#but a father figure and a professor to boot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 days

Text

1968 [Chapter 5: Artemis, Goddess Of The Hunt]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6.6k

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“So you smoked grass in college,” Aegon says, pondering you with glazed eyes as he slurps his cherry-flavored Mr. Misty. You’re in Biloxi, Mississippi where Aemond is making speeches and meeting with locals to commemorate the first summer of the beaches being desegregated after a decade of peaceful protests and violent white supremacist backlash. Route 90 runs right along the sand dunes. If you walked out of this Dairy Queen, you could look south and see the Gulf of Mexico, placid dark ripples gleaming with moonshine. “And swore, and had a boyfriend, and presumably, what, did shots? Skipped class on occasion?”

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling sheepishly, remembering. You stretch out your fingers. “I chewed gum, I talked during mass. And I loved black nail polish. The nuns would beat my knuckles with rulers, I always had bruises. I wore these flowing skirts down to my ankles and knee-high boots. My hair was a mess, long and blowing around everywhere. My friends and I would do each other’s makeup, silver glitter and purple shadow, pencil on a ridiculous amount of eyeliner and then smudge it out. If you saw a photo you wouldn’t recognize me.”

Aegon takes a drag on his Lucky Strike cigarette, weightless smoke and the tired yellowish haze of florescent lights. Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth is playing from the Zenith radio on the counter by the cash register. “I’d recognize you.”

“I used to skip this one class all the time. The professor was a demon. I could do the math, but not the way he wanted me to. Right solution, wrong steps, I don’t know. I learned it differently in high school, and I couldn’t figure out the formula he wanted me to use. So he’d mark everything a zero even if my answer was correct. I couldn’t stand that bastard. Then the nuns kept catching me sunbathing on the quad when I was supposed to be in Matrices and Vector Spaces. I racked up so many demerits they were going to revoke my weekend pass, and then I wouldn’t be able to go into the city with my friends. So I stole the demerit book and burned it up on the stove in my dorm. Almost set the whole building on fire.”

Aegon is laughing. “You did not. Not you, not perfect ever-obedient Miss America!”

“I did. I really did.” You sip your own Mr. Misty, lemon-lime. Across the restaurant, Criston and Fosco are eating banana splits—dripping chocolate syrup and melted ice cream all over their table—and passionately debating who is going to end up in the World Series; Criston favors the Cardinals and the Orioles, Fosco says the Red Sox and the Cubs. The rest of the Targaryen family is back at the hotel watching news coverage of the Republican National Convention, something you can only stomach so much of, Otto’s cynical commentary, Aemond’s remaining eye fixed fiercely on the screen as he nips at an Old Fashioned. “I was wild back then.”

“And you gave it all up to be Aemond’s first lady.”

You think back to where it started: palm trees, salt water, alligators in drainage ditches. “My father grew up in a shack outside of Tallahassee. No electricity, no running water, he dropped out of school in eighth grade to help take care of his siblings when his mom died. They moved south to live with their aunt in Tampa, and my father wound up in Tarpon Springs working as a sea sponge diver.”

Aegon’s eyebrows rise, like he thinks you’re teasing him. “Sea sponges…?”

“I’m serious! It paid better than picking oranges or sweeping up in a factory. It’s dangerous. You have to wear this heavy rubber suit and walk around on the ocean floor, sometimes 50 feet or more below the surface.”

“What do people do with sea sponges?”

“Oh right, you would be unfamiliar. You’re supposed to clean yourself with them, like a loofah. Soap? Water? Ringing any bells?”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “You’re a very mean person. Aren’t you supposed to be setting an example for the merciful wives and daughters of this great nation?”

“Painters and potters buy sponges too. And some women use them as contraceptives. You can soak them in lemon juice and then shove them up there and it kills sperm.”

“I suddenly have great appreciation for the sea sponge industry. God bless the sea sponges.”

“So my father spent a few years diving, and he fell in love with a girl who worked at one of the shops he sold sponges to. That was my mother. They got married when he had absolutely nothing, and by their fifth anniversary he had his own fleet of boats, a gift shop, and a processing and shipping facility, all of which they owned jointly. They just opened the Spongeorama Sponge Factory this past April, a cute little tourist trap. But my point is that they were partners from the start. My father listens to my mother, and she works alongside him, and it was never like what I’ve seen from my friends’ parents: dad at the office 80 hours a week, mom at home strung out on Valium, just these…deeply separate, cold planets locked in orbit but never touching each other. I knew I didn’t want that. I wanted a husband who was building something I could be a part of. I wanted a man who respected me.”

Aegon watches you as he lights a fresh cigarette, not saying what you imagine he wants to: And how is that working out? He puffs on his Lucky Strike a few times and then offers it to you. You aren’t supposed to smoke, not even tobacco—it’s not ladylike, it’s masculine, it’s subversive—but you take it and hold it between your index and middle fingers, inhaling an ashy bitterness that blood learns to crave. The bracelets on your wrist jangle, thin silver chains that match the diamonds in your ears. Your dress is mint green, your hair in your signature Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo. Aegon is wearing a black t-shirt with The Who stamped across the front. When you pass the cigarette back to him, Aegon asks: “What music did you listen to? The Stones, The Animals?”

“Yeah. And Hendrix, The Kinks, Aretha Franklin…”

“Phil Ochs?”

“I love him. He’s got a song about Mississippi, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware. It’s one of my favorites.”

“And I’m currently getting a little obsessed with Loretta Lynn. She’s so angry!”

“She’s sanctimonious, that’s what she is. Always bitching about men.”

“Six kids and an alcoholic husband will do that to someone.”

Aegon winces, and then you realize what you’ve said. Loretta Lynn sounds a lot like Mimi. He finishes his Mr. Misty and then fidgets restlessly with his white cardboard cup, spinning it around by the straw. You feel bad, though you shouldn’t. You wouldn’t have a month ago.

“Aegon,” you say gently, and he reluctantly looks up at you, sunburned cheeks, blonde hair shagging over his eyes. “Why do you ignore your children? They’re interesting, they’re fun. Violeta invited me to help her make cakes with her Easy-Bake Oven last week. And Cosmo…he’s so clever. But it’s like he doesn’t know who you are. He might actually think Fosco’s his dad.”

Aegon takes one last drag off his cigarette and discards the end of it in his Mr. Misty cup. Now he’s fiddling with it again, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t have much to offer them.”

“I think you do.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do,” you insist. “You can be kind of nice sometimes.”

He frowns, staring out the window. You know he can’t see anything but darkness and streetlights. “I should have been the one to go to Vietnam. If somebody had to get shot at so Aemond could be president, I was the right choice. No one would miss me. No one would mourn me. Daeron didn’t deserve that. But I was too old, so Otto and my father got him to enlist. Now he’s in the jungle and my mother has nightmares about Western Union telegrams. If I was the son over there, I think she’d sleep easier.”

I’m glad you’re still here, you think. Instead you say: “Your children need you.”

“No they don’t. Between me and Mimi, they’re better off as orphans. Helaena and Fosco can be their parents. Maybe they’ll have a fighting chance.”

The glass door opens, and a man walks into the Dairy Queen with his two sons scampering behind him, all with sandy flip flops and carrying fishing rods. The dad is at least six feet tall and brawny, and wearing a Wallace For President baseball cap. You and Aegon both notice it, then share an amused, disparaging glance. You mouth: Imbecile bigot. The man continues to the cash register and orders two chocolate shakes and a root beer float. At their own table, Criston is mopping up melted ice cream with napkins and telling Fosco to stop being such a pig.

“Me?!” Fosco says. “You are the pig, that spot there is your ice cream, do not blame your failings on poor Fosco. I have already let you drag me to this terrible state and never once complained about the fried food or the mosquitos. And that thing out there is not a real beach. The water is still and brown, brown!”

“For once in your life, pretend you have a work ethic and help me clean up the table.”

“You are being very anti-immigrant right now, do you know that?”

Aegon begins singing, ostensibly to himself. “Here’s to the state of Mississippi, for underneath her borders, the devil draws no lines.”

“Aegon, no,” you whisper, petrified. You know this song. You know where he’s going.

He’s beaming as he continues: “If you drag her muddy rivers, nameless bodies you will find.”

Now the man in the Wallace hat is looking at Aegon. His sons are happily gulping down their chocolate shakes. Criston and Fosco, still bickering, haven’t noticed yet.

“Oh, the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes.”

“Aegon, don’t,” you plead quietly. “He’ll murder you.”

“The calendar is lyin’ when it reads the present time.”

“Hey,” calls the man in the Wallace For President hat. “You got a problem, boy?”

Aegon drums his palms on the tabletop as he sings, loudly now: “Oh, here’s to the land you’ve torn out the heart of, Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!”

In seconds, the man has crossed the room, grabbed Aegon by the collar of his t-shirt, yanked him out of his chair and struck him across the face: closed fist, lethal intent, the sick wet sound of bones on flesh. Aegon’s nose gushes, his lip splits open, but he isn’t flinching away, he isn’t afraid. He’s yowling like a rabid animal and clawing, kicking, swinging at the giant who’s ensnared him. You are screaming as you leap to your feet, your chair falling over and clattering on the floor behind you. The man’s sons are hooting joyously. “Git him, Paw!” one of them shouts.

“Criston?!” you shriek, but he and Fosco are already here, tugging at the man’s massive arms and beating on his back, trying to untangle him from Aegon.

“Stop!” Criston roars. “You don’t want to hurt him! He’s a Targaryen!”

“A Targaryen, huh?” the man says as he steps away, wiping the blood from his knuckles on his tattered white t-shirt, stained with fish guts. “All the better. I wish that bullet they put in Aemond woulda been just another inch to the left. Directly through the aorta.”

Aegon lunges at the man again, hissing, fists swinging. Fosco yanks him back.

“Are you gonna call someone or not?!” Criston snaps at the girl behind the cash register, but she only gives him a steely glare in return. This is Wallace country. There’s a reason why it took four years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to finally desegregate the beaches.

“We should go,” you tell Criston softly.

“Yes, we will leave now,” Fosco says, hauling Aegon towards the front door. Then, to the cashier: “Thank you for the ice cream, but it was not very good. If you are ever in Italy, try the gelato. You will learn so much.”

“I can’t wait ‘til November,” the man gloats, ominous, threatening. His sons are standing tall and proud beside him. “When Aemond loses, you can all cart your asses back to Europe. We don’t want you here. America ain’t for people like you.”

“It literally is,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “It’s on the Statue of Liberty.”

“Yeah, where do you think your ancestors came from?!” Aegon yells at the man. “Are you a Seminole, pal? I didn’t think so—!” Fosco and Criston lug him through the doorway before more punches can be thrown.

Outside—under stars and streetlights and a full moon—Aegon burst out laughing. This is when he feels alive; this is when the blood in his veins turns to wave and riptides. You didn’t think to grab napkins from the table, so you wipe the blood off his face with your bare hand, assessing the damage. He’ll be fine; swollen and sore, but fine.

“You’re insane, you know that?” you say. “You could have been killed.”

Aegon pats your cheek twice and grins, blood on his teeth. “The world would keep spinning, little Io.” Then he starts walking back towards the White House Hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the four of you arrive at your suite, Aemond, Otto, Ludwika, and Alicent are still gathered around the television. The nannies have taken the children to bed. Helaena is reading The Bell Jar in an armchair in the corner of the room. Mimi is passed out on the couch, several empty glasses on the coffee table. ABC is showing a clip they recorded earlier today of Ludwika travelling with Aemond’s retinue after he made an impassioned speech condemning the lack of recognition of the evils of slavery at Beauvoir, the historic home of former Confederate president Jefferson Davis. The reporter is asking Ludwika what she thinks makes Aemond a better presidential candidate than Eugene McCarthy, as McCarthy shares many of the same policy positions and has an additional 15 years of political experience.

“This McCarthy is not a real man,” Ludwika responds, her face stony and mistrustful. “He reminds me of the communists back in my country. Did you know he met with Che Guevara in New York City a few years ago? Why would he do such a thing?”

Now, Otto turns to her in this hotel room. “I love you.”

Ludwika takes a sip of her martini. “I want another Gucci bag.”

“Yes, yes. Tomorrow, my dear.”

“What happened to you?” Aemond asks his brother, half-exasperated and half-concerned. Criston has fetched a washcloth from the bathroom for Aegon to hold against his bleeding lip and nose. Aemond is still wearing his blue suit from a long day of campaigning, but he’s taken out his eye and put on his eyepatch. His gaze flicks from Aegon’s face to the blood still coating your left hand. On the couch, Mimi’s bare foot twitches but she doesn’t wake up.

“There was a Wallace supporter at the Dairy Queen,” you say. “Aegon felt inspired to defending you.”

Aemond chuckles. “Did you win?” he asks Aegon.

“I would have if the guy wasn’t two of me.”

On the television screen, Richard Nixon is accepting his party’s nomination for president at the Republican National Convention in Miami, Florida.

“He’s a buffoon,” Otto sneers. “So awkward and undignified. Look at him sweating! Look at those ridiculous jowls! And he comes from nothing. His family is trash.”

“Americans love a rags to riches story,” you say. And then, somewhat randomly: “He loves his wife. He proposed to Pat on their very first date, and she said no. So he drove her to dates with other men for years until she finally reconsidered. He said it was love at first sight. He’s never had a mistress. And jowls or no jowls, his family adores him.”

Aegon turns to you, still clutching the washcloth against his face. “Really?”

You nod. “That’s the sort of thing the women talk about.”

There’s a knock at the door. You all look at each other, confounded; no one has ordered room service, no one is expecting any visitors, and the nannies have keys in the event of an emergency. Fosco is closest to the door, so he opens it. A man in uniform is standing there with a golden Western Union telegram in his hands. Alicent screams and collapses. Criston bolts to her.

“It’s okay,” you say. “He’s not dead. Whatever happened, Daeron’s not dead.”

Otto crinkles his brow at you. “How do you know?”

“Because if he was killed, there would be a priest here too.” They always send a priest when the boy is dead. Aegon glances at you, eyes wet and fearful.

“Ma’am,” the soldier—a major you see now, spotting the golden oak leaves—says to Alicent as he removes his cap. “I regret to inform you that your son Daeron was missing in action for several weeks, and we’ve just received confirmation that he’s being held as a prisoner of war in Hỏa Lò Prison.”

“He’s in the Hanoi Hilton?!” Otto exclaims. “Oh, fuck those people and their swamp, how did Kennedy ever think we had something to gain from getting tangled up in that mess?”

“But he’s alive?” Aemond says. “He’s unharmed?”

“Yes sir,” the captain replies. “It is our understanding that he is in good condition. The North Vietnamese are aware that he is a very valuable prisoner, like Admiral McCain’s son John. He’ll be used in negotiations. He is of far more use to them alive than dead.”

“So we can get Daeron back,” Aegon says. “I mean, we have to be able to, right? Aemond’s running for president, he’ll probably win in November, we have millions of dollars, we can spring one man out of some third-world jail, right?”

The captain continues: “Tomorrow when your family returns to New Jersey, the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be there to discuss next steps with you. I’m afraid I’m only authorized to give you the news as it was relayed to me.” He entrusts the telegram to Otto, who rapidly opens it and stares down at the mechanical typewriter words.

“I have to pray,” Alicent says suddenly. “Helaena, will you pray with me? There’s a Greek church down the road. Holy Trinity, I think it’s called.”

Obediently, Helaena joins her mother and follows her to the doorway. Criston leaves with them. Otto gives his new wife a harsh, meaningful stare. Ludwika, an ardent yet covert atheist, sighs irritably. “Wait. I want to pray too,” she says, and vanishes with them into the hall.

As the captain departs, Mimi sits up on the couch, blinking, groggy. “What? What happened?”

“Go with Alicent,” Otto tells her. “She’s headed downstairs.”

“What? Why…?”

“Just go!” he barks.

Mimi staggers to her feet and hobbles out of the hotel room, her sundress—patterned with forget-me-nots—billowing around her. The only people left are Otto, Aemond, Fosco, Aegon, and you. The fact that you are the sole woman permitted to remain here feels intentional.

After a moment, Otto speaks. “You know, John McCain has famously refused to be released from the Hanoi Hilton until all the men imprisoned before him have been freed. He doesn’t want special treatment. And that’s a very noble thing to do, don’t you think? It has endeared him and the McCains to the public.”

Aemond and Otto are looking at each other, communicating in a silent language not of letters or accents but colors: red ambition, green hunger, grey impassionate morality. Fosco is observing them uneasily. Aemond says at last: “Daeron wants to help this family.”

“You’re not going to try to get him out.” Aegon realizes.

Aemond turns to him, businesslike, vague distant sympathy. “It’s only until November.”

“No, you know people!” Aegon explodes. “You pick up the phone, you call in every favor, you get him out of there now! You have no idea if he has another three months, you don’t know what kind of shape he’s in! They could be dislocating his arms or chopping off his fingers right now, they could be starving him, they could be beating him, you can’t just leave him there!”

“It’s not your decision. It could have been, had you accepted your role as the eldest son. But you didn’t. So it’s my job to handle these things. You don’t get to hate me for making choices you were too cowardly too take responsibility for.”

“But Daeron could die,” Aegon says, his voice going brittle.

“Any of us could die. We’re in a very dangerous line of work. Greatness killed Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Huey Long, Medgar Evers, John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Vernon Dahmer, Martin Luther King Jr., does that mean we should all give up the fight? Of course not. The work isn’t finished. We have to keep going.”

“Will you stop pretending this is about America?! This is about you wanting to be president, and everything you’ve ever done has been in pursuit of that trophy, and you keep shoving new people into the line of fire and it’s not right!”

“Aegon,” Otto says calmly. “It’s unlikely we’d be able to get him out before the election anyway. Negotiations take time. But if Aemond wins in November, he’ll be in a very advantageous position. The North Vietnamese aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t kill the brother of a U.S. president. They don’t want their vile little corner of the world flattened by nukes.”

“Still, it feels so wrong to leave a brother in peril,” Fosco says. “It is unnatural. Of course Aegon will be upset. We could at least see what a deal to get Daeron released would entail, maybe his arrival home would be a good headline—”

“And who the fuck asked you?” Otto demands, and Fosco goes quiet.

“Okay, then tell Mom,” Aegon says to Aemond. “Tell her you’re going to pretend Daeron made some self-sacrificial vow not to come home until all the other POWs can too. Tell her you’re going to let him get tortured for a few months before you take this seriously.”

Aemond replies cooly: “Why would you want to upset her? She can’t change it. You’ll only make her suffering worse.”

“What do you think?” Otto asks you, and you know that he isn’t seeking counsel. He’s summoning you like a dog to perform a trick, like an actor to recite a line. He’s waiting for you to say that it’s a smart strategy, because it is. He’s waiting for you to bend to Aemond’s will as your station requires you to, as moons are bound to their planets.

“I think it’s wrong,” you murmur; and Aemond is thunderstruck by your treason.

Without another word, you walk into the bathroom, turn on the sink, and gaze down at Aegon’s blood on your palm. For some reason, it’s very difficult to bring yourself to wash it away.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s mid-August now, the world painted in goldenrod yellow and sky blue. The Democratic National Convention is in two weeks. You and Aemond are posing on the beach at Asteria, surrounded by an adoring gaggle of journalists who are snapping photographs and jotting down quotes on their notepads. You’re sitting demurely on a sand dune, you’re building sandcastles with the children you borrowed from Aegon and Helaena, you’re flying kites, you’re gazing confidently into the sunlit horizon where a glorious new age is surely dawning.

“Mr. Targaryen, what is it that makes your partnership so successful?” a journalist asks as flashbulbs pulse like lightning. “What do you think is the most crucial characteristic to have in a wife?”

Aemond doesn’t need to consider this before he answers. He always has his compliment picked out. “Loyalty,” your husband says. “Not just to me or to the Targaryen family, but to our shared cause. This year has been indescribably difficult for me and my wife. I announced my candidacy, we embarked on a strenuous national campaign that we’re currently only halfway through, I barely survived a brutal assassination attempt in May, in July we lost our first child to hyaline membrane disease after he was born six weeks prematurely, and at the beginning of this month we learned that my youngest brother Daeron was taken by the North Vietnamese as a prisoner of war. To find the strength not just to get out of bed in the morning, not just to be there for me and this family in our personal lives, but to tirelessly traverse the country with me inspiring Americans to believe in a better future…it’s absolutely remarkable. I’m in awe of her. And when she is the first lady of the United States, she will continue to amaze us all with her unwavering faith and dedication.”

There are whistles and cheers and strobing flashbulbs. You smile—elegant, soft, practiced—as Aemond rests a hand firmly on your waist. You lean into him, feeling out-of-place, bewildered that you’ve ever slept with him, full of dull panic that soon you’ll have to again.

“How about you, Mrs. Targaryen?” another reporter asks. “Same question, essentially. What is the trait that you most admire in your husband?”

And in the cascading clicks of photographs being captured, your mind goes entirely blank. You can think of so many other people—Aegon, Ari, Alicent, Daeron, Fosco, Cosmo—but not Aemond. It’s like you’ve blocked him out somehow, like he’s a sketch you erased. But you can’t hesitate. You can’t let the uncertainty read on your face. You begin speaking without knowing where you’re going, something that is rare for you. “Aemond is the most tenacious person I’ve ever met. When he has a goal in mind, nothing can stop him.” You pause, and there are a few awkward chuckles from the journalists. You swiftly recover. “He never stops learning. He always knows the right thing to do or say. And what he wants more than anything is to serve the American people. Aemond won’t disappoint you. He’s not capable of it. He will do whatever it takes to make this country more prosperous, more peaceful, and more free.”

There are applause and gracious thank yous, but Aemond gives you a look—just for a second, just long enough that you can catch it—that warns you to get it together. Fifteen minutes later, he and the flock of reporters are headed to one of the guest houses to conduct a long-form interview. This will be the bulk of the article; you will appear in one or two photos, you will supply a few quotes. The rest of the story is Aemond. You are an accessory, like a belt or a bracelet. He’s the person who picks you out of a drawer each morning and wears you until you go out of fashion.

Released from your obligations, you return to the main house and disappear into your upstairs bathroom. You are there for fifteen minutes and emerge rattled, routed. You pace aimlessly around your bedroom for a while, then try again; still no luck. You go back outside and stare blankly at the ocean, wondering what you’re going to do. Down on the beach, Fosco is teaching the kids how to yo-yo. Ludwika is sunbathing in a bikini.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You whirl to see Aegon, popping a Valium into his mouth and washing it down with a splash of straight rum from a coffee mug. “Huh? Nothing. I’m great.”

“No, something’s wrong. You look lost. You look like me.”

You gaze out over the ocean again, chewing your lower lip.

Aegon snickers, fascinated, sensing a scandal. “What did you do?”

Your eyes drift to him. “You can’t make fun of me.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

There is a long, heavy lull before you answer. When you speak, it’s all in a rush, like you can’t unburden yourself of the words fast enough. “I put a tampon in and I can’t get it out.”

Aegon immediately breaks his promise and cackles. “You did what?!” Then he tries to be serious. “Wait. Sorry. Uh, really?”

You’re on the verge of tears. “I’ve been bleeding since I had the baby, and I hate using tampons, I almost never do, but Aemond wanted me to wear this dress for the photoshoot and it’s super gauzy and from certain angles I felt like I could see the pad bulge when I checked in the mirror, so I put a tampon in for the first time in probably a year. I’m not even supposed to be using them for another few weeks because my uterus isn’t healed all the way or whatever. And now I can’t get it out and it’s been in there for like six hours and I’m scared I’m going to get an infection and die in the most pointless, humiliating way imaginable.”

“Okay, calm down, calm down,” Aegon says. “There’s no string?”

“No, I’ve checked multiple times. It must be a defective one and they forgot to put a string in it at the factory and I didn’t notice, or the string somehow got tucked under it, I don’t know, but I can’t get it out, it’s like…the angle isn’t right. I can just barely feel it with my fingertips, but I can’t grab it. I’m going to have to go to the hospital to get it taken out, but I’m scared word will spread and journalists will show up to get photos when I leave and then everyone will be asking me why I was at the emergency room to begin with and I’m going to have to make up something and…and…” You can’t talk anymore. There are other reasons why you don’t want to go to the hospital. You haven’t stepped foot in one since Ari died; the thought makes you feel like you are looking down to see blood on your thighs all over again, like you’ll never have enough air in your lungs.

