#the sun / the moon / the truth --> 'only three things cannot be hidden for long' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anika-ann · 2 years

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His Lucky Charm - Pt.3

Type: (mini)series, slight AU, ‘met in a café, but with a twist’

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 6100

Summary: Steve’s new (girl)friend is a little too obsessed with his good luck. He finds it sweet and utterly adorable. She’s like his personal lucky charm. And by god, does he feel lucky to have her.

A wise man once said: Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.

Warnings: mention of a near death experience, feels, angst & fluff, language

A/N: Dialogue heavy chapter. I am not sorry 😅 OH and a little SURPRISE in the end notes 😇

Story masterlist

Steve’s head felt painfully full as he drove home, his skull almost throbbing with the speed his thoughts and emotions twirled in his brain as he was trying to process what he saw today – and in the last nine months of knowing you.

He couldn’t get the image of you almost breaking down about him not carrying a drawing from his mind now that he understood that it was about much more than what the drawing represented.

A lucky charm. He could scoff had he had the energy to do anything but steer the bike and his crazy fast train of thought.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out the reason why you didn’t exactly scream whatever you were hiding from the rooftops; if one thing hadn’t changed since his younger years it was that people were afraid of different. People isolated themselves from different. It came as far that people hated different.

What baffled him was why you wouldn’t tell him. You must have known that he of all people – he, with a supersoldier serum in his veins, a serum that so fundamentally changed his body and emphasized his character – would understand, or at least tried his best. And he was trying even now, but--- you were together for nine months.

Nine months; surely you could have found an hour of your time to tell him and explain. He would have thought you cared as much.

But you didn’t, so in addition of being mad at you, he was deeply wounded by the fact you didn’t deem him worthy. That your bond wasn’t as profound as he believed it to be, that you didn’t view the relationship seriously enough to enlighten him into something as big as some sort of a bullet-stopping power.

It was too much. Anger, hurt, disappointment – but also endless curiosity. He couldn’t deny it, he was only human and you--- he had thought you were just extremely superstitious. But now he recalled how he had found you mouthing soundlessly with the drawing in your hand and how you always cursed using the best-known fabled magician.

He felt like an idiot for not realizing it and that didn’t help your case. It had done nothing for him to find an ounce of understanding for your position either. He hated when someone made an idiot of him – as all people did. The fact it was you just made it more painful; it was a betrayal coming from a place he’d least expect.

Steve thought he might burst with all the emotions and their intensity before he even got home.

Home. Was it?

The ride on his bike through the city was unbearably long and somehow too short at the same time, the search for a parking spot seemingly endless. He couldn’t handle another minute without getting an explanation. Without resolution.

Steve strode past the elevator on instinct. His brain was too busy to calculate whether it would be faster or slower than the stairs, but what he was certain of was that he needed to do something to occupy his body while his mind was racing almost too fast to keep track.

Pushing the keys to the lock was torture; every cell in his body was buzzing with the acute need to just kick the door open, because it would be faster and it would give him a sensation to focus on, rather than his frantic thoughts and rapidly changing feelings. He went through way too many of them at least three times in the past ten minutes; it was exhausting.

Lured by the jingle of his keys, you stalked to the small hall – the one with the sweet home decoration on the wall that should have told him, that practically screamed on him the obvious – clearly startled. He didn’t have to search for the cause: for one, he hadn’t let you know he was coming home and for two, he probably looked like he’d been through hell.

And yet; as soon as you saw him, seemingly unharmed, your eyes lit up, an unsure and somehow worried smile passing your lips… the word ‘home’ enveloped Steve like a comfort blanket despite everything.

“Steve! You’re--- what—are you okay?” you sputtered, rushing to him to close the door he had stupidly left open as he stood in the middle of the hall, dumbstruck by the new influx of emotions.

You fumbled around him, so close and yet as if you two were galaxies apart, your gaze roamed over him, studying him wide-eyed, long seconds passing. As you crouched and untied his boots (because he still wasn’t moving to do it on his own), his gaze yet again flew over the words on the sign you had insisted on hanging in your new apartment.

Smoke of air and fire of earth bless and cleanse this home and hearth drive away all harm and fear only good may enter here.

Steve couldn’t but wonder. Should he come here to harm you after his revelation, would he have been somehow stuck at the threshold, entry denied by some invisible barrier?

He snapped from his musings when you stood to your full height and beckoned towards the inside of the apartment with your chin, walking backwards, your gaze never leaving his face, searching, concerned.

The words tumbled out before he could think of them twice.

“I almost died today.”

It was the most unlikely sentence, the thing that mattered the least at the moment, because he needed to know, he couldn’t wait to ask his question--- but then he saw you looking at him with so much care and the words just spilled.

Throughout his way home, his world collapsed, was rebuild, collapsed and rose from the ashes again, foundation shaky. He was overtaken by so many feelings, battling for dominance, alternating in claiming victory.

Betrayal, because you lied to him, or kept one hell of a secret.

Hurt, because you didn’t trust him enough to enlighten him.

Anger, because you lied to him, or kept one hell of a secret and maybe even played some sort of a charade half of the time while he had trusted you with his deepest secrets.

Doubt, because if you kept this from him… what else he didn’t know? How well did he really know you?

But as you halted in your steps, hand flying to your mouth, your eyes speaking of nothing but sheer fear and relief combined, so genuinely shaken, all these feelings flew out of the window.

Because there was still a part of you – perhaps the most important part – that remained uniquely you and nothing Steve would learn would change that.

“I almost died and all I saw was you and—” he rasped, stopping mid-sentence, because his head was full of you and he was saying all the things he didn’t mean to. He shook his head. “That doesn’t matter right now.”

But it did.

It was the only thing that mattered, because it was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment, the only thing that kept him from snapping even now after he had some time to make sense of all this nonsense. And he turned the facts in his head over and over and tried to understand, but the truth was he couldn’t. You were the one with the answers. And Steve truly craved those answers. Almost as much as he craved holding you and forgetting all about this.

But in all the mess surrounding you, a mess you were the cause of, somehow you were also the only constant.

“I’m here. Alive. And I’m pretty sure it’s because of this.” He pulled out the small evidence bag from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, gently unfolding the paper upon taking it out. He didn’t have to however; one glance and you knew what it was. And what more, you understood what it meant – it was written all over you face. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

The hand you had clamped over your mouth balled up into a fist, your eyes turning glassy, expression shifting drastically. Steve thought he had seen you scared before, but right now, you seemed absolutely terrified – and devastated.

He was watching your face for two full seconds before the visceral need to take his question back and wrap you in his arms to comfort you nearly overrode the carnal desire to learn the truth, maybe while backing you into a corner until you spitted it all out. It was a close call.

Whatever the secret you had been keeping from him, whatever actions you took or did not take… in its essence, you had done nothing but protected him. He didn’t want you to be scared. As unwise as it perhaps was of him, the one thing about you that hadn’t changed was that he still loved you. Deeply, unshakingly and with every ounce of his whole being.

That he was certain of; but the rest was frighteningly hazy. It would be so easy to take the question back, but forgetting all about it was not an option.

You nodded to yourself once, dropping your hand to the other, the signature fumble of your fingers returning. Your voice sounded so small that even if Steve barely heard it, it felt like a punch to his gut.

“Yeah. Of course… uhm, are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want some water? Tea? Coffee? I brought orange juice from the store-”

“Not now.”

Frankly, he could use some water; his mouth was dry as Sahara Desert, but he didn’t think he could last another second without knowing as much of the truth as he could. And should he watch you so silent, curled into yourself to be as small as possible for a few more moments, he’d break.

Especially as his brain only now registered that you were wearing his hoodie, a habit you picked up on whenever he left for a mission. He wondered if there was more behind it besides you missing him. A good luck charm of your own.

You just nodded again, appearing to resign, accepting that nothing would prolong the inevitable. You had to talk about something you clearly didn’t want to. Something you had done, something Steve couldn’t begin to fathom just yet, but that had saved his life today.

“Can I just- can I just say I’m sorry? I’m sorry that I---” You kept averting his gaze as you mumbled and swallowed heavily. “I understand if you’re here to… to arrest me or-“

Steve’s train of thought came to a screeching halt for the second time that day, wind knocked out of him.

Say what?

“Or… I don’t know, neutralize the threat or-“

His stomach made a wild somersault, his knees feeling as if made of jello. Neutralize the threat??

“What?” he asked breathlessly, as you brought your hands up, fingers interlocked, teeth grazing your thumbs anxiously. You turned your gaze to the ceiling, blinking away tears, not answering. “What on Earth are you-“

“I know I practically lied to you and I kept a secret from you and that doesn’t even begin to cover it and… I know that’s awful and just want you to know that I’m sorry. And--- that I understand. You’re a good man, Steve. You do what you have to do.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, painful smile and wet cheeks on display as you dropped your hands to your sides, clutching at the thin fabric of your leggings, an image of a nervous wreck and Steve finally, finally had a revelation.

I’m sorry. My fear and insecurities got the best of me.

He thought he had got it right the second time when he thought it was about you overthinking the possibility of a relationship with him because you understood it came with maybes and missed dates. But no. He had still got it cardinally wrong when you admitted why you didn’t say yes to him right away, over nine months ago. Or he had got it at least partly wrong.

When you said no, it wasn’t about the mantle he carried, about his job, about the complicated life he led and would inevitably impact your relationship if it ever developed – it was about you. He could tear his hair out for not figuring it out as soon as he found out about the drawing.

You had a secret and you were scared of his reaction, even in the beginning.

You were scared of what Steve Rogers would think; you were terrified of what Captain America would do if he realized you had some sort of powers. The fact you were terrified even now was nothing short of heart-breaking.

If Steve wasn’t concerned about scaring you further at the moment, he would have bounce at you to snuggle you and tell you were being a complete idiot. A smart one and a cautious one, but a complete idiot.

You thought he came here under the pretence of a talk about the drawing to arrest you. You wondered if he was here to kill you even.

Jesus God Almighty.

Even if his anger had been at the wheel, Steve would never touch a single hair on your head; as stupid as it was of him, he wouldn’t; maybe not even if you were the one holding him at gunpoint.

But you seemed genuinely oblivious to that fact that he would never do anything to purposely hurt you.

“I’m here to talk,” he whispered, willing himself to talk gentle but firm, because this was truly important. Jesus Christ, did you really think---

Yes. Your expressive eyes said it all: yes, you did.

Steve didn’t think the word ‘offended’ sufficiently summed up how he felt about you making such assumption.

“I lived through something very strange today. I was shot in the chest and didn’t get as much as a graze. And when I tried to shoot at the suit without one important object in it later, the same bullet, from the same gun, tore the suit apart. I want to know why. I want to know how. I want to talk,” he repeated, realizing that it was the ultimate truth.

Because yes, you lied, you kept a secret, but you surely had your reasons. And Steve wanted to hear them. He didn’t want to assume anymore.

“It’s as simple as that.”

That seemed to give you some courage as you, still teary eyed, stuck your chin out.

“I regret keeping it from you. I regret doing something like that without your consent. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” you said fiercely, and the amount of conviction in your voice left no doubt.

No doubt that you loved him. No doubt that, as absurd as it sounded, you hadn’t changed since he had left in early morning. You were still you: beautiful and sweet and mischievous and protective of his luck. Of him. It warmed him inside out, peace settling in his heart.

Now he had to work on calming his mind.

Steve slowly crossed the distance between you, eyes boring into yours and you reciprocated, emotions shifting in your face as he drew closer, lips parted as you released a shaky breath when he stopped a single step from you. Reluctantly, unsure of your reaction, he placed his free hand over your arm, lifting the drawing to your field of vision. Your eyes flickered to the offending object and back to his face.

He gave you an encouraging smile as you gazed up at him from under your damp eyelashes, and god, no matter how much Steve hated seeing you miserable, he couldn’t deny your fresh tears somehow made your eyes shine brighter.

“I’m sure you would. Tell me about it. Tell me about you.”

The two of you still stood halfway between the couch and the door, but you revealed the truth anyway, even if it was something both of you should probably at least sit down for.

“Well. It’s as simple as this,” you echoed his earlier words quietly, gulping, but still holding his gaze. “I’m a witch--- less than a quarter witch I suppose, but… a witch.”

Yeah. Steve needed to sit down. And maybe get that water.

Or a sip of the Asgardian mead.

Steve’s head was still swimming with all he was learning, but the shift of the atmosphere was almost palpable. There was no rush anymore, the tension easing. The way you sat next to him, your whole body facing his even if not touching, your feet on the couch, one propped up as you leaned onto the backrest – it all spoke of sense of comfort. It put your fuzzy socks on display, the last touch to cosiness; you weren’t completely relaxed, but you were both getting there. The now dimly lit room only added to the atmosphere, an air of mystery – but undeniably soft.

Steve was grateful and relieved, to be honest, that you were able to let go of some of the restlessness. Clearly, you no longer believed he was here – at his home, at your home – to hurt you, as absurd as it sounded. He could, to a point, follow the train of thought that had led to such assumption, but it still baffled him.

Then again, he still knew nothing about your experience with people reacting to your magic. Trauma was an ugly monster that often lurked under the surface and poked its head out in the least convenient moments – and in the least convenient ways.

For his part, Steve thought that whatever you had done was rather wonderful: he couldn’t deny you saved his life and the mere notion of you doing what you could to protect him made his heart sing.

Yet, he couldn’t but wonder if his ‘luck’ meant someone else’s misfortune. Nothing big – he knew you wouldn’t hurt anyone, not truly – but perhaps someone received a few more papercuts than usual, kept tumbling over his own feet, bumping hips onto tables.

Maybe that someone was you. Maybe you working magic in order to keep him safe meant you were breaking some kind of a magic rule – how was he supposed to know? The mere idea made him shudder.

“The spell you casted…” he started off hesitantly after a short silence. You were letting him process often, endlessly patient and he was grateful for that. “Is it, uhm… dark magic?”

You tilted your head, kind smile adorning your lips. It only now occurred to him that in his efforts not to sound blunt or accusing, he did exactly that; asking you if you performed some crazy dark ritual. But you didn’t seem offended.

“There’s no such thing as dark or black magic – or white magic for that matter. Magic is… magic. It’s… it’s a tool, a force of nature,” you said, shrugging lightly, licking your lips as you thought of the best way to explain. Your face lit up subtly as you figured something out. “Like the serum you were injected with. It’s an inseparable part of you, but you choose how much you use it. Well, to a point.”

To a point? So you couldn’t control it entirely? He wondered how that worked… was it that you sometimes forgot yourself like he did? Using too much force? He couldn’t imagine it, not with how expertly you had been hiding it from him. He added anther question on his seemingly endless list.

“And you choose whether you use it to do harm, to destroy. Or to help,” your smile grew even more tender. “To protect.”

Another beat of silence followed, allowing him to gather his thoughts.

“My powers aren’t… how to say this. The strength of the magic diminishes with each generation. With me barely using the powers in the first place… it means that my magic is weak-“

That made Steve’s eyebrows jump, heart skipping an outraged beat.

“It stopped a bullet that tore kevlar like it was cotton candy,” he questioned your statement, instantly regretting it.

You averted his gaze, gulping, body visibly shuddering at the image his choice of words must have painted in your head. Apology was already at the tip of his tongue, but you seemed to quickly shake the dark thoughts away, eyes finding his again, brief challenge flashing in them.

“And my ancestors could protect cities if they chose to. They could tie the protection to a family, to a specific person, whatever they wanted. Me… I can’t do that.”

Ancestors. You rarely talked about your family and Steve respected that, because it was more than clear it was a touchy subject; you barely spoke to your mother, not even introducing him yet, and apparently you had a falling out with your sister quite a long time ago. Fundamentally different view of the world you had told him; now, Steve couldn’t but wonder if it had anything to do with this. With magic.

And Steve might not understand magic, but one thing he did understand.

“The drawing.”

That was why you used it: because you couldn’t protect him directly for some reason. That was why you clung to it so stubbornly.

Remembering how he had actually caught you casting the spell, he felt like a complete foul again. He should have known, he should have figured it out, he should have seen signs… just like he saw the signs of anxiety taking a hold of you again, withdrawing yourself from him just a few inches as if you anticipated a fiery reaction to something you were about to say.

“Yes. I couldn’t--- it was on my mind for a while, casting that spell,” you admitted quietly, averting his gaze as if you were confessing to something as wicked as plotting a murder. “And when I saw that drawing… I saw an out, a perfect excuse how to get away with it.”

“So… the spell is within the drawing. If I give the drawing to someone else…?”

You shook your head rapidly, looking rather apologetic.

