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annesthaeticc · 2 years

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Sweet November | Dr Strange x Fem!Reader

Sweet November : Chapter Two-November 1

| Series Summary: "One month." Stephen said, his gaze intense. He raised his hand, offered it for you to shake. "One month." you agreed, and shook his hand. The sign of a closed deal. Then he smiled at you, and from that instant, you realized, you just broke rule number one; no falling in love.

| Chapter Warning: none i guess? just smart ass/snarky stephen, bickering like an old couple, lil bit of fluff

| Word Count: 2184 words

| A/N: what??? another chapter already??? ikr, my creative juices will prolly run out soon, but i'm making the most out of it! chapter 3 will be up soon. comments, hearts, REBLOGS, any kind of attention will motivate me to write

“Shit!” you quietly gasped to yourself as your phone vibrated. You set an alarm to remind you of your appointment with the doctor. But you had to attend a last minute class to make up for your absence last week. You whipped your head, plotting your escape. You thought it’d be easy to sneak out of your class, and how right you were.

However, when you sat back in the taxi after directing the driver to Metro General Hospital, your phone beeped, alerting you of an incoming message. It was from your professor, asking to see you in her office next time. Sighing, you let your head softly hit the seat. You closed your eyes, then drew in a breath.

You were frustrated, having to pay for a taxi fare. You could’ve walked a few blocks but you were running late. And you’d hate it more if you’d have a bad impression for the doctor to see. Wait, why do you care so much about what he thinks about you? You asked yourself, and groaned.

“You alright miss?” the driver asked.

“Yeah, thank you.”

Grudgingly, you paid the fare. You had to break your budget a bit, having to save up for an airline ticket. The plan was to go home for Christmas, a long time plan now, as you put off going home for years. The driver bid you thanks and you did the same. Hurriedly, you step through the hospital’s swinging doors and gingerly walk up to the reception.

“Uh hi,” you said. The lady with the bright red lipstick nodded at you and asked what she could help you with.

“I’m here to see Dr. Stephen Strange, I uh, have an appointment with him.” you said. The lady gave you a once over and you instantly felt self conscious. You were wearing your usual street wear clothes; high waist jeans, white shirt, lace up boots, black coat and scarf. On your back slung was your backpack and you were sure your plaid hair had become a bit disheveled due to all the running.

“Take the elevator on the right, his office is on the fifth floor. I’ll have the reception there to help you.” she replied.

“Thank you so much.” you grinned and did what she said.

Soon, you found yourself walking on the polished tiled floor. Everything was so bright; the walls, the floors. Must be the light. You asked the reception and they directed you to walk down the hall, the third door on the right is his office.

On the door, his name shone on the silver plaque.

STEPHEN VINCENT STRANGE, M.D. PhD. / NEUROLOGY SPECIALIST/NEUROSURGEON

You let out a whistle in surprise. You quickly gathered yourself and poised to knock on the door. But it instantly opened when you raised your knuckle to knock.

“You must be Diana.” the man who opened the door said.

“Hi. Yes I am, I’m here to see Dr. Strange,”

“I’m sure you are. I’m Billy, his assistant.” he offered his hand and you shook it. He led you inside and offered you a seat.

“Sorry I’m late,” you sighed as you checked your watch. 13:05 PM.

“Ah, it’s fine. The doctor himself is running late, emergency surgery, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” you mumbled.

“Yeah, is it alright if you wait?”

“Yeah, though I need to leave by two for work.”

“That’s okay.” Billy said.

In the first thirty minutes you spent inside the office, you were quick to learn that Billy was the one who suggested it to the doctor to find a fake date through Tinder. You chuckled, finding the situation ridiculous, and how you got yourself tangled up in it.

“Why can’t he just attend the stuff alone? Is it really necessary to have a date while attending all of those events?” you curiously asked. Billy passed you a bottle of water and you nodded your thanks.

“Not really, but he said he’s getting tired of the questions and the girls winking at him,”

“Wow, he thinks highly of himself huh,”

“He’s got all the right,” Billy chuckled.

“Don’t you think he’s handsome?” Billy asked you. His head cocked to the side as he leaned against his table.

Pretty damn handsome. You thought.

“Just fine,” you grumble quietly.

“You can be honest with me Di,” Billy said, you grinned, having heard your nickname.

“Is it okay to call you Di?”

“Yeah.”

“Now come on, your secret is safe with me,” Billy said suggestively. You gave in of course. He was easy to talk to, and you felt okay around him. You could at least gain a friend through this scheme, and that could be Billy.

“Yeah, okay. He’s pretty damn fine.” you chuckled, blush creeping up your cheeks. Then you remembered his arrogance, his persistence and his attitude, and it was enough for your flaming cheeks to calm down. You were about to say ‘but’, but you were cut off.

The door suddenly burst open, and came in the doctor you were gushing about. His usual elegance was disheveled and he looked like he ran a mile.

“Who’s pretty damn fine?” he asked, his voice booming. Billy opened his mouth to respond but he was interrupted.

“Nevermind, don’t answer that. Billy, are you hitting up on my fake girlfriend?”

“Nope.” Billy grinned.

“Hey! I haven’t agreed to be your fake girlfriend!” you protested.

“Well what are you doing here?” he smirked at you before grabbing his water bottle from the mini fridge.

“I—” flustered, you stuttered and ducked your head. He hasn’t even been in the room for a full minute and he was already grating on your nerves.

Maybe it would be best if you don’t agree. You thought. But a voice at the back of your head said, just try, you’ve got nothing to lose, you’ll just gain a few silver hairs due to stress. You exhaled, looked up and gathered your belongings.

“Are you going to walk out on me again?” Stephen asked.

“No, I have to go to work.” you turned towards the door. You noticed Billy glance up at the clock and sigh.

“Can’t you spare just a few more minutes, Di?” Billy begged on his behalf. Stephen on the other hand, crossed his arms, his face blank.

“I don’t know Billy. Maybe I can if your boss can keep his arrogance to himself,” you said.

“I can promise nothing,” Stephen said when Billy turned to him. You shrugged and clicked the door open.

“Okay fine, I’ll keep it to myself.” Stephen’s voice rang through your ears soon as you crossed the door.

You smirked to yourself and slowly turned back. You saw him, leaning against his desk, his hands shot up in surrender. Slowly, you moved back to your seat and from the side of your eye, you could see Billy cheering.

“What are you doing over there? How are we going to talk? Do I have to shout—” he probably saw your raised eyebrow, your disapproving look that’s why he abruptly stopped whatever he was about to say.

“Right, please, Diana, take a seat here,” he stiffly moved and drew the chair by his desk aside. You moved over to his proffered seat and leaned forward.

Stephen drew out his calendar, almost half the size of his desk, each box was full of little scribbles, neat and elegant yet small, just enough to fit everything in every date. He looked at you curiously and he watched you. When you looked up, you were a bit bothered by the way he was looking.

“What?” you daringly asked.

“Do you have uhm uh, a pen and paper?” he was taken aback at your tone, caught off guard.

“Oh yeah,” you flashed him a quick smile and pulled out your worn out journal and your pen.

You swiftly flipped through pages to find your marked page. Stephen, of course, noticed the little details. He cleared his throat and finally settled himself on the seat opposite you.

“Right, let’s settle the dates first,” he pointed at the scribbles at the side of the calendar that were highlighted by a fluorescent blue highlighter.

Pen in hand, you started to write down the dates; November 4, November 9, November 22, November 29-31. All of the events were happening in the evening, mostly starting at eight in the evening. Some were happening nearby, just downtown, or a short drive away from the city. The last three dates, however, you noticed that there wasn’t a place noted.

“Guess I’ll have to skip my shift this Friday,” you muttered quietly.

“Where?” he asked. “Work,” you vaguely replied, a smirk on your lips.

“What kind of work do you do?” he questioned. You felt like challenging him and so you gave him another vague answer, “Oh you know, a lot.”

“Diana,” he sighed.

“No, it’s true, I’ve got a lot of work.”

“Could you, please, be specific? How are we going to make this work if you won’t tell me anything?” he begged.

“This? This? What exactly is this, Stephen?”

“I told you, we are going to be fake dating. I’ll just need you on these dates and in these exact times. Nothing more, nothing else. I’ll provide everything you need, and you’ll be there when I need you. We’ll set rules, the boundaries,”

“So what, is this like a job?” you raised your eyebrow, your head cocked to the side a bit. “Yeah, and this is the job interview.” he replied and sat back.

“Unbelievable.” you sighed and rolled your eyes at him.

“Are you up to it or not? Tell me now, Diana.” he looked at you with such intensity. He’s exasperating, good-looking, and hard to say ‘no’ to. “Fine!” you replied, your voice raised slightly.

“I think it’s too early for couple’s therapy,” someone from the back said. You and Stephen glared at Billy. He made a gesture that he’ll shut up, and you turned back your attention to the doctor.

“I work at the Sundown Bar downtown, as a waitress, every Friday, from six in the evening to twelve midnight. I also work at Harrelson’s Books, Saturdays and Sundays, from three in the afternoon ‘til closing time. I also do volunteer work at a local daycare, every Tuesday and Wednesday afternoon,”

“And you’re also studying?” he asked.