“Did you bleed through it? Because that should help it slide out easier.”

“I don’t know,” you moan miserably. “I mean, I guess I did, because there was blood when I checked a few minutes ago. I had to stuff my underwear with toilet paper.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Aemond you couldn’t wear this dress?”

You give him an impatient glance. “I’m tired of having the same conversation.” When do you think you’ll be done bleeding? When do you think it’ll be time to start trying again?

Aegon sighs. “Do you want me to get it out for you?”

“Please stop. I’m really panicking here.”

“I’m not joking.”

You stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have fished many objects out of many orifices, you cannot shock me. I am unshockable.”

“I’d rather walk down to the sand right now and strangle myself with Fosco’s yo-yo.”

“Okay. So who are you gonna ask to drive you to the hospital?”

You hesitate.

“I’d offer to do it,” Aegon says, grinning, holding up his mug. “But I’m in no condition to drive.”

“But you are in the proper condition to extract a rogue tampon, huh?”

“Two minutes tops. That’s a guarantee. My personal best is fifteen seconds. And that was for a lost condom, much trickier to locate than a tampon.”

Perhaps paradoxically, the more you consider his offer, the more tempting it seems. No complicated trip and cover story? Over in just a few minutes? “If you ever tell anyone about this, I will never forgive you. I will hate you forever.”

Aegon taunts: “I thought you already hated me.”

You aren’t sure what you feel for him, but it’s certainly not hate. Not anymore. “Where would we do it?”

“In my office. And by that I mean my basement.”

“Your filthy, disease-ridden basement? On your shag carpet full of crabs?”

“You’re in luck,” he jokes. “My crab exterminator service just came by yesterday.”

You exhale in a low, despairing groan.

“Hey, would you rather do it on the dining room table? I’m game. Your choice.”

You watch the seagulls swooping in the afternoon air, the banners of sailboats on the glittering water. “Okay. The basement.”

You walk with Aegon to the house and—after ensuring that no one is around to notice—sneak with him down the creaking basement steps, the door locked behind you. Aegon is darting around; he sets a small trashcan by the carpet and tosses you two towels, then goes to wash his hands in his tiny bathroom, not nearly enough room for someone to stretch out across the linoleum floor.

You’re surveying the scene nervously. “I don’t want to get blood all over your stuff.”

“You’re the cleanest thing that’s ever been on that carpet. Lie down.”

You place one towel on the green shag carpet, then whisk off your panties, discard the bloody knot of toilet paper in the trashcan, and pull the skirt of your dress up around your waist so it’s out of the way. Then you sit down and drape the second towel over your thighs so you’re hidden from him, like you’re about to be examined by a doctor. Your heart is thumping, but you don’t exactly feel like you want to stop. It’s more exhilarating than fear, you think; it is forbidden, it is shameful, it is a microscopic betrayal of Aemond that he’ll never know about.

Aegon moseys out of the bathroom, flicking drops of water from his hands. He wears one of his usual counterculture uniforms: a frayed green army jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, khaki shorts, tan moccasins. He kicks them off before he kneels on the shag carpet. He checks the clock on the wall. “2:07. I promised two minutes max. Let’s see how I do. Ready?”

You rest the back of your head on your linked hands, raise your knees, take a deep and unsteady breath. “Ready.”

But he can see that you’re shaking. “Hey,” Aegon says kindly, pressing his hand down on the towel so you’re covered. “Do you want me to go to the hospital with you? I’ll try to distract people. I’ll pretend I’m having a seizure or something.”

“No, I’m okay,” you insist. “I just want it out. I want this over with.”

“Got it.” And then he begins. He stares at the wall to his left, not looking at you, navigating by feel. You feel the pressure of two fingers, a stretching that is not entirely unpleasant. He’s warm and careful, strangely unobtrusive. Still, you suck in a breath and shift on the carpet. “Shh, shh, shh,” Aegon whispers, skimming his other hand up and down the inside of your thigh, and shiver like you’ve never felt before rolls backwards up the length of your spine. “Relax. You alright?”

“Fine. Totally fine.”

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely in there,” Aegon says. His brow is creased with comprehension. “No string…you’re right, it must either be tangled up somehow or it never had one to begin with. Maybe you accidentally inserted it upside down.”

“Now you insult my intelligence. As if I’m not embarrassed enough.”

“I should have put on a record to set the mood. What gets you going, Marvin Gaye? Elvis?”

“The seductive voice of Richard Milhous Nixon. Maybe you can get him on the phone.”

Aegon laughs hysterically. His fingertips push the tampon against your cervix and you yelp. “Sorry, sorry, my mistake,” Aegon says. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, on his temples; now his eyes are squeezed shut. “I’m gonna try to wiggle it out…”

As he works, there are sensations you can’t quite explain: a very slow-building indistinct desire, a loosening, a readying, a drop in your belly when you think about the fact that he’s the one touching you. Then he happens to press in just the right spot and there is a sudden pang of real pleasure—craving, aching, a deep red flare of previously unfathomable temptation—and you instinctively reach for him. You hand meets his forearm, and for the first time since he started Aegon looks at your face, alarmed, afraid that he’s hurt you again. But once your eyes meet you’re both trapped there, and you can’t pretend you’re not, his fingers still inside you, his pulse racing, a rivulet of sweat snaking down the side of his face, his eyes an opaque murky blue like water you’re desperate to claw your way into. You know what you want to tell him, but the words are impossible. Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon clears his throat, forces himself to look away, and at last dislodges the tampon. It appears dark and bloody in his grasp. “No string,” he confirms, holding it up and turning it so you can see. “Factory reject.”

“Just like you.”

He glances at the clock. “2:09. I delivered precisely what was promised.” He chucks the tampon into the trashcan and then grins as he helps pull you upright with his clean hand. “So do you like to cuddle afterwards, or…?”

You’re giggling, covering your flushed face. “Shut up.”

“Personally, I enjoy being ridden into the ground and then called a good boy.”

“Go away.” You nod to where he disposed of the tampon and say before stopping to think: “You’re not going to keep that under your ashtray too?”

Aegon freezes and blinks at you. He smiles slowly, cautiously. “No, I think that would be a little unorthodox, even for me.” He pitches you a clean washcloth from the bathroom closet. “That should get you upstairs.”

“Thanks.” You shove it between your legs and rise to your feet, smoothing the skirt of your dress. “I owe you something. I’m not sure what, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Hey,” Aegon says, and waits for you to turn to him. “Maybe I’m not that bad.”

“Maybe,” you agree thoughtfully.

Just before you hurry upstairs, you steal a glimpse of Aegon in the bathroom, the door kicked only half-closed. He has turned on the water, but he’s not using it yet. Aegon is staring down at the blood on his hand, half-dried scarlet impermanent ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hi, it’s me again. I’m in solitary confinement. There’s a guy in the cell next to mine; we talk to each other with a modified version of Morse code. Tap tap tap on the wall, he taps back, etcetera etcetera, you get the idea. You’re not going to believe this, but he says his name is John McCain. Well, actually, he told me his name is Jobm McCbin, but I think that’s because I translated the taps wrong. I might be in the Hanoi Hilton, but at least they have me in the VIP section! Hahaha.

Every few hours the guards show up to do a very impressive magic trick: they wave their batons like wands, I turn black and blue. Sometimes one of my teeth even disappears. Isn’t that something? Houdini would love it. There’s a rat that I’m making friends with. I give her nibbles of my stale bread, she gives me someone to talk to. She’s good company. I’ve named her Tessarion.

Allow me to make something absolutely fucking clear.

I would very much like to be rescued.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x you

228 notes · View notes

tom-holland-stuff · 2 months

Text

Displeasing Encounters & Passionate Debates // Chapter 1

My Masterlist

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 + mood-board // Chapter 3 //

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

Summery: After returning form district 12 Coriolanus snow has had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Wealth, status, power, he has got it all. What happens when he discovers that Dr Gaul, his mentor, has taken on a new assistant.

Warning: SFW - for now. (let me know if i forgot any)

A/N: Hey Hey, so this is my first time writing for Coryo. I Have heaps of ideas for where this could go and also ideas for other fics but i'm 1000% open to any suggestions, ideas or even just a chat. DM me or drop in my ask box. Chapter 2 is already in the works hehe

Word Count: 1.7K

The citadel is a cold place. Most may find it unwelcoming, but Coriolanus considers it the opposite; he feels as if he belongs there, like a snowflake in a snowstorm. The white walls seamlessly connect to the marble floor, creating a stark, pristine atmosphere.

Coryo's expensive boots click against the sleek marble floor as he walks through the empty halls. His posture exudes confidence, his chin held high, and his shoulders squared. To those below him, he appears to be looking down with disdain—a smirk playing at his lips.

He is here on business, he must maintain a professional appearance, though he always carries an air of superiority. Today, he's meeting with his mentor, Dr. Gaul.

After returning to the capital from his stint as a peacekeeper in District Twelve, Coriolanus has thrown himself into university life. Under the tutelage of the Plinths, he's risen in the elitist circles of the capital, becoming somewhat of a hotshot. On a more sour note, along with his new found wealth and status has come the form of a rift between himself and his dear cousin Tigirs, which became very evident this morning in the nature of a disagreement regarding his ever growing likeness to his father. This argument really set a displeasing tone for Coriolanus's day to follow. However, he has far too much to deal with nowadays, and can’t afford to let these spats occupy his thoughts.

Moving on, in addition to his growing popularity, he has secured the likes of the infamous (and slightly psychotic) Dr Gaul.

After Coryo’s return from 12 the unhinged professor took him under her wing as his mentor and has not only supplied him with an incredible internship to become an gamemaker, but also the promise of becoming one of the greatest minds Panem has seen

(maybe even a potential political figure one day…)

Perks of having Gaul as a mentor allow Coriolanus to secure one on one meetings or ‘tutoring sessions’ as she likes to call them. Which is where he finds himself on his way to now.

Navigating the halls with ease, he makes his way to the wing of the building housing Dr. Gaul's lab. Typically, their meetings occur in her office, either at the university or in the citadel. However, due to the last-minute nature of this meeting regarding an assignment, Coryo finds himself summoned to the citadel.

As Coriolanus approaches the door to the lab, he hears someone clear their throat. Turning to his right, a dark wooden table occupies that space, its glossy top covered in neatly stacked folders and paper. He notes to himself how odd it is that he has never noticed this ‘receptionist desks of sorts’ before.

Coryo is a selfish person, he knows that. He never really worries about anyone other than himself, or more so tries not to, maybe that’s why he has never noticed this space before, or noticed her.

Seated at the table is a girl who looks to be around his age. She's clad in a fitted gray suit vest with a white button up shirt underneath. A red tie fits loosely around her neck, the deep blood color stands out against the dull accents of her outfit.

She sits elegantly in her chair, her shoulders straight and poised, her hands clasped softly in front of her. He would have maybe described her as attractive if it wasn’t for the clear expression of displeasure displayed across her face.

Observing her, Coryo determines her demeanor screams entitled and... well, he refrains from using other such derogatory terms, but the sentiment remains.

His nose wrinkles in disgust at her apparent lack of recognition, but before he can bring himself to think of more unpleasant descriptions of the lady in front of him, she speaks.

"Name?" she prompts plainly, sitting up a bit straighter (if that was even possible), locking eyes with him.

Her gaze is sharp, her eyes feline like, piercing into his crystal blue ones.

"Pardon?" He responds incredulously, matching her rigidness.

He takes a step closer to the desk. His strong frame towers over her, casting a shadow on the desk. His being exudes authority and importance, but the girl does not falter.

Her eyes never leaving his, she states again.

“Name” her tone is almost challenging but her expression remains firm.

Coryo folds his arms across his chest. His embryos scrunch together slightly in annoyance because, who doesn't know who Coriolanus Snow is!

His thoughts are once again interrupted by the girl at the desk.

“Do you have a name?” she states more so than asks. Tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, only then does her gaze leave his as she slowly looks him up and down, sizing him up

Before she has another opportunity to repeat herself, he gives her an answer.

"Snow," he states curtly. His response prompting her to meet his gaze once more.

“Coriolanus Snow” He reaffirms in an attempt to prevent her from having to ask him anything further, but unfortunately his effort is ill as she presses further.

“Are you sure?” the corners of her mouth pull into a small smirk as she questions him or challenges him, he is unsure. However, he is certain about his displeasure with this conversation.

He uncrosses his arms and places them on the edge of the table. His face morphing into a scowl. “I have a meeting with Dr Gaul…” he states bluntly.

“...so if you don’t mind, I shall see to that now, and you can resume with what I'm sure is a very… important task that you do.” He states, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Without waiting to see the offended expression that was no doubt about to take over the girl’s face, he turns back towards the entrance to the lab taking heavily determined steps towards his desired destination. His smirk wider to himself, triumphant as having now ended that distasteful interaction that has consequently wound him up.

“Interesting Dr. Gaul wishes to spend her time with someone so daft they can’t even remember their own name”.

He whips around fast on his heel, his smirk immediately replaced by a furious scowl. Coryo's eyes narrow, his gaze burning in her direction.

She is standing now, almost mimicking his previous position, arms placed strongly on either side of the desk and her face adorned with a smirk that slowly morphs into a wicked smile, obviously satisfied with his visible reaction.

His whole body is tense, his chest is heaving in anger… no,

Rage.

Who does this bitch think she is?

He is usually one to have a lot more control over himself and would never allow his emotions to cause him to react so out of pocket like this, well at least not in this environment. But after having to deal with one nuisance after the other, all restraint has gone out the window.

As Coriolanus prepares to give the girl a piece of his mind and unleash his frustration, he is interrupted… again.

This time by the creaking sound of two heavy doors behind him, followed by the distinct click of heeled shoes. He halts in his tracks, watching the girl at the desk almost instantly return her seat at the desk, with her hands placed neatly in her lap. Her once devilish expression now replaced by the sweetest of smiles accompanied innocent, doe-like eyes that stare in the direction behind him.

He looks over his shoulder to find Dr. Gaul exiting the lab, catching them in this tense interaction.

No.

Catching HIM.

His previous ‘opponent’ now looks as if she would never even hurt a fly let alone be involved in an uncivil argument of sorts, and well… let’s just say it's definitely not a good look for him.

He quickly straightens himself and turns to face his mentor, while silently acknowledging himself how the sudden change in the girl's demeanor was slightly impressive.

His posture exudes professionalism, contrasting the state he was just found in.

Dr. Gaul's voice fills the silence as she addresses Coriolanus.

“Ah Mr. Snow, it seems you have already had the pleasure of meeting y/n, my newest addition” she says teasingly.

He puts on a slight smile as an acknowledgement to her words, but Coryo would have called it anything but a pleasure.

“Both young great minds.” she says outwardly, directed neither of them in particular. Almost as if she was simply verbalising a thought.

Dr Gaul then steps slightly to the side, signalling for Coriolanus to follow her into the lab.

As he begins to walk, Dr. Gaul holds the door and continues to talk, this time addressing him but speaking loud enough for y/n to hear.

“Don’t be giving our sweet y/n any grief, hmm?” She teases.

Sweet?

Coriolanus finds the use of the word odd, not only because he completely disagrees with it as an appropriate description for the girl… y/n, but also because it's not a word that seems natural being used by his unhinged professor.

Coriolanus looks over his shoulder catching a glimpse of y/n as Dr Gaul begins to close the doors behind them. Gaul takes his shift in attention as an opportunity to add to her previous statement.

“We Wouldn’t want her to get caught up in one of your… Passionate debates” she smirks knowingly.

Coriolanus feels his cheeks flush, caught off guard by such an insinuating statement. Disgusted and embarrassed by his own involuntary reaction, he turns his head back in the direction he is walking, but not before catching a glimpse of y/n. She was still seated at her desk, with poised and perfect posture, but her face held a new expression. An expression Coriolanus did not have the previous pleasure of witnessing.

Her eyes had gone wide and her mouth was slightly held open in surprise. Her face had turned a soft shade of pink, the flush of her cheeks matching his own.

That's all he is able to note before Dr Gaul shuts the doors completely behind them. She walks swiftly in front of Coriolanus and he follows quickly in toe.

“Something tells me you two will get along quite well” She chuckles to herself but Coriolanus couldn’t have disagreed more.

A/N: Sooooooo what did we think?? i tried my best so if there were spelling or grammar mistakes i'm so sorry!! i checked it so much it pained me hahahah. Also i don't give permission for my work to be posted without credit or whatever.

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus smut #coryo x reader #coryo snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x you

242 notes · View notes

deconstructthesoup · 1 month

Text

Fantasy High Good Place AU

I am very happy that y'all voted for this, because it's been living in my brain rent-free for the past couple weeks.

So, right off the bat---this is partially self-indulgence, and partially a little exploration of what the Bad Kids would be like as adults if they hadn't found each other... and, well, if they were living in a more mundane world. And, of course, I had to combine and add a couple roles, just to make everyone fit.

Fig: She's in the Eleanor role as the main POV character, and as the first person who decides to learn how to be better. In life, she was a twenty-seven-year-old musician living in Phoenix, Arizona who was still trying to find her big break, and got by via drug-dealing after a string of shitty service jobs. Fig hasn't spoken to her mom in years, even after both Gilear and Gordie (aka Gorthalax) have both died, and she put up a front of selfishness and constant lies due to not trusting anyone and being afraid of being vulnerable. But when she dies and supposedly gets mistaken for a pro-bono death-row lawyer, she realizes that she's gotta ask for help...

Ayda: She's in the Chidi role---a high-strung ethics professor who devoted her life to figuring out the deep secrets of the universe, often at the cost of her own mental health. She's not as indecisive as Chidi, but she's very much of the mindset that ethical standards should always be upholded, and she initially sees nothing wrong with the points system. As Ayda becomes closer to Fig, she starts to pick up on how the system doesn't count for extenuating circumstances, and how much of an actual minefield ethics is... and she starts to reflect on her own life, where she never knew how to connect with others and stayed in her comfort zone of academia. Throughout bonding with the others, she slowly learns how to let her walls down and challenge the system.

Fabian: He's in a Tahani role, as the upper-class socialite who pretty much bought his way into "heaven" and definitely has a bunch of narcissistic tendencies. Unlike Tahani, however, he's very much aware of his own failings, and he constantly stresses about how fragile his standing and happiness is---though, he's become incredibly good at hiding it. Fabian's pretty much been living in the shadow of his late father's legacy for his whole life, and he spent most of that life trying to be just as good, if not better, than him... so, when he supposedly gets into the "Good Place," it's essentially proof that he did everything right. Of course, that still doesn't keep him from feeling like there's something amiss, especially since there's some issues with his assigned soulmate...

Riz: In life, Riz was a P.I. who mostly did petty work for rich people and got used to doing things that were vaguely shady in order to get by. By the time he died, he had a very low opinion of people in general, and had a "dog eat dog" mindset... which was immediately blown out of the water the second he realized that he'd been mistaken for a brilliant secret agent, and he was going to spend his afterlife with a self-centered rich boy as romantic soulmates. Riz being Riz, he immediately started to figure a way out of this situation, eventually finding out Fig---and one other person---and agreeing to take Ayda's ethics lessons if it meant he could earn his spot in the Good Place... though, of course, he's still subconsciously picking up on the little hints that something is off.

Kristen: She's in the "Jason" role... sorta. When she was alive, she was a former member of a conservative Christian cult who left when she was nineteen, spent the next five years trying to find another truth to pursue, and spent the last three years of her life partying her problems away and living high on nihilism. So it was quite a shock for her when, after dying, she supposedly got sent to the Good Place... and only because they thought that she's a humanitarian pastor, and straight to boot. Kristen initially doesn't want to waste time with ethics lessons, but as more and more things start to go wrong, she reluctantly agrees---and ends up reconnecting with that curious, searching part of herself that she thought she'd left behind, over and over again.

Gorgug: When he was alive, he was a physicist who made a lot of impressive discoveries---many of which had the potential to really help people---but due to the fact that he had a lot of issues with standing up for himself and believed himself to not be as smart as he actually was, he tended to let himself get taken advantage of and have other people take credit for his work. Getting into the Good Place kind of confirmed Gorgug's belief that keeping your head down and being humble would pay off eventually... until his assigned soulmate immediately told him that she was a) gay, and b) here by mistake. The two of them do become pretty good friends, and Gorgug even sits in on some of Ayda's ethics lessons, learning a bit about himself as he does.

Adaine: She's Janet---or, rather, an "Oracle," one of many informational assistants made by the Good Place (the Bad Place has Informants, while Accountants have Librarians). Every Oracle is given a name upon being activated in order to distinguish her from others, and, well, hers is Adaine. She starts off as your typical cheery, happy-to-help living Siri, but as time goes on and she gets rebooted over and over again, she starts to form genuine connections with the humans, and with connections come actual feelings... including the rise of mild anxiety. Adaine's grateful for that, though, as she sees becoming more human as an incredible experience.

Aelwyn: Honestly... there was no other character who was bitchy, multifaceted, and weirdly loving enough to be Micheal. At first, underneath her quirky and "cool older sister" angel persona, she's every bit the callous, vindictive, and cruel demon who only lives to torment human souls and prove her worth to her boss. But reboot after reboot, she fails, the humans become closer and figure her out... and she's eventually forced to cave. Aelwyn never fully loses her bitchiness and slightly amoral nature, but she does develop a heart and self-awareness as she becomes friends with the humans---and as she forms a sisterly connection with Adaine. Even a demon can learn to grow.

I have more thoughts, but I've spent a lot of time figuring out how to make this coherent, so... yeah!

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #the good place #fig faeth #ayda aguefort #fabian seacaster #riz gukgak #kristen applebees #gorgug thistlespring #adaine abernant #aelwyn abernant #figayda

60 notes · View notes

kalims · 2 years

Text

‎˃ ᵕ ˂ . . "are you a fool? don't fall in love with me."

high school, wise fool,

to be straightforward. a remake of high school otome au :D

parts. one , two , three , remake

characters. epel, riddle, jade, ace, deuce, leona, jamil, malleus, floyd, neige, silver, and mysterious character.

cw. not proofread, yandere in the end. silver lowkey being main guy.

includes. gn!reader.

note. pretend we are smart cause we still are in this remake. this was kinda rushed cause I was struggling to fit all of them in the 3 paragraph limit I set for myself.

・ㅤyouㅤㅤ— a surprisingly gifted child whom acquired a scholarship granted by headmaster crowley himself, just before an honorary recommendation from your loving father figure; crewel. nearly all professors had taken a certain liking to you though even if they didn't crewel would've been sure to 'discipline' their minds to see what an angel you are because no way anyone would hate, you. his lovely, lovely child. now everyone is weirdly being nice to you just because they're scared of him.

・ㅤepel felmierㅤㅤ— your childhood friend who can see through you anytime, it doesn't matter if you're a good or horrible liar. epel will find out anyways despite all the odds against him just because of the fact on how well he knows you. well,, it's a given since he's been by your side the whole time you grew up. if there's anything epel has over the multitude of people equipped with brilliance, or money.. it's the thousands of memories you've both made and he's certainly not gonna lose to some losers who don't know the first thing about you!

epel was your first man! the one who was there to wipe your tears when your ex carelessly played with your heart, the one who screamed with you when there's a jumpscare on the screen, and the one who laughs with you on random occasions you both catch sight of each other and honestly start dying after the other breaks into a snort. he might be unseen as a 'real' man in everyone else's eyes but he was yours, and he's gonna commit to that title till he dies.

out of everyone epel is the one particularly iffed by the decreasing time both of you spend together. he can't tell if you entering school with him was the best or worst ever because the tides of time are pulling you apart! next thing you know he's barging in your room to demand you spend time with him and personally claimed a day he called "epel day" and you can't really say no to his face, right?

