing Fred, he’ll probably pull some elaborate prank or get fireworks to spell your name out,” Ginny said, watching you look at her brother.

Fred did something like that, the two of you in the courtyard, laying in the grass. He had pulled you from dinner just after you were dismissed, and he led you to the courtyard. You both stared at the sky, and he looked at you. You met his gaze and then he pointed at the sky.

In huge, shining, red words read “Y/n, Hogsmeade this weekend?”.

You smiled at him and nodded. His hand snaked to cup your cheek still laying down. He pulled you towards him, and you moved to look down at him, propped up on your elbow. His lips met yours, and the sound of more bursting fireworks flooded the air around you.

It was nearly Christmas now. You and Fred have been dating for a few weeks, and he invited you back to the Burrow for the holidays.

You accepted, and you trudged your heavy bag into the fireplace. It was filled with gifts for the Weasley’s, and you were feeling quite confident about it.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione stayed at school for the holidays, leaving you, George, Fred, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat in front of a fire on Christmas eve.

You had called your father on your flip phone he had given you as an early Christmas present. He was coming over tomorrow for Christmas morning, and you felt incredibly content.

Coming back to the couch, tucking your phone into your pocket, you slipped back under Fred’s arm, curling into his side. Mr. Wealsey had already had a go at the device, and he just watched amazed at it fitting into your pocket so easily.

The next morning you were woken up by the sound of your father’s booming voice downstairs. You sat up, stretching, and looked over to Ginny’s bed. It was empty, the covers were thrown aside. You slipped on a large cardigan, pulling it around your cold arms and going downstairs.

You were met with what felt like a dream. All the Weasley’s sat around the table, eating a huge Christmas breakfast and drinking tea. They each wore matching sweaters with their initials on them, and your father was standing with Mr. Weasley by the couch.

“Happy Christmas!” they all beamed at you.

Ginny tugged you over to the couch, sitting on one side of you while Fred sat on the other. Your father stood behind you on the couch, and a pile of presents were stacked in the room. You had brought your presents for the Weasley’s down last night, and you saw them on the ground.

Wrapping paper was everywhere, and the sound of happiness flooded the room. It finally came time for everyone to open what you had gotten them, and Fred went first. He tore away the red paper and held the plain box in his hands. He shook it, holding it up to his ear and smiling at you.

“Careful!” you told him, and he tore away the tape holding the box shut.

Inside, a brand new pair of garnet roller skates. He gasped, his large hands holding a skate up.

“Oh, my-” Mrs. Weasley said, already thinking of the awful thing he and George could do with those.

“It’s amazing!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around you.

You returned the hug, and whispered in his ear, “Merry Christmas, Fred.”

Soon, all the Weasley’s were holding different colored skates, even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

#fred weasley #fred #weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley request #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #hogwarts #hufflepuff #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you

710 notes · View notes

honklore · 3 years

Text

is nothing sacred? | quackity

(4.6k+ word count, prince!alex, augur/seer!reader, gn!reader, angst, alex has a sucky dad, reader has a sucky family, karl appears as a time traveler ofc, neg and pos religious themes, deification is the belief that when a monarch dies they will become a god, the rapids is a kingdom in this but it isn’t an smp au)

listen to: evermore by taylor swift, foreigner’s god by hozier, (the end) by levi weaver, exile by taylor swift

There’s a warm spring just outside the monastery. It’s hidden in the mountain, a few miles away from the castle walls and yet you find that it’s too close for comfort.

Every bright and loud fanfare that announces the prince’s coming and leaving echoes off of the hills and pours through your peaceful respite. It’s just enough to make you grumpy.

It’s one of those mornings again, and you find yourself floating in the hot spring, eyes open towards the sun, wishing you had more patience with the dear prince you call your best friend.

Your robe is heavy across your torso, floating around your bare legs as you ponder your plans for today. That is, if the prince doesn’t come visit you.

That would be wishful thinking, though. You don’t have to close your eyes to know that someone has blocked the sun. With a sigh, you sink your body beneath the warm water and submerge, blinking the water off of your lashes. “Alex, this is sacred ground.”

“I know,” the prince replies, squatting down to see you. “I tied my boots around my neck, see?”

You stare at the boot he’s proudly holding up, then shift your eyes to his bare feet. “Why are you here? This is my day off.”

“Excuse me for wanting to see my best friend,” Alex sneers mockingly, rolling his eyes. “Listen, are you coming back to the castle tomorrow?”

“We literally have an augury lesson at one in the morning,” you say. “So, yes.”

“Good, I’m going to disprove all of your theories.”

“They aren’t theories, Alex. I read patterns for a living, alright? I know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s not science.”

“Neither is your father deifying your grandfather,” this time you mock him.

He holds a steady gaze, lips quirked into a cheeky smile. “You’ll tell me about the night of my coronation again, right?”

“Because it warned of extreme change,” you say, voice level. “Yet I can’t figure out what’s going to happen. There’s something the stars aren’t telling me, and I have to figure it out to protect you and the kingdom.”

Alex’s eyes are a deep brown that you could probably get lost in, if he wasn’t such a little shit. “Protect me, you say?” He’s flirting now, eyes alight with the thought of annoying you, and if this spring wasn’t so important to you, you would’ve yanked him in already. “Didn’t know you cared that much about me, Y/n.”

Your robes are clinging uncomfortably to your body, accentuating the lines and curves — or lack thereof. “Hand me my towel and look away please.”

Alex closes his eyes and turns his face away, holding out the towel. “Learn anything divine from your swimming trip?”

Alex holds the towel out like a makeshift screen, and averts his eyes while you dry off and change into the clean robe he brought you. As annoying as he is, the prince is thoughtful, and he fills in the places where you lack.

“I was reflecting,” you say, buttoning the front of the robe. “It’s good for you; clears out your soul.”

Alex tosses the towel over your head and ruffles your hair. He chuckles at your protests; taunts you with warmth in his eyes. “You’re so spiritual.”

You glare at him. “I’m an augur.”

“Right,” Alex says, holding the now-wet towel close to his chest. “But you take it so seriously, sometimes.”

“I hate you,” you say, no venom in your words.

“I love you, too,” Alex says. He leans forward, almost as if to kiss your forehead, and then remembers that you’re on sacred ground, and kissing is forbidden.

Still, the very thought of what he might’ve done sends an unwanted flutter throughout your chest.

Wax drips onto the closed letter. You dip the silver stamp into the dark purple puddle, leaving the royal seal behind.

Inside is a letter to your family. It’s a prophecy you’ve received just for them. Despite them disowning you for your gift, you still find it important to warn them of upcoming woe. Like now, for instance, when you wish to warn them about the upcoming rainstorm that could ruin their crops if they don’t take precautions.

You rub your temples and blow out the candle, leaving you in silent darkness.

Your room is on the highest tower of the castle. The turret is small; a circular room with a circular bed and a circular desk and a glass, circular ceiling that showcases the stars to you each night. There’s a telescope standing against the window, a chest for your clothes, and the writing desk you’re seated upon. However, your bathroom is a few stories down, near the bottom of the tower and closer to accessible plumbing.

The door behind you bursts open, and you know it’s the young prince and his lack of basic manners when it comes to privacy. Your privacy, anyway. “What is it, Alex?”

“I’ve been waiting for you in the tower for an hour now, silly,” Alex’s words get softer as the light from the corridor pours in, and he can see what you’ve been up to. He stills, smile faltering. “You had another vision of them.”

“I wish they would stop,” you mutter. If you clench your eyes tightly enough, you can will any tears to suck back into your head. Then you can suffer through a headache, like you always do. You’ve had this “gift” since you were a little kid; you know the ups and downs of using it.

Not that it gives you much choice sometimes.

“Are you drinking the–“

“No,” you snap at Alex. “Look, suppressing them only makes it worse. Prophecies become... darker. I see things I can’t unsee. I have to allow them through.”

Alex has a hurt look on his face, but you can’t tell if it’s because you snapped at him or because he doesn’t want to see you in pain. You selfishly hope it’s the latter.

“We can talk about something less harsh on the mind.” Alex sits on your chest, avoiding your bed. It’s another sacred place for you, same as the monastery grounds. Alex knows the rules of being a seer; the ancient laws you practice. He’s read the same books as you — if just to understand you better. He’s the most loyal friend you can think of: the only person in the entire kingdom who has never questioned your beliefs.

“I can’t stand the thought of them getting hurt,” you admit. “And with the vision about your coronation... I’m so scared this kingdom is going to crumble and it’s going to be because I couldn’t prevent it.”

Alex fiddles with his necklace. It’s a rune, one for protection. You used to wear a similar one beneath your robes, but with your fear of something happening, you’ve made Alex promise to wear it.

“It’s not your job to keep the kingdom from crumbling,” Alex relays. “All you need to do is tell me what you see. Then I hint to my father ways to change the kingdom. After that, it’s up to fate.”

You bite your lip. “Fate has a tricky way of playing its own hand.”

“Then it was never in your hands in the first place, yes?” Alex speaks honestly, but there’s a bit of cheek to his voice that eases your nerves.

You smile sadly. “Your father is too prideful, Alex. I can see it; the ravens, they flock the castle whenever he makes a speech. He wants to become a god. He wants something that’s impossible.”

“He deified Grandfather,” Alex quips, no emotion backing his voice. “Like you said earlier. It’s just to start the tradition, so that when he dies he’ll become holy, too.”

“I told him it was wrong. I told him that the stars foresee ruin if he stays on this trail of pride.” You cast your eyes down to your family’s letter. “No one believes me.”

“I believe you,” Alex’s soft voice urges you to look at him.

He’s quiet. The rune is resting on his outstretched palm and he’s looking at you. “Do you think I’d take these lessons and wear these trinkets if I thought you were wrong?”

“Maybe you do it because we’re friends,” you say. You're well aware of the fact that the prince is the only person in the entire kingdom who advocates for your beliefs. But with the rest of the realm against you, you can't help but think that deep down, he's making fun of you, too.

"You sure do worry a lot for someone who can foresee the future."

You choke out a laugh and run your hands down your face. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm so sorry. I just– I feel like if I can't prevent every bad thing I predict, then it's my fault when they happen. I wish I was ignorant to omens."

Alex tuts. He pouts at you, dragging his lower lip between his teeth and holding it there for just a beat too long. “Let’s skip lessons today. You should rest.”

“Alex—“

“Ah!” Alex stands up. He begins to unclip his cufflinks from the hem of his sleeve before he passes you a coy glance. “That’s Prince Alexis to you, and if I say you should rest, then you should rest.”

You grumble, but inwardly you’re thankful.

There’s an altar, rectified in the middle of the castle courtyard. Though it was once a place of healing — a place seers would go to cleanse their minds — it is now standing in ruins.

You lay down your offerings anyway. Dried rose petals, and a few copper coins saved up. You wait with the objects until a few crows come to diligently take them away. To where? You don’t know. You’ve never asked.

Alex’s father plans to take down the altar and replace it with a shrine of himself. The knowledge of change reeks the air with a foul scent only you can smell.

It’s as if the entire kingdom is rotting and you’re the only one who knows.

You lift your hood off of your face and continue your walk throughout the court. Those you pass politely ignore you, though some choose to sneer at your mannerisms. The king has them wrapped in his prideful rule, and your heart aches for them.

There is no freedom in serving man. This much, you know.

You find yourself in the tower, waiting for the prince to come in time for his lessons.

“Father says he wants me to study more practical subjects,” Alex relates to you.

He’s lying across the balcony floor, and you are perpendicular, with your head on his stomach. You feel every breath he takes, and something about the closeness comforts you in a way you refuse to analyze.

“I’m not sure what else you could learn,” you say. Your eyes are stuck on a chip in the balcony railing. Stone that hardly cracks, and of course your foundation is crumbling quicker than your resolve. “You have lessons from dawn till dusk.”

“And you’re the only tutor I care for,” he says with a flippant sort of tone. “I don’t know what I’d do if I saw you less. I already wish I had more time with you.”

You’ve spoken to nuns and monks and those who swear off love in servitude to the one they worship. Most admit that it’s a lonely existence, and a torture to make up for their sins. You understand that true love must be as sacred as an old god, and to worship another person would be the greatest act of devotion. For how else do you serve a creator than by worshiping the created?

You don’t think kings are meant to be worshipped. No one with that much power should be revered with such ignorance.

But a prince is different. To worship a prince alone, in secret, for just yourself... perhaps that is the most spiritual devotion of all. Perhaps it is the most torturous.

Hearing Alex’s words makes your heart yearn for a future that can never be. You don’t need a vision to tell you that his father will soon grow tired of you. Of course you will soon be sent out of the kingdom, and Alex will forget about you in time.

You know this without a doubt in your heart, and yet Alex still clings to these moments with you.

You’d do anything to keep him safe.

“Where will I go?” You ask. “Where will I be accepted?”

Alex’s breath hitches; you feel it. And you know what he wants to say — you know what lingers at the tip of his tongue.

With me.

Your family sends back the letter, unopened. You try not to cry about it, but the truth is that you feel more alone than ever. Surely you are the last of your kind, and no one cares in the least about what you have to say.

Except maybe Alex. Lovely, beautiful Alexis. He could no sooner harm a butterfly’s wing than deny you your beliefs.

But Alex is not king. He is merely a prince, and the king does not like you. It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long.

“You fill my son’s head with nonsense,” the king paces back and forth in front of his empty thrown.

You hide your hands in the sleeves of your robe. “Your Majesty, I only relay what I see. I fear your kingdom is in danger.”

“And you think it my fault? Tell me, what if the stars told me to deify my father? What if I am following my own visions?” The royal cackles. “You have no sensible argument. All you have are silly dreams and lies to propel your own agenda. I will not have you spoiling my son’s brain.”

“Your Majesty—“

“I forbid you to speak on anything of the sort from hence forth. The altar will be torn down, and any peep from you regarding these readings will result in instant banishment.”

The sentence hurts more than it should, considering you aren’t being willed to die. You’re quite lucky in this sentence, considering you can still see Alex. Though, a part of you cracks and splinters to think of suppressing your visions.

The vision of Alex’s coronation still remains. You fear for the prince’s life. You fear the king will have something to do with it.

How do you tell the boy you adore that his father may be his downfall?

How do you get him to believe you?

The warm spring only gets hotter as the seasons change. You sink your head under, and the heat of the water burns your closed eyelids. Your head is killing you; pounding from holding back your emotions: your tears.

The monks don’t even worship the same as you. They lend you their springs and advice, but they aren’t the same. There are no other augurs in The Rapids, so no one else really knows how taxing the job is.

More visions come to you when you’re stressed, so you try your hardest to calm yourself. The water scalds your skin, but it distracts your mind enough to keep the visions away.

It’s all the same. All the visions are the same — Alex gets crowned king and overturns the deifying decree. And only days later, he’s assassinated, and the regent — his father — takes back the throne.

As the old proverb goes: pride cometh before a fall, and the king certainly has enough pride. You just don’t want Alex to get caught in the fall.

“You’re so predictable.” Alex’s voice is warbled.

It takes a minute for the water to release from your ears.

Surfaced, you can see Alex crouched by the bank, careful not to fall in. He’s got that same gentle smile — thin, rouge lips and eyes that seem to shine when they look at you. Alex never judges. He never makes fun of your methods. He’s simply there for you, and your heart longs to be there for him as well.

“This place is sacred,” you blurt. Seeing Alex’s face in the light of the sunset just makes you think of your visions. What would a world without Alex even look like? You aren’t sure you want to find out.

You start to cry, and Alex holds a hand out silently.

He helps you out — holds out the robe for you. His boots are around his neck, and you focus on the thinness of his ankles while you clothe yourself.

“You can’t hold me.” You say plainly.

“I know,” Alex’s voice is watery. “Let’s get you back to the palace, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “Okay.”

“I’m not dead.” Alex lightly scratches your arm. Up and down. Up and down. “I’m not going to die.”

Your shoulders are braced against his side. You keep your gaze on the white smoke rising off of his incense cone.

This is his room, and his bed, because those aren’t sacred. His bed can be slept in and snuggled in and kissed in and loved in. He has scratchy cotton sheets and incense that is too old to really smell like anything.

He’s a prince with messy documents surrounding his desk and curtains that haven’t been dusted in days. Some days you wonder if the entire castle has forgotten about him. You don’t want to bring it up — don’t want to ask — but it flummoxes you.

You reach for his hand and stop its motions. “I’m sorry I bring you into all of this.”

“I want you to bring me into everything,” Alex slurs. He’s staying awake for you, and you know it. He rests his temple against your head. “I don’t want you to keep anything from me.”

You hum. His body is warm against yours. Too warm, to the extent where you know you’ll wake up in the uncomfortable sort of sweat that comes when a child falls asleep on you, or when you fall asleep without the window open.

Something heavy squeezes your chest. It feels like your ribcage is sentient — hugging and pressing into your lungs until it’s nearly impossible to breathe without an uncomfortable stutter.

Alex falls asleep quick, so you don’t worry about him noticing.

You settle against him and breathe through your nose. The feeling will pass — it always does. You feel this way whenever Alex reveals something so vulnerable to you. You reckon it’s something to do with the tenderness of his voice, or the earnest squeeze of his hand.

There’s a need to protect him. You want to be there for him, more than anything else in the world.

Stripped of your job — the altar torn down — you resort back to your first and foremost activity: Alex’s best friend and (unofficial) advisor.

In this position, you’re confident in your abilities. You know just as well as anyone that you’d rather die than see the prince harmed in any way.

You’re kicked out of the tower, and your telescopes are left to dust. The king locks the door personally, ardent in his attempt to keep you away from any visions that might harm his reign.

You stay in Alex’s room, on a spare bed mat near the fireplace.

Of course, Alex has offered his bed, but you refuse to bother him any more than you have to. And now, with your rituals forbidden, you need a place to privately gather your thoughts.

The flames lick the stone furnace and you lie still. You watch them dance and close your eyes, hoping to rest without any visions or nightmares.

But the nightmares come, and they’re always the same.

When you wake in a fervent sweat, you know that only one thing will keep you from fearing Alex’s death. So, you crawl beneath his scratchy sheets.

You don’t snuggle into him or bother his slumber. All you need to do is know that he’s here. You rest your smallest finger against his bare arm and fall asleep to the sound of an owl hooting outside the window.

On the morning of Alex’s coronation, fog rises from the earth. You see it as a sign: this day will be confusing and blurred.

Alex is just excited to have cooler weather. The blistering heat has been plaguing the kingdom for days, so to have a day of fog and hollow wind sounds like heaven to the prince.

You wear your runes beneath your robe, and the weight of them is less than the weight of knowing you’re dead if you’re caught. But you need them; need this day to come and go without blood and tears.

Alex cannot see you. He’s far too busy with final rehearsals and receiving guests from far and wide.

