#aisling the dark lady au

[greypetrel]

"Are you sure that's a dog, my lady? What breed is it?" "Oh, Cupcake is 100% a Good Boi!" "Well that's not- Nevermind, he certainly is."

After a fight with the background, @ndostairlyrium taking pity of my struggles and whom I have to offer food because she kindly explaining me how to paint mountains, here we are.

RIP Cullen who's still some time before realising that no, honey, that's not a dog, that's a purebreed Mordor Warg. But Cupcake is 100% a good boi, he's the best behaved of the litter, and since he learnt that biting ankles is not a very polite greeting, he gets some walk time outside home with mama. A mama who technically isn't lying. She's just carefully omitting the most disturbing informations...

#aisling the dark lady au #lotr #dragon age #cullavellan #crossover art #da art #da fanart #lotr fanart #aisling lavellan #cullen rutherford #warg #she sauron #character design #digital art #illustration #colour study #digital painting #elves #greypetrel

[saradika]

— beneath the mask

din djarin x f!reader

rated t - 1.3k

tags: medieval!au, light angst, anxiety, arranged marriage, soulmate au, reader has a mother & father

prompt: "I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly” from the writing challenge hosted by the amazing and lovely @moonlight-prose 💖

when a mysterious stranger wins your hand at the tournament, you can't help but wonder about his intentions

With each step down the aisle, your legs threaten to give out.

A clicking of your teeth as you tremble, before you're gritting your jaw, biting your anxiety back. You have a reputation to uphold, even if you're only the daughter of a lord from a lesser house.

You're still a lady.

And this marriage would ensure a home for you. Protection. More than, if this man is what he says he is.

But a part of you desperately wishes that it was someone else at the end of the aisle.

You'd searched for a long time. For the glimpses that flash in your dreams at night. Knowing that he was out there - the one you had begun to think of as yours.

Your soulmate.

Never managing to meet the same eyes that reflect back at you in the darkness, just before you wake. Not once in the hundreds, thousands of people you’ve looked at, throughout your years.

And when none were found, you slowly gave up. Knowing the world was too large and you were too small, too poor, to seek them out.

Eventually agreeing to the match that your mother and father arranged.

If you could not have him, then you did not want anyone.

And now - the figure that waits for you stands tall.

Encased in gleaming armor, showing none of the nerves that wrack you. Making you wonder if you should have protested. Taken the path of the unwed, even if there was hardship in your future.

The stranger had won your favor, in the tournament. That is how the story will be told, passed on by your father.

Looking back, you remember very little from it. Knowing deep down that the winner would be the one to have your hand, whether you liked it or not. So much of it had turned to haze, as you had sat frozen there.

All but too nervous to watch, as weapons clashed, shields splintering.

Men you had known and grown up with falling beneath the sword of the mysterious man, clad in silver armor.

A Mandalorian, it was rumored.

Something from stories, you didn't know they still existed. An ancient clan of knights and warriors, honoring weapons and myths over sworn deities. Never revealing their faces to outsiders, and sometimes even to their own.

He had never killed any of them, and there was some comfort in that.

But that didn't mean he did not wound.

That he wasn't vicious, ferocious on the battlefield. Driven by an unseen force. Unrelenting, even when blood was drawn - splattering a bright crimson against his armor.

Showing just how he came to earn his station. The leader of his tribe, from the whispers you heard. Traveling far - slipping into the last few open brackets in the tournament, just as the first morning was starting.

Ripping through them all, in the days that followed.

You were given as the prize, in the end.

Even before the day ends, you would belong to him - ferried off to a new life tomorrow.

And this is what also slows your feet.

Wondering why such a man would come for you.

At the end of the aisle, you halt. The clergymany is speaking, but it's all white noise. Your own eyes wide and face solemn as you stare at your betrothed - your features reflected back at you in the tinted glass of his visor.

Acutely aware that you haven't seen his face. Not knowing what your husband was to look like.

Was he younger than you? Or older... older than your father?

Was his face kind, or was it as sharp as his movements? Was it all snarling teeth, beneath?

Were his eyes blue, or green, or just maybe... brown? Like his?

You don't know. You think not. Leaving you to wonder how you will bear it - to spend each day staring into their eyes while dreaming of anothers.

It's only when a voice raises that you're snapped from your thoughts. Realizing that the ceremony is waiting for you.

Managing, with a stammer, to repeat the words. To pledge yourself - your life and love - to this stranger.

The words repeated after, a low voice layering with metal. The shaking of your hands is still visible when they reach out to meet his, the tips of yours resting against wide, steady palms.

Covered in gloves but solid, like the rest of him.

Only the peek of tanned skin visible when he peels the glove from his hand. A small comfort coming in the warmth of his hand, as you slip the ring on his finger, settling it just above a scarred knuckle.

The careful brush of his fingers - a calming stroke against your skin, when he slips a matching one on yours.

Gentle, after everything.

Not him.

But perhaps, not a monster.

The celebrations swirl past you. There's music you don't remember. A meal that sits heavy in your stomach, from the meager amounts you managed to swallow.

A smile plastered on - assuring your excitement to family and friends - all while you worry about the hours to come.

Will he be as gentle as he was during the ceremony?

Or will it be more like the battlefield?

These thoughts linger, as the hours pass. Until the sun dips below the horizon, until the stars blanket the sky.

And then, you're alone.

Waiting in the finest room prepared for him in the guest wing. The pretty, ivory gown stripped from you, replaced with something thin and fine and silver - hand-sewn and intended to please him.

Pacing, until you hear the heavy steps approaching - as he returns from a meeting with your father, your dowry and your life handed over.

Leaving you frozen in place, as the door opens. Where he lingers, filling the space.

A different man than before, you think.

There had not been a slope to his shoulders, the way he moves as if afraid to frighten you.

His voice is different too - soft now, coaxing.

"I wish our meeting had been under more pleasant circumstances." Your husband tells you, as the door slowly shuts behind him.

Trapping you, now. The iron latch heavy, as it locks into place.

"But I could not bear to stand by." He continues, that hard edge creeping into his voice again, "You must understand."

"I don't." You manage - your brow pinched, shifting the smallest step backwards as he moves forward.

He goes still, at your retreat.

"Do you not, ner kar’ta?" His head tilts, "Do you not know why I have come?"

The shake of your head is small. Not understanding the name he calls you, his intentions.

He hesitates then, for a second. Before his hands are reaching - grasping the edge of his helmet. Slipping it from his head, as his head dips.

His hair is dark, beneath. Messy and curling, greying at the temples, down to the scruff that lines his jaw beneath plush lips and the curve of his nose.

And his eyes. That pretty shade of brown, the dark fan of his eyelashes.

You know them. Though you've never seen them, yourself.

For a moment, you can't breathe. Frozen for an entirely new reason - starting back at the eyes that you've seen so often.

"It's you," You manage. The words are no more than a soft gasp.

He lets you touch him, then. Fingertips tracing his jaw, those eyes slipping shut when your fingers brush the nape of his neck. Somehow knowing how the curls would feel against your fingers, already knowing each detail of his face.

Hidden deep down, revealed bit by bit in your sleep.

Only now, do you see all of him.

And only now, do you lean in. Your head tipping towards him, just as his forehead presses against yours. And it's now that you understand the warmth of his touch - the way it seems to soak into your skin. A lost piece of you, now becoming complete.

You hadn’t been able to find him - so he had found you, instead.

Unable to help the smile, as the dark pit in your stomach blooms into spring.

I wanted it to be you, you think - as your heart finally starts to beat again. I wanted it to be you so badly.

There's a hitch in his breath, with your touch. Fingers that stretch out and then curl, until you're taking them yourself, slipping yours between them.

"Now do you know?" Your husband murmurs, in the voice that you know as well as his eyes.

And you do - the answer coming easily, as you nod, "Because you're mine."

"Yes," He smiles.

"Yours."

i cant stop writing soft!soulmate din 💖 thank you for reading!!

ner kar’ta - my heart

#so sorry I am late my love #I have been thinking about this so much - such an great prompt and event!! 💖 #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #writing challenge #din djarin imagine #din djarin

[peterspinkrobe]

Communion | AU Priest Miguel O’Hara x female Reader

A/N: I commissioned the above Priest Miguel. Ever since the artist sent the sketch, (@ ejpuki on twitter plz go show love!) this story has been a brewin’ in my cranium. I am not a newbie when it comes to fanfic, but a virgin to writing Miguel. Please accept this offering to the mania that is fandom. Feedback is appreciated. I know the tenses are probably all over the place. Part 2 is live!!. Let me know if you’re interested ~~

Warnings: Religious content, parents, dirty-minded reader, no mention of Y/N

As you sat in the middle pew, aisle seats, you fiddled with the dress your mother guilted you into wearing. The hem of the skirt had a little fraying and you couldn’t help but pick at it.

The meddling was met with a small smack on your wrist from your mother.

“Stop! You’re going to make it worse! I know it’s an old dress but it will only look that way if you pick at it.” The sharpness in tone and the lacy lilac dress from high school brought you back to all of the Sunday mornings you’d been ripped from the comfort of your bed to attend church.

Church. Your head was already starting to hurt from the early morning light pouring through the stained glasses windows, but your tried to remain neutral to spare mom.

Your relationship with the Almighty soured not long after your father passed. Faith was hard to come by and the struggles you’d faced recently only strained that even further.

“Sorry, mama.” You say quietly, acting like you’re still twelve and not in your mid twenties.

Ever since you moved back in you’ve had to live under “her rules”. Sunday service is one of those rules. Considering the headache you’ve caused her recently, you ignore your own and do as she asks. It’s only fair.

But church? Last week was your first time back inside a church since leaving for college five years ago. It was the same one you’d been dragged to in your younger years. The same stained pews, same old books of Psalms, same feeling of estrangement despite being surrounded by the same old folks.

Your mom had turned her attention to the lady that lived on our street and you turned your own attention to your fingernails, scraping underneath them for dirt that wasn’t there. You think about how you had dropped the habit until moving back in, but was interrupted by microphone static.

You pulled your gaze to the front of the church and saw Father Steen tapping the microphone. Despite only being five years since you last saw him, the man seemed to have aged decades. His frail frame balanced on the podium as he spoke. You realized why the microphone was needed when he started speaking - amplifying the hushed tone of the elder addressing his congregation.

“Good morning and many blessings to you all this Sunday morning,” he began and you couldn’t help but lower your gaze back to the frayed bit of your dress. His monotone voice was… kinda boring. You hated thinking that way because Father Steen was such a good man and he cared for your mother greatly when dad passed. He was mentioning an upcoming surgery and you were back to picking at your fingernails. His voice eked on through the speakers, “so we will be having a transitional deacon come in to take over my position until I recover. This fine young man has graciously accepted this position as he is working to become a priest himself. Please welcome Mr. O’Hara as he leads us in prayer to begin communion for this month.”

There is respectful applause and your eyes are still on your hands until your mom elbows you gently. You start to apologize again for not paying attention but notice she and her pew neighbor are giggling as they clap. You start to clap your own hands as you look up at what they were giggling like schoolgirls about when your hands freeze in their clapped position - almost like you’re praying.

The deacon that Father Steen introduced was… gorgeous, and he was looking at you. You blushed, embarrassingly, under the gaze of the dark eyes. Could he tell you hadn’t been paying attention?

Well, you most certainly were now.

You pulled your eyes away from him to look at your mother who was wiggling her eyebrows at you, causing you to blush even deeper and turn back to the front.

The first thing you notice about the man standing at the front of the church was his height. He towered over the podium he placed a hand on. Father Steen came up to only just above his elbows with his hunched body.

The eyes that were watching you now surveyed the room and the light from the windows shown dark, warm pools of irises. His face…

Sharp symmetry made up his countenance. Distinct cheekbones bobbing as the smooth bronze skin stretched upwards into a smile. The strong jawline accentuated with the muscles of his lips pulling back, revealing a dazzling toothy smile.

When he spoke for the first time, you understood why your mom cried during Psalms at times. His voice was gospel.

“Thank you, all, for welcoming me into your parish. I know that you have received excellent spiritual guidance from Father Steen. I can only hope to at least partially fill his shoes in his absence.” His voice boomed throughout the church with no need for a microphone. “Before we begin the sacred ritual that is communion, let us bow our heads in prayer.”

The church around you dutifully lowered their heads, and you did the same. Hating closing your eyes to the alluring man in front of the church. At least his voice still filled your ears with song.

“Heavenly Father, we are gathered here today, in your house, in the name of your Son to receive the Body and Blood of Christ…” you decide it won’t be such a terrible sin to sneak a peek during prayer. You lift your head up to catch another glimpse at the ethereal creature leading prayer while he wasn’t looking.

But he was looking. Right at you as he continued to recite, “We are all sinners, and we are all in need of your grace and forgiveness.” You start to think about how much you needed his grace, when you pinch yourself for the blasphemy.

You’re still staring at each other as he finishes, “We pray that You will bless this communion and that it will deepen our relationships with You.” You instantly feel heat in your gut when you wonder just how deep it can go..

You think you see him grin slightly, but he pulls his eyes away from yours and you quickly put your head back down.

“In Your Blessed Name, Amen.” He ends. “Amen”, the church responds in unison and you squeak it out as well.

The first pew stands and approaches the front of the church, choir boys retrieving the communion goods. You notice that there is a split in the line as one is given the small wafer and grape juice shot by Father Steen and the other line the new deacon.

You can’t keep your eyes off him as he offers the sacrament to each person in line. He is taking longer than Father Steen, seeming to ask questions before presenting the body and blood of a savior.

As it came to be your pew’s turn, you stood. With only a few people in front of you, you studied Miguel’s figure in short glances.

Along with being a towering figure, he was a wide one as well. Muscles filled in the long-sleeved black button down shirt. His large upper body tapered off into a slim waist, tucked neatly into dark pants. A belt accentuated the fit waist even further. Your eyes trailed quickly across the thick neck that was accessorized by the all too familiar white collar of priesthood. When you were just behind one more person, your eyes fell to the floor.

Part of you wished you would be on Father Steen’s side as you feel as though you’re about to burst from this proximity of the giant man. He was bent over speaking to an elder of the church, giving her a soft smile as she blessed him for coming to ‘our little church.’

The man in line in front of you stood to Father Steen and the woman was letting Mr. O’Hara go from a sweet embrace.

Thank God, you guessed, for the years of attending communion as your muscle memory tore your legs from their form rooted position at the altar.

You approached the tall figure and your eyes are locked on the lips of the man in front of you. You see them move, hearing nothing but the beating of your heart in your eardrums.

“I-I’m sorry. What?” You sputter the words and heat creeps into your chest and face.

A soft chuckle escapes his full lips and he smiles as he repeats, “What is your name?”

You give it to him. And he says it. The way your name sounds in his music makes you smile up at him. He holds your gaze for a moment before speaking again.

“The Body of Christ.” He extends his hand in an upward position, the white wafer between his index finger and thumb.

You bow your head slightly in reverence of the offering. As you start to pull your head up again, his pinky and ring finger catch under your chin, lifting your face the rest of the way.

You breathe out a small gasp and open your mouth. He seems to mirror the action slightly as his own mouth drops slightly open. You extend your tongue a little as he places the thin wafer onto it.

His gaze is heavy as he watches you take the offering into your mouth. Your breath hitches when he runs his thumb across your pouted bottom lip, catching some saliva with it.

“Amen.” You respond and it’s not until he pulls his hand from your face when you turn to grab a small glass of grape juice. “The Precious Blood.” You hear him say behind you as you bring the glass to your lips, relishing the sweet refreshment.

Your face is red hot as you turn to walk back to your pew, ignoring your mother’s glances as she had already been back to her seat.

The burning in your cheeks is even more fiery as it dawns on you that the whole church saw the exchange. You hope, you pray, that it was perceived as a normal moment between a new Shepard and a member of his flock.

Communion wraps up and Father Steen takes a seat behind the the new head of church as he begins his sermon. The slight pressure of his thumb on your bottom lip created a pool of heat in your belly that wouldn’t go away.

You try to pay attention to the Good Word, you really do, but your mind is other places. Definitely not holy places.

Maybe coming to church won’t be too bad after all…

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #priest au #atsv miguel #miguel x you #how do i even tag this #fanfic #spiderverse fanfic

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Once Upon a Time 4

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Andy Barber

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your morning begins lazily. You're not used to functioning without a sense of urgency but it's nice. You take your time having your coffee and nibbling on toast in front of the television. You finally find the motivation to get dressed just after eleven, intent on hitting the country store before you let another day off fade into oblivion. You've been saying you'd go for months and it always turns into 'just don't have the energy.'

You take the train downtown then find a bus to the edge of the city, just a ten-minute walk from the country store. The commute alone is an hour, the temperature dipping even lower without the shield of the urban sprawl. You shiver as you finally reach your destination, like a warrior cresting the drawbridge of a mythical castle.

Inside, there's a cozy atmosphere. The smell of cedar wafts through the air as you marvel at the vast expanse before you. As you browse the signs denoting the contents of each aisle, you set off towards the wool section, hoping to finally teach yourself to knit. Just before the confection area, there's a small table set up and woman greets you before you can reach the crafts. She offers you a sample of chestnut cocoa. Sounds interesting, but somewhat unappetizing. The chill in your bones cozens you to the promise of liquid warmth.

You blow over the top of the cup, smiling awkwardly at the employee. The store is somewhat bustling but that area seems to be a bit dead. You taste it and give a wobbly hum. Not bad, actually. You'll at least be able to finish it.

"Oh, it's good," you say.

"If you would like to buy some, you can take a coupon," the woman offers.

"Oh, sure," you accept out of kinship for your fellow retail worker. You take a coupon and thank her again.

"What's this?" A voice has you quickly stepping out of the way as the rattle of a cart rolls close.

"Good afternoon, sir," the woman puts on her best chime, "would you like to try a sample of our hot chocolate?"

"Hm, I guess," the man drones and you freeze in the spot. No way.