“It’s not that simple. Yes, the magic is tied to the drawing, protects whoever has it to a point, but… my magic is always reaching out to--- to you.” Oh. “I suppose you are protected even without the drawing, but significantly less so, so please, if you could keep wearing it—if, if you want, of course, I understand-” you stuttered, unsure all over again, regret, shame-

Steve wouldn’t have that. Not now. Especially since he thought he was beginning to understand what you were saying, it was at his fingertips, but he needed a last push, last clue.

“I will. I do want to keep wearing it. But… what do you mean by reaching out to me?”

You shifted uncomfortably, sighing. Whatever you were about to say, Steve promised himself he would control his reaction, because you seemed like the idea of telling him was about to give you an ulcer.

Reaching out despite the distance you had put between you, he gently cupped your elbow, hand sliding down to your wrist, fingertips caressing your palm before he took your hand to his.

“Hey. You can tell me.”

“It’s emotion-based magic,” you muttered under your breath, inaudible for anyone but a supersoldier.

Steve felt his brows draw together. The simple sentence was both perfectly clear and yet ridiculously vague. One look at his face told must have told you he didn’t quite understand yet, so you reluctantly elaborated. He squeezed your hand encouragingly, even if it was his heart beating rapidly in anticipation.

“Emotion-based magic means… well, the protective spell is--- uhm, let’s say that the stronger the urge to protect, the stronger the feeling the wielder of magic has for the one enchanted… the stronger the spell is. Does that… does that make sense?”

Hell yes it made sense. Steve would have smacked himself for not getting it right away if he knew how to control his body, but his mind was buzzing with the revelation, static noise filling his ears.

Urge to protect. Stronger the feeling. Emotion-based magic.

It was about love. The more you loved the one protected, the more protected they were. Steve thought his heart might burst with how full it felt all of sudden, how quickly it was hammering in his chest. You were able to protect him from a bullet like that – and maybe from a grenade when he thought of it, because the heat he had felt after kicking it away was a little too searing not to leave a mark – because you loved him.

Steve had a literal, physical prove of how deep your feelings for him ran, because he was lucky enough to sit here with you, unharmed. He had no idea why you were so reluctant to admit that, because it only demonstrated the fact you loved him just as much as he loved you.

It was mind-blowing. More so when he realized you were not only afraid to admit this, but your powers to begin with. You did all that, while fearing his reaction. You risked your relationship with him, you risked you’d lose his affection, in order to protect him.

How unselfish could love be?

He stared at you with wonder, the warmest of feelings rushing through his veins, the world bright as never before. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cackle his way through eternity just so he wouldn’t burst with the nearly suffocating happiness.

And you were watching him, anxious of his reaction, the hand which wasn’t enveloped in his restlessly fumbling with the hem of the hoodie you wore.

“That’s amazing,” he whispered the first thing that came to his mind, unable to find a word that would fully express that he felt like he just found the eighth wonder of the world.

“Huh?”

This time Steve did chuckle at the small baffled sound, words spilling from his lips as they came.

“You are amazing. You—you went so far to protect me, thinking that maybe--- maybe if, or more like when, I figured it out… everything could change. And you still did it. For me. I---I can’t even- that’s incredible. You are incredible.”

Yet again, you seemed taken aback, nothing but a shocked “oh” leaving your lips.

You were so adorably flustered and surprised at once, so irresistible, that Steve couldn’t hold back anymore.

His body was moving before he realized it, right hand curling around your nape, left pulling your body to flush to his, lips swallowing the startled noise you let out at the sudden movement.

You submitted to his advances willingly, letting him pull you on top of him with a content sigh as he sucked on your lower lip, mouth parting for him obediently when he wordlessly asked for more. He hoped to pour all of his feelings into the kiss, fingers in your hair tender, reverent, because here you were, his his his to love, to protect, to cherish, just like he was yours and he wanted you to understanding it in your very soul, no doubt left that if part witch or not, you were everything, his little slice of heaven on Earth.

Even if he still needed air to breathe. He forced himself to tear apart from you for a moment, forehead resting against yours, eyes fluttering open only find yours still closed. A tear slipped down your cheek and Steve would have thought it was a happy one, but with each passing second, he grew aware of how despite letting him take and returning the kiss with fervour, there was tension in your spine, your fingers clutching his shoulders a little too tightly.

He would have thought this would be an absolution. Him, telling you he found your confession the best damn thing, kissing the living daylights of you – but here you were, something still on your mind. Alarm bells sounded in his head, but he tried to put out the rising panic. Whatever bothered you couldn’t be terrible, he refused to believe that.

“What is it?” whispered, barely withdrawing an inch.

Your lips trembled, eyes finding his, wide and glassy, something resembling guilt reflecting in them.

“There’s… there’s a question you’re not asking,” you rasped, fighting a lump in your throat, confusing Steve even more. “An important one. I think you now think I’m this perfectly selfless person who--- who just loves you so much-“ That would be correct. “-and I do, but I--- there is this one question and I know it must have crossed your mind, because you’re too smart not to think about it.”

Trust you to turn whatever was bothering you to compliment him. Steve sighed, mind racing as he watched you avert his gaze. It wasn’t hard to figure out what question you had in mind, not with his heart brimming with affection for you, now more than ever.

It was a logical question he supposed, it had crossed his mind, but he saw no point in asking it.

Why ask a question to which one didn’t need an answer?

“Do you want me to ask?” he said softly, brushing away the tear that was about to roll down your cheek.

You tried to climb off of him, but Steve refused. His arm locked around you, fingertips still laid on your cheek. A brief look of panic crossed your face, but you didn’t fight him, resigning.

“Don’t you want to know?”

Steve sighed. Frankly, no, not really. But it seemed important to you and it did seem appropriate to get it out of the way. If not for himself, then for you. Because apparently, you might not believe you were in danger anymore, but still thought your relationship might.

Steve pulled you yet an inch closer to his chest and slid his fingers under your chin, a gentle reminder to look him in the eye.

“Can your magic help someone fall in love with you?”

He couldn’t even force himself to say make someone fall in love, because he simply didn’t think you were capable of such level of manipulation; not you as a person, not as a descendant of witches.

More tears escaped your eyes as you nodded, warm droplets landing on Steve’s face, silent “yes” falling from your trembling lips.

Steve couldn’t but smile despite hating seeing you cry over this on visceral level. He was… satisfied with your answer, perhaps more than he should. It was certainly good to know that you could do that.

And it was an interesting piece of information, an interesting piece of a puzzle, sure, but one he needed less that you seemed to believe.

“Okay.”

He leaned in to kiss your forehead, lingering as the skin felt as if it was on fire under his lips. His poor enchantress, stressing over nothing.

When he retreated, he found you staring at him, utterly confused by his reaction. He had to hold back laugh at your baffled expression as this was clearly not the response you expected. By gods, he adored you.

“B-but-“

“I don’t need to ask the follow-up question,” he said simply, voice unwavering unlike yours.

“I- I don’t--- why?“

He reached to caress your hair, the smile still playing in the corner of his lips as he toyed with the ends. “I did feel enchanted. I still do. But it has nothing to do with the magic coursing through your veins.”

“How would you know?”

That would be a fair question, he supposed. But it wasn’t enough to make him question his feelings for longer than a millisecond despite your hardened gaze.

“Because I know you. And right now, you could have tricked me into asking, because you knew it was an obvious question, one you’d want to get out of the way if the answer was yes. And you could have simply said no, get me off your back. But you said yes.”

“Could be my plan all along, tricking you into thinking this.”

He raised an eyebrow, wordlessly telling you that he could see that your painfully overthinking brain kicked in. But he could also tell that his words had taken effect; you were only protesting half-heartedly now. Still, he humoured you. He needed to put all cards on the table if he wanted to move on.

“Could be, I suppose,” he mused. “But sweetheart, have a little faith in my ability to read people – to read you. Because I know with absolute certainty that the answer to did you make me fall in love with you by using magic would be no and it would be the truth. Because you’re a good and honest person. You’re the woman I fell for all on my own. You’re the woman I love. You’re the woman I’d like to marry one day.”

Your breath hitched and Steve would have cursed himself for the slip, but the expression of utter awe on your face gave him enough satisfaction to make up for it. It wasn’t like he was ashamed of it. He was more taken aback by the realization that at some point, his hands acted on their own volition, now cradling your face, holding it gently but firmly so he could look you in the eye and get his point across.

“And today… today has been a lot, but it hasn’t changed a thing about how I feel. Maybe I love you a little bit more, knowing you went through the trouble for my sake. But… that’s it. Tell me you understand?” he pleaded lowly.

Tell me you understand I love you. Tell me you understand that despite our flaws and despite what happened, I love you still. Because I know nothing else. Because there is no other way. Because I can’t imagine losing you.

His stomach made an unpleasant somersault at the last thought and at the profound truth in it. He hoped you could read all the unspoken words in his expression, in his touch.

Your eyes were wider than ever, gazing at him with sheer wonder, attentively roaming his face, no doubt searching for any sign of a lie, of doubt, of fear even – but finding none.

“I—I love you too,” you whispered and despite hearing it so many times, Steve could feel the true undeniable weight of the words more than ever. But you didn’t say yes. He watched you just as intently, waiting for your confirmation. “Oh. A-and I understand.”

The widest of smiles spread on his lips and you mirrored his expression reluctantly until a chuckle spilled from your lips and you wrestled your hands around him so you could hug him close, face hidden in the crook of his neck, shoulders shaking with laughter and sobs at once.

Steve’s heart raced in his chest but he embraced you with the same fervour, fingers twisting in your hair to hold you to him protectively, wishing to shield you from the onslaught of emotion that made you shiver so violently. He felt tears prickle in his own eyes as more of yours sunk into the sensitive skin of his throat, but from how your lips pressed to his pulse point, tender and loving, he knew this time they weren’t tears of fear or sorrow.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, feeling your fingers flex, a choked noise bubbling up your throat and the shushing noise left his lips on its own, arms carefully rocking you in his embrace.

“I was so scared I was gonna lose you,” you whispered hastily and Steve squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his heart clench painfully, hating whatever or whoever made you fearing the confrontation so much. Even if it was just anxiety – he couldn’t know and wasn’t ready to investigate yet – he wanted to punch it dead.

“You didn’t. And you won’t. I’m right here. I love you, sweetheart. I love you, I love you…”

Each declaration was followed by a kiss to whenever his lips could reach, until the pitiful noises of your sobs and cackles turned into silence, occasionally interrupted by a soft watery giggle. Steve was proud to be able to comfort you like that, honoured that he was the one who could do it.

He let you process just as you had let him earlier, his own mind wandering, but present enough to be aware of any minute movement, any alternation in breathing, any new noise you made.

When you melted into him completely – into his still battle battered body, rather filthy if he was honest with himself – he allowed himself to close his eyes, nose buried in your hair, pushing all worries about consequences of his behaviour at the Tower and all implications of your confession away for the time being.

Right now, he was here, with you; and not one thing changed about the fact that he was the luckiest guy in this universe to have that.

Part 4 (I couldn’t squish more into this already long chapter)

S.R. masterlist

Thank you for reading this far 💕

Confession: I cannot let these two go just yet. I just can’t. I have a little something planned for them, but also for you.

I have a little challenge for you. That is, if you’re interested. I am awful at drabbles AND requests, but I will try my best to write a His Lucky Charm drabble for the first three of you who will contact me (in a comment, via an ask or a message, in a reblog) with a very specific observation - see below.

From the very first chapter, I was dropping hints about magic, because obviously, I didn’t want the drawing thing to happen entirely out of blue. We already know that there was the Merlin’s beard swearing, her inclination to believe in superstitions, the sign in her apartment, Steve actually catching her working her magic (even if he didn’t know at the time), the actual word magic or even a magic wand in the text…

BUT. If you find one particular hint that has been there since the first posting, a very much NOT subtle one that appeared REPEATEDLY, let me know. Oh, and know that to find it, you don’t have to be a particularly attentive reader🤭 thinking outside the box allowed and encouraged 😅

If you’re amongst the first three correct answers (if I even get so many answers), I’ll try to scribble something for you 😘 - remember, it will be limited to a drabble related to this fic.

Much love,

Anika

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x you #capain america x you #steve rogers fluff #captain america fluff #his lucky charm #anika ann

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the-empress-7 · 2 years

Note

Empress!.

I love how we always are vindacated. We were saying last month that Kate Mansey was telling the truth when she released her article, she said he wants protection by free. And what the duo did? Release a statement calling her a liar and playing the victim.

So Kate Mansey was called a liar and evil british journalist.

And we knew he only released that statement because he didn't expect the 'leak' . Now, we know for sure that the liar is someone else 😅

“Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”

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thricebancho · 2 years

Photo

> Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.

independent p4 triplets au rp blog

literate, paragraph + multi-paragraph + chat/text logs

multi-verse, multi-ship, crossover, and AU friendly

18+ ONLY, nsfw topics/threads to be expected (but will be tagged/under cuts!)

there will be ample persona 4 spoilers!

Ever wondered what it would be like if Bancho was three different people? No? Well, you’re gonna find out what happens anyway! Meet Souji, Yuu, and Hayato, the Seta triplets.

Mutuals can send IMs, but anyone is free to send asks! I will be following people I’m interested in interacting with but you can always ask if I’d like to plot with you.

rules // about

#live your truth [promo]#persona rp #persona roleplay #video game rp #anime rp #persona 4 roleplay #persona 4 rp #// tags and verses are a wip but feel free to ask questions

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teenwolffan-with-nolife · 3 years

Text

The Witch and The Wolf Pt.60

Word Count: 4,072

Characters: Derek Hale, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Chris Argent, Kate Argent, Braeden, Jordan Parrish, Kira Yukimura, Liam Dunbar, Berserkers, Lydia Martin, Malia Hale, Peter Hale, Calaveras, Reader

Pairings: Derek Hale x Witch!Reader

Warnings: angst, death, fluff, i think that’s all

Masterlist Series Masterlist

“As soon as I figure out what you’re planning, it’s over for you.”

You stood across from Peter, the two of you were upstairs in the loft, away from Derek’s hearing range.

“I’ve got nothing to hide, (Y/N),” he smirked.

“You’re working with Kate!” you exclaimed.

“Technically, I’m not. We had a mutual plan, working to shut down the Deadpool,” he crossed his arms while you rolled your eyes.

“How stupid do you think I am?” you scoffed.

“You know what? Screw this, I’ll just tell Derek that you're working with Kate,” you replied, taking a step back before he stopped you.

“If you tell him that I was working with Kate then I’ll tell him that you’re pregnant,” you froze in your steps, taking a deep breath before you turned to him.

“Werewolves are in the womb for a shorter amount of time. I can already hear a heartbeat,” he leaned against the wall as you clenched your jaw.

You couldn't add to more stress, especially now with Scott and Kira missing.

“Don’t think I’m not watching you,” you replied.

“Oh, I would never,” you could see that stupid cocky grin on his face as you exhaled sharply, walking down the stairs.

You could see Derek leaning against the table, resting his head in his hands. You could tell he was upset, and you could feel his pain.

“Hey,” you said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he put his arm around your waist, pulling you in slightly.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just getting these weapons ready for Mexico,” he replied.

Your face dropped slightly.

“I thought we agreed that you were going to stay here.”

Not this again

“No, you said that. I never replied.”

“Derek, it's not safe,” you ran your fingers through your hair.

“It’s not safe for anyone. But Kira and Scott are gonna die if we don't do something.”

“You could die, though.”

“So could any one of us.”

“Well, I don't care about them, I care about you!” he was surprised when you raised your voice, taking a deep breath.

“They’re your friends, (Y/N),” he put his hand on your cheek, stroking it softly.

“I know, I didn't mean that,” you shook your head.

“If I don't come back then so be it. I’d die for Scott any day,” he replied.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, your eyes watering before you sniffled, shutting them tightly.

“Braeden said she got the van. We’re supposed to meet her downstairs in a few hours,” Derek said.

You nodded your head softly, sitting down next to him on the couch while he laid his head on top of yours, holding you close.

---

“No, I’ve been calling Lydia for a while, she’s just not answering,” you frowned, walking into the garage with Derek and Braeden by your side.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Lydia isn't picking up. She went to the school to grab something with Kira’s scent,” Stiles explained.

“Well, we can’t wait for her,” Derek said.

“How about she meets us on the road?” you suggested.

“No, we can’t just leave her alone,” Stiles shook his head.

“I’ll text Mason. He’s probably at school anyway, I’ll tell him to look for Lydia,” Liam asked.

Stiles sighed, before nodding his head.

“What’s the worst Kate can do to Scott and Kira?” you could feel Stiles’ anxiety radiating off of him.

“I don’t know,” you replied softly.

“Right… she can’t steal a true alpha’s power, right?” you turned to face Derek, while he shrugged.

“If somehow she was able to turn me 15 again, who knows what she can do to Scott,” he said.

You sighed, rubbing your fingers through your hair.