You stray beyond the castle, into the square, where traders and travelers have set up shop in the hopes of making a profit.

There’s a sign. Fortunes Read Here. It’s tacked over a purple curtain, and you can see amber light shining through a thin slit. Like maybe someone is in there. Like maybe you aren’t alone.

You walk in.

Disappointment smacks against your ribs like a heavy wave against jagged rocks. It’s a scam. A boy no younger than yourself is sitting behind a table, with a green sash tied over his forehead. There’s a mystical rune of some kind that looks like a portal, and it’s tacked to nearly every surface you can see with dripping green paint. The place looks like that of a madman, and you fear you’re about to be mocked.

“Hello,” he says. He doesn’t offer a name. The blues of his eyes flicker from time to time with a shimmery purple, and you think it’s a trick of the light.

“Are you going to laugh at me?” You sit across from him. “Once I leave, are you going to think of me as just another gullible customer?”

“Can you not tell the future?” He says, and he grabs the crystal ball and tucks it under the table. “I can sense it. You want answers, genuine answers, not some promise of success.”

“Who are you?”

“Karl,” he says. “I’m from the village of The Rapids, but you know, magic is looked down upon. I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them what I know.”

You trace the lines of the rune. Your brain fogs, but as you repeat the motion, it clears up, and you suddenly see Karl, clear as day, standing in a crowd and watching Alex make a speech. “You’ve been there? You’ve been to the future?”

“Look closer,” Karl mumbles.

So you focus on the details, and you can see the black banners of mourning, and the redness of Alex’s eyes. “Oh. This is his grandfather’s funeral. This is the year before I became Alex’s tutor.”

“Walk closer.”

Unsure what he means, you continue to trace the rune, and imagine yourself walking through the crowd. Only Karl moves instead, so you pause your tracing and look at Karl.

He’s got his eyes closed, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Why did you come here? What did you want to see?”

You brought me here, you think of saying, but you wonder if this is what Karl can do. If he can travel to the past and show people what he sees. “I- I suppose I want to know why he was deified. Was it a plot?”

You trace the rune again, and Karl walks over to the king, where he stands apart from the podium. Even though his son is giving a heartfelt speech, he’s not listening at all. Instead, he’s talking to one of his trusted advisors.

“I will make a wonderful god.”

“Prince Alexis hates the new creed,” the advisor observes. “Surely he’ll overrule it once he is king.”

“Yes,” the king says. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

You gasp, and even Karl seems winded as you stop tracing the rune.

He places his palms on the table. “So that’s what you wanted to find out. A regicide plot.”

“I have to find Alex,” you mutter. You stand and rip one of your runes off of your neck. Intuition. “Here, take it. You should go.”

“I can’t go into the future,” Karl warns. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“No,” you think of Alex’s words. “None of us can predict fate. I have to go.”

You run out of the tent, and when you look back, it’s gone, left with nothing but a dirty sign labeled Fortunes Read Here.

Perhaps it’s past tense now.

Your purple robe billows behind you as you rush into the castle in search of the prince.

The staff says they haven’t seen him, the lords are already drunk off of mulled wine. His own tailors are running around, fearing they won’t be able to dress him in time.

So he’s gone, and that means you’re too late.

Or rather, maybe Alex is smarter than you give him credit for, and he’s gone to the one place his father won’t go.

You head up to the tower.

He’s there. Of course he’s there. And he’s in only part of his ceremonial clothes, leather pants and a cream-white collared shirt. He’s leaning his palms against the stone railing and staring out against the wind, like he’s waiting for it to speak to him. Tears slip down his cheeks and drop into the air.

“Alex…” You wrap your arms around his soft waist, squeezing tight to try and convey how thankful you are that he knew to get away. “Your father… He’s—”

“He poisoned my breakfast,” Alex whimpers. He grabs blindly for your arms, and at the touch of your skin, he folds in on himself; shifts around to face you, and buries his face into your neck. “My taster… He thought my taster was out. But he wasn’t. Now he’s dead, and the counsel are trying to figure out what to do with my father.”

“Alex, I’m so sorry.”

He cries harder, and you think your hug must feel weak compared to the comfort he so clearly needs right now. “I have to go tell the lords and the staff. We have to postpone the coronation until everyone involved is apprehended.”

You think of what he does when you feel alone. He visits your spring, and he takes off his shoes. He takes you to his bed and scratches your arm. He kisses your head and hums old lullabies from his childhood until you fall asleep.

So you grab his hand, and you pull him down the few stairs where your old bedroom lies. And you bring him toward your bed, but he stops you.

“It’s sacred to you,” he hiccups.

“You’re sacred to me,” you finally decide, and you let him crawl under your sheets.

You untie his boots and pull them off of his feet, along with his socks. Then you take the blanket and pull it up to his chin. You kiss his forehead and crawl in next to him. And you scratch his arm, up and down, and you hum old lullabies from your own childhood until he falls asleep.

While he’s asleep, you trace the moles across his cheeks and close your eyes. Suddenly, it’s like Karl’s tent, only you can see into the future, not the past. And you aren’t Karl, you’re Y/n.

The sun is bright on Alex’s back, skin tanned and warm. You’re swimming with him in the spring, and all that is sacred to you is him. All that matters is him, so he can float in the spring, and he can kiss you on holy ground, and if he can’t be deified in the kingdom, he can be deified in your soul.

And when you stop your motions, you’re back in your bed. Alex is there, sweet Alex, snoring softly and snuggling into your warmth, like you keep him safe. Like your visions aren’t the ones he believed in at all.

He has always believed solely in you.

#quackity fluff #quackity fanfic #quackity scenarios #quackity angst #mcyt fanfiction #quackity x reader #quackity x you #mcyt x reader #pixiecap//

213 notes · View notes

swinging-stars-from-satellites · 2 years

Note

Tell me about Raederle of An! I don’t know who she is and I want to know why you love her!!

Ok i actually just finished typing up the massive meta/prose poetry thing I've been writing about her, but I'm gonna post that separately so I will give the actually non-purple-prose version here 🤣

Warning: this is gonna contain A LOT of spoilers for Patricia McKillip's Riddle-Master trilogy. Proceed at your own risk!

ok so Raederle is the female main character in Patricia McKillip's Riddle-Master trilogy and she is AMAZING. the world the books are set in contains inherent land-magic that binds rulers to their kingdoms and gives them certain powers depending on where they're from (though other powers can also be learned, which is a plot point). An is one of several countries on the main continent, and it's split into three parts (called portions): Hel, An, and Aum. they're known for their famous pig-herds, a king who can shapeshift into the form of a raven, and an abundance of royal ghosts (thus one of the portions being called Hel. yes, there are several puns based around that fact).

Raederle is the only daughter of the king of An. this sounds a lot cooler than it is, because her dad is a little bit incomprehensible and part of his land-rule magic means that he has some semblance of foresight. said foresight is the reason he made a binding vow that only the man who could defeat an extremely famous ghost in a battle of the wits would be allowed to marry his daughter. in short, Raederle has spent her entire life as the prize in a near-cosmic bet, and it doesn't help that she is, canonically, the second most beautiful woman in all the three portions (and considered as such throughout the other nearby countries as well). this leads to her having a very fierce independent streak.

eventually, as it turns out, Raederle's brother's best friend (and her own childhood friend as well, bc she's always hung out with the boys) wins the riddle game that she was the prize in. enter Morgon of Hed, the titular Riddle-Master and the series' main character. the fun part is that he did not, in fact, go to play a game with a ghost in order to win Raederle's hand in marriage — he literally genuinely had no idea that was the deal, he just wanted to do riddles with an ancient ghost and also he won a fancy crown in the bargain. so anyway, turns out that Raederle and Morgon have had a mutual crush on each other since they were kids, and they're friends anyway, so this actually works out really well for them. (keep in mind that Raederle's dad has a bit of foresight, so he probably Knew from the beginning tbh.) but, alas, before they can even meet up again a bunch of stuff happens and apparently Morgon is some kind of Chosen One and he disappears for like. over a year.

Raederle is... arguably the most level-headed and well-adjusted character in the series, honestly. yeah she's hot-headed and kind of fits the "rebellious princess" archetype (she even runs away with two other land-heirs at one point, in an attempt to find Morgon) but she's also mature and knows how to make wise decisions without being as influenced by her personal emotions. she's not first in line for the throne, but she definitely has the instincts and a good personality to take up the mantle of land-ruler.

Morgon's issues as the "chosen one" and child of prophecy have to do with the whys of things — why is this happening, why is *he* specifically so important, why have other people and entities done the things they have, and why is it his responsibility. Raederle's issues, on the other hand, are more about identity (which explains why I love her so much. characters that struggle with or embody a struggle with identity are my jam).

like I mentioned before, Raederle's father has shapeshifting capabilities along with his foresight. it's eventually revealed that this is in part because their family has strong, previously forgotten and unknown ties to the original people of the land, the Earth-Masters, who also happen to be the current bad guys who are trying to start a worldwide magical war. cue Raederle, who's sensed that connection without realizing, has even drawn on that inherent magic, having more than a bit of an identity crisis. her magic is EXTREMELY helpful and she only ever uses it for good, but finding out that it comes from the Earth-Masters absolutely terrifies her and she becomes afraid of doing much more than lighting fires. it takes a long time for her to come to terms with the origins of her power, and the fact that despite its roots, it is still HERS and she can change the legacy of it.

there's a LOT of reasons I love her (some of which will probably come through when I post the huge thing I wrote about her earlier) and I'm not sure i can really explain it very well lol, I just like rambling about her??? she's sort of the princess-in-the-tower archetype, except that the trope is turned on its head by the riddle-game for her hand in marriage??? she's unabashedly feminine but still hangs out and is good friends with the boys, she's competent and not overly impulsive like a lot of fictional characters can be, she's just all-around a very good character. the second book in the trilogy is completely focused on her and it's my favorite, she teams up with two other princesses of different kingdoms and goes on a journey, plus she literally makes a deal with thousands of ghosts in order to protect her kingdom (I tried to google the chapter, since I don't have my copy of the book out right now, but I couldn't come up with anything... the author has said it's based on smth that happens in LOTR, but honestly just Raederle and the ghosts of Hel is my favorite chapter in McKillip's entire trilogy.). also, she has two brothers and the dynamic between the siblings is AMAZING, Ms. McKillip writes siblings so well honestly.

anyway this is long and sort of incoherent lol, I kinda lost my thread halfway through 😅 i very very much recommend the Riddle-Master trilogy if you're looking for something to read, Raederle is probably my favorite female fantasy character ever, thanks for taking my ask bait haha!

#and now i shall go post the massive prose poetry piece i wrote about her today #Lu rambles #asks #riddle master #the riddle master of hed #heir of sea and fire #harpist in the wind #raederle of an #i barely proofread this I'm sorry shdjdhsks

12 notes · View notes

greenmantle · 3 years

Text

mister impossible live thoughts!!!!

my journey of reading this book lasted from sunday afternoon through monday evening with a sleep and work shift in between. notes taken on my phone are under the read more, these are silly and hold very little context and even less intentional analysis. no thoughts head empty, truly

so they really are zeds because of zzzzzz

alf was right bryde has just been called dad so he is unfortunately in the category of dilf. devastating

hennessy calling bryde a dandy and ronan not liking the word

(also wow who is bryde supposed to be, morally ambiguous gansey?)

BURRITO THE CAR?

i am stunned by ronan’s anxiety manifesting as “imagining dying before adam who then falls in love with someone else so that in heaven (if adam goes to heaven, in question only because adam is agnostic) adam has to split his time between ronan and his hypothetical second love” like. dude. also him thinking of this adam as a widower, as if ronan was a 35 year old and married instead of the 19 year old in their first relationship that he actually is

“balls,” ronan hissed, annoyed to have been startled. “tits,” added hennessy. THEM.

please don’t say masturbatory, bryde. i already don’t trust you i don’t need to see you as gross

i will not add to the hennessy enthusiastic clone fucker debate.

every time i read one of these books i’m reminded how charming i find maggie’s writing to be. “the haystack has not produced a needle thus far.”

jordan stole declan’s volvo. everyone say it with me: girl. boss.

holy shit!!!!!!! the painting the “dependents” the line “the rules of the game had changed”!!!!!!!

“the dream creatures seemed to have somehow divined that declan was the person least likely to enjoy them and therefore the most desirable to woo” scream!!

ronan being uneasy about something bryde so willingly creates and uses smells like foreshadowing

“your balls really are nifty things,” hennessy said. “love to get my hands on them.” girl.

HENNESSY SAID I WAS A SINNER FINDING PLEASURE IN WINE, WOMEN, SONG. GIRL?

el gee bee tee

if she was referencing something don’t tell me i don’t want to know

hennessy i am obsessed with you. she said is adam one of those soft boys who hide in the firm pecs of their scary partners

i do not like bryde so much. bad vibes you weirdo saying ronan, a 19 year old orphan, is “looking in the rearview mirror” for wanting to be in contact with his family

ronan “mimicking his old friend gansey’s southern accent” it’s missing the gangsey hours

bryde get ready to fight me in a cage match

oh i love the brothers lynch

hennessy is so funny. she’s right pennsylvania sucks

oh reference to ronan’s discomfort with old people. think that gem is from...tdt?

rhiannon just called ronan darling 🥺

“this was the strangest part of the oldest liliana—she remembered a lot of what she’d already lived through, and a lot of that seemed to involve farooq-lane.” LESBIANS

WE’RE THE VILLAINS, FAROOQ-LANE THOUGHT. i had to COVER MY FACE. my GIRL. PLEASE. YEAH.

my god that was a good chapter

ADAM TAROT READINGS STOP. LOVE

“ronan felt hennessy shiver. he leaned his skull against her skull, and without pause or snark, she leaned back.” oh i love them.

are the dreamers three about to nosedive into eco terrorism

ronan thinking “she was going to leave them” is so. gansey. i miss gansey.

carmen and liliana i love you. el gee bee tee

what year is this set in? early 2013? 2014? i’m pretty sure trk was the 2011-2012 school year or the next. anyways, hennessy just referenced tiktok, an app that certainly does not exist yet in their world

i am not capable of sussing out what bryde is or what his goal is here. someone tell me

adam. oh adam. please call gansey you need an outlet for all of...that. all the hacking into government databases to access information gathered about the boyfriend you haven’t talked to in months. please call your friends

title mention page 234

man the whole three secrets thing in tdt feels a lot less fun now that we’re getting insight to a toddler ronan being told by his mother that he had to keep his dreams a secret forever :/

GRUMPY LUST, DECLAN’S BEDROOM

matthew said are you going to marry my brother 😩

DECLAN SAID BY THE TIME WE’RE MARRIED THE LYNCH BOYS ARE OUT OF THEIR MINDS

ashley ashleigh ashlee

what does “neat, civilized facial hair” look like on declan. floored by this

declan said ronan idolized gansey in high school :( he’s right but i miss gansey

WE ALL FINALLY FOUND EACH OTHER. OKAY GIRL BOSSES

(el gee bee tee)

i hate you chapter 33. very sad about this book.

is it ironic that i, tumblr user greenmantle, am upset about bryde being manipulative and harming ronan in ways that ronan cannot recognize. probably. that’s fine though

received these series of texts from my best friend while i was working:

lots of things i’m already loving about chapter 34, like the recognition that i cannot imagine a young woman feeling less comfortable in any situation than with ronan and his new hero, and the fact that during hennessy’s pov she thinks about carmen and liliana: “it was also clear they had crushes on each other.” i love when adults use the word crush i find it endearing

“they were muttering to themselves: make way, make way, make way.” I MISS GANSEY. make way for the raven king

i know that this book insisted again that opal is more creature than she is human but like. she’s still at least a little human. does nobody but me care about how she’s been doing all alone at the barns for however long ronan has been on the road?

MOTHER. FUCKER.

i’m sooooo mad i’m so mad. “i know when you dreamt me” fuck off! i hate you.

he’s a liar right this is nuts even for these books. this is some grade a gaslighting

oh nooooo

gun taped to the bottom of the kitchen table. oh declan

hm.

well. that’s the book. truly have no idea what happened those last few chapters. no clue. nada. hated those chapters. i’m gonna go back to living in chapters one through thirty-two i think

#mi spoilers #mister impossible #mister impossible spoilers #trc #spoilers spoilers i am so sorry if i spoil this for anyone!!!

12 notes · View notes

purple-baby-d · 4 years

Text

hearts awakened

San × female reader.

Genre: Angst, smut.

Word count: 3,929 words.

Content: vigilant!san, hostage!reader, criminal!ateez (hongjoong, seonghwa, yeosang, wooyoung), abduction, self-harm, blood, violence, stockholm syndrome, foreplay, oral sex (both receiving), unprotected sex, self-defense murder, a whole lotta sin.

Brief: your father's shady businesses had you landing in the hands of a group of criminals, but one of them is there just as captive as you are.. and unbelievably handsome too.

Dedicated to @theravengoddess ♡

You gained consciousness little by little, the most terrible headache numbing all your senses and making you dizzy as you tried to open your eyes. Distorted voices were audible from afar, none of them recognizable for you. "For fuck's sake, Seonghwa!" you heard someone yelling. "Do you even know who the fuck that is?!".

"Someone you will have a lot of fun with, Sannie. Someone whose daddy will be willing to pay his entire fortune for just to know that his little girl is resting in one piece", you heard another voice, then for the second time, you heard a metallic noise.

"I don't wanna hurt her", the guy from earlier replied, making me confused. "Please, don't make me do this".

You could hear a loud smack, as if a slap had taken place on the scene in front of your closed lids. You heard a little sobbing, the hit had to be pretty strong for it to be audible even from the distant place the voices could be heard. "If she tries to escape or do something stupid, kill her", the first guy mumbled, shutting the heavy iron gate behind him closed.

You finally opened your eyes, finding the environment cold and unfamiliar, a single white light bulb shining above you. You heard five pairs of footsteps walking towards you and you pretended to be unconscious again. A cold water bucket was then thrown over you, making you shiver and burst your eyes open, gasping at the freezing sensation product of the mixture of the room's already cold temperature and the ice-cold liquid thrown over you.

"Look alive, sunshine!", the first guy exclaimed, a good-looking angel with a demoniac glare. His smile hinting you just right about the evil in his intentions. "Oh, baby, was this too rude?", he asked while pretending to be ashamed. "My most sincere apologies, Sleeping Beauty, but we're not here to fucking babysit you", he groaned the last part, the blade of a knife lining your jawline. "You see, your daddy came into our land thinking he was the king around here, and... we never got that memo".

Of course, it was because of your dad. You knew from a very young age your father's businesses were up to no good, and that was what your mother tried to always keep you and your sister away from. But after their divorce sentenced your father had your full custody, you became the local Blue Jasmine, the protagonist of the picture hanging over his studio's chimney. And it had sure brought you lots of trouble, but nothing like that you were experiencing now.