You keep your head down as you sidle away but hit the cart parked behind you with your hip. You apologise without looking up but your name reels you back. You cringe at the store and go rigid, slowly turning on your heel to face Andy.

"Oh, hi," your voice piques, "what are you doing here?"

"Shopping," he says as if it should be obvious. He pauses and accepts the small cup from the lady at the booth. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

He tweaks his brow and you look away guiltily, "uh, yeah, actually, I... switched shifts with Chelsea so... yeah."

"Wow, that's... interesting," he says, "well, interesting seeing you all the way out here."

"Yeah, very," you agree, almost genuinely. What are the odds?

"My friend recommended the place," he sniffs the hot chocolate but doesn't drink, "you come here a lot?"

You bounce on your feet impatiently. You glance over at the employee awkwardly watching the interaction. You've been there before.

"First time," you answer, "anyway, I... I'm just gonna keep going," you look at the worker, "I don't want to clog up the area." You wave a palm at Andy awkwardly, "nice running into you."

"You too," he returns quietly.

You swallow and back away. This is so weird. Coincidences happen, sure, but it's not like this place is a Target. You clutch your cup tight as you walk away, keeping your eyes forward as a shudder stays trapped in your ribcage. Something's just not right. Or maybe you're thinking too much.

You veer down the aisle of yarn and blow out the breath caught in your chest. You stop amid the various shades of pinks and purples and peer down into the cup. Your stomach is churning violently and you don't think it's the drink.

You try to shake off the encounter and linger amidst the needles and threads. You wander down the next aisle and browse the paints. You're not very artistic but you could probably manage a paint-by-number. You click your tongue and continue on without purchase. You're not sure you want to waste the money.

You end up near the checkout at the rack of handmade sweaters. You like the patchwork on the one, even if it reminds you of a 90s sitcom. You slowly turn the rack as you weigh the value of the sweater. You peek up and see Andy just on the otherside as he rolls his cart by. Before you can dodge his look in your direction, he waves. You have to wave back but quickly go back to searching the rack.

You take the off the bar and dally by the card stand, waiting until you see Andy leave before head up to checkout. You toss your empty cup in the bin at the corner of the counter. You go to the till and pay, taking your time as you dread the walk to the bus.

You accept your bag and receipt and zip up your coat on your way out the door. You check your phone for the bus times. You'll have to move fast to catch the next one or wait an hour for the one after that. You hurry past the parking lot, head down against the cold, and head up along the unpaved path parallel to the road.

As you get to the stop, you tuck your hands in your sleeves and face the road, peering longingly down it. You didn't see the bus drive by so you should be on time. You chatter as you hear gravel mulching in the other direction. There's a honk as the car slows and you grimace as you watch it take a U-turn and come up on your side. You wobble on your legs as the window rolls down.

"Cold out," Andy calls over the empty passenger's seat, "need a ride?"

You shake your head, "no, it's fine. I got other places to go."

"I don't mind. I figure since I'm out here."

"Really, I can't accept," you offer a vacant smile, "thanks, though."

"It's really not safe for you to be out here--"

"The bus is on its way," you argue, a bit more terse than you mean to.

"I know, I'm trying to be nice."

"It is nice, okay? But I don't want a ride."

He idles there, quiet, waiting. You have nothing else to say so you once more look down the road. He sniffs and grips the headrest on the passenger's seat.

"Why not?"

Your smile falls away completely as you look at him. Something about his expression adds to the frigid chill. You wet your dry lips and sway.

“To be honest, I don't take rides with strangers.”

“Well, I'm not a stranger,” he puffs out.

You shrug and shake your head, “I said no thank you.”

“Right, got it,” he huffs, “see ya, I guess.”

He rolls up the window as you stare at your boots. He drives away, swerving to reverse direction once more. You flinch as the gravel mulches and wait until the hum of his engine dissipates.

His last words echo, as much a threat as a promise.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #defending jacob #au #bookstore au #series #once upon a time #drabble

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Persephone's Devotee (Hello, Mr. Monster AU, I)

Master List

Summary: In the age of Spiritualists and magicians, wyrds winds in different ways to link Dream of the Endless and Aisling Hunt. AU of Hello, Mr. Monster beginning in the 1920s. (Alternatively titled 'We All Hate Roderick Burgess')

Warnings: Implied child abuse/neglect, child left to travel solo, manipulating children for profit (non-sexual trafficking)

A/N: Your bird just got diagnosed with a life changing chronic condition (in addition to being put back on depression meds). We'll see how this post does. Have four chapters planned. The last scene is based on personal experiences with heat exhaustion/borderline heat stroke.

Dream’s tools brought many things to Fawney Rig. Wealth and prestige. Admiration, gifts, and influence. Nearly everything the magus wanted and only a fraction of what he thought he deserved. Roderick’s dreams of power and riches drew another tool to his hand, or perhaps Destiny drew the magus to her. The girl who saw strange things in the dark and found answers to strange riddles in her cards. But her wyrd would always draw her to old house and its shrouded dungeon, in any world or time. All because of what the Burgesses kept there.

In the eight years since the fateful evening he summoned and caught one of the Endless, Roderick had become a man much desired. He found himself with an invitation to Lord and Lady Werthrope’s party, a guest of honor at a soiree at their country estate. They promised a night of occult mysteries and foreign prizes. Bits of people and places from across the empire and beyond. Mummies from Egypt and fragments of Greek antiquities to gasp and shriek over with glasses of champagne and brandy.

Roderick carried himself as Lord Werthrope’s equal, and at least for that night, surrounded by ancient mysteries of all kinds, he was seen as such. He was an expert, a guide, someone to hold in reverence rather than an oddity to gawk over. He told them with his bearing, his dignity, and the ruby he wore on a golden chain around his neck. His wishes became dreams and so became real. He stood like a stronger god beside the broken figure of Apollo and scoffed at the mistranslations of texts he’d only ever read secondhand.

Beside the wonders kept under guard at home, what were these paltry things? He could have any of them he desired, and he’d already claimed better.

His sense of superiority carried him through the party’s early hours, moving from acrobats in elaborate costumes, to fire eaters, to ghost stories and flights of fancy spun by swindlers far below his consideration. He had an answer or alternative for everything. And then he met the girl.

She sat at a bare table with no long cloth to hide rolling ankles, clever fishing lines, or knocking accomplices. Only a candle and a deck of cards separated her from the guests, and she’d drawn quite a queue. Her feet didn’t even reach the floor, swinging idly between the legs of the chair as she read the cards of a distraught-looking dandy.

Taking his arm, Lady Werthrope said, “This one you really must see, Magus. She’s made quite the splash in New York and London.”

The Magus offered a tolerant smile. “And what is the trick? Does she blow out the candle? Bend spoons?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” The lady practically vibrated, eager to impress as she led them to the table, scattering the line. “She sees things, and she reads fortunes like no one I’ve ever seen, and I’ve had more than a few pet psychics in my time. This one’s a bit of a sad story.”

The magus clenched his jaw until the muscle in his cheek twitched. He could make whatever sob story the girl shilled much worse. Of all the frauds and liars who feigned knowledge of the occult, Roderick Burgess hated mediums and ghost whisperers the most. The tantalizing promise of connection with Randal – always waved in his face, always ultimately denied – it clawed open the rotting wound in his heart, and he let the poison drip back on any fools who tried his patience.

Let this one try to pull the wool over his eyes, and he’d unmask her in front of this glittering audience. She’d be a penniless sad story when he was through.

“Those people,” the lady said, nodding to a couple flanking the child, “are just the adoptive parents. Saw her family murdered, poor thing. They say that’s what cracked her open to the other world.”

“Do they indeed.” He kept his smile, showing his teeth as his grip flexed over the cane in his free hand. “Then I look forward to her performance.”

The Magus and the lady sat across from the faux family, and the girl looked at them. The people who weren’t her parents did not manage her well, Burgess couldn’t help noting. They’d painted her up with rogue and kohl that made her look even more like a child playing grownup games, and the feather in her headband hung limp and lifeless. She barely managed to grimace through a smile, and she spoke with all the enthusiasm of a student reporting on Ovid to the class.

“What are you asking?” A child’s voice really shouldn’t be so dull. Now that he was nearer, the Magus couldn’t help wondering if she was even younger than he’d first assumed. Not even ten, he thought, and already so exhausted.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. He kept his guard, but curiosity stirred beneath. She was no great performer.

Lady Werthrope leaned forward, eager to take the first reading as the girl shuffled her cards. They were nearly too big for her to manage, but in this at least she clearly had much practice. Her handling of the tarot was the most natural element of her demeanor he’d yet to see.

The lady talked about her dog Moxy, a cocker spaniel much loved and terribly spoiled. It was getting on in years, and, well, ought she prepare for anything dreadful? Only, her friend had just lost her terrier, and she couldn’t chase it from her thoughts…

The cards appeared on the table. One by one. The Six of Cups. The Two of Swords. And, lastly, the Nine of Swords reversed.

“Moxy is well-loved.” The child pointed to the first card. “That’s the foundation. But she’s getting older, and she may go blind eventually. She’s accepted it, though, and you will, too.” She smiled a little, hesitantly, like a pet used to getting kicked when she barked at company. The Magus noted how her gaze flicked to her pseudo-father.

Lady Werthrope clucked and reached over to squeeze the child’s hand. “You’re very honest. And very sweet. Now, won’t you show the Magus what you can do?”

Obediently, she gathered the cards and folded the deck, shuffling them with the fresh energy of her next customer. “What do you want to know?”

Roderick considered. It was a little below him to ask anything specific of a child spiritualist, and he still meant to test her. Hate stirred the old thorn in his heart, and although she didn’t speak with ghosts to earn her bread, he didn’t need to justify himself.

“I’ll leave the question to you.” He squinted in a way that may seem affectionate, but it was only sharp, a predator focusing on little fawn to see how quickly it might run. “What do you see?”

She flinched, lifting her eyes from the cards to meet his in a fleeting, startled glance. Like he’d come near to guessing something she didn’t say out loud. But then she bent over the deck, back to her work as the woman behind her set a hand on her shoulder.

“Be good, Aisling,” the adoptive mother said. “Show the Magus your skills. Don’t embarrass us.”

The child rolled her lip between her teeth, sorting the task quickly. One card. Two cards. Three cards. Tap, tap, tap on the bare table. The Magician’s face glowed in the candle light, and Roderick blinked. A good tarot reader must have good luck in order to draw the appropriate cards – or a marked deck. But he’d watched those little hands like a hawk, and he’d seen nothing. It wasn’t definitive proof by any means, but Roderick Burgess knew himself to be cleverer than a child.

Pointing to the first card, the Magician, the girl said, “You’re the Magus. The Magician is your creation of yourself.” The second card was the Nine of Cups. “Your cups all overflow, and you enjoy the plenty you already have.” And then there was the Ace of Pentacles. Roderick wondered for a moment if she’d laid the cards out of the intended order, but she simply said, “There is new wealth coming. You’ve just found something that will bring you more good fortune. The benefits will grow in the months and years to come.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.” He looked for cracks, and there were many. Fatigue clouded her eyes and weighted the end of every sentence. Not a sign of a lie, though. She couldn’t even pretend to be happy for the audience.

He turned the interaction over in his mind through the rest of the night, wearing away the questions and presumptions like the rough edges of a stone, and by the later hours, he thought he might hold a jewel.

The adoptive parents made themselves easy to find. They hadn’t left the table. Neither had the girl. The lord and lady hired them to entertain, and they stayed at their posts. They’d gathered refreshments, but no cup or plate sat on the table, and he wondered if they had any idea children needed things like water after a long night of speaking with strangers.

Really. The scheme was too transparent. The only lies hid in any manner of affection the parents pretended for the child they claimed.

The Magus marched up to the table, rapping the top with his cane to seize the drowsy girl’s attention. She blinked, started licking her dry lips, caught herself, and pinched her mouth closed with her teeth.

“Aisling, wasn’t it?” He nodded to her, encouraging her to echo the motion. “I would like a word with you. No cards. No reading. Just a conversation. Alone.”

The father stepped forward, ready to defend his meal ticket. “Sir, I’m afraid we can’t just –”

“The girl and I will sit here, at this table,” he tapped it again to make his point, “and you will both stand over there.” The cane swung to point towards the bar, which was well within sight but well out of earshot.

When the man moved to protest again, Roderick pulled out his wallet, and the father’s mouth snapped shut. A few pounds bought the adults’ willing compliance, and they went off in search of drinks with barely a backwards glance. Roderick settled into the seat he claimed earlier, watching the girl squirm. Her hands fluttered restlessly between her lap and the table, clearly used to the cards, uneasy without the form and ritual of a reading to guide the conversation.

That was well enough. Roderick had his own plans.

He signaled one of the roving staff, and as the waiter approached, he ordered, “A lemonade for the young lady.”

With a bow, the server hurried off, and the Magus smiled, lips closed, tilting his head as his legs crossed under the table. He was not a client. He was an adult who noticed, who might be moved to care, and in the few hours of their acquaintance, he was already offering more than anyone else.

“So, you see things?”

Her eyes snapped from him to the people who managed her. Then back again, and down to her lap.

“I’m not supposed to upset people.” She picked at the fringe on the garish frock she wore – entirely unsuited to her age and clearly uncomfortable. “It upsets Mr. and Mrs. Foster when I see things. Or when I talk about them.”

The Magus nodded, unsurprised. He wondered if the people who adopted her even realized her talents were genuine when they snatched her up. They had too many connections and too much showmanship to be anything other than experienced con artists. This little Aisling must be very sensitive, and the truly sensitive didn’t see strictly good, kind, or encouraging things. How she must terrify the fools.

The server returned with a cut crystal glass rattling with ice. The girl thanked the server, then thanked her benefactor, and wrapped her hands around the condensation-slicked sides. She sipped carefully, and Roderick could see the tension ease from her posture as she drank. Desperate as she was, she didn’t gulp, and with clear regret, she set the drink on the table still two-thirds full. But she kept her hands on the glass, lest some waiter assume she was finished and spirit it away.

“I won’t be upset, and I’d like to believe you.” Angling his head down to peer at her meaningfully, employing a look he’d once used when his son misbehaved, he asked, “What have you seen tonight that would upset people?”

The girl looked around, shifting so her chair creaked. This time, it wasn’t her adoptive parents she feared. Any ears may be a threat. When she leaned in, the Magus copied her, silently assuring her the secret would be safe with him.

“There’s a guest who’s not a guest, and he isn’t a man, either.”

The Magus hummed. “Say I believe you. Could you prove it?”

Seduced into the invitation of an adult confidant, and revived by the lemonade, she rushed to answer. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be believed and heard. The Magus was listening, and he was beginning to believe as well.

“The man paid the footman with holly leaves,” she hissed in a loud whisper. “The footman folded them like bank notes, and the spines stabbed his palms, but he didn’t notice. Look for the one with blood on his gloves.”

“And the man who isn’t a man?”

Shrinking back, the girl shook her head until the headband went crooked. Her hand pressed over her heart, rubbing hard circles as her face creased.

“He’d know I saw him,” she said. “I don’t let them know I see them anymore.”

Now there was a tale and no mistake. A child with enough power to annoy things beyond the veil – one that survived an encounter – was rare indeed.

“What happened?” He lent his tone a shade of concern. Facts, he found, traveled swiftest to a sympathetic ear, and he needed to know everything. Curiosity was growing into practical fervor as the first dreams of a plan grew into place. “Are you ill?”

She crumbled just a little bit more, folding into herself to protect the place she rubbed from some invisible threat. “Sometimes I see things that don’t want to be seen. One of them – hurt me. There’s no scar, but it hurt me, and now it aches.”

The Magus donned a solemn expression, though he felt a thrill at the prospect sitting before him. The little girl had unusual skills, and though she wasn’t handled well by the adults governing her, they must still turn a pretty penny showing her in salons and private homes. He’d confirm what she’d said, of course, validate her little proof, but she was either a better liar than he’d ever met or she was childishly honest. He knew where he’d put his money.

Where he might very well invest it, actually.

He didn’t say goodbye, only nodding as he rose and went in search of the servant with bloody gloves.

Of course, he found him. When he demanded to see what the footman had in his pockets, the boy paled, stammering excuses, only to pull out a handful of forest detritus. As the young man fell into a whirl of confusion and disappointment, the Magus truly smiled. The first real smile since Lady Werthrope brought him to the child’s table.

He must have a proper conversation with the girl’s current guardians.

Aisling clung to her bag, drowning in the heat as the train pulled away from the Wych Cross platform. Men and women fanned themselves with hats and newspapers, desperate for a breeze in the dead summer stillness. Ladies shed their gloves. Men loosened their ties. Propriety mattered less when the air was trying to suffocate them, a crushing, inescapable oven scalding the usually damp countryside.

A miserable day to travel.

Sweat dripped down her back, soaking the neck of her dress, gluing her hair to her skin. But she didn’t have a free hand to stir a breeze. Her bag was too heavy, full of everything she would need in her new home, or at least everything the Fosters thought they couldn’t sell for a profit. Mrs. Foster took her to the train station and dropped her at the door.

“Here’s your ticket. You’re heading to Wych Cross, and then to Fawney Rig. Don’t forget, and don’t miss your train,” she’d said. Then she climbed back into the cab beside Mr. Foster and disappeared into the flow of London traffic.

They’d sold her on to someone else, and now they were free of her.

She peered around the station, but it was really just a platform. In London, there were helpful adults in uniforms and suits who pointed out the right train and the right stairs to reach it. Nothing here told her how to find Fawney Rig, though, and the only adult in a uniform seemed to be the man in the ticket booth.

She’d find her way. She wasn’t a baby after all. She was eight. And she could read very well, and no one was coming to help her, so she better figure it out.

She stood in line for the ticket man’s attention. Surely, he could give her directions. The Magus was rich, and a little famous, she thought, so his neighbors must know where he lived. If the man in the booth didn’t know, she’d keep asking until she found someone who did. While she waited her turn, she set down her suitcase and sat on it, taking deep breaths that tasted like salt. It could be worse. What if it rained instead? Well. Actually. Rain sounded very nice.