“Yup.” you nodded and he hummed.

“So you see, doctor, I’m just busy as you are, so can you please, try to tone down the snarkiness when we’re together?”

"Oh so we're going down there now, okay," he grabbed the nearest piece of paper he could grasp, and it was a prescription pad.

"Rule number one, no falling in love." you said, yet in your mind, you were screaming for the opposite.

"This is a fake relationship, let's keep it that way." you continued, he nodded and said, "I agree, we're both busy. Maintaining a real one is not my priority right now."

"Rule number two, you are to act like you're in love with me when we're together," Stephen said, writing down the words.

"And that doesn't apply to you?"

"Right," he scratched out the words 'you' and replaced them with 'we'.

"Rule number three, no sharing of personal information." you said, and he nodded in response.

"What's rule number four?" he prompted you.

"No sex." you quietly said. The words were clearly written on the prescription pad when Stephen suddenly realized what he had just written. He looked up and your gazes met. Then, he slowly nodded.

"What?" you narrowed your eyes at him. He shook his head and chuckled.

"I think that's all for me, do you have anything to add?" he asked you. You shook your head and he proceeded to pull his desk drawer open. He whipped up his credit card from his wallet, and a calling card of a boutique. He passed it to you, your face painted in puzzlement.

"I did say I'll be paying so here's my card. And here's my stylist. Choose whatever you like; dress, shoes, jewelry to match, it's up to you."

"You're very trusting," you chuckled.

"I trust you enough, you don't look like a big spender," Stephen replied.

"I may not be, but who knows, maybe I'll use it to feed New York's hungry and unprivileged,"

"I'll know if you do, Diana." he smiled. With the two cards now safely in your hands, Stephen stood up and you did the same. When you had your belongings tucked back in your bag, you turned to him and gave him a shy smile.

"One month." Stephen said, his gaze intense. He raised his hand, and offered it for you to shake.

"One month." you echoed his words with the same clarity and shook his hand.

His hold on your hand was firm, yet gentle. You couldn't shake that bothersome feeling; your hand in his felt right. The deal was closed and there was no backing out. Then he smiled at you, and from that very moment you realized, you just broke rule number one; no falling in love.

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failedintsave · 2 years

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Wait are you still doing the love headcanons and if so can you do one with Murderface??

Sorry this took a while, got wrapped up in kloktober and also I am a scatterbrain.

Murderface

When they discover they’ve got a crush:

Deny, deny, deny. He's way too Cool™ and too much of a self-described ladies man to admit that someone has taken up occupancy in his thoughts. But he absolutely stalks their social media in all his downtime and rehearses conversations ahead of time for maximum suaveness. Lots of daydreaming about them swooning over him a la Handsomeface.

How they confess/hint:

The worst pickup lines in the book followed by several agonizing moments of frustrated sputtering. After some floundering, he relies on his pals to (somewhat grudgingly, Toki's actually pretty enthusiastic) talk him up. He has a list of suggested topics they can name drop him into, emailed to each of them beforehand. Murderface will go to extreme lengths to seem more impressive than he believes himself to be, despite being 1/5 of a global powerhouse.

Big gestures of love:

Mans is one hundred percent getting their partner's name tattooed, somewhere visible too, not under the clothes. Murderface always wants his s/o at his side; red carpet events, backstage, studio, sitting in on interviews. Anywhere he can go they can go too, or else🔪

Little gestures of love:

Besides constantly swearing to bodily defend his partners honor/safety/beverage while they go to the restroom, he's excellent with remembering dates (history buff) and will celebrate minor anniversaries. Sends flowers and chocolates but doesn't stop at just acknowledging the day, he makes it into a personal holiday. Lets them drive any of his collectors cars whenever they want and loves going out on joyrides together.

How to win their heart:

Listen to him and take what he says seriously.

How to break their heart:

Any sign of disinterest will plant the seed, even if it's him misreading things. Without constant assurances that he's enough for his partner, things can quickly spiral into "are you mad at me?" territory as his confidence wanes. Beware the breakup, he's king of the smear campaign.

Tiny little turn-ons:

PDA. Scalp scratches, playful smacks on the butt, affirmations and encouragement; bonus when all are bundled together at once ("Go get em, tiger" with a slap on the ass is an all time favorite). He also really enjoys being asked for his thoughts or expertise on subjects he's passionate about, half because he gets to flaunt his specialized knowledge and half because sharing a common interest with someone he cares for makes him feel even closer to them.

Big turn-ons:

Being dominated...like seriously dominated. Also, being babied. He gets embarrassed over both, so it must be kept TOP SECRET, but despite any grumbling he does, he loves the focused attention whether it's gentle or rough. ROLEPLAY.

Things that make their heart flutter:

Physical contact. Poor fella has such body image hangups, being shown he's physically desirable will turn him to putty (once he gets past the cynical disbelief stage). Quick check in/thinking of you type calls and texts do the same, for similar reasoning. Honestly any sign that he's wanted 🥺 His partner choosing to sit on his lap when there's plenty of open seating, or fall asleep on his shoulder rather than going to bed.

Their type:

Leans a little shallow on physical appearances, but even if he's vocal about 'no fat chicks' etc. it's mostly for show, he's not nearly as picky as he makes it sound. Boobs. Absolutely loves boobs titsch. And thighs. He likes a partner with a mind for organization and meticulous details; Murderface is a schemer and needs an accomplice a companion with a decent head on their shoulders who isn't afraid to get their hands dirty. As much as he likes to get his way, he also respects someone who puts their foot down with him (see also Big Turn-Ons)

Ideal date:

So ideally, he's gonna want to show off. Murderface spares no expense, he loves to wield his clout for brownie points. He's booked a VIP box at a Formula One race with outlandishly expensive hors d'oeuvres and champagne, followed by a helicopter tour of historical sights in the host city that ends with a trip to the auction house for a one-of-a-kind souvenir. Then, a private rooftop dinner and over-indulgence on white wine. But once the classy stuff is out of the way (and he's completely busted his budget) it's time to pump up the adrenaline a little with a visit to the shooting range or gambling at the casino. When both parties' pulses are sufficiently elevated, a sloppy public make out is inevitable as well as rushing back to the hotel or home to get frisky. Passes out cold immediately after the deed.

If he's not showboating, it's a WWE match and chugging beers/sharing concession stand nachos, with hammered karaoke afterwards. The evening ends exactly the same way regardless.

Past relationships:

Before they were picked up by the label, Murderface tried dating with little success. More than once, he mistook a groupie for someone with serious interest, only to see them hanging all over another musician at another venue later, which colored his views on partnership for a long time.

How they might affect current relationships:

There's nobody with enough claim on his past to really stir up trouble. There is, however, a small but extremely dedicated portion of the fanbase who may or may not send threats to his official love interest, and a specialized security detail to prevent it.

‘Goals’ in a relationship (marriage, kids, a house, etc):

Being perfectly honest, his first goal is to get laid consistently *yes I know it's played for laughs that he doesn't get any attention from groupies and that there's NO WAY it's actually true, I just think his exterior attitude bends this direction* When it comes to actually being with someone long term, he's open to marriage, and is sure to describe engagement as finally finding someone who "could tame thisch wild schtallion!" WILL use the phrase 'ball and chain.' Murderface likes the idea of kids, but isn't that keen on babies. After his misguided foray into, uh, step-fathering (?) his bandmate, he knows he likes the idea of sharing experiences like those he had with his grandfather before the stroke (a whole different HC for another day) so adoption or bonus kids hold real appeal.

Bottom line, all he really wants is somebody to come home to and who understands his value, whether it's one person or a family.

#hc asks #william murderface #metalocalypse #dethklok #thanks! 💜#I've got one more kf these for nathan that hopefully wont take me another month to reply to

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she-karev · 3 months

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Out of Nowhere

Age Rating: 12+

Chapter: Six of Six

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

AN: Here’s the final chapter you guys. I’m hoping to post the next chapter by spring break. I’m in classes and busy AF so bear with me. I always appreciate a like and reblog.

Summary: Amber spends the night at Alex and Jo’s with Andrew accompanying her.

Words: 1829

I walk down the hall with Qadri, Helm and Casey who insist they come with me to find Andrew. I hold an ice pack against my already bruised fist that I used to punch Stadler. At least one good thing came from today.

If I wasn’t so scared Paul would confront me again I would be more annoyed than grateful that I had a village with me. The friends I had growing up were the kind who were looking for a good time and I followed. They would never get in between me and a dangerous man not like these guys did. The whole month I’ve known them I’ve done nothing but insult them and say repeatedly I am gonna beat them in an O.R. and yet they didn’t think twice before protecting me. It feels nice to have not just coworkers but friends who would go above and beyond for you. I decide in that moment to be more friendly towards them and more forth coming.

“Thank you, Casey.” Casey looks at me surprised by my gratitude and I don’t blame him, “I…I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come in when you did…no I do know. He would have attacked me and claimed he was defending himself from the violent intern.”

“Well at least you got to punch him.” Helm says impressed by me, “I would go to jail happy I did that at least.”