"Wooyoung, the phone!", he yelled at another guy, a grey-haired demon. He handed him a pre-paid phone, talking to it immediately after grabbing it. "Oh, hey, sir" he said jokingly, looking at you with a smirk, "I believe I have someone you're pretty interested on".

As he placed the phone's microphone closer to your mouth, his knife slightly cut your skin, making you scream in pain, "Dad!", you yelled, pleasing them. A single drop of your blood fell into Hongjoong's finger, which he then licked off, making you feel sick. "No, no, we will need to discuss furthermore, so that means I'm keeping her as a safe, sir..." he said, walking away as you heard your father's worried and angry voice through the phone's speakers. A blonde, tall guy who you recognized as Seonghwa wrapped a bandana tightly around your head, making you bite into it as it kept you from speaking. It was so tight you could felt the edges or your mouth burning as it bruised them, making you tear up because of how painful it felt.

"Don't worry, sir, she'll be in the best hands, my friend San will take care of her until you give us back what's rightfully ours, are we clear?", Hongjoong finished the call, throwing the phone into the ground and smashing it until destroyed. You looked at them as they left, their leader's psychotic eyes following yours as he caressed your cheek one last time. "Don't try anything stupid or it will be the last thing you'll ever try", he warned you.

You just cried silently as they left, your sight lowering as you just prayed for something to light up your darkness besides that light bulb. You then felt a pair of hands touching you, loosening the knot behind your head and eventually letting the fabric fall. The owner of those hands then looked at you, using that same fabric to clean the blood coming out of your chin. He carefully poured over a plastic-like substance over the cut, making you flinch at the burning sensation, which after a few seconds felt relieving. He just looked at you, eyes full of regret, and then took the time to dry your tears out. You were shocked at how good-looking those guys were, but this one —you didn't know if it was because of his raven hair and eyes or the way he was so careful with you— made you somewhat... fall in love with him.

"I'm sorry, Y/N" he mumbled, combing your hair with his hands. You were shocked because he called you by your name, but even more uneasy because you knew he was telling the truth. He was sorry.

You fell asleep, thirst making your throat burn as your stomach roared with hunger. Faintly, you listened to the gate opening again, and the steps of the other four criminals walking in. You clenched your teeth, feeling the bandana around your mouth again, more loose, but there.

"Oh, Sannie, don't let her lose more blood than necessary" you heard a new voice saying which then sighed, confusing you. "Calm down, Wooyoung, with some food she'll be fine", another voice responded. "You think we're gonna feed her too? No fucking way, Yeosang, it's not a fucking hotel" you heard Seonghwa, but then Hongjoong shushed them, grabbing your chin again. "Her father's collaborating, we must collaborate too", you heard him, then felt your head fall abruptly as he let it go. You heard the door opening again and the warm smell of a pizza invaded your nostrils, making you dizzy.

"You know how this works, we'll come again tomorrow and I want her alive", Hongjoong ordered. The gate closed again, and then was when you opened your eyes. There again, the raven-haired boy was in front of you, his glare empty as he released your hands, your legs still tied to the chair. He loosened the knot of the bandana again so that you could eat, handing you then a slice of pizza he grabbed for you. You realized his hand was wounded, a long cut started healing in his palm.

When he realized you didn't have the strength to take it, he held it close to your mouth. "Come on, open up", he told you with a little smile, trying to motivate you. You parted your lips, then opening your mouth to be fed by the guy, a little "there you go" mumbled out of his lips as he cleaned your mouth with another piece of fabric. He smiled at you once you'd finished the slice, crust included. Cleaning your mouth and offering you a bottle of water, which you held with the strength you earned, he then grabbed a bandage, wrapping it around his hand, and you noticed how he struggled with doing it himself. "Let me help you", you offered. He looked at you, a little surprised as he realized you could talk, but he walked back your way, looking at you with his sorry eyes as he handed you the bandage, showing you more clearly the wound in his hand. You didn't know how he'd gotten hurt, because you didn't remember seeing any wounds in it yesterday as he stroke your hair. But you just silently helped him, your hands wrapping the bandage tightly around his arm and making sure not to hurt him. But once you were done, your eyes met like never before, close enough for your breaths to mix.

But just as the distance became shorter, you could hear the gate being unlocked again. "Shit", he whispered, your first reflect to act unconscious as he quickly tied the noose of the bandana around your mouth again. Your hands holding themselves behind your back, pretending to be tied. He ran back as you could hear the gate opening, by the time one of them started speaking, you had fallen asleep again as your system nervously shut down, right after realizing the worrying amount of blood that stained your white dress.

And the certainty that it wasn't yours.

Once you were left alone again, you could feel him undoing the knots that tied you down to the chair. He carried you in his arms and laid you down on a softer surface, making the cold stop when he covered you with a cotton blanket. After what felt like days you opened your eyes, looking around the room for the raven-haired boy.

"S-San?", you called the name you heard days ago, you could see your shoes right beside the bed, but that was pretty much everything you could see due to the pitch black darkness that filled the room. Did he leave you? You didn't know for sure, but for some reason, that made you nervous. "San?", you called again, this time loud and clear, but the sound of your nerves being more evident. Then, you looked at the other side of the mattress you were laying down in, finding a silhouette on the floor. There he was, the raven-haired boy, sleeping on the floor with nothing but a pillow, his face visible to you even in the darkness.

Curious, you got out of bed, covering yourself with the blanket as you walked down until being beside him, sitting down crossing your legs. Your eyes landed on his face, his sharp angles and defined jawline being what caught your eye the most. But then, your attention landed on his lips, closed shut and finely drawn into his face. Those lips that asked for your forgiveness more than once, those lips you wanted to know closely.

But then, something else caught your eye: his glare directly towards you. You panicked for a moment, not really knowing what to do, the raven-haired boy woke up while you were staring at him shamelessly. But he just got up slowly until sitting down, right in front of you. He wasn't much of a chatter, you could tell. He hardly ever spoke, the largest conversation he kept with someone for the time lapse you'd spent captive being that one you heard when you first realized your fate, where he asked those guys not to make him hurt you.

You just looked at him, taking his wounded hand in yours as he tried to figure out what was going on inside your head. "The blood on my dress isn't mine", you stated. He looked down and shook his head in denial, as you slowly caressed his skin with your fingers. "The bed I'm sleeping on isn't for me either", he shook his head again, then driving his eyes back to yours. You just shyly posed your hand on his cheek, his hand laying on top of yours as he lowered his sight again. "I'm a horrible person", he mumbled, "but I don't wanna hurt you".

You knew plenty of guys like him because of your father's job, guys who did it because they had no other choice. Guys who owed things to your dad and had to pay their debt by playing his shady games. "A horrible person wouldn't hurt himself for a hostage", you told him. He looked back at you, silently asking again for your forgiveness. "I don't need to forgive you because I don't hold anything against you, but if you need me to say it, I forgive you, San".

You got closer to him, he did the same, and just as you were about to erase the distance, you whispered again: "I forgive you".

Your lips crashed like waves in the shore, his lips were soft and tender, willing to know yours in a calm and loving way. Still, that tender kiss didn't hold for long as he pulled you closer, your legs wrapping around his waist as you sat in his lap. With your hands lost in his raven hair, his tongue slipped into your mouth, both of you so desperate for that kiss to happen you didn't mind about anything else. He got up from his spot on the floor, carrying you with him and sat down on the bed you were sleeping in moments prior. He laid you down on the bed, his lips not leaving yours until you started playing with the hem of his sweater, wanting it anywhere but there. He looked at you, as if he was asking if you were sure about what the both of you were going into. But with a simple nod, he understood you wanted this.

He took his sweater off, throwing it next to the bed as you took your time to admire his built torso, scarred and bruised every now and then, but a great compliment to the list of things you liked about the guy standing in front of you. You kissed him again after taking off your blood-stained dress as well, wanting the two of you to be equal. But still, he wouldn't let you roll equally. He traveled south with his kisses, not letting you do the same because, according to him, he would only let you do that "when we're out of here". He undid your bra and slipped down your underwear only when you commanded him to, after being tired of feeling his kisses only pleasing your uncovered skin.

The whole sensation of his lips sinking in your skin so tenderly had you seeing the stars with every contact, and the way he just knew how to do you without you being able to do anything about it. As his kisses traveled all the way to your core, you could certainly not decide if you wanted his tongue eating you until dry or not, because as soon as he first licked down there, you hoped your father wouldn't find you soon. "Fuck" you moaned, a little grin drawn on San's face since it was so funny for him to think he was making daddy's little girl swear while eating her out, his mind painting a fake scenario where he would tell your dad "my congratulations to the chef, I found her incredibly delicious".

Once he started tasting the first drops of your arousal, he stopped, parting away from your core only to meet your lips, giving you a taste of yourself while he took off his underwear, a throbbing erection coming out of its cage as you felt even better by thinking how your moans and the taste of you, that small friction of your bodies while kissing had already made him up this badly.

"Just do it", you moaned out, your rushed breath mixing with his. "Do what?", he asked you again, his dark eyes penetrating your soul. You knew exactly what you wanted, and you knew he did too, but it certainly made you bite down on your lip as you whispered: "Make me yours, San".

There was no need for a second order, as he slipped right into your dripping core so easily it made the two of you gasp, San's body heat had you feeling warm and his constant, deep thrusts made you touch the sky. "Fuck" he groaned in your ear, his facial expressions being probably the hottest thing you've ever seen as he bit down on his lip after licking it, tempting you to kiss down on them. Of course, he didn't stop you once you were doing it.

With the ridiculous pace you were keeping, it didn't take long for him to stand back once you've reached your orgasm, jerking off by himself until you decided to help him by sucking the tip of his throbbing dick, only minutes passed before he released in your mouth, the warm, salty liquid filling your guts as some of it dripped out of your mouth. You showed him your tongue once you swallowed it, not really knowing why you did it until he started cleaning you up. It made you so much more comfortable to know how he really cared about you, because you knew he did. If he just wanted sex, he would've released inside you without caring about anything. But he thought of you, he wanted you to enjoy it without caring about the future for just one night.

You kissed him again once he was done, once your dress and clothes were dressing you again, whilst he only put his pants and underwear back on, leaving his torso free for your sight. "Sleep with me tonight, please", you asked him in a whisper, your thumb softly striking his cheek. He smiled your way, his dark eyes looking into your soul as he simply nodded, laying down first and then inviting you into his naked chest.

He stroke your hair while humming a little song for you, his strong chest being your pillow and his loving arms surrounding you, there was something in San that simply made you feel safe. "I'll get you out of here, I promise", he mumbled, kissing your forehead one last time.

And you believed him.

You were awaken by the sudden feeling of loneliness, a cold shiver running down your spine as you felt the absence of San's warm embrace. "San?", you asked confused, your eyes opening enough for you to realize the room was still dark, and the empty space next to you was only occupied by a folded piece of paper. You opened it, and the simple word "run" was written above the name of the guy you slept next to. Confused, you put on your shoes and San's sweater to cover the blood stains of your dress. But as you walked out the door, you noticed blood on the floor, and as you reached the next door, you heard a loud metallic noise. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU KILLED HER?!", you heard Hongjoong's hysterical voice yelling. "She tried something stupid", he answered, lying to his leader only to save you. "We're fucking doomed, asshole. They killed Seonghwa, Yeosang and Wooyoung, the only lifesaver we had was that bratty little bitch, you're so fucking useless!" as you peeked out of the door lock, you saw Hongjoong pushing San to the ground. "You're here because you're on a fucking settlement, remember?", he asked him, confusing me. "I might have to kill your friends this time around".

You gasped, shocked as you covered your mouth. You knew for instance San wasn't a bad person, but you didn't know that he was there just as captive as you were. He was protecting his friends, and that was a story you knew you wanted to hear. You sneaked out of the room you were hiding in, watching how San slowly reached out for something as Hongjoong turned his back on him. But as soon as he reached it, Hongjoong slapped it off his hand, insanity crawling in his glare. "You were seriously gonna kill me, you coward?! You haven't killed a damn fly in all the time we've been here, you seriously thought I would believe you killed a living, breathing human being?! TELL ME, WHERE IS SHE?!".

"Over here, asshole", you said as you removed the safe and pulled the trigger of the gun recently slapped off San's hands, shooting twice. The backlash making you dizzy as you saw a dying Hongjoong falling face-first to the floor, the impression on San's face being more than obvious. You certainly weren't a first timer when it came to guns, your father taught you how to shoot one at a very young age and although back then you hated it, today you thanked him silently for helping you save the life of the guy you loved. As you drifted your attention towards the raven-haired boy, you noticed he had a new wound, this one untreated and nearly out-bleeding him. You heard sirens coming your way and you ran over towards the raven-haired boy. "We need to get out of he-", his lips crashed with yours, making it impossible for you to keep talking.

He then grabbed your hand and took the two of you over to the woods that surrounded the storage cabin that once held you and San captive, but eventually he couldn't keep going on your pace, so you wrapped one of his arms over your shoulders and started running again. You ran for hours nonstop, the thrill of what you had gone through and the fact that you had just killed someone being your fuel as you helped the guy beside you run for his life.

You spotted a hospital, your feet changing the direction of their steps as you made sure San didn't let go of your hand, even when his grip was loosening. "Help, please!", you yelled, "My boyfriend is bleeding!". The term you used made San a little shocked, but he didn't have much time to comment about it, because your desperation was good enough for you to catch the attention of the doctors who were around as the bloodstain in his shirt got bigger. They took him away, not letting you even kiss his cheek. You just sat on the waiting room as a nurse checked on your past wounds, not as big as San's.

They called the emergency contact that appeared on San's medical history, and a few minutes later three guys popped into the door rushing to the desk. "Hi, we're Choi San's friends, is he here?" the shortest one out of the three asked. You stood up from your seat, walking towards them, "You know San?", you asked them. They looked at you, non of the three seemed any related to San, so you could tell they were his friends. One of them rushed to hug you, you could tell they were worried. "Thank you so much for taking him here, we've been looking for him for years!", he cried out, the other tall boy taking him back. "Sorry, we didn't introduce ourselves", the guy told me, pointing to his friends: "this is Jongho, the hug enthusiast is Yunho and I'm Mingi, we're San's friends, we've been looking for him for a while now".

You just shook hands with them, not really knowing how to digest that information. "How do you know each other?", you asked him, he simply laughed nervously, and then's when Jongho spoke. "We're orphans, we grew up together, we're our only family", he explained you. You sighed, definitely having some more questions, but the doctors came out to inform you that the bleeding stopped and that San was stable and ready to leave that place. That was all you needed to know.

Once the four of you were in front of him, you could see four grown up boys tearing up as they hugged him carefully, San's apologies being shushed away by them. "Sannie is back home, that's all that matters", Yunho said. "And we have to thank this girl for that, why don't you introduce her?", Mingi teased him. He just walked over to me and held my face between his hands, asking me a little "are you okay?" to which I nodded. He then took my hand, and looking at me he answered.

"She's the girl who awakened my heart".

to the girl who awakened my heart ♡

#san #ateez san #ateez #ateez smut #purple-baby-d txt

126 notes · View notes

valeriethepussycats · 3 years

Text

Inside Out

Chapter 2

Pairing- Loki x Reader

Warning- cursing

Your thoughts and other characters are in italics. Flashbacks are in bold.

In the aftermath of the battle, the Marauders had all been shackled together and lined up for their trip back to Asgard, and to prison. Escorted by the Einherjar, they made their way over to where Heimdall would open the Bifrost. All the while the Vanir watched, thankful that their realm was now free from danger. The Vanir sighed. Yes, their campground and village had been destroyed and mostly burned down in the fierce battle, but they would rebuild. They were a strong race, and this is what made them a part of the Nine Realms.

Hogun the Grim was talking to a Vanir woman and her child, but broke off his conversation to rejoin Thor. “I am ready,” the warrior said, his mace at his side.

“No,” Thor began, as he gently placed his hand on the warrior��s chest. “The peace is nearly won across the Nine Realms. It’s best to be where your heart is. For now, Asgard can wait.”

Hogun clenched his black mace. He wanted Thor to know that this was his battle just as much as it was Thor’s. He wanted Thor to know that he would fight till the end to bring peace, not only to Vanaheim, but to the Nine Realms. Yet Hogun didn’t have to say this. After years of battling monsters, Frost Giants, and ungodly beasts, these two friends had an unspoken bond. Thor knew how Hogun felt. And Thor also knew that Hogun had a family to watch over. Hogun closed his eyes and sighed, then looked over at his family. Thor was right.

Hogun the Grim nodded to the Mighty Thor, grateful and thankful for his old friend’s compassion. If it wasn’t for Thor, Hogun’s people and family would not be here. “You have my thanks,” Hogun said as the two clasped wrists.

“And you, mine,” Thor said as Hogun returned to his hillside ridge and his wife and child.

“Thor looked to the bright, blue skies to signal the keeper of the Bifrost, the all-seeing, all-knowing sentry Heimdall. “Heimdall, when you are ready!” But as the Bifrost blasted down from the sky and transported everyone back to Asgard”

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Loki is in his cell pacing back and forth. Thinking of all the events that had happened.

This is about someone else you are not worthy of.

What does it mean to be worthy of someone? Odin brought Y/n here to spite him to show him what he lost and could never get back. But he didn’t let that worry him right now. He was more concerned about Y/n, those black veins appeared on neck when she was feeling stressed out.

“Does Y/n have another power?” he mumbled to himself.

Y/n appears in behind Loki. “My lord or is it my prince ?” Y/n wondered. “I don’t know nothing about royal customs.”

“How are you here?” Loki questioned as he walks up to Y/n and touches her face.

“Odin gave me the two weeks.” Y/n answered.

“I find that hard to believe.” Loki divulged.

“Wow I thought the dungeons would be dark and gloomy.” Y/n said looking around.

“Well this dress looks familiar.”

“It does doesn’t it.”

Loki grabs Y/n’s hand and spin her around and they start to sway. “Your mother is amazing and so beautiful.”

“Yes she is but I think I met a person who’s is equally as beautiful.” Loki said dipping Y/n, while doing so he looks at her neck and doesn’t see the black veins.

“I do not know of such person.” Y/n said with a smile.

“Me neither. But I guess only time will tell.”

Y/n looks at Loki, this is what true happiness is being with him even if it’s in a cell. It’s like a longing feeling she’s been having is gone. Y/n lends up and kisses Loki with every in her. The kiss was soft and slow, revealing the intensity of the moment. He pulled away and catches his breath.

“I miss you.” Loki said staring deep into Y/n’s eyes

“I miss you.” Y/n said without missing a beat.