ㅤ

・ㅤriddle roseheartsㅤㅤ— the terrifying student council president that might as well call his presence terrorizing because he's just eating and everyone would be quaking in their boots, even the lunch lady. your first encounter with him wasn't all that pleasant cause the moment your classmate burst into the classroom and yelled, "code:rosehearts!" was the moment the class went to chaos. everyone was hastily fixing their appearances, fast cleaning, sitting properly—oh my god someone just jumped out the window. midst your confusion (since you were a transfer) his eyes immediately zeroed on the hamburger on your hand. and you hear a whisper, "it's a tuesday." what?

okay so apparently eating hamburgers on tuesdays was banned and you were sent to the red room somewhere in heartslabyul. whatever the red room was, but apparently it's a discipline area or whatever. it was just a room you were made to stay in for like half an hour till' you were discharged. it wasn't that bad, but from now on you officially started hating on the prez for his poor judgment skills cause hello? couldn't you get a pass? you became an absolute migraine to riddle and now he hates you too because can you stop putting cheese in his tarts?! enough with this blasphemy! now riddle is trying to screw up your life too.

you learn that he's just actually really lonely so you swallowed up your pride and sat next to him in lunch since you noticed he looked quite.. sad eating, whereas he was alone. riddle only raised a brow and looked you over judgmentally. (lesson learned; don't tell him that you pity him because he's gonna start denying he ever looked sad with a red face, but strange.. he looks heated over your explanation for another reason other than anger..)

ㅤ

・ㅤjade leechㅤㅤ— your ex a year back. jade leech was one of the most random relationship you ever had in your life, once. you saw him in class, and the smile he had was somehow.. charming. mischievous, polite, and cunning. not the most ideal traits someone would look for a man but you'd admit you would have a thing for anyone who would treat you right. and he did! though to this day you're still not sure why he approached you in the first place but one thing led to another and now you've started dating.

everything was perfect. (keyword: perfect) you were content, and at some point gave a future with him some thought. the assumption that you were one of the rare people that saw first hand the more 'innocent' sides of jade leech got you wondering right now, the times where he looks like a little, happy kid watching his mushrooms or the remarks that genuinely got you flustered. you wonder why it all ended in the first place.

he cradled your heart in his hands and dropped it to sink under the water without turning back once. there was no explanation, just a simple; "let's break up." and it was all gone, just tears left. so when you were just at the climax of picking yourself up why in the hell is he standing in front of you right now wearing the same smile that enchanted you?! you hate the way your heart aches when he still remembers the things you told him since forever and you swear to ignore his existence even when he's awfully intent on messing with you again.

ㅤ

・ㅤace trapollaㅤㅤ— your roommate who would be more suited to classify as a demon, ace is one of the most annoying people you've ever met in your life and you simultaneously want to slap and smack him in the face because he's too laid back ninety percent of the time. you both, sorta disliked each other at first. him not liking you because you whacked him with a broom in dead of the night after overtime practice (but you don't blame yourself because it was totally justified!) and you to him because he started insulting your entire being.

anyways he's the worst roommates ever. there was clearly your name highlighted in bold colors on the tupperware of your favorite snack in the fridge then you find it completely empty the next day, sometimes he even has the audacity to place a sticky note containing "thanks for the snack loser :P" which in turn made you stick another note on the fridge, "fuck you" as a response. now it's some kind of ritual for the two of you to paste derogatory, lowkey playful messages to each other on the fridge. whoever comes over is gonna be concerned with the amount of sticky notes in the fridge.

he moans about how he's one of the 'talented' froshes in the basketball club which you actually can't deny because he's a first year being considered to be a regular on the team and some of the third years are still in the benches! actually, some of them hate him for it and for once you join him on complaining about them cause it wasn't even his fault? though his statement; "they're just bad at it and jealous of me" was concerning but eh.. it's ace, what else would you expect?

ㅤ

・ㅤdeuce spadeㅤㅤ— suprise suprise! turns out ace and you weren't the only ones who was going to be roomed in one dorm. here enters: deuce spade, your second roomie who is a hundred times better than ace. compared to the latter, deuce is a gift sent by god. he cleans up his messes, even insists on cleaning some of yours even when you try to talk him out of it. okay so apparently he still had trauma from when his mother whooped his ass when he didn't clean the house when it was an order. a mommas boy indeed.

unfortunately to the abrupt appearance of a new roomie (no thanks to crowley since he didn't even tell you.) ace and you had used the spare room as a dump for your stuff so it was full of random things like the the electric guitar you don't even use anymore. so you declared that all three of you will be cleaning it out, deuce wasn't originally in the plan but he offered to pitch in so.. the cleaning was full of sweat, heavy lifting which you left to deuce because damn. he can lift those without much effort compared to your arms.

deuce has a concerning obsession with eggs cause whenever it was his time to cook breakfast he always cooks a variety of eggs. you do like eggs but the taste is starting to make you nauseous from how many times you've eaten it for days straight. unlike ace who would attempt to kick you out of your room when you trespass even when he does it freely to yours, deuce even welcomes you in. and you don't know why ace is tagging along with you on your trips to deuce's room. (also deuce joins in on the sticky notes but ace says his notes are that of a boomer because all he puts is the grocery list)

ㅤ

・ㅤleona kingscholarㅤㅤ— the dude who you accidentally stepped and literally tripped on right after, who knew the dirt on the floor tasted so bad? when you said you were hungry you didn't mean this! leona peeked an eye open and when it landed on you, you were now his self proclaimed slave. or to word it better, working for him as repayment for stepping on him and dirtying his clothes. which got you flabbergasted because is it not already dirty from the grass and dirt he's sleeping on? does this dude not know what a bed is?

you only actually learn his name through epel since he never told you when you pointed at leona blabbering about he's the guy that practically enslaved you for stepping on him (which you'd emphasize on accident) and epel looked absolutely horrified when he frivolously whispered; "that's leona kingscholar!" to you but the guy still somehow heard it because he made a gesture for you to follow him. from now on starts the demise of your life.

you might as well call yourselves two peas in a pod because he always had you following around and doing tasks he can't be bothered to do. making you run off to his club room to grab a spare ball since he wanted to practice.. or running around looking for his lost shoelace, in short it was a nightmare! you're not sure why the hell he made you wear his jersey for a game and making you sit in his team area, place thing... for the period of the game. apparently it was so he can go back to you much faster when he wins this (he actually said that like he's sure he would) and the crowd goes silent when he tilts his head to you and asks if he was good.

ㅤ

・ㅤjamil viperㅤㅤ— technically he was just ace's teammate to you. suprise, suprise! ace did make it into the regular team and now it's customary for you to attend his games, practice or not because he threatened that if you didn't he'd eat all the food you'd try to hide. you only know of jamil's existence after he had dropped an exhausted ace off your dorm just after he had also taken him to the nurse's office. you don't know if you hallucinated or not but there was definitely a bitter kind of look on jamil's face when you fretted over ace.

huh. since then you've been thanking jamil endlessly for taking the time to take care of ace (and admittedly throwing shade lowkey about ace's careless nature) apparently he had taken a nasty fall for his agressive play. jamil himself seems quite.. shy about your praises, probably having not been used to being openly grateful for his actions. you don't know why you're being so thankful to the extent that you had been learning how to make a decent bowl of curry for him..

though jamil's pokerface twitched a little when he sampled your 'first ever experiment' "it.. could use some work." he coughs and you wonder if he knows that you can see his hand impatiently shaking to gulp down the water. since then he's helped you hone your curry skills to the max and there's one thing you can say. he was an absolute god in cooking, for that you cried praises savoring the dishes you were given the luxury to eat. you've grown a lot closer than before and this time he looks particularly at peace when he's the one suffering the injury and now being the subject of your worry. perhaps this is one thing he'd like to have for himself.

ㅤ

・ㅤmalleus draconiaㅤㅤ— a stranger you've met by the woods, your parent would be recoiling violently if they found out you went against their firm words to not wander anywhere. especially forests! but you won't give up the beautiful spot you've found within the premises of the forest, just a perfect place for yourself. calm and serene are your favorite words. apparently it was an old building owned by the school, crowley wouldn't certainly mind if you used the place for yourself.. right?

the place was a bit dusty, old with a sense of ancient familiarity with it. a certain charm of the old place you supposed. nevertheless you've taken residence in the porch whenever there's just some things you don't wanna deal with. you were scared out of your wits when you heard a creak of the floorboard and several other signs that there was... something inside the house as you are.

here enters the 'thing' that scared you to death, a mysterious man with misty green eyes. he refuses to state his name when you've already given yours, seemingly quite delighted at your ignorance towards his existence. tsunotaro (the nickname you'd given him since he insisted you have whatever) was there when epel didn't understand you sometimes. he listens quietly, you'd mistake his silence to be bad but it's a habit so that he could hear your voice easier.

ㅤ

・ㅤfloyd leechㅤㅤ— the unbearing brother of your ex, ever since you and jade broke up you never really heard from him again. so you assumed it was because of the fragile relationship you had with his brother and eventually let it go. since you found out jade was also in NRC, you assumed the worst and that his two friends would be here as well. floyd in particular kinda terrified you sometimes but he's a good guy... usually! albiet his habit for violence to solve a problem.

speaking of violence he never had a problem offering his fist to you, which you'd mistaken as a fist bump but it was actually a sign of 'friendship' and it meant that if you ever needed someone to be taken care of.. floyd will gladly spare some of his gracious strength to pound them into oblivion! violence aside. he looked ecstatic by your presence, not at all affected by the fact that you were separated for like a year. save for a pout and a, "shrimpy, where were you?" then he went back to being all affectionate like in the past, you weren't sure if it was appropriate since he is your ex's brother but eh.. you aren't with jade anymore and floyd was a dear friend so..!

besides all that he still keeps the promise of protecting you ever since a year ago, which is kind of weird since jade (as your boyfriend) should've been the one to make that kind of oath. which is evident from the way he scares away all the bullies that might pick at you for being only able to enter the college through academic means. one thing that everyone knows how to calm down floyd though, is that your mere presence sends him into a flowery mood which explains why you're always getting dragged around somewhere.

ㅤ

・ㅤneige leblancheㅤㅤ— the celebrity happy-go-lucky boy from the rival school of NRC; royal sword academy. you can say this at the very least, you were just a small, teensy tiny little fan of neige! it's not your fault he's so genuinely adorable! moving into a new environment meant discovering new favorite artists and you just so happen to enjoy neige's music from time to time. so you can admit you really didn't expect to meet neige through VDC.. since you're only the manager you only expected a glance or two but.. talking live with him makes your heart race!!

the descriptions of him online honestly doesn't do him justice at all! 'bright and cute' neige isn't just a handsome face, they should see the events he held to donate to charity and your inner fan came out and decided it was time to tell neige how awesome he was without filter. it is admittedly embarrassing that our mouth run off without your consent but the boy himself looked awfully frustrated by your genuine words.

it seems like neige really had taken a liking to you after the little rant but hey, you're glad he didn't find you weird at all! a dream come true.. neige finds himself thinking of you every quarter of the day, bursting into a deep flush but he can't tell if it's by the thought of your kindness (oddly enough) or the fact that he caught himself in the act. either way.. even he notices that there's lots of other people parading for your love.. it's selfish of him to think so but no person can ever live up to you!

ㅤ

・ㅤsilverㅤㅤ— the ever softer gentleman that you had caught snoozing his life away in a grassy field. out of the goodness in your heart you gently shook him awake, knowing full well there's classes about to start at the moment and from the uniform he adores its clear he was a student like you. the first thing you thought of was, "stunning" and you had actually paused to register the rare, glistening colors in his irises. honestly it's not fair how much natural beauty this random man you just met had effortlessly..

you learn that silver is the whole package deal. where he is kind, he is also strong. he holds the type of persona that would fight the world for you, avenge you, and love you unconditionally. okay technically you're starting to get lost in your concerningly vast imagination including silver but you honesty can't stop daydreaming because he's like the epitome of a prince(ss) wait he could be anyone's type right now.

silver is kind, and frustratingly sweet. you think that maybe it's your love story blooming when he gingerly ties the stem of various flowers together and place it in your forehead. a craft he learned from when he was bored in his childhood. you feel like someone when he casts you the softest gaze you've ever seen in your life and it's breathtaking. since when did life move by so fast that you're comfortable napping amongst the vast green field together?

ㅤ

・ㅤmystery characterㅤㅤ— the one who witnesses, the one who knows the feelings of all these puny idiots towards you. the one who will remain a viewer to your story, and perhaps never make a debut for the main leading role, your love interest. if he can't get in your story, then he will drag you in his whether you like it or not. do you still remember him..? because he would have never forgotten your face since that day.

he refuses to let your story end with that silver haired buffoon who won't get half the luxuries you deserve.. this can't be.. you just can't have an ending where you're happy with someone that's not him...

940 notes · View notes

whyareyouhere66 · 7 months

Note

Maybe some hurt/comfort platonic Professor Remus Lupin x gn student reader where reader also has lycanthropy (is a werewolf) but with anger issues. Remus can kind of guess, but after reader almost gets outed as a ‘monster’ Remus makes it his duty to teach reader how to control their anger. Father figure Remus 🫶 you can make it as angsty as you want <3

Here it is! This took way too long but it’s finished now, and I hope you like it! Thanks for requesting 🫶

!Father figure! Remus Lupin x GN !werewolf! Reader

CW: implied absence of father, accidental(kinda) self harm, slightly graphic descriptions, reader has anger issues, possible ooc Remus I’m not really sure

I should’ve stayed in.

I should’ve known better, really. But it seems I didn’t.

Malfoy always has a way of getting under everyone’s skin- and it seems that the older he gets, the less afraid he is of doing so in front of teachers. You should’ve been more cautious getting into arguments with him in the middle of a class.

“Malfoy, L/n, you two separate yourselves right now.” Professor McGonagall scolds, glaring at where Malfoy stood in front of my seat. He had that same devilish grin on his face, even as I’m glaring up at him from my chair.

“Sit down, Malfoy.” I say flatly, but he doesn’t budge.

“And what are you gonna do, hm? I have no reason to be threatened by someone like,” he takes the time to look my up and down, not hiding the grimace to follow, “you.”

“Then why don’t you go sit down?,” I quip, “no one’s asking you to stay, the only reason I see is you’re enjoying it.” I see quickly how his grin drops, and he’s glaring right back at me now.

“Is that your best comeback? As if I’d ever enjoy being near you,” he seethes, and I stand up with my hands running down my face.

“You are so exhausting-“ I groan, only to feel a sudden shove against my shoulder. I snap my head towards him again. What is he trying to do?

“You filthy little-“

“Don’t touch me,”

“Draco! L/n! Back to your seats at once!” McGonagall shouts, the click of her boots taking a few quick steps closer before stopping. I don’t look at her, because Draco is already shoving me back again. His face is scrunched into a look of disgust, and anger, and I can only imagine mine looks somewhat similar.

I’m shoving him back before I can think, my mind ticking, yelling at me to not let him walk away proudly.

Bursts of different voices, small gasps, are around me as Draco is lunging forward pathetically. His brain is racing the same way mine is- but i only get a second to try and block his hands before he’s backing me up towards the wall.

I grab his shoulders, trying to pry him off me, but my back collides with a shelf and my head gets thrown back against something,

The pain sends a jolt through my body, something all too familiar, but it’s too late.

My eyes surge, and I feel the bones in my shoulders cracking against each other while I fall. Draco is somewhere in front of me, stumbling to the ground, and Ms. McGonagall shouts again from across the room.

“Shit.”

My heart is pounding, my hands are sweaty, but all I can feel from my racing mind is anger.

Before he can come at me again, I stumble to my feet again and run out of the room as quickly as possible. Professor McGonagall yells at me, but I can’t hear her anymore. My ears throb as they grow, stretching and pointing at the ends.

My back arches into its new form, hairs poking my skin as they grow rapidly. Bones give a sickening crack as they move inside of me, my legs unable to hold me up. And I can’t stop it- because my mind is hollering and it’s too late to pull myself back now.

A snarl echoes from the throat, fangs poking my gums. It hurts, it always does- but this time it got too close.

My classmates could’ve seen me- they nearly did.

Long claws make an ugly noise as they scratch the floor beneath me, I probably look psychotic stumbling across the floor trying to regain control of myself again.

I want to hit him- I want to keep that ugly smirk off his face.

My hands curl into a fist, and I feel the stinging pain of claws scraping the palms of my hands. The painful red that follows feels warm on my skin, I keep my hand still until the pain begins to keep the rest of me still.

My hitched breathing is loud, but slowly I feel my nails dulling, pulling out of my skin. I let out a gasp, face beginning to shift back to its original shape.

My jaw throbs, and my fingers become sore as I desperately try to pull my self back into place. Bones are snapping, returning to normal while I struggle to hold myself up any longer.

Heavy breathes fall, but I barely recognize them. My ears dull until they’re no longer long and pointed, my eyes fade from the sharp yellow back to e/c.

“No, no no no,” I plead.

“….y/n?”

I snap my eyes up to the new voice, and freeze when I see Professor Lupin staring at me wide-eyed.

He analyzes my shaking figure, and he looks at me differently… almost understandingly.

I scramble to my feet again, stumbling away from him.

“Wait!” He calls out, but I sprint away before he can follow.

It’s all ruined.

***

The next day, I refuse to leave the dorms.

I slept in my closet last night, too afraid that one of my dorm mates would walk in and look at me the same way everyone else did before.

About halfway through the morning hour, there’s a tapping at my window- and I recognize F/n’s owl, Ares, staring at me through the glass. F/n sent a note.

I don’t want to read it. But I do- all it asks is where I am.

I slide down the wall slowly, letting the note fall to the floor beside me. I feel so tired.

Gosh- I was doing such a good job before. Whenever my anger would get the best of me, I’d find solace in an old closet or something, curl my hand into a fist so tightly it would unravel with red staining the palm. It would keep me stable- I had it under control.

But now?

A knock sounds from the door.

I don’t want to answer it.

I stare at it for a while, maybe I should. Maybe it’s F/n.

Eventually, I do open it.

Standing on the other side, is Professor Lupin, and I immediately freeze. What is he doing here?

The look he gave me yesterday flashes in my mind, the understanding, the empathy. He speaks before I do, much to my relief.

“May I come in?” He asks, and I hesitantly step to the side. He enters carefully, finding a spot towards the center of the room, and I sit down on the foot of my bed awkwardly.

“Look, professor-“ I try, only to be interrupted.

“It’s ok, I know.”

“…what do you think you know..?”

He sighs, looking round the room, as if searching for the right words. I watch cautiously.

“…I was about 4 years old, when I was turned.” He says- my eyes widen. Turned? Does that mean-?

“What..?”

“Well, that’s what you are, right,” he looks at me pointedly, “a werewolf?”

My heart stops when he says the word. Werewolf.

He knows- he not only knows, but he is one, and I almost can’t believe my ears.

“You’re…you’re one too?”

Lupin nods, doesn’t even hesitate. Another sigh, before he continues.

“When I was bit, it was in means of revenge. I was used to get back at my father, and it’s affected my life ever since.”

Lupin paces the room when he talks, taking slow steps across the carpet. I feel a bit bad, knowing the burden of this curse. Professor Lupin looks at me again.

“It took me years to learn how to control it- and if you’ll let me,” I can tell where this is going, “I want to help you learn as well.”

I pause, trying to think. I can learn to control it, to live with it. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

“…you’ll help me?” I ask quietly, looking up at him. His face softens slightly, and he nods.

“Of course.”

I don’t know what to say. He asks how old I was when I got bit, I tell him. 8 years old, on a camping trip with my mother and step dad. My mom didn’t know what to do, my step dad (at the time) hadn’t even warmed up to me much yet. I was left to face it alone.

Professor Lupin’s eyebrows furrow slightly, and he nods.

“So you had no parents to help you?” He asks, and I nod shyly. I almost don’t want to look at him, avoiding his gaze head on.

“It was kind of hard to, uh, connect with my step dad after that…”

He nods in understanding. I look away.

“Well, how about this,” he doesn’t step much closer to me, and I look at him curiously, “do you know what triggers it.”

I nod once more, bending my fingers around each other on my lap.

“Yeah, uh, my anger is…” I clear my throat, “yeah.”

“Great, then we’ll start there.” He says, as if it was an obvious fact. “Meet me after classes tomorrow, preferably by my classroom. That’s when we’ll start.” He begins to walk towards the door again, and I watch him. It’s so new, I’ve never even told people about such a burden before, yet here I am. Before he can leave, I stand up from my bed.

“Wait, professor.”

He turns to me curiously.

“…thank you.”

***

The first “lesson” was a bit of a messy one.

He asks me how I currently handle my anger, and I hesitantly look at the scars littering my palm and the heel of my hand.

“Ah, I see…” he trails off. I nod.

“Yeah…”

By the second lesson, he’s telling me what happens in my brain when I’m angry- and how to keep calm.

“It’ll sound like a cliche, but controlling your breathing.”

“Definitely sounds like a cliche.”

“Yeah, well, it works, sit down”.

By the 5th lesson I’m already sensing a difference in how I’m feeling- it’s like my body is more relaxed, my brain isn’t as high wired as it used to be.

But I’m weren’t sure- until I got tested.

It wasn’t Draco Malfoy this time, though they were close in obnoxiousness. A Ravenclaw, by the name of Riley, continuously pestering me after getting paired up for a project together. She followed me down the halls after class, ignoring all my attempts to brush her off.

Can’t she take a hint?

I turn another corner down the corridor, and she tells me once again how lazy I am. I feel myself getting more frustrated, heart beating faster, and I stop walking in the middle of the hallway. When I turn ti look at her she has the face of someone who just got fired from work- and I want to tell her that no one riles her up as much as she does to herself.

The first throb in my gums, I freeze, and turn away quickly. Her voice stops, thank god, and I feel her curious gaze burning holes into my back.

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell myself, “it’s all cool.”

I close my eyes, blocking the memory of her voice, and let my breathing slow until it’s balanced enough for me to no longer feel the ache in my jaw.

My eyes open again, I’m normal.

I’m normal- holy shit. A grin spreads across my face and I check my hands just in case- nothing. My body didn’t change at all.

I whip around, not looking at Riley even as she throws another comment my way.

“Uh huh, yeah.” Is all i manage before I’m pushing past her and starting to jog down the hall.

“I did it,” I say to myself, “I did it!”

I’m basically running by the time I’ve made it to Professor Lupin’s classroom, knocking on the large wooden door a few times before he answers.

“Y/n?”

I grin at him. “I did it!” I exclaim, “I did it- I controlled it!”

His face begins to light up, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“What?”

I step into his room, but still spin around to face him. My cheeks are beginning to hurt from my smile but I don’t falter.

“I controlled myself, Lupin, i didn’t even change at all!”

His smile grows and he looks at me. “That’s wonderful, I’m so-“

Before he finishes, I step forward and hug him.

I didn’t even expect to, I just feel myself wrapping my arms around his torso and grinning like a mad man against his coat. His arms lay against my back in return in a fatherly embrace, so simple yet I could never miss it.

“Thank you” I say, and he smiles above me.

“Of course, Y/n.”

#Harry Potter fandom x gender neutral reader #Harry Potter fandom #Remus Lupin #werewolf reader #harry potter fandom x fem reader #Harry Potter fandom x male reader #66 recs&replies

92 notes · View notes

tgmsunmontue · 4 months

Text

It's all academic darlin' PART 4/10

We have a final count for parts! 16k+ Hangster AU. IceMav is only really in Part 4 as background (and again in part 9 maybe?) Will be finished by 14th January 2024.

SUMMARY: Bradley is a professor but living his best life with IceMav parents. Jake is a pilot. Maverick sort-of tries (and fails) to play matchmaker, so he tries again. Touch of epistolary and sprinkling of one-sided unknown/mistaken-identity.

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

PART 4

The only downside of getting picked up by Mav is that he doesn’t get to go straight home. He’s used to it though. His apartment will be stuffy after being closed up for nearly three weeks. Although he knows Kezia will have been around diligently ensuring all his house plants remain alive and well. She does it when he’s at home, knowing that Bradley only needs to look at some of the plants sideways before they decide to shrivel up and die. Doesn’t stop people giving him plants as gifts though. He’s past the point of no return, people assuming he likes them because he has them, and since he relegated their care to Kezia he doesn’t mind them. The plants and himself will survive a couple more hours.

Something smells good when he gets out of the car, and his mouth floods with saliva. Ice started cooking more when he was stressed, much to Bradley’s benefit when he was growing up because Mav lives on food he can defrost or re-heat. Ice is the one who taught him how to cook, one of the life skills he’s most grateful for. He unlaces his boots and lines them against the wall, respects the tidiness and order that Ice likes; even if Bradley leaves his shoes lying wherever he leaves them once he’s kicked them off in his own apartment. He calls out a hello and heads through to the kitchen, Mav trailing after him.