“Taryn.” Qadri snaps at her and she quiets. Dahlia focuses on me, “Tell me you’re not gonna be alone tonight. I can let you stay with me for a few days.”

“I’ll come over.” Parker offers and I grin at him.

“Thanks you guys but I’m gonna stay with my brother tonight.” I exhale exhausted, “This fucking day I swear.”

“I can imagine.” Casey remarks, “That guy Dr. Stadler, how do you know him?”

I shake my head at that knowing it’s not my story to tell, “It doesn’t matter telling you guys why he’s harassing me won’t make him stop and it won’t change what he just did to me.” I notice that one of our own is missing, “Where’s Schmitt?”

“He’s spending the night in a patient room.” Qadri tells me as we continue walking, “Blood loss is pretty big and they want to give him the luxury treatment after he saved a patient.”

“Lucky him.” Helm says bitterly and I nod in agreement. I would take passing out in an O.R. after directly donating blood over the day I just had. We stop by the station where Andrew sees me and his face scrunches in worry. I probably look as awful as I feel.

Andrew approaches me and gently asks, “Hey what’s wrong?”

I swallow uneasily, “So many things.”

“He came to the lockers.” Andrew’s face forms into shock as Qadri explains, “He was in her face, calling her names and she punched him. Parker had to push him to the ground and threaten him so he can leave.”

“That bastard.” Andrew says in anger, “Did he hurt you?”

“Not physically. He’s too smart to do that.” I admit grudgingly, “But he did reveal every moment of my life and didn’t skimp on the parts that would make a good horror film.” I lift my ice pack grimacing at the purplish color around my knuckles, “And his face is evidence enough to get me in the slammer. How the hell does he know about me?” That part scares me the most, the resources he had to gather my whole life even the sealed records.

Andrew looks down guilty, “He said he had a guy look into you and find out what he could.”

I look at him in shock over this new information and not just about Paul, “You knew about this and you didn’t tell me?” I don’t keep the anger out of my tone.

Andrew’s eyes widen at my sudden change in demeanor, “I-I didn’t think about it I was just trying to distract him so he wouldn’t see you talking to Jenny. And I was afraid you’d freak out.”

“I was already freaked out!” I yell at him under my breath so I don’t attract attention, “This guy has been stalking me and was this close to running me off the road at least this little piece of info would save me from being humiliated in my workplace. You should’ve told me.”

Andrew tries to calm me down but I’m too pissed, “I know and I’m sorry, I was just trying to look out for you.”

I get angrier at that statement, “I don’t need you to look out for me. I have been doing that by myself since I was 16 and unfortunately, I can say that to these guys because thanks to that fucking creep everybody knows I’m the plotline in a Stephen King novel.” Andrew’s face falls at my cruel statement the others look on awkwardly clearly uncomfortable viewing the most intimate part of my relationship, “God! I hate this fucking day!”

Andrew inhales before speaking, “I know me too.”

“He knows where’s Alex and Jo live.” I inform him fearfully, “I-I can’t go there or my apartment or the on-call room. Aside from moving to another state and changing my name it’s just a matter of time until he gets to me.”

“I’m not gonna let that happen.” Andrew grasps my shoulders to calm me down, “I promise he’s not gonna hurt you as long as I’m with you.”

I scoff, “Is that how you want to spend your life? Attached to my side at home and work?”

“No that won’t happen.” Parker tells me to reassure me but it doesn’t work, “Tomorrow we’ll go to the police and get a restraining order on him.”

I sniffle at the predicament I’m in. All I want to do is crawl under my blanket and pretend the world doesn’t exist. But I can’t, no amount of daydreaming is gonna get this fucking creep off my back and Andrew can’t be with me every second of every day same goes for my friends. Even with a restraining order there’s no guarantee he’s gonna stop.

“This can’t be happening to me.” I say blankly causing the others to look at me in pity including Andrew.

Andrew looks at me in sympathy before responding, “Come on I’ll drive you to your place and to Alex’s.” I nod warily and exchange good nights with my friends before leaving with Andrew.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I knock on the steel pocket door and wait patiently outside with Andrew who has one of my bags in his hands. The door rolls and Alex is on the other side in pajamas relieved to see us.

“Come in.” We go inside and I plop my suitcase by the couch ready for bed, “Did you have any trouble on the way?”

“No.” I sit on the couch and take my boots off, “I think he got the message after I punched him to Kingdom Come.”

Alex looks at me shocked, “You punched him?”

“Yeah.” I hold up my bruised hand as evidence, “Don’t even bother lecturing me because what’s done is done and no amount of scolding will take it back.”

“I just have one question.” I motion for him to ask, “Did you put your weight on it?”

I snort at that, “Of course I did.” Alex nods approvingly and makes a fist at me encouraging me to bump it. I roll my eyes but grin and fist bump him in victory. I look at the bed and see that Jo is deep in sleep no doubt crashing from the events of today, “How is she?”

“Awful.” Alex says in pity and I feel bad for him, “DeLuca thanks for driving her here I know…this is probably the last place you want to be at.” I mentally groan as I remember this loft is where the scene of the crime took place. I fully expect Andrew to drop my bags and head on his merry way but I see he’s shaking his head.

“No worries man.” I’m shocked by how cavalier he sounds being back at the place he was beat up, “I’d rather she be here than back at that small death trap she calls an apartment.”

I roll my eyes at his unfortunately true comment on my living quarters, “Yeah well Zillow isn’t reliable when it comes to apartments with high accommodations for interns with terrible credit. Speaking of which the laundry machines in my building have been broken for a week so…” I open my suitcase revealing the dirty clothes I desperately need to wash, “Where’s your washer and dryer?”

Alex grins slightly and shows me where the laundry machines are so I can get started. The simple act of washing and drying my clothes keeps my mind off the fact that Paul could be right outside waiting for the moment to strike. I get my black sweatpants and blue sweater knit top and set the couch up with pillows and blankets for the night. Satisfied with the arrangement I set myself up on the couch getting ready for bed. I look to see Andrew putting a blanket mat and pillow on the floor by the couch before sitting down to my confusion.

“What are you doing?”

Andrew looks up at me from his spot, “I’m sleeping on the floor.”

“No, you’re not.” I state and pull my blanket back on the surprisingly roomy couch, “Come on get in here.”

Andrew looks uncomfortable and looks behind the couch. I look in that direction and see Alex and Jo who are curled up in bed. I understand now why he’s hesitant to sleep in the same bed which makes me roll my eyes. I give a ‘really?’ look at the guy who shrugs.

“For god sakes man it’s 2017.” I keep my couch open to him, “We’re both adults and it’s way too late to act like we haven’t slept in the same bed.”

“It’s weird.”

“It’s only weird if you make it weird.” I inform him and pat on the couch, “Now get in here or I’ll get on the floor with you, either way we’re gonna be huddled together so it might as well be in a semi comfy couch. I have had a long day and what will make me feel better is you lying down with me and holding me.”

Andrew sighs in defeat before standing up and lying on the couch with me practically squished in the back. I make space by moving closer to him so that my head is pillowed on his chest and my arm is draped over his ribcage. He holds me close to him with his arm around my shoulders that I find comforting. Finally for the first time in two days I sleep blissfully on my brother’s couch huddled up against this man and forget about the world for tonight.

#greys anatomy #amber karev #alex karev #jo wilson #andrew deluca #elizabeth gillies #liz gillies #giacomo gianniotti

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chiliiscereal · 3 years

Text

chosen last: part three

The people asked and so they shall receive

https://chiliiscereal.tumblr.com/post/650808822043115520/chosen-last

https://chiliiscereal.tumblr.com/post/651201066386554880/chosen-last-part-two

Summary: a boy takes notice of reader for the first time and Donnie is worried that he’s bad news. Little do both of them know, he’s right

Warning: mentions of attempted rape

——-

You felt so much better about yourself when your birthday was over. It was honestly one of the best you’d ever had. Better than the ones your friends planned anyway. You still went, but it was nothing like the party that the turtles threw. You didn’t think it could get any better.

Until, that is, something happened that almost made you change your mind.

You friend put a picture of you and her, together, up on Snapchat.

And... for the first time in your life... a guy took notice of you.

It wasn’t much. It was just “who’s that? Low key cute. Whats their snap?”

That happened to your friends.

Never to you.

Even more surprising, your friend gave him your snap.

Eric.

Eric was his name.

And he also went to your school!

You were incredibly nervous about this. Every single time a boy took interest in you it never seemed to be what your thought it was.

Last time a boy took interest in you it was ACTUALLY so they could get with your friend. That, my friends, was two years ago. Your friends blasted through boys like there was no tomorrow. But you? You’d never had someone interested in you like that.

Until now.

You talked to him and... honestly... you felt like there was something there.

He asked a lot about you and just seemed like the one, you know? You both shared the same interest in shows! You both enjoyed the same music!

Whenever he responded to you, you just couldn’t help but feel elated.

You would fall back on your bed and stare at the ceiling, feeling like this was a scene from a movie.

He didn’t wait for twenty minutes to respond to you.

He acknowledged every single thing you said.