Loki grabs Y/n in his arms and start to sway. He know that he shouldn’t ask about it but he can’t help it he has to know if something is wrong, if she’s ok.

“Y/n.”

Y/n had laid her head on Loki’s shoulder lost in the moment. “Mmh.”

“Are your powers growing?” Loki said with a voice soft with affection.

“Ya, why you ask.”

“Black veins appeared on neck earlier.”

“Powers are connected to my emotions so when ever I feel strongly about something they start to flares up.” Y/n explained.

“You are going to be alright?” Loki said with a worried voice.

“Ya I am....now.” Y/n said as she lean back and wraps her arms around his neck then looked at him with curiosity in her eyes. “Since we’re asking questions, we’re you ok....back on earth?”

“Of course.” Loki lied.

“It’s just....you feel like how you was in the dream world.” Y/n said not convince.

“We are in your mind......perhaps it was something you did.” Loki said in his best to take the conversation off him.

“Maybe.”

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Heavy broadswords clashed against shields, spears were thrown at high velocity toward their targets, and armored guards battled against one another in elaborate war games. Led by Tyr, the Einherjar drill instructor known for the metal hand that replaced the real one that he had lost long ago in glorious battle, these were the Asgardian training grounds, and they were very, very active. Above it all circled two large black ravens. They watched the proceedings with keen interest before landing on a ledge next to the King of Asgard, Odin Allfather, who looked down at his troops. While still a great sovereign leader, Odin was growing older, and with age came the fatigue and weariness that only ruling can bring.

“Is Vanaheim secure?”

“As are Nornheim and Ria. Though our work would have gone more quickly with you at the fore.” Thor said in a level way.

“You must think I'm a piece of bread that needs to be buttered so heavily.” Odin said in a curious tone.

“That was not my intent.” Thor said in his best way to assure Odin.

“For the first time since the Bifrost was destroyed, the Nine Realms are at peace. They're well reminded of our strength and you have earned their respect and my gratitude.” Odin proclaimed proudly.

“Thank you.”

“Nothing out of order except your confused and distracted heart.”

“This isn't about Jane Foster, Father.”

“Human lives are fleeting, they are nothing.” Odin declared. “You'd be better served by what lies in front of you.” Odin said as he briefly turns to look at Sif. “I'm telling you this not as the all-father but as your father. You are ready. The time has come for you to take the throne. Embrace and celebrate what you've won. Join your warriors. Eat and drink, revel in their celebration......At least pretend to enjoy yourself.”

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

And as they celebrate, as he watches the others enjoying themselves it's obvious his heart is not in it, he walks over to the balcony to join Sif.

“There was a time you would celebrate for weeks.” Sif said with a moment's reflection.

“I remember you celebrated the battle of Haragon so much that you nearly started a second.” Thor teased softly.

“Well, the first was so much fun.” Sif joked.

They both smile. “Take a drink with me. Surely the All-Father could have no further task for you tonight.”

“No, this is one I set myself.” Thor said with his mind else where.

“It has not gone unnoticed that you disappear each night. There are Nine Realms.

Future king of Asgard must focus on more than one.” Sir said sounded slightly brittle.

“I thank you for your sword and for your counsel, good Lady Sif.” he turns and walks off the balcony. As he’s about to leave the palace he hears a familiar voice, with curiosity he follows the sound.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Y/n and Gambit are outside on the balcony looking over Asgard. Both of them makes an check mark in the air to symbolize that they’ve been inside a castle/palace not knowing that they wanted to. Y/n still can’t believe she’s here she never thought she would be able to come to Asgard.

“The king is letting me stay for two weeks.” Y/n announced walking on the edge of the balcony.

“Because of Loki. Y’know I would love to meet him.” Gambit said as his eyes burning a darker red then before.

“Ya, no that’s not happening, he’s not met you.“ Y/n aughed.

“Why not?” Gambit said in a curious way.

“I can see it now the ‘dad talk ‘if you hurt my Y/n, I’ll hunt you down.’” Y/n said waving her finger at Gambit.

“Hell he needs to know that if he hurts you I’ll kill him.” Gambit said meaning the words more seriously than they sounded.

You will kill him and my dad would bring him back and kill him again and then kill me for falling for him

“Are you sure you’re going to be ok here? I know your powers are growing and any little thing could set you off.” Gambit said, kneading his face.

Y/n gets down from the balcony and walks over to Gambit. She puts both of her hands on his shoulders. “Gambit, I’m gonna be fine.” Y/n said with a warm smile. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Petit, I always worry.” Gambit said, pursing his lips.

”And I love you for it.” Y/n said with a smile.

Y/n grabs Gambit arm and they walks off the balcony. “Let go back to the celebration. I don’t think we’ve drink enough.”

“Petit, you had four glasses of wine.” Gambit exposed.

“My water intake makes it really hard to get drunk you know that. I just feel funny but in a good way.” Y/n explained.

Gambit laughs.

“I could fly you around the city.” Y/n said giggled. “We’ll get to see very thing then.”

“Y/n?!” Thor called out from down the hallway.

“Thor!” Y/n speed walks over to him. “I thought you were on Vanaheim.”

“I was.” Thor said bear hugging Y/n. “How are you here?”

“Your father brought me here.” Y/n answered.

“Because of Loki.” Thor noted.

“Ya he’s supposed to spin the rest of his days in the dungeons.” Y/n said with an eye roll.

“Loki gets what he deserves.” Thor remarked.

“Come on now we’re doing the tough guy act.....how’ve you’ve been?”

“Fine.” Thor said in a casual tone.

“Lier.” Y/n said with a small smile.

Gambit finally makes his way up to Thor and Y/n. “Thor this is Gambit, Gambit this is Thor.”

“The god of thunder..Y/n has told me a lot about you.” Gambit said holding it his hand for Thor to shake.

Thor shakes Gambit’s hand. “I wish I can say the same but it is my fault.”

“Don’t worry bout.” Gambit said with flashing eyes.

“We was just about to get A tour of the palace but the person disappeared.....” Y/n trailed of.

“I could show you around.” Thor suggested.

“I would like that.” Y/n smiled.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

It was a typically rainy day in London, and astrophysicist Jane Foster was nervous. She was running late for a meeting, but not one that had to do with science or what had happened a few years back in New Mexico. Nor was it anything S.H.I.E.L.D.-related. No, for Jane, this was much worse: Jane had a date.

Jane regarded herself in her bedroom mirror as she put on more eye shadow. Then, for the fourth time in five minutes, she brushed her brown hair. Then she fixed her shirt again. Then it was back to her hair. With a sigh, Jane finally gave in. She grabbed her jacket and made her way through her tiny flat to the door, passing a variety of scientific equipment along the way. As Jane slammed the door, she was unaware that one of her scanners had suddenly come to life and begun to go haywire.

“Inside the Italian restaurant, Jane hid her face behind her menu, lifting it only slightly to peek across at her date, Richard, and give him a practiced smile. It was clear, at least to her, that she did not want to be there. Jane is looking at her menu feeling awkward when Richard slides a napkin in front of her with the word 'Hi' written on it.

“Hi.”

“So what's the story with you?” Richard asked.

“Why does there have to be a story, there's no story.” Jane answered.

“You've spent the first ten minutes of our date hiding behind a menu that has three choices on it. It's either chicken, vegetarian or fish, Jane. I think there's a story and I'm thinking the story involves a guy?” Richard wondered.

“It's complicated.” Jane disclosed.

“Is he still around?” Richard asked.

“No, he...went away.” Jane answered.

“I've been there. The going away, it's hard. I'd been seeing a woman and uh...she took a job in New York, eventually the distance killed it. And...and the fact that she uh...she kept sleeping with other dudes.” Richard explained.

“No!” Jane said in horror.

“Oh, so many.”

Darcy walks up to Jane and Richard's table.

“Hi. Um...could we get some wine please?” Richard asked.

“Sure, I'd love some.” Darcy said looking at Richard.

“Richard, this is Darcy.” Jane explained then she looks over at Darcy. “What are you doing here?”

Darcy grabs a chair from the opposite table and drags it across to their table.

“Oh, hello.”

Darcy sits next to Jane and helps herself to a piece of bread and starts buttering it.“So, I show up to work at the lab-slash-your mom's house, fully expecting you to be moping around in your pajamas eating ice cream obsessing about you know who...

“Ah.”

“But you're not! You're wearing lady clothes, you even showered, didn't you? You smell good.” Darcy said with a encouraging smiles.

“Is there a point to all this, cause there really has to be a point to all this.” Jane stated.

“Right. You know that scientific equipment you don't look at anymore? You might wanna start looking at it now.” Darcy said gives Jane the gadget.

“This is the reason we came all the way out here.” Darcy started.

“It's malfunctioning.” Jane answered.

“That's what I said.”

Jane starts hitting the gadget on the table.

“That's what I did! But you just hit a little more scientific.” Darcy said as she shrug her shoulders.

“I’m sure it's nothing.” Jane remarked.

“Yeah.” Richard agreed.

Jane hands the gadget back to Darcy. “It didn't look like nothing. Kind of looks like the readings that Erik was rambling about.” Darcy said to Jane then look over at Richard. “Our friend Erik, kind of went banana-balls.”

“He's not interested. I'm not interested. Time for you to go now.” Jane said with a controlled smile.

“Okay.” Darcy rises and drags her chair back to where she got it from, then turns and walks off.

“Short but sweet.” Richard expressed.

“She needs help.” They start looking at their menus again, but Jane looks distracted by what Darcy told her.

“I think I'm gonna have the sea bass.” Richard announced.

“Sea bass. Yeah, sea bass is good.” Jane nodded agreeably.

To herself as she thinks about what Darcy showed her. “Sea bass, sea bass, sea bass, sea bass, sea bass, sea bass, sea bass...sea bass. Sea bass...”

“Jane, maybe you should stop saying sea bass and go out to your friend.” Richard suggested.

Jane looks at him awkwardly. “This was so fun.”

“You know, I'll just stay here and say sea bass alone.”

#loki x black!reader #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x black reader #thor x reader #thor x jane

14 notes · View notes

vintagedaydreams · 4 years

Text

TLNRS Mini Reboot

Guys, I did a thing. Sooooooo, a reader asked if sometime I would be able to write a chapter one reboot of TLNRS where the reader asked to be killed instead of punishing Carlisle. And I was all, ‘Sure! Great idea! Not sure when I’ll get to it, but if I come up with something, I’ll let you know!’ yadda yadda yadda. Welp. Here it is.

I actually wrote 2 of them. 2 complete different stories, though the first half is the same in both.

Uh….sorry, not sorry??

NOT GONNA LIE, THERE ARE SOOO MANY SCENARIOS THIS COULD TAKE: THERE MAY BE MORE OUTCOMES EVENTUALLY??

These are not edited, not even proof read all the way and I honestly wasn’t sure how to end either one since I DO NOT want to make these into full stories since, you know, I already have 2 WIPs.

So, be warned! They may suck.

Buuuuuuuut, they’re written. So without further ado, the first one!

@kettnerjanea @katsav17 @imyourapocalypse @bethanymccauley @whirlpoolsink @rasberryfon-fon

Volterra, Italy. A walled city in the middle of Italy, you know, the country that's on the opposite continent of America? Yes, that Volterra, Italy. A place you'd never been to in your life.

And yet, here you were. With the Cullen family and your mate. Your mate that you didn't know was your mate and who you actually thought was already happily mated to another. Another vampire. Your mate, Carlisle and Esme, his apparent not-mate vampire friend.

Can you say homewrecker? Ever since you found out that Carlisle was your mate and not Esme's, (the woman who had treated you like another daughter since the day Bella dragged your human self over to their house), you'd been practicing that word. Homewrecker. Homewrecker. Homewrecker.

Carlisle was a great guy...er, vampire, and let’s be honest, he was not only gorgeous, but kind, compassionate, caring, sweet, gentle, remember mentioning gorgeous?, but, he'd been taken! And quite happily for quite some time.

Then you walk in, unprepared and unawares and suddenly, BAM!, no more 'I love you, Esme'. Did you ever feel like a heel, or what?

To make matters worse, assuming they could get worse, you all had been summoned to Volterra. For multiple reasons. Apparently you and Bella being human still was something of a problem and because Carlisle and Esme had marked each other as mates, even though they weren't "true mates", Carlisle was going to be punished. Supposedly, since you were his mate yet he'd marked another and been marked in return, you were the one slighted.

Quite frankly, you felt as if you should be the one getting punished. You'd just destroyed his and Esme's relationship that they'd had for like...decades!

What if you didn't want to be the horrible human being who tore people apart?

A gentle hand on your elbow startled you out of your thoughts and you turned to see Carlisle, looking down at you in concern.

"There is nothing for you to be worried about, Y/N," he said quietly, with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. You'd seen a lot of that recently. The mating pull, as Edward had explained to you, was in effect, making Carlisle super protective, possessive and worried about you.

Which was pretty much a dream come true. Who didn’t want a handsome, sensitive, intelligent and caring man fawning over and providing for them?

But you could see that he wasn't happy about it. He was no longer quite the care-free doctor you’d first met. Now, there was more of a stoop to his shoulders and it weighed heavy on your own heart to know that your mate wasn't content with you. That your mate was actually miserable being with you.

Apparently this 'mating pull' went both ways. Super.

The doors before you were suddenly opened and you were all beckoned into the throne room. You walked in beside Carlisle with Esme, Edward and Bella directly behind. You would rather have been just about anywhere other than here under these circumstances.

Maybe you could just die? Cue mental snort. Okay, so that sounded a bit melodramatic. But...everything would go back to normal then, right? Esme, (whom you'd briefly started to think of as another mother), would get Carlisle back and Carlisle...well, he didn't seem too sold on this whole, 'You’re his mate' thing, so it probably wouldn't be that hard for him to bounce back. Bella would understand since she'd already tried dying multiple times for her loved ones and the rest of the Cullen family weren't incredibly happy with you for stealing their dad away from their mom.... This could work. 'Course, you'd have to make sure Carlisle wouldn't get punished again, but if you made it look like an accident and not that you’d actually died because of this whole mating thing, then he couldn't get into any trouble for it!

You started to think of all the ways it could happen. Your family hadn't spoken to you since you moved to Forks almost four months ago, so they'd be fine. Stuff like this happens all the time. Well, not the whole 'suicide so your mate and his family can be happy like they were before you showed up', but accidents did happen all the time...

A low noise brought you out of your thoughts and you looked around, a bit startled at the...growl?...that you could hear. Glancing over at Carlisle, you saw him looking back at Edward in confusion and worry.

Curiosity peaked, you also turned to look at Eddie and your eyes widened in surprise. He was the one growling and he was....glaring at you? With a dangerous glint to his coal black eyes. You could've sworn they were gold when everyone stepped off the plane. His hunger couldn't be that severe- it’s not like half an hour would suddenly make him ravenous. Besides, all the veggie vamps fed before they boarded the jet to Italy.

So what the hell was his problem?

"Edward?" Carlisle asked quietly, his hand once again taking residence on your elbow. Pulling gently, the golden eyed doctor drew your closer to him.

You had to will yourself not to melt into him. He was only doing this because of the mating pull. He really loved Esme, not you. And soon, he'd be free to love her again.

Edward's growling suddenly grew louder.

Your eyes widened and all the blood rushed from your face. Well shit. This whole mind reading thing was a serious pain the ass.

Putting on your own scowl and matching glare, you turned further to face Edward.

"Would you get out of my head already?" you demanded. And preferably not tell anyone what you heard since it's really none of your bloody business in the first place, you continued mentally.

Bella was lucky she had some sort of mental block; what happened to privacy and common decency?!

"Edward?" Carlisle asked again and when Edward didn't answer, only kept growling, Carlisle turned to you. "Y/N? What's the matter?"

You turned away from Edward and back to the thrones in front of your procession where the three Volturi kings were seated and staring at you. Really. Floor, just open up and swallow you now.

"Nothing," you muttered to the doctor. "Eddie just needs to learn personal boundaries." The Carlisle you had met before he'd realized the mating pull would've still been concerned, but dropped the subject since you obviously didn't want to talk about it.

This new Carlisle who was forced to play dutiful mate, frowned and drew you into his side tighter before asking, "What were you thinking to make him growl like this?"

You tensed and gave the poor guy a fake, sweet smile. “If I wanted any of you to know, I wouldn't have thought it, I would've said it out loud."

You internally winced at how…bitchy that sounded, how cold, but you had to distance yourself and fast. This was the first time that Carlisle had really initiated any sort of contact, especially any type of comfort and it was really starting to mess with you. It was obviously expected of him here in Volterra as your Mate, but you knew that if you weren’t here, he wouldn’t be initiating any kind of contact. Or even speaking to you. He was pretty damn good and avoiding and ignoring you.

You’d always been drawn to Carlisle, from the beginning, and this sudden forced possessive and protective side to him was beginning to wear you down. If you weren’t careful, you really would be a homewrecker. Right now, you were trying your hardest to respect his wishes and not fall prey to the Pull. But as soon as you let it get to you, you would truly be the monster they all thought you were.

All you wanted was for him to be happy. Even if it wasn't with you.

Edward's growls suddenly died off and you gave a small smile, thinking he'd finally seen reason with your line of thinking and this was over.

Boy, were you wrong.

Aro had cleared his throat, focusing the attention on him.

"A very spirited mate you have there, dear friend," was the first thing out of the vampire king's mouth. Carlisle gave a small smile. That once again was a shadow of his former smiles.

"Thank you, Aro. She will certainly keep me on my toes."

You mentally snorted again. Sure. But not for much longer.

Aro suddenly stood and glided down to the group, stopping a few feet away. "My dear friend, I regret having to do this particular ceremony with you, but as is part of our laws and customs, it must be done."

Carlisle inclined his head. "I understand, Aro. And I appreciate your sentiments on the matter."

You felt your throat start to close up at the thought of Carlisle's punishment, whatever it would be, just because he marked and was marked in return by the women he loves. How was that fair?

Your attention was suddenly diverted back to Aro as he took a few steps forward to stand in front of you.

"My dear, if you would step up next to me?" he asked, holding out a hand. You'd heard about Aro's gift and mentally cursed. Great. All your ideas that you hadn't even finished yet, would be heard by yet another mind reader. But maybe there was a way to block certain thoughts? Edward had told Bella and yourself that Aro could hear every thought you'd ever had. Past tense. So maybe if you continued thinking your plans, they wouldn't be able to be seen...?

It was worth a try. Not like it would hurt anything. If it failed, well, he would be able to see anything either way.

So, with a deep breath, and more low growls from Edward, you stepped forward, placing your hand in Aro's.

Surprisingly gentle, the vampire king pulled your away from the half of the Cullen coven and up towards the thrones. You had made it to the base of the stairs leading up to the other two kings when Aro suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, (no pun intended), and swiftly turned to stare at you.