Soon enough, she took her place in front of the booth, and the man frowned under his mustache like she’d arrived with a bill or a letter from someone nasty. She smiled prettily, the way the Fosters told her to, and tried to make herself look like less of a problem as she clutched her case again.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but do you know the way to Fawney Rig?”

He physically recoiled, and his frown hooked deeper with glowering doubt as he scanned her. “Fawney Rig? That devil worshiper’s house? Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve been sent to live there, sir. I’m expected, but I don’t think they’ve sent anyone for me.” Manners made things easier with adults. Good manners and clear words – the fewer the better.

But the man wasn’t swayed. He looked thunderous. Like she’d broken something valuable and ought to pay for it with a lashing.

“Do you have money for a cab?”

The Fosters didn’t own her anymore, and they’d given her nothing but cards, and costumes, and a hairbrush. All the cash stayed warm and safe in their pockets.

“No, sir.”

“Then walk down the main road. Go east from the village, and keep going until there are no more houses you can see from the street. There’ll be a path on the left with a big iron gate. Follow that and you’ll find your devil worshipers.” He waved her off like he’d slap her if not for the glass. “Next!”

Manners got her what she needed, at least. “Thank you.”

The other adults all moved aside as she trundled through with her case. It made it easier to avoid clipping ankles and shins with her luggage, but she wondered if they hated her the way the ticket man hated her – because of Fawney Rig – or if she simply smelled after the long, stuffy ride in third class. Not that adults needed an excuse to dislike her. The nice ones called her uncanny and gifted. The mean ones called her a witch, and a bastard devil-spawn, and other names a mother should wash out of their mouths with soap.

She wasn’t sure which ones were telling the truth.

She knew the way forward, though. To Fawney Rig. That was good, even if the other adults didn’t think so. The Magus may not be a nice person, she hadn’t known him long enough for the usual adult lies to wear thin enough to see through, but he was smarter than the Fosters, and he’d given her a lemonade, so maybe she wouldn’t be as hungry or thirsty under his guardianship. She’d still have to work. Adults only wanted her if they thought she could give them something. But everything was more bearable with a good dinner and cold drinks.

She hoped he’d give her another cold drink, even water with some ice, when she reached his home. The train ride left her terribly thirsty.

Leaving the shaded platform, she bowed away from the sun’s violent touch and started on her journey. The village only kept a cobbled road in the center of town. It led up to the train station, linking it to a clutch of shops and offices. A parish church sat a little way back from the road, separated from the secular world by a field of tidy tombstones in heat-bleached grass. People noticed her. They looked. They whispered to each other. But no one waved or offered a hand. Gossip didn’t move fast enough to beat her here from the train, and she wondered how people could tell she was odd. Society had so many rules beyond manners, but no one would tell her what they were, and she never guessed right.

By the time the cobblestones ended, she was struggling to hold onto her suitcase. The handle kept trying to slip from her fingers, even when she held it with both hands, and she had to work harder and harder to keep it out of the dirt. If she knew anything about the world, it was that good children didn’t drag their luggage, and bad things happened to those that did. She’d travelled enough to learn, and she wanted to make a good impression on her new keeper and his household.

The road outside of town went a very, very long way. The ticket seller’s instructions made each step sound the same length: go through town, pass the houses, go down the long drive past the gates. Her imagination had lied to her, though. Every time she thought she’d passed the last house, there came another. Each handed her down the chain of cottage gardens and small homes full of families who pretended not to see. They all knew she’d done something, like she had a brand on her forehead, and she wasn’t allowed to stop. She didn’t try to.

Everything looked sickly yellow in the midday glare. Dust hung in the air, stirred by passing cars, lingering without a breath of wind to dispel the choking clouds. Everything looked flat and dead, so much so she almost missed the gate. Another leg of her trek done. Still too far to go, and the private road leading to the Magus’ home was longer than it had any right to be.

She didn’t feel well. The trees gave her a little protection, but her stomach and lungs felt hard, strained, the way her arms ached with carrying her suitcase. Only they were parts that shouldn’t feel that way, and she thought maybe she should sit down.

But she was almost there.

Even if she walked slowly, and her feet didn’t land quite where she told them to.

She just wouldn’t think about those things. Complaining was just making excuses, and she was expected.

The house appeared out of nowhere, or she was too dizzy to see it through the leaves before the last turn in the drive. It loomed, a very final-looking destination, and her suitcase escaped her grasp. The case was slippery, and her fingers didn’t curl the way they should. She bent to pick it up, and when she straightened, the whole world spun.

She stood very still until it stopped, and she found herself shivering as she approached the front door. Very strange. Was she afraid? No. That didn’t sound right. She felt terrible, too terrible to worry, and none of it made sense.

But she’d nearly made it. She had made it. Almost.

Knocking summoned a young man, and the door creaked open as he glanced down with a quizzical expression. “Hello? Can I help you?”

She tried holding her suitcase with just one hand, but it slipped away again, barely missing her foot. Maybe a handshake was a bad idea. The stranger hadn’t held his hand out for a shake, after all. She was just confused. He might not want to touch her. And she must look a picture after her walk.

She should’ve done something differently. If she were smarter, or taller, or…

“I’m Aisling Hunt, sir. The Magus sent for me.”

“Oh.” The young man’s eyes popped wider, and she wondered if he was younger than she thought at first. Stepping back, he pulled open the door to usher her inside. “I’m sorry. I’d heard someone was coming, but I’d thought you’d be… well, older. And I’m just Alex.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Aisling.”

He nodded and plucked her bag from where she’d dropped it. “Yes. You said. Are you feeling alright?”

She didn’t know. And grownups didn’t really like it when she was unwell anyway. Before she could come up with a suitable lie that would get her what she needed without stepping on any toes, a familiar face appeared at the end of the hall.

“Ah! You made it.” Out of formal dress, the Magus still brimmed with authority. Aisling had met many adults who wore costumes and pretended to be something they weren’t, but the Magus seemed like he’d somehow stitched his chosen persona into his skin. “Welcome to Fawney Rig.”

She wobbled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Magus,” he corrected.

“Thank you, Magus, sir.”

At last, what he was seeing overshadowed his enthusiasm, and the old man frowned. “Did you walk here? From the station?”

“Yes, Magus.”

“The Fosters didn’t even give you money for a fucking cab?”

“Just the train ticket, sir. Magus.”

She blinked, and the whole room turned blue, like peering at the world through stained glass. It looked so pretty she didn’t realize the Magus was asking her another question until his hand settled on her shoulder.

His voice came from far away. “Can you hear me?”

Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, Magus, I walked, and I found Fawney Rig all on my own, and I’m not useless, please don’t throw me away yet.

But everything looked cool, and blue, and lovely. She was floating in it. Floating and so awfully heavy at the same time. The color slipped in with her breath, eroding her control until it slipped from her grasp like the suitcase had.

The world went dark, and she didn’t see, hear, or say anything more.

And deep below, in the belly of the house, Dream of the Endless waited in his cage, as senseless to the world above as she.

#morpheus x reader #fic: persephone's devotee #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x oc #fic: hello mr. monster

[justagirlwholikesadam]

Dating Sandor Clegane - Headcanon

Modern Au! Sandor x Hispanic (Fem) Reader

A/n: I am Hispanic but I’m a No Sabo kid lol. I wrote this instead of cleaning my room. Comment below if you guys are interested in a NSFW headcanon.

»»————-　♡　————-««

SFW

Sandor didn't see you at first. He heard you two aisles over. He was at a 24/7 supermarket. He usually goes at night because of his face. He didn't like the stares and the people pointing. His height doesn't help as well, so he tended to do stuff at night. 

He heard you yelling and at first he wasn't going to help because it ain’t his business, especially since he didn't understand what you were saying. He thinks it’s Spanish because his coworker Bronn, who was learning the language to impress his neighbor, Margaery had been yelling the word, coño for everything. He heard you yelling the word again.

He was going to walk away until you started to scream. “Don’t you fucking touch me.” Sandor was quick to push his cart towards your voice. He wasn't going to leave now since he heard that. 

“The fuck you doing?” Sandor yelled when he saw a man towering over you, practically pushing you against the shelves. The man didn't even say a word, one look at Sandor he quickly scurry off like a rat. 

“Que cabrón.” You mumbled under your breath as you watched the man run off. You looked to your right to see your savior but he was already turning away to leave. 

You quickly caught up to him and thanked him for intervening. His first thought of you was you were beautiful, very beautiful and you were nice. He was surprised that you offered to cook for him when you noticed the ungodly amount of frozen tv dinner in his cart. 

The way to a man's heart is through his stomach is the saying Sandor heard and didn't believe until he ate your cooking. He knocked on your door and his nostrils were filled with the smell of spices. His stomach rumbled and he was salivating. He never had a home cook meal before. You welcomed him inside and he was shocked at the amount of food at the table. Steak, rice, beans, salad, and all sorts of side dishes. Sandor learned what plátanos were and he fell in love with them. Maduros with cheese and tostones had become his favorite food. 

After a year dating him, you had mentioned to him about your family. He was a little bit weary since he knows you have a very large family. He has heard your family calling you on the phone while cooking or cleaning. Sometimes he would wave when your family video calls you on WhatsApp. Poor Sandor isn't used to it. 

He told you about his family. His sister died young and his older brother is in jail. Parents were gone the moment Sandor became 16 and he hasn't heard of them since then. You wanted to cry when he told you about his childhood and how he got burned. 

You bribed Sandor to come with you to your nephew's birthday.  You told him this would be the best way to meet the family. You would be cooking maduros with cheese for the next two weeks. 

Sandor didn't want to go to the party empty handed even though you already bought a gift. He didn't want to be rude but he thought you were joking when you told him he can bring a pack of Corona to the party. “But it’s a kid's birthday.” He told you while you were doing your hair in the bathroom. 

“Babe, we are Hispanic. We have beer for every celebration.” Sandor bought 2 packs of 24. He wanted to get on your dad’s good side.  He wasn't feeling nervous until he parked in front of your childhood home and saw the balloons tied on the railing of the stairs.

“Relax, mi amor. You look good.” You gave him a quick kiss on the lips. He wore dark blue jeans with a button down shirt. He had even trimmed his beard and combed his hair. He was still nervous that your family wouldn't approve of him or would make fun of his looks. You watched as Sandor got out of the car and carried the beer with ease. 

His stomach was flipping when the front door opened and a small older lady came out wearing an apron. “Mija!” Sandor knew it was your mother. You had shown him many pictures of your family. Your mother gave you a big hug and a kiss on your cheek. 

“Mamá, este es Sandor, mi novio.” Sandor had placed the cases of beer on the ground and was going to shake your mom’s hand when she walked towards him and gave him a hug. You grinned at the sight of your mom next to Sandor. The top of her head reached below his chest. 

You couldn’t help but grin when Sandor started to blush by your mother’s hug. “Ven. Ven.” Sandor and you made your way to the backyard. Sandor can hear the music playing in the background, children laughing, and people dancing and talking. He kept looking at the flashy and colorful decorations. It was something he wasn’t used to hearing and seeing but he liked it. Everyone looked so happy. 

Beforehand you had told Sandor that he had to introduce himself and greet every single family member. Sandor was feeling a bit overwhelmed, he hasn’t received so many hugs and kisses on the cheeks in his life. No one seems to mind his features. He got nervous when your little cousins, nieces and nephews came towards him. Children were always scared of him. They all looked at him with wide eyes. 

The kids weren't shocked by his face at all. They were just simply amazed by how tall he was. Your mother had to come and tell the kids to run along when they started to form a line so they could be carried on Sandor’s shoulders. They yelled how they could see mountains and the oceans while they sat on his shoulders. They compared their small hands with his very large hands. You had to calm your tias down because they kept telling you how tall and built he was. 

Your father opened a beer for Sandor and sat next to him while your mom fussed over Sandor, making sure he had enough on his plate. Sandor had to unbuckle his belt after the fourth plate of food. You tried to tell your mom that Sandor was stuffed but she wouldn’t have it. 

“Pero hija es tan flaco y alto que significa que necesita comer más.” You shook your head at your mother. “Calentaré unas tortillas para Sandy.” She said, watching Sandor scarf down another plate of food happily. 

Some of your family members started calling Sandor, Sandy because they couldn’t pronounce his name due to their accent. Especially the little kids but Sandor didn't mind it though, he found it kind of funny. Since the nicknames he usually is given are mean ones.  

Sandor smiled when it was time to cut the cake and saw your little nephew sitting behind a big cake. You were standing next to Sandor as everyone sang Happy Birthday.  You looked at Sandor and saw him clapping his hands instead of singing, since everyone was singing in Spanish. 

It was official, Sandor a.k.a. Sandy was your nephew’s best friend. Your nephew was in tears because the pole that was supposed to be holding the piñata broke. Sandor rose up from his seat and held the paper machete rainbow colored donkey above the kids head. Afterward, your nephew was sitting on your lap as he was showing Sandor his little bag of candy along with small toys he had gotten from the piñata.  You were in shocked that your nephew gave Sandor a manicho, a chocolate bar with peanuts for him to try. These little kids never share their piñata candy.

“Tiene ojos tristes, mija.” Your mother told you as she sat on the chair next to you. Both of you were looking out to the backyard to see your cousins talking with Sandor as they stood by the grill.  You agreed with your mother. “He doesn't have a good family, mami.” 

“Ahora tiene una nueva familia.” Your mother had told you before leaving. You knew she was right as you watched the little kids hugging Sandor’s legs while he shook your cousin’s hands.

“This is for you, mijo.” Sandor was about to refuse but saw you shaking your head as your mother started to tie the plastic bags filled with Tupperware of foods from the party. Both of you stood by the door saying your goodbye to your parents when Sandor felt your mother tugged on his shirt making him lean down so she can kiss his burned cheek.

The ride home was quiet, you kept stealing glances over at Sandor. He had a faint smile on his face as he drove to his apartment. Getting inside and walking to the kitchen with the leftovers that your mother packed, you were storing them in the fridge when you heard Sandor come into the kitchen. 

He said your name softly and you looked over at him. “What does mijo mean? Your mother called me that before we left.” You shut the door of the fridge and walked over towards him. “It means son.” Sandor looks away from you for a moment and you hug him. He wraps his arms around your shoulders pulling you closer to him.

#sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane #sandor clegane fanfic #rory mccann #headcanon #x hispanic reader #modern au #Sandor Clegane headcanon #headcanons #sfw interaction only

[vase-of-lilies]

My World, Your World

❀ Mommies!WandaNat x Little!Shapeshifting!reader (f)

❀ MD/LG dynamics, fluff, shapeshifting reader, pet names (sweetie, little bunny, firecracker), SFW age regression.

❀ Request: Oh crap there are fanfics of us (Natasha and Wanda react to fics about them) Dragon AU (Reader is a little who can shapeshift into a Dragon)fem reader is a little who shifts into a dragon and her mommies find this adorable.

❀A/N: I got this request from someone who found me on AO3! @SashaWalker2, thank you for your request and I hope that I fulfilled it to your liking! I have never done anything with shapeshifting before, so this will be a fun and new adventure for me:D I have been doing research (watching how to train your dragon) so I really hope this turns out! :D

The world you live in is a little… crazy. Earth 0092 is what it is called by the Avengers. The Avengers are from a different type of earth, but they are currently being hunted on that earth, so they came to this one. The one where you call home. They made themselves a part of your world when they arrived through a portal at the top of a skyscraper in the city. At first, it was cool since you had seen something like it before, but once you saw a man made of Iron, a godly looking one with a hammer, and one with a metal arm, you were officially scared. 

Meeting two of them made it better. The two women you met were named Natasha and Wanda. Natasha had short, white-dyed hair, and Wanda had beautiful long natural red hair. They were both equally beautiful and equally different from each other. Both had different attributes, such as Natasha. She had more of a protective personality while Wanda had a motherly instinct as well as a loving personality. 

You had met them while you were working the register at a record store. It was Wanda that you had noticed first. However, it was Natasha that noticed you first. You stood out like a sore thumb in the dark lighting of the store. A pink striped shirt with a blue cardigan over the top, blue jeans with a couple tears in them, along with a pair of messy paint-covered Converse. [Or any type of stick-out-like-a-sore-thumb outfit:)]

Nat smiled at you, and you returned that smile with a question. “How can I help you ladies today?” You ask, and Wanda turns to you once she hears your voice. The two women look at each other and shrug. 

“We wanted to see what music you had here. We are new in town and would love to compare.” Wanda said, smiling at you from the first aisle of records for sale. You hum at the odd statement, the music you have here being the only music in the whole world. There are four artists that make music that you know of, and everywhere else streams the same music. They must be really new if they didn’t know about the four artists…

You nod softly, not sure what they were to expect, but you let them explore your shop without bothering them. You couldn’t help but hear them talk to each other about what they found; “Wait, these are the same people who wrote this. Are there only a few people who made it to this shop?” The white-haired woman asks, confusion lacing her voice.

You connected the dots from the day the portal showed up. 

“You must be a part of the Avengers team that showed up the other day!” You exclaim, walking over to them. They nod in response and watch you as you grab four of your favorite records. “These guys are super cool, they formed about 293 years ago and have been keeping up with the times. They are robots, in case you didn’t know. And this lady, she is super cool. She has written too many songs to count. But she sounds like a siren. Maybe she is one but cut out her powers when she sings. Im not sure. Anyway! I hope you can find what you are looking for.”

Wanda and Natasha watch you with a smile as you explain how the shops and music work in this world. They take the recommendations with open minds and decide that they would come back another time with more questions. And they did come back! They came every day that week to get to know you and the shop. 

It was after the full 7 days of visiting you that they finally decided to ask you out on a date with them. You said yes, and they were slightly surprised when you were so direct with them. On Earth 0092, there was no such thing as homophobia, everyone was equally ok with one another and left people alone. It was definitely a world that Wanda and Nat could get used to as they were ridiculed on the earth they were living on.