“Let’s go,” you nodded.

“Okay, yeah I’ll ride with Derek and Liam since I have experience with out-of-control teen wolves,” Stiles nodded.

You rolled your eyes, before turning to Peter, who had a smirk on his face.

“I’m gonna ride with Peter and Malia,” you immediately said.

You could feel Derek giving you a confused look.

“Someone has to keep an eye on him,” you explained.

“I’ll be doing that,” Malia shrugged.

You could feel all eyes on you while you clenched your jaw, looking at Peter’s smirk.

“I thought you hated Peter,” Liam asked.

“I do,” you replied quickly.

“So then just come with us,” Derek raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious of you.

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s just go,” you avoided eye contact with Derek before making your way to the truck.

You waited for Derek, Liam, and Stiles to sit inside, before you went in beside them. Braeden pulled you over, stopping you.

“What’s the problem?” she asked.

“Peter, we need to keep an eye on him. He’s working with Kate,” you explained quietly.

“Why can’t Derek know?” she asked.

“He's going to want to do something, but I just need to come up with a plan. The only problem is I have no idea what Peter’s planning,” you muttered.

“Okay, we’ll drive behind him. Does that work?” she asked.

“For now,” you nodded.

She walked to the front seat, while you sat across from Liam and Stiles, holding Derek’s hand.

---

“Okay,” you put the lock around the chains, securing them before pulling on them, making sure Liam wouldn't be able to break through them.

“Here,” you saw Derek hand him the triskelion talisman while you gave him a look.

“It’s been in my family for centuries. It’s a very powerful supernatural talisman,” he explained.

Reverse psychology

You were surprised it would work on werewolves but didn't question it.

“Are you okay,” Derek whispered softly to you.

You raised an eyebrow, before nodding your head.

“I don’t need powers to feel the anxiousness radiating off of you.”

You had barely focused on anything that was going on. Most of your energy was focused on making sure you wouldn't get sick on the way and focused on keeping your pregnancy a secret until after Scott, Derek, and Kira were safe.

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” you replied.

He nodded before you put your head on his shoulder.

The car was nearly silent for a few hours, with the occasional words from Stiles, but you could tell he was also scared for Scott's life.

You heard Liam groaning, while you sat up, realizing the moon was up, it was night.

“Okay. Liam, look at the talisman. Each spiral on the triskelion means something, okay?” you tensed slightly as Derek moved closer to Liam, seeing Liam’s eyes glow yellow.

“Alpha, beta, omega. It reminds us that an alpha and fall to a beta, and that a beta can become an alpha,” Derek explained.

“Can an alpha become an omega?” Liam asked.

Derek nodded his head softly.

“Use it as a mantra. Alpha, beta, omega,” Derek said.

“Alpha, beta omega,” Liam repeated.

“Slower,” you said.

“Alpha… beta… omega,” he repeated slower.

He shut his eyes tightly, while you saw him digging his nails into his hands.

“It’s not working!” he yelled.

“Keep trying,” you said.

You felt the entire van shake, while Braeden swerved slightly. Liam broke from his handcuffs, immediately attacking Derek.

“Prohibe.”

Your eyes were purple as you pushed Liam aside, using all your strength to pin Liam down.

“Liam! Focus!” you yelled.

“Well, it’s clearly not working,” Stiles exclaimed.

“Do you have any better mantras?!” you yelled.

He sighed, before frowning.

“Yeah, I do actually.”

“Colligationem,” Stiles made his way next to Liam.

“Liam, what are three things that cannot long be hidden?” Stiles asked.

You felt Liam digging his claws into your arm as you winced, taking shaky breaths.

“Liam! What are three things that cannot long be hidden?” Stiles asked again.

“The sun, the moon, the truth,” you felt Liam release his grip on you as you let out a deep breath.

You heard Liam continue to repeat it, before his eyes reverted back to his normal color, falling to his side.

You broke the spell from him, stumbling back.

“(Y/N),” Derek put his hand on your arm, examining your wounds.

“I'm sorry, (Y/N),” you could hear the weakness in Liam’s voice as you shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo,” you watched as you slowly healed, while Derek frowned.

“How did you do that?” he whispered.

“A spell,” you started.

“You can't heal yourself with magic,” he replied.

“Derek,” you shook your head.

“I’m not an idiot, I know you’ve been hiding something from me,” he replied softly.

You could see Stiles and Liam looking at the two of you while you sighed.

“Can we talk about this later?”

“Who knows if later is even gonna come?”

You frowned, looking up at him.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Forget I said anything,” he scoffed.

“Derek,” you put your hand on his shoulder while he scooted away from you.

You put your hands on your head, looking outside the window.

---

The past few hours were silent, while you bounced your leg, biting the skin around your nails.

You felt the van come to a halt, seeing La Iglesia outside the window.

Derek stepped out first, seeing him being pulled out of the van while you jumped, hearing him yell out.

You ran out of the van in fear, feeling your heart racing as you saw a berserker holding down Derek, running its bone fist through Derek.

“Repellunt,” your tears were at bay as you used your magic to pull the berserker off of Derek, pulling Braeden’s gun from her while firing repeatedly at the berserker.

You watched as it ran away, your tears falling freely as your heart began to ache, seeing Derek slumped over across from you.

You ran to him, throwing the shotgun down, putting your hand over Derek’s wounds.

“I-I can heal you. J-Just give me a second,” you could hear his shaky breathing as blood continued to fall out of his wounds.

“Instaurabo,” your eyes were purple, while you put your hands on his wounds.

Nothing happened, while you continued to try, your tears blurring your vision.

“(Y/N),” you heard Derek groan.

“I don't know why it’s not working,” you continued to repeat the spell.

“(Y/N),” he said again, slightly strained.

“You guys, go in. Find Scott and Kira. Save them. I’m right behind you,” you watched as Stiles hesitated, before nodding his head.

“Save him, (Y/N),” you heard Stiles say before he, Malia, Peter, and Liam ran into the church.

“(Y/N),” Braeden put her hand on your shoulder.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” you asked.

She shook her head no.

“I-It’s fine. I just have to clear my mind,” the thought of losing Derek like this stuck in your head, while his blood covered your shaking hands.

“Looks like Lydia was right after all,” Derek laughed softly, before you heard him coughing, blood coming out of his mouth.

“No, you’re not dying like this,” your voice wavered as you looked down at him.

He put his hand on top of yours while more and more tears rushed down your face.

“You need to go help Stiles,” he said softly.

“I’m not leaving you,” a small cry fell from your lips before you bit them, taking a deep breath.

“You need to,” he said.

You cried softly, shutting your eyes.

“I can’t do this without you,” you cried.

You saw his eyes water slightly as he sniffled.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“No,” you shook your head, pressing your hands onto his wound tightly as he groaned.

“We can still save you,” you continued to press onto the wound and he yelled out in pain.

“(Y/N), I’m begging you to stop,” he said.

“No, you're not dying!” you yelled.

“Braeden,” you heard Derek say.

You felt her pull on your arm while you pushed her off.

“I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you too, Derek. Please, let me try,” you begged.

“We’re not alone,” you heard Braeden say as you tried to hold back your tears.

“Okay, we’re going to split up. Take a shotgun,” she motioned as you shook your head.

“What about Derek?” you said.

“If you don't leave him, all three of us are going to end up dead.”

Your hands were shaking as you took Derek’s gun out of his pocket.

“Shoot anything that moves,” he nodded his head while you stood up shakily.

Your heart was aching fiercely as you took deep breaths. You felt an overwhelming sense of anger taking over you. Kate did this to him, and you were going to make her pay.

---

You walked around the building, keeping your eyes out for any sign of anyone or anything. You heard a noise, peeking over a corner to see Kate making her way with a berserker next to her.

You aimed the shotgun at the berserker, firing rapidly, yet seeing no effect on it. You heard the shotgun click, as all the bullets laid on the floor.

You saw the berserker charging towards you as you pulled out your gun, aiming it at the berserker to try and phase it, but nothing happened.

“Obice,” you formed a barrier around yourself, jumping slightly as the berserker hit it, trying to break through.

You felt it break through as you stumbled backward, while it put its hands around your throat, pushing your back against the wall as you struggled for your breath.

You tried to pull it off of you, only for its grip to get tighter.

“You know I wouldn't want to hurt a pregnant woman. You’re making this hard on me,” you could hear her taunting voice as your eyes watered slightly.

“Then do it. Kill me. You already killed Derek. Kill me too,” you saw her frown slightly, before shaking her head.

“I didn't do anything to him,” you felt slightly dizzy before hearing a gunshot from beside you, aiming at Kate.

She groaned while the berserker took its grip off of your neck, as you gasped for air.

“(Y/N),” Parrish ran to you, helping you up.

You noticed more and more cars pull up near you, seeing Chris walking to you. You tensed slightly, seeing Araya walking next to him.

The Calaveras

---

You heard guns firing continuously at Kate and the berserkers as you ran to Derek.

“Look, we have help now. They must have something we can use to save you,” the tears never left your eyes as he looked at you, a soft smile on his face.

“Thank you for making life worth living,” you felt like your heart was about to burst from your chest as you shook your head.

“No, Derek,” he closed his eyes, while you heard his last breath fall from his mouth, seeing his body stop moving.

“Derek, wake up. Get up, p-please,” you cried, wrapping your arms around his limp body.

You gasped for air, shutting your eyes tightly as you pulled him in, your body shaking with each sob.

---

“We’re almost out of ammo,” your eyes were bloodshot, your jaw clenched as you stood next to Parrish, keeping your eyes on Kate as you continued to fire at her.

“Screw this,” you threw the gun onto the floor, running to Kate.

“Hold your fire! Stop!” you heard Chris yelling, while you continued running to Kate, wrapping your arms around her neck tightly.

“You're gonna pay!” you yelled, your eyes glowing purple.

“If you kill me you’ll just turn into a demon again. Is that really what you want, (Y/N)?” her voice was strained as you tightened your grip on her neck.

“I don’t care!” you shouted.

You could feel the life leaving her body.

“(Y/N), let her go. You don't want to do this again,” you heard Chris approaching you as you clenched your jaw, pressing down on Kate.

“(Y/N) you don't want to go down this path again,” Chris warned.

“She killed Derek. She has to pay,” a tear fell from your face while Kate smirked.

“You’re not as strong as you think you are, (Y/N),” her eyes flashed a dark green before she growled, striking your face.

She pushed you down, before wrapping her hands around your neck.

“You were so close. Say hi to Derek in hell for me, okay?” you heard a gunshot, seeing Kate getting pushed off you while a yellow bullet flew into her arm.

Yellow wolfsbane

Chris pulled you up.

“Let me take care of her, (Y/N),” Chris shook his head.

Kate grabbed a gun from her pocket, aiming it at you as she stood up.

Before you processed it, you heard a sound, a wolf howling.

You tensed as the wolf charged towards Kate, pushing her over and attacking her.

“Back up,” Chris pushed you back slightly, while you continued to watch as the wolf attacked Kate.

Your eyes went wide, watching as the wolf shifted into something else, into someone else.

Derek stood in front of you, looking down at Kate as you gasped, tears of joy rushing down your face.

He turned to face you while you ran to him, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

“I wasn’t dying, I was evolving,” he said softly.

“So much for no Pokémon, yeah?” you put your hands on his face, putting your forehead on his.

“Shut up,” he scoffed, putting his hands on either side of your face, before pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Oh my god,” you let out a breath of relief, tightening your grip on him.

“I love you so much,” you said softly.

“I love you too, (Y/N/N),” you closed your eyes softly before gasping, remembering the rest of them.

“Scott!” you yelled out.

You turned to Chris, who nodded his head.

“Go save him. I’ll take care of Kate,” you nodded softly before the two of you ran into the church.

---

“Where the hell are they?!” the two of you ran into the church frantically, looking for any sign of Scott or Stiles, or any of them.

“I can hear them… they're this way,” Derek continued to lead you further into the church.

“You have your powers back,” you said.

“Yeah, I feel better than ever,” your eyes widened, seeing Kira, Stiles, Liam, and Malia all laying on the floor, while Scott was pinned down by Peter.

Something was different, he wasn't just a werewolf anymore. He changed too.

“Traho,” you pulled Peter off of Scott, while Derek wrapped his arms around him, restraining him.

“It’s nice to see you’ve got your strength back, Derek,” Peter said, letting out a bitter laugh.

“Was this your plan all along? To kill Scott?” you scoffed.

“He doesn't deserve to be an alpha,” he barked while Derek tightened his grip.

“You don’t either. You’re a monster, Peter,” you spat.

Scott walked shakily in front of Peter, his eyes glowing red.

He swung his fist, while you looked at him in surprise, seeing Peter collapse onto the floor, unconscious.

“I don't think I’ve ever seen you knock out someone like that,” you said.

“Oh, shut up,” he wrapped his arms around you and Derek, while Derek tensed, before hugging Scott back.

“What happened to you?” Scott asked Derek.

“I’m okay,” Derek nodded, a small smile on his face.

You walked to Liam and Malia, helping them up while Scott helped Kira.

“I feel like I broke something,” Stiles muttered.

You scoffed, while the six of you hugged each other tightly.

Scott tensed, before looking up.

“I hear something,” Scott said.

Derek frowned, before raising an eyebrow.

“There's only seven of us here,” he said.

You frowned slightly, confused.

“I hear it too,” Malia nodded.

“Hear what?” Stiles asked.

“The extra heartbeat,” you bit your lip slightly, giving a look to Derek, trying to find the words to say.

“It’s coming from right here. Is there someone under us?” Liam asked.

“Guys,” you said softly.

“We’ll split up,” Derek held your hand before you shook your head.

“Guys,” you raised your voice, while the rest of them turned back to look at you.

“There’s no one else here,” you said.

“What do you mean?” you turned to face Derek, while he frowned.

The rest of the pack kept their eyes on you while you took a deep breath.

Just say it

You gave Derek a nervous smile, before scratching the back of your head.

“(Y/N),” Derek put his hand on your shoulder.

“T-The heartbeat is coming from… our kid…” your voice trailed off while you saw Derek’s face drop, hearing the rest of the pack yelling.

“You’re pregnant?! Is that why you’ve been acting like a bitch to me?!” Stiles exclaimed.

“How are you pregnant? I-I mean, well, I know the how but like… what?” Scott was baffled, shaking his head.

You continued to look at Derek, trying to get a reaction.

“Are you upset?” you heard the rest of the pack’s voices die down.

“Guys… give us a moment alone,” you felt your heart racing as Derek motioned for the rest of them to leave you two, taking Peter with them.

They nodded, walking out while he put his hand on your cheek.

“Did you want kids?” he asked softly.

“No, I-I mean raising a kid in this life… it isn’t safe, and-”

“Hey,” he put his hands on either sides of your face, wiping away the tears you didn't know you had.

“It doesn't matter if I want a kid, it isn't safe,” you shook your head.

“If you want kids, we will figure this out and we will be safe. So, do you want kids?” he asked again.

You nodded softly, while he wrapped his arms around you tightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“It looks like we’re having a kid,” he pressed his forehead against yours as you let out a shaky breath, laughing softly.

“How are we gonna do this?” you cried softly.

“All I know is that we can figure this out, together,” you nodded, while he continued to hug you tightly.

“I am more than happy to have this kid with you. I love you, (Y/N), and I’m going to love this kid too.”

He put his hands on your waist while you put yours around his neck.

“I don't know how I thought you were going to react,” you shook your head.

“Well, I wouldn't have control over this. The best I can do is support the woman I love,” he said softly.

“I'm lucky to have you,” you put your head on his.

“Well, I have a badass girlfriend who fought a bunch of berserkers, hunters, and Kate Argent while being pregnant. So, which one of us is really the lucky one?” you smirked softly while he put his arm around your shoulder, the two of you walking out of the church.

---

“I promised Araya that I would go back with them after this, and help them,” you stood next to Chris, the two of you outside of the church.

It was bright outside, the sun was shining. To anyone else, it would look like a picture perfect scene.

“When will you come back to Beacon Hills?” you asked.

“I don’t know yet. Not for a while,” he shook his head.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, feeling tears come to your eyes as you blinked them back.

“Thank you for everything, Chris. I-I don’t know what I’d be without you,” you felt him pause, before hugging you tighter.

“I love you, kiddo,” you pulled away from him, seeing him crying as you laughed softly, wiping away your tears.

“Stay safe. Don't get yourself killed,” you said softly.

“Same to you. You have your own family now. You need to be careful,” you nodded, while he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You watched as he walked away, getting into the van as Derek walked to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he put his arm around your shoulder.

You watched as the van drove off, before turning to Derek.

“Ready to go home?” he asked softly.

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder before the two of you made your way to the van. The rest of the pack was already waiting, as Derek held your hand tightly, pressing a small kiss to it.