Because that wasn’t intimidating at all.

Judging by the now tense atmosphere in the room, apparently this wasn't part of the normal proceedings.

"Brother?" one of the kings, Marcus perhaps?, asked in a quiet voice. Still staring unblinking at you, Aro didn't answer for a moment.

"Aro?" Carlisle asked, worry prominent in his voice. You tried to smother the wince that crossed your face, couldn’t you do anything right?, but judging by Aro's suddenly sharper gaze, you were pretty sure you failed. Apparently, he'd also read all your thoughts from just a little while ago, so change that fail to an Epic Fail.

When did your life turn into this? Who did you piss off in a past life to deserve this?

"Brother," Aro suddenly asked, seeming to snap out of his stupor and continuing you both up the stairs to his throne, "what do their lines look like?"

Nobody in the room needed to have 'their' clarified and everyone waited with baited breath to see what Marcus would discover.

Seeming to zone out for a few moments, Marcus' eyes suddenly refocused and he answered, "They are strong, brother. But not as strong as other true mates."

All eyes turned to look at you. Edward's brows were drawn into a deep glare and you uncomfortably looked away. The family would either hate you because you were with their 'dad' or hate you because you freed him from your bond. Either way, there was no way to win.

"Hm," Aro murmured thoughtfully, "I wonder if it is because she is human or because of...something else." He threw a significant look to you that you ignored the best you could.

Edward started growling again.

"Aro," Carlisle's voice growled out, impatient. "What is going on with my mate?"

"I think, my dear friend, that that is a question best left for said mate to answer. However, first, I believe our ceremony should get underway."

Immediately, all the Cullen's stiffened. Only Bella and yourself remained unaware to what exactly that meant.

"Y/N," Aro said suddenly, taking a seat in his throne and gently pulling you to stand beside him, "your mate, Carlisle has marked and been marked in return by another. Now, as a human, you probably do not feel as insulted as a vampire would, for this is one of the worst things that a true mate can do to another. The highest form of cheating our world has."

Carlisle's head bowed down as if under a huge weight and Esme looked from him to you with shiny eyes. Tears? Great, as if you didn't feel awful before...

"As his actual mate," Aro continued when you didn't say anything, "you get to decide how he should be punished."

It was quiet for a moment before you suddenly blinked and snapped your head down to meet Aro’s ruby eyes. "What? Me?"

The vampire king nodded. "Yes, you. You were the one slighted and so, you are the one to demand the compensation. We've seen a few cases of this over the centuries. Some vampires have their mates tortured to teach them a lesson, others have had their mates kill the vampire they mistakenly marked while a few have even had their mates killed."

Your eyes, which had gotten progressively wider now threatened to pop out of your head. Why was everything so violent with these people? You were suddenly even more thankful that you weren’t a vampire... You didn't want to feel the need to have Carlisle do any of those things!

"Since you are human, my guard is at your disposal for whichever method you choose that you cannot fulfill yourself. Of course, you don't have to do any of those options. You are free to choose whatever you wish."

You were silent as you stared at the Cullen's, mind racing to try and find a way that would appease the ceremony but that didn't involve hurting anybody. Especially Carlisle.

It’s not like it was his fault that he found a woman and fell in love with her! Granted, it wasn’t your fault either that your eyes met, but maybe, you could fix it for him? After all, what kind of future could you have with Carlisle if he hated you for taking away his freedom and choice of mate?

"Might I suggest the second option that other slighted mates have used in the past?" Aro spoke up after a few minutes of you trying to figure out what to do.

Your eyes snapped back to his. "The option where you have your mate kill the woman he marked that was not you,” Aro continued with a barely concealed smirk. “I do believe this will solve quite a lot in this case."

You’re not sure where you got the guts to do it, but you glared heatedly down at Aro's smirking face. He knew of your half baked plan to get Carlisle and Esme back together and was just saying that to get a rise out of the Cullen's.

And boy, did it work.

Bella gasped while Esme's eyes shot to yours. She quickly averted her gaze, though you could see her hands trembling. Edward was looking at you with an unreadable expression and Carlisle... Carlisle looked miserable and heartbroken. He honestly thought...they all honestly thought that you would...

You felt tears sting your eyes. Did they really have so little faith in you? Think so little of you that they thought you would have Carlisle tear apart the women he loves because they had marked each other? Were you really that awful of a person to them? You didn't choose to be his mate! You didn't mean to take him away from anybody!

A stubborn tear broke free and languidly trailed down the side of your face.

Edward's face bore the softest expression you'd ever seen pointed in your direction and you shut your eyes to block him out. You didn't need his pity. Or anybody else’s.

Taking a shaky breath, you drew your shoulders back. You’d made your decision.

You opened your eyes and with as much courage as you could muster, you looked down to meet the expectant eyes of the Vampire King seated in his throne beside you.

“Kill me instead,” you murmured quietly, though you knew that every vampire in the room could hear you if the sudden deafening silence was any indication.

The smirk that had been playing around Aro’s mouth disappeared and he sat up even straighter.

“What was that?” he asked, voice still friendly with faux cheer, but with an undercurrent of disbelief.

You took a deep breath, before repeating even quieter, “I choose to be killed myself.”

You weren’t able to keep eye contact with Aro for very long – those ruby eyes were boring into you and making you uncomfortable and self conscious.

And you didn’t dare look over to the Cullens. You weren’t sure what expressions would be on their faces, but if you saw any relief from Carlisle or Esme that their Problem would soon be taken care of… You just couldn’t see their happiness at your death. It would crush you more than you already were.

A loud snarl suddenly tore through the throne room and you jumped, head snapping towards the Cullens.

Edward was furious.

Eyes jet black and wild, fangs elongated and rage painted across his face, he truly looked the Vampire he was.

“This is all your fault!” he roared at his sire, spittle flying from his lips as he advanced on Carlisle.

Aro shifted as if to intervene, but surprisingly, the King on the other side of you, Marcus, rose first and was suddenly standing before Carlisle and Esme.

The tension in the room skyrocketed and even Edward quickly backed down in the midst of the fury the brunette king was radiating, instead settling a bit and flashing over to Bella to draw her into his arms and soothe her as she was a bit lost over what was happening and the reason for Edward’s rage.

“Your Bond Mate is wishing for Death,” Marcus growled out, seeming to grow even angrier when Bella gasped, horrified that you would ask for that, “and yet, you stand here, passive and quiet! Bond Mates are truly the most precious thing we have in this eternal life and you would toss yours aside to have her wallow in self doubt and loathing so you can continue a charade that has no future whatsoever!”

Marcus’ hoarse voice had risen at the end and rang through the throne room. You were slack jawed standing by Aro’s throne – this was not the depressed and silent King that Edward had described. He was supposed to not care or pay attention to the goings on in the world.

A quick glance around at the guards standing along the walls showed their own disbelief and wonder at the change in their King.

What was going on?

Something cold brushed against your hand and you looked down to see Aro’s fingers leaving your hand and then he was on his feet and growling…something that you couldn’t make out.

But judging by the darkening look on Edward’s face and the fact that Carlisle and Esme had blanched, you figured he was telling everyone the thoughts that had been running through your head.

Lovely.

“I don’t want pity,” you muttered to yourself, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes to stave off any more tears. “I just…want this to stop.”

Surprisingly, yet another voice answered you and when you looked up, you were shocked to see it was the blonde, angry King, Caius speaking in your direction, while Marcus was still growling lowly at Carlisle and Esme.

“Being angry, and rightfully so, at the atrocities committed by the Cullens in regard to you is not pity. My brother,” he gestured to Marcus, “had a Bonded and lost her. Aro and I have our own Mates whom we love dearly and would die for. To have Carlisle willingly neglect you is insulting, shameful and the height of idiocy.” Here he turned his attention from you to Aro. “I told you, brother, the Cullens are a waste of venom.”

Caius’ ruby eyes bored into Edward and he gave a slight smirk. “Well, most of them anyhow.”

“Aro,” Carlisle finally spoke up, voice soft and hesitant and you held back a shudder as best you could. The growls you could hear ratcheted up a notch and you really couldn’t decide if it was comforting or scary to have more than one vampire pissed for your sake.

“My dear friend,” Aro interrupted Carlisle before he could say anything else, “when I heard of what had happened, with you finding your mate, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. After all, you have been alone for many years, and even though Marcus had informed you of your Bonded lines, I thought that maybe, you had just…lost patience. A remarkable feat for you, but it has been known to happen to other vampires, though none have had your control and restraint.”

You felt like the air had been punched out of your lungs – Carlisle knew that he had a Mate? He knew that you were coming? Maybe not when you were going to show up or who exactly you were, (though Alice should have seen you, right?) but…he knew he had a mate? And that Esme wasn’t it? You felt your legs start to shake and a few more tears spilled down your cheeks. He…he hadn’t even tried to give you a chance. He’d already made up his mind about his mate before he’d even met you!

Did…did Alice tell him about you? Did he decide that you weren’t worth it? Did you know how messed up you were, how you hadn’t always made the best choices, and just…didn’t want to deal with your shortcomings and failures? Did he not think you worthy enough of him?

Cold hands were suddenly guiding you down into what felt like a throne, but you were too numb to care who or where, instead trying to figure out where you went wrong and how this could happen to you. You never wanted this to begin with, but for Carlisle to know and still not care… It’s not like having a mate would have blindsided him - He was expecting it!

“But,” Aro had continued, voice steely and it would have frightened you had you been paying more attention, “to now have the full story, to know that you have been neglecting and blaming your Intended, that your – what do you call them, family? – has been harassing and abusing your Mate, pushing her to contemplate suicide and Death by our hands and you did nothing… Well, I do believe that it is time for the Volturi to step in and select your punishment.”

Esme’s gasp pulled you out of your thoughts and you looked up to see her and Carlisle looking at you, their eyes pleading.

“Y/N,” Carlisle suddenly said shakily, “If you can find it in your heart-“

When you flinched at his begging tone, deafening roars sounded out.

Carlisle was suddenly prone on the floor, a snarling Aro on top of him while Esme was already half dismembered by a furious Marcus.

Edward had flashed away with Bella, coming to stand next to you, but his growling was still one of the loudest in the room.

“How dare you?!” Aro thundered, eyes black as pitch and his entire being radiating menace and danger. “You throw your Bond in your Intended’s face until you feel that she can save you? We have been far too lenient with you, Cullen sire and it has cost her dearly. Let me be clear: there will be no saving you and Esme now.”

You swallowed as Marcus continued to tear Esme apart and Aro was poised over one of Carlisle’s limbs.

“Wait,” you said shakily, feeling drained yet determined. This…was not what you had in mind. Carlisle and Esme weren’t supposed to get hurt! You were the one who was going to disappear forever so they could be together.

You couldn’t have their deaths or pain on your conscience!

“They don’t deserve you,” Edward said quietly from beside you, suddenly kneeling by the throne in which you sat. “They don’t deserve any of your kindness or your sacrifice. They have made their decision and it wasn’t the right one. Now they have to pay the price for it.”

“How can following your heart be wrong?” you whispered, another tear slipping down your face. For all his faults and horrible attitude to you, you were drawn to Carlisle and you just didn’t want him hurt or upset. How would torturing or killing him and Esme be the right thing to do? Just because he went with his heart and not with the Bond?

“That Cullen is not following his heart,” Caius snorted from the other side of the throne and you jerked your head over to look at him. “He is simply too muddled, idiotic and soft to think like a proper vampire. Once Bond Mates’ eyes meet, there is no other – for either one of them. You feel a pull towards him, correct?”

You nodded, a bit ashamed that you felt something towards Carlisle while he obviously felt nothing towards you.

“If you, as a human, feel the Pull, what do you think he would feel, as a vampire? As much as he may deny it, and as much as it pains me to say it, Carlisle is a vampire. He feels the Pull the same way Aro and myself do, as Marcus did when Didyme was alive. There is no other for him – there never will be another. Him clinging to his relationship with Esme is nothing more than stubbornness and malice at this point, designed to not only hurt you who would dare to remind him that he is prey to the same vices as the rest of the Vampire world, but also in a last ditch effort to deny that which he is. Death would be a kindness to him, at this point. He is obviously not happy being a vampire and cannot be expected to help create anyone else’s happiness either.”

You knew you were gaping a bit at the blonde next to you, but seriously, how could you not? The King that Hates Humans just basically gave you a reassuring pep talk?

…What?

A loud screeching noise jerked your attention back to the other two Kings and Carlisle and Esme, the latter completely dismembered.

“Y/N!” Carlisle tried once more, golden eyes large, frightened and locked on your own, but Aro was quick to wrench his head from his shoulders.

“Quite enough of that, I think,” the telepathic mind reader said nonchalantly, seeming back to his friendly and flamboyant personality.

How many personalities did he have, exactly?

Within moments, the rest of Carlisle followed suit; arms and legs yanked out of sockets and feet and hands separated from ankles and wrists.

Part of you wanted to look away – they were destroying your Mate and his Marked in front of you! – but a larger part of you felt…vindicated.

“As you should,” Edward said darkly from beside you, still cradling Bella to him as she watched on as well, brown eyes almost greedily taking in the destruction of the two Cullen leaders.

“You have done no wrong, Y/N,” Edward continued, “and the fact that you wished for death…” He trailed off, closing his eyes that were once again black and leaning down to inhale Bella’s scent in an obvious effort to calm himself.

“It is beyond despicable,” Caius grunted, heading back to his throne as Marcus and Aro regally ascended back up the stairs to the throne. A carelessly waved hand had the guards suddenly moving to dispose of the remains of Carlisle and Esme – permanently if the muttered remark about ‘matches’ gave any indication. They would not be leaving this castle again.

Aro stopped in front of his throne, the one that you were currently occupying and you suddenly straightened, moving to stand and remove yourself from his seat.

Another carelessly waved hand had you settling gingerly back down as Aro shocked you once again by taking a seat on the top step in front of you.

“Now that that…unfortunate business is taken care of,” he began with a large smile and childish-like glee, “it is time to get to know one another a bit better!”

You blinked once. Twice. Three times.

“What?”

Edward had also taken a seat, placing himself beside the throne with Bella pulled into his lap.

“Aro, perhaps now is not the best time,” he suggested quietly, casting you a look that had your hackles raising a bit.

Damn mind readers. Yes, you were human and yes, you had literally just asked to be killed not twenty minutes ago, but you weren’t fragile!

“What on earth do you need to know that you haven’t already read in my mind?” you asked, beyond confused as to why one of the most powerful vampires in the world would want anything to do with you now that you’d pretty much made him kill one of his oldest friends.

Edward thew a growl in your direction that had Aro impatiently holding out a hand to read Edward’s mind.

And then Aro was growling softly at you.

“You did not make me do anything, Y/N,” he said firmly, eyes narrowing. “What Carlisle did was inexcusable. And rest assured, when the rest of his Coven is destroyed as well, that too, will not be your fault.”

You blanched at the easy way in which he talked about destroying Carlisle’s entire family.

“What?! Why are they being destroyed?”

All the vampires left in the room, even the few guards remaining, gave you a disbelieving look.

You blushed. Okay, that was a pretty stupid question considering that they were just as bad, if not worse, than Carlisle. But still…a whole coven destroyed because of you?

You slunk down in the throne a bit, feeling like the weight of the world was on your shoulders.

Why couldn’t you have just had a happy ending? No deaths, no dismemberment, no misery? Just…happiness?

“Because my sire was an idiot,” Edward said quietly to you, eyes once again a bright golden and focused on you. “This is in no way your fault, Y/N. You just had…a run of bad luck.”

Your snort was echoed by one from Caius.

“All of your coven mates fall under the description of ‘bad luck’,” the blonde mocked.

“Why do you despise the Cullens?” Bella asked quietly from Edwards lap.

To your surprise, Caius not only answered but gave her his undivided attention.

“No real vampire would neglect who they are fundamentally. They wouldn’t feed off of animals, they wouldn’t feel shame for being who they are and they certainly wouldn’t neglect one of the very basic instincts of all vampires: Bond Mates.”

“But…why is it bad that some vampires drink from animals? If it makes their life easier?” Bella asked, voice a little stronger now that the King was actually answering her.

“It’s not the actual animal drinking that’s the problem,” Caius said darkly, “it’s the reason behind it. These ‘vegetarian’ vampires are ashamed to be what they are. They look down on those that have different feeding styles because they feel they are monsters. There are a lot of vampires that prey off of the scum of your human societies – the murders, molesters, rapists, thieves. And yet, they are villainized by those too weak to keep themselves from slaughtering Innocents when they are overwhelmed by scents because they are too used to barely scraping by on animals. There is no shame in being a vampire. Even those as noble as Carlisle have faults that can be greater than those they look down on.”

You stole a glance at Edward, finding him looking thoughtful at Caius’ explanation, rather than defensive or angry. Bella too.

You gave a small smile, feeling your adoration for the two grow. They had been so kind to you, your rocks during all of this. You really could never repay them.

“And you don’t have to,” Edward said quietly and you gave a watery laugh.

Damn mind readers.

Maybe this would be okay, you not having a Mate anymore. Perhaps there would be someone else out there for you. Someone you could actually have love you in return?

“Perhaps,” Aro said suddenly, and you saw his hand drop from Edward’s once again, “we can keep you here in Volterra for awhile. Make sure there are no lasting side effects from your Mate’s…sudden demise. And perhaps we can see about finding you someone who can show you what a True Mate should be like, hm?”

You looked at Aro in confusion.

The black haired monarch gave a serene smile and leaned forward.

“Tell me, my dear. Have you ever heard of a vampire named Garrett?”

#No clue what happened #I'm sleep deprived?#Not even sure what to tag this #Apology needed #Hope this was okay!#I'm not even sure what I wrote tbh

74 notes · View notes

thereisonlyoneoption · 4 years

Text

Maggie Stiefvater~Rant YA edition pt.2

I know, I know that I had to make a part about world-building but I’m pissed, I failed my exam I am at my friend house and it’s Fourth of July so I must do this.

Joseph Kavinsky.

First of all I don’t condemn his actions and yes, you can like a character but don’t agree with their actions.

My journey with The Dream Thieves was rocky, like really rocky. It was worse than The Raven Boys, I felt psychical pain while reading this one but there was only one good thing that help get through it AND IT WAS KAVINSKY.

From the first scene I liked him, I was intrigued by him and I was curious why Gangsey hates him so much. I mean what M*ggie give us are just rumours, that's when I asked myself “Why such a hate? What did he do to them?”.

And then the yo mama jokes, priceless by the way. Okay, maybe my sense humour sucks but let me tell you in polish translation “twoja stara” is golden I laughed for several minutes.