And when he met up with you after school...

Wow.

Just wow.

He was incredibly handsome and polite.

He even held doors open for you!

You found yourself meeting up with him again and again.

It made you feel so... important.

Unfortunately, the turtles didn’t feel the same way.

————

“Who ya talkin’ to?” Leo leaned closer to look over your shoulder from his spot beside you on the couch.

It was movie night with the boys and April.

You brought you phone to your chest to obscure his view. “Hey hey hey back off!” You playfully shoved him away. “Just a friend.”

Mikey gave you a shit eating grin when he noticed the smile slipping onto your face. “Just a friend huh?” He pulled himself off the floor and reached for your phone. “Let me see let me see!”

You held it away from him to. “Woah this is my phone! Get away!”

A metal claw snatched it from your hand, retracting back to Donnie.

“And is this ‘friend’ a boy or a girl?” He opened your phone. “Ugh, what’s your password?”

You leapt off the couch and tried to grab your device back. “Does it matter?”

Donnie tapped away at the buttons, using his metal claws from his battle shell to keep you away. “No, it doesn’t matter unless it’s a BOY.” You phone buzzed slightly as it opened to your home screen. “Aha, I am in!”

Mikey and Leo both crawled over to their soft shelled brother to observe from behind him.

“Donnie, give it back.” You ordered, looking to April for help. She just shrugged and continued watching with a smirk. “Guys, come on! It’s not a big deal!”

Raph pulled himself off the floor and placed his hands on his hips. “Alright, jokes over; give the phone back.”

Donnie groaned. “Come on! I’m so close to figuring out who y/n’s talking to!”

Raph gave him a stern look. “Now. It’s private and obviously Y/n doesn’t want you looking through it.”

Donnie, Mikey, and Leo all gave him giant puppy eyes.

Raph simply held out his hand.

Donnie sighed. “Fine. Here.”

You sighed as well but in relief.

Raph took it from him, glancing down at your phone. To your dismay, it was open up to messages. “Eric Sherrin?” He asked in confusion.

“AHA!” Donnie shouted in triumph. “A name is all I need!” He began typing in the device on his wrist.

“Raph!” You accused angrily.

Ugh what were you gonna do now??

You’d never hear the end of this.

“Hey! Raph’s on your side! I didn’t know he could find out with just a name!” He held up his hands in defense.

“Eric?” April asked as she swiped through her phone. “Does he go to our school?”

You glared at Donnie before you decided whether or not to share that.

He shrugged. “Hey, I already have his social media up and every piece of information I could find. Whether or not you say will change nothing.”

“Fine.” You growled. “Yes, he goes to our school. He’s a mutual friend with my other friends.”

April raised a brow. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better.”

You shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Well it doesn’t.”

April was dead set on despising your friends. You knew she had good reason but you didn’t need it brought up now.

Leo took the computer that Donnie had sent all the information to, scrolling through Eric’s social media. “Wow, there are a lot of pictures of him holding fish.” He snorted. “Does he think that’s gonna impress people or something?”

“I’ve never understood the appeal.” Donnie shook his head. “So what? You killed an animal good for you.”

“I think it’s about killing a BIG animal.” Leo squinted at the screen. “There’s also lots of pictures of him with other girls.”

“Guys can you just stop?” You placed your hands on your hips. “It’s sweet that you’re trying to make sure he’s not some idiot but you’re invading his privacy-!”

“Woah, look what I found in his records from the school.” Donnie waved his brothers closer.

Even Raph and April did so.

“He harassed at girl at school?” Mikey repeated as he read the screen. “Really?”

“Yeah no this guy’s bad news.” Donnie shook his head in disappointment. “Y/n, give me your phone. I’ll block him for you.” He even reached his hand out expectantly.

You held your phone closer. “No, that’s just a rumor that spread at school.”

The boys stopped what they were doing.

“You knew?” Leo narrowed his eyes. “And you’re still interested?”

“He told me that the teachers didn’t believe him.” You responded as you crossed your arms. “Some girl made it up cause she didn’t like him.”

“You can’t take that risk.” Raph crossed his arms.

“Raph, I thought you were in my side!” You protested.

“That was before Raph found out that the guy harassed someone.” He defended. “Come on, you know this can’t end good.”

Your stomach burned with anger.

Anger that they felt they could order you around like that.

That they wouldn’t even let you figure it out yourself.

That this might end just like every other romantic interest would.

“Why won’t you just let me handle this myself?” You stuffed your hands in your pockets and flopped back down in the couch.

Mikey crawled into the spot next to you, wrapping his arms around you. “You’re one of our best friends! We don’t want anything to happen to you!” He gave you wide innocent eyes as if that would erase your anger.

Well... it did.

Curse him and his adorable eyes.

You rolled your eyes and hugged him back. “I know. I just want to figure this out myself.” You gave Donnie a hard glare as your rested your chin on Mikey’s shoulder.

“Fine.” He closed all the tabs on his computer grudgingly. “But I know this is just gonna end in heartbreak.”

“What a vote of confidence.” Leo snorted and plopped down in the spot next to you.

He smirked when you ignored him, still hugging Mikey.

“Hey, come on, you know you can’t stay mad at this face.” He leaned against you dramatically. “I’m the face man! You can’t resist me!” He pulled you away from Mikey and draped his arm over your shoulder. “You know you love me.”

You turned your head away from him, more playful now than spiteful.

“Come onnnnn...” he smirked. “You love meeee...”

You shoved him off the couch with a laugh. “I’m still thinking that over.”

Raph quickly took Leo’s seat as his younger brother rubbed the spot he’d landed on.

“No hard feelings?” Raph rested his arm on the couch behind you as he started the movie back up.

“Fine. No hard feelings.”

Leo moved so he was sitting on the floor and leaning against your legs.

You couldn’t stay mad at them. Well, except Donnie. You could very well stay mad at Donnie.

And it seemed that Donnie could stay mad at you as well. He left the room with all his tech, grumbling something under his breath.

“I already know how this is gonna end.” He grumbled.

“Love you to, Donnie.” You muttered, sinking into the couch.

Whatever.

He’d get over it soon enough.

————

Donnie didn’t get over it.

Whenever you came over to hang out he brought it up again casually. Well, as casually as Donnie could be, which wasn’t very casual at all.

“Ugh, this game sucks!” Mikey shouted at the tv once.

“Not as much as Eric What’s-his-face’s record.” He’d commented, giving you a glance out of the corner of his eye.

Or even:

“Ugh you can’t trust those pop up ads.” Raph told Leo when his phone had downloaded a virus after he clicked an ad.

“Just like how you can’t trust Eric.” He’d ran into the room to spit that out.

If Raph ever asked how things were going with Eric, Donnie either magically appeared next to him with a hopeful look or disappear with a groan.

You and Eric weren’t even together.

But... you hoped you would be soon.

He invited you to a party that Friday! And he’d specified that he’s invited you as his date.

Your friends were excited, surprisingly. They wanted to help you find an outfit and everything.

Finally, you felt like things were going right.

Why couldn’t Donnie just be happy for you?

——-

“Why won’t you come?” You begged April as she flopped down onto your bed.

“You’ve got Eric and all of your other friends.” She waved you off. “Besides, you know I hate parties.” She sat up slightly. “And Eric gives me the heebie jeebies.”

You rolled your eyes and held out a dress. “Yeah, yeah. Fine, I won’t make you.”

April touched the fabric of the dress with a frown. “Is this what your friends picked out for you? I thought you didn’t like dresses?”

You shrugged. “They said Eric would like it and that it looked good on me.”

April fully sat up now. “But you’re gonna be so uncomfortable in that!”

“I mean, it’s supposed to be pretty, not comfy, right?” You shrugged, slipping it on over your head. “Does it look good?” You gave her a small twirl.

“Of course it’s pretty... but its a little... much.” She shook her head. “Does Eric really deserve to see you in that?”

The last bit was playful but still...

“I think so.” You say down beside her. “I’m just so incredibly nervous and I don’t know if this is a bad idea.”

You felt exposed.

But, you also trusted that the people at the party could be trusted with that.

April draped her arm over your shoulder. “Well you look stunning.”

You smiled back at her. “Thanks.”

“Alright, girl, your party’s in twenty minutes. Ready to head out?” She jabbed her thumb in the direction of the door.

You stood up and smoothed out the dress. “Ready.”

———

You stood in front of the house nervously. You could hear the music and see the lights and people dancing. You just didn’t know if you actually were ready.

“You look hot, y/n.” Your friend told you, glancing at one of your other friends. “He’s gonna love it.”

You didn’t really love it, but if he liked it then so would you.

“Hope so.” You muttered, checking your phone.

Donnie sent you a simple text:

Don’t trust Eric and keep pepper spray on hand.

Wow, such confidence.

You ignored it and stuffed your phone in the dress pocket. You didn’t need that. You needed all the confidence you could muster.

“Wow.” A voice said from behind you, causing you to jump.

There was Eric, dressed nicely and with a charming smile on his face.

“You look hot.” He grinned.

Your stomach fluttered. “Oh, thank... thank you!”! You smoothed it out nervously.