“I love you, (Y/N/N),” he said softly.

“I love you too.”

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Text

What I'm afraid to say

Part 5/6 - AO3

part one | previous | Next

Geraskier - T

Summary: Five times Geralt tries to tell Jaskier he loves him, and one time he succeeds.

______

Geralt follows Jaskier along the path, they don’t have any destination in mind and Geralt is happy to follow his bard as he struts and dances and twirls along the dusty road. Everyone always says that it’s Jaskier that follows the White Wolf, but Geralt knows differently. From the first day back in Posada it had been Geralt that spurred on Roach to trot after the bard as he strummed on his lute. Geralt has been following Jaskier ever since, taking contracts in the towns they visit, stopping along the path to forage for ingredients, and finding the best places to camp.

Geralt smiles, knowing his face is hidden from the bard as he chatters on ahead of Roach. Jaskier is beautiful like this. He may be a man used to the finer things in life, but travelling suits him. It invigorates him as he flits from town to town, like leaves on a breeze.

Jaskier talks about everything and nothing, weaving stories and ballads out of thin air about every little thing they encounter. Poetry falls from his lips as easily as a priestess’s prayer to the gods. Geralt had known only silence before Jaskier, but now that void would stifle him. Nothing is as peaceful as the constant tenor floating through the air, wrapping Geralt in its warmth, a reminder that Jaskier is alive. The bard may be born to travel, but travelling with Geralt puts him in danger. Geralt would do anything to keep him safe, anything, but it isn’t always enough. He cannot cage the bird that wishes to fly free.

Because Jaskier is free, almost like a force of nature that cannot be contained, and that thought makes Geralt chuckle. It seems only right that the bard named himself after a flower, and not for the reason many people would think. He isn’t delicate, and whilst he dresses as brightly as wildflowers, there is a nasty streak in the bard. He can be bitter, jealous, and condescending. He is not just a sweet little buttercup.

He is so much more.

He is the water that flows in a river, a breath of life and unforgiving all the same. He is the light of the sun, warm and yet blinding. He is the spirit of the forests, so alive and yet dangerous if you never learn how to respect it.

And Geralt loves him.

He loves him so desperately that the words are stuck in his throat. His tongue cannot seem to work anytime he thinks of how he might tell Jaskier the truth. So he finds other ways, and hopes, prays, that one day Jaskier will hear the full extent of his feelings.

His smile fades as he remembers the jagged scars on Jaskier’s skin, marks from the cockatrice that tried to take the bard from him. He would love to wrap Jaskier up in his arms and never let the bard leave an inn or tavern again, he knows it wouldn’t work. Jaskier chose his life with Geralt for the adventure, for the hunts that threaten him every time he ignores Geralt’s pleas for him to stay behind.

The Cockatrice hunt was the start of it, a catalyst that caused his feelings to spiral out of control. Now he’s barely able to hold on. Every day he feels like he’s falling over the edge of a waterfall but he never hits the bottom.

Fuck, he just hopes that Jaskier will be there to catch him when he does.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cries, spinning round with his lute in his hands and a dazzling smile on his lips. “Can you hear that?” the bard asks, tilting his head.

Geralt frowns, looking around for any danger but even when focusing his senses he can’t hear anything, just the trill of the birds from a nearby tree and…

Oh.

Of course, Jaskier listens for the beauty in the world when Geralt only sees the evil.

“Hmm,” he replies, too ashamed to admit that he hadn’t even considered the birds until after he’d checked for bandits or monsters.

“I wonder,” Jaskier hums, deep in thought as his tongue flicks out and swipes along his bottom lip. “Do you think I could write a song based on the bird songs?”

Geralt doesn’t reply. He thinks that Jaskier’s songs are more exquisite than any bird song, but he doesn’t say that. He never says it. He wants to, gods he so desperately wants to. He wants to love his bard the way he deserves to be loved, but he is a witcher. He could never love Jaskier in the same carefree way that his bard loves everything and everyone.

Luckily, Jaskier doesn’t need any encouragement from Geralt, he never does. He just laughs, more musical than any other bard that Geralt has ever met, and spins back around. Disjointed notes fill the air as Jaskier tries to figure out the pitch and rhythm of the bird’s calls. He grumbles and swears under his breath until he gets it right. Geralt is no bard, but he knows as soon as Jaskier has cracked it, a sweet scent wafts through the air and Jaskier cheers, dancing forward with a spring in his step.

The rest of the day is filled with Jaskier’s attempts to find the right lyrics and rhymes for his latest song, an ode to nature, he calls it. Geralt is almost disappointed that Jaskier seems to have found a new muse. His heart aches in his chest as he considers that Jaskier may not need him anymore, that he’ll move on and leave Geralt in the dust.

Geralt isn’t sure what he’ll do when that happens.

Even the long winters at Kaer Morhen now seem empty without the bard to light up his life.

They set up camp quickly, falling into a well worn routine, moving around each other as they each complete their tasks, like nobles dancing at a banquet, completely in sync but never clashing. Soon enough they are sitting on logs opposite the fire, Geralt sharpening his swords in a steady rhythm as Jaskier plucks aimlessly at his lute. The bard stares up at the sky watching the stars that twinkle in the otherwise black sky. There is no moon tonight and the only other light comes from the fire, the orange glow casting eerie shadows around the camp. The soft light makes Jaskier look impossibly even more beautiful. There is a light stubble on his cheeks and Geralt tries to memorise the line of his jaw, his nose, his cheekbones.

“You know…” Jaskier breathes barely above a whisper, “we’re all rather insignificant when you think about it.”

Geralt wants to disagree. Jaskier is anything but insignificant, in the time Geralt has known him, the bard has become the single most important part of his life. Jaskier is the light in the dark, his guiding star on the path, the reason he fights so hard to survive in every hunt.

Geralt stays silent.

“The stars, burning bright and lighting up the heavens, each of them far larger than any of us. Even a witcher or a sorceress is nothing in the life of a star,” Jaskier murmurs, never looking away from the sky.

“It’s not about how long we live,” Geralt mumbles, his heart racing in his chest, almost as fast as a human’s. He feels the blush on his cheeks and his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. This is the moment he will say it. I love you.

“Hmm?” Jaskier asks, finally looking at Geralt from across the fire.

“It’s about how bright you burn,” Geralt explains, and Jaskier burns so brightly, brighter than any star or moon or sun.

Jaskier’s smile widens as his expression softens, wrinkles appearing at the corner of his eyes and he bites his lip, a sign that he’s deep in thought. He hums and plucks a few notes from his lute that sound suspiciously like ‘Toss a Coin’. “I suppose you’re right. We’ll make a poet of you yet, darling.”

Geralt’s heart clenches at the pet name, but he knows it means nothing. Jaskier loves freely and Geralt is no exception, but it would never be in the way that Geralt longs for, he’s too damaged, too scarred.

And yet, Jaskier is also scarred now.

“Can I see?” he asks, knowing the bard will understand him. It’s the same question he’s been asking every night since the hunt. The scar has faded now, still visible but less red and jarring against Jaskier’s pale skin.

Jaskier rolls his eyes, a fond smile dancing on his lips. “And they say witchers don’t feel.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls, only calming once the bard shrugs out of his doublet and pulls up his chemise. Geralt breathes a sigh, a weight lifted from his chest. The scar is exactly how he remembers it, fading and perfectly healed, and yet every night he worries, a nightmare plaguing him relentlessly that it has reopened and is bleeding beneath Jaskier’s colourful doublets.

“See, all fine, stop your nonsense,” Jaskier chides and pokes him on the nose. Geralt’s nose wrinkles and he sits back from the bard, causing Jaskier to let out a peal of laughter. “Oh dearest Melitele, how I love you,” Jaskier says between giggles, the words falling off its lips like the sweetest honey.

Geralt stammers wordlessly.

I love you too.

He opens his mouth, gaping, his cheeks burning hotter than the fire. Jaskier just laces their fingers together, as if it means nothing at all, and kisses Geralt on the cheek. “I know, dear heart, I know.”

A warmth pools in Geralt’s chest at Jaskier’s words, letting the bard’s voice soothe him. Those three damn words are still stuck, but he has time. Jaskier knows now, he’ll wait for Geralt.

He hopes.

#the witcher #geraskier #5 + 1 fic #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #wolfie's winter writing

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your-heart-is-a-treasure · 3 years

Text

“Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”

The only question that remains is what do we do with the truth once it reveals itself. A vast number of our fellow citizens seem to prefer the alternative, and would much rather live in a land of lies.

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straykids-97 · 6 months

Text

Love Potion

Day Four of Spooky Week!

Three things cannot be long hidden; the sun, the moon, and the truth.

Warnings: Witch Hyunjin, soft dom Hyun, sub reader, wax play, teasing, sensory play, bondage, implied relationship, lmk if I forgot anything!

Word Count: 1.9k

Hyunjin never ceased to amaze you. From his gifted singing voice to the way he could easily whip up a concoction to soothe your aching bones.

He always seemed to astound you with his talents.

Even now, as he hastily readied his supplies for the full moon, you couldn’t help but put your book down and admire your boyfriend. You propped your hand under your chin and watched as he quickly moved around his altar, readying candles and his spell book. After a few moments, Hyunjin pulled his headphones off, sighing. “I feel like I’m forgetting something…” he grumbled, turning to you. “Ah!” he clapped, rushing across the room and planting a sweet kiss on your forehead, holding your head between his hands as you giggled. “Now I remember.” You grin up at him, “My goodness,” You hold onto his wrists, “Must be an important moon.”

“It is!” He cheered, “It’s a super harvest moon. Incredibly important! I need to make moon water tonight as well.” The rest of the afternoon goes like this, Hyunjin readying his spell room for the busy night ahead and you sitting there, trying your hardest to not distract him.

As the sun began to set, he kicked you out of the room, ignoring your protests. “You can’t be in here for this part!” He reminded you, making you groan, “Oh c’mon!” You whine. But it falls on deaf ears. He stands in the doorway, white tank top clinging to his skin and his dark gray sweats hanging loose on his hips, “Sorry baby,” he boops your nose, “rules are rules.” He shrugged. You couldn’t help but pout as he closed the door. Huffing, you head for the shared space of your living room and settle on the couch, turning on a movie.

After a few hours, the sun had long since sank below the horizon and the bright moon was now in the sky, illuminating the dark living room. Your movie had just ended, and you shut the tv off, nearly jumping out of your skin when you saw Hyunjin leaning against the hallway wall, watching you intently.

“Uh… How long have you been standing there?” You giggle nervously, standing up. He doesn’t make a move, “Long enough to know that you were hardly watching your movie.” You blush. He wasn’t wrong; you had fallen into a loop of watching short clips on social media. “Whoops.” You shrug, earning a snort and a smirk from Hyunjin.

He held out a hand to you, “Come ‘ere.” He waved you forward. Without thinking, you closed the space, sliding your hand into his. “What’s up?” You ask as he pushes off the wall, guiding you down the hallway to his spell room. Your cheeks warm as he opens the door, revealing that he has done some rearranging.

The table that you were sitting at that was normally against the wall, was now in the center of the room. The lights that normally illuminated the room were off, the only light offered was the light that came from the dozens of candles that surrounded the room. You stared at the table, your eyes landing on a small pillow and blindfold lying on the top of the wooden surface.

Your mouth falls open, and a soft yelp comes out of your throat when Hyunjin presses his chest into your back. “Super Moons are important to us witches… They’re strong- stronger than a normal full moon. But a harvest moon and a super moon…” He trails off, hands running up your arms. “Potent as hell.” His words warm your neck, causing goosebumps to gather along your collarbone.

“What- what are you wanting to do?” You whisper. He grins, “I have a new love spell I want to try… But I need some help… Why don’t you give me a hand?” Your face heats as he steps away, coming around to walk toward the table. His lithe fingers strum the table, before patting it. “Come here, princess.” Hyunjin beckons you.

You slowly walk toward him, shaking slightly as you approach him. He grinned at you as you stood in front of him nervously. Sure, you two had had sex before, all sorts of sex. Hyunjin was a freak but you had never helped him with a spell.

He touches your elbows, motioning you to hold your arms up above your head. Hyunjin’s long fingers trace your heated skin, causing you to shiver as the pads of his fingers dance up your sides, discarding your shirt and bra with ease. “Up.” You follow his instructions and hop up onto the table. Hyunjin loops his thumbs around the hem of your pants and panties, “One more time, baby.” He assists you with taking off the remaining pieces of clothes.

“Now, lay back for me.” You look at him, hesitant. You were nervous, unsure of what he had planned. Noticing, Hyunjin put his hands on either side of your face, placing a soft, warm kiss on your lips. “I won’t do anything to hurt you, you know that.” You feebly nod your head, and after a few more soft kisses, you lay on your back, the cool table making you shiver slightly.

“Good girl.” He praises you, coming to where your head was. Lifting your head up, he tucked the pillow underneath your neck. You watch as he squats down, producing two bindings for either of your hands.

You could see lust swirling in his dark eyes, making you bite your lip. “Hands.” he ordered softly, and without hesitating this time, you offered him your wrists to bind. Hyunjin quickly adjusted the straps so that you couldn’t get out but so that they didn’t hurt you. He moves to your feet and does the same to your ankles.

He stands upright, holding onto the straps, eyes on your face as he pulls the rope in his hand until you are stretched out across the table; spread eagle. He pushes his hair from his face and comes back to stand by your head, grabbing the last thing, the blindfold. Hyunjin pauses for a moment, looking down at you, “Do you trust me, y/n?” He was sincere, wanting to know before he proceeded. You nod, “yes.” Your response made him smile softly. He reached over your head, sliding the blindfold into place.

“Good.” he purred, causing your body to shudder as he pulled away. After a few moments, you felt his fingers skate down your mound. You hiss, hips coming off the table as far as you could go. He left you hanging, your ears the only sense that could detect where he was.

Though you could quite figure out where he was or what he was doing, you still tried to find him. After a few moments of straining your ears, he returns, placing a soft kiss on your jaw.

“Do you trust me, princess?” He asks, his lips coming to yours. You nod, “Yes.” You pant breathlessly. You nod, not being able to help being so turned on by what was happening. Hyunjin giggles, placing a hot wet kiss on your lips, “Perfect.” He pulls away, and you are left with a spinning head.

Suddenly, something hot splashed on your sternum, causing you to yelp. It hurt for a moment but then cooled. “What- what was that?” You panted. “Wax.” He quipped, repeating the process on both your breasts, trailing to your nipples but never hitting them.

You were embarrassed at the thought of admitting that you were soaking wet just from him dripping wax on your body. But you were. He murmured something, but you weren’t sure if it was at you; the throbbing in your ears from holding your breath was preventing you from hearing what he had said.

Hyunjin chuckled, “Fuck, baby.” He cooed, leaning down and sucking on part of your body that didn’t have wax. Your back arched off the table, “Jinnie!” You cry out, hands tugging on the restraints as he pulls away. “Fuc- please! Please!” You beg, legs shaking as he chuckles. “You want me?” You nod, “Yes! Please!” He moves away and you start to protest, thinking he wasn’t going to continue.

But when he crawled on top of your body, you let out a sigh of relief. You could tell he was pent up as well, all your moaning and whining had finally got to him and his cock was hard and sore from scraping against the rough fabric of his sweats.

Hyunjin wrapped his mouth around yours, tongue pressing into your mouth and wrapping around yours. You moan, his hand wrapping around your throat as he claims your mouth, rolling his hips against yours. You let out a breathy pant as he shoves his sweat down his thighs. He groaned, rubbing the tip of his cock against your soaking heat.

He leaned his forehead on your shoulder as he pressed into you, emitting a low moan. His fingernails dug into your skin, the blunt edges digging in almost uncomfortably as he rolled his hips against yours. You wanted to wrap your legs around his hips, but couldn’t. You were about to open your mouth to tell him to let you out of the restraints but he spoke in a foreign tongue, and your feet were free.

You didn’t question it, instead, immediately lifted your hips up and wrapped your leg around his waist. You whined, groaning as he fucked into you, the pace quickening as he grunted, wrapping his long arms around your midsection, lifting you off the table.

The gravity mixed with his thrusts caused your blindfold to slip, and you looked up to see Hyujin’s eyes glowing a soft purple. He was staring at your face intently as he fucked into you, groaning as your eyes met. You glanced around and noticed that you were not on the floor, the table leviating as well. There were candles also starting to float as Hyunjin increased the speed of his hips, whining and panting as he used you without a second thought.

You squealed, that familiar knot forming as he squeezed you tighter to him. With another mutter of that foreign language, your hands were unbound, and he pulled you up into his arms. You both panted into each other's mouths as he ground up into you, laying back on his back, switching so that you were on top.