But the thing went down pretty quickly, like my face went from a happy to grim in a second and stayed that way while reading this, just to cry at the end. After that it was just anger and to this day I’m angry at M*ggie for what she did.

Lets start from beginning.

1. Kavinsky-Description

The first time we see Kavinsky it’s in the chapter 3 where we got rumours about him:

“Of course it was Joseph Kavinsky, fellow Aglionby Academy student and Henrietta’s most notorious recreational forger. Kavinsky’s infamous Mitsubishi Evo was a thing of boyish beauty, moon-white with a voracious black mouth of a grille and an immense splattered graphic of a knife on either side of the body. The Mitsubishi had just been released from a month-long stint in the police impound. The judge had told him that if he was caught racing again, they’d crush the Mitsubishi and make him watch, like they did to the rich punks’ street racers out in California. Rumor had it Kavinsky had laughed and told the judge he’d never get pulled over again. He probably wouldn’t. Rumor had it Kavinsky’s father had bought off Henrietta’s sheriff. To celebrate the Mitsubishi’s release from impound, Kavinsky had just put three coats of anti-laser paint on the headlights and bought himself a new radar detector.“

Right from the bat, characters expressed disdain of him:

“I hate that prick,” Adam said.

Then we get the “description” of him: white sunglasses, golden chain, which already is kinda lacking but then we get the infamous “refugee face”

“He had a refugee’s face, hollow-eyed and innocent.“

Okay okay, so like it wasn't already offensive, we learn later that he’s Bulgarian and as a person also from Slavic group, this description just looks bad and leaves bad taste in my mouth, because I'm fed up with Americans view of Slavs like we are all simple people, still in communist era somewhere in the Europe, who came to America to steal low income jobs.

On the other hand, how does “refugee face” looks like? Yeah, we get the line “hollow-eyed and innocent“ but it still feels offensive to Slavic group.

Luckily, in my translation it was changed to “runaway’s face” which holds the same idea but it isn't offensive and fits Kavinsky’s character better.

“There was nothing about Kavinsky that wasn’t despicable”

Just... ugh why they hate him so much, I asked myself back then but I didn't know that from this point, all went down hill.

“He was unmistakable: the sort of raven boy who was clearly an import from elsewhere.“

Okay first of all, you can import things, not actual people Blue. Second of all, combining this with “refugee face” it made me so angry like M*ggie, why can’t you describe Kavinsky normally without possibly offending half of Europe. He is human, not your new brand German car.

After that we get the rest of description “Like many of the other raven boys, he sported massive sunglasses, spiked hair, a small earring, a chain around his neck, and a white tank top.“ and that’s it. It’s all we get. There might be some things missing, like hair colour but we can forgive that.

2. Backstory

In M*ggie’s now deleted tumblr, she once wrote:

"Kavinsky has a very logical backstory that leads him to this place.”

And what did we know about Kavinsky? Practically, nothing. He’s a son of a Bulgarian mobster from New Jersey, he’s rumoured to kill his father, he’s mother is a drug-addict, he’s rich, Prokopenko is his favourite forgery and he got away with replacing him and possibly his dad. It gives the idea to what shaped him as a person but it doesn’t explained everything, like if he killed his dad, why wasn’t it? How did it ended up with him replacing Prokopenko? Why he is his favourite forgery?

But okay M*ggie say what you want but I and my friend made better backstory for him in ten minutes (like it wasn’t hard really).

3. ”We matter”

“Closing his eyes, Gansey leaned his head back on his seat, chin tilted up, throat green in the dash lights. There was still an unsafe sort of smile about his mouth — what a torment the possibility in that smile was — and he said, “There was never a time when that could’ve been you and me. You know the difference between us and Kavinsky? We matter.“

That said Gansey, the character we are supposed to like, about the kid who is not only his age but also drug addicted and possibly abused. I was furious at him for saying that because who k*rwa he is to say things like that. Is he some frigging higher being to judge someone like that?

And he was smiling while saying that? What an.. and nobody called him out on that?! It only gives the reader the idea that people like Kavinsky don’t matter and to those who relate to him that they don’t matter.

And Blue, who again made me want to throw my phone, later in the book asked literal a hitman, who offered to go to “talk” with him to “make him feel worthless” while doing it.

It’s the next example when I felt the main characters are lacking a basic human empathy, like again he is just a kid not “H*tler” like Ronan compare him to.

4. That scene

That f*king scene, we all know about.”R*pe of Ronan” as stans like to call it.

I heard the reaction of the fans to this scene even before reading this books. Of course, I was anticipating this scene and when it came:

“After a moment, he heard the hood groan as Kavinsky leaned over him. Then he felt the ridged callus of a finger drag slowly over the skin on his back. A slow arc between his shoulder blades, drawing the pattern of his tattoo. Then sliding down his spine, tensing every muscle it moved over.

But when his eyes slitted, battling sleep, Kavinsky was just doing another line of coke off the roof, body stretched over the windshield. He might have imagined it. What was real?“

I was baffled, because its bad but its nothing like fans making to be. All Kavinsky does is drag his finger on Ronan’s back tattoo, while he is falling asleep but afterwards Ronan said he doesn’t know, if it was even real, so the reader can’t tell if it was. Somebody would argue, that is a molestation but once again, we don’t know if it was real. Maybe if we got K’s PoV we could get information about this situation but now we are left in the dark what really happened that night.

And then, there is “Consent is overrated” scene

This is one of the main argument of stans preaching that K is a r*pist. Yes, that sounds horrible, we don’t have to argue about that but people missed the context of situation in which it was said.

“Ronan replied, “Not such a thief tonight.”

“Some nights,” Kavinsky said, all teeth, “you just take it. Consent is overrated.”“

Ronan and Kavinsky are referring to pulling things out of dreams and how Kavinsky is doing it aka not asking permission to take them out, unlike Ronan. But without this context, the world “consent” is mainly associated with one thing. You know what...

The bottom line is that, if we got K’s PoV, it would shine a light on his intentions and motivations to say and possibly do all of this. We can only thanks the author for that.

5. Relationship with Ronan Lynch

Maybe that will sound scandalous but I don’t think Kavinsky loved Ronan. All of their interaction seem more like obsession to me and after the dreaming of Camaro, it seem desperate.

At the beginning, after main characters expressed disdain of K, only Ronan thought something different:

“Ronan knew he ought to hate him, too.“

And I thought “Okay maybe Ronan know more about him than the rest” but as the chapters went, I wanted the end of it all.

It was toxic. I know, I know but I was hoping for a least little glimpses of possible friendship. Instead of that, I got throwing over cars, punching and exploitation between them. With Kavinsky saving Ronan from the night horror (which fans forget about in their rants how bad K is) and helping Ronan dreaming a new Camaro, I expect at least some decency? gratefulness?? at Ronan side, because nobody forced Kavinsky to do this but when Ronan got what he wanted he just peace out?! Like Kavinsky was doing all of this as a favour?

“He rolled down the window. “I’m going.” For a moment, Kavinsky’s face was perfectly blank, and then Kavinsky flickered back onto it. He said, “You’re shitting me.” “I’ll send flowers.” Ronan revved the engine. Exhaust and dust swirled in a wild torment behind the Camaro. It coughed at twenty-eight-hundred rpm. Just like the Pig. Everything was back the way it was. “Running back to your master?” “This was fun,” Ronan said. “Time for big-boy games now, though.”

And

““I never lie,” Ronan said. He frowned disbelievingly. This felt like a more bizarre scenario than anything that had happened to this point. “Wait. You thought — it was never gonna be you and me. Is that what you thought?”“

And what was Kavinsky’s reaction after he was “used” by Ronan without even a thank you?

“Kavinsky made a gun of his thumb and finger and put it to Ronan’s temple. “Bang,” he said softly, withdrawing the fake gun. “See you on the streets.”“

Not anger but disbelief about what just happened and then the “he said softly“ just seems sad to me. He got used by the man he, de facto, wanted to befriend. He for sure felt cheated and used but the next thing what he does seems just OOC for me. He kidnapped Matthew, Ronan’s younger brother, to force him to come to the Fourth of July party. Before it looked like he wanted Ronan just to have a fun but after the Camaro something broke in him. But once again, it only my interpretation, because K is the only TRC antagonist that doesn’t get PoV, so I can wonder, what was going on in his head.

I’m tired of this, because most of the things could be explained, if we got his PoV, because without it his actions seems random.

After the text “bring something fun to fourth of july or we’ll see which pill works the best on your brother“, Ronan called K demanding where is Matthew and K responded:

“Ronan demanded, “Where is he?” “You know, I asked nice the first few times. Are you coming to Fourth? Are you coming? Are you coming? Here, have a motherfucking car. Are you coming? You made it ugly. Bring something impressive tonight.”“

It doesn’t sounds that evil to me more like desperate (repetition of “are you coming”) and hurting (”you made it ugly”). It made me feel more curious about what was going in his head and what lead him to kidnapping more than being angry at him for kidnapping Matthew.

Kavinsky was looking someone like Ronan, to share problems and to destroy themselves together. And Ronan was the closest thing to it, dreamer and all. He was looking for connection but in the end, Ronan didn’t want anything to do with him and that ended in tragedy.

6. Fourth of July

Ah yes, the main reason why I’m writing this post. We know how this goes. Gangsey arrives at party. Ronan demands where is his brother. Ronan follow K into a dream.

"Kavinsky laughed the word. "Reality! Reality's what other people dream for you."

"Reality's where other people are," Ronan replied. He stretched out his arms. "What's here, K? Nothing! No one!"

"Just us."

There was a heavy understanding in that statement, amplified by the dream. I know what you are, Kavinsky had said. "That's not enough," Ronan replied."

One again K got rejected and it was told to him he "wasn't enough" Okay, Ronan doesn't own him anything but what happened next is more fucked up

Kavinsky dreams fire dragon, Ronan night horror. They fight. Gangsey search for Matthew.

Ronan demands K to tell him where is Matthew and K just said “He’s all yours! You missed my point, man. All I wanted was this —”“ while gesturing at their creations and ONCE AGAIN I REPEAT ONCE AGAIN we are not sure what K meant: dreaming together? fighting? One chapter from his PoV couldn’t hurt Maggie you know?

Matthew got rescued, Ronan shielded him from upcoming dragon then this:

"He shouted to Kavinsky, ”Get down!”

But Kavinsky didn’t look away from the creatures. He said,”The world’s a nightmare”.

Ronan once again shouted to him but Kavinsky didn’t answered and let the dragon to kill him.

“A second later, the fire dragon exploded into Kavinsky. It went straight through him, around him, flame around an object. Kavinsky fell. Not as if he was struck, though. Just like when he’d taken the green pill. He crumpled to his knees and then slumped gracelessly off the car.“

And we know K is dead, because both the dragon and Prokopenko fall asleep.

And that’s all and what was all for? Because they thought he was draining the ley lines (but Adam fixing the lines seems to do the trick) and because Ronan didn't want to come to Fourth of July. After that comes nothing. No reaction from the cast and the dream pack who supposedly were his friends (In later book Jiang talks to Ronan like nothing happened) there is no funeral of which we know and the town is silent. Like K never existed.

What kind of message this sends to a reader? That if you are like Kavinsky in any way nobody will mind if you are gone. You are not even worthless to remember. On one podcast M*ggie said she don’t want to be educational in her books and that’s f*cked up because she is writing YA, young people who are easily influenced and after reading how K is treated the majority will close the book with belief that people like K don’t deserve help and they are goners not worthy of redemption.

While in the same book Gray Man, adult hitman who killed people on pages, was hunting down Ronan, relieved to be murderer behind a Niall's death, beat up and threaten Declan with a gun to tell him where the Greywaren was not only forgiven by everyone (including Ronan) but got redemption arc and love interest. Let me repeat adult man, literal a hitman gets redemption arc but not mentally ill kid. Okay Margaret what the f*ck was that. Where is the logic, where is the lamb sauce?! Does she knows how her writing can influence young people? And it seems most of the fans agree with her.

Conclusion

Joseph Kavinsky was handled terribly through the whole book. With main cast hating him from the get-go. Narration that tried to make him the great evil (with some fans of TRC calling him the worst villain) and after the book got published the fans and the author themself further demonised him, 17 year old boy with a drug addiction, mental illness and with possible history of abuse.

I can only shake my head every time, I see someone calling him the devil. What Kavisnky needed was rehab and therapy, not death! If she wanted to find solution to stop him from dreaming, why couldn't she just moved him outside of Henrietta or Virginia, not lead him to commit s*icide and public s*icide mind you. He was a bad person but nobody deserved to die like this.

To end this post (I wrote this post so long that in my country is no longer Fourth of July), I still to this day think about Kavinsky and what would happened, if the author didn't choose the easy way to "get rid of him". And do not tell me, it was impossible to end it differently, because it was possible. Ronan just grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him off the car. Sending him to a rehab or just talking with him, instead of assuming from the start, that he wouldn't listen. His only crimes were, he needed help and he wouldn't listen to Gangsey telling him what to do.

#anti maggie stiefvater #joseph kavinsky #anti the raven cycle #anti trc #he deserved better

123 notes · View notes

ygocollablove · 4 years

Photo

@augustwritingchallenge‘s 2020 monthly prompts have come to a conclusion, and YGO Collab Love would like to present all its members who participated this year!

Before that, I would like to give thanks/applause to @cieryuu for creating the banner above (and another round to @darkmagiattack/@crshrs for making the template). Look how adorable it is! <3

There are many pieces still in progress even after the challenge’s end day, and we are excited for the day that the fics will all come to completion. Otherwise, please give love and comments and feedback to the pieces listed below!

For Art submissions...

scemo vampire yami Bakura by @crshrs Vampire AU Rating: Teens and Up Blood warning

For General Audiences...

Step One College, Step Two Take Over the World by Souless_Robot ( @soulessrobot ) Status: COMPLETE College AU Characters: Chazz Princeton & Ojama Brothers Summary: “Step one: get into Neo Domino University,” Chazz lifted one finger and waved it in his spirit partners’ faces. “Step two: get a Ph.D. in dueling. Step three: get hired to teach at Duel Academy. Step four: take over the school.”

Dueling Royalty by Elexica Status: COMPLETE Modern AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: Kaiba will block you on Twitter.

Diagnostic Don’ts by Souless_Robot Status: COMPLETE Hospital AU Characters: Jack Atlas, Seto Kaiba, Alexis Rhodes, Duke Devlin, Atem Summary: Dr. Seto Kaiba very much does not want any fellows in his diagnostic department. Unfortunately the hospital administrator Atem has different ideas. That's how Kaiba ends up with three fellows in his office. It's a good thing Kaiba doesn't plan to keep them for very long. He'll bet Wheeler he can get them to quit by the end of the week.

Mr. Jounouchi Will See You Now by Elexica Status: COMPLETE Role Reversal AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: The CEO of Jounouchi Corp. is known for being charming and lucky—not just a shrewd businessman who bravely took over the company for his alcoholic dad. Seto Kaiba is a bright kid who really needs to pay for his brother’s eye surgery.

Succ's to be You. by Elexica Status: COMPLETE Flower Shop AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: Kaiba is the worst at office plants.

For Teens and Up...

Cafe Nervosa by Elexica ( @elexica ) Status: COMPLETE Coffee Shop AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: Good morning, Domino! Dr. Seto Kaiba runs a call-in psychiatry radio show, and whether he wants to or not, he's listening. His sound engineer, Joey Wheeler, unfortunately has to listen too.

All the King's Men by Souless_Robot Status: COMPLETE Soulmate AU Pairing: Rivalshipping (Chazz Princeton x Jaden Yuki), Spiritshipping (Jesse Anderson x Jaden Yuki), Supreme King x Chazz Princeton Summary: Or Chazz is the Supreme King's soulmate but not Jaden's.

Wasted by Elexica Status: COMPLETE College AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: Kaiba gets drunk at Mokuba's fraternity initiation party and does the cute orientation leader's calculus homework. He's bad at flirting, but he's good at math.

Blank Slate by KitsunePhantom09 ( @kitsunephantom09 ) Status: COMPLETE Soulmates AU Pairing: Kingcrabshipping (Jack Atlas x Yusei Fudo) Summary: Everyone has a mark signifying their soulmate. Yusei doesn't.

The Voice in My Head by Elexica Status: COMPLETE Soulmates AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: The month leading up to when you meet your soulmate is the only period in your life where you will hear another voice in your head, their thoughts streaming through your mind. For Jounouchi, it's hell.

Demon Days by Souless_Robot Status: COMPLETE Angels & Demons AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: Joey never meant to be permanently assigned to earth after the events that take place in the Garden of Eden. Still, now that he is he really wishes he would stop running into his least favorite demon. Unfortunately, it seems the creator has other plans.

Cancelling the Apocalypse by Elexica Status: ONGOING Chapters 1/3 Post-Apocalyptic AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: Are Joey and Kaiba drift compatible?

Straight to the Top by Souless_Robot Status: COMPLETE Band AU Characters: Joey Wheeler, Seto Kaiba, Yuugi Mutou, Chazz Princeton, Jaden Yuki Summary: Joey is a folk singer trying to break into the mainstream with her childhood friend Yugi. Too bad she gets nothing but problems most from the Kaiba corp record label run by the young CEO and music prodigy Seto Kaiba.

A Good Match by Elexica Status: COMPLETE Superheroes/Superpowers AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: Or, Kaiba and Jounouchi can't wait for the whistle to start fighting.

Good Eggs by Elexica Status: COMPLETE Farm/Ranch AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: Kaiba is forced to work as a farmhand the summer before college. Joey doesn't mind the company.

Mercy by Elexica Status: COMPLETE Crime AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: Kaiba's a bit tied up at the moment.

Who You Gonna Call by Elexica Status: COMPLETE Treasure Hunters AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: Ghost hunter Joey and skeptic Kaiba enlist Yugi's help in answering the question: Are ghosts real?

For Mature audiences...

And Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” by KitsunePhantom09 Status: COMPLETE Vampire AU Characters: Yusei Fudo Summary: Rule #1: Never answer when you hear them knocking.

Dark Web by Elexica Status: COMPLETE Pirates AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: You wouldn't download a car. Kaiba would.

The line that stands between us is 100 lives worth living by SwordsAndSwongs ( @blue-eyed-priest ) Status: ONGOING Chapters 8/32 Pairing: Prideshipping (Seto Kaiba x Atem), Rivalshipping (Kaiba x Yuugi Mutou), Stoicshipping (Kaiba x Priest Set), and Puppyshipping (Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: In a world full of multiverses, who will Kaiba meet? Is it his Pharaoh, his enemies, his few friends? Or is it himself, waiting at the end of every step taken?

Demon in a Bottle by Elexica Status: COMPLETE Angels & Demons AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: Kaiba overdoses.