Ice gives him a smile and a one-armed hug, other hand busy stirring something on the stove Bradley identifies as a risotto. He grabs two beers out of the fridge, pops the caps and watches as Mav sticks his finger in the risotto, complains about it being hot and crunchy and Ice makes a pained face before he pushes Mav out of the kitchen, signing that he’ll join them shortly. It’s warm out so they head to the back patio, and Bradley can see Ice preparing other things and he had to admit he loves the tradition of their welcome home meal.

It had started when Mav would get home from deployment. When he was older, Bradley would cook when Ice got back from being away. Then Ice would cook when Bradley got back; even when he hasn’t even left the country, the fact that whenever he goes away somewhere for more than a couple of nights, he comes home to Ice’s cooking and Mav wanting a full debrief of his time away. He settles into one of the loungers and takes a sip of beer, waits for Mav to start in on the questions he no doubt has.

“So, what did you think of Hangman?” Mav asks, and Bradley frowns, because he has no idea what Mav is talking about. “Jake,” Mav provides and Bradley supposes he should have guessed, although he’d love to know the story behind that callsign.

“Oh. Nice enough I guess? Polite?”

“Jake Seresin was polite?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Why do you seem upset about that? What? Did you want him to be mean to me?”

“Well, you do like them with a little, uh, fire.”

Bradley chokes on the mouthful of beer and stares. What the actual fuck?

“Dad! Fuck’s sake! Did you try and organize a…” his mind scrambles. “A date?” He finally settles on. Booty call sounds ancient, and hook up when his father figure organized it… not great either. Mav looks pleased, the way he always does when Bradley calls him Dad. He’s shaking his head though.

“No. Not intentionally. I didn’t think your paths would cross as much as they did. Thought you’d be back before he got there actually. Took him long enough to accept my offer. He… hmm.”

Bradley’s used to sentences trailing away, often when Mav realizes he’s about to say something he either shouldn’t or made a connection between two or more salient points and his mind is now off on a tangent somewhere else. If he’s a little patient it comes back soon enough.

“Hangman seems like your type.”

Bradley snorts and shakes his head.

“Well, I don’t think I’m his. He didn’t even give me a once over.” Or offer up his number when Bradley sort-of suggested he get his contact details from Mav. It’s fine really, he’s not looking for anything right now, quite happy with the status quo. He has people who can scratch his itch if it comes down to it.

“Hmm. That doesn’t sound like him at all. I always got the impression that everyone is his type. Alive and breathing. And you cooked him breakfast.”

“Oh wow, thanks for that ego boost right there… alive and breathing. Biggest compliment. And I was just trying to get rid of the leftovers.”

Mav laughs and shakes his head, takes a sip from his bottle.

“You always make breakfast when you’re trying to impress someone.”

“Seriously, I was trying to use the food. I didn’t feel any need to impress Jake.”

“I’m sure he was impressed anyway, pretty sure I heard that he managed to set fire to ramen.”

Bradley frowns, because that doesn’t gel at all with the guy who had made bread from scratch, in an unfamiliar kitchen with no yeast… Huh. Interesting.

“He told me he knew how to cook…” Bradley says, taking a small sip, his mind still wondering what kind of persona Jake Seresin portrays to other people if Mav is surprised he was polite and can’t cook. A jackass that is usually incompetent in the kitchen? He’s used to naval aviators and their egos

“Well, if the cabin burns down I guess we’ll find out who’s right.”

Bradley rolls his eyes and simply shrugs, is pretty sure there’s no danger of that happening.

“Not that it matters, because we didn’t exchange contact details. But I’m guessing he has your seal of approval…”

Mav hums non-committedly and Bradley resists rolling his eyes this time. The muscles in his eye sockets need a break.

“He saved my life.”

“What?” Bradley hates hearing about it, knows Mav is safe and sound right in front of him, but the almost flippant way he says saved my life like it isn’t something someone would ever consider saving makes his heart hurt in the worst way.

“My last ever mission, and you don’t know this, but he disobeyed direct orders and came after me.”

“Jesus Mav…” His throat is tight and eyes prickle.

“Yep.”

The mood is immediately somber and he casts around for something, anything, to lighten the mood, because doing this whole emotion thing isn’t something they ever linger on.

“So, what, you wanted me to give him a thank you BJ?”

Ice comes out, fingers snapping to get their attention and they both turn.

“Who is getting thankyou blowjobs?”Ice asks and Bradley wishes the sign for blowjob were a little less visually descriptive. He really doesn’t need the mental image, although at least he’s no longer thinking about Mav dying.

“No one!” Bradley groans.

“Nothing wrong with your hearing is there…” Mav grins, eyes crinkled warm and tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth and Bradley has seen this look too many times now to know his parental figures are now making eyes at each other over the top of his head. He turns away so they can have some privacy and he doesn’t need to see any more explicit signs. Ice clicks his fingers again and he looks back, his expression one of clear forbearance but all Ice does is smirk at him. Asshole.

“Dinner’s ready. Come eat.”

They settle at the table and Bradley lets the flow of conversation travel around him, chiming in when needed, half-follows the conversation about something Ice is doing with work. Dinner is a delicate zucchini and garlic risotto with grilled chicken thighs and a side-salad, pretty low-key except for the risotto. He answers questions about the smoker he’d fixed up so that Ice can use it next time he actually uses his vacation days and catches fish. Mav hassles him about it never happening before and Bradley enjoys being back in the familiar home with them bickering with one another.

“You also work too much,” Mav says, turning to him and Bradley looks to Ice for backup.

“Hello pot, I’d like you to meet kettle. Anyway, I just had ten days at the cabin. That’s plenty restful.”

Ice is shaking silently with amusement and Bradley points to him.

“See, Ice agrees. You’re the biggest hypocrite.”

“That ten days was meant to be three weeks.”

“You’ve been retired for months. You need a hobby,” Ice says, adding some signs for breaking things and that always fucking means Bradley’s on the ropes for fixing them and he pulls a face, shaking his head and giving Ice a betrayed look.

“Meddling with Bradley’s love life is my new hobby.”

“The fuck it is. No. Pick a different hobby.”

“He could look after your plants…” Ice interjects, his sign for plants though is dead plants and Bradley pulls another face and gives him the finger which just makes him laugh roughly, making the sign for apple and tree before laughing again. He’s glad someone is enjoying themselves.

“Why do I have to be involved at all? What about another fixer-upper? Bike or plane?” Ice pulls a face and slaps his arm. “Model planes? That’d be more affordable. And take up less space?”

“And boring as hell.”

“Learn to cook!”

“No!” Ice actually says, voice low and rough, the look of sheer horror on his face makes Bradley snort.

“Mav cooking is exciting at least!”

“Waste of good ingredients,” Ice signs, mouth pulled down in displeasure now that said hobbies are encroaching on his territory. Fuck, they’re going to have to come up with something together otherwise Mav will annoy the shit out of them both. Maybe his love life is the safest, he’s had plenty of practice in ignoring Mav at least.

“Hey, I could learn to cook! I’m sure you could both teach me…” Bradley winces, because trying to teach Mav anything is painful and Ice seems to agree, hands flashing quickly with cannot teach, pushing his chair back and shaking his head before walking away while Mav blusters and says he’s perfectly capable of taking direction. Bradley snorts because that’s a load of bullshit and he finds himself making that sign automatically.

“Giving me the bird while you walk away doesn’t count as getting the final word in!” Mav calls at Ice’s retreating back, before turning to Bradley. “I could learn to cook you know, if I put my mind to it.”

“Mav, we all have our personal strengths and weaknesses…”

Mav’s eyes narrow and Bradley smirks, because it’s exactly a line that Mav has given him more than once when he’s struggled with not being good at something.

“Also Ice and I both enjoy cooking. You view it as a chore.”

“I do worry about you though, your work…”

Bradley sighs, pushes his empty plate away and rubs at his temple.

“Mav… my job is safe. Imagine how you’d feel if I had joined the Navy and went on deployment for months on end?”

“You went and lived in Europe for three years!”

“To do my doctorate. And now I’m back and have been for over a decade. Mav, I’m… I love my job okay? You love flying, and Ice… and I get that you want me to have what you have with Ice. But I’m okay. I’m happy. I have plenty of friends, and while I get it might be nice to have someone at home, I don’t need that to be happy. Also I actually really enjoy the novelty of not feeling guilty for not ignoring my partner because of work,” he states, because that is what had been the demise of his last relationship and Mav fucking knows it too.

“Do you think it would be different with the right person though?”

“Oh for… please don’t start. Look, if something happens, it happens. But it’s not a priority for me right now.”

“I was just hoping for grandkids…”

“Bullshit. You’ve got plenty of young people in your life. And I don’t want kids. You know that. Amelia scares the shit out of me and I have to work with too many teenagers as it is already.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky you survived your teen years. Ice and I held each other back from killing you on multiple occasions.”

“Sure Mav…”

“Why do you always think I’m lying when I say that?”

PART FIVE

#Hangster #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #Sereshaw #rooster x hangman #It's all academic darlin'#IceMav

44 notes · View notes

bunniebubbleswrites · 1 year

Text

Blood runs thicker than water

Mother Figure! Lady Lesso x Never Student! F! Reader A/N: This fic will be loosely based on the books and the movie and yes parent's weekend is a thing in this world just consult the Ever Never Handbook bc that is the reason I got this idea in the first place. Also soft Lesso!! Warnings: Never student from an Ever family, mentions of parental abuse Words: 1411

The sound of excited Nevers and Evers filled the Theater of Tales. Parents Weekend had fallen upon the school, most students excited to see their parents if they were still alive.

Sitting on the decaying pews with your peers, you scanned the room for your mother’s signature blue dress and your fathers sage suit. You hadn’t written any letters home fearful of how your parents would react. The only Never from a long line of Ever’s. Just imagining the disappointment and hatred in your family's eyes made you flinch.

The sound of heels made you stand from the pews, the sound of heels hitting the marble sounded much different than the staff, they sounded meaner but it was a different sound than what Lady Lesso’s heels made.

You walked down from the pews black boots making the decaying wood creak. You shoved your hands into the pockets of your black pants. You wanted this to be over as quickly as possible. Walking over the side littered with happy Ever’s and their parents. You spotted your parents, they were kind of hard to miss.

Your mother in her elegant blue gown, not a blemish or wrinkle on her smooth skin. Your father by her side in his sage colored suit. The perfect fairy tale couple, your mothers eyes scanned the crowd of Ever girls looking for you. You stood on one side with your peers not allowed to cross over to the other. Your father spotted you and nudged your mother, catching her attention. Her eyes fell on you and a scowl graced her lips, your father indifferent like he always had been.

They slowly made their way over to you. To anyone else it would look just like disappointment graced her features but you knew she was fuming.

“ (y/n), dear. No wonder you didn’t write home,” you could hear the sourness in your mothers voice. “You're a never. Where did we go wrong?” She sighed but the smile returned like she didn’t hate you like you hadn’t ruined her life.

That’s what you were always told as a child. That’s what she would say when she yelled and screamed at you. All you wanted was for her to be proud, and here you were class captain and ‘1’ ranks all across the board.

The two deans came out onto the stage at the front of the room and you walked back over to the pews, hands still shoved in your pockets.

“Hello parents and guardians, I am Professor Dovey. Dean of the School for Good.” Dovey’s voice carried through the room. Her golden gown shimmering.

Dot leaned back in your direction and looked up at you, “So (y/n) where are your parents? I thought you said they were coming.” The girl said while shoving chocolate in her face. You put your head down to look at her, hair curtaining your face, and instead of your usual smile a scowl graced your lips.

“ Oh, they’re here dot,” You said bitterly as you looked up at where the Ever’s sat. “You see the woman with the blue ball gown and the man next to her that almost looks like Professor Sader?” Dot nodded “Those are my parents. I come from a long line of Ever’s.”

Dot looked at you and so did Hester. They thought you were joking but your face said otherwise. You turned your attention back to the two women at the front of the theater, tugging your long sleeves down to cover your hands. Almost everyone in your school had seen them, the scars but you still hid them. You didn’t need people asking questions, but you didn’t want your teachers asking questions. Especially Lady Lesso. You couldn’t help but feel like you would disappoint her too.

The sound of people getting up and chatter filled your ears once again. Taking a deep breath.

Let's get this done and over with.

Walking past your peers to meet your parents. Once again an invisible barrier in between you. You could feel eyes on you. You assumed at least 2 of them were Dot and Hester.

“ (y/n), dear I think me and your father are going to leave. I mean we don’t really have any reason to stay.” Your mother said as a frown graced your father’s stoic expression. You loved your dad, you really did. You don’t think you’ll ever truly understand how they ended up together but you wanted to spend time with your dad and you like the same thoughts consumed him.

“ Don’t have a reason to stay, really that's the best you got. I’ve worked my ass off trying to prove to you that I’m worthy of your love, but I will never be good enough will I? I earned my spot as class captain, I earned all my 1st place ranks and no thanks to you. So go ahead and leave. I have friends who would actually enjoy my company today.” Your face was flushed and your breathing heavy. The last time you had talked back like this you had some nasty bruises all over your body.

The sound of skin hitting skin made everyone go silent as it echoed through the room. “Don’t you dare talk back to me young lady. I am your mother and will treat me as such.” Your mother had slapped you in front of hundreds of people. Students and parents alike. You were rendered silent, regaining your composure fairly quickly. You turned on your heel and quickly made your way out of the theater through the Nevers entrance.

Tears rolled down your cheeks and you ran back to your dorm room. The sound of your boots hitting the floor, it was evident to anyone still in the building that you were running. Reaching your room you bust the door open and threw yourself onto your bed and just cried. You had been bottling up the emotions since day one but you just couldn’t take it anymore. You just wanted someone to hold you and tell you everything was going to be okay.

A knock on your dorm room door startled you. Wiping your eyes and cheeks off you opened the door and there you were met with the concerned face of your dean.

“Lady Lesso, why are you here?” Instead of a response she pushed you into the room and shut the door behind her with a swish of her finger.

She pulled you into her arms, “Tell me, tell me what they did to you.” The minute those words left her lips you burst into tears and told her everything. You told her about how your mother would scream and yell at you and how your father would tend and bind your wounds after your mother was finished unleashing her wrath onto you.

Once you had finished spilling your heart out to your favorite teacher, she wiped your tears and smiled at you reassuringly.

“ You know that saying ‘Blood runs thicker than water’?” Lesso asked you

You nodded, “ My mother says it all the time to justify the things she did to me.”

“ It’s a bunch of bullshit.” You smiled at her and nodded. You both walked out of your dorm room as she escorted you back to the Theater of Tales.

As soon as you entered the theater with Lesso behind you. You turned and thanked her and before you ran over to your friends to meet their parents you heard Lesso whisper,

“ I could never be disappointed in you kid.” You smiled back at her as Dot and Hester enveloped you in their arms and Andail joined in on the group hug as well.

Even though your parents were nowhere to be seen, Dot’s parents welcomed you into their family as if you were their own.

Maybe this Parent’s weekend wouldn’t be so bad and you knew that you could go to Lady Lesso for any and everything. She had shown you more love than your mother ever could. You would make her proud in any way you possibly could and you knew that your friends would help you achieve that goal.

When you looked back at your dean, you saw a small smile form on her lips before it disappeared. You knew she could never be disappointed in you and Dovey saw it too, just like she could never be disappointed in her students. Maybe Evil had a shot at winning this time around.

#lady lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso x reader #the school for good and evil #sge movie #sge fanfiction

256 notes · View notes

escaped-cryptid · 10 months

Text

Octonauts headcannons for no reason

Not only can Shelington not eat the Red Sea urchins but he also has asthma and can’t hold his breath for very long

Kwazii’s father is Puss in boots. He was raised by his dad and grandpa calico Jack. Calico would sail his son around the world to his next adventure and he would watch kwazii when puss was away

Kwazii once saved a drowning sea otter apparently trying to prove himself

Shelington and inkling were old friends being in a similar field

Barnacles started the Octonauts with an engineering classmate tweak and his old professor inkling

Inkling recommended Shelington as a field researcher

Barnacles invited peso to join as their medic after peso helped him with an injury in Antartica

One day they saw an island with a smoke pillar. Going in to investigate they found kwazii shipwrecked but not doing to bad

Shelington recognized him from when he saved him from drowning (a sea otter drowning? no one else believed him)

Kwazii was first mate to calico jacks ship just before this still carrying his father from port to port going on adventure on the way

The ship got caught in a storm off the coast of South America and as far as he knew he was the only one to make it out alive

With shelington to vouch for him they took kwazii on as a temporary crew mate eventually Turing into an octonaut

He never gave up searching for his grandfather but Puss did driving a rift between them

Kwazii and Shelingoton are boyfriends. Autism wins

All the “sea monsters” that kwazii names are actually just the pirate names for those animals. He really isn’t making it up it’s just common pirate knowledge

Kwazii is often the first to point out what a creature is because they had to identify many sea creatures with extremly limited info back on the ship

Shelingtons favorite game is figuring out which creature kwazii is talking about from the descriptions

Kwazii has a very keen sense of danger

Shelington does not

Peso barnacles and inkling all don’t have to wear suits for short missions. Inkling never has to wear suits unless he’s staying out of the water for prolonged periods

Inklings library is actually water proof and can be flooded when wanted

#cryptid posts #octonauts #kwazton #mostly kwazton #shelington #captain barnacles #kwazii #peso #professor inkling

60 notes · View notes

lorrainmorgan · 16 days

Text

Sebastian's cousin, Uncle Solomon's son: Arthur Sallow.

Serpent's Help

[ 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮 𝐦𝐲 🐍 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 ]

Read it here or Expand and enjoy!

Lorrain leaned forward, her eyes squinting as she tried to decipher what was forming before her. It was a sentence, no, more like a warning.

Great. Just Great.

The heavy oak door creaked open, signaling the arrival of Phineas Black, followed by Arthur Sallow.

In a moment of keen observation, Lorrain saw Ominis’ quick movements as he turned around and covertly slipped Geneiva's wand between some papers that were still scattered on Professor Weasley’s desk. His actions hidden behind a fake smile as he greeted the Headmaster with practiced ease.

"Greetings and Happy Christmas! I see Miss Morley has made a full recovery!” Phineas exclaimed with a cheerful tone. “I was beginning to worry about you, but it seems you are still in one piece." His tone was almost painful to hear - a forced cheerfulness that barely masked his true cynic nature.

“It’s Morgana…” Lorrain corrected with annoyance. “And yes, thank you Professor”

Professor Black raised an eyebrow at the young woman's correction.“You Young people are infernally convinced that you are right about everything…As for you, Mr. Gaunt,” Phineas hissed at Ominis, leaning in so that only the two of them could hear, “I thought I made myself quite clear when I recommended keeping yourself occupied with a different type of company.”

Ominis felt the pungent, repulsive breath assaulting his nostrils. It was a nauseating combination of firewhiskey and rotten eggs, with a hint of decay mixed in.

The blonde simply tilted his head to the side, his unseeing eyes never betraying any hint of fear or discomfort. “I was actually called by Professor Weasley,” he lied “to inform me about some new braille scrolls the school recently purchased. I presume you were the one in charge of acquiring them, Professor Black? My father will be pleased to know this school is meeting his expectations, thanks to you.”

Lorrain and Mrs. Weasley darted at each other.

Ominis, usually an honest and straightforward individual, found himself resorting to lies when necessary, especially when dealing with authority figures like the Headmaster.

He was a bit obvious if you knew him well enough:

His habitual voice tone changed, it went a few notes lower.

He talked slower than usual.

He’ll hold on to his wand with both hands and start playing with it

Not being the smartest lie he’d told, it worked.

“Yes… of course young Gaunt!” The headmaster flushed with pride at the unexpected praise from his student, even though he didn't even know what braille was. For all he knew it could be an ingredient for a love potion. He cleared his throat loudly and stood a little taller. “I’m always on the lookout to improve the education of the… the…em…students with… er…different abilities and disabi-”

"Pardon me, Professor Black," Arthur urgently interjected. "I apologize for interrupting, but I must speak with the girl immediately. Minister Spavin is waiting for me...".

The headmaster's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the unexpected interruption. He glanced at Professor Weasley, who smiled politely but seemed she was growing impatient as well, and just wanted him to get to the point.

“Mr. Sallow wanted to say something to Miss Morrigan . I offered to pass the message along, but he insisted on coming here himself. " Phineas nodded, gesturing for Arthur to continue.

The auror's black boots crunched on the wooden floor as he confidently strode towards Lorrain.

Not wanting to be noticed, Ominis discreetly raised his wand to observe what was about to happen next.

The auror stood in front of the girl, his demeanor rigid and business-like. In a monotone voice, he began what seemed like a rehearsed speech: "On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, we appreciate your cooperation. If needed, you will be notified beforehand and given plenty of anticipation to attend any further statements at the Ministry." But as he finished his robotic speech, there was a shift in his demeanor. His gaze softened, his jaw tensed and his shoulders went stiffed as he continued ”... and I'd like to extend my sincerest apologies if our interrogation methods seemed-"

“Cruel? Savage? Sadistic? Inhuman?” Lorra spat at him.

“...Harsh.” he finished lamely.

Ominis scoffed at Arthur's pitiful attempt at an apology, his own expression filled with disdain and disgust.

Arthur then extended his hand towards the girl. She gripped his hand firmly, matching his strength.

But as their hands shaked, an unexpected texture caught her attention. A small piece of paper was hidden between Arthur's fingers, nestled tightly between two of them. Lorra attempted to keep her cool, not wanting to give away what she had noticed. His action seemed to silently communicate the importance of the secret paper as he expertly slid it between her thumb and index finger before releasing her hand.

Why is he doing this in such a cryptic way? What would Arthur not want the headmaster to know? Lorra thought.

Quickly crossing her arms over her chest, Lorra discreetly hid the paper from sight. The auror's gaze then flicked between the girl and the fireplace multiple times.

“A sincere apology from the Ministry Of Magic on Christmas… and from an officer…How fitting Mr. Sallow, you shouldn't have bothered…” The headmaster uttered “Mr. Gaunt, Mrs Weasley, if you don’t mind showing him the way out. I need to get going, my wife Ursula awaits my arrival at my manor. It's a big event tonight, like every year. You know how it is." With a curt nod, he bid farewell and swept out of the room.

“After you…” Ominis said to Arthur with mock politeness, gesturing towards the exit with his wand.

Before Arthur headed outside, he stopped and turned to the girl.

“Miss Morgana”- He repeated “I am . truly . sorry . and… ” He seemed sincere, but there was something holding him back from fully expressing himself.

And what? Just get going already...Lorra thought to herself, not bothering to respond. What was that all about? Passing a secret note under the headmaster's nose? How old was he, five? She simply looked at him, up and down a few times, analyzing him, taking in every detail of his appearance from his chiseled jawline to his messy brown hair, asking herself if he could be trusted. After all, she had every right to despise that man, after what he had done to her the day before…But for some reason- for some reason that apology felt quite real.

“Is there anything else we can help you with, Mr. Sallow? I believe the Minister is waiting for you, is he not?” The Headmistress's voice rang out, interrupting the tense silence in the room. She joined Ominis at the door frame, who couldn't contain his frustration any longer and had begun to stomp his foot.

"That'll be all," Arthur said, his voice faltering slightly as he wished Miss Morgana a happy Christmas. He cleared his throat and hurried out of the office, followed closely by Professor Weasley and Ominis. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the walls as they made their way to the South Exit.

Lorra remained in the office, taking a moment to process everything that had just happened. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves before deciding what to do next.

With a determined sigh, she walked over to the door and turned the lock with a soft click . She needed some time alone to gather her thoughts. The silence enveloped her as she leaned against the door, closing her eyes.

As her mind raced, she tried to piece together the puzzle with the most obvious questions and logical explanations:

The paper could be a trap, a cursed paper?… No, Arthur seemmed smarter than that. I’d be too obvious.

The apology was a mere distraction… That meant he didn’t want the Headmaster to know about this.

What could be so important that he would have to hide it from Professor Black? That, I had no clue.

Ugh screw this.

She unfolded the piece of paper.

There was nothing on it.

Not even an ink stain.

She checked the back.

Nothing.

She went to the fireplace and put it against the bright flames, nothing.

Against the window? Nothing still.

She tried not to lose it. Why on earth would Arthur go through the trouble of coming all the way down from the Ministry just to give her an empty piece of paper?

Lorra's heart raced as she sprinted to the desk, searching frantically for the wand Ominis had left hidden there. Her hands hovered hesitantly over it, unsure if she should use it or not. But her curiosity got the better of her and she snatched it up, unable to resist any longer.