“Ride me.” He ordered. His hands went to your hips and you instantly obliged, bouncing and rolling your hips against his. You mewled, that familiar knot splitting you apart. You shuddered, moaning and shaking as he lifted you up slightly, continuing where you left off. Your breath caught in your throat as you tightened, Hyunjin prolonging your orgasm before chasing his own. As he came, his eyes became brighter, as did the room.

Then, rather suddenly, the table hit the ground and the candles fell, clattering to the ground. You gasped, letting out a shocked shriek as you held onto Hyunjin, who held your hips. You glanced around to see that the candles had gone out, and the room was a little darker now without them lit. The only thing left to illuminate the room was the moon outside the window. He grins, kissing up your torso to your neck.

“Look at the water.” He gestured to the glass of water sitting on the ledge. Your mouth fell open as it slowly began to turn a dark pink color. “Whoa-” You turn and look at him, making him huskily laugh. “It’s a love potion. Only true love can make it.” He grins, placing a sloppy kiss on your cheek. You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck as he holds you against his chest.

“Now… There’s also another one I need to make…”

Thank you so much for reading! ©️straykids-97

Taglist: @artisticbirb @kaitchan @queenmea604 @bangchans-angel

#skz drabbles #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids hard thoughts #skz hard hours #hyunjin hard hours #hyunjin smut

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bibliocratic · 3 years

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I was going to write this for the Aspec Archives week, but I got overexcited, so here we are.

AU: Mythical creatures. OG Archive team.

Some CWs apply, see tags.

The sea is more than water, her elder brethren taught her, warned her, chided her. It is home and harm and hungry, and you should not face it alone. Her siblings were older, ever knowing better, boisterous and boasting braver, but even they worried, scolded and fretted when she swam out too far alone into deep waters.

It will love you, but it will not always be kind, her eldest sibling bit out, snapped to mask their anxiety. There can be no bearings, in the deep-deep down, no anchors to denote where the sky lies.

When her people sleep, they rest wedged into some secure rock or crevice, tails looped around tails so no one is lost while dreaming.

You cannot be a shoal of one, my dearest, my youngest and bravest, the oldest of their shoal had said, when she told her she was planning on taking the rising when the waters warmed. Ascending landward on the tide swell, letting the shimmering scales of her tail split into skin.

She had not used the name Sasha at that time because that was a landward name she chose with care. Her folk gather names like a garland of pearls, to be constantly strung longer through life as age advances them; names for qualities, for momentous events, for hopes and desires. Her first name, gifted by her shoal, was guttural. It starts at the back of her throat, trails off into a susurration through gills. Mer is a difficult language to learn, though not impossible.

Tim tried. There is no one singular language of those who skirt the deepwaters, so he attempts to mimic her dialect. His pronunciation stumbling, he makes tentative sentences with the butchered grammar of fry. Martin’s grammar is even worse, though he picks up the eddies and waves of the sounds easier.

Jon, like most things in life, takes it as a challenge. One day, almost stubborn with nerves, to perform his task to perfection, he pushes out a juvenile approximation of her first name. Clipped and textbook and the stress in the wrong places, but Sasha smiles, showing her sharpest teeth in delight. Instructs him where to hold the hum at the back of his throat, how to roll the third phoneme upwards like an air bubble. Jon repeats it and repeats it, quietly smug and pleased at his achievement, and the sea in her soul rocks fondly at the sight.

She broached landward in the rising two moons after her age of maturation. She was one of a handful to come to shore. A sibling in Brighton who she phones every week, another two in Holyhead. Her first shoal traverses to warmer waters when the season shifts, and she would feel the rock-hollow absence of them if it was not for Tim, inviting her to participate in a hundred-and-one inane activities that keep her from feeling swept out; Jon, with his libraries of questions and intrigues, his quick-silver tongue; Martin, who sometimes swims a little further out from them but who finds her small knick-knacks in charity shops and craft markets and leaves them on her desk for no reason other than he has thought of her.

She makes three necklaces, plain with a strong chain, a single pearl attached. And on a day where her folk traditionally string garlands of seaweed and mangrove roots and colourful plants from coral reefs in a celebration of family – there is no one word in her language for this idea; it poorly translates into hierarchies like sibling and brethren and elders, but these are not concepts that fit it exactly – she gifts them to the shoal that will anchor her in the depths of the sea, and bestows upon them names. Most Mer names are wishes for quick fins, calm waters, safe shores, and so she wishes these for them in a language they are not quite proficient in yet.

Her landward shoal is smaller than is traditional. But she loves them as treasures of her heart, and thinks she understands what her siblings told her, about anchors.

His parents, both harpies from local nests, are perplexed when his wings start coming in.

Must be a colouring from your mum’s side, his dad hums thoughtfully when Tim’s primaries grow in long and shining like struck bronze. He runs a careful finger down the central line of the rachis, and the wing shudders and jumps, the feathers still sensitive, and Tim complains that it’s ticklish. His wings are too small to fly away as his dad dives in, captures him in careful arms, corkscrewing upwards a little off the ground with Tim squirming and squealing and squawking in play, but they flutter and flap nonetheless.

The wing span’s from your dad’s side, no-one from my nest ever went more than five foot, his mother says, rubbing at the dark brown of his downy secondaries. Tim stretches them out wide, eager to boast at their length, the tips of his longest feathers reaching past his arms held out wide.

Danny’s wings are smaller. Magpie like, bold lines of white broken up by blue and black, the same as his parents. Tim’s wings, broader, a colour like beaten brass that tips into gold at the ends, draws attention, but he’s never been embarrassed. His family never treated him differently, so he didn’t dwell on it.

He can fly, though he doesn’t often. After his parents died, and after… after Danny, he moved to London, where there’s tighter airspace regulations and permits involved, so he mostly doesn’t bother. This doesn’t mean never, however. He has learned, while working in the Archives, that from the ground, his wings have enough lift to pick up both Jon and Sasha by at least a foot. He thinks he could probably manage Martin as well, if it wasn’t for the unfortunate fact that Martin is mildly allergic to a whole host of things, including feather dander, meaning he gets a bit watery eyed whenever he gets too close to Tim’s wings, and he’s a sniffing, red-eyed mess come moulting season.

Anyway, he can always fly when he leaves the city. When it’s been too long since Sasha’s scales touched seawater, she invites him out to the coast. Jon apparently has had enough of the coast to last a lifetime, and Martin gets funny about large bodies of water, so it’s often the two of them. She swims out, the greenish scales of her tail catching the sun-struck water, and he, above, feeling the breeze brush through his cramped wings, follows her wake. When she breaches the surface in a playful arc, he swoops down, trying to catch her at the same time as she tries to splash him.

“You never thought to look into it?” Jon asks. Always brewing with questions. Tim is obligingly holding out one of his wings, and Jon, who takes everything like a project, has books out and webpages up but with no further clue as to why his colouration and span differ so from his parents.

Tim shrugs. “Doesn’t matter really, does it?”

Jon hums, clearly not agreeing, and Sasha rolls her eyes fondly, and that is the end of that.

Marysia had hoped her child would not take after her husband. She’d lit candles and attended masses during her pregnancy, worn the beads of her rosary smooth. Her child had been born on land, miles from shore, and her husband had been a grounded man, who had folded up his pelt on their wedding night for her and swore to wear no other soul than his human one.

But then her husband leaves, the box where he kept his second soul empty, and Martin is eight years old, and he wakes up one morning glassy-eyed and complaining of nausea, his lip bleeding from where his sharpening teeth have ripped the skin, and she knows her prayers were not answered.

It is not unknown, for the second soul of some folk to flourish later. But it is a rough awakening, to have one’s body grow a new skin out of itself, and Martin is off school for over a week, riddled with fever and fervour, constantly parched, crying and sweating out salt-water.

She watches his skin prickle with grey and black fur, blotching with white over his stomach as he coils up under his covers, throws them off only for his limbs to reduce to shivering. His brown eyes have gone black-shot, his cries a mix of language and barks, and Marysia fears she will lose her only child to the sea.

It will be hard for him to fit in, she tells herself. It would be best to choose one, and he has his friends and family and her on land, and who knows where his father is now, and surely it would be cruel, an unnecessary agony for him to endure some other foreign pull away from all he knows.

She does what she thinks is a kindness, though that is neither excuse nor forgiveness. After nine days, his fur has come through, sleek and soft, his whiskers twitching, and she helps him peel it off as one would do clothes, revealing sweat-sheened limbs, his eyes slipped back into brown again. His gaze still distant and feverish, he tries to cuddle into her, and she soothes him while she finishes stripping off his pelt and folding it neatly.

While he sleeps, she burns it in a fire in the back yard.

When he comes back to himself, she lies and tells him that he’s been sick with a bad fever. And he trusts her, and never questions it. He doesn’t understand that she’s burnt a part of him up, scattered the ashes to the winds, but it was for the right reasons. To keep him safe, and happy, and with her.

He grows up human-limbed and cloven-souled, and she never tells him the truth.

Sasha floats in an ever-dark, stolen away and hidden. There is a knot, a cage-trap around her legs, which have fused into her tail although there is no water. The sea, far away, like the wail in a conch shell, throbs in her soul as she strains and shouts and snarls in the wrapping of spider’s webs.

The sea is the only thing with her in the dark.

Sound has a particular quality, underwater. She hears it first, an echo that shivers through her, like being thrummed on the backdraft of some shallow wave. And then it is a wash of insistence. A command.

The compulsion uses her names, landward and seaward and it pulls and demands her attention, and she shrieks and cries back, struggling in the depths. She is being called home, up up up to breach the surface, and she cannot help but answer.

There is a crack and the sea splits, and she is choking on cold and dusty air.

“Sasha!” someone is saying. “God, is she – she’s not – ?”

“Get that stuff off her, come on. Sasha. Sash, love, can you hear us?”

A series of thuds as she splutters. A twisting, gnarling screech, and several swear words.

“Jesus!”

“Shit – shit, get her out of the way.”

“Boss, move, give me the – ”

The screech degrades into a glitching, warping scream. There is the multi-layered sound of compressed air, and crackling fire,the woosh and stench of something burning.

In time, she cracks her eyes open to the punch of light. Her tail flaps weakly. Someone is pulling great strands of silk that has clumped like poorly soldered iron around her limbs, making visceral noises of disgust. She’s cold-stream shivering, surrounded by broken wood and chippings.

“Hey, hey, we got you. We got you. You with us, Sash?”

The faint scratch of feathers against her cheek. Furnace-warm arms are holding her.

Jon is kneeling down in front of her. Holding an axe and stinking of smoke, and she knows, she knows, that it was his voice she heard, although she doesn’t yet understand why.

Martin throws a blanket over her as she shivers, her tail shrivelling and bisecting into legs. He has silk in his hair, and his fingers are trembling, but his face is broken with a look of such relief.

“It’s you,” he says, and his hand touches at his throat, at the necklace she made for him. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

It’s Martin in the end that carries her out of the tunnels, tucking the blanket completely around her. He is talking in the scatter-gun way he does when he is anxious, babbling, and she can’t bring herself to listen. He smells of soot and saltwater, and she’s never noticed that before.

She falls asleep, curled up into his hold, drained and shaken, but feeling utterly safe.

Jon is human. Completely, one hundred percent, although Sasha had joked once that way way back there must have been some Spinx in the family. Tim’s long suspected that Martin’s not quite human, no matter how he presents, but that’s Martin’s business, not his. Some folks have lineages that are rare, or mistrusted, or misunderstood, and Tim’s not one to pry.

Jon, though. Human through and through. Which is why he’s so worried.

“I shouldn’t have been able to do that,” Jon says. Martin’s with Sasha, making sure there’s no nasty side effects to her imprisonment in the table. Jon’s had a face on him for a while which means he’s Worrying with a capital W, and it’s taken hours for him to untangle himself into a blustered declaration to the rest of the class, spiked with nerves. “That place, it had her. It shouldn’t have… I don’t know what I did, but I told her to leave, a-and she could. And she shouldn’t have been able to.”

“And you think that you did that?”

“I – I know I did that, Tim, I felt it, o-or. I mean, I felt something!”

“Ok, alright. Alright. Let’s, let’s calm down and look at this logically.”

Jon goes over what he said while they struggled to rescue Sasha from the deep. It was something he said, he’s sure of it, which is why he is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the main archive office space with Tim, his trousers getting dusty and his temper scraping frayed, getting increasingly frustrated when he tries recreating exactly what he did with his voice, going through questions and commands and instructions and inquiries. And while Tim answers, it’s clearly not what Jon’s looking for, and he’s rubbing the hair at the back of his head in the way he does when he’s getting increasingly frustrated and is too bull-headed to walk away.

Then Jon, rolling his eyes and seething in annoyance, asks him a throwaway question, one of many he’s been trying – what’s your favourite colour? (seriously, Jon, that’s what you’re going with?!); What did you do at the weekend? (you know what I did, you and Martin were with me!).

“Why did you join the Magnus Institute?”

They both sit, frozen and horrified as Tim’s mouth opens and his words trip over his tongue in their eagerness to leave his mouth. As his eyes grow wide and water with tears as he cannot stop speaking about Danny, about the Covent Garden circus and Joseph Grimaldi. As Jon sits, ramrod-backed and cannot stop listening, a muscle jumping in his jaw. His expression wars between frantic and panicking and hungry.

Tim feels wrung out and hollow once he’s finished. Jon’s manic with apologies. It takes both of them a long time to calm down.

“Maybe… maybe you’re a siren or something?” Tim suggests, but Jon is shaking his head.

“It’s this place, Tim. It’s those statements, when I read them. It’s … I – I think they’re doing something to me.”

Tim looks at Jon and the light strikes off his eyes in a way that it shouldn’t on a human.

He touches Jon’s arm.

“We’ll sort this,” he promises. “We got Sasha out, didn’t we? The four of us, we can get to the bottom of this, yeah?”

Jon nods, and gives a small fragile thanks, and that’s human enough for Tim.

Marysia told herself she was not a bad mother. That her son was simply a hard child to love, that he had all the worst trappings of his father, his brown eyes perpetually caught with a far-away look that doesn’t know where to place its longing. But even as she sickened, and he sloughed off every facet of himself in a pathetic attempt to please her, she couldn’t find anything but sorrow in her heart to look upon the man grown over familiar in face, a growth that grew deep-set and fungal into contempt.

She almost spat the truth out to him. Once or twice, with the thought that confessing might bring them closer. She wished he’d chosen the sea instead, so she wouldn’t have to look upon her amputated, half-formed child who would always be lost.

But she never did.

And Martin finds out alone, cornered in an unlocked office, his hands dropping the lighter as a thousand eyes open and watch satisfied as they pour his mother’s choices down his throat to choke him.

It starts when Martin starts sleeping in archive storage. When Tim watches worms burrow into Jon’s skin at the same time as they latch and gnaw and wriggle under his own. When they get Sasha back, and find Gertrude’s corpse and Jon leaves and gets hurt and hurt and hurt again, and the world around them gets smaller and meaner and there is nothing Tim can do.

He takes to storing food in their desk drawers. Nothing that will go off, or won’t keep. Tins and dried goods and non-perishables. He lines the walls of Martin’s storage room with fire extinguishers of different types, fire blankets, and spare first aid kits bulging with plasters and bandages and antiseptic wipes. He buys blankets and pillows and rope and penknives. He stress-moults constantly, and tucks his feathers out of sight, irritated and embarrassed at the sight of them, and it occurs to him that nesting is not a healthy way to deal with this.

He wants his family safe. He used to think it was such a small thing to ask for.

He thinks about that when the bomb goes off.

He burns, and he is dying.

His rage and fear burn off into a different fury. That it has come to this, his family so threatened, that all he has to his name is his sorrow and trauma and frustration and vengeance.

Tim wants nothing more than to live. To see them safe. To rail and rage against what seeks to harm them. So he burns and he burns and burns, his wings aflame and his mouth twisted in a scream, and does not die.

They dig him out breathing from the rubble. His skin stained grey with ash and soot.

His new wings stretch out red as the sunset.