Addicted (You’re My Favorite High) by KitsunePhantom09 Status: COMPLETE Crime AU Pairing: Kingcrabshipping (Jack Atlas x Yusei Fudo) Summary: Yusei has never felt like this before, and he desperately doesn't want it to end.

Netflix and Chill by auroraXborealis ( @xauroraxborealisx ) Status: ONGOING Chapters 11/? Pairing: Puzzleshipping (Yuugi Mutou x Atem) Summary: When the department of Human Resources from Kaiba Corp decides it is in the company’s best interest to send some of its employees on a team-building seminar for a whole weekend, Atem does not think his bonding experience with his colleagues will turn out to be this intense. Especially when he is thrown into a downward spiral of strange events with the one coworker he dislikes the most: Yugi. Now, they must work together to survive and figure out all the clues to make it back home.

Enemy Fire by KitsunePhantom09 Status: ONGOING Chapter 5/? Pairing: Kingcrabshipping (Jack Atlas x Yusei Fudo) Summary: Jack has just escaped a horrible alpha, but is in dire straits – heavily pregnant and out on the streets in the middle of winter does not bode well. But as his darkest hour arrives, so too does his savior.

Catalysts for Kindling by bewdofchaos ( @atems-leather-pants ) Status: ONGOING Chapters 11/? Pairing: Puzzleshipping (Yuugi Mutou x Atem), Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: In the eight months that Yugi and Atem have been roommates, they have formed a fast friendship over their fondness for coffee, late-night study sessions and video games. But recently, something has not been quite right. When Yugi receives a mysterious parcel, he is sent on an unexpected journey where each new step makes him reconsider everything he ever knew to be true… but mostly his relationship with his roommate.

The Dark Woods Circus’ Monster by KitsunePhantom09 Status: COMPLETE Circus AU Pairing: Kingcrabshipping (Jack Atlas x Yusei Fudo) Summary: Once, the circus was meant to wow and inspire its audience with feats of grandeur. Now it horrifies and terrifies them with unholy creatures of man's own design.

Time to fight fears, for once and for AUll by Seiyofira ( @seiyofira-doesntknowshiet ) Status: COMPLETE Chapters 11/11 Summary: These will be some scattered works for AU-gust 2020, which will either revolve around Yu-Gi-Oh! DM or JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, I will put the used AU prompt as well as either YGO or JJBA at the beginning of each chapter. They do not build a consistent story!

For Explicit audiences...

Forgiveness by KitsunePhantom09 Status: COMPLETE Angels & Demons AU Pairing: Kingcrabshipping (Jack Atlas x Yusei Fudo) Summary: An angel is offered as a sacrifice by a cult to appease their lord.

Scrubs by Elexica Status: COMPLETE Hospital AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: The door to the supply closet doesn't lock, but that doesn't stop Drs. Kaiba and Jounochi from having an intimate moment.

Embrace me, Love. It's been a long day. by Cleopatra ( @writelovetomeempress ) Status: ONGOING Chapters 20/33 Pairing: Flareshipping (Seto Kaiba x Atem x Yuugi Mutou) Summary: Atem is gone, back to the Afterlife when the Ceremonial Duel was complete. A piece of Yuugi's heart went with him. Kaiba, with all his genius and all his tech, has found a way to use the Quantum Cube to claim the victory he was denied. Per a reluctant deal, Kaiba brings Yuugi along. All the bravado in the world couldn't prepare Yuugi for that final goodbye, and with shaky hands, he broke their world completely.

Porcelain Wings and Shattered Dreams by Life_0r_Death ( @life-0r-death ) Status: ONGOING Chapters 11/17 Pairing: Kingcrabshipping (Jack Atlas x Yusei Fudo) Summary: Paradox has come to take his revenge against Yusei Fudo, but a former king will sacrifice himself for the love of the greater good. Too bad sacrificing doesn't mean death, but a perpetual prison of different worlds, different dimensions where Jack gets to witness what could have been.

For fics Not Rated...

Doin’ Time by Elexica Status: COMPLETE Childhood Friends AU Pairing: Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba x Joey Wheeler) Summary: Joey is trying to get a contraband cell phone in Juvie Hall. Kaiba is a little more ambitious.

A huge round of applause for everyone who participated and who are still fighting the good fight of completing their fics! We hope to join again next year and provide a plethora of amazing YGO-related fics for you all to read! Congratulations everyone!!

65 notes · View notes

carnelianns · 4 years

Note

You’re such a good writer I’m so happy I found your blog!!! Hope youre safe during this quarantine. May I request ★ ⚚ and♩ for Nobu? Sirius and Jean too if it’s alright >.< Thank you!

ure too kind :(( hope u stay safe too, anon!

★ - sad headcanon

Nobunaga Oda

The man’s happy enough as is, with you by his side on his journey to rule the world, so not much can make him sad — he doesn’t enjoy dwelling on the past.

Sometimes, it just can’t be helped, though. When he’s feeling particularly blue, he’s noticeably more quiet, often staying cooped up in his chambers, staring wistfully at the sky if his presence isn’t needed elsewhere.

Whenever this happens, make sure to wrap your arms around his waist, pressing light kisses across his back to remind him that you’re here, you’re alive, and you love him. He might quip back with some suggestive line such as, “Is that an invitation, fireball?” though those words are hollow;

He’d much rather feel your warmth than do anything else at that moment.

Sirius Oswald

Sirius would definitely choose to care more for others than for himself, often leaving him no time to sort out his emotions, especially when he’s sad.

The burden of all the responsibilities he chooses to shoulder saddled with the hollow feeling in his chest only causes him to be a bit more languid than usual, and more often than not, you’d hear him sighing a lot whenever he’s feeling down.

You’d have to physically pull him away towards the comforts of his room for him to rest, not taking “no” for an answer. And, before he knows it, he gives one last sigh before crumbling down into your embrace.

“Sirius, don’t bottle up your feelings, yeah? It’ll only be worse like that,” you frown at the man in your arms whose head is currently buried into the crook of your neck. He can only nod.

You two stay unmoving with your arms wrapped around Sirius for hours on end, though it pays off when his silence is exchanged with little snores, only causing you to chuckle.

Jean d’Arc

It’s no secret that Jean has his fair share of angst and sadness behind his guarded mask, so a sad Jean would keep himself locked away until he learns how to temporarily forget his gloom.

Whenever he disappears once more, your best bet is to check either his room, the balcony, or the training room. He busies himself with whatever he can, by sparring, staring at the moonlight, or simply laying in bed, under his blanket and hands pressed to his ears.

Your presence is enough to calm him down. Even if you’re writing away in your journal, or dozing off in a comfy seat, simply being in the same room as him and in his sight is enough for Jean.

“Mademoiselle…” You hear a familiar voice, unable to keep the slightly shocked smile off your face as you turn towards the man who’s gone missing practically the entire day.

“Jean! Do you need anything?”

Gaze averted, his mouth opens and snaps shut multiple times, a flurry of unease and regret and everything in between swimming in his violet eyes before he finally manages, “Would you mind... keeping me company for a while..?”

You promptly drop everything to accompany him back to his room, doing nothing but humming soft tunes and running fingers through the raven locks of the man resting in your lap.

♩ - music headcanon

Nobunaga Oda

He’s very open-minded, listening to all genres before settling on something he actually enjoys.

The type of person to listen to only one artist that he thoroughly enjoys, which would probably be a singer who’s done just about any genre possible, such as The Beatles.

Nobunaga, sadly, is also the type of person to have one, huge playlist of all the songs he likes. Your ears would be enjoying a cute, little James Bay original before suddenly being harassed by Black Veil Brides or the likes.

Sirius Oswald

Sirius would enjoy mellow tunes more than anything. Music he could simultaneously listen and work to, keeping him in a tranquil mood the whole day.

He isn’t very mainstream — not on purpose; it’s simply hard to find artists with the exact melodies he wishes for — and the most popular artist he listens to would probably be either Joji or NIKI.

Super into slow dance music; James Arthur mixed with some old Ed Sheeran, songs he enjoys swaying to with you. If he’s in a particularly chirpy mood, you’d hear some nostalgic Nat King Coles and Ella Fitzgeralds in there.

Jean d’Arc

He’s technically only 19 so, when introduced to music, the angsty teen definitely had an emo phase. A lot of Fall Out Boy (which he still listens to) and Panic! At the Disco, a bit of Paramore here and there as well.

Once he gets past this phase, however, he’s all about those soft acoustic tunes, even preferring the acoustic version of songs rather than its normal version — he isn’t particularly inclined to listen to Justin Bieber, but if you put a cover of “2U” or “Sorry” on, he’d actually enjoy it.

Jean has a godly sleep playlist, stemming from his inability to fall asleep. A lot of covers are on there, though incomparable to all the piano pieces he’s added. He'd rather die than admit Moonlight Sonata puts him to sleep as well.

⚚ - fear headcanon

Nobunaga Oda

Nobunaga isn’t very fearful — in fact, you’re unsure just what causes your lover to even do so much as shudder.

You find your answer one night when you wake up to a restless Nobunaga, muttering and murmuring in his sleep as a cold sweat breaks out upon his face. Your tries at waking him up all fail, and he awakes by himself, eyes shooting wide open and breath uneven.

Before you can even ask what’s wrong, his rough, calloused hands are already cradling your face, staring into your eyes with such intensity that you can’t bear to look away. The look in those tawny eyes was far too haunted, too heartbreaking for you to break his gaze.

“... If you disappear on me, every second of my life after that moment will be meaningless,” he murmurs, tone firm against his feather-like touches against your face. “So please.. do not leave me.”

You reassure him that you have no plans to. His grip on your waist seems a bit tighter that night.

Nobunaga Oda’s one true fear is losing you, the one he swore his life to, the only one he’d allow himself to fall for in each and every lifetime he could possibly live.

Sirius Oswald

When you asked him what he feared of, Sirius blinked at your sudden question, before proceeding to list events you’re sure have already happened.

Fenrir and Ray fighting too hard... Luka running away... Seth and Fenrir setting the kitchen on fire... Ray flooding the Quarters with cats... Seth and Fenrir setting the Quarters on fire... Seth and Fenrir...

“Okay, so you’re basically afraid of Seth and Fenrir?”

His eyes widen for a moment, thoughts swirling in his head before he finally nods. “Huh. I guess you’re right.”

"Sirius... you’re such a dad, you old man.” Shaking your head, you manage an amused eyeroll.

Narrowing his eyes, he suddenly hoists you up into his arms, a smirk on his face as you squeak. “Can you say that again, little lady? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch it.”

He’s big on the scoldings, if you haven’t noticed.

Jean d’Arc

The French warrior doesn’t have many fears, though you see the way his eyes widen infinitesimally when he sees flames, the way his jaw clenches ever-so slightly at the mention of fire.

He’s not so fearful of it that he avoids fire completely, but you can sense the unease radiating off of his stiffer-than-usual form whenever exposed to such heat.

The topic had come up in a conversation between you two one day and, sensing your unease, Jean decides to crack a joke, smiling slightly.

“However, if I were to pick between flames and Le Comte, I would pick the latter.”

You blink, before bursting out into laughter. “I think he’d be happy. That almost sounds like a compliment.”

Jean stills, conjuring up an image of the man, eyes bright and tone jovial. “... I take it back.” He’s joking. You hope.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikemen revolution #ikerev #ikevamp x reader #ikesen x reader #ikerev x reader #nobunaga oda #sirius oswald #jean d’arc #headcanons #200 followers

230 notes · View notes

eury--dice · 3 years

Text

history, huh?

chapter 3: propius

(check the rb for chapters 1 + 2 on tumblr + ao3 links!)

Adam was woken at 5 o’clock on the dot with a series of sharp knocks on his door. “Up and Adam,” Gansey’s voice called, making the one stupid dad joke that always set Adam’s blood to a boil. He was too tired to react, however.

“Kindly leave until a later time,” he called, his voice heavy with sleep. “I don’t have class for another three hours.”

Gansey opened the door anyway, striding in with more pep than anyone should have in the morning.

“You’ve made the tabloids, my friend. Your weekend with Ronan finally hit.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Nope,” Gansey said cheerfully. “‘From America, With Love: Ronan and Adam flaunt friendship.’” He turned on his heel once he’d crossed the length of the room, which Adam could never forget was formerly Malia Obama’s, and seated himself in Adam’s desk chair.

Adam had never been closer to considering strangulation. He elected to shove his hearing ear into his pillow instead.

Unfortunately, the muffled sounds of Gansey speaking still made their way in. “‘Photos: Adam’s Weekend in England,’ oh, that’s boring…ah-hah: ‘New Bromance Alert? Pics of FSOTUS and Prince Ronan.’”

Adam resigned himself to his fate and mentally promised himself a giant cup of coffee. “As long as I’m getting fewer death threats on Twitter, I’m happy,” he mumbled into his blankets.

Gansey ignored him. “Why are you so tired? It’s the hour of kings, time to be awake and alive.”

“I’d settle for dead if it meant I could sleep at this point, to be frank.”

“Please don’t be frank. Be Adam.”

Adam sat up, eyeing Gansey in his wire-framed glasses with disdain. “Any more puns and I suffocate myself with this pillow.”

“Please don’t,” Gansey said, but his eyes had already returned to his screen. While he read through the articles, he continued his line of questioning. “Working on the campaign late last night?”

“Not really,” Adam admitted. “I had a Press and the Presidency paper to write.”

“Just write ‘I’m Adam Parrish’ on a piece of loose-leaf paper to turn it in and you’ll probably get an A. You live it every day, for Christ’s sake.”

“And yet I still need to cite sources in Chicago Advanced.”

“You’d think nepotism would work out more in your favor.” He flicked to a fresh article, a gesture Adam only recognized from all the other times Gansey had done it. “Luckily, I think the press is eating this one up.”

Adam grimaced. “Fantastic.”

“Not-campaign-ruining, you mean.”

“That too, I suppose.” He wanted nothing more than to flop back against his pillows and get the sleep his body so desperately craved after being jet lagged for a week, but he fought the urge.

“That _ People _exclusive takes the cake, I think. I didn’t realize how much you cherished your relationship with Ronan.”

“Fuck off, please. Or end my misery.”

“No to both. Why are you even taking that press course?”

Adam slid out from under his blankets, rolling his shoulders to try and wake up more. “Curiosity, I guess. It never hurts to learn more of what not to do.”

Gansey looked up from his phone to level a glance at Adam. “And what have you learned so far?”

“…Don’t have a sex scandal?”

“You _ would _need someone to tell you that.”

_ “Hey,” _Adam said, affecting outrage.

Gansey lifted his thumb to run over his lower lip, tilting his head consideringly. “One of us three will probably have a scandal before your mother’s second term is up.”

“If there is a second.”

“Chin up, young padawan. With you working on it we’re guaranteed.”

“I don’t know, Gansey,” Adam replied. “I don’t think I’m the good luck charm you believe in.”

“Of course you are,” Gansey said. “We won the first time, no?”

Adam glanced exaggeratedly around the room and to the phone in Gansey’s hand. “I’d say so. That or we’re about to get questioned very thoroughly about the the events of last three years.”

“Don’t make me cut you off on the true-crime videos.”

His eyes narrowed, focusing on Gansey. “Don’t you dare.”

“Blue agrees, anyway,” Gansey said, successfully deflecting topics. “Said there’s a ninety-four percent chance you’ll get into a sex scandal before the general.”

“Both of you date more than I do, why am I the one who’s supposedly having a sex scandal?” Once his initial outrage passed, disbelief crept in at the time of day. “Did you just text Blue at five AM and get a response? How the hell did you manage that?”

“She’s been up,” Gansey dismissed. Adam stared at him for a moment, and then Gansey seemed to feel the weight of his stare. His eyes widened almost comically. “Oh, Christ, no, not that. Nate Silver asked for another set of eyes on the Superbowl predictions, and she’s trying to get a shoo-in with them before the primaries begin. I just brought her some coffee.”

“And you didn’t bring me any?”

“You’re the only one of us who hasn’t been up all night. You need coffee the least of all of us.”

“Don’t blame me for your bad decisions.” Adam squinted at Gansey. “Were you working on an article all night or something?”

He snorted. “Hardly. They’ve been blocking all of my pieces. Too far from my mother’s politics, too far from your mother’s, too controversial, too critical, all in that order.”

“Thought you were liking the _ Post _gig?”

“On paper,” Gansey dismissed. “I’ve defaulted to writing about Welsh history.”

“Sounds like it’s right up your alley, then.”

“Once again, on paper.”

“How do you even connect the Welsh to the hellscape of American politics?”

Gansey waved a hand. “‘Eternal spirit,’ ‘fighting for honor,’ ‘remembering Glendower and others who set a pristine model,’ et cetera, et cetera.”

“People read that? That just sounds like you in high school spouting off again.”

“Yes, Adam. People read it.” Gansey squinted at his phone again. “Twitter _ really _likes you and Ronan together.”

“We’re exciting,” Adam said dryly, reaching for his laptop. He scanned over his most recent paper while Gansey dramatically narrated replies to the gif of them on _ This Morning. _

“‘Either of them could stab me and give me one of those smiles and I’d thank them,’ Jesus Christ,” Gansey read, “They really love your fake smiles… ‘name a more iconic duo, I’ll wait,’ hm, maybe any other duo? ‘Oh my God, just _ kiss already.’” _

Adam choked out a laugh as Gansey punctuated the last one with a dramatic and uncharacteristic hand wave. “At least it’s working,” he allowed, shutting his laptop once he felt secure about his essay. “Now get out. _ Some _of us have places to be.”

Adam’s phone buzzed on his way out of his cursed Presidency and the Press course.

Somehow, the interest of those around him seemed to pique even higher when he looked at his phone instead of in front of him. It wasn’t a new sensation by any means; ever since starting at Georgetown, he’d felt eyes on him constantly, but the intensity increased tenfold each time his classmates thought he was too occupied to see them staring. He noticed every time, but of course nothing could be done about it.

The name _ HRH shitty bird boy _ popped across his screen. How strange - in only a week, he’d almost entirely forgotten that the name he had (quite maturely) given Ronan in his phone was… _ that. _As he swiped the notification open, he felt a certain amount of trepidation as to what a technology-averse prince would ever text him about.

His harassment and emergency fears flew out the window with the body of the text, simply a screenshot of their tabloid appearance with the added caption of _ youre the nerd and I’m the cool jock. _

_ Competitive yachting? _Adam asked in response, nearly tripping over his own feet while typing.

_ ffs i told them to stop writing that as my preferred sport. _

Adam felt his lips twist against his will.

_ I’m sorry, this is a common problem? _

_ you can’t even imagine. _

_ I appreciate that they consider competitive yachting a regal sport. _

_ status symbols and faux athleticism are the core of the monarchy. _

Adam blinked down at his phone, stopping short abruptly. Persephone, from behind him, adjusted accordingly.