You didn’t know if your stomach felt this way out of nerves or out of feelings for him. You really couldn’t tell.

He placed his hand over your hip and pulled you to his side. “Well Let’s head on in! Can’t wait to show you off.”

Your stomach jumped. “Well, I just wanted to wait a little,” he opened the door and dragged you in, “oh okay!”

Your friends and Eric were at your side the whole time.

You still felt as if you were on display while you and your group were dancing.

You still felt like the dress was too short when you and Eric sat down on the couch.

You felt like he was staring at you when you noticed the couples in the room kissing and making out.

“You wanna head upstairs?” He asked as he took your hand.

Your heart jumped. “No, no I’m good. Really.”

“Come on.” He nodded his head in the direction of the stairs. “It’ll be fun!”

You shook your head. “No I don’t want to go upstairs.”

He looked disappointed but you stayed confident with your choice. You didn’t want that and you weren’t ready.

He recovered quickly and dropped your hand. “Alright! I’m just gonna go talk to a friend real quick, I’ll be back.”

You sighed in relief when you realized he wouldn’t push it on you.

He got up and you pulled out your phone, trying to decide if you wanted to text Donnie back.

You settled on typing:

Yeah yeah whatever.

You saw he read it but he didn’t respond.

What was with him?

Why couldn’t he just be happy?

You glanced up, noticing Eric talking to one of your friends. You noticed him glance back at you and then back at your friend. She handed him something and he left to go to the kitchen.

You went back to your phone, waiting to see if Donnie would respond.

You just wanted your friend back.

Why couldn’t he just... ugh no you had to stop asking that. He was being too judgemental and untrusting.

There was nothing untrustworthy about Eric.

He was just being crazy...

You glanced up again, noticing Eric at the drink table. Whatever it was your friend had given him, he was slipping it in his drink.

You looked closer.

It was some sort of... powder?

When he turned back around you immediately acted like you hadn’t been watching.

He made his way to you and sat down, a drink in each hand. “I thought you looked a little thirsty, so I got you a soda!”

He handed you the red cup enthusiastically.

No, he couldn’t be trying to spike your drink. He wouldn’t do that.

But he was looking at you so expectantly.

“Oh, thank you!” You swirled the soda suspiciously. “I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to corn syrup so... sorry.” You set the drink back down.

Again, he looked disappointed. Maybe even a little mad.

“Hey, We’re gonna go upstairs and play a game!” Your friend shouted from across the room. “Wanna join?”

“What game?” You asked, feeling incredibly nervous.

“Truth or dare!” She giggled. “You’ll love it!”

Eric jumped on that idea expectantly. “Come on lets go!”

“I don’t really...”

He pulled you up before you could even finish.

You wanted to stay where people could see you!

But... you WERE gonna be with your friends...

“Alright, Fine.” You settled. “I’ll go.”

“Awesome!”

You and your group headed up and down the hallway.

Your friend opened the door for you and let you in first. Eric followed closely behind you.

It was a bedroom. A very dark bedroom.

“Hey, We’re gonna head down to the bathroom and freshen up first.” One of your friends smirked. “You two have fun!”

“Wait, no-!”

They were already gone and the door was shut.

Eric had gotten you upstairs.

Alone.

————-

Donnie sighed, trying hard to focus on his work. “Why can’t y/n just listen to me.” He groaned to himself. “I’m just trying to help! How does that make me the bad guy?”

He continued wiring his latest invention, frustrated at how he kept messing up.

“It’s not gonna end well.” He growled. “It’s gonna end in heartbreak and I’m gonna have to pick up the pieces.”

“If y/n even trusts you with that.” Leo added from behind him, causing him to jump.

“Nardo, how long have you been standing there?” He glowered at him. “I’m busy.”

Leo held up his hands in surrender. “A while. Anyway, you’re just pushing y/n away.”

“But y/n isn’t listening to me!” He protested, dropping his tool. “I’m right!”

“Maybe, but you’re also being a jerk.” He shrugged. “Maybe she’ll get her heart broken but you could at least be there for support.”

“Oh no no no I’m not supporting that relationship.” He shook his head vigorously and picked up his screwdriver.

“Not the relationship, egghead.” Leo rolled his eyes. “Our friend?”

“Oh.” Donnie tapped the table in thought. “Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t have left y/n on read...”

“...And maybe go apologize?” Leo prompted.

“No she’s at a party.” He glanced around his phone, checking your location again. “Actually...” he leaned closer to stare at his screen, “y/n’s not at the party any more.”

“Perfect!” Leo clasped his hands together. “Go apologize!”

“It can’t wait?”

“Go!”

———-

You sat on the rooftop, clutching your jacket to your body and watching the city.

How could you have been so stupid.

How could have let something like that happen.

It was incredibly cold on the rooftop but you didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to go home. You CERTAINLY didn’t want to go to the lair either.

You just wanted to watch the city and pretend everything was okay again.

Why did you have to get your hopes up.

No one ever took interest in you like that unless they wanted something from you.

“Scoff, there you are!” Said the last person you wanted to talk to. “I thought you were in the building and spent about an hour searching for you.”

“Tracking device?” You asked, not even looking at him.

“Yep.” Donnie confirmed. “Now, might I inquire why you’re out here?” He glanced at his watch. “And not at your party?”

You stayed quiet.

“Something happen with Eric?”

You gave him nothing.

“I knew it!” He jumped up and cheered. “I was right! I was RIGHT! Ha!”

His every word made you feel colder and more embarrassed.

“I knew from the start! I knew he was untrustworthy!” He continued. “Eat that!”

Finally, he calmed down enough to sit next to you.

“Now, tell me, what did he do?” He leaned close expectantly. “Did he cheat? Did he kiss a girl? Did he try to get with one of your friends? Did he-?”

“He tried to rape me.” You spat out, bringing your knees to your chest.

Well I’m out of room XD

Part four up soon!

#rottmnt x reader #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #rottmnt oneshots #rottmnt leo #rottmnt imagine #rottmnt headcannons #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt x reader

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

1. Soulmates AU please! It is definitely my guilty pleasure trope

hello im only three months ish late maybe four but this is also 3.4k long and it's just wild i mean we're talking soul mates, superheroes, rushed world building, superhero names this is a trip this is something i wrote after waking up from a four hour nap this ever had a chance and also it's sad

1. Soul Mates (+ 42. Star Crossed Lovers)

“You shouldn’t have come,” Obi-Wan says harshly, pulling the children--they’re just goddamn children--into his apartment and slamming the door behind them. “Did anyone see you?”

The children--all four of them--stay quiet. Obi-Wan wants to wring their necks. He knows why they’re here. He’d rather them die on the streets than suffer through what they’re obviously here about.

But if that were really true, he would have just left them on his doorstep.

“Did anyone see you?” he asks again.

“Not that we noticed,” one of the girls in the middle says. Shili, dressed in a blue and white striped sensible jumpsuit and sporty cape. The leader of the new generation of superheroes and she sounds like she hasn’t even hit puberty yet.

Obi-Wan is suddenly very, very tired.

“Kam,” Shili gestures to the person next to her and a little behind, a tall boy with a helmet covering his face and white and blue armor covering the rest of him, “says he didn’t pick up anything with his sensors. We were safe. We’re not trying to get you caught, sir. We just need to talk to you.”

“You could kick us out,” the other girl points out, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s not even bothering to wear a domino mask, but Obi-Wan doubts very much he’s looking at her real appearance. She’s Mirial, of course.

Which makes the other boy in a padded white and orange suit Mando. Four of the fifty or so remaining Jedi superheroes are in his house.

Obi-Wan sighs and turns to pad down the hallway. “Shoes off,” he calls behind his shoulder. “And does anyone want any tea?”

“No thank you,” Shili responds politely, falling into step behind him.

“Sit,” he tells them roughly when he notices the four of them standing awkwardly in his cramped dining room. “Sit down.”

He puts the kettle on anyway, and bangs around the cabinets for a few seconds to find an unopened bag of chips and a sleeve of probably stale cookies.

He doesn’t have much else to offer them though. Not now.

Weren’t you the one always telling me to eat my vegetables? A laughing voice murmurs into his ear. Look at you now.

Obi-Wan has to stand for a second in his small and dirty kitchen, chips clutched in one hand and cookies in the other, and breathe for an impossibly long moment.

This is why he had not wanted to ever see another Jedi in his life. All they brought with them were questions and ghosts.

Obi-Wan has enough of those as it is.

The kettle goes off and he pours the hot water into his mug. The cowardly part of him that hasn’t faced a fight in ten years now wants to wait here until the tea has finished steeping and then think of a thousand other excuses to not ever leave the kitchen again. He's good at thinking of excuses. He calls them reasons and lives his life with them.

But he has always known someone would eventually come looking for answers. That had always been one of the prices he knew he would eventually have to pay.

He notices immediately upon entering the dining room that they’ve saved him a seat, if it counts as saving someone a seat when they’ve rearranged the chairs so one is on one side of the table and the other two are squeezed opposite it.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought snacks to my own interrogation,” he says blithely, depositing them onto the table in front of the children.