She casted Revelio on the paper.

Nothing.

“Ugh for the love of-”

She led out a growl and threw the wand at the couch in frustration.

Her mind was in turmoil. There was an indescribable pain in her chest that had started to grow since Ominis and Mrs. Weasley had unveiled her true past. Her sense of self and belonging wrecked, as she realized she was nothing but a pawn in someone else's game.

And what were the chances of her forming such a close bond with someone whose family played such a significant role in her life… bad luck probably.

Everything was falling apart in her mind. Everything was confusing, a mess, everything she thought she knew was a lie. She felt like she was drowning in her own thoughts. She felt her throat burning with anguish and…

Burn.

Lorra snapped out of her thoughts and forcefully threw the crumpled piece of paper into the roaring fire. It has to be the answer , she thought desperately. She waited with bated breath, eyes fixed on the flames.

Nothing happened.

The fire continued to crackle and dance, seemingly unaffected by her actions. Disappointment washed over her.

Come on...come on… She urged in her mind.

She waited.

As she waited, the ashes from the paper scattered all over the fireplace, like a final farewell from its once solid form. But then something unexpected happened. The scattered ashes began to group together, forming letters. Then words.

Lorrain leaned forward, her eyes squinting as she tried to decipher what was forming before her. It was a sentence, no, more like a warning.

A sharp gasp escaped Lorrain's lips.

She knew without a doubt that this was not a prank or a coincidence.

Her mind raced as she realized she needed to find Arthur immediately. Without hesitating, she sprinted in the same direction they had gone, her feet almost flying over the polished stone floors of the castle. The sound of her frantic footsteps echoed off the walls, adding to her frenzied pace as she pumped her arms to propel herself even faster.

Stupid Ministry. Stupid Aurors. Stupid Arthur Sallow.

She gracefully weaved her way through the halls of Hogwarts, avoiding students who were also staying at the school. Finally reaching the Central Hall, she pushed open the door with force, only to crash into Ominis, almost stabbing herself with his wand. His usually pale complexion was even more ghostly, with his hair and sweater dusted with fresh snow flakes.

" Meva Lorra, come," he urged, gently placing a hand on her waist.

"No, I need to find Arthur!"

"He just left,"

Lorra let out a frustrated sigh. If only she had discovered the message on that piece of paper a few seconds earlier...

" Meva …" Ominis pleaded.

He gently guided Lorra towards their secret hideaway. His grip on her waist tightened, a subtle show of protection as he led her towards the entrance of the Undercroft.

#artists on tumblr #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanart #hphl mc #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #lorrain morgana #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis gaunt x mc #sebastian x ominis x mc #Arthur sallow #slytherin #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #solomon sallow

15 notes · View notes

lykaonimagines · 2 years

Text

For Him - Stephen Strange x Reader (Part 2: Can You Hold Me)

So I decided to make a part 2 for “For You”, then I just kept writing and writing, and this went far further than I expected. So now this is a mini series “Can You Hold Me,” that will have 4 parts. This part has 616/Main Stephen, and the next will have Sinister.

Part 2 Paring: Stephen Strange x X-Men F!Reader (Xavier’s Second/Successor for Illuminati) Part 1 Pairing: Supreme!Strange x Reader

Word Count: 5,472

Description: Two years after the death of her partner on Titan, Y/N’s world is flipped upside down by another Stephen crash landing into her universe.

Other Things: During the events of MoM. This reader is a mutant that has a mixture of psychic magical powers she’s still working out. Professor X is kinda a father figure. Appearances by Illuminati panel, Christine, and America

Warnings (For this part): Spoilers for MoM. Swearing. Drugged tea. (I don’t dislike Christine, but it made sense to have this reader not like her a whole lot, so no actual shade to her.)

Series List Part 1 Part 3 (coming soon)

The day had felt… off. Not that any day had felt particularly good over the last two years. But it had all slipped into a normal routine.

Y/N spent most nights at the Sanctum, Mordo had allowed her to keep the bedroom she once shared with Stephen, and take on duties as the second master of the Sanctum as she learned more. While at first it hurt to be there, over time it was comforting. Being surrounded by his things almost felt like he’d be back. Almost.

She spent most of her days at the Illuminati headquarters, continuing her various responsibilities and assisting Professor Xavier as needed. On her rare days off she tended to find herself practicing at Kamar-Taj, spending time with her family at the X-Mansion, or teaching classes for the students there.

Kamar-Taj had proved to be useful. Beyond learning their form of eldritch magic, she found their techniques and meditation had helped her gain better control over her own powers.

But today of all days, she had time off and she just lounged around the Sanctum, in particular on a couch by the front window that faced the large statue of her late parter. Mordo was gone for the day, and something compelled her to just stay put. An odd feeling she couldn’t shake no matter what she tried to do.

Two forms had come up to the statue, obviously studying it closely though most of them remained hidden to her from that angle. It wasn’t unusual for tourists and fans alike to do so, but something about the way they stood there so long unnerved her. With Mordo out for the day, defending the Sanctum fell to her.

Quickly tugging her boots on and snatching her sling ring from the coffee table, she heads to the front door and tugs it open. Taking a step onto the porch she stands in her most intimidating stance, “Is there a reason you’ve been on our grounds for ten minutes? This is sacred grounds, take your photos and leave.”

“I know these grounds fairly well actually,” a familiar voice says, a chill running up her spine as a man steps away from the statue and into her line of sight.

“I- Stephen?” She asks breathlessly, her chest aching painfully as the nearly identical version of her dead lover stands before her. “Y-you’re dead.”

“Stephen?” he questions and gestures at the statue. “You know me then? I’m not that guy obviously, but we need your help.”

“You’re his variant,” she states flatly, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart. “From another universe.”

“Yeah, you know the Multiverse?” He asks as he takes another step toward her, a teenage girl following behind him. “Honestly that makes this a hell of a lot easier to explain and maybe you can actually help us.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, she takes a deep breath then beckons them forward, “Come in, we can talk.”

Heading back into the Sanctum without looking back, she makes a sharp turn and slumps into a chair in a sitting room off the foyer.

Stephen and the teenager follow shortly after, both looking at her curiously as they each take a seat.

Her fingers dig into the arms of the chair as her eyes flicker between the two of them.

“Are you… alright?” The teenager asks.

“I… I’m not sure, I’m sorry,” she offers her a small smile. “I wasn’t expecting the dead to rise again today so to speak. I finally get one day off from all the crazy shit, and this,” she gestures vaguely at them.

“Do you want a hug Y/N?”

Y/N’s brows rise immediately as she regards the teenager, “Do we know each other?”

“Well not this you, but I know you in other universes,” she explains. “We’ve been friends in all the universes I’ve met you in, I’m America by the way.”

“You know other variants of me?”

“A few yeah, you’ve helped me before. Well the two of you have helped me before,” she grins looking back toward Stephen.

“I have heard the two of us run into one another in many universes,” Y/N chuckles. “For better or for worse I suppose.”

“Well the last one I ran into he completely messed it up and you’d dumped him, but the one before that you two were married and had kids.”

Y/N’s smile strains at her words, eyes dropping to the tile, “I see. Well unfortunately my Stephen has passed, and I’m probably not as useful for helping people who hopped universes as him. But tell me what you need?”

“Do you know who Wanda is?” Stephen asks, leaning forward in his seat.

“Maximoff? Yes, she’s retired. And I’d prefer she stay that way, her father is enough drama to deal with.”

“Father?”

“Magneto, Erik. He causes enough issues for the X-Men, and it’s my primary job to assist and help Professor Xavier.”

“X-Men? People from that Xavier Institute?”

Y/N nods slowly and crosses her arms, “It appears you don’t know much about any of that, so we’ll leave that bit there. Just continue on.”

As the two continue on explaining their predicament and how they ended up in this universe, Y/N sighs heavily, “You aren’t safe here. You aren’t safe anywhere if she has the Darkhold.”

“What do you mean by that?” Stephen asks, his eyes searching hers.

“The Darkhold is… it has… She was right before, she was being reasonable compared to what she can do. More than likely she’s going to Dreamwalk now to get you.”

“Dreamwalk?”

“Taking over the body of one of your variants in another universe for a short time. While they’re in the body they can feel, speak, and act as if they were actually there. It’s incredibly dangerous, and it causes incursions. She could destroy both yours and our universe with it.”

“And exactly that has happened before,” a forth voice says, accompanied by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Mordo appears looking grim and carrying a tray of tea. “I saw we had guests, and brought tea.”

“Mordo, I didn’t know you were home,” Y/N says scrambling to her feet to grab the tray from him and gives him a nervous smile.

“I wasn’t meant to be, I finished early. You should have called me Y/N,” he scolds and pulls the tray from her to hand each of them a cup.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“There is a variant of Strange sitting in our foyer, and we have a witch preparing to Dreamwalk into our universe. You shouldn’t be handling this alone,” he says firmly before pressing a cup into her hands and gently pushing her back into her seat.

Taking a seat himself, he turns to their guests with a smile, “I apologize for the tense entry, the Multiverse is a delicate subject, and I try to keep her out of that level of danger. Your other self demanded it, my brother.”

Stephen looks at him cautiously, “My other self demanded you keep her safe, so you do?”

“Of course, she’s trouble but he was quite fond of her. We all are,” he chuckles as Y/N rolls her eyes.

“So you’re the master of this Sanctum here?”

“Sorcerer Supreme, after our Strange passed.”

Taking another sip of her tea, Y/N starts to feel a buzzing in her head. Looking across at Stephen she notices his face starting to droop and America’s eyes fighting to stay open next to him. Looking down at the tea, she suddenly notices the flecks of green in it, “MOR-!” She tries to shout before she collapses from her chair to the ground as she hears people scuffling around her.

“Christine fucking let them out!” Y/N snarls as she walks into the lab smoothing her robes. “They’ve done nothing wrong and you know it.”

“Y/N I know you’re… heavily invested. But Doctor Strange is dangerous.”

A low growls emits from her as she grits her teeth and glances back at the sorcerer staring through the glass at her, “No. He isn’t. This one hasn’t even done anything. He’s trying to save a fucking child and he’s still dangerous?”

“They’re all dangerous Y/N, you know that. You need to calm down or I will call for Professor Xavier,” Christine threatens as she takes a step closer.

“Why? Am I dangerous too? Go ahead and say it, I’ve been told enough times that the freak mutant is dangerous,” she seethes. “If it’s what you’re saying, say it, to my face this time.”

“Y/N?”

The voice calling her name immediately turns her attention towards the glass and she steps away from Christine to face him.

“Let’s not hurt anybody, I just want to get out of here and find a way to save the kid. Wanda will come here, and she’s going to kill all of us to get to her,” he says as calmly as he can, his voice bringing her in closer until she stands right in front of his glass prison.

“I-I’m sorry,” she mutters. “I’m taking this seriously. I want to get you out of here.”

“You should probably not be in here,” Christine says after a moment, flinching slightly at the glare directed her way. “You’re easily influenced by him.”

“Yeah well, this one likes you better anyway,” she mutters, crossing her arms tightly across her body. “Don’t even think he knows me.”

“The Doctor Strange of this universe… he dated both of you?” Stephen asks.

“Dated is a strong word for our back and forth for years, a long time ago,” Christine answers before gesturing at Y/N. “She can tell you more than that.”

“We’d been together six years when you died,” Y/N admits quietly, looking down at the ground. “We lived together at the Sanctum. Talked about getting married and having kids and… shit it doesn’t matter.” She roughly wipes at her eyes as she feels tears forming.

“I’m sorry,” he replies gently, kneeling down to be closer to her as she turns to look at him.”He sounds like he had an easier time talking about those things than I do.”

Y/N snorts at that, stifling a laugh, “Took him a long time to get to that. Hell he spent an entire year making eyes at me and vehemently denying it instead of making any kind of move. But he got there.”

She reaches down to her robes and grabs her sling ring, holding up the inscription to the glass for him to see, “This sort of thing was more his style than speaking about it.”

Swallowing hard as he reads the inscription, he looks back to the woman holding it. While earlier she must have been holding back, she now exudes magical energy. “So you’re a Sorcerer and a mutant? What are your powers?”

“You and Mordo have taught me some eldritch. But my power primarily lies in a mixture of psychic magical powers that tends to make most people nervous when I first explain them,” she says with a small grin.

“Can I see an example? Doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere anytime soon.”

She looks at him for a moment before nodding, “Keep calm though. I don’t want you going into shock. Some do the first time.”

“Y/N is this really appropriate?” Christine huffs from her desk. “He’s currently a prisoner.”

“I’m not letting him out, and you’ve all insisted he has to sit around until the full panel is ready to see him. I don’t see why not.”

Stephen looks up to Christine who sighs in response, then back down at Y/N, “So you’re going to shock me or something?”

“Oh nothing like that, nothing painful. Just surprises some people. Though I’d imagine you’ve used an astral form so you should be fine.”

“What does my astral-”

Before he can finish the sentence he feels a ringing in his head, forcing him to close his eyes tightly as it gets louder.

Once it finally ceases, he opens his eyes to see himself in a slightly different version of his bedroom at the Sanctum, Y/N sits on the bed studying him closely.

“Think what you want to say, don’t say it out loud. If you speak it, everyone around our bodies will hear. If you think, only I will hear.”

“Where are we?” He asks, also taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I mean this is my bedroom, but it’s not is it?”

“It’s not,” she confirms, flopping back on the mattress with a sigh. “This is my main power I suppose. We’ve called it creating pocket psychic dimensions. Allows us to talk in private and or across long distances. Also amplifies my other abilities and lets me control most things here since I created it.”

“Is it always in here?”

“No, it’s my comfort place, and I assumed if it looks anything like yours then it would be comforting to you. I could put us nearly anywhere. I’ve used it to replicate a battlefield and trick people before, fairly useful.”

“Fascinating,” he mumbles, looking around the room before looking back down at her. “You’re fascinating.”

Y/N’s eyes widen and she turns her head away in embarrassment, “Apologies. You look and sound so much like him. I still… react.”

Stephen nods understandingly and reaches out to pat her head gently, “How long has he been gone?”

“Two years,” she all but whispers. “Two very long years.”

“You really loved him,” he says, a sad smile on his face.

“Do we know each other in your universe? You didn’t seem to recognize me earlier so I assumed not.”

“We don’t,” he confirms, letting her take his hand in hers to examine his scars. “Few know about the Xavier school at all, I’ve only heard in passing, they keep to themselves. Mutants either aren’t that prevalent or hide well.”

“I see. Makes me wonder if I’m a mutant at all there. Assumed I was in all universes. Comforting to know maybe in one I was normal.”

“You don’t want to be? I don’t know the full extent of your powers, but pocket psychic dimensions sounds rather powerful. And you’ve done all this and seem hardly bothered by maintaining it.”

“In this universe we’re hated and hunted. Not openly, they’re supposed to leave us alone now. There’s been laws passed that they aren’t just allowed to kill us. But any mutant determined to be dangerous can be captured. Meaning any mutant they feel like. They have collars that dampen our powers and shock us. Throw us in cells we can’t break free from, test all manner of shit on us in the name of ‘science.’ Most people are disgusted by us or just avoid us in general. Hell, Stephen fired at least five scientists from the labs for making nasty comments about me or Charles. You just get used to being detested after it’s been that way your entire life, but… you sorta hope for more.”

“That’s… fucking awful,” he responds with a long blink, trying to process it all. “You’ve been…?”

She shifts in the bed to pull down the collar of her robes to reveal the scars on her neck,“Mhm. I was dangerous. I am wildly dangerous according to many people.” Her eyes drift shut at the words.

“Apparently they think I am as well,” he comments, finding himself leaning forward to brush his fingertips across her scars with his free hand. “Yet you don’t?”

“I think we both have the ability to be insanely dangerous,” she answers, her eyes flickering open for a moment to meet his. “If you’re anywhere near the level of power my Stephen had, we could level a small country and make it back in time for lunch. The point being we wouldn’t do that.”

“You trust me,” he states simply, enjoying the smile that curls on her lips.

“You were one of the first non-mutant people to trust me. Or he was. However you want to say it,” she admits. “Looked at me like I wasn’t some freak. Called my powers fascinating, wonderful, unique. Helped me learn to better control them. Became my best friend then the man I loved. You believed in me, and I’ll always believe in Doctor Strange, even if you aren’t the exact man I knew. Your mind and energy feel like him. So yes. I trust you.”

“I don’t know you… but I feel as if I do,” he replies, letting his hand drift to her shoulder. “I think I had dreams of you.”

“That would make sense, dreaming of your multiversal self. Me and him were together often.”

Letting himself drop back on the bed beside her, he stares up at the familiar canopy, “I really have to save this kid.”

“I know,” she responds, her fingers tracing over his scars. “You’re terrified. Wanda nearly beat you once and you know she’ll be back soon.”

“You got all of that out of what I’ve said?” He asks curiously.

“No, when we do this your mind is shared with me. I try to block out most things that aren’t direct words toward myself. But I can feel your fear.”

“That’s nice to be told after the fact, I could have been thinking about anything,” he teases.

“Like I said, I try to ignore it. Unless you’d been screaming something in your mind most would pass by when I’m not actively trying. At least now. Wasn’t always the case before.”

“I have a random question, but I’m not sure if I’m going to get an angry answer.”

“Is that you inviting me to pull it out of your head?”

“Why is it so tense between you and Christine?”

Her hand stills on his for a moment as she flashes him a look, “I’m not sure about your universe, but here generally you don’t get along with your partner’s ex that swimmingly. Usually.”

“Just that?”

“I just… she… advised him from getting close to me.”

“Because they were still close?”

“Not exactly. I overheard it, she said it’s because of me. That she thinks I’m a good person, but that I’m too dangerous and have unstable powers that I don’t even fully understand. That getting close to me was inviting something bad to happen to him. Then she turns around and starts calling all Doctor Strange’s dangerous. She doesn’t trust me, and once she stopped trusting you, you were dangerous. It’s nothing to do with ability and all to do with trust. She just gets under my skin because of it. I don’t think she’s a bad person, and she’s working to keep this universe safe, I just personally have a hard time getting along with her.”

Stephen hums in response, taking in the moment around him. One of the most powerful beings he’d come into contact with was practically breathing down his neck. He’s in a different universe. He’s been trapped in a cell to be brought before an unknown panel to judge his fate.

Yet here he lays in a replica of his bedroom in some temporary pocket dimension, on the bed with the partner of a deceased variant of himself, just idly lounging and enjoying her touch as if they’d done it a hundred times. As if all hell wasn’t about to rain upon them.

“I like this,” he admits after a moment. “It’s… peaceful.”

“Me too,” she responds, releasing his hand and rolling onto her side to look at him. “I’ve only used this for business since my Stephen died. Forgot how relaxing it is when you’re comfortable. Your mind and energy are very relaxing, always have been.”

“Not sure how, I don’t feel very relaxed that often.”

“Yet you nearly instantly relaxed the minute you opened your eyes in here.”

“Do you think your power works across universes?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe? Why?” She slowly lays her hand on his chest over his heart, relaxing as he nods at the gesture.

“If we all survive this, make it home, and it does; invite me to visit sometimes alright? I could use the break.”

“Deal, I could get used to having you around,” she says softly as her fingertips stroke his chest and send a shiver up his spine.

“Now that… that sounds far more dangerous than anything else I’ve heard recently,” he jokes and leans into her as she presses a kiss to his temple.

“Mhm. Possibly. You have always been my weak spot Stephen. I trust you, and I’ll continue to trust you until you give me a reason not to.”

“I won’t,” he mutters, clearing his throat as he looks down in her eyes with his heart beating rapidly below her palm.

Giving him a sharp smile, she leans into him, “Now, how about we go save the Multiverse wizard of mine?”

Blinking his eyes back open, Stephen finds himself back in the glass prison with several pairs of eyes on him, and the sound of familiar voices arguing.

“That was incredibly reckless Y/N!” Mordo snaps at her in annoyance. “We have no way of knowing if the cuffs work in those dimensions, he could have killed you.”

Y/N shrugs and gives Stephen a smirk, “He’s done nothing to show he would want to hurt me. Besides, it’s insulting you think I’d just let someone kill me in my own domain so easily. You’d have at least known there was a battle going on. Not just our bodies sitting here silently. Also don’t think I’ve just forgotten that little drugging incident Mordo! ”

Mordo pinches the bridge of his nose, “I promised him I would protect you, but you make it very difficult at times Y/N. I knew you weren’t going to cooperate so I had to gave you the tea as well. You were and are safe.”

“I’m not a child, and I don’t need constant supervision.”

“I don’t give you constant supervision, our Strange warned us of his variants showing up. He thought they would be dangerous. Then one does and you immediately attach yourself to his side, take him into a space where I can’t protect you, and become obstinate!” Mordo growls back at her.

“I’m not an idiot, I’m being careful. I didn’t immediately trust him. I can better read people in my dimension, and everything he says is true. He’s not here to do anything nefarious, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He didn’t even come here on purpose.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed and his ghost is going to torment me until the end of time,” he mutters angrily.

“Nah. Don’t worry, if I die I’ll handle him myself,” she grins with the quick tilt of her head. “I can be quite convincing with him.”

“That you are,” Mordo sighs and calls several bots to enter the room. “Strange you will come with me now to face judgement by the Illuminati.”

The glass slowly opens and Stephen descends the steps to be instantly surrounded by the bots, Y/N giving him a reassuring smile.

“I’m coming along,” Y/N insists as Mordo tries to stop her.

“Y/N please just listen. I think it’s best you stay out of this one,” he says gently. “Your mind is trying to deal with his reappearance, you’re going to be hurt more if you go. And I don’t mean physically.”

“It’s my job Mordo, drop it,” she responds, stepping ahead of Stephen and beckoning the bots to follow.

As they enter the room, all eyes seem to focus on the pair of them. A look of sadness seemingly directed to Y/N.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” Reed Richards asks firmly.

“Well no, I think this entire thing is ridiculous actually,” she responds with a smirk. “Let’s just let him go so he can save the kid and go on with our lives.”

Richards sighs and shakes his head, “You know that I meant your involvement in these proceedings.”

“She’s an Illuminati member as well Reed,” Xavier says as he enters the room. “This is where she’s meant to be.” He gestures for her to come stand beside him.

“Wait you’re part of this panel?” Stephen asks as she walks away to take her place beside Charles.

“Has she not fully introduced herself Stephen?” Charles chuckles and gestures to Y/N. “Y/N Y/L/N, master of psychic magic and pocket dimension creation. Apprentice and successor to Charles Xavier on the Illuminati board of maintaining universal peace. Head of security division for the Illuminati. Recent master of the mystic arts pledged to Kamar Taj and second master of the New York Sanctum. Part time teacher at the Xavier Institute. And partner of the late Sorcerer Supreme, one Stephen Strange.”

Y/N takes an awkward bow, obviously flustered, “You build me up far more than I deserve Charles.”

“You’re an impressive woman, you have your titles because you earned them. And he deserves to know who’s going to be fighting so staunchly for him.”

“She is impressive, exceedingly so,” Stephen calls out, sending a smile her way.

“Don’t flirt with her,” Captain Carter snaps at him, his gaze moving to her. “We’re not going to let you prey on her loss.”

“He’s not preying on my loss,” Y/N says, giving the Captain a hard stare. “You know I’m going to stand on his side because I still think the wrong decision was made last time. And as I’ve told Doctor Palmer, this Stephen has done nothing wrong.”

“I’d argue him being here is wrong,” Richards states, earning himself a glare as well.

“I don’t know what you are all talking about, and frankly I don’t care. The Scarlet Witch is on her way here to take that kid’s powers. If she gets her powers, she could destroy the Multiverse. I’m not the threat here,” Stephen says out to the room, taking a step forward. “So just get these cuffs off me, give me my kid back, and let us get on our way.”

“We can handle your witch, it’s you we’re concerned about Doctor Strange,” Richards responds leaning forward.

“No we cant,” Y/N interrupts. “She’s too powerful. She has the Darkhold and she tore through their Kamar-Taj forces like they were children.”

“And you know this how?” Captain Marvel asks, glancing at her.

“I saw it. I took him in a psychic room. He was terrified when thinking about it. Caught glimpses of the wreckage. The two of them barely escaped with their lives.”

Mordo sighs heavily from his seat, “Y/N… you’re getting too attached. We know you carry guilt, but defending this man won’t set back time.”