The first date you all went on was one of the best experiences! You had never been very active in the dating scene, but you knew once you found the right person (or people) you would know that you were in good hands. As you got to know Wanda and Natasha, you found out things about their earth that you never could have imagined. 

“Man, humans are assholes.” You conclude, hearing the way they explain the fact that politicians are the ones who target them, and are the most evil in their world. It surprises you most to find out that a lot of what is a reality in your world, is complete fiction in their world. One thing in specific: Dragons. 

When they came to Earth 0092, they notices immediately that there were dragons in this world. But they also saw humans, so they suspected that the majority of the population was just ok with having dragons from the mountains wander around. They of course didn’t know that those were actual people that lay underneath the vicious yet gentle dragons they see in the sky above all of the buildings. 

It was a dragon's world, with humans adapting and growing up with them. Some include shapeshifters who care for the pureblood dragons. You yourself were a dragon, but at your age in human years, you are [enter your above 18 age here]. Which means you are only a baby dragon at this point. You have not yet transformed yet, and you don’t know when it's going to happen. Some humans have transformed at the age of 14 or 15, but you were a late “bloomer.” Well, that's what your mother called you. 

You chuckled along with Wanda and Natasha as they expressed their fears of fire-breathing dragons, and dragons that they thought would hurt them. But you were able to soothe them easily, “I promise you, they are harmless unless you provoke them. They used to be our enemies, but someone decided to ride one and tame it. They are almost like puppies in that aspect. They just want to be loved, and cared for.” 

They listened to you, and you were so grateful for that. You really liked the way you felt when they were kind to you, and understanding the reality of your world. They told you stories of their world, where dragons were seen as enemies through movies, and how they were “slain” when a princess needed to be saved. They even told you about an interesting story from a movie called “Shrek” where a donkey and a dragon had children. (?) It confused you a little bit, but you listened with an open mind. 

“So, what do you like to do for fun?” Wanda asked you, and you really had to think about it without exposing yourself. Your… littler self. 

“Well, I really like to color, ADULT coloring books! I like coloring in adult coloring books, with colored pencils and paint and stuff. I also like listening to that robot band I told you about. But other than that, I really like to travel. Just around.” You said, almost exposing a rather embarrassing side of you in your opinion. What you would find out, is that it is perfectly natural and the two women would be supportive of you. 

~~~~~~~~

It had been a few months now since the Avengers had shown up to your world, and the two women you had gone on a few dates with had convinced you to move in with them. They had found a comfy apartment, slightly bigger than your former one, and had helped you adapt to a lifestyle of living with people that love and care for you. 

As Wanda sits on the couch and scrolls through this world's social media, you and Natasha are baking cookies in the kitchen. You two are laughing and taking in each other's company but as you look through the island window to the living room, you see Wanda staring at her phone in shock. You tilt your head and you ask her, “Is everything ok, Wan?” 

To your surprise, she responds with a small chuckle. “People are writing stories about us…” She says, piquing your interest as turns her phone towards you and Natasha. You approach her and you let out a small laugh as you look at the screen flooded with pictures and stories about Wanda and Natasha. You sigh in relief as you don’t see anything about you, but you can’t help but get a little jealous, seeing all of these men and women talking and fantasizing about your girlfriends. 

“Wait, are these fan fictions of us?” Nat asks, genuinely surprised. 

You let out a huff, and sit back against the cushions. You hear a small chuckle and you see Natasha giving you a side eye asking, “Aw, is our little baby jealous?” 

You shake your head defiantly and look at the pictures slide-showing on the large screen TV in front of you. Wanda and Nat give each other a sly look, and Wanda puts her phone down, giving her full attention to you. “Hey, sweetie, look we won’t read that stuff. I would rather spend my time with you and Natty. I wouldn’t want our little one to feel betrayed, right mama?” Wanda looks up at Nat smiling as you begin to fall into the space that they so willingly took in. 

You were certainly surprised at first when they accepted you but were eternally grateful that they loved you the same. Once you told them that you were got little, they understood knowing that it was a thing back on their Earth, but still wanted to explore more with you. 

As you fall deeper into your little space, you lay your head on your Mommy Wandas' chest, sighing and letting out a small whine. “Don wan to see ovver (other) peepo (people) tawking (talking) ’bout yous and mama.” Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes, the quivering of your lip making your mommies coo at you. 

“Oh my sweet little bunny, it's ok, we promise to not read that stuff, ok? We pinky promise!” Nat holds out her pinky in front of you as she kneels down, and you link your pinky through hers. 

“Onwy (only) if yous pwomise (promise).” You reply, sighing, your eyes watching a piece of dust fly towards you. In the same moment of not really thinking, you sniffle and that little fleck of dust lands right inside of your nose. Letting out a whimper, you feel the sudden need to sneeze. 

Sucking in a deep breath, your nose tickles in just the right place and you let out a loud sneeze. In an unexpected instance the room filled with a soft pink puff of smoke. Wanda and Natasha looked at each other, confused beyond their mind. 

“Oh, my god…” Wanda whispers, looking at the little pink dragon curled up and asleep in her lap. 

“Why didn’t she tell us she was a dragon too?” Nat whispers, running her finger softly over the small spikes that line your back. “She’s just a baby one too…” You react to your spikes being touched by squirming a little bit. You let out a sigh and a little puff of smoke comes from your mouth, indicating that you were a fire-breathing dragon. 

Wanda tilts her head at your sleeping form, “She seems harmless, she has to be, right?” She says, praying to her god that she is safe, even in the loving presence of you. Well, dragon-you. 

Your breaths are soft and you look peaceful in your moment of sleep, the two women looking down at you with love, adoration, and care in their eyes. As you squirm a little, Wanda gently picks you up, fitting you perfectly in her cupped hands, up and lays you on the small pillow decorating the couch. “There you go, little one, all comfy and cozy.” Wanda smiles, gently running a finger over your pink, scaly snout. 

With a small ‘boop’ to your nose, your two mommies chuckle at the way your dark magenta nose scrunches in response. Wanda takes note and keeps that maneuver for future use. Wanda and Natasha sit on the couch together, holding each other and keeping an eye on you until you woke up. Just a few minutes later, your little legs stretch in front of you and the cutest yawn ever seen escaped your mouth. 

“Oh my god, that- that was absolutely adorable!” Wanda says quietly, not wanting to frighten you in your sleepy state. She ogled at your pink scales that shimmered in the light from the sun. She wondered ‘Does she play like a dog?’ She thought she could buy you toys and made sure to add a couple to her grocery list the next time she went. 

As you were waking up, you let out a small growl and your eyes flutter open. Once you see where you are and who is around you, you sit up and stretch almost like a dog. Your tail stretches out and wags a little bit as you sit down on the pillow, looking up at Wanda and Natasha with innocent, puppy eyes. 

They are a little cautious at first, knowing that some dragons can be dangerous. “Hi, little one, can you understand me?” Wanda says, leaning on her hands on her knees as she looks you over. A little tilt of your head and a small nod make it known to the two women to that you can understand them. 

You do a little spin, and you hold up your small yet big claws, indicating that you want to hold onto one of their hands. Natasha takes your talon (dragon paw) and smiles as you flex it just like you were holding it as a human. As you take your talon away from her hand you jump off of the couch, letting out a small ‘hmph’ as you lose your balance and topple over on the soft rug below you. With a little shake of your head, you stand up and walk around the legs of Wanda. 

They both chuckle and Wanda picks you up. “I didn’t know our little one was the cutest little dragon ever!” She coos at you and you visibly smile up at her. Your eyes sparkle in the sun and you nuzzle your snout against her chest, your tongue licking small strips on her neck. 

Natasha steps behind her wife, looking down at you with a bright smile, petting your head with a gentle hand. “Our little firecracker.” She says in a small voice.

~~~~~~~

After a few weeks of changing in and out of your dragon form, your two mommies have sometimes come home to a pillow or two torn up and fluff all over the place. Or you passed out on the little dragon bed they bought for you. As you grew, so did the bed, but since you were still just a baby dragon, you did not grow so big. But it was always a joy for your mommies to come home to see you. 

Even on days when you weren’t feeling yourself, they loved you to the fullest in both human and dragon form. They would know exactly how you feel the moment they see you laying down on the couch, where you really aren’t supposed to be when you are a dragon, but they can sense something is wrong. 

They care for you so, so much, and love you even more. Nothing would change that fact. No outburst, tiny fire your breath causes, especially being a dragon. Absolutely nothing. And you love them for that. You constantly thank them and never disappoint them in the slightest. The most you do is set a pillow on fire, but that's an easy fix thanks to Wandas' powers. 

They will never stop loving you, no matter what happens. 

#wandanat x little reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #wandanat x reader #wanda x female reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda marvel #wanda x you #wandanat #wandanat x female reader #natasha x reader

[mercurygray]

I don’t know if you’re still accepting prompts but if you are could I get a Ron and Billie Jealous au for your brand of brothers fic? Or one where Ron leaves his wife for Billie (I know it’s messy but babe I love drama and I need angst)

I'm so sorry this took so long, Maddie! I went in a slightly different direction with this, but it's a scene I've been meaning to write for a while - the two of them meeting post-war and post-everything.

Hawaii was supposed to be nice, this time of year.

That was what all the travel adverts said, anyway - not that Billie would get much of a chance to see it. Airline stewardesses didn't make enough to take a week away on the beach - an overnight in the airport hotel, perhaps a daiquiri in the bar, and then it was straight back out the next morning, listening to all those eager vacationers asking how she'd liked the sand and the surf.

But despite those setbacks Billie could honestly say that she liked her job. The pay was good, and the hours weren't terrible, and she could say that she'd been to some fabulous places over the last five years - up to and including not spending any time at home in Philadelphia with her mother, who would keep wondering aloud when she was going to get married. When are you going to meet someone, her mother kept asking. Surely there are single men on planes.

What, you mean all of those bored businessmen looking for a little heavy petting away from home? Those single men? Those were the only kind she met these days - unless you were talking about the pilots, who were just as bad at keeping commitments.

No, she wasn't going to meet anyone here, and that was just the way she liked it. At present she had no obligations and nothing to tie her down, and that was just the way she liked it, too. Billie fixed on her face in the forward galley and made her way down the aisle, offering to help 7B with her bag, and to find a souvenir plane for the little boy in 12C.

There was laughter, a few rows back - a group of officers in class As, crusher caps and all, each with an identical briefcase and a smile that only got wider as she walked by. Hawaii was probably only a stopover for them - one night at the airbase and then on to Japan. Five years ago they wouldn't have been laughing about this flight - but five years was a long time. Billie tried to move by, brushing by the one joker who was still loitering in the aisle.

"And how about you, gorgeous?" he asked with a grin. "Are you free when we get there?"

One born every minute. "Terribly sorry, gentlemen, but I have other plans."

"Aw, but are they more fun than us?" his friend asked, rising from his own seat to block her in a moment, taking one hand and wrapping his free arm around her waist, his hand resting casually on her ass. "Maybe some drinks and dancing?"

Billie felt her blood rising, felt the urge to clench her fist and punch him square in the gut starting to pick up speed. She'd be allowed, if she were somewhere else. But stewardesses had to be cleverer with their jabs. She was just mustering her very best smile when someone spoke behind her.

"Is there going to be a problem here, Captain?"

Immediately the hands dropped - and Billie's face did, too. I know that voice. "No, Major Speirs, sir. Of course not."

And then there was another man behind her, looming. "When you speak to a lady, you call her ma'am." She took a deep breath, and turned around, only to come face to face with the same familiar dark eyes she knew she'd find. "Miss Mitchell."

It was a good thing the other man had called attention to his rank, because she wouldn't have been able to see it. She was too busy looking at him. "Major Speirs." And it took every ounce of strength she had not to call him Ron, because here he was, and exactly as she remembered, and the way his voice wrapped itself around her core felt as though it were only yesterday that they'd been in bed together, chuckling over shared cigarettes.

And one of his men had been feeling her up, and he looked spitting mad about it. Or at least, as mad as Ron ever looked, which was to say he had a kind of fire behind his eyes that you wouldn't notice until it burned you.

A bell rang overhead for the captain to speak, and everyone resumed their seats - and now those eyes were following her through the whole plane.

Billie knew how she looked to men in her uniform- the pencil skirt, cut to display a tight derriere and a fine pair of legs, the tailored coat with its bracelet sleeves, the pert hat over perfect hair. But she was unsure, now, how she looked to him. Did he like tight skirts, or the look of her calves in seamed stockings and heels? Was the way she dressed her hair now still attractive? Or did he only love the woman in fatigues with her unwashed hair in a braid, the one he could ask, laughing, Has anyone told you today you're beautiful?

She didn't know. And she wasn't sure she could stand the answer if she asked.

The captain turned the loudspeaker on, mentioning the gateway, and taxiing, and takeoff, and everyone took their seats and put their seatbelts on, and the engine roared them down the jetway. Billie's stomach was already in her mouth.

Ron Speirs. On her airplane.

It wasn't quite a full flight to Hawaii - eager vacationers, anxious for the sun, businessmen talking rice and pineapple and a dozen other commodities, and the small contingent of officers, all of whom seemed to have learned their lesson the first time and refrained from saying more than two words to her as she went by. All of them - and Ron.

She brought the cart around for drinks, tidied away newspapers and magazines, and studiously avoided him until she was doing the second round of drink service and he flagged her down. The seat next to him was empty, taken up by a briefcase and his own crusher cap - the privileges of rank.

"Billie, please. Stay a moment."

"I have a job to do."

"I'll take coffee."

She poured it without thinking, straight black, nothing in it, just the same way he'd always drunk it during the war, and set the cup down in front of him. "Some cream and sugar, please," he said, and she stared for a moment before realizing what it was he was doing - creating a reason for her to stay.

"So they promoted you," she said, taking her time with the sugar. "I didn't know if you'd stay in."

"I didn't have a reason to get out," he said, and as she set the cup down and he steadied it on his table she noticed his hand was bare - no ring. "We…separated," he offered, quietly. "There was …someone who needed her more." The casual way he said it nearly broke her. "I see one of us did all right, though," he said, smiling as he gestured to the diamond solitaire on her own hand. "Who's the lucky fellow?"

She looked down at the ring like she'd forgotten it was there - because she had forgotten she had it on. Her hand clenched like that would somehow hide it. "Oh, he - he doesn't exist. Sometimes it helps with - deterrence."

"And what do you tell them about him, when they ask?"

I tell them that he's very handsome, and we met during the war, and that he's a captain in the army. "Oh, this and that. Pretty lies." She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"I am, too." He glanced up at her with a brief smile, as if he were somehow afraid to hold her eye. "Do they give you some time for fun, after these long hauls?"

"Not much," she admitted. "But I can smell the sea, from the airport hotel, and that's usually good enough."

"They have me at the airport, too," he said vaguely. "Army travel budgets."

Down the aisle, someone else gestured, and she replaced the coffee on her cart. "Don't let me keep you," he offered, and she continued on down the row.

15C needed a gin and tonic with less emphasis on the tonic and more emphasis on the gin, and as she poured, her eyes glanced backwards down the aisle, catching a glimpse of dark eyes leaning slightly to the left, watching her from behind his hand with a different kind of fire, his coffee untouched in front of him.

Hawaii was nice, this time of year - if you had time to see any of it, that is. But five years was a long time.

(She was just hanging up her uniform when there was a knock at the door, and a pair of dark, fiery eyes behind it - tie loose, very sober. He looked her in the eye with longing. "Has anyone told you today you're beautiful?")

#asked and answered #maddiethefashionista #billie mitchell #ron speirs x oc #tds cinematic universe

[alittlextrathatway]

Line: "I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home." Location: a friend's wedding.

Let’s go with rom-com style AU meet cute.

***

Destination weddings are awkward. At least Sylvie thinks so. She doesn’t know many of Joe’s friends. Joe and Otis have been like her brothers since college. They were there for her in a pinch after Harrison kicked her out of their apartment and the three of them have looked out for each other ever since.

They don’t see each other in person as often as they want, but they make time for group FaceTimes at least once a week. Joe’s soon-to-be wife has become one of Sylvie’s best friends. Chloe is amazing and perfect for Joe. Otis thinks so too. She’s been a refreshing addition to their weekly calls.

Sylvie’s excited to hang out with her in person. As a bridesmaid, she’ll have plenty of opportunity. Her plane hits the ground and stops at the jetway. She immediately stands, opening the overhead compartment to retrieve her garment bag. Sacrificing checking a bag for her dress was a no brainer. Everything in her luggage can be replaced. The dress cannot.

As she turns toward the aisle to deplane, there’s a guy across from her who motions for her to go ahead. He’s also holding a garment bag.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling as she adjusts the shoulder strap on her tote.

“Sure,” he replies, nodding toward her garment bag and grinning. “I’m guessing you’re here for a wedding too?”

She chuckles, looking over her shoulder at him as she ambles forward. “Bridesmaid.”

“Groomsmen.”

“How many weddings do you think happen in Hawaii on any given day?” She asks. As she looks back at him again she finally takes a moment to catalogue his features.

He’s cute. Too cute. Dark blonde hair, blue eyes, well defined jaw. Adorable crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles. There’s a fluttering in her stomach as his stare holds hers. He seems to be feeling it too, judging by the way his lips part and his breathing hitches. Getting caught up in him is easy. There’s no stopping it. She doesn’t even notice she’s stopped walking until the older lady behind her new crush clears her throat.

They break the eye contact at the sound and he finally answers her joking question. “At least a couple dozen. I’d be shocked at anything less than that.”

She steps further down the aisle as she responds. “That’s a lot of weddings.”

“It’s paradise. Who doesn’t want to get married in paradise?”

“Fair point.”

Once they’re back in the airport and there’s no risk of them holding anyone up, they stop to face each other.

“I’m Matt,” he says holding out his hand for a shake.