Kamino stares intently at them for a second, and then nods once to Shili, who reaches out to open the bag of chips. In a show of good faith, she takes one and eats it. Obi-Wan can’t see her eyes underneath the white lenses of her domino mask, but he’s quite sure she hasn’t stopped looking at him once.

“Are you sure you do not want tea, now we have established I am not going to poison you?” he asks, crossing his ankles and taking a sip from his own mug.

“It’s a bit too warm out there for hot tea,” Mirial says disdainfully, looking at her nails. “You know, what with the world on fire.”

“But I’d take an iced one, if you have it,” Shili leans forward.

Obi-Wan pauses, drink halfway to his mouth.

He sets it down gently on the wood of his table. “Ah. Going straight in, aren’t we?”

“There’s not much time for anything else,” Mando says, and at least he sounds a bit apologetic.

“A weighty statement from someone who can manipulate time itself,” Obi-Wan hums.

“Only for a few seconds,” Mando mutters behind his helmet, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“That’s because you don’t have much in the way of training, young man,” Obi-Wan tells him gently with a hint of steel behind it “Back in my day--”

He cuts himself off. He doesn’t know why. Clearly, they know who he used to be. Otherwise they wouldn’t be here. He’s really just delaying the inevitable, but his throat feels tight. This truth, so long unspoken, is hard to drag into his mouth. And yet, every second he doesn’t speak it, it’s bashing itself to death against the backs of his teeth.

“Would you like us to tell you what we’ve found out about your days?” Mirial asks, looking up from her nails. “Would that make it easier for you, Ilum?”

“Meer--” Shili starts to say, reaching out to touch the girl’s arm, rein her in, but it’s too late.

The planes of Mirial’s face change and shift and suddenly for the first time in ten years, Anakin Skywalker is sitting across from him. “Would you like to talk about the old days, or would you like me to talk about the old days?” Mirial in Anakin’s smooth baritone asks.

It’s cruel. It’s so cruel that for a second Obi-Wan wishes his heart could just stop from the pain of it all. “Please put that away,” he tells the tabletop coldly. “And please. Do not call me that.”

“Meer,” Shili murmurs, and there’s a shift in the air.

When Obi-Wan looks back up, Mirial is back to the way she always appears in press releases, green skin and all. “That was a decent impression,” he tells her. She bristles at the perceived slight, but he holds up his hand. “But when I knew him, his eyes weren’t gold. They were blue.”

“Mustafar has had golden eyes since he joined the Imps,” Mirial argues back in a way that reminds Obi-Wan of another young teenager, who never could learn how to take criticism well.

“And he was someone else before then,” he tells the girl. “He had another name and he had a mother and he had a soulmate and a--fiancee and everything.”

His hands have started to shake, so he clasps the mug tightly, though it burns him.

“Tell us,” Shili insists forcefully but compassionately. Obi-Wan had wondered before why they had chosen to make the girl whose only ability is to fly the leader of the newest Jedi team, but it must be that. It must be her compassion. “Please. You’re the only one who can.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says. “I know. I’m the only one who is left. But if I am to demask myself, I will not do it to a table of strangers.”

The children turn to look at each other. Kamino cocks his head at Shili, who inclines her own head. Mirial shrugs. Mando shakes his head once, but Shili seems to override him, because she turns back to Obi-Wan and takes off her domino mask.

“My name is Ahsoka Tano,” she says, stumbling over the name. Obi-Wan wonders how many times she’s unmasked herself before. “Or Shili.”

She nudges Mirial, who sighs. “I’m Barriss,” she tells him grudgingly.

Kamino takes off his helmet to reveal a strong-jawed boy with a blond buzzcut. “His name is Rex,” Ahsoka says. “He can’t speak except through minds.”

Obi-Wan blinks in surprise at this. He had known that Kamino had an advanced sense of the senses, could tell something’s molecular makeup just by looking at it, could smell a gas leak from two miles away, etcetera, etcetera, but he hadn’t known the boy could communicate telepathically as well.

“And I’m his twin,” Mando sighs, taking off his own helmet and revealing a startlingly similar face, marred by a scar just across his temple. “Cody.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Obi-Wan tells them, drumming his fingers on the table. “You know already. I fought under the name Ilum. I could--”

He searches for words to describe his own powers, and settles instead on a demonstration. With a flick of his hand, the liquid in the mug rises and freezes into a miniature wave, suspended in the air.

He lets the ice drop into the mug, and inclines his head to Ahsoka. “Iced tea?” he asks wryly.

“Tell us about Mustafar,” Mando demands. What a heavy thing to carry, Obi-Wan finds himself thinking. The knowledge of all that time.

What Obi-Wan wouldn’t give to be ten years younger again. Not to even change anything, though he would be stupid to not try to. But to just enjoy the moment for what it had been in the end: just a moment.

“We didn’t call him that then,” Obi-Wan sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “We called him Iego in uniform, and Anakin in civvies.

“He was...radiant. In battle and off the field. I was the leader of our team for six years until Anakin came along. And I just knew as soon as I saw him that he would take everything from me. But he wouldn’t have had to take it. I would have given it to him right then.”

“I didn’t think he was that attractive,” Ahsoka mumbles, and then slaps a hand over her mouth as if afraid she’s spoken out of turn and ruined the story so completely that Obi-Wan won’t say anything else.

Instead, Obi-Wan laughs but it doesn’t sound much like a laugh at all. “Well, to each is his own, of course,” he says when he thinks the hysteria has worn off. “And finding out he carried my soul mark certainly helped.”

The room is blissfully silent, which Obi-Wan is beyond thankful for. He just wants to let those never-before admitted truths hang in the air, just for a few more seconds. He almost wants to say them again actually. Anakin Skywalker is my soulmate. Anakin Skywalker carries the same mark I carry, and he always has.

“But…” Barriss says slowly, “But Mustafar’s soulmark is on his neck.”

“It’s not,” Obi-Wan murmurs, staring at the wall behind their heads. “What he has on his neck is an ice burn scar in the shape of a hand. In the shape of my hand. His actual soul mark is on his mid-back, right over his spine.”

“You tried to kill your soulmate?” Ahsoka gasps, looking horrified.

Obi-Wan smiles with no joy behind it. “I tried to save the world,” he corrects her gently.

“You said earlier…” Cody speaks up. “That Mustafar--that Anakin had a fiancee. It wasn’t you, was it?”

“No,” Obi-Wan admits. “I never told him. I...couldn’t. I wanted to wait I suppose. I. Well. My soulmark is identical to his, but it’s on my thigh. And. You know what they say about a soulmatch whose marks aren’t in the same spot.” “Star crossed,” Ahsoka whispers.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirms. “I decided to wait. I was a few years older than him, he had so much to learn, he needed a friend more than he needed a soulmate. I had a long list of reasons, all as iron-clad as the next. But they were excuses. I was afraid. This man, my soulmate, could control fire and sunlight itself. He burned with passion, shone with power. And I...I was cold. Too pragmatic, too quick to criticize when he needed praise. The marks were just marks. Maybe they fit together, maybe they matched. But I was terrified that we wouldn’t.

“And by the time I thought to tell him, he came to find me instead. He was in love, he said. He had been seeing a girl for months and was going to ask her to marry him. And I suppose I must have asked about his soulmate, because he told me he would rather never know his soulmate, if knowing meant losing her.”

So. So Obi-Wan had let him go, though that part doesn’t make for a good story. He had distanced himself as much as he could get away with, which is not much really, seeing as how Iego and Ilum fought best when they fought together.

But in the end, his heartbreak had been too much, even for someone as cold as Obi-Wan had been known to be. He’d put in for a temporary transfer. A remedial medical leave, a Jedi-sanctioned sabbatical so he could ostensibly connect with himself and his powers. Nothing longer than a year.

You’ll miss the wedding, Anakin had told him, heartbreak shining in his own eyes.

But his heartbreak had been nothing compared to Obi-Wan’s, and so he had left. He had needed to. It had felt like rending his soul in two, but he had.

Two weeks into his stay at a different Jedi training base, Obi-Wan had died in an explosion. “That hadn’t been Jedi sanctioned,” he tells the children in front of him wryly. “We thought it was an accident at the time, but there were too many coincidences. Too many casualties.” But Obi-Wan’s death had been the only casualty Anakin had felt. It hadn’t mattered that someone had managed to restart his heart only a few minutes later. He had died. He had died and Anakin had felt his soulmate die. He had burned his fiancee in his own uncontrollable agony. She had not survived Obi-Wan’s death, even though Obi-Wan himself had.

“I...I don’t know what happened. Still. It’s been years and I have thought of little else. She may have been standing too close to him when it happened. Or...the house may have caught on fire and she was trapped inside. Or...I don’t know. I don’t know,” he spreads his hands palm up on the table and looks at the faces of the children.

He sighs and continues. There is so little left in the story now. “The Jedi Order decided to tell the press that there had been no survivors, though there had been a few. We couldn’t know if the Imperials were behind the attack or not, so we had to be careful. The survivor’s families were told, and their soulmates. Officially, I had no family. I had...no soulmate. They didn’t tell anyone I had survived. Ilum died in that explosion. Still to this day, he's dead.