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #alternative universe #mermaid!sasha #pheonix!tim #selkie!Martin #regularOGhuman!Jon #with added Beholding spicyness #cws for implied child mistreatment #cw fire #cw burning #cw canon typical violence #cw compulsion #ask to tag

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hua-fei-hua · 3 years

Text

i LOVE naming chapters. rip to everyone who has trouble naming things but i’m different

#especially love it when chapter titles in a sequence make a little fun thing #y'know like building / crumbling / rising --> reflects the phoenix cycle #the sun / the moon / the truth --> 'only three things cannot be hidden for long'#searching / for you / forever --> just a neat little phrase c:#although i didn't actually title the orchid epilogue 'forever' it was a strong consideration #huh wow it's only really happened in orchid huh #though i do have at least one chapter title sequence planned for zenith #everything under the sun / the face in the moon / the truth of stars #for a sun / moon / truth thing AND sun / moon / stars thing #god i'm so so so so so so excited for that part of the story it's god a mad plot twist #one time i read a book where the chapter titles were an actual canon part of the story #and if you didn't read them you'd sometimes be a little confused it was SUPER NEAT in my opinion #ever since i wanted to write a fic where each chapter title flows seamlessly into the story #like maybe not confuse you if you don't read them but it would be SUPER COOL #extra added challenge of having the chapter titles tell a mini story in themselves #or only named after song lyrics from a certain band. or both those things at the same time #idk man i just love love love taking on little technical challenges like that in writing #but YES I LOVE TITLING CHAPTERS I ALWAYS HAVE FUN REASONING BEHIND MY CHAPTER TITLES #and also titling fics in general is pretty fun for me! star always tell me i have banger titles c':#and i AGREE like they're not really poetic or anything but i am the kind of person who prefers to catch people's eye through light comedy #rather than moving poetry. like yeah i can come up with some banger lines and thoughts but i wanna catch people off guard with them #i feel like having a poetic title makes readers expect a certain kind of tone in what they're reading and i'm too irreverent to deliver that #花話

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hela-avenger · 3 years

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To the Stars Who Listen- Part 9b

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1618

Summary: When Loki desires to never fall in love, he casts a spell to prevent such a thing from happening. Except, well, in the matters of love and magic, you never know the result it may have in the end. Loki x Reader

A/N: I have been waiting so long for this part. Things will no longer be the same after this night. Thanks for the love everyone! (Also, if you’re able to, pls go vote today!)

Tags are open! (Send me an ask/message/response.)

TTSWL Masterlist

You’re relieved to find the halls towards the lab empty. Natasha had forced you into your costume before even considering letting you leave her room. You didn’t have the energy to argue with her and let her slip the dress on. You still had no idea what you were supposed to be and Natasha still refused to tell you.

In the end, it doesn’t matter.

It was Halloween and you had a mask to blend in with the other costumes that would surely be roaming around the party.

“Tony, I hope you’re done,” you call out as you enter the lab. “I’ve given you more than 20 minutes…”

You trail off as you notice the display that lays front in center. You tentatively make your way towards it and are in awe at the glimmer of the gold chains that would wrap around your fingers and wrist.

“Beautiful, right?” Tony asks as he finally appears. He’s already dressed. No costume as always as he wore his usual tux. “Might be my best work.”

“You definitely have a Midas touch,” you praise him. “Could definitely create another billionaire franchise if you make a couple more of these.”

“Not going to happen but it’s nice to know that I have a fall back,” Tony grins as he picks up the modified gauntlets and turns them around for you to see. “Now this is my favorite part.”

The stones that the gauntlet stored are now placed in a unique set of molds.

“The sun and the moon.”

Tony’s smile grows.

“Three things cannot be hidden,” he states as he pulls the ring-bracelet out to place it on you. “The sun, the moon, and the truth.”

They mold perfectly into your hands allowing the stones to settle in the center of your palms.

“Thought it would be fitting for you,” Tony adds. “Especially since you’re playing Lady Justice for the night.”

You look down at the white and grey gown that resembles the graceful flow of Grecian togas.

“Is that who I am? Seriously?” you groan. “I thought I was some Game of Thrones character or something.”

“Nope, you’re Lady Justice. Nat thought it would be funny with the whole truth telling thing you’ve got going,” Tony shrugs with a chuckle. “The silver mask is meant to emphasize the whole ‘justice is blind’ thing.”

You let out another groan.

“I never had the urge to strangle someone so much.”

Tony continues to laugh as you set the mask aside. He uses this lull in the conversation to place the other modified gauntlet on your hand.

“Refrain from turning my party into a bloodbath,” Tony responds. “Just try your new and improved gadgets and let's call it a day.”

You heed his advice and turn away from him. With ease, you shoot two straight beams of energy into the wall scorching it once more.

“That’s great,” Tony mutters at the holes that decorated his wall. “Let’s just add more repairs I’ll have to do.”

Loki had to give it to his brother. He did indeed have a brain and he knew how to use it seeing as Thor was ready with a casket of Asgardian mead for both of them to enjoy at the party. Loki more than gladly accepted the offered glass and did not hesitate to drink it all down in one swallow before asking for a refill.

“Brother, I’m glad you got into the holiday mood and dressed up,” Thor states as he slapped Loki on the back.

Thor took in Loki’s appearance and smiled at the all black suit he was wearing.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Loki scowls.

“You’re dressed in a costume!”

“Costume? I’m not-” Loki’s scowl deepens. “I’m not in costume, you idiot.”

“Oh, really?” Thor asks, confused. “Then why are you dressed like a witch?”

Loki refrains from responding as he inhales his second glass of mead. If he were to survive the rest of the night, Loki would need a couple of more drinks in him.

“Isn’t this great?” Thor exclaims as he motions towards the party that was at full swing. “Almost rivals our own parties, doesn’t it?”

Loki rolls his eyes and continues to drink.

“There’s Wanda and Vision dressed as a… well, I don’t know, but they look quite nice! And there’s Steve too! I don’t understand his attire either. Oh and will you look at that…”

Loki turns towards the direction that Thor is pointing to and everything seems to stop.

You’re walking down the staircase adorned in a gown that closely resembled the ones found in Asgard. Your hair was in an intricate braid decorated with jeweled pins that caught the light making it seem as you were crowned with the night sky.

He’s not the only entranced by your presence. Loki can easily see the amount of attention you’re receiving at the simple moment. You don’t pay it any mind seeing as your focus remained on him.

You smile.

It catches Loki off guard even more so as you ignore some of your new admirers in preference of his company.

It skips his mind that he was avoiding you for a reason and when he realizes it, he’s too late. You have already made your way towards him.

“Thor, Loki,” you greet with a nod before turning to him. “You both came and you dressed up...”

“I’m a prince and Loki’s a witch!” Thor gleefully provides.

“I’m not a witch,” Loki snaps.

“Then what are you?” you ask him.

“I’m dressed as a Midgardian,” Loki answers curtly.

“Right,” you whisper, noting his disinterest in the conversation. “Loki, can we…”

“And what are you dressed as for this occasion?” Thor asks, unknowingly interrupting you. “I could mistake you as a high lady of the Asgardian court. Don’t you agree, Loki?”

Loki chokes on his drink and desires so strongly that he had stabbed his brother like all of his instincts were telling him to. He didn’t wish to respond to his question knowing it would reveal too much of him.

“Yes, she does.”

Your eyes narrow at him.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m what?”

“You lied,” you repeat, stepping closer to him. “Why?”

Loki doesn’t know what drives him to respond or where the words even come from.

“I think you precede some high lady,” he states. “You are regaled like a queen tonight.”

“Oh.”

You look away from him then and try to fight off the smile on your lips.

“Well, this has been entertaining,” Thor chuckles before setting his glass aside. “My Lady, will you do me the honor of giving me your first dance?”

You look at Thor’s extended hand and smile.

“That’s really nice of you, Thor, but I can’t,” you answer as you turn to Loki. “I was hoping to give that spot up to your brother.”

Loki ignores the grin on Thor’s face as he looks at you. There is no malice or mischief at the request. You were genuinely asking him for the first dance.

“He accepts.”

Loki has no choice as Thor shoves him forward to you. You are quick to grab his hand then and pull him towards the dance floor. It is music that he is not accustomed to but you manage to lead him through it.

“I’m sorry to resort to low tactics to get you alone,” you tell him. “I just really need to talk to you.”

Loki attempts to pull away but your hold on him is surprisingly strong.

“I had no intention of making you feel uncomfortable,” you continue. “I’m sorry I crossed a line. You didn’t deserve it. No one does and yet I did it, but please know I did it unknowingly. I had no intention of digging up secrets you were not prepared in sharing. It won’t happen again.”

Loki detects no lies in your apology and yet he hesitates to trust you.

“What you saw…”

“I saw nothing,” you answer and though it is a lie, you hope he understands that your lips are sealed in the matter.

It seems the message was received as Loki nods in response.

“Very well,” he mutters.

It wasn’t the forgiveness you were hoping for but one you would accept anyway.

“Oh, and while I’m apologizing for my drastic actions,” you add with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind this one.”

You pull away from his hold to reveal your hands that are no longer sporting the gauntlets he had given you. Instead, gold chains wrapped around your fingers and wrist like an ornate bracelet. You slowly turn them over and Loki loses the little sanity he had for the night.

“Loki?”

He reels away from you unsure of how to make sense of what he’s seeing at the moment. Cradled on the palm of your hands rested sigils he never expected to see in his lifetime.

“You’re carrying the sun and the moon.”

“I guess... I am, yeah,” you laugh lightly as you look down at them. “They’re definitely an upgrade from the heavy gauntlets and they still work.”

Your words aren’t being registered at the moment as Loki attempts to make sense of the sudden shift that only he is aware of.

“I have to go,” he interrupts you.

“Wait, what?” you ask him. “But the party…”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he retreats.

A path opens for him easily at the dark look that encompasses his face. He didn’t get to enjoy the fear he inflicted on the general population like he usually does. Loki was just desperate to get out of there and by sheer luck, you don’t follow him.

In the end, Loki finds himself wishing that you had.

TTSWL Tag: @catsladen @is-it-madness @manyfandoms-marvel @mejusttryintogetby @illogicalfangirl @ariel-snow-tmnt @islinglivesinshire @musicconversedance @missmadwoman @smaranshakthi @adaydreamingdragon @poetic-fiasco @like-a-wildfire @jasminecalia @ha-tep @charbokbok @setsuna-meiou31 @ms-blvck @country-cowgirl-101 @bepo-is-sorry @hufflautia @waitforthehurricanrose @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @sanniegirl1214 @telenari @anonymouscastiel12 @ddaeing

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-nightshade @aoirohi @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @just-a-donut-who-reads @day-dreaming-fox @heykathchuu

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie @ariel-snow-tmnt @badhollandfluff @what-a-flammable-heart

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phlebaswrites · 3 years

Text

The Sun, the Moon, and the Truth

Summary:

Hatori has known Ayame and Shigure for his entire life. They have no surprises for him any longer.

Or so he thinks.

Rating: Explicit Fandom: Fruits Basket, Fruits Basket (Anime 2001) Relationship: Sohma Ayame/Sohma Hatori/Sohma Shigure Word Count: 3282 (Complete)

Written for the lovely people in The Sohma House Discord Server.

Title comes from this quote, attributed to Buddha:

Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.

For me, Shigure is the sun, Ayame is the moon, and Hatori is the truth.

Ayame has always been a very flirty man.

Hatori knows this.

Ever since puberty hit and Ayame realised that the opposite sex wasn't an option for him, not unless he was happy to regularly turn into a snake involuntarily, he'd chosen to focus his attention on those of the same sex as himself. And, with his looks, he's never had a problem finding partners.

Hatori just wishes that it wasn't Shigure.

Shigure is… well, Hatori has never really be able to describe Shigure.

Warm hearted, practical minded, and utterly ruthless in pursuit of his own goals, Shigure is a mass of contradictions, all covered with a thick armour of inappropriate humour.

The two of them together are chaos incarnate, and always have been.

And they've always been his problem. Within the family, at school, he's never been able to shake off his responsibility for them.

It's been a thankless task.

When they were young, he'd always had to drag them away from their endless distractions to actually complete their tasks. When their primary distraction became each other, everything got exponentially worse.

He's lost count of the number of dark corners he's had to fish them out of over the years.

And it's just never stopped.

All through high school, university, their early years at work, the two of them have been in and out of each other's beds like it's nothing. Oh, they see other people, they've had relatively serious romances even, but they always seem to find their way back to each other again somehow.

It's just an accepted part of his life at this point.

Ayame and Shigure are an eternal pair, drawn to each other like a pair of stars caught in each other's gravity well, and there's no real place for him, no matter that they were jokingly known as the Mabudachi Trio in their youth. Shigure still uses the term for their little group of friends in fact, though Hatori has withdrawn from them over the years in an effort to preserve his own heart.

He doesn't envy them their relationship, not really.

He's not jealous, they're not his to claim, no matter the affection that he holds for them.

It's just… sometimes he feels a little envious that he can't have something like that, someone to touch and touch him back, but it's not as if they deliberately leave him out. They welcome him into the fold, hug him when they think he needs it, and sometimes just because they want to.

It doesn't matter if what he really wants is to be the centre of someone's attention.

He gets it occasionally when Ayame looks at him with eyes that can’t seem to decide if they want to be gold or green, and speaks so solemnly. When Shigure smiles - really smiles, not the smirk that he so often wears - and gives him an encouraging word.

But then, the other one will come along and they'll be off again, making mischief and causing chaos. Soon, he'll have to go and fix whatever mess they've made, but for now he'll sit and smoke on the engawa and try to settle his heart.

"Ahhh. It's warm today." Shigure’s long legs fold to sit on the steps next to him. Hatori's not really in the mood to encourage conversation so he keeps his response to a barely audible hum.

But Shigure is, as always, more persistent than anyone would expect. "Hey, Hatori."

Hatori looks over, checking to see what his friend wants, only to be met with brown eyes that are unusually serious for once.

"Hatori," Shigure says his name again. "Are you ever going to say anything to Ayame?"

Hatori shakes his head. Shigure has always been more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for, so it's no surprise that he figured out what Hatori was so badly hiding. "No. Not ever."

Ayame brings over the tea set. "Tell me what?" His voice has its usual cheerful lilt, and it looks like he's not paying attention as he arranges the cups and wagashi, but there's both curiosity and a tinge of melancholy in it.

"Nothing." Hatori taps the bottom of his cigarette pack to get another one out. He doesn’t really need one right now, but his hands are shaking and the nicotine will settle him.

"If you don't, I will. It's not fair to him to let things go on like this." Shigure's face is set with determination and his voice is filled with warning.

Hatori's mouth twists. It was too much to expect Shigure to keep silent, Ayame has always been his first priority. "Please yourself. You always do."

There's hurt in Shigure's eyes at the barb, and Ayame touches his wrist in consolation and comfort. "Hatori. That was uncalled for."

Hatori shrugs with one shoulder. It was, but so is what Shigure is threatening to do. "We've gone this long without bringing it up. I don't see why I should have to say anything to anyone."

"Because it's hurting you and it's hurting me. If Ayame knew, it would hurt him too." Shigure is resolute, unusual for him on any topic apart from their issues with the Zodiac. "If we never bring it out into the light, we can never resolve this."

"There's nothing to resolve." Tired, Hatori gets up, giving up on having a smoke or tea in peace. "I'm going in."

"Won't someone tell me what's going on?" Even as he walks away, Hatori can hear Ayame ask, the question filled with frustration.

"Hatori is in love with you." Hatori freezes, shocked to hear Shigure actually say the words. "Has been for years as far as I can tell. It's why I never let things get serious between us, it wouldn't be fair to take his most precious person away from him."

Hatori spins around, unwilling to let himself be so misrepresented. "I'm not in love with Ayame!"

Shigure's eyebrows fly up. "You're not? Could have fooled me."

"Apparently, I have," Hatori snipes back. "I'm in love with both of you, and there's no room for me here. Not with the two of you... the way you are." He waves his hands between them to indicate their indefinable relationship.

"Hatori..." Ayame reaches out, hesitant in the way he almost never is. "I never knew, I -"

Hatori chops off the sentence with a swift cutting motion."It doesn’t matter. Shigure wanted you to know, and now you do. That's all."

"That is not all." Shigure is standing now too, using his full height to intimidate, blocking Hatori's path out of this conversation. "This now concerns me as well, and I'm not letting you leave until I've had my say!"

"I think you've said quite enough for one day!" Hatori finds his voice rising in frustration, and takes a deep breath through his nose to calm himself. Shigure has always been able to push him to extremes. "You brought this up, you made me say it, now you want more?"

"I do." Shigure pins him with nothing more than a steely gaze. "I want everything."

"I have nothing more to give." Hatori gestures at himself. "What you see is what you get."

Ayame giggles at the unintentional innuendo. "Then I suggest that, since it is ours, we take it."

Hatori blinks. Ayame cannot mean...

Shigure reads his uncertainty, and speaks caution in a way that he rarely does. "Ayame, only if you mean it. You can have both of us, but only if it's not just for a night. Hatori is invested in you, always has been."

Hatori grabs Shigure's wrist, the same one that Ayame touched before, but to hold him off or bring him closer is an open question. "And you. I love you also. Don't make this about Ayame. If you can't give me your heart in return, I won't take Ayame away from you. We can go on as we have been."

Shigure smiles self-deprecatingly. "Give? You've had it for a long time, Hatori. I said that you were the reason why Ayame and I were never serious, right? I just didn’t tell you the whole of it."