“Ok what the hell happened to other me?” Stephen finally asks. “Your statue said he died a hero yet all I’ve heard is you all going on about guilt and decisions and danger.”

“Our Doctor Strange turned to the Darkhold seeking answers to defeat Thanos,” Xavier responds. “He didn’t find it. But he did find himself lost to it. By the time he realized what he was doing, he’d caused an incursion that killed everyone in a universe. He turned himself into us. Helped us find another way to defeat Thanos with the Book of Vishanti, then accepted the punishment.”

“You can’t be serious…”

Xavier fixed him with a stare and he feels pressure growing on his brain until a scene plays before his eyes.

Y/N and his variant on the ground on their knees embracing in the ruins of Titan. Tears running down her eyes as he thanks her and she adjusts her grip on him.

Their lips lock and pieces of him seem to disintegrate into the air as their lips move on one another until only Y/N remains.

Her form falling to her hands and screaming, a wave of power destroying the ruins around her as she sobs.

As the vision fades away, his eyes flicker to Y/N who now refuses to look him in the eye, “You… killed me?”

“You insisted. That you had to go, that you couldn’t trust yourself. I fought and fought and fought. You- he… said he wanted to die in my arms, by me. I- I gave him what he asked for. If I didn’t… he’d have found another way,” she explains as her voice cracks and tears well at the corners of her eyes.

“So you all think she’s trying to help me because she feels guilty about having to kill other me?” Stephen asks, receiving mostly silent nods in response.

“Why do I need any other reason than he’s fucking done NOTHING wrong?” Y/N exclaims, stomping her foot in annoyance as she steps out in front of the other members. “I didn’t agree with the other judgement, but at least he’d done something. Now you sit here wanting to convict someone who has done literally nothing, for past mistakes of a different man. I’m fighting for him, the man in front of me, not a ghost like you’re trying to damn him for.”

“We cannot trust him!” Mordo shouts back taking his own step toward Y/N. “Think with your head dammit Y/N! Anything that involves him makes you just lose all sense.”

Y/N’s eyes widen for a moment before narrowing at him and taking a step towards the Sorcerer Supreme with magical energy starting to crackle around her, “I’m not letting you all kill another Stephen. I know I made a promise to him, but I won’t hesitate Mordo. You’ve gotten on my last nerve today.”

“Y/N’s compassion is not a weakness,” Charles states trying to diffuse the situation between the two magic users. “Having a heart and wanting to see the best in people is not a negative. Just because someone stumbles and loses their way, doesn’t mean they’re lost forever.”

Taking a step back from Mordo, Y/N lets her magic drop and looks to the floor, “Excuse my behavior Professor.”

Mordo sighs and sits back in his seat, “I don’t wish to fight with you Y/N, I apologize.”

“So what are we going to-” Captain Carter begins to say before alarms cut her off.

“The building’s been breeched,” Richards states, quickly getting to his feet.

“No shit genius,” Strange mumbles in annoyance, his eyes drifting back to Y/N who looks at him worriedly.

“Mordo you stay here and watch him, the rest of us will handle this,” he continues heading toward the exit.

“More like get yourselves killed!” Stephen yells after him. “You can’t fight her. Her power is beyond what you’ve ever faced, I can assure you that.”

Richards stops for a moment and glances back for a moment in consideration, “Y/N, this sounds like we’re going to need you up front.”

“You can’t be serious!” Stephen seethes, stepping closer to the platform. “If you send her out there she’s going to get killed.”

“Reed, Y/N will go with me. She’s not one of your frontline fighters, that’s not where our powers are needed,” Xavier states simply, causing the man to frown. “We will meet you out there. Go.”

They all race out the door until just Xavier, Mordo, Y/N, and Stephen remain.

“Doctor Strange, you need to get out of here, protect America Chavez, and get to the Book of Vishanti,” Xavier quickly says before turning his chair toward Mordo.

“I- you can’t be serious Charles! We can’t trust this man!”

Seeing the two begin to argue, Y/N slips off the platform silently and grabs Stephen by the cuffs on his wrist, a blue haze surrounds them and they disintegrate into dust at their feet, “Get to America and find Christine, she knows where the tunnel to the book is. We’ll hold him back. Just hurry.”

“Don’t you know where it is? Just come with me,” he whispers urgently, gripping her hands in his.

“We’re about thirty seconds from Mordo realizing I’ve released you. Charles can only distract him so long, my turn to distract him by getting my ass kicked and dragged across the tile is about to come up. Now go,” she hisses back, pressing a kiss to his cheek then shoving him toward the door.

Racing toward the exit, he hears a shout from Mordo quickly followed by the sound of combat. Trying to shake the worry for her from his thoughts, he heads down the first hall that opens up to him. First, find America. Second, find The Book of Vishanti. Third, find out if Y/N made it out of this. One thing at a time.

----

Stephen Taglist: @stephenstrangeaddictions @ironstrange1991 @gaitwae @geeky-politics-46 @elicheel @frostandflamesfanfic @tokoyamisstuff @singhfae @jotaros-bara-tiddies @kon-pan-16 @stanny-uwu @ohchoices @sparky22122 @typical-bistander @hunterofshadows04 @evelynrosestuff @asgardianprincess1050 @pop-rocks-and-skittles @namethathasnotbeentaken @peachywoong @valeriegreyy @cumberbitch @lightmeuplivly @lucimorningst4r

There’s a link to a Google form to fill out if you’d like to be tagged, on my pinned Channel Navigation post and on my Masterlist! Makes sure I don’t miss your comment, and lets you opt out of certain things if you’d like :)

If I’ve tagged you in something you didn’t want to be tagged in (certain variant, a warning you aren’t comfortable with, etc) just message me and I’ll make a note on my sheet to make sure you aren’t tagged in anything like that again.

Masterlist

#doctor strange #Doctor Stephen Strange #doctor strange x you #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange x reader #Stephen Strange #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x you #stephen strange imagine #for me #fanfiction #marvel

254 notes · View notes

myechoecho · 3 months

Text

Rewatching W: Two Worlds

Ep 8 aka the one where everything changes

While it’s not clear how much time passed I am pleased to see that they discussed the real culprit’s existence. Cheol is not keeping things from her. What’s more he’s careful enough to plan for a variable so he has people guarding her. Choel was right to plan for the variable, since they learn that she can now be hurt in the comic world, which of course is enough of a shock to send her back.

Choel and Yeon Joo are miserable without each other. In the comic, So Hui is calling Cheol while drunk and weeping. Cheol does not need this right now but what gets him moving is when So Hui discovers she is fading away.

Honestly, one of the best parts of this drama is how Cheol and Yeon Joo work together for a solution and even when they are apart they are smart enough to figure things out. Cheol and Yeon Joo both realize that Yeon Joo has been made a central comic character. Cheol figures out that the “real culprit”, despite no longer having a purpose was able to awaken within the comic.

(side note: I love the real culprits boots)

Because the real culpri thad no identity, he also needed Cheol to find him so that HE would know who he was. Which is absolutely fascinating because it suggests he was always somewhat aware like Cheol - he was more limited due to his lack of substance. He’s also made it out into the real world and realized that Cheol was “dead”. In his rage, he was the other determining factor that made the ending change to “to be continued”. I wonder how he is able to contact Cheol from the real world to the comic because even Yeon Joo cannot do that. He also is able to teleport within the real world.

Yoen pulled back into the comic just as the real culprit shoots her. They are able to stop So Hui disappearing because Cheol lies about it being a fake marriage – though he’s not about lying about how So Hui is precious to him and he needs her.

We get to the final scene and Cheol’s choice. The only answer he can see right now, which I think is a deliberate choice of wording considering the choices he makes in the second half of the show. For right now, all he can see is that everything stared with him meeting her. It started a chain reaction of events – learning he’s comic character (which he still thinks was better left unknown), shooting her father, So Hui disappearing, the real culprit awakening and causing havoc in the real world. It all starts with her. He needs to reset that and go back to when she wasn’t his key.

And she understands this, even though it breaks her heart. Even for him, it’s a heartbreaking choice to live out his futile destiny. He jumps the building which sends Yeon Joo back and she does what she promised. Because we see him wake up, two months prior, from his “dream’, crying though he cannot remember.

Weirdly, I keep on thinking about the readers of the comic because from all accounts it’s gone from a crime action comic to a fantasy romance, now with an amnesia plot! No wonder the Professor is aggravated.

#w two worlds #kdrama

6 notes · View notes

sloanesallow · 1 year

Text

invisible string

Five years after their graduation from Hogwarts, Ominis travels to Siobhan Sloane’s home in Nottingham for an overdue visit. Having suppressed his feelings for her for years, the encounter causes chaos in his heart. And then, to his everlasting surprise, Siobhan says, “please take me to bed.” Who is he to deny her?

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC Tags: Sexual Content

read on Ao3 | read on wattpad parts of this story have AI generated voice overs on TikTok @ siobhan_sloane

August, 1898

Dearest Ominis,

I would be delighted to have you visit my home. It has been far too long.

Your ever-patient friend, S. Sloane

Ominis read over the letter with his wand again and again as the carriage trotted along, finding humor in its brevity and warmth in its tone. Sloane— Siobhan , as he insisted on calling her—was right, it had been several months since he visited her last, and it was hard not to hate himself for it. Long gone were the school days in which they spent most of their time together, usually up to no good with their mutual friend Sebastian Sallow. It had been five years since their graduation from Hogwarts, and despite the assurances they’d stay close friends, fate had other plans.

Sebastian had initially— surprisingly —accepted a professor’s position at the school, taking over for a retired Hecat in Defense Against the Dark Arts. After his sister Anne made a miraculous recovery, the two moved to America, and the last anyone heard from them they were gallivanting across the land, simply enjoying life. Siobhan was still living in her childhood home just outside Nottingham, devoting her time to magical research and muggle-wizard relations. As for Ominis, he’d accepted an Auror’s position with the Ministry of Magic, much to the chagrin of his family. Despite his estrangement, the harassment continued, his family sending letters threatening the severance of his inheritance if he didn’t accept one of the many unfavorable marriage contracts they’d drafted. He tossed all Gaunt correspondence to the fire.

When he learned his new assignment would be taking him to Leicester, the first person he thought of was Siobhan, and sent an owl to inform her he’d be in the area. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t hoping for an invitation, struggling to remember the last time he saw her— figuratively . It had been Christmastime, the previous year, a somber affair with it being so shortly after her father’s death. His final wish, she’d said, was to see his only daughter married and happy, a promise she intended to keep. Ever since, the emotions he thought he’d quelled years ago resurfaced, plaguing his mind. Siobhan would soon be wed, and he’d have to put his lofty dreams of pursuing her romantically to bed for good. The visit would ache and soothe his heart all the same.

Since she technically lived amongst the muggles in the countryside, he took care to transfigure his wand into a walking cane—a disguise he’d relied upon now for years while working for the Ministry. It was not as precise, but he could still easily get around without too much scrutiny by the common-folk. He had barely exited the carriage, paying the driver with what he hoped was the appropriate amount of muggle money, when he heard her boots along the cobblestone, rushing down the path to greet him.

“Ominis!” He expected her excited demeanor, but did not anticipate the way her arms wrapped around his neck, the force of her hug nearly toppling them to the ground. He steadied himself, reaching his free hand around her back as he returned the embrace. It wasn’t that he had an aversion to physical affection, he just found it strange when people, especially Siobhan, wanted to touch him. If he had it his way, he’d stay wrapped up in her warmth forever.

“Merlin’s beard, have you gotten even taller ?” He was sure he hadn’t, but Siobhan loved to tease him about it ever since he spouted up in seventh year, towering over her and Sebastian both. She was looking up at him, that much he could safely assume, and he angled his chin down to flash her a smirk.

“Perhaps you’ve gotten shorter , my dear,” he teased, chuckling when she playfully pinched the back of his neck in mock offense.

“Come along, the supper is almost ready,” she pulled away, and he followed closely behind.

Once they were inside the cottage, he took stock of the surrounding environment, checking if anything had changed since he’d last been there. He touched the back of a settee, dragging his fingers along the wool of a blanket that had been there last winter. Siobhan had draped it over him when he fell asleep before the fireplace. It was empty now, unused due to the summer heat, but based on the sound of chickens in the garden and a slight breeze, she had opened the windows.

“Sebastian sent me a lovely bottle of whiskey for my birthday,” her voice called from the kitchen a few paces away. Ominis frowned to himself—all he’d sent was his well wishes in a letter. “All the way from New York City, though, I’m not sure how it’ll taste with the duck.”

Annoyance prickled his spine—he didn’t want to talk about Sallow. He had long moved past the turmoil the boy had put them through during their school years, but still did not enjoy it when he was the focus of conversation. “Might we stick to wine?”

Siobhan hummed in thought, oblivious to his short-lived displeasure. “Good idea.”

Ominis made his way to the table, disappearing his cane to the magical ether in which the rest of his travel belongings were temporarily stored. He followed her movements around the space as best he could, listening as she set the table and poured the wine. He wished he could be of more assistance, but then again, Siobhan enjoyed being able to dote on and serve her guests.

“This smells delightful,” he complimented, waiting until he was sure she’d taken a first bite before lifting his silverware. “Tastes wonderful, too.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “It all came from the garden, and the local butcher gives me a discount.”

Pleasantries aside, he struggled to think of a topic for casual conversation. There was so much he wanted to ask her, so much he wanted to say, but was unsure of where to start. Would she consider moving to London so he could visit her everyday? No , that was too forward, and assuming. She’d never leave the place where she grew up. What if he agreed to move to Nottingham? He had little experience with farm animals, but was willing to learn. Even if he had to smell like sheep everyday, and chop wood with an actual axe.

Siobhan broke the silence for him, in an unexpected manner. “He proposed we get married.”

Ominis nearly choked on his wine, snapping his hand to his mouth to wipe the spittle from his chin. “What— who proposed?”

“The butcher, Mr. Nelson,” she explained, rather casually. He was truly at a loss for words, staring in her direction with a flabbergasted expression. Where did this come from? She sighed. “You disapprove.”

He scoffed, “I was unaware my opinion would be so valued when it came to potential suitors of yours.”

“ Of course I want to know what you think,” she started. “He might be thirty years my senior, and already grey in the beard, but I suppose you could call him handsome. Oh, and he’s missing at least three fingers, lost to a mislaid cleaver. But he has a successful business, and is rather friendly with all the old bitties around town. How does Mrs. Siobhan Nelson sound?”

He was going to be sick. “You can’t be serious.” “Definitely not,” she snickered. It suddenly dawned on him that she was having a laugh at his expense. Her laughter grew, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sound, despite his slight embarrassment. “The look on your face, Ominis.”

“Please tell me the fifty-year old butcher didn’t really ask for your hand,” as preposterous as it sounded, and unlikely as it seemed, he still couldn’t bear the thought of her agreeing to be a butcher’s wife.

“No,” she said. “But my options do seem to be dwindling. My father is rolling in his grave.”

Ominis supplied his own joke, “Have you considered sending for Leander ? I hear Prewett is still a bachelor. A very successful one at that.”

“And you aren’t?”

Touche . Though, he would never suggest she marry him . At least not outside his fantasies. In reality, even if by some miracle she felt any romantic love for him, it could never work. His family would never allow it. A muggleborn? He was ashamed of what other, more unforgivable terms they would call her, terrified of the potential physical harm they could cause.

She pulled him from the darkness again, a cheerful giggle lighting his senses. “Could you imagine ? Me and Leander ? Our poor children.”

What a horrid thought.

The rest of the meal was spent reminiscing and laughing about their past adventures and mishaps, catching up on what they’d been up to as of late. Ominis told her about his recent promotion with the Ministry, and Siobhan shared the details of her latest research on the curative properties of mallowseet leaves. As the conversation settled, he swallowed the last of the wine from his cup, licking the tart flavor from his lips. It was getting late, judging by the increased insect activity outside. His nose twitched—it smelled like it might rain. Siobhan let out a contented sigh, and he wished he didn’t have to leave.

“When are you expected in Leicester?” she asked, as if reading his mind. There was a solemn edge to her tone.

“By tomorrow afternoon, at the latest.”

“And here I’d gone through the trouble of setting up the guest room.” So hospitable—once a Hufflepuff, always a Hufflepuff. “Shouldn’t you enjoy a hearty breakfast before chasing down wayward wizards?”

That did sound appealing. As much as he wanted to stay, his worry about her reputation held him back from agreeing. It wouldn’t be proper, in or outside muggle society, now that they were grown. A small voice in the back of his head wondered if he’d be able to resist further temptations. “And what will your neighbors think about you having an overnight guest?”

“I’m an unwed woman who lives on her own,” she countered. “I’ve already been labeled a spinster, might as well add harlot to the list.”

Ominis let out a hearty laugh, tossing his head back in amusement. He reached out, thankful to the ease in which he found her hand. “I’ve missed you, Siobhan.”

If she was surprised by his honesty, she quickly recovered, flipping her palm up to squeeze his fingers. “And I, you.”

Ominis awoke to the sound of summer rain and the pad of soft footsteps in the hall. He continued to listen through the sleepy haze of his mind, confused when the pacing didn’t fade away. What was Siobhan doing awake? Was she simply using the facilities, or had a bout of insomnia taken over? He knew she was prone to nightmares, just as he was, and couldn’t help but feel worried. Curiosity finally got the better of him and he sat up, hesitating before he stood and somewhat clumsily made his way to the door, leaning against the frame as he tried to parse out what Siobhan was mumbling beneath her breath.

“Is it morning already?” he asked, sarcastically.

She let out a startled gasp. “ Oh! I’m so sorry, Ominis. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“The rainstorm is the more likely culprit,” he replied. “And what is your excuse?”

“I was—” she cleared her throat. “Just…closing the windows. Wouldn’t want the rain to get everything wet, now would we?”

A lie? Interesting .

“Are you sure ?” he questioned.

Siobhan said nothing at first, the nervous shuffle of her feet placing him within arms reach. “You have to promise not to tease me.”

“I promise,” he agreed without knowing the terms.

“I was trying to find the courage to either join you, or ask you to my bed.”

Oh. His heart lodged in his throat, an instant wave of warmth awakening the more male parts of his body. It was the last thing he expected her to say, the last thing he expected to occur that evening. Her tone allowed him to assume, but he needed clarity.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Ominis.” His name, so soft on her lips, alluding to so much more. Her hand laced with his own, and she stepped closer. “Please take me to bed.”

Gladly .

Ominis pulled her back into the room, allowing her to lead until they were standing at the foot of the bed. Siobhan, to his everlasting surprise, had made the first move, but he wouldn’t be outdone. He hooked his arm around her waist, pressing his hand flat against the small of her back and scooting her closer to his body. With his other hand he reached up to face, cupping her cheek within his palm. He traced the line of her jaw, stretching his slender fingers so they curled around her neck and threaded into her soft hair. Her bottom lip quivered as he pressed the pad of his thumb to her mouth, a puff of hot breath meeting his skin as he slowly dragged it down.

“Ominis…” There was his name again, coming out like a desperate whisper, her body arching to chase his touch. “ Please .”

It was too easy to taunt her, “please, what ?”

Siobhan inhaled sharply, unable to stifle a whimper. “ Kiss me .”

Who was he to deny her?

Ominis did as she asked, slowly at first, acclimating to the feel and fit of her lips against his own. It was better than he could have ever imagined—soft, warm, and perfect . He traced his tongue along the seam of her lips, swallowing her sigh as he licked into her mouth. Siobhan slid her hands around him, eagerly accepting his kisses, one clinging to the fabric of his sleepshirt, the other threading through his hair. He grazed his teeth along her bottom lip, breaking away for the slightest gulp of air before returning in a fervor, languid kisses giving way to pure passion.

She tugged at his shirt collar, nimble fingers loosening the buttons until she could slide her hand inside, pressing her palm flat against the skin above his heart. He reached down to cup the back of her knee, lifting it to hook her leg around his waist as he pulled her tight to his body. She moaned into his mouth, repeating the noise when he rolled his hips, creating a delightful friction between their partially clothed bodies. His conscience seemed to catch up to him, and he titled his head away, swallowing hard as he caught his breath. It would be too easy to give into temptation and simply bed her, especially given her seemingly pliable state. But Ominis wouldn’t allow himself this pleasure if it didn’t have a deeper meaning, or a promise he’d be able to make love to her again and again, in perpetuity.

“Siobhan,” as painful as it was to detangle himself from her, he needed to be sincere without the distraction of her soft skin.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he disliked the anxiety in her voice, as if he was about to come up with an excuse to leave her. “Not at all.”

“I need to know,” he licked his lips, swallowed his pride, and bared his soul. “I love you, Siobhan. I have loved you for what feels like a lifetime already. If we are to continue, I need to know if you feel remotely the same. I can’t—I won’t— do this if it meant to occur only this once. I’ll always want more. Call me selfish, call it what you want, I will always want more .”

Siobhan was quiet, worrying him until she closed the gap between them again, kissing him sweetly and softly as if for the first time.

“I do. Feel the same way, that is. I have loved you as long as I can remember,” she said, the words whispered against his lips. There was no doubt to what she was saying. “I love you, Ominis. Never doubt that. I will always love you.”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him tightly as he deepened the kiss, unable to respond in any other way. She loved him— he scarcely believed it, clinging to her as if she’d disappear if he let go. She responded in kind, quickly undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt before sliding it off, tossing it to the floor. They paused, if only for air, Siobhan sliding her hands across his shoulders and down his chest. He hoped she could feel the wild beat of his heart.

“You’ve done this before,” she hushed, and he sensed her trepidation. He understood her meaning, guilt tugging at his heart.

“I—” he sighed, nodding once. Better not to explain the circumstances. “Yes. Does that bother you?”

“Does it bother you that I haven’t?”

“Of course not,” he assured, caressing her shoulders to calm her nerves. “I am at your whim, darling. Whatever you desire, you need only ask.”

“I want…” the rest of her sentence went unfinished.

Ominis hummed, sure he could elicit a better response. Despite her naïveté, Siobhan was a confident woman—after all, she had been the one to initiate this situation. He brushed the wild hair from her face, leaning to whisper in against her ear. “You’ll have to speak up, my dear. Do you want me to… kiss you ?”

He did just that, softly, placing another along the nape of her neck, kissing along the hem of her nightgown. He tugged at the sleeve until the skin of her shoulder was exposed, tracing his tongue along the dip of her collar.

“Yes,” she finally breathed. Progress .

He curled his hand around her waistline. “Do you want me to touch you ?”

“Yes.”

“Where?” He slowly slid his hand upwards until he tentatively cupped her breast. “Here?”

Siobhan made an agreeable sound, repeating it when he brushed his thumb across her clothed nipple. Ominis pulled at her nightgown again, this time lowering the fabric completely until it pooled around her feet. He kissed her neck, surely leaving bruises in his wake, her rapid pulse beating against his lips. With both hands he explored her body, groaning at the silken softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. He palmed her breasts once more, this time arching down to lick and suck at her nipples until they were pointed peaks beneath his tongue.

Ominis trailed one hand lower, squeezing at her hip before sliding his hand around to fondle her buttocks, grinning at the little squeak that escaped her throat. He could do better than that. Lifting her leg again, he pressed his fingers into the flesh of her thigh, scraping his blunt nails down and up as he inched closer to her centere.

“Here?” he asked again, hissing at the wet warmth that greeted his fingertips. “I already know the answer.”

He traced along her seam as she clung to him, crying out as he curled one finger inside. M erlin preserve him , she was so hot and wet already, his briefest of touches already causing her legs to spasm. He pressed his clothed erection to her hip, moaning as he thrust up to mimic his hand’s movements.

His voice was hoarse, “do you want me to fuck you?”

“ Yes .” If she was scandalized by his term, she didn’t show it, gasping when he removed his hand.

“All in good time.”

She dug her nails into his arm, whining. “If I knew you’d be this much of an insufferable tease, I’d have never asked.”

“Admit it,” he laughed, finding joy in the way she yelped as he plucked her from the ground to place her on the mattress. He leaned back to shed the rest of his clothing before kneeling on the edge of the bed. “You love it.”

There was something else she wanted to say, he could sense it as he loomed over her. Ominis relaxed his expression, hoping his advances hadn’t startled her. “Tell me.”

“I wish—” she cut off, and he could only assume what she was going to say. “I wish you could see me, Ominis. The way I’m seeing you now. You’re beautiful . I—I can’t believe you’re here, with me. I feel like I’ve been dreaming about this forever .”