“Anakin had always been absurdly powerful...and dangerous. He’d killed the love of his life, had felt his soulmate dying, and then...heard that I too had died. The first two had destabilized him, but my death and the Jedi Order’s staunch rejection of his request to see my body, to give me a funeral...it made him even more vulnerable to outside manipulation.”

“The Imperials….” Cody murmurs.

Obi-Wan nods, lip curling up. “The Imperials,” he agrees. “The timeline is fuzzy. I spent a good part of these weeks partially dead, one foot in both worlds. I didn’t know what was going on. When I was well enough to watch the news, the Jedi told me there was a new super villain working with the Imperials, going by the name Mustafar. I trained to kill him as he was helping the Imps decimate the Jedi. All of my old team was dead. Anakin was missing. I didn’t--”

He cuts himself off and runs a hand down his face. The children are waiting on his words. He’s telling them why they’re fighting wars adults should be fighting. He’s telling them why they’re out in the field after only a month or less of training. He’s trying to tell them why he isn’t out there fighting with them, but he knows already they won’t accept his excuses.

They shouldn’t have to.

“They gave me a new uniform and a new name,” Obi-Wan picks up the story. “Hoth. And I went off to kill my soulmate.”

“But you didn’t,” Barriss says, and she sounds vaguely confused and vaguely accusatory.

“I almost did,” Obi-Wan admits, like it’s a sin, like it's salvation. “Everything about him was different. He was not the passionate but warm boy I had known. He was a forest fire. A volcano. And Mustafar’s fighting style was completely different from Iego’s. I only realized it was Anakin--my Anakin--when I managed to knock his mask off. I had my hand around his throat, but when I realized who I was fighting...I let go. I couldn’t kill him. Even after everything he did. Even knowing...knowing Iego was gone.”

The dining room is silent for a second, before three voices burst out angrily at once.

“Why aren’t you helping the Jedi?” Ahsoka asks the loudest. “Hoth--Ilum, Obi-Wan. We need you. Mustafar--the Imperials...they’re not going to stop. They’ve killed so many Jedi. We need you to help us.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says. “I cannot.”

“You used to be a hero,” Barriss accuses. “Now what are you? A hollowed out, sad man.”

“I was never a hero,” he snaps. “I followed orders. Anyone can do that.”

“You were the best,” Cody says quietly, cutting Obi-Wan to the bone. “You led the Geonosis team for six years. I studied you in class. You were...the best.”

“I wasn’t,” Obi-Wan disagrees just as quietly. “But perhaps you all are.”

“You haven’t even told us any weakness we could use against him in battle!” Barriss shouts, standing up suddenly, which causes the chair to clatter over. “You’ve been no help at all! I’m leaving, this is a waste of time!”

“Barriss--!” Ahsoka cries after the girl, grabbing her discarded mask and taking after her.

Cody opens his mouth and then closes it. He jams the helmet back onto his head. “The soulmark. You said it’s on his hip?”

Obi-Wan smiles mirthlessly. Cody is trying to see if he can catch him in a lie, if this is actually good tactical information or not. “It’s a few inches below his shoulder blades, right over his spine.”

Cody nods once and then files out, leaving Obi-Wan alone in the room with the silent, still helmetless Rex.

“I just told him how to kill my supervillain soulmate,” Obi-Wan tells Rex, even though he’s really talking to himself. “Soulmarks, even dead ones, are extremely sensitive. If Anakin had hit me with his fire on my other thigh, I would be dead. Not just crippled. Muscle, young man, doesn’t grow back easily.”

He rubs a hand over the leg in question, staring down at the uneven way his pants lay over the old injury. It aches from the walking he’s forced it to do today, from trying to walk normally im front of these powerful strangers.

Rex taps the table to get him to look up, and then gestures to his own eyes.

“I?” Obi-Wan asks, confused.

Rex rolls his eyes and then mimes writing something.

“Ah, there should be a pen and pad in the kitchen?” he trails off as the teenager goes to retrieve the aforementioned things.

It takes a second longer than it should, and he comes out carrying just a slip of paper with his helmet forced back onto his head.

With a flick of his fingers, the paper’s lying on the table and Rex is following his teammates out the door and out of Obi-Wan’s apartment and hopefully out of his life forever.

Curious, Obi-Wan grabs the note and unfolds it to read.

We thought Musta. had yel. eyes because all the top Imps have yel. eyes. But if Ankn had blue eyes, then mybe none of the imps should have yel eyes.

No one knows what sidious power is -> what if it’s mind control?

Obi-Wan puts the note down onto the table with shaking hands. He wishes desperately he had never read it.

Because those words plant a seed of hope in his chest he isn’t sure he’ll be able to live without now.

What if Anakin--his Anakin--what if he’s in there still? What if Obi-Wan had abandoned him to ten years of brainwashing and mind control with not much of a fight at all?

But more pressingly, what if there’s hope for him? For both of them? Still, after all this time?

#asks #my fics #look i did another prompt #obikin #superheroes au #i was thinkin of the robert frost fire and ice poem when i went to sleep #and this was the result lmao #obviously they end up together #idk what to tell you #probably big moment for anakin who still thinks obi-wan is dead #for him to show up ten years older than he ever thought he'd see him #limping and being called hoth #i liked the superhero names being after the planets they're from (i mean mostly #iego is cause of the angels thing and obi-wan is like oof hes radiant hes great hes an angel)#hes a mass murderer (again) is what he is #god i hope this fic makes sense its 4:41 #prompt fill

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cooliogirl101 · 3 years

Text

When they meet, Hashirama is a 18-year-old boy who’s known as an idealist fool with dreams bigger than himself and Hisana is a 15-year-old civilian girl with a cranky, elderly donkey as her only companion.

“No, no, no, not again,” Hisana groaned as she woke up to see that Carrot had-- once again-- chewed through her ropes and was now chomping away at some flowers further down the road. “Goddammit, get back here, you stupid donkey!”

At the sight of Hisana running towards her, Carrot took off at a fairly impressive speed, considering she was 22 years old and had arthritis. Not for the first time, Hisana considered just letting her go-- but then, that wouldn’t do. There were wolves out there (probably), just waiting to make a meal out of some poor old donkey, and Carrot was pretty slow when she wasn’t making Hisana’s life difficult. She wouldn’t survive.

The sound of muffled laughter caught Hisana’s attention and she looked up to see a teenage boy perched in a tree (where had he even come from??), one hand covering his mouth in a very poor attempt at hiding his amusement.

“Need some help?” He offered, eyes glinting with humor as he took in Hisana’s sorry attempt at chasing down her donkey.

Hisana briefly considered turning him down to try and preserve what remained of her dignity, then glanced back at Carrot’s departing figure and promptly decided it was too early in the morning for things like personal pride and chasing down donkeys.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, only a little grudgingly. The stranger’s lips quirked up and he disappeared in a swirl of leaves, only to reappear holding Carrot’s reins a second later.

Hisana blinked. So he was a shinobi. Alrighty, then.

“Here you go,” the stranger said cheerfully, a grumpy donkey trotting behind him.

Scowling, Hisana marched up to Carrot and swatted her lightly on the head.

“Do that again and I’ll make donkey skewers out of you, don’t think I won’t,” she threatened. Carrot nudged at her, nosing around for something to eat, and Hisana sighed, wrapping her arms around Carrot’s neck in a hug before turning to the stranger.

“Thank you. Really,” she said, giving him a faint smile. “You saved me ten minutes of chasing after her.”

“No need to thank me! It was no trouble at all, honestly,” the stranger laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was glad to help.”

Hisana studied him for a moment. She didn’t think he was acting, exactly, but there was something almost scripted about the way he spoke, his posture, his expressions, every movement carefully telegraphed. Like he was taking care to appear as harmless as possible.

It didn’t take a genius to realize why. This may have been her first time encountering a shinobi in person, but she’d heard more than enough stories.

They’re killers, Hisana, plain and simple. People without honor, who slaughter children, innocents, each other-- whoever they’re paid to slaughter-- without hesitation or remorse. Monsters in every sense of the word.

“Hey, um,” she said slowly. “Have you eaten?”

“I beg your pardon?” The shinobi asked, startled.

“I asked if you’d had breakfast yet,” Hisana repeated. “If not, would you care for something to eat? I can offer you--” She paused to mentally take stock of her food inventory. “--leftover meat buns, half an apple, and some vaguely sketchy berries.”

The shinobi coughed.

“Vaguely sketchy berries?” He asked, lips twitching. Hisana shrugged.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure they’re harmless. I’ve been snacking on them for days and I haven’t died yet, which is a good sign.” She smiled at him. “So, breakfast?”

“Yeah,” the shinobi said quietly, after a pause. There was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, almost like he was waiting for her to withdraw her invitation. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“I’m Hisana, by the way.”

“Hashirama. It’s very nice to meet you, Hisana.”

Hashirama ended up staying for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and then for another two days past that. Shinobi, it turned out, made for very good hunters, something Hisana discovered very quickly into their acquaintance.