Hatori inhales sharply. "What?"

Ayame steps up, fitting himself into the space that neither of them seems willing to bridge, and presses a chaste kiss to Hatori's jawline. "We've both always wanted you, but you never seemed interested. I couldn't be sure. And to have you once, but never again would have been too painful to bear."

Hatori reels Shigure in, crushing Ayame between them. "I'm the stupidest man alive. I never knew any of this."

Shigure smirks. "Well, you can't be a genius at everything."

Hatori shuts him up with a kiss as Ayame laughs at them.

At least he can do that now.

Read the rest on AO3!

#Phlebas Writes #Fruits Basket #Fruits Basket (Anime 2001)#fanfiction #Story: The Sun the Moon and the Truth #Sohma Ayame/Sohma Hatori/Sohma Shigure #Sohma Hatori #Sohma Shigure #Sohma Ayame #okay to reblog

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goldeneyedgirl · 4 years

Text

JaliceWeek2020 Day 7

JaliceWeek2020 Day 7: Yeehaw/Western/Sheriff

Love & Duty

Notes: Okay, I’m pretty sure this isn’t nearly ‘cowboy’ enough, and I’ve already started an alternative piece, but I found an old tumblr post about how cowboys were just daytime witches, and I frickin’ loved it (I’ll link it in the morning) and my excitement got out of hand again. There’s definitely going to be more to this story, but separately.

I also just wanted to prove to myself I could smash out two prompts in one day, honestly. I opted for quantity over quality, and I currently only have some regrets - 4.5 down, 3.5 to go.

The old farmhouse sits outside Laredo, Texas. The wood has blackened from decades underneath the sun and seems to sink in on itself; the ground cracked and dry. The barn roof has caved in, obviously years before if the elaborate nest tucked at the edge is any indication. At the end of the drive, the sign once bore the name of the owners, but that name has long since faded into the wood.

It is an unwelcoming place, for any passerby or stranger - a house that actively discourages anyone from crossing the boundary, even if they never notice it.

But for those that sought it out, and for those few that lived there, it was very different.

—

It was a sacred duty, once upon a time - the Guardians of the Border, sent to protect and prevent the Southern Wars from spilling over from Mexico into America proper. For decades, girls from all the old families across the country were sent to Texas to run the Guard Houses, to protect and shield those. Back then, there were so many daughters that only the very best were accepted at the Border Guard Houses, most of them settled in the city houses, mixing the potions and preparing the weapons. Some girls were even sent home - there were only so many beds, after all.

And Texas remained well-guarded.

But time marches on. Vampire wars, human wars, they all have a death toll, and entire family lines died out. It became less of an honour, more of an obligation, and one that fell to the oldest daughter, or the oddest daughter, or the ugliest daughter. It became more important to keep the bloodlines strong than to protect the South from the never-ending Wars.

Mary-Alice Brandon was never surprised to be banished to Texas on her sixteenth birthday; she’d known her entire life she’d don the blacks and take up the mantle as six generations of Brandon witches had done before her. She was not good breeding stock, with her ‘visions’ and her temper and her complete disinclination to conform to her parents’ social obligations. Cynthia was a much better heiress, and so off to Texas Alice was sent, to three ancient ‘aunts’ who would train her in all she would need to know, having lived their entire lives defending the Laredo house.

The house wasn’t so bad, if you looked past the glamour. The house was in good repair, and the aunts maintained a lush garden out the back, of herbs and flowers. They had two strong horses - Hallow and Haven - and half a dozen well-pleased cats. Her own bedroom looked over the road, hidden only by the branches of an ancient willow tree. Of course, the aunts were strict teachers that expected impossible standards, and third-rate cooks. But no place was perfect, and at least here no one cared about manners or propriety.

But she missed the sunshine. That was one thing the aunts never budged on. “Day is for sleep.” And hell was raged over her head if she wasn’t tucked up tight in bed every morning before dawn, the curtains drawn tight and refusing to budge. Once every moon cycle, her aunts would have a dawn meeting with someone but she wasn’t allowed to join those until she was twenty one, when she formally became a Witch Guardian. Until then, she was just a handmaid and dogsbody.

Which is why she was up to her ankles in mud, trying to pry an overzealous hemlock plant from the ground because it was smothering the chamomile again, with nothing to light her work except the lanterns on the porch. And this was just the first of the positively irritating chores she had been assigned that night.

It was her own fault, really. She should have kept her nose out of the books, and maybe there’d be more lessons for her to finish.

Shoving her hair out of her eyes, Alice glared viciously at the hemlock plant, and wondered if the aunts would consider it ‘inappropriate behaviour’ to curse the damn thing to burn.

“Mary-Alice!”

One of the aunts came dashing out of the backdoor - all three were fairly interchangeable, which felt like an uncharitable thought, but it was the honest truth - looking more agitated than Alice had ever seen her.

“Yes, Auntie?”

“Get out of the mud, and go and fetch one of the horse,” the older woman said, buckling an over-stuffed messenger bag. “Be quick, girl. Change your boots, don’t worry about your dress.”

Struggling out of the garden and into the house to find her riding boots, Alice knotted her hair back before hurrying to the barn, where all three aunts were gathered, Hallow already saddled - she would have thought Haven a better choice, since Hallow was so big and she was not the strongest rider.

“You’re going to Del Rio, girl,” one of the aunts said, shoving over a mounting block with surprising strength. “One of our allies has suffered an injury and cannot be moved. Hallow should have you there by dawn.”

“Del Rio?” Alice couldn’t remember the last time she’d been into Laredo, let alone more than a hundred miles up the border.

“Yes. Now, they’re expecting you,” the second aunt said, taking her hand and half shoving her up and into Hallow’s saddle. “Everything you need is in the bag; there’s food and water for you, but you’ll need them to provide more for your return journey. Hallow knows the way; if you hit the yellow farmhouse, you’ve gone too far. There should be a scout waiting for you anyway, don’t worry. It’s a long trip, but it’s a good practice for you, and you’re a good, clean healer.”

“The boy’s in a bad way, so you best be off,” the final aunt said, looking grim. “Let us know how long you’ll be staying and when you set off home.”

“Okay,” Alice managed, a bit dazed from the amount of information she’d just been given.

“Blessed and safe journey, my dear,” the first aunt said, looking worried before Hallow decided they had lingered long enough, and moved out of the barn.

Alice suddenly regretted cursing the hemlock.

—

The ride was long and hard. She honestly regretted not getting changed into something more sensible - she’d learnt to ride as a girl English style, side-saddle, but the aunts had laughed at that particular pretension, and Western saddles and long skirts were not a winning combination.

The bag wasn’t heavy enough for any of them to have thought to pack her a clean dress, either, and she was truly wretched at cleaning spells. Perhaps the Del Rio coven could loan her a dress.

Hallow stopped some time after midnight, and she took that opportunity to eat - a floury apple, some dry bread, and cold chicken that was so well cooked it might as well have been ash. But it was food, and the urgency that she been sent off - alone - implied she didn’t have more than a few minutes to rest.

The rest of the trip felt long, and as pink and gold streaks began to hover at the horizon, Alice wondered if she’d taken too long - if the poor boy (boy? she’d never heard of a coven accepting a boy, but maybe the Guard Houses had decided to modernise) had already succumbed. But it wasn’t like she was provided with a map or proper direction…

It was dawn when Hallow began to slow, and she saw a man leaning against a signpost with an indecipherable sign, the road behind him leading to a fire-decimated house on a hill in the distance.

“Miss Brandon?” the man said, looking at her with suspicion before his eyes softened. “Ah, Hallow.” The horse clearly recognised him, nickering affectionately at the man.

“Yes, I am Miss Brandon. You are the scout from Del Rio?” she asked primly, as if she didn’t have mud on her face and dress and sleeves, and no hat.

“Yup. Come on, he’s in the house. I’m Peter,” the man said. “Budge up.”

Within seconds, Peter had swung himself onto Hallow behind her, and Alice gasped at the impropriety, but didn’t get a moment to say a word as Peter clicked and Hallow took off like a bullet.

As Hallow passed another sign that couldn’t be read, the fire-ruins shimmered before reforming into an expansive and well-lived farmhouse, with a large barn. Out the back, she could see pristine fields full of horses and cattle. It was like chalk and cheese from home, and for a moment, she was jealous.

As they stopped in front of the house, Peter slid off, and tied off Hallow’s bridle to the porch railing, reaching up to help her down.

“Quick now, one of the boys will come take care of Hallow, we need you to tend to Jasper now,” Peter said, half dragging her up the front stairs and into the house.

It felt like a bustle of activity, and was so bright and airy. The smell of fresh bread filtered through the house, and Alice couldn’t help but snatch a look as she was dragged deeper into the house.

“Char! The witching’s here!” Peter bellowed, and suddenly Alice was presented with a drawn-looking woman with strawberry-blonde hair.

“Oh, thank gods,” she said. “I’m Charlotte. Come with me. His fever keeps getting higher, and I’ve tried everything I know. We called out to everyone, but your aunt was the only one who got back to us.”

She was lead into a backroom, where a mattress was laid out on the floor, and the curtains were drawn. And in the middle of the room, moaning in pain and sweaty, was a tall man covered in scars.

Alice tried not to gasp. The scars were quite clearly vampire bites, healed ones. Covens had some natural immunity to vampire venom, but it only slowed down the process and allowed it to be reversed. There were dozens of stories of girls who couldn’t be saved, and had been burnt before the change could be completed. It was, unfortunately, one of the risks of their duty.

“He got ambushed,” Charlotte said, kneeling beside the man. “The harpy practically gutted him, but he got away okay.” She pulled back the sheet, to reveal an enormous wound that had been clumsily stitched, from the middle of his chest, slashing downward over his stomach to his hip. “It needs cauterising I think, but I’m no healer.”

Alice came back to herself then. Whatever was going on here - male Guardians, this untrained woman, all the bite marks - could be questioned after this poor man - Jasper, had Peter called him? - was treated.

Dropping to her knees, Alice quickly inspected Charlotte’s stitching of the wound. “It will need cauterising, it’s too deep,” she determined quickly. “And treatment for infection, but stitching it was a smart thing to do.” Charlotte looked relieved. “Did he get bitten?”

“His arms,” Peter said, and Charlotte quickly pulled off bandages, already blackening from the venom. Three bites on one arm, four on the other. Bad, bad business.

“Okay. Do you have a smock, and a place I can wash up?” she said, standing quickly. Walking into a sick room in her filthy clothes and boots had been a stupid thing to do, but nothing for it now.

“Of course - show her the bathroom, Peter,” Charlotte darted out.

Within moments, Alice had a smock over her underthings and a pair of borrowed slippers - Charlotte promising to wash her dress immediately - and she’d scrubbed every visible inch of her skin as fast as she could, her hair pinned under a kerchief.

It was a very, very long day. The bites had to be purified, cleaned, and bandaged to draw out as much venom as possible; the bandages had to be changed four times every day, to prevent the venom lingering against the skin. Jasper had to be fed the tonic that the aunts had sent every two hours to flush any venom that had already ended his system. Then she had to treat the fever, to lesson his evident discomfort, and treat the infection that had clearly set into the wound Charlotte had stitched, whilst reassuring Charlotte that it was nothing actively wrong that she’d done, just the unlucky result of riding home with an open wound.

But by the time night fell, Jasper was somewhat more comfortable - the moaning had stopped, and with a generous dose of pain and sleep tonic, he seemed to actually be sleeping.

Alice wished she could.

Instead, she changed his bandages again before finding herself in the kitchen, with Charlotte piling plates with food.

“We heard from the others,” she said, taking her own seat. “Days away, Carlisle is furious. Emmett’s already on his way back with Rosalie, but they won’t make it here for at least a week.” Charlotte looked exhausted. “At least they’ll bring supplies.”

“What’s done is done,” Peter said smartly, watching Alice as she began to eat, exhaustion in every one of her motions. “Jasper will be okay now, yes?”

Alice looked up. “Well,” she began, and sighed. “There were so many bites,” she managed, trying to be kind. “And he’s been bitten before - even one previous bite decreases the effectiveness of treatment. I swear I am doing everything I can possibly do.”

“You’re young, yes?” Peter shot back. “Not even a full Guardian yet?”

“Peter!” Charlotte scolded.

“No, I’m not of age yet. My title does not affect my ability - I have been trained. I have completed my lessons. There is nothing I can think of that I am not already doing,” Alice retorted.

“And we are grateful,” Charlotte broke in.

“Yup, I’m positive Jasper would be thrilled that his life is in the hands of a schoolgirl,” Peter muttered before getting up from the table and storming away.

Alice was too tired to be angry, and just sighed and went back to her food - Charlotte was far and away a better cook than the aunts; perhaps a week of edible food, and she’d be filling out her dresses properly.

“I’m sorry, Peter and Jasper… they’re like brothers. They’ve been together for years,” Charlotte said, looking at her plate. “…Please, please don’t let Peter’s rudeness dissuade you from helping Jasper…”

Alice looked up in shock. “No. No, of course not. I understand his frustration, I do. And there’s nothing he could say to me that would make me treat Jasper any less, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte smiled, and began to clear the table. “The guest room is at the top of the stairs, I’ve laid out a nightgown for you, and some towels. Peter’s taken care of your horse, and I’m sure…”

“That’s very kind of you,” Alice said gently, “but I’ll sit up with Jasper tonight; he’ll need watching.”

“Could I help at all? Watch him in shifts?” Charlotte asked, but Alice could see the exhaustion and worry in every line of the woman’s face. If they weren’t careful, Charlotte would fall ill too and she’d have two patients.

“No, it has to be me, to make sure the bites are clean and the tonic takes. We’ll have a better idea of how he is tomorrow, though,” Alice offered. “I would like to bathe, though, if you could watch him?”

“Oh, of course - there’s a washroom in the guest room,” Charlotte said, gesturing to the stairs. “Thank you, Alice. I mean it. Thank you for coming, I feel like everything is going to be okay now that you’re here.”

—

It was a long night, with exhaustion setting in for Alice - she hadn’t slept in over a day, had ridden half-way up the border… she felt like an old woman. But it was her duty. And she would do it to the best of her ability.

Charlotte had leant her several dresses, and it was quite strange to wear a colour that wasn’t black or grey, but a welcome novelty, even if the dresses were a size too big.

Settling beside the sickbed, Alice administered the tonic every two hours, and found herself changing the bandages obsessively, as soon as she saw or smelt the venom. She flushed out the bite wounds - one would need stitching. She’d have to cauterise the chest wound first thing in the morning; his fever still lingered, but the tonics and potions seemed to have had a powerful effect on the infection, with the red veins having already retreated.

Though, she might have to teach Charlotte how to administer stitches whilst she was here. The woman was clearly unfamiliar with stitching flesh. Maybe some rudimentary treatments so that they didn’t have to wait twelve hours for help.

The aunts had packed her two new books to read - purely educational, histories of the coven, that were not even a little bit relevant in her current situation, or interesting. But they did keep her awake.

Morning came, and Jasper’s fever had broken. She nearly cheered at that, and when Peter and Charlotte burst in at dawn, she gave them the good news. She thought that Peter was going to cry - Charlotte certainly did. But then she required the couple hold him down as she cauterised the chest wound.

Charlotte ended up vomiting at the smell, and Peter looked at little woozy, but at least he was held together with more than embroidery thread now. She quickly applied a fresh layer of ointment that smelt like mint and tea leaves to the raw wound and bound up his chest up in fresh bandages. At least Charlotte had the practicality of preparing an immense quantity of fresh, sterile bandages that looked like they been cut from good quality bed linens or petticoats.

The day moved slowly; Charlotte brought her meals in on a tray, and sat with Jasper whilst she changed her dress again, and sent a message to the aunts. Peter was very respectful around her, and brought her anything she asked for - purified water, feverfew, lavender, aloe vera. Jasper seemed to sleep more comfortably each day, as she fed him cold tea laced with every possible tonic and potion she had in her bag and could create from scratch. His bite marks were cleared every day, settling into fresh scar tissue. She was genuinely sorry that they had scarred, but there was nothing for it.

But only time would tell if the venom had made it to his heart.

—

Seven days. She had been at the Del Rio house for seven days and seven nights. Jasper had passed out of danger, and was now just healing, though he hadn’t regained consciousness. But Alice continued to nurse him, as was her duty and purpose here. She fed him careful sips of tea and then herbal broth, to build up his strength and hopefully reinforce his immunity; she rubbed ointments into his new wounds to keep the skin supple and preveshe lnt thick scar tissue and ease any discomfort. She helped Charlotte wash and dress him as soon as she deemed it safe.