He…hadn’t been expecting this. Any of it. The text, the almost-joking response, the casual statement about the monarchy being ridiculous despite him being in it. Their conversation ended there, and it was probably for the better. He resumed his pace, trying to get to his next class. He almost forgot about the texts, too; save for a rogue screenshot Adam sent him of speculation on Ronan’s presence in Majorca, nothing else went between them.

Sometimes, Adam could _ just barely _ get away with being on his phone during briefings with Maura. He hated to be distracted during them - they were _ important, _he knew that, but all the same occasionally she spent a particularly long time covering an obscure dignitary’s comments and he’d gotten too few hours of sleep to truly focus and someone or other was blowing up his phone.

Maura’s topic of conversation this week appeared to be a series of Buzzfeed articles run on the lack of pets in the First Family, complete with a power point dissecting their points

The glamorous side of politics, truly. Discussing a clickbait series in the West Wing briefing room.

_ iMessage chat to _ ** HRH shitty bird boy **

_ Resumed 30 October, 2019, 1:47 pm _

_ if you want a pet chainsaw dragged in a mouse the other day _

_ Ah yes, the mouse. A pet eternally beloved by constituents. _

_ we can’t all have a raven, that would be unfair _

_ Your heights of cool and goth are truly dizzying. _

_ im glad you agree _

_ Modest, too. _

_ it comes with the wealth and fame _

_ As long as you’re being straight with me, feel free to be as ‘modest’ as you like. _

_ i’m the prince of bloody england. i’m straight all the damn time _

_ That’s the biggest lhxemxlp_

His phone slipped from between his fingers, landing with a dull _ thud _onto the wooden floor. Adam stared helplessly at it, a sleek black rectangle hiding between types of oak. But Maura repeated his name, and he suddenly remembered what had made him drop his phone in the first place. He dragged his eyes up, staring at a spot on the sterile white wall just beyond Maura’s head.

“Adam,” she said a third time, but he refused to look her in the eyes. She conceded immediately. “What the hell?”

He felt his cheeks darken as blood found its way up. “I’m sorry.”

Her lips thinned just like Blue’s did, turning into a dark line on her brown face. “Do you even remember what I was saying?”

“Er…” he scrambled. “Don’t mention animals in any public setting?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then picked up a mug of coffee and took a controlled sip.

“Get out?” she said once she’d swallowed her sip.

“I-”

She pointed to the door. “I am impossibly busy. Take your phone and go laugh in private.”

He nodded once, finally, ducking under the table with his spine pressed against the bottom to grab his phone. His fingers closed around it, grip the edge of the wood, and he was up in a second.

He couldn’t regret it.

Because - well, here was the weird thing.

He wanted another text from Ronan.

_ iMessage chat to _ ** HRH shitty bird boy **

_ Resumed 31 October, 2019, 12:03 am _

_ it’s finally spooky day in your hell country _

_ Isn’t it 5 am in England? _

_ Do you ever sleep? _

_ bold of you to ask that question _

_ halloween, bitch _

_ it waits for no one _

_ I’m really going to have to advocate better habits. _

_ I understand, you’re enthused for Halloween. _

_ do you even care at all _

_ I enjoy halloween like everyone else. _

_ Though your level of excitement feels a little pagan? _

when the skeleton army rises Jesus will forgive me

_ appreciate this glorious day parrish _

_ I have enough fear in my daily life, thanks. _

_ I filed my own taxes all throughout highschool. _

_ And payed rent. _

_ The horrors of early adulthood. _

_terrifying _

_ terrible i’ll never deal with that shit _

_ You’re the prince, we know. _

_ Do you also not have enough horror in your life? _

of course i do

_ but parrish. listen. _

_ this is the one day a year all the monarchy and parliament dress as they are in life _

_ hideous monsters _

He laughed a little harder at that than he should have.

_ You’re telling me the monarchy plays dress up. _

_ ronan_frankensteins_monser_costume.jpg _

_ matthew insisted. did this on me an hour ago _

_ oh my god _

The makeup _ was _really good, and the monstrous look suited him, but hell if Adam ever said that to him.

He may have saved it to his phone, though, to glimpse Ronan’s green-paint covered skin and crooked, drawn-on stitch smile on his perfectly blank face.

Although Adam certainly didn’t intend to make a habit of texting the Prince of England, when he saw a funny bird or a stupid article or an obscure meme his first thought became _I should send that to Ronan. _And Ronan, clearly, was thinking along the same lines. The sheer number of sole emojis that seemed to tell a Ronan-centric story he received at all hours only affirmed that. And somehow, between all the pictogramme and jokes, he started to learn snatches of information. Declan was a better storyteller than Ronan, Matthew was the only person who could make Ronan attend family dinners ever since their father died, and his mother - the Queen of England, Adam had to remind himself sometimes - drew further away every day.

The problem became that he always wanted to know _ more, _and Adam didn’t know if that was due to his rampant curiosity or something else buried deep inside of him, and he was too afraid of what he might uncover by digging to look.

Adam had very few friends.

Most of that came with the territory of being part of the First Family; nothing made casual acquaintances drift away quite like being constantly surveilled by Secret Service agents and trailed by NDAs. Adam didn’t have time for small talk and coffee, a fact which he sometimes lamented and often loved. Part of this came from the type of friendship he became accustomed to with Gansey and Blue, the all-encompassing type of friendship that took over their minds in spare moments and forged ties stronger than steel between them. He’d probably forgotten how to have normal, casual friends, not friends an outsider would think he was completely in love with. And, perhaps more than anything else, it came back down to Robert Parrish and his heavy hands and ringing words. Adam’s memories of his first few years were scattered and inconsistent, but they filled up a too-large corner of his brain all the same. Blue, who entered his life at the tender age of 5, had won his trust with greater ease than their other peers, and Gansey had done the same in high school. They knew him and what he’d been through, and so they could (platonically) love him for all that he was. When campaigning and political office came into the mix, that full truth of Adam Parrish became a secret to guard like any else.

But, oddly enough, Adam had a third friend: Noah Czerny, the thirty-three-year-old baby of the Senate.

Noah and Adam met through an Aglionby networking event while Adam was a student and Noah a recently-elected congressperson, both green as grass in different ways. Adam, thrown neck-deep into a Presidential campaign, had questions, and most of the time Noah had answers. Although all of the professors had warned Adam to proceed cautiously with Czerny, Adam found nothing to fear. Noah had mellowed out quite a bit from his high school days, becoming a familiar face at political events and a surprisingly-wise piece of advice always at the ready. Despite Adam’s near hero-worship of this brand-new politician, half-Mexican just like him and just as frequent to lose sleep rewriting policies that unjustly taxed communities of color or defunded children’s education, they’d formed an improbable bond. The summer before his sophomore year, Noah let Adam closer to the politics process than even his mother had as he ran for the Senate, and Adam took to it almost at once. A politician twelve years his senior was perhaps not a conventional choice of friend, but Adam seldom remained conventional.

It wasn’t too out of the ordinary for Adam to arrive at Noah’s congressional office unannounced, either with business or without, and so when Adam rounded on Noah’s stark, bright, white office, he wasn’t at all surprised to see him ducked over an obscene number of papers.

“It’s Friday night,” Noah said without looking up, barely before Adam had even crossed into the office. As always, the tiny burst of color in the Pride flag deposited in a tourist mug drew Adam’s eye for a long moment before Noah himself did. All Adam could see of him was his brown curls, resolutely held in place even as bent over a desk. “Go party or something.”

“Damn, I didn’t _ think _ this looked like a frat. I knew something was off.” Adam slid into one of the seats across the desk. He had several inches on Noah, but he always felt smaller in those chairs across from the most important legislators in the country. “What’s got you here at eight PM?” Off of Noah’s brief, incredulous look, he amended to _ “this _particular time, I know. You’re salaried. Shouldn’t you…ever go home?”

“I’m trying to get something done so that there’s at least a hope of banning fracking in our lifetimes.”

Adam scoffed quietly, though not for lack of faith in Noah. “Let me know when you’ve cracked the code.”

_ “If, _but sure, I’ll be in contact. Now, why are you here?”

“You didn’t answer my leaving-the-building question.”

Noah’s eyes flickered shut briefly. “Jesus, Adam, I am salaried by the taxpayers of millions of Americans. I’m not going to slack on them.”

“Fine, but don’t make me drag Gansey in here to make you take a long nap and drink some hot soup.”

Adam’s phone buzzed, but he ignored it; despite it being almost 1 am in England, Ronan could presumably take the blame. Noah asked, “Did you catch the Fox town hall last night?”

Adam grimaced. He’d seen part of it, trying to multitask with his macroeconomics homework at the same time, but instead he’d fallen asleep with his head on the laptop screen. “Part of it. It was a shitshow.”

“You can say that again.”

“I honestly thought that Whelk would pull more support from the extremists. He just seemed desperate last night.”

“Oh, he definitely was.” Noah leaned away from his desk, appraising Adam as though considering his words carefully. “We went to school together.”

“Aglionby?” Adam asked. He knit his eyebrows together. “How did I not realize he went there?”

“The school doesn’t exactly love toting him.”

“He’s older than you, though, right?”

“Yes, Adam,” Noah said slowly. “I’m thirty-three. He’s already announced a bid for President. How old do you have to be to run for executive office?”

Adam scowled. “I just came from class, I can’t use my brain. He was a senior when you were a freshman?”

“Yep,” Noah replied. “We were paired in upperclassmen-lowerclassmen bonding.” His lip curled a little. “He outed me.”

“Wait, _ what?” _

“He outed me to the school,” Noah repeated. He looked back down to the papers on his desk, his voice softening to a barely audible level. “I trusted him, which was a dumb thing to do, but I was a really stupid freshman. Scared, too. He was a friendly personality.”

_ “Fuck,” _Adam said, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, that’s…”

“Terrible?” A bit of Noah’s life returned to him. “Don’t worry about it, kid. It was years ago.”

“But then…Whelk, he was the reason you…?”

“He didn’t make my parents react the way they did. They did that on their own. But no, they wouldn’t have known without him.”

Adam shook his head. “I thought it wasn’t possible to like the guy less, if only because of his politics, but he’s done it.”

“Done what? Received the full wrath of Adam Parrish?”

“He very well may.”

“Don’t worry about him. Whelk will be out soon, believe me. I know him. He may have his parent’s money, but he’s barely old enough to hold office and he’s running on fumes.”

“If he’s not, I’ll convince Blue to skew stats until he is.” Noah knew just as well as Adam that that wouldn’t change anything, but it lightened the air anyway. “It seems kind of pointless to entertain any of them. Greenmantle is probably going to win no matter what.”

Colin Greenmantle: former antique collector, congressperson from Massachusetts, and millionaire with the funds to take over the Republican primary, and very possibly the whole election, before any papers were even filed.

“It’s early,” Noah said. “Too early to worry about it. Too early to even be _ talking _ about it.”

Adam slanted a half-smile at him. “Never too early to worry about an election.”

Noah looked back to his papers before broaching the next topic. “I hear you’ve got a job on your mother’s re-election campaign.”

“Once I graduate, and maybe a little earlier, yeah.”

Noah cast a glance around the office. “Are you sure this is the life you want?”

Adam knew he was referring to the constant bustle, the fear of disappointing and harming instead of helping, and the ever-evolving media scrutiny. He knew it was the closest Noah would give to a warning. “I’m sure.”

Noah sighed. “Fine.” He pointed to the door. “But I won’t let you throw your youth away, not this early. After you graduate, Parrish. Go get drunk and make out with someone.”

Adam stood, his frame unfolding and standing tall. “You are a terrible role model.”

“Can’t hear you over the loud music.”

“You and Blue and Gansey - if I die of alcohol poisoning, it’s all your fault.”

“Feel free to blame, so long as you’re out there and not here.”

“Alright, alright, Jesus. You’ve made your point.”

“Finally,” Noah called after Adam’s retreating form. But Adam could hear the amusement in his voice all the same.

For someone so allergic and averse to technology, Ronan sure seemed to share a lot with Adam.

_ iMessage chat to _ ** HRH shitty bird boy **

_ Resumed 13 Novemeber, 2019, 8:38 pm _

_ bird.m4a _

_ she wont stop nuzzling my head?? _

_ Picking for lice, probably. _

_ God knows you have so many. _

_ my scalp is perfectly clean _

_ Forgive me for abstaining from running my hands over it all the same. _

_ I’ll leave that to her. _

He didn’t always respond, though.

Adam tried not to read into it.

(He mostly succeeded.)

Adam never tired of stepping into the Oval Office. On the Wednesday right before Thanksgiving, he stepped in with the same amount of awe he always had, allowing himself a single moment to glance around at the wide windows and perfectly upholstered furniture. He sat on one of the couches without preamble.

His mother looked up from what was in front of her on the desk and smiled, albeit a tired one that frayed a bit at the corners; Adam had seen a few particularly troublesome foreign dignitaries be escorted away not long before, so he didn’t have to guess at the reason. Ana looked like she belonged to sit right there amongst all the history at that desk, from the sun dipping just beneath her halo of hair straightened within an inch of its life and her stick-straight posture. It might have been a lot at times, but seeing her was a reminder of all the good that came from her position.

She rose and walked to join him, her heels clacking lightly at the ground before she sank onto the cushion beside him and pulled him into a loose hug. Adam had overtaken Ana in height some years before, but there had been a long gap in there as he grew - like one day he was three and a half feet tall and wrapped tightly in her arms and the next he was off to Georgetown and several heads taller. She pulled away after a minute, slowly and bit-by-bit as though savoring her moments as a mother rather than a president. Her hand reached to muss his hair a moment later, and Adam ducked away instinctively before exchanging an identical grin with her.

“God, I forgot how light your hair looks in here,” she said, leaning back a little. “Almost golden.” She tilted her head as though examining him. “Nah. Still brown. But much lighter.”

“How could you forget? The photo here was in _ GQ, _the same article that first declared me the family golden boy.” At the corner of their conversation was the knowledge of where he’d inherited that hair color, as it sure as hell wasn’t from Ana. But he let the thought stay buried, patting the dirt back down with the shovel himself. Their relationship always had an absence in it, and he didn’t particularly feel like deepening it in the Oval Office.

“Ah, so that’s the one I have to blame for your big head,” she responded, reaching for a piece of fruit from the little coffee table. It was a familiar half-jest, borne from Adam’s constant contradicting confidence and imposter syndrome. Idiosyncrasies were just Adam’s style, never one to make things easy for himself. He sometimes wondered if so much of himself conflicted because he tried to walk the middle road so often, balancing his weight over all sides to minimize the damage if the rug was yanked from beneath him, like lying down on a bed of nails: a thousand tiny, dull pains over one sharp, potentially fatal puncture. She smiled again. “Is Noah doing well?”

“For Noah he is. He would barely look up from some new reports on fracking, seems hopeful he’ll be able to garner enough support.”

Ana snorted. “Good luck with that. I’ll be shocked if it reaches the floor for debate.”

“That makes three of us, then.” He nodded towards the desk. “Bad meeting?”

The frown lines on her face deepened. “Don’t get me started,” she drawled, falling back fully against the cushions. After only a moment, she _ did _ get started regardless of what Adam did or didn’t do. “We received the memo a few days ago that a delegation from Sweden wanted to be in contact, right? Fairly standard stuff, Maura gets back to them quickly because they worded it like it was an urgent matter, and there’s a back and forth for a while about scheduling and accommodations. We’re of the belief they won’t be out here until Monday at the earliest.”

Adam knit his eyebrows together. “It’s not Monday.”

“You fuckin’ tell me. Anyway, I’m halfway through a meeting with a few UN representatives when Maura has to interrupt. They arrived at the White House, claimed they had a meeting, and just…didn’t leave. Evan Maura couldn’t get through to them, which is the thing that scared me a little.”

“You should have put Calla on it.”

“Believe me, if she were here, I would’ve. But as it was, I had to hurry out the UN members to deal with decidedly more antagonistic foreign relations.”

“Why were they even here?”

“They wanted to discuss the military relationship between our countries-”

“What the hell?”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” she said, waving one hand in dismissal. “Any points they were trying to make went straight out the window when they started pulling out cue cards, to be honest. I might have to call Löfven to smooth things over.”

“Well, there’s never a dull moment,” Adam said fairly. His mother snorted.

“Sure isn’t. Anyway,” she said, glancing at her watch, “it’s now Thanksgiving, so no more meetings for twenty-four hours.”

“It’s Wednesday.”

She pulled a face in dismissal. “We take our patriotism seriously, darlin’. Don’t want our home state gettin’ too mad.”

“Of course.”

Ana checked her watch again. “The turkeys will be on their way to the Willard by now, so we’re not ruining any American traditions today.”

“Wait,” Adam said. “Where?”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “The Willard. They stay there every year.”

“What? No. _ No. _You cannot give the turkeys five-star accommodations with taxpayer dollars. You’ve been doing this every year?!”

“It’s public knowledge, sugar. Every news outlet mentions it.”

“How did I not-” Adam cut off. “There is no way you can do that! They’re turkeys! It’s a waste!”

“It’s precedent, Adam. I’m not sure if there’s anything to be done at this point.”

Adam stood quickly, pacing back and forth, and his mother stood behind him. “It’s a _ blatant _waste of money, I’m shocked we haven’t already been-”

“Hon, every president so far has done the same-”

“Imagine the story if we broke the tradition! Even conservatives would have to applaud your frugality-”

“We can’t play games with tradition, you know they already call us disrespectful-”

“-we can’t be using _ taxpayer money-” _

“-by all means, if you have the time to find lodging for two forty-pound turkeys-”

“Put them in my room!” Adam blurted. His mother stopped short.

“You’re not serious,” she said. “We’re not putting the turkeys for me to pardon in your bedroom.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Adam-”

He shifted his feet, coming to a stop. He lifted himself up to his full height. Debate Captain Adam, six-time Best Delegate Adam, and First Son Adam converged into one. His mother barely looked phased.

“Oh, God,” his mother said. “I can’t listen to another sales pitch.”

“Madame President,” Adam began, “I’d like to echo the sentiments of the forebears before me-”

“Nope,” she said, making double-time back to her desk. “You’re not going to filibuster me.”

“In 2018 alone, at least forty-three articles in the Wall Street Journal accused the sitting administration of wasting tax dollars. This came on the heels of a tax increase for Americans making more than ten million dollars per year and the subsequent pushback from a more conservative electorate in Congress.”

“Fine!” Ana said, her hand falling to the desk with a thump. She brought it back up to her head to massage her temple a moment later. “I’m too tired to hear my own history read back at me. You win.”

He sat back down on the couch, crossing his legs primly. “Perfect,” he said, allowing himself to smile once again.

23 notes · View notes