She accepts, squeezing gently. Her hand fits perfectly in his. She doesn’t remember ever noticing how her hand fit with anyone else’s before, but she notices with Matt. “Sylvie.”

Reluctantly, they release hands. At least she can be sure she’s not the only one feeling whatever is they’re feeling. “Nice to meet you, Sylvie. You mind if I walk with you to baggage claim?”

“Don’t mind at all.”

“So, where did you fly in from?” He asks as they walk.

“Wisconsin. You?”

“Chicago.”

“Oh, I love Chicago,” she tells him, hopping slightly in her next step. “I’ve always wanted to live there.”

In fact, Joe and Otis are trying to help her do just that. There’s an open paramedic position in the CFD. She applied for it yesterday. It’s a long shot, but Milwaukee was never where she saw herself in the long term. It was just her only guaranteed way to avoid moving back home after college. She loves her family, but back then she wouldn’t have been able to handle being that close to Harrison again.

“Have you ever visited?” Matt asks.

“No, but I plan to. My best friends live there. They’ve been promising me a tour for years.”

“It’s a great town. My favorite town, actually.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you live there then.”

Matt laughs, Sylvie loves the sound of his laugh. She can’t explain it, but she gets the impression he’s not the type to laugh often enough. If she were in his life, she’d make sure he laughed at least once a day.

They make it to baggage claim, where chaos awaits them. Their bags showed up at the carousel early and there’s already a mad scramble for bags and cabs. There’s no more time to chat but they try to help each other spot their bags. Matt’s never comes around. She would wait with him, but Chloe’s expecting her for a brunch with the other bridesmaids.

She’s not ready to say goodbye yet, but they don’t seem to have much of a choice.

“I should go talk to the airline about my bag.” He sounds frustrated. It should be because of his suitcase, but for some reason she’s not sure that’s why.

“Of course. I should get going anyway. I’ve got a lunch I can’t be late for.” She bites back a disappointed sigh as she rests her hand on the handle of her rolling bag. “I hope they find your suitcase.”

“Me too.” He steps closer, meeting her eyes. There’s a pause and his lips move as if he wants to say more. The words that come out of his mouth, don’t match the yearning look on his face. “It was nice to meet you, Sylvie. You made even the stress of lost luggage a little bit better.”

She chuckles and blushes slightly. “I’m not sure that’s true. But thank you.”

She waits for him to ask for her number or give her any sign he wants to stay in touch, but as the silence stretches on awkwardness descends. Matt fidgets and clears his throat. A clear sign the moment is over.

Oh well, it was a fun fantasy while it lasted. She waves, unable to stop her sadness from effecting the gesture, and then turns her back on him and walks away.

She finds a car and makes it to her hotel just in time to change for lunch. As she’s heading out the door, Chloe calls to tell her they’ve had a slight change in plan. The morning has been difficult and Chloe needs a little time to distress so they’re combining the bridesmaid’s brunch with the groomsmen’s late lunch.

Fine by Sylvie, she’d like to destress too. Maybe find some fancy Hawaiian sweets to drown her disproportionate sadness in. She doesn’t even know Matt so why does she care that he didn’t ask for her number? She’s never going to see him again. Why is she so bummed?

A couple of hours later, she meets the bridal party in the restaurant, determined to erase Matt from her memory.

Besides, being reunited with Joe and Otis is more important anyway. They see her as she walks into the dining room and come running. She squeals as they sandwich her in bear hugs, lifting her off the ground.

“You’re here!” Otis exclaims.

Joe yanks her away from Otis for his own solo hug. “Thank god. I need someone to use as a buffer for his geek speak.”

“Hey!” Otis says, glaring at him as he links his arm through Sylvie’s and pulls her out of Joe’s arms. “Don’t be that guy who can’t let people enjoy things!”

“Boys!” Chloe yells. “Chill. Give the woman a minute to get a word in.”

“Believe me,” Sylvie tells Chloe as she leaves her best friend’s behind to hug the bride. “I’m used to it. Congrats! I’m so happy the wedding is finally here!”

“Oh my god, me too. I’m ready to have it over and done,” Chloe confesses. “Also, I am dying to introduce you to some of the guy’s from Joe’s firehouse. There’s one in particular that I am certain you’re gonna hit it off with—“

“Chloe,” Joe said sternly.

“Don’t ‘Chloe’ me. I’m right and you know I’m right.” Chloe’s grip on Sylvie’s hand tightens as the door to the restaurant can be heard swinging open behind them. “Oh my god, speak of the devil! Casey! You made it!”

“By the skin of my teeth,” the familiar voice says with a huff. “My suitcase is officially a lost cause.”

Sylvie tenses, eyes widening to the size of saucers. She turns slowly, knowing exactly who she’ll find in when she stops.

He freezes too, grinning slowly as he recognizes her. The relief in his eyes is crystal clear, as is the apology on his face. She wonders what he intends to apologize for exactly.

“Casey, meet Sylvie. She’s Joe and Otis’s college roommate.”

“Casey?” Sylvie asks warily.

“My last name,” he explains. “But feel free to call me Matt.”

“Wow, first name basis already,” Chloe says. “I knew you two would hit it off. That’s why I paired you to walk down the aisle together. It’s gonna be great.”

“Yeah,” Matt says, sweeping his gaze over the length of her. “I think so too.”

Oh, she’s in so much trouble.

Joe, Otis, and Chloe walk back toward their tables and leave Sylvie and Matt to chat.

Matt immediately hands her his phone. “I forgot to ask you for your number earlier. I’m sorry. You won’t believe how stupid I felt after you walked away. It should’ve been the first thing I did once we got off that plane.”

At his apology, her sadness from earlier vanishes. She knew she wasn’t misreading him! He does like her!

She beams at him and nods her agreement as she takes his phone and starts to create a contact for herself. “Yeah, you screwed that one up for sure.”

He laughs nervously and runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry again. I’ll find some way to make it up to you. I promise.”

For some reason, she believes him. He really will make it up to her.

#brettsey #sylvie brett #matt casey #matt casey x sylvie brett #furrynachosublime #prompt fic #my fic #angellwings writes

[wawamouse]

My sister's thoughts on the Oz community pool AU

Busmalis would be the one doing something in the grass… like he’s there doing something that he’s not supposed to be doing. Something not pool related, like digging a hole in a sand pit. Maybe there's a bank next door.

Rebadow is doing old people swim exercises in a full wetsuit

O’Reily wears a little white visor and white tank top and red shorts (the uniform) and eats customer hotdogs. Like, he gives you a hotdog with a bite already in it and acts like it just looks like that then when the customers complain, McManus comes over and tells O’Reily not to stop eating the customer hotdogs, but O'Reily just gaslights everyone and says he's not, that there's no way he's out here taking bites of people's hot dogs. It was actually them taking bites of their own hotdogs. Why would he eat their food? They just forgot. McManus doesn't investigate even though he says he will if it happens again.

Keller keeps lying to Beecher and pretending to be first aid certified

Sister’s Miguel x Chico fic (as recorded by me) (her first foray into fanfiction “writing”)

SCENARIO: Everyone is leaving the pool early one day because there’s a summer tornado warning/severe thunderstorm warning and it’s very windy and gray.

SISTER’S WARDROBE NOTES:

Miguel has a dark-gray tshirt, dark, baggy blue-gray drawstring zip up hoodie, grayish-green khaki cargo shorts, “those sturdy flipflops with the canvas straps”. He also has his swim instructor duffel bag stuff.

Chico is wearing red swim trunks, old white (not stark white) ribbed tank top (“I WANNA SEE THEM SHOULDERS”), whistle (essential). I showed her a picture of season 5 Chico and she decided he has short hair and also his goatee as in s5 (“because we want him to be slightly unapproachable-looking like a slightly creepy janitor. A respectable 53% creepy/shabby looking. If he doesn’t have his goatee, the scenario doesn't work because he’ll be too chiseled and just be instantly hit on by all the ladies and that’s not the vibe here”)

STORY:

The locker room is dark, cool, and cement, with overhead, yellowish lights. One of the lights is going to be flickering at the end (but it’s because of the storm, not because we didn’t invest in the lights. We can’t blame McManus for not investing in the fixtures). The locker doors are going to be a military green and the benches are those wooden ones that are drilled into the ground

Miguel is at his locker with the door open. He can see Chico enter the locker room. We ain’t setting up a jump scare here. This is 2700 Kelvin lighting. Sort of yellowish, like a little bit of an intimate glow color. 😛

He’s putting his stuff into his bag from his locker, getting ready to go. Maybe there’s a straggler child and he says goodbye. And then he sees Chico enter and he’s like “oh shit” because there’s like UST between them and Miguel doesn’t want to deal with it and he’s been avoiding him all day. It’s just coming to a boil that summer. (The storm is a metaphor for their relationship… the weight of intense emotions…. REPRESSED)

So Miguel starts to put shit away faster and he ends up like dropping his deodorant or whatever. It skitters across the floor, taking him further back into the locker room aisle. By that time, Chico has arrived to where he is.

There’s tension as Miguel goes back to packing his stuff up and ignoring Chico, who can’t take the silent treatment anymore. He demands to know why Miguel won’t talk to him but Miguel won’t give him a straight answer, either. He’s just trying to get out before the storm, dude.

When Miguel tries to shove by and leave, Chico grabs his arm and reels him around. Slam! Miguel’s back hits the locker.😳 Miguel drops his stuff and he’s confused but also a little seduced. WIDE EYES, darting back and forth. He’s sort of excited because he knows where this is going, and he wants it to happen deep down. Like, if Chico wasn’t persistent, Miguel wouldn’t do shit about it, either, so he’s glad Chico’s the one making the moves. He was hoping for it 👀

He sort of slumps down a bit, right, because he got slammed against the locker. And Chico sort of kabedons him with his elbow. Not casual, though. Full on locked in. Faces inches apart. One of Chico’s hands is, like, on Miguel’s waist, half catching him after he sort of slipped down against the locker. They're breathing on each other all turned on but pretending not to be while they have, like, a whispered-growled conversation 😗; “You’ve been avoiding me”; “no I’m not”; Etc.

Chico says some kind of accusatory stuff but at the same time he’s saying some persuasive stuff because he’s trying to get Miguel to respond to him. But as soon as Chico says something too forward like “we have something... I know you feel it, too”, Miguel pushes him aside in wordless denial and scoops up his duffel. He starts to head out and Chico like calls something after him, like something inflammatory or triggering—basically blasting Miguel with a truth bomb. He's like “don’t run from this”.

Miguel sort of looks back and his leg hits a corner of a bench as he’s fast walking out of there. He stumbles. Chico, who’s already racing to keep up, end ups colliding against him. They both go down. Chico grabs Miguel instinctively and he sort of falls sideways and ends up cushioning the fall for Miguel, who startles out of his own disorientation at the sound of a pained groan beside him. Their arms are slightly around each other on the ground and Chico looks over smiling after a moment because this is STUPID. And there’s all this sexual tension and Miguel finally can't take it anymore. There's like a huge thunderclap outside and the lights flicker and he leans over and they KISS….. They start to kiss.....

And then someone walks into the locker room and they scramble apart!! It’s McManus, checking to make sure everyone’s leaving. Chico stands slightly behind Miguel, who’s the one who ends up talking to McManus. He's all straight faced like the responsible swim teacher he is, like “yeah, sure, we’ll make sure to get home safely” or whatever sassy way he wants to say it. Meanwhile, Chico’s just been staring at Miguel the whole time with those lovey dovey eyes like... His eyes are glistening, full of love and adoration. They’re still like that when Miguel looks over, seeing all of Chico’s love for the first time. Letting himself see it. And he’s like “damn, I am going home with this man” because Chico’s eyes are just like that kind of enveloping comfort, you know. He sees the rice being thrown at the wedding, or whatever Catholics do. All those potential firsts. He's going way overboard with it, like in the show when he gets convinced of things. He loses his whole mind. He sees his whole future in Chico’s big beautiful eyes. The lazy one, too. Miguel's like wow....

So, then they go to the place of whoever lives closer. It's Kiss, McManus interrupts, they're alone again. They sort of hold hands but also a little like no homo. Their pinky fingers touch in the locker room and then, if this was a movie, there would be a knowing little smile between them.

SMASH CUT TO… Well, actually, they’d go to Chico’s place and Miguel would be like “damn babygorl, you live like this?”. There’s like bare walls or whatever. It looks like shit. Chico’s like “shut up” because they’re here to do one thing and it starts with F. But they still gotta pick a fight or whatever because that's who they are. Then they start slamming each other into walls, just ripping off clothes. You know how it is. Then they fade to black. Fade up from black, they’re both in bed aggressively smoking so we know what happened 😏🚬 [Aggressive smoking motions] And there’s some sort of afterglow macho banter about how that sucked (even though they both liked it a lot). The main thing is that it was Miguel’s first time with a guy or whatever and he’s still got his pride so he’s acting all like "Psh, I don't care" and he’s like “Next time I’m going to be on top, show you how it's done” and Chico’s all like [aggressive smoking motions pause] but eventually he caves because he’ll do any for Miguel, really. Also Miguel said 'next time', so you know it's so on with them.

Fin~~

#text #oz au #others fic #lol sister's first fic of sorts.... #she doesn't have social media so she told me to be her scribe #not pictured: the one woman show she performed in the living room while choreographing the locker room slams #miguel alvarez #chico guerra #like Sister is never going to write fic bc she doesn’t have the patience for creative writing #but like still #me: finally some food 😭😭😭😭 #I also shared the Invasion of the body snatchers (inspired) AU with her bc i made her watch the 1975 remake with me when we were in oz s1 #altho I described Torquemada and Querns as ppl she didn’t know yet lol #she thought my Rebadow dialogue sounded just like him :) #she said there wasn't enough romantic tension tho and i was like ya the point was the plot in that one #i like that sister also headcanon's chico living in some kind of empty warehouse #like he just does not give off swanky pad vibes #maybe in s6 but we're in s3 rn

[greypetrel]

"Dor... I know we need allies, but I hate the old geezer. Can we get rid of him, now? It's the dragons's dinner time..."

"Sure, hon. I'll ask him if he wants to see them, Fluffwings was feeling salty today. As soon as he'll stop talking. If he'll stop talking..."

Court at Mordor is always the place where the Lady gets judgemental. Or, well, the Witch-King will lean in and they'll start talking between them. Except they'll magic their conversation so nobody but them can hear what they're saying. They'll only see them moving their lips, and the only sound will be a very loud disgusted noise but one of the other Ring Wraiths around the Lady.

(Saruman wants to deforestate, she's striving to cultivate Mordor, of course they couldn't get along.)

#aisling the dark lady au #dragon age #lotr #crossover art #dorian pavus #fanart #da fanart #da art #mordor #she sauron #illustration #digital art #greypetrel #character design #lotr fanart

[voltagefandomproject]

Voltage Fandom Content Creation Challenge

Welcome to the very first Voltage Fandom Content Creation Challenge!

The purpose of this challenge is to help bring the active fans together, while helping bring back some activity to the Voltage fandoms. ANY creation/content will be welcomed! Fanfics, fanarts, edits, merch shrines, fanmade creations, moodboards, gifs, character cakes, and anything else you can think of will be accepted! 

The rules for this challenge are very simple as there aren’t many guidelines or specific prompts to follow other than please tag nsfw/dark content accordingly, and please have everything you would like included in this challenge posted by March 4th. I’ll post a Masterlist on March 5th that includes everyone’s submissions. 

@neerons has graciously agreed to help facilitate this event as well! Be sure to consider joining our discord server, where you can meet other fans that are active in the fandoms HERE. Also, please feel free to like the fandom posts on this blog that say please like/comment on this post so others can find your blog! This will help others find your blog, and we plan on making a directory at the end to help promote everyone!

Below the cut are some prompts that are there for suggestions in case you need some inspiration, but please feel free to showcase and use your own prompts, ideas, and thoughts in your creations! Be sure to tag @voltagefandomproject so we can reblog everything that all you talented people want to share! If your work has been reblogged, then we’ve seen it and it will be included in the Masterlist! 

Please don’t hesitate to reach out should you have any questions! Happy creating! 💞

Fluff & Angst Prompts

-First impressions upon seeing the other for the first time

-First date

-First kiss

-First dance

-Comforting the other when sick

-Surprising them by preparing a homemade dinner

-Playing with their hair

-Going grocery shopping together

-Adopting a new pet

-Getting caught in the rain without an umbrella

-Playing hide-and-seek

-Refusing to go do to bed without a goodnight kiss

-Having a thumb war to settle a disagreement

-Holding hands “just because”

-Forcing the other to help with spring cleaning

-Playing hooky from work to spend the day together

-Asking them to officially move in

-Proposing marriage

-Thoughts on seeing them standing on the other side of the aisle before their wedding

-Building a blanket fort

-Sharing a kiss “Lady and the Tramp” style

-Watching a scary movie together

-Playfully arguing over a name of their unborn child

-Making a pinky promise

-First fight

-Breaking up

-Catching them in the act of cheating 

-Breaking a promise

-Losing their beloved for good

-Begging for forgiveness

-Choosing a job/responsibility over their partner 

-Seeing them going on a date with someone else

-Playing an intense game of Mario Kart

-Throwing them a surprise birthday party

-Stealing food from your partner, only for them to kiss and steal it back

-Surprising them in the middle of the day by bringing a lunch to their work

-Discovering them secretly playing a gacha/otome game behind your back

-Switching bodies 

Otome Specific Suggestions

-First character you ever read

-First title you ever read

-Crossover between titles

-AU between eras (characters from KBTBB in PIL for example)

-NPC content

-PoV from the pet’s perspective (Sydney, Little Yamada, ect)

-Throwback title (write something from one of the older titles)

-Holiday fics (Valentine’s Day, White Day, ect)

-AU on what would have happened had the MC NOT met the LI

-Completing the ending of the title 

Smut Prompts (18+)

Seeing them naked for the first time

Their first time together

Making them orgasm in public

Having a threesome with another character

Getting them off only using their mouth

Foreplay with toys

Foodplay

Shower sex

Bondage

Voyeurism

Sex with only the heels on

Cockwarming

Impact play

Gagging

Role play

Getting off by smelling their clothing

Phone sex

Masturbating in front of each other

Temperature play

Skinny dipping

#voltage fandom ccc #voltage inc #love 365 find your story #court of darkness #samurai love ballad party #even if tempest #ayakashi romance reborn #liar uncover the truth #lovestruck

[deancasbigbang]

Title: The Lady in the Library

Author: Tossukka

Artist: Tessa Rose

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Castiel, mentioned Charlie/unknown woman

Length: 20000

Warnings: No archive warnings apply, talk of past death(s)

Tags: Alternate Universe, Canon AU, strangers to lovers, case fic, librarian Castiel, hunter Dean

Posting Date: October 19, 2022

Summary: Castiel’s simple life as a small-town librarian gets interrupted when he discovers his workplace is being haunted by a book-throwing ghost. Before he has fully processed the existence of supernatural, he meets an attractive stranger claiming to be a hunter of such things. Together Castiel, his coworker Charlie, and Dean begin to research the ghost and the tragedy behind the haunting. All the while, the mutual attraction between Castiel and Dean keeps growing, and Dean begins to settle in the local community. In the end only two questions remain: why hasn’t the ghost moved on yet and does Dean intend to leave as soon as they have solved the case.