That she had not been expecting. She hoped her poker face was good, because she’d really never seen a man’s body before. Not like that - she was only nineteen, had lived with the aunts since she was sixteen and had never been courted. Even her lessons had been done on whatever animals they could hunt or trade for from the market, not really humans. And this man, he was… handsome. He was tall and just the right amount of muscular and tan and, she shouldn’t be having these thoughts.

She couldn’t even imagine her embarrassment if this Jasper had seen her in such a way.

Oh, she was definitely sleep deprived. She had yet to sleep a single second in the guest room, snatching cat naps in the corner of Jasper’s sick room when she couldn’t hold her eyes open a single moment longer.

Which was what she was doing now. She twisted her neck uncomfortably; she’d been sleeping at a funny angle, she’d be feeling that all day. Stretching out, she looked over at her patient, only to see Jasper staring back at her curiously.

“Oh my gods!” Alice gasped, scrambling over. “You’re awake? How are you feeling? How long have you been awake?”

She quickly helped him sit up, reading for the water cup on the beside table. He took two deep swallows before coughing.

“Oh, it’s got lemon and mint in it, for healing,” she explained. “It’s helped, I promise. Hopefully we can get you back to normal drinking water and food tomorrow.”

“Who are you?” croaked Jasper, looking up at her with glazed eyes.

“Oh. Um, I’m Alice Brandon. From the Laredo Guard House,” she said, embarrassed. She was acting like a bumbling sixteen year old trainee, not a proper Guardian. “I was summoned when you were wounded.”

“Alice Brandon from Laredo,” Jasper repeated, a quirk of his lips. “Thank you.” His energy seemed to drain out of him all at once - totally normal for the severity of his wounds and his recovery.

“It was nothing,” she said. “Sleep now. It’s a great healer. Charlotte and Peter will be awake in a few hours.”

He nodded half-heartedly before he closed his eyes again, and Alice sat backwards. He was okay. Two blue eyes without a hint of red, talking and lucid, and drinking easily. She did it.

He lived.

—

Both Peter and Charlotte had wept when they realised that Jasper was conscious again, and Peter had nearly tackled the man when he saw Jasper sitting up, drinking water and talking to Alice, trying to piece together what had happened to him, and to learn how she had treated him - the Del Rio Guard House had fallen to the Whitlock-Hales several generations ago, and many of the old skills - like healing - had been lost.

In fact, it was only him, Peter, and Charlotte who were at the house full-time now - they hired local boys to help out on the ranch that funded the Del Rio clan. Jasper’s own sister and brother-in-law visited regularly, as did various other friends and allies, “but none of us are witchlings,” he coughed. “We were raised in the sun, not in the night.”

She smiled at reference to the old rhyme. “Even your sister?” she asked; girls were kept to the night, boys to the day. Old attitudes that had held true - girls were protected and cloistered (and much less likely to be caught poisoning or cursing) in the darkness. Their herbs and plants bloomed and grew so much harder under the moon than the sun. But boys, they were the fighters, the warriors, and battle against vampires and other dark creatures was best done when there was no darkness to escape into.

“Even my sister,” Jasper had smiled. “Rose would have made a horrible healer - punched me in the arm and told me to ‘man up’ the first time I fell off a horse; my arm was broken. She’s not nearly as committed as I am, but she helps. Her husband’s good at it too, he just married into the madness.” He spoke about his family with such affection, Alice felt a little jealous, but before she could ask any other questions, Charlotte and Peter were there, Jasper just as pleased to see them as they were to see him.

Alice slipped out to give them privacy - a bath and a clean dress sounded heavenly right now, and she ought to send another message to the aunts. She’d help Jasper wash and change afterwards, and hopefully be able to move him from the sick room to his usual quarters with fresh sheets. He’d sleep more comfortably in his own bed.

By lunchtime, Jasper was safely ensconced in his own bed, in a room that overlooked the a paddock of horses. He’d eaten some broth and drunk as many cups of herbal tea as Alice could press on him, as she fussed around. Peter had headed off to get ranch work done, and Charlotte had taken up a vigil at Jasper’s bedside with some sewing.

“Alice, please, you don’t have to do anything of that,” Charlotte laughed as Alice began folding clothing. “You should rest - you must be exhausted.” Turning to Jasper, she continued, “I don’t think she’s rested this entire time - she sat with you every night, didn’t even wake us to help change your bandages. She insisted Peter and I sleep.”

“Oh, I’m up at night anyway,” Alice laughed. “And I’m here to help.”

Jasper was watching her carefully now.

“She hasn’t stopped at all. I cannot imagine how efficient the Laredo House is,” Charlotte shook her head. “Though, I’m sure having proper recruits makes a difference.”

Alice shook her head, as she reached out to plump a pillow behind Jasper’s head. “Oh, it’s just me and the aunts,” she said airily. “All the old families are dying out, and, well, it’s not exactly a glamorous position. I knew I’d be sent to Laredo since I was very small, so I suppose my mother and father prepared me for it.”

“It sounds lonely,” Jasper said quietly.

And it was. She always tried to think of the positives, that she had her own bedroom, and she got to learn so quickly and do hands on practice much more quickly, and there were practically no chores but she had still been alone there for three and a half years. No companions, just duty. It hadn’t felt quite as bad until she’d come here, to this bright, happy place with sweet Charlotte and practical Peter and handsome Jasper…

“It’s home,” she finally said, honestly. “But I will take you up on that offer for a rest. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to wake me.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” Jasper said.

“See that you do - you’re my first official patient, and it would look terrible if you died when I was napping,” Alice teased, before slipping out of the room. She could sleep, finally.

—

The next week and a half fell into a routine. Jasper regained his strength surprisingly quickly, and went from being bedridden to eating meals in the kitchen with them all, to back on his horse - an enormous brown beast named Duke - within the week, though he did seem to tire quickly.

He took to showing her their operation - the wall of blessed weapons in the barn and in the house, the modified saddles to carry the weapons, the horses carefully trained to protect their rider and be desensitised to the presence of vampires.

It turned out that Charlotte was a newcomer, a local girl raised as a kitchen-witch whose brother had worked on the ranch. Charlotte had fallen quite hard for Peter, to hear Jasper tell it, and hadn’t flinched when she realised she’d married into a quasi-family of cowboy vampire hunters. She had started a small greenhouse with many common herbs that was a good start, but Alice knew that they needed something a little more robust for their ‘business’. She immediately promised Jasper to write them a list of additions they needed - and send them seeds and samples - and their purpose as soon as she was back in Laredo.

It was all very pleasant, but Alice realised quickly that Jasper was, for all intents and purposes, healed. She had no place here any longer; his sister would arrive soon, and he had no use of a nurse or witching now. She needed to leave.

She announced those plans at dinner that night, as Charlotte presented another one of her delightful spreads.

“I’m going to miss this,” she said ruefully, as they all dug in. “The aunts cannot cook at all.”

“Miss this?” Charlotte asked innocently, passing out hot rolls.

“Jasper is healed,” Alice smiled, trying to keep her voice upbeat. “Your recovery will continue, and you should be conservative about what you take on for a months or two, but you have no need for me any longer. I should return home first thing tomorrow.”

Everyone froze.

“So soon?” Jasper managed, almost looking… hurt?

“The aunts need me. They’re elderly,” Alice explained, “and it’s where I belong.”

Silence.

“Well, we’re mighty grateful you came all the way out here for us,” Peter said. “We’d all be happy to see you around here again.”

“Ah, but that would mean one of you was hurt, and that would be acceptable,” Alice teased. “You’ve been very kind to me. If I could trouble you for some food for the trip home, Charlotte…”

“Oh, of course,” Charlotte nodded. Jasper was focused on his potatoes and not looking at anyone. “You must stay in touch, yes? It’s been so nice having another woman here.”

“Of course,” Alice gushed, trying to ignore the reaction she knew the aunts would have if she started using the messaging system for socialising. “I’m going to be lost without you!”

“You’re not the only one,” Peter murmured, and Alice chose not to pull at that thread, and instead turned the conversation to Jasper’s sister’s arrival and tried not to dread the next morning.

—

It was a moment of weakness when she waited til Jasper was downstairs helping Peter wash up, when she slipped the medallion into his cowboy boots. He’d never feel the tiny silver charm, blessed with protection and a long life, but it would keep him safe.

She tried to convince herself it was because he probably wouldn’t survive another bite, but it didn’t work.

—

She left just before dawn, once again clad in her blacks - freshly washed and mended by Charlotte - and Jasper was waiting there, holding Hallow’s bridle as she walked out, Charlotte’s food tucked into her bag.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” she said, realising Hallow was saddled and ready to leave.

“I wanted to.” He looked her up and down. “You look beautiful.”

Alice smiled - her black lace dress, from ankle to wrist to throat - was practically her uniform; she had four more just like it hanging in her wardrobe at home. Any particular beauty in the garment had faded the one hundredth time she wore it.

Jasper stepped closer to her; standing on the second step of the porch, they were nearly eye-to-eye.

“I never truly thank you for what you did for me - Peter and Charlotte filled me in,” he continued.

“It was truly nothing, it was what I was born for,” she said, wondering if it was Jasper’s proximity that was making her so warm, or if summer was coming early.

Jasper just stared at her and all of a sudden his lips were on hers.

She had never been kissed before, not even once, and it was… unexpected. Within a moment, Jasper deepened it, and she was properly clinging to his strong shoulders and oh, how could he do such a thing to her when she was about to leave?

Pulling back slowly, Jasper ducked his head. “I just wanted to do that once,” he murmured. “I couldn’t let you walk away without…”

“I can’t,” Alice whispered, somehow unable to pull away. “I… I’m not allowed. I would have to recant my vows, and the aunts have no one else to take on the Laredo house… I just can’t.”

Jasper looked at her. “That seems cruel,” he said in a low voice. “Looking after some old ladies until they die, then being left alone without being allowed anything more.”

“It’s how things are done,” Alice took a shaking breath. “I’m sorry. Please thank Charlotte and Peter for their hospitality.”

And with that, Alice took Hallow’s bridle from Jasper and mounted her horse, leaving for the Laredo house, trying to drag her mind away from what was behind her, from the first (and likely the only) kiss she had ever been given. From the way he looked at her, like she hung the moon.

She was, in all probability, never going to see him again. And that was how it was supposed to be.

#jaliceweek20 #does this even count?#it's set in texas and there are horses #alice cullen #jasper hale #my fic: love and duty #jalice #alice/jasper

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itslaurenmae · 3 years

Text

the sun the moon the truth

1222 words, Rated T for canon-typical violence, language

Read on ao3 here.

Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, the truth.

Bleeding out on the ground, Hamish remembered the first time he read those words in a very old book back in England as he was being educated at boarding school.

He’d been a boy of thirteen, and the book certainly hadn’t been intended for the pupils like him to read, but it hadn’t been locked up or hidden away and was sitting open in Master Leonard’s study. While Hamish waited for his instructor to return and begin their French lesson, he’d taken the book into his hungry hands, run his fingers over the yellowed pages, feasted on the small, inky words on the page. There were other sayings, too, but that one caught his eye and arrested his attention and etched its way into his memory, latched itself into his mind and onto his heart, the way the Bible said Scripture was supposed to - and there they stayed.

Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, the truth.

These were not the words of the Christian faith, ancient or current. They weren’t the words of Catholics or Protestants or Cathars or Anabaptists. They weren’t white men’s words, they weren’t from the Q’aran or the Torah or any of the other religious texts he’d seen, but they struck Hamish Goames just the same.

No, these words came from some other system, from another way of believing, and in them, something profound resonated.

Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, the truth.

He’d always remembered those words, still found them making their way into the margins of his notes for the Company - notes he’d tear out and put aside for himself in another book. Or burn. Notes no one should see.

One time, Yvon did see.

“Where did you find those words, Hamish?”

“In a very old book.”

“It’s no poetry I’ve ever seen.”

“It is not,” Hamish replied, grinning slyly. It was not often that he was familiar with words that Yvon was not already familiar with. His old friend was the most well-read man Hamish had ever known, exempting only his own instructor back in England.

“Where are they from?”

“The Buddha.”

“The Buddha?” Yvon smiled. “I didn’t know you’d studied the Eastern religions.”

“I didn’t,” Hamish responded. “Not in any great depth, anyway. I found it, in a tome I wasn’t supposed to be reading. When I was a boy.”

“Always curious.”

“Yes, Yvon. I saw it on a table, while waiting for the headmaster to return. I don’t think I was meant to be looking, but my curiosity - ”

“It always gets the better of you,” Yvon completed the thought.

“It does.”

“I like it,” Yvon said.

“I do, too.”

This was an acceptable thing for Hamish to admit to Yvon now, years after he’d first seen those words, away from the strict tutelage of his instructors and the clucking disapproval of his sister. She’d never heard him utter the words, but Alice was very devout, and Hamish knew she wouldn’t like it.

He hadn’t considered himself much of a Christian for some time now. Even bleeding out in the woods in the cold, hard sun, he didn’t find himself thinking about the benedictions or creeds he’d memorized. The words of the Bible didn’t affect him the way they used to, if they ever had - save for a few passages in Psalms and Ecclesiastes. But that phrase, those words - they stuck even after all these years.

Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.

He saw them in his mind’s eye, pictured his dirty hands scribbling them one more time into his overlarge leatherbound field journal. Sometimes, when he wrote, it was just those words - the sun, the moon the truth - sometimes it was just “cannot be long hidden” - but the phrase crept its way into his mind, into his hands, onto his words on the page.

The bullet had entered his chest somewhere. It missed his heart directly, so he was able to continue drawing on the words that had inscribed themselves there. Every breath, every thought a beat of his heart, every inhale a reminder.

On the ship from England to New France, when he woke up from an uneasy sleep. Alice’s voice. “It is not long until the morning now.”

The sun.

In the woods, Randall Cross bleeding out at his feet.

The moon.

“Who do you serve, Mr. Goames?” Bouchard asked.

The truth.

We are all animals.

It cannot be long hidden.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on more specific times those words were true, drawing in a painful lungful of air. Is that what the bullet had pierced, his lung? He couldn’t be sure.

He crawls away from Ratasenthos, tries to focus on making distance, spits leaves and dirt away. Closes his eyes, thinks about…

How those were the words that came to him to after he finds the girl Renardette in the woods. She can’t or doesn’t want to speak, and that’s okay, because those words are true. Three things cannot be long hidden …. She can have all the time she needs. Hamish is not in a hurry.

They’re the words he thought as he and Yvon left the company’s office in Quebec City on their way back to Wobik. He doesn’t like this, doesn’t like the man Cooke he’s supposed to be working alongside, doesn’t like that he didn’t know where his brother in law had fucked off to. But the words remain. It cannot be long hidden.

He thought the words as he held Cross’s body to himself and drove the knife into his gut. Hamish had seen, and in the light of the moon, he’d been reborn.

The sun, the moon, the truth. It cannot be long hidden.

Ratasenthos has him on his back now, and he’s going to deliver the killing blow at any moment. Hamish lifts those words up in a silent prayer, to whatever is waiting for him on the other side of his consciousness. This is the end, and he is dying. Maybe one day, truth about him will be uncovered. He closes his eyes and surrenders.

It might be the next breath, it might be the next heartbeat, the new gush of blood ebbing out of his broken veins, the flow of his thoughts red and running and then...

Renardette standing over him, the sun behind her, knowing that at any moment he would bleed out onto the forest floor. Ratasenthos falling away from him due to her stab to his neck, and the blood, so much blood. She smiled. It was dawn, it was dusk. Thesunthemoonthetruth - they all blended together then, a confluence of things he could not hide from anymore.

Yes, he was dying. Yes, he wasn’t wholly human anymore. And yes, this was the way things were meant to be. Him and her and in the woods and blood, so much blood. Pro pelle cutem, a skin for a skin, a life for a life, a debt is repaid. And as his human body healed itself and his skin changed, the howl from deep within leaving his lungs in an involuntary release, he remembered them again. The sun, the moon, the truth. An anchor.

It cannot be long hidden.

Thank you for reading this piece. It's largely headcanon and a bit meandering on purpose.

I first became familiar with the saying "Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, the truth" when I watched Teen Wolf back in 2016. Some of the characters adopt it as an anchor, a motto that keeps them from shifting at inopportune times. I took the idea of having an anchor and kind of shifted it around here - what if someone used those words not as an anchor to staying human, but as a mantra to pass from one form to another? What if it was something Hamish had repeated to himself in the past, and maybe didn't know yet that it was keeping the creature at bay, and that thinking it as he's dying makes it an admonishment, an atonement, a releasing of who he once was and allowing himself to be the animal inside?

As always, thanks to Meg aka @jeynepoole for this screencap, feedback, and forever engaging with me in my headcanons.

I can't stop thinking about this show and these characters. Truly was my favorite from 2020.

#barkskins #hamish goames #my writing #blood cw

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