“What I wouldn’t give to see you, Siobhan,” he sighed, allowing her to pull him to her so their lips could meet. He rested his forehead against hers, hating that magic couldn’t give him this one thing. “I want to see what your mouth looks like after I’ve kissed you breathless. I want to know the expressions you make as I enter you for the first time, and I want to see my name on your lips as you’re screaming in ecstasy.”

“ Oh …” was her breathy reply, and he smirked—he’d stunned her into silence. He adjusted her so she was propped against the pillows before sliding down her body, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake.

“Now, open for me, my love,” he kissed below her bellybutton, shifting his body to lie along the mattress between her legs. “I want to taste you.”

Siobhan complied, spreading her knees further apart to accommodate the width of his shoulders. His hands firmly grasped her thighs as he licked along the jut of her hipbone before pressing the flat of his tongue against her, sliding her open to sample the wetness he found there. Ominis refrained from immediately devouring her, overcome by the heady scent and her soft mewls of pleasure.

He continued, maneuvering one of her legs so her knee was hooked around his shoulder, allowing him greater access. Slow measured strokes turned into faster ones, darting his tongue to her clit and sucking until she was screaming in blissful agony.

“Oh, God !”

He paused, murmuring against her sensitive flesh, “Tell me, is it God that is giving you pleasure, or me?”

Siobhan’s shaky laugh dissolved into another moan as he advanced, lapping at her like a starved man. With a gasp for air he replaced his mouth with his hand, sliding two fingers through the slick gathered at her entrance before pushing inside. He could hear her fingers grasping desperately at the bedsheets as she cried out.

“ Ominis !”

So she could say his name afterall. He curled his fingers up in a come-hither motion, and Siobhan writhed beneath him, legs frantically swishing across the sheets as she fought her end. That wouldn’t do , he thought—he’d help her find that sweet release.

He nuzzled the soft flesh of her inner thigh, mouthing the words against her skin. “Be a good girl, and come for me.”

He moved his lips to her center again, circling her clit as he thrust his fingers deeper, coaxing her to just let go . Her hips lifted from the bed, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging to keep him close. With one shuddering moan, she collapsed, trembling as the ecstasy washed over her senses. He could’ve found his own release just then, pressing his strained arousal hard against the mattress in a vain attempt to stave off his pleasure. Removing himself from her, he rested his cheek against her hip, and listened to the way she struggled to catch her breath. He grinned, allowing himself to momentarily indulge in his own ego— he’d done that.

“Ominis,” she beckoned, combing what he assumed was disheveled hair from his brow. He lazily made his way back up to her, meeting her lips in a breathless kiss. She sighed as he trailed away, kissing along her jaw to her ear, down the slope of her neck and back again. She smoothed her hands against his shoulders, nails gently scraping at his back, and he lowered his body, stopping when he heard her surprised gasp.

“You understand, don’t you darling?” He gradually dragged his hips down against hers so she could feel the heat of his cock between their bodies. “I need you,” he whispered against the shell of her ear. “Say you’ll have me, Siobhan. Please .”

Ominis hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but that’s exactly what he was. A desperate, foolish man who’d wasted so many years not ravishing the woman he loved. He needed to make up for lost time, starting tonight.

“ Yes ,” she sighed, arms circling around his middle to pull him closer still. “I’ll always have you, Ominis.”

A promise. It was more than what he could’ve asked for. He shifted, bracing his weight on one arm as he reached down to grasp his length, reminding himself to go slow for her sake. He pressed against her entrance, clenching his jaw at the overwhelming tight heat that encompassed him. She tensed, and he curled himself around her, embracing her and murmuring words of encouragement until she relaxed, allowing him to slide forward until he was fully sheathed inside.

Ominis could feel his whole body thrumming to the unsteady rhythm of his heart—or maybe it was Siobhan he was sensing. He refrained from cursing, “you feel… incredible .”

He moved, gradually retreating before pushing forward again, mustering all the willpower he could to not spend himself right away. It needed to last— he needed to last. Ominis would’ve been content to keep the leisurely pace, listening to the way her soft sighs mixed with the rain, the slight creak of the bed echoing through the room.

Siobhan surprised him, turning her face to press a kiss near his ear. “ More .”

Ominis eagerly complied, grasping her waist tightly with one hand as he fully withdrew, capturing her wondrous gasp as he lunged forward. He found a steady but quick rhythm, and with every thrust she hushed incoherent words, sending silent prayers sent to God and Merlin and him . Siobhan clung to him, attempting to stifle her whimpering sounds as he moved back to hook her legs around his hips. He leaned back over her, the change in angle allowing him to reach deeper, her cunt pulsating around his cock—it was torture, sweet, euphoric torture .

“None of that now, darling,” he hissed, finding her hand pressed to her mouth. He laced their fingers and pressed them into the pillows above her head. “Don’t be shy… tell me .”

Her nails scratched down his back before grasping tightly at his hips. “Make me feel like I did before,” she sighed. “I want that—I want you .”

He fucks into her, more than willing to give her what she wished. He always would, given the opportunity—he’d worship her until the end of time. Determined, he thrusts harder, faster until the friction makes it difficult to focus. She was falling apart in his arms, limbs trembling as she crested a new climax. Mixed breaths shorten into gasps, urgent pleads and sharp whispers of I love yous pushed him to meet her. His hips stuttered and as he clamped his mouth and teeth along her throat he snapped forward, practically growling as he spilled inside her welcoming heat.

In the aftermath, Ominis struggled to regain his composure, barely able to keep his body lifted so he wouldn't crush her. Siobhan was breathing deeply, softly humming as she floated back down to earth. With his last remaining strength he pulled away from her, rolling to his side, pulling her close so her back was flush against his chest. They could clean up momentarily—perhaps enjoy a shared bath—but for now he wanted to bask in the afterglow.

Siobhan was snickering as she traced a finger along his arm. He gathered it, locking their hands together. “And just why are you giggling ? Not the kindest reaction for a man’s ego.”

“I’m not laughing at the performance ,” Siobhan clarified, though he had already assumed that wasn’t the case. “It’s the situation . I had hoped something like this would happen when I invited you to visit.”

“Naughty girl,” he playfully scolded, tickling her sides so he could listen to her continued laughter. “Should I be worried that I’ve been taken advantage of?”

“Heavens, no !” she shifted in his arms, likely to face him. “I love you, Ominis.”

“I love you ,” he replied, warmth enveloping him again as she pressed chaste kisses along his face before finding his lips. “I’d be honored to make an honest woman of you.”

“That’s one way to propose marriage,” she teased.

“I want nothing more than to be your husband, Siobhan,” he clasped her hand, holding it to his cheek as he kissed the underside of her wrist. All too familiar fears started to creep up and he struggled to steady his racing heart. “I may be estranged from my family, but that will not stop them from coming after us. We may never know peace.”

“I understand,” was her quiet reply. “But the danger is worth it, if it means I am with you. I am not afraid, Ominis. I will gladly fight for you, run away with you. I want everything—to be your wife, to be the mother to our children and, God willing, I want to grow old with you.”

“You are enough for me.”

Ominis could find no other words to say, allowing her comfort and love to settle over him, deep within his bones. Despite feeling undeserving, and selfish for allowing it, he was happy—content. He always would be, as long as Siobhan was at his side.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt fanfic #hogwarts legacy oc #hufflepuff oc #this is a repost from the old blog #i have not posted smut to tumblr in so long

53 notes · View notes

jadespeedster17 · 1 year

Text

The Father of Mycelium

Summary: In Chris’s humble opinion, this was as stupid idea. College dares always were stupid, and he gets roped into it all the time. Heading into the infected forest that was sectioned off seemed like a great idea. Chris said that with sarcasm, but not like Richard and Allan could tell. He wasn’t even friends with the guys, yet here he was. Going into the forest to see what was there.

Notes: @all54321 this takes place in her universe and won’t have anything to do with her story. Just me writing one of my characters who gets to meet Father Spore. Mostly just an excuse to write my OC’s.

Warnings: Corruption via Spores, Mild Body Horror, Slight Mind Control, Narcissistic friends.

“This is a bad idea.” Chris grumbled to the two idiots ahead of him, as they neared the police yellow tape. Beyond was the corrupted areas, where supposedly mycelium was spreading like some sort of spire web infection. The area was said to be highly contaminated, advised to the public to stay away from these areas that were quarantined off.

Richard scowled, “Not getting cold feet are you, Chrissy?” he asked in a teasing, slightly mean, tone. “It’s just mushrooms.”

Just mushrooms, figures that Richard wouldn’t both were keep up with the news like Chris did. Given most of his university projects had required going into the forest. And his professor had to down size their projects for class due to this new outbreaks, and find work arounds.

“Right, because going into a supposedly contaminated area to ‘see what’s there’ at midnight is a great pass time.” Chris grumbled back as he was trying to tie his boots. Reality is the only reason he was even here was because he knew plants and knew all the forest trails. Also known as, he was to make sure these two didn’t get lost or eaten. “there are coyotes on this island for one thing, and a bobcat around.”

Allan scowled behind him, rolling his brown eyes, “You’re just worrying over nothing, we go in, we look around, we take some pictures, we get out. Easy and simple.” he gave a grin also, “Unless you’re scared of mushrooms eating you.”

Mushrooms can infact eat people, but they don’t have the sentience to think of growing inside a person. Not like thing one and two here would know that, both weren’t that bright in Chris’s opinion.

Richard was the jock type, frat boy also, not the good kind. He was a star football (Soccer) player, and also did track and field. Built well, with short black hair that was slightly wavy. He has pretty face features, with intense blue eyes. But Chris can say that beauty is only skin deep, and he’s a prime explain of it.

Allan followed Richard anywhere, Chris swore the guy was gay for him. He was normal looking, also on the team with Richard. Having longer brown hair and eyes to match, thin and willowy frame. Average looks, but always the yes man to the guy who possibly didn’t give to shits about him.

All around, Chris was towed here to keep them alive, and he was already debating on leaving them to be eaten.

“Come on, let’s go.” Allan said as they headed past the tape. Chris grimaced looking around, the full moon casted very little light, and made his skin crawl. Groaning to himself, and praying to whatever god or goddess listened he’d not get tore into by a bobcat, he headed after the two.

Turning on his flashlight, Chris caught up with the two. The dirt path under them crunching beneath sneakers and boots. Chris looked around slowly, it was darker inside the forest than outside. The webs of white mycelium hung on the trees, and many types of mushrooms on them. Unease was back, the moonlight filtering through the spider web like fungus.

Richard grimaced, “Ug this stuff is gross.” he said looking at the thin strands with his flashlight. “And it’s like it’s growing everywhere.

“Not al of it is the same.” Chris commented, “Some of it is Lichen, another type of fungus. It’s interesting to see though that many types of shrooms.” he looked at each of them with his light too.

Allan scoffed, “Plant nerd, well then what are they?” he asked almost impatiently.

Chris scowled to him back, silver eyes narrowing slightly. But he took a breath and calmed down, “These here are Morals, they are edible, but the red ones are Fake Morals, they are poisonous. And this one here, the blue one, is the Blue Ink Cap, also edible if bitter.” he explained them as he saw them, but got the feeling they were ignoring him.

Richard was taking pictures, and ‘documenting’ they were here to no doubt win the dare he was set to do this. Highschool really never ends, even when in collage. Rolling his eyes, Chris moved ahead a bit, looking at everything with curious eyes. He knew enough about mushrooms to know this was abnormal behavior.

“it’s almost like they are an extension of something else will.” Chris muttered to himself as he looks down at the grass to find it was purple in color in most places. Odd.

A crack makes them all freeze and look to the sound, something was there they could see though. “What was that?” Allan asked, fear laced in it for a moment. Richard looked to Chris who shined his light around, “Maybe a opossum or racoon, they like to stay near the edges of town for easy food.” he said, trying to stay calm, the feeling of eyes was back.

Swallowing hard, Richard cleared his throat, ‘Let’s head on them, I have to be up early for my practice.” he said trying not to sound scared. Chris looking around once more, turning to lead them back they way they came. Only to freeze in shock as his light on the path caught something.

Shoes.

“Chris was are you-” Richard’s statement was cut off as he saw them also, all three stared.

Slowly Chris panned up his light to pants, chest and a face. And felt the color drain from his own. Green, glowing eyes looked back at them, a smile on the creatures face, mushrooms growing out of the creatures head, arms, shoulders, and neck.

Screams rang up beside Chris as two lights fell to the ground, and sound of running feet. He looked behind him to see Richard and Allan tearing out of the woods, screaming loudly as they did.

He turned back to the creature in front of him, whose smile had fallen, “Well,” it spoke in a voice Chris wasn’t explain, it sounded human. “that was rather rude huh?”

The creature leaned on a cane, as Chris got a better look at him, male looking from what he could tell. Covered in mushrooms, a faint... mist was around him also, the air around him smelled earthy now. “Hello there,” he said in a chipper tone, “Rather late for a stroll, isn’t it?” he asked with a head tilt, the smile was back, and it looked... uncanny.

Chris swallowed hard, his mouth felt dry, “Uh... well, believe me it wasn’t my first choice for a weekend night.” he was scared, his legs were trying to shake. He wasn’t sure what this creature wanted with him. For now, talking seemed like a good idea, he seemed to want to talk.

“Oh?” the creature asked with a smile, “Well, might I ask for your name then?” glowing green eyes staring at Chris.

Shifting on his boots he spoke softly, “I’m Christopher.” he said shortly, not liking how unnatural that smile looked on the face. It set off many alarm bells, yet Chris felt compelled to stay still.

“Christopher, well then, pleasure to meet you. You can call me Father Spore.” Well that was an odd name, but Chris didn’t say that out loud. Father Spore leaned on his cane, watching Chris again, this guy hadn’t blinked once. “The mycelium likes you Christopher, they like how you know so much about them.” he tilted his head slowly, freaky.

The mycelium... liked him? Chris looked confused, “What’s that suppose to mean?” he asked back, watching Father Spore carefully.

Motioning around with a flick of his hand, the creature beams, “It wants you to join it Christopher, join the hivemind.”

Simplistic enough sounding, and it made Chris’s skin crawl. “the hivemind?” he echoed back trying to find a way out, but, his mind felt sluggish at the thought of leaving.

“yes, connectedness to the mycelium, here you will be free to be yourself. you won’t have the pressures of society on you. One with the mycelium and my sporelings.” Father Spore told him with a calm smile.

Strangely enough it sounded nice the way he spoke of it. Chris’s thoughts felt foggy though, not sure why that was. Agreeing felt easy enough to do, a word at the tip of his tongue.

“I promise you Christopher, it will be everything I promise and more.” Father Spore held out his hand to him, as Chris looks at it.

Vaguely he was aware that he came here for a reason. But that reason eluded him, as did the reason he was wary of Father Spore in the first place. The air smelled nice though, reminding him of the greenhouses he worked in. Comforting.

“I...” Chris frowned a bit, “Sure, I guess.” he said taking the creature’s hand, and looking at the sharp smile looking back at him. Oddly enough it didn’t look at creepy as it used to.

“You won’t regret this.” Father Spore promised him, “Welcome to the hivemind, little sporeling.” the tone was fond and soft, make Chris feel warm.

Guess it’s fine, Chris didn’t feel afraid anymore. And soon wouldn’t understand why others would resist this.

#tw mild mind control #Tw mild body horror #tw corruption #father spore au #goodtimeswithscar #Original Character #my writing #this was simply self indulgent #I rarely write about my ocs #but here we are

9 notes · View notes

wellpresseddaisy · 2 years

Text

Long Ago (and far away)

Part 12

Saturday Night, Late

Hogwarts

The near silent patter of feet on a flag floor where there ought to have been silence had Borley turning on the spot. Madam Pomfrey was just about beside herself and he'd promised to keep an eye out for late night wanderers. Mother would call the headache that sent him up to the Hospital Wing providential. He followed the noise, his leather-soled boots silent against the floor.

And there, just ahead, a small figure in Hospital pajamas darted across a doorway. Borley rolled his eyes and hastened his step, reminding himself that he wanted to be a Prefect, if only to continue to rub his father's nose in his success. No one, though, explained that prefecting included handling Draco Malfoy's spoiled arse and chasing after escapee Potters before he agreed. Well, Aunt Elspeth gave him some pointers, but nothing covering the absolute nonsense he was exposed to on the daily.

Professor Snape's headache potion habit made more sense by the hour.

He slipped up behind the little miscreant as the child stopped to look for patrolling adults in the cross hallway.

"I wasn't aware 'stay in bed' actually meant 'wander the halls'," he remarked cooly.

Potter jumped about a foot off the ground, squeaking in fright, and whirled around to face him. Defiance and cross about being caught seemed the dominant emotions as he glared up.

"It's none of your business where I go!" Potter retorted in a quiet hiss.

By way of a reply, Borley flashed his badge. "I'd say it's definitely my business. Come on, snidget, back to the Hospital Wing with you. You've worried Madam Pomfrey enough for one night."

Potter's eyes shifted to the open corridor and Borley clamped a hand down on his shoulder before he could do something completely dim.

"Absolutely not. I am not chasing you down tonight. Now, you can walk back on your own like a well-bred boy or you can--" he cut off, staring at Potter's bare feet.

Bare feet in October on stone floors? Did he have some kind of pneumonia wish? Habit and early life indoctrination took over as Borley swept the kid up and plunked him onto his hip. They both froze, staring at one another while Borley's mind worked.

Did anyone actually make sure Potter ate? He had nine year old siblings and niblings who were taller and weighed more. For one lovely moment silence reigned before Potter drew in a sharp breath.

"Put me down!" He demanded quietly, thankfully not kicking. Maybe he had some kind of sense of self-preservation.

Borley gave him A Look (bless Aunt Elspeth for drilling him on it when he first got his badge), raised eyebrow speaking volumes.

"If I let a child wander around in October, in Scotland, on bare flag floors, barefoot, and didn't stop it immediately, my mother...actually every adult in my family would skin me alive, Potter. And trust me, no one wants to witness my mother dressing me down for negligence. She's terrifying when she's annoyed."

"I'm twelve!"

Like that made a whit of difference? He gave it all the attention it deserved. If he didn't wish to be carried, then he could just grow a few inches. Or a foot. Something niggled at the back of Borley's mind.

"I'm not a child! And you can transfigure something!"

Oh, that old chestnut. Apparently Professor McGonagall didn't stamp it out as soon as it appeared. Professor Snape had precisely no patience for children claiming they weren't children.

"Transfigure what? Stone into socks? You're old enough to remember socks before you go sneaking out of bed. Welcome to the wild world of consequences, Mr. Potter." The Look worked for a few moments until Potter tried one last volley.

"And you're a Slytherin prefect!"

"What has that to do with the price of eye of newt in Argentina?" Borley strode back toward the Hospital Wing as quickly as possible. "You're a Hogwarts student; I'm a Hogwarts prefect. The color of your tie means nothing in the face of my responsibility to you. And you're absolutely a child, you realize. You can complain if we're still doing this in five years time."

Potter favored him with a face that could curdle milk. It was his own fault for making it halfway back to Gryffindor barefoot, quite frankly. He could just stew in his own displeasure.

"Would you like to try an explanation for why I found you halfway back to your dormitory?" Borley asked after a moment.

Potter remained silent and glowering.

"I'm not docking points, and I doubt Madam Pomfrey will, either. I am curious, though, did you think no one would notice your disappearing act?" Sometimes playing the sympathetic elder unstuck stubborn tongues.

"She wouldn't let Ron and Hermione visit, and she wouldn't let me out even though I feel fine!" Potter complained. "I hate the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfrey always says I'm delicate."

Complaints, at least, could help get to the bottom of a problem. Personally, Borley thought Pomfrey might just be on to something. The tiny boy in his arms certainly felt delicate enough, though he understood the venom lacing his voice. What twelve-year-old wanted to be considered delicate? Who also wasn't a Pureblood, thinking delicacy of constitution was somehow more refined. He and Mainsley and Prothero only just got Parkinson and Greengrass to stop fainting every time they were barely inconvenienced. Or claiming an imminent nosebleed due to emotional distress. Although that one mostly came from Malfoy with a side of Fitzroy.

"I can see how that would be annoying, especially if you're not particularly delicate. Madam Pomfrey is very careful about all of us." Sometimes, having to be diplomatic and prefecty was just the pits.

"I'm not delicate at all!" Potter complained, warming a bit now he had a definitely sympathetic ear. As if that wasn't also worrying. Weasley minor would have bitten his face off. "I've never stayed injured or sick more than a day before. Now every time Madam Pomfrey sees me she makes this noise!"

"The sort of clucking one?" Borley asked. He only heard that one when it was actually serious.

"All the time." Potter grumbled. "Well, every time she sees me. Wood thinks I bruise too easily and...well, bruise balm."

Wood, in Borley's opinion, ought to be locked up letting someone Potter's size on the team. Professor McGonagall lost a bit of his respect that first game for coming up with it in the first place. He filed 'never stayed injured or sick' away for later reflection. The wording didn't sit well.

"At least Wood is looking after his team." Borley allowed. "It must be hard, all the fussing."

"I hate being fussed over." Potter muttered, a yawn interrupting him.

"And we're back, just in time it seems." Borley bumped the door to the ward open and went through, shutting it quickly behind him. "Madam Pomfrey?" he called.

"Oh, there you are. Mr. Potter, what are you doing wandering off? And with no socks on! Set him down there, Mr. Borley, please." Madam Pomfrey bustled through from her office, face tight with worry.

Borley pulled the blankets back on the bed she indicated before he deposited Potter on it. He pulled the covers up over the kid's legs, hoping to warm his feet quickly. Potter gave him a startled look, but scooted down to rest his head on the pillow. He didn't add a warming charm, much as he wished to, lest it interfere with Madam Pomfrey's magic.

He used fussing with blankets to cover checking out the pile of nonsense masquerading as clothing on the chair next to the bed. It showed distinct signs of normal and magical wear. Synthetics and magic interacted poorly, and Potter's clothing gave a prime example.

"And stay put this time, snidget." Borley gave the blankets one last tug and stood back.

Potter ignored him, though it may have been shock at being tucked in.

"Thank you, Mr. Borley. If you wouldn't mind waiting?"

He took the hint and moved to lean against the wall near the doors. Pomfrey reset the screens around Potter's bed, but Borley caught sight of a Potter rapidly succumbing to sleep before she blocked his view. It only took a few minutes for her to join him. She quickly cast a privacy spell.

"Where did you find him?" she sighed.

"Halfway back to Gryffindor Tower, aggrieved he wasn't allowed to see his friends. I'll make a loop around before I go back to my common room to see if there's a Weasley straying."

"It's not like him." Her expression clouded for a moment. "He's really very sweet, and it's just not like him to wander off like that. Not when I was clear."

"He said something, Madam...that he's never stayed injured or sick for more than a day before. It's not the sort of thing most children say." Borley folded his hands in his sleeves so he wouldn't fidget.

"And you would know what children would say, wouldn't you?" Madam Pomfrey smiled at him. "It could just be over-reactive magic, but I'll make a note. Anything else that you noticed?"

"He hates being called delicate with a passion." Borley grinned at her.

"Yes, well, he had untreated dragon pox. We're lucky he's alive to be called delicate." Pomfrey replied tartly.

"He's, um, very small. Have you...it's not...Aunt Elspeth mentioned it once, and I'm not trying to be presumptuous, Madam Pomfrey, but…" he trailed off.

"Out with it, Mr. Borley. I won't take offence, especially if it was advice from Healer Blydh."

For once, Borley thanked Circe and Morgana that he came from a ridiculously giant family. He'd have to write and thank Aunt Els for her advice.

"She mentioned Complex Magical Trauma, that it'll arrest a magic user's growth sometimes, after a traumatic experience, that she saw it happen once. And he's smaller than some of my younger siblings. The pre-Hogwarts age ones. It's not normal, Madam, and I didn't think until I picked him up...he's so short it felt natural." He felt the blush staining his cheeks. He wasn't one to just go carrying any child about.

"I'll run some scans in the morning before I release him. Now, is your headache gone?" She patted his hand.

"Yes, Madam. And, Madam Pomfrey?" he fidgeted a bit with his cuffs.

"Yes, Mr. Borley?"

"Thank you. I'll check in with Weasley, the prefect one, as well, if you'd like me to? See if he's noticed anything?"