Excerpt: Castiel peered into the darkness and walked back towards the light switches when a book flew past his ear.   “Hey! Is someone there?” he called out “Could you stop throwing the books?”   This time Anne of Green Gables hit Castiel right in the shoulder.   “Ow,” Castiel said, stretching and rubbing his arm. He picked up the book and the other one, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, but he hesitated to walk where the books were coming from. Instead Castiel clicked the lights on again.   Castiel blinked in surprise, because he had fully been expecting someone to be pranking him, but there was no one between the shelves. And yet… Yet, these two books had been on the shelf, and Castiel had seen them fly at him from the aisle.   “Hello?” he called out again and saw the lights flicker. Maybe he was just imagining things, or the air conditioning was acting up again, because he could have sworn it had got colder in the library.   That was before he saw the shadow take shape in front of his eyes and felt his blood run completely cold. The shape disappeared behind the shelf, and Castiel could hear several other books fall from their place.   Okay, that was Castiel’s cue to leave. He turned the lights off again and sprinted to the workers’ breakroom, collected his coat and bag, and imagined the ghost following him all the way to the front door. He locked the door behind him and leaned against it to catch his breath while he pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He had unlocked the screen and chosen the call menu before he had time to stop and think.   Who did people even call about ghosts at their workplace? Emergency services would think it was a prank and they weren’t trained to deal with hauntings. Was there anything like ghostbusters? All the ghost chasing teams, like Ghostfacers or whatnot, were probably fake anyway. Should he warn his coworkers? Should he ask about anyone else’s experiences? Oh god, what if the ghost was one of those types who followed him home and then he’d have to live in a haunted apartment. And even if the ghost decided to stay in the library, it could be dangerous to people and property. What if it started chucking books at other people than him? Even at the kids visiting the children’s section! A haunted library would surely be closed and then Castiel and all his coworkers would be without jobs, and their little town would be left without a library.   Who would ever believe Castiel about the haunting and be willing to help him with this?

DCBB 2022 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2022 #fic preview #2022 promo #deancas #destiel

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Once Upon a Time 6

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Andy Barber

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your shift starts out as usual. You go through opening with Colton and Chelsea. You leave cash just after ten to work the floor.

It's a quiet day and the rush usually doesn't start until after lunch. Right around noon, as you count down the minutes until your break, you notice traffic pick up with the arrival of more associates to cover the departments.

As you help an older lady find the classics section, you sense someone watching you, likely an impatient customer wanting your attention. You point the woman to the five dollar classic table and turn to face your next task. The shadow is gone. You peer around, hm, maybe they found someone else.

You continue your lap around the store. You pass Colin as he winks at a tall blonde as he holds a book in his hands. It's not often you see him doing anything besides hiding in the back. With Pine back, you assume that's not an option.

As you come up an aisle, you sense another shift in the air. You whip around and swear you see a figure flit away. Okay, you're being paranoid. This place is getting busy and you didn't sleep well.

You stop to look at the spines lined up neatly and adjust the little placard that hangs over the front of the shelf. Your eyes are drawn up as you see the crown of a head on the other side.

You march down to the end but as you come around, the customer is gone. You're definitely having an episode of some sort. What the hell is going on?

You press on your headset and let the floor know you're taking five. You just need to hit the bathroom and clear your head. You come out around the edge of comics and set off towards the little lobby between the bathrooms. You push through the door with your shoulder and sigh. You go into a stall and try to shake off the nerves.

He might not even come in today. And if he does, Pine is here. This can be done once and for all. You come back out and wash your hands, looking yourself in the tired eyes reflected back at you. Right, almost break time. Ten more minutes.

You pull the door and nearly walk straight into another person. You yipe, an embarrassing noise, and back up against the door. Of all the times to run into him, it's then. Andy puts on a show of surprise, brows popping up as he tilts his head.

"Oh, hey, didn't know you were working," he says.

"Um, yeah, I'm just head back," you point towards the floor, "I gotta go," you fix your earpiece, "sorry."

You sidle past him, ignoring your name as he calls after you. He grumbles but you hear the bathroom door swish open. You swerve and go off to find Colin or another manager. You're just going to have your break now.

When you come back along the far end of fiction, Colin is no longer there. A swarm of customers away you and you stop to help them find titles and look up several that are out of stock on your phone. You finally get away, turning back for the back office. As you get close to the rear of the store, you're stopped again by the same figure.

"Hey," Andy puts his hands in his pockets. His jacket is unbuttoned over a grey suit and pale blue shirt. His dark tie is pulled straight and tight. "I had a question--"

"Andy," you utter, "I was just going to find Mr. Pine. He's in the store today so you should be able to chat."

"Mr. Pine?" He frowns and slips his hand free to scratch his beard, "I’m not here for him," he says.

"Well, I'm headed on my break after so--"

"Break? How about coffee?"

The question surprises you. You expected anger. You expected the same look you got at the side of the road. Instead, he seems almost dazed.

"It's just a fifteen, I won't have time, so... I'll just go get Mr. Pine--"

"I don't want to talk to him," Andy insists, "why are you running away?"

"I... I'm not. Did you need help finding something?" You look around with a gulp, "we don't have the new book in the series just yet--"

"Don't be like this," he steps closer and you stiffen, leaning back on a heel, adrenaline bubbling, "I'm a nice guy. I've been nice. It's just a coffee."

"Look, I just work here. I can help you with books or a kindle but I don't want to have coffee with you. Do you get it? I'm not interested."

He blinks and furrows his brows, "why not?"

You stand in silence, staring at his throat, too afraid to look him in the face. You shrug as you search for an answer; he's pushy, he's old, he's not your type, you're not looking. You don't want to be mean, just honest. How do you tell someone to leave you alone nicely?

"Ahhh, Mr. Barber," the voice drawls from behind you and you flinch as you step aside, back to the shelf as you turn to watch Mr. Pine stride towards you, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Andy scowls at the blond strutting up the aisle, "nothing. Just shopping."

"And you've chosen my fine establishment," Pine steps up, slowing as he looks to you, "you alright? Why don't you go off and have your break?" He checks his watch, "I'll deal with this one."

"Deal with me?" Andy says defiantly, stepping up in challenge. "I'm giving money to your business. You should show some respect."

"Mmm," Pine narrows his eyes and looks Andy up and down, "you know, there is a rather elaborate surveillance system here. For security." Pine pushes his shoulders, unaffected by Andy's posturing, "now on top of weeks of you coming in to hound this girl, I've only just watched you stalk her around this store for no less than forty minutes."

Your mouth falls open. Forty minutes? Your heart drops into your stomach.

"So, you will leave the premises, that is certain. You do get a choice; to leave of your own volition or with some assistance."

Pine steps even closer to Andy, herding him back away from you. Andy's jaw ticks as he stares down the other man. His eyes slowly scan over to you and his lips part as his face shades with embarrassment.

"I wasn't following her," he backs up, raising his palms, "I was looking around. That's it. I'll leave." He shakes his head and snorts, "talk about customer service."

Andy spins on his heel, flicking his fingers derisively over his shoulder. You cross your arms over your chest as a chill rolls over you. You don't believe him. You look at Pine as he watches Andy stomp away.

"Mr. Pine," you eke out, "can I see the footage?”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #defending jacob #au #drabble #bookstore au #series #once upon a time

[dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd]

My Heart Has Teeth

Priest AU | Vampire AU | Fated mates | Blood | Biting | Restraints | Smut | Fleabag Hot Priest has a lot to answer for | So does all the priest art in the fandom | and that one of Laura in Travis' arms with blood on her face | no summary priest x vampire that's the thing

Part One of Three

The church was dark and forbidding as Laura shivered among the gravestones.

Cold.

She was so cold.

Chill that bit into her bones and turned her blood to ice. Standing among the stone crosses and with the feel of hallowed ground beneath her bare feet, she felt as if a hundred fingers were pointing accusingly at her.

Unclean.

Unwelcome.

Unwanted.  

Mist flowed through the trees and among the graves, and past the heavy wooden door of the church. It was a building of grey stone with a tall, pointed tower, shrouded by dense trees. The stained-glass windows glowed ruby, sapphire and gold, lit from within by soft, dancing lights.

Laura had been camping in the woods with her boyfriend Max when she was awoken by a fierce ache in her belly and a sensation like her veins were on fire.

Hungry.

Again.

She’d stared at Max as he’d slept, but the sight of him didn’t bring her any comfort. In fact, his presence irritated her as she wondered first if he could soothe her, and then realized that he couldn’t.

Laura had suffered the inexplicable hunger since she was sixteen, but it had never been this bad before. It pounded on the inside of her skull and screamed at her until she was so restless and afraid, she burst out of the tent and ran.

At first, she’d had no direction in mind. She wanted only to draw cooling air into her lungs and stretch her aching muscles.

Then her hunger became purposeful. It was pushing her toward a place. A person.

A church?

Cold wind that whipped Laura's loose blonde hair around her face. When she pushed it back, she noticed that the heavy church door stood ajar. The darkness within beckoned her closer.

Laura glanced left and right. There was no one around and it was after midnight. Surely the priest or whatever he was called wouldn’t mind if she tucked herself into a corner and napped until the sun came up? She wasn’t sure. Going to church had never been on her family’s list of things to do on a Sunday morning and she’d never said so much as hello to a priest. From afar, they seemed austere and intimidating in their long black robes.

She would have to either go inside or try and find her way back to camp. The hunger had drained her strength, and it would drown out her other senses until she became hopelessly lost in the dark. Better to face the ire of a priest than accidentally wander off a cliff and smash herself to pieces in the quarry.

When Laura lifted her hand to push the door, it swung inward silently.

Laura could make out shadowy rows of pews and carved pillars rising up into darkness. From the inside, the beautiful stained glass was colourless and black.

At the far end of a long, dark aisle, candles were burning, illuminating an enormous golden crucifix.

She drew closer to the altar, and her heart beat faster and faster.

Something was in here.

Something that smelled…delicious.

She turned slowly on the spot, hunting the shadows with her eyes. Strange how if she concentrated very hard, the shadows gave up their secrets.

But there was nothing there.

No, something was there. She could sense it just out of reach. Frustration made her fists clench so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. Her breath was hissing harshly over her teeth.

“Young lady?”

Laura froze, and then whipped around.

A man stood a dozen feet away, backlit by the golden cross. Tall. Strong. Upright. The gold light created a halo in his dark hair, but his face was in shadow. The only thing she could make out apart from his height and the breadth of his shoulders was a square of white at his throat.

The priest.

He stood as still as stone and his gaze raked her body, from her wild hair to her short, thin nightdress to the smears of mud on her calves and bare feet.

Laura felt a compulsion to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness.

“Have you come to pray, or to confess?” the priest asked. “It’s late, but I don’t sleep well at night. Come with me if you wish to confess.”

He brushed past her on the way to the back of the church, his flowing black garments rustling like raven’s feathers, and Laura gasped in shock.

His scent.

Delicious notes of plum and pepper over a rich, masculine musk that made her mouth water. It lingered in his wake.

Without thinking twice, Laura followed him, her footsteps dragging on the stone tiled floor as she moved in a daze.

The priest had disappeared into some kind of ... booth? He’d opened and closed a wooden door, but left a curtain pulled open on the other side that revealed a small wooden bench.

A small, dark space. That’s what she needed to calm her rioting heart. When she sat down on the bench and drew the curtain tightly closed, she found that she was separated from the priest by a decorative grille.

But she could still smell him. His scent was heavy in the air, and she inhaled him deep inside her.

The priest was facing forward and he had his hand up with his fingers touching his temple.

He didn’t look at her.

He didn’t speak.

It was so silent in the booth that if she listened very carefully, she could hear the beat of his heat and the warm rush of his blood.

Laura ran her tongue over her canines, which were suddenly, strangely, aching.

“You did come to confess, didn’t you?” the priest asked.

“What do I say?” she murmured, running her nails gently down the carved wooden grille.

Teach me.

“Have you never confessed before, child?”

How handsome he was. Even though she could barely see him she sensed his austere beauty and his strength. He was lonely, like her. Always around people, but he held himself apart from them, because they couldn’t give him what he needed. Laura didn’t know how she knew this. She could taste the truth of him on their air, and it matched her own.

“Well, no,” she admitted.

“You’re not Catholic,” he guessed, and Laura thought she detected disapproval in his voice.

“I…Maybe I’m interested.”

Laura glimpsed his lips press into a firm line.

“Can you please lower your hand? I want to see your face.”

“The point is not to see it. This is meant to be anonymous.”

“But you’ve already seen my face. I want to see yours.”

His chest rose and fell as if with an annoyed sigh, but he dropped his hand. Laura could make out his strong profile in the dim light. A stern brow and aquiline nose. She imagined her forefinger dancing teasingly down his nose. Touching those soft lips. Brushing over his cheekbones and curving around his slightly stick-out ears.

He was older than she was. Quite a bit older, but it didn’t make her admire him any less. She guessed that he’d looked sweet and puppyish as a young man, but the stern lines of his face suited him. His sombre air was comforting.

Delicious.

What strange thoughts she was having tonight.

“You’re handsome,” she murmured, her gaze lingering over the long, carved line of his jaw.

She half expected him to stand up and order her out of his church, but he stared straight ahead as if he hadn’t heard her.

“Maybe I should add that to my list of sins?” she asked, scooching a little closer to the grille. Laura licked her lips, a smile threatening to break over her face. She’d just remembered the joke about what you said to a priest in a confessional. Sorry daddy, I’ve been bad.

She’d never wanted to tease a man by saying that, but with her eyes fixed on his broad chest and his strong throat, she imagined all kinds of phrases spilling from her lips.

What would it be like to make this buttoned-down man blush? Maybe even stammer a little.

And then when he was off-guard—

Her mind presented her with the strange image of her lunging at the man with her teeth. She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head, trying to rid herself of the bizarre thought.

When she opened her eyes, she remembered what she was supposed to say. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

The priest nodded slowly, still looking infuriatingly straight ahead. “Now I ask how long it’s been since your last confession, but as you’ve never confessed before, just tell me what’s weighing on your mind.”

“My mind?”

“What do you have to confess?” he prompted gently.

“I don’t know,” she replied, her voice choked up in her throat. “I haven’t done anything, I think? Or have I?”

“We all have memories that haunt us. Words we have spoken. Thoughts and deeds that are impure. Perhaps whatever has driven you here tonight?”

“I—I—”

“Child, there is no need to feel anxious.” He had a deep and reassuring voice.

“I have…a mark,” she blurted out suddenly.

The priest’s brows drew together, but he still didn’t look at her.

Laura rubbed her fingers slowly over the spot on her thigh beneath her nightdress. “It feels dangerous. I don’t know how to explain it.”

It had been burning all night.

Aching.

“Can I show you?” she whispered.

The priest finally turned to look at her. He had deep brown eyes with dark lashes, and his frown deepened. There was a touch of wariness in his gaze.

When he said nothing, Laura clenched her hand on her thigh and slowly drew the fabric back. The mark was very high on her leg.

The priest dropped his gaze to her lap.

On Laura’s right inner thigh was a vivid scarlet flower with tapered, lustrous petals. A clematis flower burned bright red into her flesh.

The priest’s eyes widened, the whites showing all the way around. “Holy mother of God.”

“What is it? Do you know what it means?”

“How long have you borne that mark?”

“I woke up with it on the morning of my sixteenth birthday.”

His eyes were suddenly dark and very stormy, and he snapped, “How old are you?”

Laura shrank back from the fury that was suddenly radiating from him. “Twenty-two.”

The priest stared at her for a long time with an unfathomable expression on his face. “Six years ago. Do you hunger…” He faltered, and there was tension in his frame.

“Father?”

“What do you hunger for?” he demanded. 

He knew. But how did he know? Laura had never told anyone. She shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you hunger for blood?”

The moment he said the word blood, a chord sounded through her soul as if someone had struck a church organ with both hands.

Laura leapt to her feet with a strangled cry.

The priest lunged for something out of view and held it up to the grille.

A crucifix. Laura reeled back with a scream. The heavy curtain barred her way as she fought to get out of that claustrophobic space. Her skin felt like it was on fire. The priest was trying to burn her alive from the inside out with that cross.

Laura ripped the curtain back and ran, her bare feet slapping on the stone floor. She pushed open the church door and fled into the darkness.

Travis stood by the open door, his chest heaving as he stared after the young woman, the gold crucifix still clutched tightly in his hand.

That person…

That thing.

She didn’t belong in this place.

The mark she bore on her thigh marked her as a devil’s plaything. A devil in her own right. She was too young and untouched to understand what she was, but the mention of blood and a crucifix held close to her face was enough to confirm what he was dealing with.

But what was the shape of the mark exactly? He’d only glimpsed it, vivid red and undoubtedly painful.

If she came back, a closer inspection would confirm it. Or blood. Blood would make everything clear.

Dare he risk it?

By reflex, he glanced toward the vestry, where a trunk concealed a crossbow with silver-tipped wooden bolts. Strange creatures lurked in North Kill, especially this close to Hackett’s Quarry. It was a desolate stretch of woods that drew all manner of creatures. They sheltered in the depths of the forest, sport for hunters who craved a darker challenge than a rabbit or a deer.  

The girl wouldn’t come back, at least not tonight.

Travis rubbed his hand back and forth over his short hair and sighed, and then locked up the church and headed down the narrow stone path to his house.

There was a chill deep in his bones as he locked the front door of his cottage behind him, and so he drew a hot bath for himself, undressing slowly, his mind back in the booth with the blonde girl.

As he lay in the bath, her words came back to him.

I woke up with it on the morning of my sixteenth birthday.

Six years ago.

It had to be a coincidence, didn’t it?

And yet she was here in North Kill. Something had dragged her out of slumber in the middle of the night and sent her toward his church. He recalled the sight of her shivering in the church aisle, legs bare, nipples hard beneath the thin fabric of her nightdress.

A very pretty girl who’d whispered to him through the wooden grille. Had stroked it softly, lovingly, as if she were imagining touching him.

Travis slowly opened his eyes. And then glancced down at himself. He was hard. Six years a priest and he still wasn’t master of his own body.

She just needs guidance…

His fists tightened beneath the water.

A young woman came to you for help. Will you turn her away if she comes to you again?

These were the voices of temptation, not of God.

Make her kneel before you and beg for forgiveness for what she is.

Travis got out of the tub so fast that water cascaded from his body and onto the tile floor. He stood there naked, hands clenched, staring down at himself. Thick, and throbbing with need.

She was out there in the dark, alone. Blood had not yet touched her lips. That he was certain of.

She was still yet innocent.

But for how much longer?

Travis tipped his head back with a groan. It was taking all his willpower not to wrap his hand around his shaft and pump his fist up and down.

What if she came to him again and crawled between his knees? Begged him for release, her flesh smooth and hot as she stripped naked and pressed herself against his black robes? Hands tugging at his buttons. At his belt. Her mouth finding his fingers and sucking them with pleading in her eyes.

Whispering, Teach me. Show me. I’m yours.  

Still hard as a rock, Travis took himself to bed and slipped between the cool sheets, his body burning with frustration.

The night passed restlessly, and he awoke at dawn with a pounding headache. When he looked into the mirror, there were dark circles beneath his eyes. Darker than usual.

The memory of the blonde dogged his footsteps all day. He conducted a service. He read mass. His thoughts should have been with God, but they were instead lingering on the memory of a beautiful, blue-eyed girl. The scarlet mark on her thigh beckoned to him. As he pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he thought he could discern its outline.

If she came to him again, he had to be certain what he was dealing with. But how?

The mark?

Or blood?

Blood. That was safest because he could keep his distance.

At sunset when the church was empty, he poured wine into a ceremonial goblet, and with a short, sharp knife, he slashed his hand. Blood ran freely over his palm and dripped into the wine.

Then placed the cup out of sight, close to the confessional.

Night was closing in, and the trees were turning black against the sky.

He was ready for her.

Laura tried to ignore the restlessness in her legs and the frantic buzzing in her ears, but in the darkest hour of the night, she could no longer resist the tugging on her mind and soul.

Stumbling out of the tent, Laura walked unsteadily through the trees, treading the same path that she had the night before until the little stone church rose before her.

The priest stood on the threshold in his long robes, a sentinel of righteousness, his expression hard as granite and his gaze pitiless.

He didn’t like her.

He didn’t want her there.

And yet he’d been waiting for her.  

“Have you come again to confess, child?” he asked, gazing down at her.

Laura nearly fell to her knees and clung to his robes. She didn’t want to confess. She wanted to beg. Her life was in his hands. He could end it if he chose. This man was the only way out of her misery.

When she didn’t reply, he turned and disappeared into the church.

Laura followed him with a whimper, a desperate ache clawing at her chest. It was dark, but she could follow him by scent alone. It was even stronger tonight, that delicious aroma that was this man’s soul, distilled into fine liquor.

How she longed to feel it flowing over her tongue. Running down her body, slippery and hot. She wanted him sticky on her fingers so she could lick him off.  

The door to the confessional slammed behind the priest.

Laura stepped inside and pulled the velvet curtain closed and sat shivering on the narrow wooden bench. He hated her, but she didn’t care as long as he didn’t send her away.

“What do have to confess?” the priest asked. He was different tonight. Urgent, and wound almost as tight as she was.

“I don’t know.”

“You do. Search your heart. Search your soul.”

Laura felt angry tears well in her eyes. Weren’t men of the cloth supposed to hold all the answers? They acted as if they did, with their tight collars and their sermons. “I said I don’t know.”

“How will you ask for forgiveness if you don’t repent?”

“I’ll repent. I’ll do anything you want. Tell me what to do, Father.”

But the priest wouldn’t answer.

She beat her hand against the grille. “Just tell me what to do.”

Silence.

It went on and on. Empty, pitiless silence.

The priest spoke one word. “Kneel.”

Laura looked up sharply. “What?”

But the priest didn't say anything. He knew she had heard him. 

Laura slipped from the bench, her knees thudding against cold stone.

Suddenly, the curtain was ripped back, and the priest loomed over her in the darkness, looking impossibly tall from this sharp angle. There was a wild expression on his face, and he held a golden goblet in one hand.

The priest held the goblet to her lips. “Drink.”

“Shouldn’t I say some words, Father? Shouldn’t you?”

His eyes flashed. “Stop questioning everything I tell you to do, and drink.”

Laura opened her mouth. Cold metal touched her lips, and the priest tilted the goblet until wine flowed into her mouth.

Her eyes shot open.

Laura grabbed the goblet with both hands over his and opened her mouth wider, swallowing frantically. Wine poured over her face and down the front of her nightdress, soaking the fabric and dripping down her thighs.

The wine was tart, and heavy on her tongue. It was the most delicious thing she’d ever—

Another taste burst inside her mouth, rich and sweet. A man’s soul, distilled into its purest form.

This man’s soul.

His blood.  

Laura threw the goblet violently with a cry of horror and it clattered away into the shadows. Her chest was heaving, and she clung to the first thing within reach. The priest’s robes. “What was that? What did you just make me drink?”

“Wine. Mixed with blood.”

“You made me drink blood?” she cried. Pain exploded in her chest. It travelled down her body and between her thighs to her core. The mark on her leg erupted with fire. She ached. She needed…

“What do you feel?” he asked, breathing heavily.

“Pain,” she gasped.

“What else?” He was urgent, demanding that she answer.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” she sobbed. “What’s happening to me?”

“You’re marked.” He knelt down before her and pushed her wet nightdress up her thigh, revealing the red flower on the smooth flesh of her inner thigh. He reached out as if to touch it, but then drew his hand away again and clenched his fist.

Frustrated?

Or afraid?

“You’re marked because you’re a vampire’s mate,” he said through clenched teeth. “If your mate finds you, the moment they sink their fangs into your neck you’ll be theirs forever. Destined to be a vampire. Damned for all eternity as a creature of the night.”

Laura stared at him. Even though the words he spoke should be impossible, she knew that they were not. “That’s it? That’s the only future I have?”

“There are hunters who would kill you for bearing that mark with bullets of silver. Arrows tipped with silver.”

“So I’m to choose between death, or undeath? What kind of choice is that?”

“It is no choice,” he snarled, sweat breaking out on his brow. “Your mate knows that blood has touched your lips. He aches for you this moment. You have to run. You have to—”

“But you’re a priest. You must know something that can help me.”

He shook his head urgently.

He was lying to her, Laura could feel it. There was something he could do, but he didn’t want to help her.

Laura put her hands on his shoulders, shifting closer on her knees. Such broad, sturdy shoulders and a strong throat. Blood was rushing through his flesh and her teeth were aching more than ever.

“What if my mate comes to bite me?” she whispered. “What if hunters come? You won’t let them hurt me, will you?”

The priest was breathing harshly. “You think I can keep you safe? If your mate finds you, he’ll lose his mind from longing until he has possessed you.”

“How do you know this?”

He turned his face away. “I can’t answer that.”

She pulled her dress up her thigh, exposing the red flower. “Please, you’re the only one who can help me. I’ve shown this mark to a dozen people over the years and none of them have believed me when I’ve told them it’s dangerous. Help me cut it out of my flesh.”

The priest shook his head, keeping his gaze averted from her. “That won’t work. The mark will heal itself.”

He stood, capturing her elbows and dragging her up with him. He stood over her by a foot. His hands were huge on her arms, and he gripped her tightly. “You must leave. You should never have come here.”

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“I'm no one. I'm just a priest.”

“I don’t believe you.”  

“Then you have a death wish. Would you like to see, is that what you're saying?” he snarled, and before she could answer he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her through the church and into a side room.

There wasn’t much to see in the small, cold chamber. A bench seat. And a wooden chest.

“Look.” He flipped the lid back and Laura stared down at half a dozen crossbows and guns, silver tipped arrows and homemade silver bullets.

Laura felt the bottom fall out of her stomach. The priest was a hunter? She’d revealed her secret to a vampire hunter? She backed away from him, fear threading her veins. The open door was at her back, but he was already closing in on her.

Laura licked her lips, still moving backwards. “If I run, will you chase me?”

The priest nodded slowly, his gaze locked on her face.

He didn’t have a choice.

He was a hunter.

She was his quarry.

“Run,” he growled.

But still Laura only took tiny steps backward. His eyes were wild, and his hair was falling over his forehead. The moment she turned her back on him, he would be on her.

Her body was alive with the blood she had drunk, but he was strong. He was fast. He had hunted before. This was his church. He knew the fastest way to the door in the dark.

“You don’t have to do this,” she told him.

“I do.”

“No, you don’t!”

The priest reached up and tugged the white collar out of his shirt and threw it aside. Still glaring at her, he undid the buttons of his shirt and pulled it open. His chest was strong and muscled, and peppered with dark hairs. There was something on his chest, a little to the left. A small, red tattoo, right over his heart.

It was the mark.

Her mark.

The very same red flower that had appeared on her thigh six years ago was branded on his chest.

As Laura stared at the red flower, longing shot through her. Yearning so powerful that it stole the breath from her lungs. The mark burned so hard on her thigh that she nearly fell to her knees.

She was his.

He was hers.

But he was a priest and a vampire hunter. Was he going to kill her, or claim her?

The priest was gazing down at the mark on his chest. Suddenly, his head snapped up and drew his top lip back in a snarl, revealing two shiny white fangs, tapered to sharp points.

Not a hunter.

A vampire.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he snarled. “I don’t want you here. Run. Away.”

She hadn’t been able to resist the pull of the mark, just as he couldn’t prevent himself from crossing the room toward her.

His blood was on her tongue and burning through her veins. Her whole body was lit with need and there was a fierce pulsing between her thighs. Laura was torn between fleeing from this man and running into his arms.

She wanted him to bite her. She craved to feel his body against hers. He needed to sink his fangs into her neck at the same time he drove himself deep inside her. Claiming her completely.

Every second she wasn’t touching him was pure torture.

He felt the same way. She could see agony in his eyes. He didn’t want his mate, but his instincts to claim her were driving him out of his mind.

The priest’s body trembled, and then he lunged for her with both arms as if unable to help himself. Laura darted back and his hands snatched at empty air.

“I said run,” he shouted.

Whether it was out of fear or an inexorable compulsion to obey him, Laura turned on her heel and fled for her life.

Travis slammed the door closed and felt to his knees, gasping in agony as he felt the girl run out of the church and into the night. He only had a few minutes at most before his mark drove him out into the night to give chase. He wasn’t going to be able to resist hunting her down.

She was his mate.

The woman who was destined to be his.

The one who was bound to him. Meant for him. He belonged to her and she to him, and as long as he roamed this earth, he would long for her. An eternity of agony spread before him if he didn’t make her his.

But at a terrible cost. He would have to turn her. Kill what made her human and leave her vulnerable to those who hunted them for sport. The mark made her hungry and restless, but without her fangs she could pass as human and avoid the hunters.

With one bite, he would put a target on her back for the rest of her life.  

It was too late for him, and too late for his dead family, but she could be saved as long as he didn’t bite her. Never sank his fangs into her hot, yielding flesh and tasted her sweet blood as it bubbled up against his—

Travis groaned and beat his head against the solid wooden door.

“Stop.” Thud. “Thinking.” Thud. “About.” Thud. “Her.”

If she was scared enough, she would run right out of the woods and never look back. If she made it until dawn and kept going, she might be safe. His strength and speed and the urgency to hunt were lesser in the sunlight, though the light couldn’t hurt him. Neither could hallowed ground or crucifixes. The girl had shrunk back from the cross as all fledglings and lesser vampires did. The weak ones. If he made her his, the girl would no longer be weak.

She would be his. 

So what was he doing here grovelling on the floor in pain when he should be out in the night with his mate?

He didn’t even know her name …

She had tasted him, but he hadn’t yet felt her on his tongue …

If he took her in his arms, he would hear her panting in his ear with need …

Maybe even begging for him …

He could hear her in his mind. Kiss my mark. Feel how much I want you. Fill me up while I give you my blood.  

Travis felt himself getting to his feet.

Reaching for the door handle.

He fought it with everything he had, but the pounding in his blood was stronger. Mates weren’t meant to be resisted. Mates were a rare privilege that every coven vampire hoped to be granted. Six years ago, when he’d buried the corpses of his family and felt the mark flame to life on his chest, for a few seconds he had felt pure, unadulterated joy. For hundreds of years, he’d longed for this moment.

His mate had awoken. Somewhere in the world, a human had felt the flourishing of the mark on their flesh.

All he had to do was find them.

Then sheer horror overwhelmed him as he realized he would damn this unknown human to his parents’ fate. His brothers’ fate. His niece and nephew’s fate. 

He hid himself away in North Kill, disguised as a priest, and prayed that the girl would never find him.

A girl. He could taste that it was a girl. She came to him in dreams sometimes, a slender, shadowy figure with blonde hair. She was swift and strong. Brave. When he clasped this girl to his chest in his dreams, her warmth and laughter filled his heart.

Sometimes he was shocked awake in a burst of pleasure or suddenly fell to his knees while out walking, blinded as if by the sun, and he knew she was touching her mark. Touching herself. What did she look like in that moment? What did she taste like? Not her blood, but her sex. The warm liquid oozing between her thighs. Travis daydreamed about it for hours on end.

Sometimes she dug her nails into her mark when she came, and everything went white behind his eyes and he couldn’t breathe.

“Stop doing that, girl,” he would gasp, palms pressed against the floor of the church or the muddy track through the woods.

If it happened while he was giving a sermon, his congregation thought he was having a heart attack as he staggered and gripped his chest.

These goddamn marks. Their connection was doing its best to drive them together. Was she dreaming about him as often as he dreamed about her? Could she sense the shape of his body? Did she understand how much he craved her?

If she was suffering too, could she feel how much that sorrowed him?

As the years passed, Travis tortured himself with thoughts about her, wondering if she was happy. Hoping that she was. When she eventually grew old and died, would his mark fade away, or would it go on tormenting him with the eternity that they could have spent together?

He’d never met another vampire who had a fated mate, let alone one who refused to claim them. He was all alone, in every sense, but if him staying hidden away in these woods kept her alive, he would never step one foot beyond the trees.

They couldn’t meet if he didn’t go hunting for her.

At least, that's what he'd told himself.

Travis felt a surge of anger. Why did she have to come looking for him? How could a mere human track him down? 

Goddamn this girl. 

With the mark on his chest throbbing so hard that it felt like he was about to explode, Travis yanked the door open.

He had to chase.

He had to hunt.

If the girl hadn’t taken his warning seriously, she might have stopped running by now, but after what he’d shown her, she should be terrified.

As soon as he reached the main door to the church and took a lungful of night air and scented her on the wind. His mark was clamouring at him to give chase.

Run, child.

Because I’m coming for you.

Travis felt his fangs surge in his mouth, and he took off after her into the darkness.

***

In case you were wondering, there’s no dubcon in this story. Travis is being driven out of his mind to claim her because I love to see him absolutely feral and shattered to his core, but he wouldn’t lay a tooth or a finger on Laura without her consent. 

Thank you for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story so far. Chapter Two is just about finished and will be posted in a day or two. Meanwhile, leave me a comment and let me know what you think!

PART TWO

#travis hackett #laura kearney #the quarry #travis x laura #hackearney #fanfiction

[demonslayedher]

if the hashira had had the opportunity to try being in an airplane or plane, how do you think each one would be at takeoff and be in the skies at once? it's for a homework *slyly hides papers for an au on dragons*

This Ask inspired me to write Crack Fic. I do not apologize for typos at this hour.

--

There had been delay after delay, but it’s finally almost time for take-off for this Mugen Airways flight. There was hubbub about changed gates, some boy upset about having to put his sister in checked baggage instead of a carry-on, and a last minute pilot and crew change. It’s a small plane, there are only three rows, and with the exception of the crew and one passenger, none of them have been on a flight before.  

In Seat 1A, we have Gyomei. He doesn’t have much anxiety or excitement; this is merely a way to get from one place to another. Next to him in Seat 1B, Shinobu has neatly put a book in the magazine pocket and stowed her bag, though she’s keeping handy some candied ginger. Across the aisle from them, Giyuu is 1C, and he’s taking up both arm rests. In the window seat, 1D, Sanemi is tapping his foot and has his forehead pressed against the window.