"You can ask, Mr. Borley. I'll pass everything to Professor Snape, if I find anything to worry about. You know he's very good about these things, if there's something to worry about." She patted his hand.

"He is," Borley agreed. "I'll go and check for rogue Weasley minors."

"And come back if your headache returns. Although, I've heard sleep is the best potion." She gave him a pointed look. "And consider what I mentioned earlier, Mr. Borley. I'd hate to lose an apprentice to politics."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey. I'll make sure I get enough sleep." Borley escaped before she decided to keep him as well. He found he had a great number of things to consider, not least of which was the Potter child. He'd write his aunt in the morning.

#long ago and far away #hp society/the ton #hp the season au #hp the season/the ton au #harry potter alternate universe #harry potter discovers implacable prefects and is not amused

10 notes · View notes

billie-venus-wrote-a-book · 1 month

Text

Chapter Three

“CAUTION: Unstable Environment Prone to Underground Collapses; Do Not Enter Unless Authorised to do so and When Wearing the Correct Safety Gear”

***

Elmsbury Weekly

Obituaries

Stephen Wilde, 44, born 12th November 1972 in Derby City Hospital, died tragically 1st October 2017 in a collapse within the Elmsbury-Gallows Museum Renovation Site third crosscut. Stephen was a loving father, husband, and brother to William (14) and Christopher Wilde (10), (sons), Mary Wilde (42), (wife), and Jonathan Wilde (51), (brother). Never one to frown, he was a kind and generous man, always one to give the leftovers of his dinner to his late-home hungry children, and one to share in his love of sports and history with all family members. He was one to hold open doors for anyone and give up his seat on buses and trains. Stephen’s goal in life was solely to be a successful father who raised two upstanding sons, and it is safe to say that though fatherhood was short for him, he managed to do so.

A public funeral for Stephen is being held at Holy Trinity Church on Church Street near Forest and Church Street Estates, Elmsbury-Gallows on 7th October 2017 at noon, hosted by Reverend James Fairfax, a beloved reverend of the family. Please come to pay respects and pray for the deceased’s loved ones to be free of visions of his spirit and to allow him to pass on into Heaven. God bless Stevie Wilde, may he rest easy.

Obituary written by Mary Wilde and sons.

***

Amy leaned with her back to the noticeboard outside Professor Holly’s classroom, staring out of the great rectangular window which cut a hole in the side of the stairwell up to the second floor of the extensions done to the school building in the 60’s. The board behind her itched the back of her neck from the now a few dozen of curled edges on home printed Missing Dog posters that had spread out from Maisie Bailey’s, which seemed to have been patient zero. Amy’s scuffed black boot tapped on the linoleum floor to the beat of Lesbian Vampyres From Outer Space by Scary Bitches, currently blasting at full volume through her headphones. She studied the outside, not the most scenic of views, watching as the car park became less and less crowded as the students filtered out from it since the day had ended. A couple of year tens had poked holes in the top of their water bottles with compasses and were spraying unsuspecting year sevens and substitute teachers from their hiding spot in the bike shed; Amy couldn’t hear a thing from way up there, smiling a little to herself as the antics took place in complete silence, save for her music, like a black-and-white slapstick film. She looked up to a clock on the wall above the door to Professor Holly’s classroom: 3:32.

Both he and Kat were apparently late.

It had been about a week since their detentions had started, though it felt like years, and Amy resented the way that time was seemingly moving half as quickly as it did when she was doing things she actually enjoyed. It felt simply unfair, though she reconciled the feeling and decided that complaining about it wasn’t going to change anything, even if the person she was complaining to was herself. From her downward peripheral, a shape had started climbing the stairs. Amy didn’t see who it was at first, the light from outside obscured the person in complete blackness save for a small slit of narrow lighting across a skeletal face. She took her headphones off and rested them around her neck, turning the volume down a little as she could hear it chittering in a now muddy, static quality. Her eyes focused on the figure coming up the stairs: it was Mike Gregory.

He was hunched a little, as if carrying something heavy on his back, though he didn’t have a bag with him seemingly only turning up in his school shirt and blazer and a pair of joggers which hung loosely about his frame. His skin had faded to the colour of his sandy-blond hair which now had a faint greenish tint to it as if he had tried to dye it blue but washed it out too early. It looked over-washed, straw-like and dry, though the front few locks were greasy and stuck to his forehead, overgrown and unkempt. His cheeks were hollow and black, his lips were white and ashen and his irises were two watery brown spots in the jaundiced pool of his whites. It was as if he had become sepia.

He stopped at the top of the stairs to catch his breath, looking at Amy with something she first thought was triumph, but subtly became relief:

“Found you.” He rasped.

Amy didn’t say anything, caught in a glitch between telling him to go away and asking him if he was hurt. Weird to feel concern for Mike Gregory of all people, but it was becoming very apparent that the circumstances that rendered him this way were also very much weird. Her mind flicked back to when she had seen him last: well-fed and jovial standing at the top of the hill, eyes and white teeth glinting in the twilight.

“Now,” he swallowed against a sandpaper throat, the light from the window haloing his messy hair, “lift this curse off me, alright?”

“Curse?”

Mike scoffed weakly, stumbling towards Amy a little, shooting out a thin hand to grip the banister for balance, making her flinch slightly, “that’s what you’ve done, right? Put some weird witchy curse on me?”

Maybe he was sicker than she had first thought. Amy straightened up against the noticeboard, trying to inch a little further away from him in case he was contagious, “curse— what curse?” she met his stooping gaze, “I don’t understand, Mike.”

His eyes pierced her, searching for any sign she was lying to him. Upon finding nothing, they welled up slightly, “please… you’ve got your revenge, okay? I know I’ve not been—” he searched, “—not been the nicest of people these past years, alright, but…” he trailed off, wanting for her to drop the badly-concealed concern plastered to her face, aching for her to tell him it was all one big joke, “…but this isn’t it… you can’t just do this to me.”

“Mike, I don’t know what you want from me,” Amy pleaded, “whatever’s happening, you don’t look well at all- maybe this is all from a fever or something.”

He paused for a moment, dropping his gaze to a small spot just next to her on the floor. His legs gave way, and he slumped down against the railings, tucking his knees to his chest, “I don’t know what’s happening, Cokes,” he didn’t look at her, “I just… I just want it to stop.”

Amy sat down opposite him, leaning against the wall, “what do you want to stop, Mike.”

He said nothing, his head twitching slightly in a way he was clearly trying to suppress as he glanced through the railings nearly obsessively, peering down at the floor below, “I keep trying to hurt myself.”

Amy wanted to reach out a hand to comfort him, “Mike… if that’s true then you need to talk to someone—”

He shook his head, laughing a little, “No… no they won’t— they wouldn’t let me look…” he looked back up at her, his eyes wide and yellow, “…they would stop me from looking for him.”

“Looking for who?” She cut down the tree with the olive branch. Had he taken something?

Mike wordlessly replied: he made his hand into a pointing finger, and exhaustively tapped his chest with it twice.

“Someone’s looking for you?”

The boy’s expression faltered: maybe she didn’t understand, “something like that.”

“Well Mike you need to tell someone if you’re being stalked—”

“Oh my God, you don’t get it!” He shot up, towering over her, his eyes glaring yellow holes in a shadowed, deathly face, “I told you, Cokes, I keep trying to hurt myself.”

Amy pressed herself back against the wall. Mike Gregory’s eyes grew bright with tears, “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t—”

Silence hung in the air like a fog. Amy watched as his face contorted painfully through its micro-expressions, so fast-paced and fleeting she couldn’t discern what any of them portrayed. He sighed, his features softening into something that Amy hadn’t really seen on him before: something genuine, “I wanted to be mates y’know,” he admitted, “I actually think you guys are kinda cool, it’s just Harrison and Henry who make me into a dickhead sometimes.” He laughed a little, “Hell, maybe sometime we could hang out- you could take me on one of your ghost hunts or something.”

“I thought you hated me because I cursed you?”

Mike waved a thin hand, “Nah…” he coughed up a small smile, “none of that shit’s real anyway.”

Amy paused, a question bubbling up towards her lips, “did you fake that photo- the one of the graveyard?”

Mike looked at her as if she were mad.

“Piss off Gregory before I chin you into next Tuesday!” Kat was marching up the stairs, still sporting the trouser-skirt, now made even more angry by the appearance of the source of their unjust detentions. Their eyes widened in surprise when Mike did- piss off, that is- and hurried down the stairs, the square of white light coming through the window engulfing him until he was completely swallowed by it.

“He looked rough.” Kat remarked. Amy couldn’t tell if they were as concerned as she was.

“Kat,” she turned to her friend, “I’m gonna ask you something weird.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not stalking Mike, are you?”

Kat looked taken aback, “What!?”

“Sorry, it’s just,” he was gone now, but Amy’s gaze lingered on where he had been sat, “he said some stuff to me there that’s proper concerning, like, danger-of-death concerning- I dunno, it’s a bit dumb but I thought maybe you were like trying to get back at him or something.”

“Oh shit,” Kat did look uneasy now, “God, no, no, I’m not doing that at all, like, I hate the guy and everything, but it in’t as if I want him dead.”

***

The headlights illuminated the winding form of Deerfolk Way as Neil snaked his way back up to Johnson’s Farm. He had found himself listening to an old Tom Lehrer CD that he thought he’d lost a number of years back, and had reminded himself to look for but never made good on that promise. It had been a lot later than usual when he was extracted from his classroom by cleaning staff, and it was well into the early hours of what could actually be considered nighttime by Autumnal standards when Neil slammed his feet down on the brake and clutch, cursing at the shifting form standing patiently in the driveway; a silhouette he was all too accustomed to recognising. He shut off the car and stepped out into the brisk October night.

The light on the outside of his front door illuminated Jim the Vicar from behind, though Neil could make out that sinister, many-toothed smile that he hated so much dimly glowing on a backdrop of absolute black, and the pleasant, cordial manner in which Jim always approached the person he had set his sights on talking to. Holly recalled a joke made when watching a nature documentary: something about sharks.

“Neil! I knocked but you weren’t in,” he folded two white hands sheepishly over his front, “I just thought I’d wait for you- assuming you wouldn’t be too long.”

Neil made his way to the house, standing in front of his door but not opening it, hoping that he could intangibly pull Jim around to face him where the lamplight would illuminate him fully, so they weren’t standing under cover of complete darkness, “You’ve never come looking for me here.”

Jim shrugged, “I supposed you wanted me to leave you alone, but I knew you’d forgive me for wanting so badly to reconnect with an old friend,” he smiled wide, the yellow buzzing glow of the lamp creating dark, c-shaped pits at the corners of his mouth with the push of his cheeks, glinting off his teeth and settling in the whites of his eyes.

“Well, you supposed right.” Neil said, flatly.

“My apologies, then I’ll make this brief, shall I?” Jim stepped forward a little, just stopping before the little step up to the front door, “Where are the books?”

“Books, what books?” he knew exactly what books Jim was talking about.

“Oh, come on, Neil, a man like you would know that playing stupid is extremely out of character,” he had stopped smiling now, his eyes forceful and unblinking, staring unmoving into Neil’s, who had backed up against the door a little, “it’s starting again- actually starting.”

He had seen that look in Jim’s eyes before, now reflecting back at him a watery, blurry memory that only revisited him in the seconds between being asleep and being awake. Neil stared right back at him, his jaw tightening, “No it isn’t.”

Jim laughed shortly, “I thought that ‘some things should stay buried’.” He’d got him, “or was that just a misinterpretation on my part? Not like you to deny evidence that’s right in front of you,” he chuckled again to himself, “maybe you’ve been replaced.”

“Don’t say that— don’t joke about that.” His voice peaked a little. He tried to bandage his nerves.

Jim’s eyes were almost luminescent, “It’s looking for me, Neil, which means it’s also looking for you,” he leaned forward, though never moving up the steps, keeping himself at arms-length. Neil knew what he was going to say next, “Fairfaxes and Borthwicks.” His face hardened still, turning into a badly hidden grimace as his voice picked up a snappy, almost rhythmic tempo, “I know you kept them, you said you threw them out, but you of all people would never let a piece of local history- our own history- not to mention something as valuable as those books be lost to time.”

“Go home, Jim.”

“No,” he shook his head erratically, “No you’re not— you’re not listening to me,” The reverend’s face was flat and pale and burning in place like the last image projected on a hot TV, “we can have what we wanted— what we tried so hard to get back then.” Neill flinched a little as the other man’s eyes darted wildly as they scanned his face. Jim’s composure weakened still, “Come on, you’re acting like you weren’t the one who got me into this in the first place. Don’t you still want to know?”

“You—” Neil caught his tongue before it lashed out, “—I don’t have any damn books, okay?” he fidgeted around in his pocket for his keys, “go home.”

Jim said nothing for a moment, that pleasant smile recapturing his face as his shoulders softened and un-tensed, “If you say so.”

Neil got himself into the house before Jim even turned away from the doorstep, slamming the door shut and sliding the chain bolt into its place. Tomorrow he would go out and buy a new lock for the cabinet.

***

Three weeks passed before Amy and Kat even thought about the interaction with Mike Gregory on the stairs; despite it’s general strangeness, neither of them cared enough about him to remember it. They had empathy for him, sure, but sympathy was harder to come by. The only time it had been brought up again was the night it had happened when Amy retold the events to Trent in a vague overview.

“We should go on another hunt during half-term,” Trent was picking at a fraying thread on the hem of his blazer, “we haven’t been back in the graveyard for yonks now.” The quiet drum of tapping keys and buzzing conversation acted as white noise beneath his soft and measured voice. Amy felt Kat sigh dramatically next to her, “We’re all just too preoccupied because someone—” they pointedly looked over to Professor Holly, sunk too low behind his computer to be seen, “—insists on setting us shit tons of work to do, like, whatever happened to all that ‘work-life balance’ BS they had that one assembly on.”

A voice replied from behind the computer, “Kat, unfortunately it’s my job to make sure you can get a job in the future.”

Kat stuck their tongue out, before profusely apologising for doing so and getting on with their work. A few minutes passed before they were called on again.

“Hm, you three?” Holly pushed back on his desk chair so they could actually see his face, “just got an email asking you to go up to Mrs Pratchett’s- Mr Robins is going to collect you—it says to wait outside.”

Amy’s brow furrowed, flitting through the last term to try and think of anything they could have done wrong since Doorgate (as Kat insisted on calling it). Unsurprisingly, nothing came up.

The noticeboard outside the classroom was now plastered with Missing Dog posters, so much so that its original rectangular shape had been rendered into an irregular, jutting form, bulging out in a bevel; some posters had fallen to the floor underneath the board, no longer able to hold onto the great mass of old paper with a single flimsy thumbtack. Kat poked the noticeboard with an absently-placed finger, “you think anyone’s looking into all this?”

“I dunno, my mum said it might be some sort of animal from the forest that’s made it’s way into town- stuff like this has happened before apparently- back in, like, the 80’s and stuff,” Trent slumped down on the floor, brushing aside loose posters and drawing-pins with a leather-gloved hand, “not to this scale, though.”

“I don’t like it,” Amy leaned back against the bannister, arms folded tightly over her chest, it was colder now Autumn had taken hold of the town.

“Nobody likes it, Amy,” Kat pointed out.

“I know, it’s just—like, I’m very glad Sir Pounce is an indoor cat now,” she paused, a nasty thought creeping up behind her, “d’you think that photo… what if that was whatever’s doing this?”

“Nah, don’t think so,” Trent looked up at his friend, “I still think the photo’s fake, and even if it’s not, I’m pretty sure someone would notice if a giant hand creature was kicking about murking dogs.”

“What about the photo Amy took, of me by the bush?” Kat seemed a little mousy.

Trent replied that he maintained his stance that it was just a prop thrown away. Before any form of argument could break out, Mr Robins standing at the foot of the stairs, calling up to them, “Amy Cokes, Katherine Burton, Trent Lewis-Scott? Would you like to come with me please? Don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble.”

***

“These are officers Burke and Hare from the Elmsbury Police Station,” Mr Robins introduced them, and the two men shook Amy’s hand last as the three filed into the office, sitting sheepishly on their chairs.The teacher left the room, closing the door on a cool silence which hung damp in the air. Again, Amy found herself furiously rifling through the events of this term- the only thing she could come up with was that- worst case scenario- Mike Gregory’s family had decided to press charges on them for assault. Even so, why would they summon Trent there as well; he hadn’t been involved at all, not even in discussing the detentions. Come to think of it, surely it would only be Kat who would be prime concern in that case. The more Amy dwelled on it, the less convincing it became.

Trent gave her an apprehensive look from across the row of them, which Kat joined in on. Officer Burke, a spindly man with a receding crop of ginger hair and a face closely resembling that of a pug, spoke gently, small vertical notepad and Berol in hand, “don’t worry you three, we just want to ask you a few questions.”

“What about?” Kat’s voice sounded smaller in the cacophonous office. Burke ignored them, “we have spoken to two other classmates of yours, uhhm…” he glanced at a previous page in the notepad, “…Harrison Burke and Henry Clarke- we’re assuming you know them, even if it’s just as acquaintances.”

Amy felt a nagging sensation at the back of her neck- she twitched her head a little to dispel it. Burke continued, “and they stated that you three were present at the old radio tower about a month ago, with their friend Mike— Mike Gregory.”

“Yeah, they kicked us off it,” Kat said before they could stop themself.

“Hm,” Burke glanced at his partner, “What do you mean ‘kicked you off it’?”

Kat paused, “uhm, like, I dunno, we were up there then they came up there and told us to get lost.”

Burke made a note.

“Hm, okay… well, we also want to know what you three were doing up there, if anything?”

A moment. Maybe this was about the weed? Or trespassing? Amy didn’t feel like that was the case, the fields are public property. She was pretty sure anyway. And they hadn’t been smoking anything that time, honestly it had been ages since the three of them had a stoner phase.

“Uh, well, we were just hanging out up there,” Trent glanced to his friends, “if it was trespassing, we didn’t know, there aren’t any signs.”

The two cops exchanged another look, this time, it was Hare who spoke- a tall, broad man with a bald head and small, piercing, bright green eyes, “that isn’t what we’re here to talk about- those fields are public paths so you’re clear there: we want to know if you noticed anything…” he tilted his head from side to side, trying to find the right word, “…anything concerning about Mike Gregory?”

Oh.

Amy knew she had to speak up- if that was what they were asking- but not about their encounter at the tower but about the one in the hallway. Had something happened to him? What if something really bad had happened to him. Would they be implicated? No, no that wouldn’t make sense, why would they be implicated in… whatever this was? Was he dead?

“Is he okay?” She volunteered, not wanting to launch too far into her encounter with him on the stairs, just in case.

Burke took a sharp breath in, Hare’s eyes suddenly fixated on her, “This morning Mike’s parents went into his room to wake him up and he was gone.”

A coldness oscillated through the three friends.

Hare continued, “we think he’s run away, but we are still short on a motive so if there is anything you three can maybe volunteer that could point to one it would help the investigation.” He sat back, “you were the last to see him, save for Henry and Harrison, so please: anything, anything at all?” He turned his focus back to Amy, “you asked if he was okay, just then, did he do anything that might spike that concern or is it simply… just empathy?”

You need to tell them.

“Uhm…”

Tell them.

Amy looked to Kat, whose eyes were bolted straight ahead, their face ashy and pale. Their breathing was controlled and concentrated, like they were focusing on not throwing up.

“One little thing, I think,” she began, “like, three weeks ago—”

The shrill bellow of the school bell pierced the room, ricocheting off the walls and denting the great metal filing cabinet, echoing into a diminuendo until the room was silent again. Burke told them to stay put.

Hare persisted, “you were saying?”

Amy stuttered, trying so hard to painfully push the words out. She knew what she wanted to say but somehow not how to say it. It was if she were chasing the memory, and it was getting further and further away from her, “Well, he just—I ran into him, or rather he ran into me, when I was waiting for a detention like, I dunno two or three weeks ago—”

Burke made a note.

“—and he just, well, he said some stuff that was… I dunno, weird.”

“What did he say?”

“I…” Amy fought to remember, “…he said he was scared he’d hurt himself, then I think he got mad at me when I tried to tell him to speak to someone—he said I ‘didn’t understand’.”

“And that’s verbatim?” Hare asked.

“What is?”

“That he said you ‘didn’t understand’?”

“Yes, yes I remember him saying that to me, he was mad- really mad and then he got, uh, upset, started crying and stuff- then Kat came upstairs to the classroom, and he left.” Amy felt a little guilty about her conscious decision to leave out Kat yelling at Mike to piss off- she really didn’t like the idea of this turning into an ironically misdirected bullying incident.

Burke made a note.

“Okay…” Hare turned his focus to the other two, “you two got anything else? Anything at all will be helpful.”

They shook their heads. The room took a breath it had been holding for a good few minutes now; Burke and Hare got up, told them not to speak publicly about the investigation, and then ushered the three out.

***

As they descended the winding stairs back down to the hallway, an uncharacteristic lack of words had befallen Amy, Kat, and Trent. Kat looked pale, Trent had a semi-permanent frown, and Amy felt like she had missed something out. That nagging came again, lodged at the back of her neck like a tick. She scratched it.

“D’you think he ran off because of us?” Kat’s voice was quiet.

“I…” Trent began, “I dunno,” he relented, “I don’t think so- we didn’t do anything to him, it would make more sense if one of us ran off because of him.”

“Maybe something at home then,” Kat’s gaze was firmly on the ground, “like, his family being shit or something- didn’t you say, Amy, that he said he wanted to hurt himself or something?”

“Yeah, I mean, he didn’t want to, it was more like he was scared he would, like he thought that he wasn’t in control of himself,” Amy added, “I honestly thought he’d taken something- he looked awful, like really awful.” She reflected back on the conversation outside Professor Holly’s. The fear in Mike’s eyes was that of a hunted animal trying to outrun a thing much bigger than itself; he had had a look about him of a creeping realisation that he was just not smart enough to escape something- it was nothing like how he had been at the tower not even a week prior. He looked like he had been deprived of food and water for months, Amy doubted that only a week of not eating could do that to a person, no matter how extreme their manner of starvation was. There was something so real about the way he’d kept looking around himself, glancing through the railings.

“Fuck.”

“What? What is it?”

Amy knew she had forgotten something, “I forgot to tell them about the stalking.”

“The what?” Trent looked confused, “I thought he was just unwell—”

“No, no he said he was being stalked, I think- he inferred it.” Amy honestly wasn’t sure, “maybe? He was so incoherent so I don’t know what he was getting at- but he might have been.”

“Should we go back up?” Kat offered.

“No shit we should go back up,” Trent was already turning around, “what if he’s got, like, kidnapped or someth—”

The pealing of the bell soared up the thin spiral staircase, ringing in their skulls and bouncing around behind their eyes. They had reached the bottom of the stairs. It was the end of break. Mr Robins opened the door, “get to class you three.”

Amy opened her mouth to protest, but she found herself already back in the corridor. It was all just a little too late to turn around.

***

“So I am going to assign you work to do over half term—”

A unanimous groan came from the class. Professor Holly continued, “—just a little research task since it’s the start of the year, it’s to start getting into the swing of A-Level style source gathering,” he sat down on his desk to address the class, arms folded, eyes smiling through his glasses, “I want you to go out and look for both primary and secondary sources for the 17th Century project, extra points for local historical events- Matthew Hopkins did commit a witch trial here, which I am sure some of you know a little bit about already, so there’s an idea of where to start.”

Amy, Kat, and Trent were back in for the second half of the lesson, having missed their break entirely. Holly continued, “remember to use books to find your primary sources, not Google or Wikipedia since they are—”

He gestured for everyone to join in with him, which they did, “—shit.” He smiled, “very good, and nobody tell Mr Robins I got you guys to say that.”

`Kat and Amy still had to attend detention after school, telling Trent to run to Cery’s to grab a few cans of off-brand Coke and meet them at the tower, giving him their respective change. The detention was no shorter or less painstakingly boring than any of the previous ones, despite it being the last day of term. On their way out, Professor Holly wished them a good break, a sentiment that they both returned in kind. As Amy descended the stairs after Kat, the eyes on the Missing Poster for Mike Gregory- placed starkly in the centre of the noticeboard- followed her movement until she was out of sight.

#here you gremlins go #enjoy your meal #some lore in this one wowowowowowow #original horror story #horror writing #internet horror #short horror story #creepypasta #original story #horror

0 notes