Behind them, Mitsuri is in Seat 2A, and dressed up in a beret like in Kimetsu Academy. She’s very excited, and when Obanai in 2B asks her if she’s nervous, she assures him she’ll be fine, as her Breath style often has her up in the air and flipping around, she’ll be fine no matter what this airplane has in store. Obanai, who already doesn’t like the enclosed space, tells her he doesn’t expect it to do any flips.

In 2C, Kyojuro is enjoying the thrill and anticipation. At last he cannot contain himself a minute longer and asks the stewardess with a mole on her face where he can buy a bentou. She thanks him for his enthusiasm but politely informs him that the inflight meal will be served only once they are safely in the air. Meanwhile, Muichiro in Seat 2D has no enthusiasm whatsoever.

In the back row, Zenitsu has found he’s got the window seat, 3A. The view will likely be terrifying so je thinks to offer switching, but then he looks over and sees Tanjiro guiding Inosuke to his seat, 3B. Now Zenitsu has to keep the window seat guarded, lest Inosuke try to bolt out of it mid-flight. Inosuke is on guard and looking all around at everything aggressively, as they are in the belly of a beast.

“You don’t need to be suspicious of them,” says Tanjiro, taking his seat by the window in 3D. “The luggage policy isn’t the desk agent’s fault. I do hope Nezuko will be alright down there, though.”

“I’m certain she will,” says the stranger who puts his suitcase in the overhead bin and brings it to smooth but forceful close. “No bumps and bruises ever bother a demon for long.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. We’re now preparing for take-off, so please keep your armrests and tray tables stowed and keep your seat in the full upright position.”

“I still don’t like the whole ‘no demons in the cabin’ rule. She’s a certified Corp service demon, too! She—” he says, but then gags on the cologne wafting from the man sitting down in Seat 3C.

“At least you’re lucky to be on the same flight as her,” he assures him, but in his mind he remarks that there was no luck about it. He has agents all throughout the Mugen Terminal. He suspected Kamado Nezuko might be capable of mastering the sun and wanted to find her, and then he had the good luck of finding out they were in the same airport. He orchestrated all the delays so that Nezuko would be luggage on his flight headed east, away from the sun. With the cover of darkness, his plan was to push the pilot out the window over the ocean and then return with his new possession before sunrise. The man in Seat 3C is Muzan, by the way.

“Hey. Armrests, Tomioka.”

“I leave seatbelts as a personal choice.”

Shinobu buckles hers demurely, then while staring straight ahead with a smile requests that Himejima fasten his too.

“It’s speaking,” grunts Inosuke.

Zenitsu responds, “That’s the captain, idiot—wait, this voice—”

“Um, sir?" a flight attendant says to Inosuke, "I think you’re a sir? Please remain seated.”

”Your lovely flight attendants will provide our inflight meal service once we reach cruising altitude. Now we invite you to relax and enjoy a very flamboyant ride today aboard Mugen Airways.”  

The plane then slams to a high speed, pushing everyone backward in their seats. Inosuke sees this an exciting challenge and jumps to a squat on his seat, one hand on the ceiling and another on the back of his chair which he yanks back and forth. “WHOA!! HAHAHAH!! SO FAST!! IT’S SO FAST!!”

“Inosuke, sit down—” SPRONNGGG!!! “AHHH! Inosuke, you broke the seatback! You were supposed to keep that upright! It’s going to come flying through my head now!”

“Would you mind keeping it down?” hisses Obanai, who must do enough hissing in place of Kaburamaru, who stayed home, as he preferred not to set himself up for bad movie title jokes.

Mitsuri clenches her hands against her thighs. “This is it!” she squeals.

“HA HA HA! It’s very fast!” declares Kyojuro, his arms folded. Muichiro wonders why they’re going so fast all of a sudden. Where are they going, anyway? For the purposes of this Ask response, that is irrelevant information. It is only relevant that their flight is headed west, chasing the sun.

Sanemi, despite himself, is getting excited. He’s never moved this fast before, it’s actually kind of fun. He looks to Giyuu to make a comment as such, but Giyuu is still staring straight forward, his arms resting over his legs now instead.

Shinobu found the initial inertia startling, but she’s already fine with this and anticipating the sensations of takeoff, which she can picture fairly well from a scientific perspective.

Gyomei, however, has found himself gasping. He doesn’t like this.

With an unnecessarily flashy BANG, the airplane takes off. Gyomei really doesn’t like this and his eyes burst with a stream of tears. Shinobu finds it about was she expected and is able to enjoy the sensation, Giyuu is unphased, Sanemi found it kind of scary but in a fun way, Mitsuri has burst out into a wide smile and squeaks a little “kyaa!” of a scream, Obanai doesn’t like the feeling but finds it tolerable, Kyojuro says “hmm!” at this surprising new sensation, and Muichiro is confused but kind of likes whatever is going on. Right behind him, Tanjiro had wondered if Muichiro was doing alright with all this because he was so quiet, but now his thoughts are all on how Nezuko must be getting thrown around. There is no space left in Tanjiro’s mind for any thoughts of how he personally is experiencing this. Muzan doesn’t care. Inosuke is cheering and bouncing up and down on the seat, and Zenitsu is

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

A voice comes up on the PA. “Excuse me, this is your Captain speaking: SHUT UP.”

Up in the cockpit, Tengen slams the microphone down and gets back to manning the controls. “Sheesh, all that screaming isn’t going to let me concentrate.”

Next to him, Kagaya sips a warm cup of tea. He is the honorary co-pilot. Airline regulations wouldn’t allow him to be an actual co-pilot because he’s blind. “That’s amazing, Tengen. I didn’t know you could fly a plane.”

“We learn it in ninja school.”

“Really? Amane had to attend an accredited flight school. It took a long time,” he says, then takes another sip of tea, having no trouble with the physics of the plane still rising.

Meanwhile in the cabin, Zenitsu’s soul has left his body, so he puts up no fight when Inosuke uses him something to lean on while pressing his snout against the window. In the seat in front of him Mitsuri would love to also press her face against the window to appreciate the view of all the teeny tiny houses, but something doesn’t feel right. It’s almost like on those rare occasions when she eats too quickly, but, it’s different, and it’s urgent—

“Kanroji, here’s a bag—”

She stuffs her face into the paper bag Obanai already had open—he saw the change in color in her cheeks and acted on a reflex—and she hurls. When it seems she’s done she whimpers with her head between her knees, and Obanai wonders if he should rub her back. That’s a normal thing people do to care for someone in this circumstance, but not if one is a boy and one is a girl and they are not married, right? “Sorry,” she says, “I thought I wouldn’t have any trouble…”

“It’s not your fault. It’s an entirely different sensation. When performing your Breath technique you are in control of your own movements, whereas in this circumstance you’re getting moved passively by your surroundings. I will fight anyone who tries to fault you.”

“He’s right, Kanroji-san!” offers Tanjiro, leaning over from across the row behind them, “I—GUH,” he gags on the smell, “completely agree so—GUH—don’t worry!”

“No one asked you, Kamado Tanjiro.”

“I’ll take that bag from you, sir,” says the flight attendant. “Not that I can take it far away in a plane this small, though. You’ll still probably smell it just the same back there, but at least you won’t have to hold it.”

Obanai tenses and looks averts his glance away from the busty woman who was talking so close to him, but hands her the paper bag politely.

To his left, Mitsuri has sat up, but is keeping her eyes closed and one hand over her nose and mouth. “Thank you, Iguro-san,” she mumbles, but he hears her loud and clear and blushes mad, the extra heat in his face making this whole contraption feel all the more stuffy and confined.

Now that they are settling into a new normal, Sanemi is enjoying the view out the window. He’s never seen clouds like that before, wow! And now he has, and he’s bored. He flips through a magazine.

Muichiro is entranced by the clouds. Kyojuro asks him what’s out there, Muichiro answers, “Clouds,” and now Kyojuro is more loudly entranced by the sight of clouds too.

If Gyomei weren’t blind, Shinobu would suggest he relax by looking at clouds too. “It’s alright, Himejima-san. The scary part is over.”

“No. No, this the scary part. There’s nothing beneath my feet, Shinobu. It’s completely absent.”

“Your feet are as firmly planted on the floor as mine. There’s no need to be silly.”

“It’s a paper-thin floor looming above nothingness!” he snaps back, whispering as though he doesn’t want to make anyone else panic. "We are paper-thin floor away from falling to our deaths!”

“Himejima-san, please,” she pulls him lower so that she can whisper closer to his ear. “Everyone looks to you as a rock of support, and you need to hold it together.”

“Hold it together? This whole rickety plane, you mean?”

“Here, have a ginger candy.”

“No,” he sits up and turns away with his arms folded very tightly. “It tastes too strong.”

“You’re acting like a child…”

“Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu…”

Sanemi is bored of flipping through the magazine. He looks all around and sighs. The only thing left to do is strike up a conversation with someone, anyone. That 'anyone' is Giyuu. “Some flight, huh?” he says.

Giyuu says nothing back.

Sanemi is annoyed, but then concerned. Could it be that Giyuu has been scared stiff this whole time?”

“Hey. Tomioka. Hey!”

“Yes?”

“I know it’s scary, but it’s going to be alright. The flight will be over before you know it.”

“Air travel isn’t frightening.”

Giyuu leaves it at that, and he totally means it. Sanemi is ticked off and goes back to looking at clouds.   

Tanjiro is not at all enjoying the array of smells. It’s getting to him, and he wishes he could open a window. Instead, Muzan asks him to close the shade. “Oh? I can, sure. But wouldn’t it be nice to look at the clouds?”

“Please. Close. The shade.”

“Alright,” he agrees and does as asked. Muzan is getting impatient with how long it’s taking to get away from the sun. As he understands, he boarded an east-bound flight and should be zooming away from the setting the sun, thereby resulting in a relatively earlier onset of night.  The problem is that in actuality, he boarded a west-bound flight.

“Attention, passengers. We’ve now reached cruising altitude. Your lovely flight attendants will be serving your inflight meal shortly. Drinks were forgotten at the gate though, I hope you’re not thirsty. Except for you, Oyakata-sama. Have another cup of tea.”

“Why, thank you. The intercom is still on, by the way.”

“Shit!” he yells as he flips it off. He then huffs and concentrates with two hands on the steering wheel.

“It seems you’re still getting used to this.”

“I don’t have many flying hours, you could say.”

“Oh. Is this perhaps your first time?”

“No! I just… I just haven’t flown since passing my test, like, eight years ago. I’d have reviewed if I expected this. There I was thinking I was getting pulled aside and shown to first class because my wives are working the meal service, but then I got shoved up here to the cockpit to pilot the thing. How did they even know I’m a pilot? That’s supposed to be a secret!”

“I think I see what happened now.”

“What?”

“They were only told the pilot would have white hair in a ponytail. You caught their attention before Amane did.”

“Amane-sama was supposed to be flying this thing?”

“Yes. I was very surprised when you showed up instead.”

“You didn’t… you didn’t think to say anything before we took off? What if I hadn’t studied piloting at all, Oyakata-sama?”

“It’s alright. I have complete faith in you. It’s just going to be a simple trip now,” he replies. Tengen hears disappointment in his tone.

As the meals are served in the cabin, the reactions are varied. The food is not especially good or bad, but very blah. Sanemi and Giyuu both eat without minding it or each other. Shinobu knew the environment would make the food bland, but she came with a few seasonings prepared. She offers some to Gyomei, who says he doesn’t want any food if they don’t have vegetarian options. It turns out they do, but he was only saying that as an excuse because he doesn’t trust any of the food on this contraption, but now he’s stuck with it until Shinobu will apologetically hand back a full tray later saying he wasn’t feeling well. When offered a blindfold so that he can rest, she refuses on his behalf.

With such a lack of flavor, Muichiro hardly even notices that he has absentmindly feeding himself. Kyojuro, as a means of convincing himself and looking for the good in everything, declares after every bite that it is TASTY and the stewardesses find this endearing—at first. After five bites he becomes just another annoying passenger. Obanai declines a meal, and as much as Mitsuri was looking forward to trying it, she sadly turns it down too. Now her stomach hurts due to hunger in addition to everything else.

The flight attendent with two colors in her hair is about to offer a tray to the passenger in Seat 3A, but since he’s asleep, she asks the… human boy?... in Seat 3B if he wants two, and he enthusiastically offers to take both. However, he’s very disappointed in what he sees. “What is this? No tempura?”

“What do you think we are, Wisteria Airlines?” she sneers back. But she also counts up the extra trays she’s carrying and offers him those too, which he accepts anyway.

Muzan is very, very quick to refuse a meal. Tanjiro accepts one, he might as well though he isn’t feeling in the mood with all those smells going on, but he knows it’s good to get steady nutritional intake. As he opens it, though, something finally hits him.

“There’s a demon on this flight! I smell one!”

“Of course there is. You must be smelling your sister in checked baggage.”

“Don’t be alarmed, sir. If there is a demon on this flight, the Pillars and I will protect you.”

Muzan is inwardly fuming with impatience for the sun to set. Why hasn’t it set??!?

Back in the cockpit…

“I see. I see. Thank you for calling. Take care. I know. See you later,” says Kagaya, who ends the call on his phone, which is decorated with a crow accessory. “That was Amane.”

“Are you supposed to be able to use cell phones…? Nevermind, go on.”

“There was a mix-up at the terminal. It turns out I’m the one on the wrong plane, not Amane. Silly me, wandering on after seeing one of the other passengers! She’s flying east as planned, and on schedule, too. But in the rush to get extra checked bags on this flight, it seems there was a cargo mix up.”

“…And…?”

“Please fly carefully.”

“My wives are on this flight, I’m already flying carefully.”

Kagaya takes another sip of tea and says, “It was very silly putting all the Pillars on one flight. Very, very silly.” Although he’s smiling, Tengen picks up on a frustrated sound.

Now it’s time for some turbulence.

The stewardesses are unphased. They deal with this all the time, and although Suma is fine with getting tossed around, she is still always afraid of what might be the cause of turbulence. Inosuke throws both hands in the air and cheers, thereby throwing half-finished trays of food in the air. Kyojuro laughs loud, and Muichiro, even as a surprised to himself, smiles!? Tanjiro sticks his hand across Muzan’s chest like he’s acting as a totally unnecessary seatbelt, which Muzan finds almost as irksome as the sunlight peeking through the windows. Sanemi is a mix of amused and scared again but as it keeps going he’s more scared, but with a glance up to unphased Giyuu, he gets frustrated and can’t allow himself feel any fear. Shinobu is surprised that there’s this much of it, but she’s not disturbed, and has the peace of mind to turn and offer Mitsuri a ginger candy to chew. Mitsuri quickly accepts and then swallows it whole. On a particularly rough bump, Mitsuri shrieks and then grabs Obanai’s hand to squeeze. Obanai passes out. Gyomei wishes he had a cat to hold to get him through this.

As Tengen is doing his best to keep the plane steady, Kagaya is doing his best to keep drinking tea, but it’s splashing everywhere. “You know,” he says, “had this gone according to plan, I’d be far over the ocean by now.”

“It would probably be smoother flying—out there—wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, yes. Amane tells me it’s going very smoothly. She even had the leeway to depart the cockpit and serve cocktails personally. We called those cocktails ‘The Sanemi Special.’ Those demons are now all sleeping peacefully."

"Demons? You were going to be on a flight of demons?"

"One in particular. The plan was that we were going to dump them all in the middle of the ocean. If that wouldn’t kill them, then they’d be stranded once the sun rose, we thought.”

There was another big bump. “And you’re telling me this because?”

“Because there was a mix-up in the cargo. Please fly carefully.”

Things have gotten really bumpy, but the stewardesses are still trying to do their job. Makio, who has just finished cleaning up Inosuke’s mess, says to the yellow boy in Seat 3A, “Excuse me, sir. This is a non-smoking flight.”

He hisses out a puff of smoke. “Thunder Breathing, First Form…”

“Let’s do that all again!” Inosuke pleads with her. She is about to explain it doesn’t work that way when they hit another really big bump. Gyomei screams higher and louder than anyone. Kyojuro has finished his meal and at last turns to Muichiro and asks in a very serious tone, “Is it just me, or do you think there’s any demon interference on this flight?” Muichiro ponders it, then agrees.

And then an explosion happens. It’s really flamboyant.

Tengen is doing everything in his power to deliver everyone to as safe a landing as he possibly can, but it’s still going to be a hard hit. “Eject, abort, whatever, hit the deck!” he screams into the intercom, but when impact happens, he has to make the difficult split-second choice to save Kagaya instead of going to the cabin to collect his wives. Lucky for him, Kyojuro is also on this flight, and saving this number of people from death in a crash is easy-peasy for him. It’s even easier when not everyone needs rescue; he’s got the three stewardesses safely handled, while Muichiro has saved himself, Sanemi has saved himself (having been alerted by Giyuu very calmly telling him to be prepared an instant before Sanemi would had thought to), Giyuu looks like nothing has happened whatsoever, Shinobu has saved herself, Inosuke has saved himself and had fun the whole way down, Mitsuri has saved herself as well as acted as a cushion to Obanai’s fall, Zenitsu had Thunderclap and Flashed his way down through the exploding cargo area to rescue Nezuko and her box, Tanjiro is somewhat injured but more or less alright and Kyojuro reminds himself that he should make a Tsuguko out of him, and that leaves the last passenger as a demon so it’s rather disappointing that he won’t be injured even if he stays in his seat. That does leave Gyomei, though, and he’s heavy, so this gives Kyojuro some difficulty.

They’re all alive! Kagaya calls Amane to give her news and tells her to enact Plan B, open the trap door under the demons and then fly the plane back. Everyone is accessing themselves and each other for injuries, and then out of the wreckage comes Muzan. He laughs about that isn’t enough to kill him, and thanks to them all being such sissy rule-followers, none of them had their pesky Nichirin blades in their carry-on baggage.

It’s as he’s cackling that another explosion goes off behind him. The wreckage of the plane falls away in the wind, and then there is nothing left to cast a shadow. Muzan gets burned up by the sun.

And now I’m going to go crash into bed. The end.

#kny silliness #my fics