“Hashirama,” she said, staring at the struggling rabbit in Hashirama’s hand. “This is the fifth rabbit you’ve brought me. I appreciate the thought, but--” She gestured helplessly in the general direction of the rabbit. “--it’s really too much.”

“It’s okay, you can save it for later!” His expression fell. “Unless you’re tired of rabbits? Wait no, of course you’d be tired of rabbits, I should have thought of that. I can get you something else instead? Maybe a pheasant? I think I saw some pheasants around here.”

Hisana studied him for a moment.

“Hashirama,” she said abruptly. “Why did you decide to travel with me?”

“What do you mean?” Hashirama asked, brow furrowed.

“I mean that I’m well-aware I’m slowing you down. Don’t deny it, you can��t tell me that your maximum speed is that of a twenty-something year-old donkey,” she said, exasperated. “I’m not the best at cooking, and we’ve already established that you’re a far better of a hunter than I am. So why stay? Why travel with me when it’d be easier for you to travel alone?”

He was quiet for a long moment.

“You knew I was a shinobi and invited me to stay anyway,” he said finally, voice soft. He wasn’t quite meeting her eyes. “And besides, I like talking to you.”

Hisana swallowed, caught off guard.

“And I like talking to you,” she replied quietly. “I didn’t invite you along because I wanted your protection, or someone to hunt for me, or anything like that, Hashirama, I did so because I have fun spending time with you. If you like catching rabbits or whatever, that’s fine. But don’t feel like you have to do so for my sake, or that you need to-- to prove something to me.”

Hashirama let out a slightly shaky laugh.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m not very used to this,” he admitted. “You know, you’re the first civilian I’ve spent time with outside of a mission?”

“Well, you’re the first shinobi I’ve ever met,” she replied. He looked at her, surprised.

“Seriously? But you weren’t scared at all!” He exclaimed.

“Well, that’s on you,” she scoffed. “You weren’t very frightening.”

“Or maybe you’re just not very easy to scare,” he answered.

“If that helps your ego, sure,” Hisana grinned.

She reached down to stroke Carrot’s neck.

“So tell me, what was it like, growing up as a shinobi?

When Hashirama hesitated, she added, “You can lie about all the classified parts. It’s not like I would know, anyway.”

Hashirama laughed, shaking his head.

“Alright, then,” he said, smiling. “But I’m warning you, it’s really not as interesting as you’re probably imagining. I grew up in a large ninja clan, and--”

Bonus:

“Care to explain why you came back from your mission three days late?” Tobirama asked flatly. “Half the clan thought you’d died.”

Hashirama smiled, a slightly dreamy look in his eyes. Tobirama didn’t like it at all.

“Just took a detour, that’s all.”

The next time they meet, several years later, Hashirama is the newly appointed leader of his clan and Hisana has built a name for herself as a wandering clan-less healer (she listens for rumors of recent battles/bandit attacks/shinobi disputes and goes wherever there’s recent bloodshed. In doing so, she creates quite a few connections and ends up building the shinobi world’s largest, most detailed information network completely by accident).

#wtl!au #hippocrates au

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peppersonironi · 3 years

Text

This Is… Exactly What It Looks Like

Part One: Rhodey

Summary:

Sam silently prayed that Bucky had left his phone in their room. Or maybe he had headed out for errands?

Alas, the universe was not with Sam Wilson on that day.

As soon as Rhodey had pressed ‘call’ a ringing noise came from the other room. Specifically: a ring tone. And not just any ringtone. It was audio from a Life Alert commercial.

Sam silently cursed his outrageous sense of humor.

*****

AKA: 5 times the Avengers found out Sam and Bucky were dating, and 1 time it was the public

Notes:

It's my first Sambucy Fic! I hope you like it!

Now this fic was inspired by THIS post by @wenellyb. I thought it was hilarious, and just had to write it. Also, I adore these types of fics, so I just had to extend it out. I really hope you all enjoy it!

Quick note for some light language in this. And maybe it'll be ooc? idk. I really leaned into the more humorous sides of these characters, but I hope it remains good.

Read On Ao3

One of the best kept secrets in this modern day and age was that Sam Wilson is a little shit .

Case in point: he knew perfectly well that Bucky liked to make breakfast while Sam was out on a run for the both of them. And yet, today, he had decided to weaponize his knowledge that his boyfriend was most definitely not a morning person and go out early so that he would have enough time to make it himself.

If Sam were to tell Bucky exactly why, it would be some snarky remark about not liking his toast burned - it never was - or there wasn’t enough sugar in the coffee - there always was. But if Sam were to be honest with himself, he’d admit that he loved the look on Bucky’s face when he saw his favourite meal.

So that was how Sam found himself, at eight o’clock in the morning, chopping up a melon and waiting for his baked oatmeal to be ready. It was calm this early in the morning, peaceful.

So, of course, it was at that exact moment, just when Sam had had that thought, that a knock came at the door.

Sam sighed heavily but set down his knife, wiped his hands, and went to get the door.

“Rhodey?” Sam asked, a touch surprised to see him. Especially at his and Bucky’s apartment. And in the morning.

Rhodey nodded in greeting. “Hey, Sam. Are you busy?”

Sam frowned but gestured for Rhodey to come in. “Not really. What do you need?”

Rhodey sighed and rubbed his temples. “There’s been some chatter about arms dealers in Italy that’s been going on, and I was working on it, so they sent me to get you. You up for some Captain America-ing?”

“Sure,” Sam grinned, “When do we move out?”

“As soon as possible, if you can manage it.”

Sam glanced back at the oven, and his plans for that morning and sighed internally. But he knew this is what he had signed up for. And he loved the job, he really did. He just wished Rhodey had waited a few more hours.

Sam nodded. “Alright, let me grab my stuff. Any other stops we’re making?”

Rhodey shook his head, “I don’t think anyone else is available at the moment.” He paused to consider, pursing his lips together. “Actually, have you talked to Bucky recently? I think he would be very useful on this mission, we need all the help we can get.”

Shit.

Sam shrugged as casually as he could manage. He did want to lie to Rhodey, but… the alternative was less that ideal.

Rhodey nodded. “You know what? I think I’ll give him a call, see if he’s available.”

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I don’t if that’s-”

But it was too late. Rhodey had already grabbed his phone from his pocket, dialed, and lifted it to his ear.

Sam silently prayed that Bucky had left his phone in their room. Or maybe he had headed out for errands?

Alas, the universe was not with Sam Wilson on that day.

As soon as Rhodey had pressed ‘call’ a ringing noise came from the other room. Specifically: a ring tone. And not just any ringtone. It was audio from a Life Alert commercial.

Sam silently cursed his outrageous sense of humor.

Rhodey glanced over towards the noise, and Sam followed, and died a little bit inside.

Set out on the coffee table in their living room, with the extra wide screen that Sam had gotten because “it’s easier on your old man eyes”, was Bucky’s phone. Lit up. WIth Rhodey’s name prominently displayed, announcing to all the world that the colonel was calling.

Rhodey and Sam slowly turned their gazes back to each other, staring in silence.

Neither moved.

The only sound in the room was Bucky’s phone, still playing “Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!

Slowly, the song faded out and the phone in the other room went dark. Rhodey lowered his own cell from his ear and pocketed it. All the while maintaining eye contact with Sam.

Neither spoke.

The house was silent.

Or at least, it was until a low groaning came from one of the hallways. For the first time in the past two minutes, Rhodey and Sam tore their gazes away from each other and directed them to the lumbering form of one Bucky Barnes, who had just woken up for the first time and was dressed in pajamas to match.

“Hey sweetheart?” Bucky asked, rubbing his eyes. “Was that my phone ringing?”

When no answer came, Bucky glanced fully into the kitchen, and realised what was going on.

“Oh. Hi, Rhodey.”

Rhodey nodded in greeting. “Hi, Bucky.”

This time the silence that followed was three times as suffocating. The three men stood in awkward positions, no one quite sure what to do or say.

Sam glanced back at the oven, begging his baked oatmeal to be ready.

Bucky eyed Rhodey and then the coffee maker, debating how impolite it would be to go over and drink from the pot.

Rhodey glanced between the two men, who apparently lived together and called each other “sweetheart” and were most definitely not what he was expecting that morning, and felt way out of his depth.

“Am I… interrupting something?” Rhodey finally asked.

Sam sighed heavily. “Only breakfast.”

He took this as his cue to go back around the island and finish chopping up the melon. As he did so, he shot a look at Bucky.

“Buck, Rhodey here needs us to go to Italy. Are you up for it?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes ever so slightly and gave a sharp yet shallow nod.

“I’m gonna need a verbal response over here,” Sam said tiredly, and Rhodey got a feeling this wasn’t the first time that the couple had had this exchange. And they were a couple, right?

Bucky narrowed his eyes even more at Rhodey before he began to slowly edge past the visitor and into the kitchen. He didn’t blink a single time.

Sam didn’t seem the least bit bothered as he kept chopping up fruit. He offered up a piece for Bucky when he came up to his side, and the former assassin plucked it from the captain’s fingers.

Bucky kept staring at Rhodey as he lifted the piece of melon to his lips, and took a slow, methodical bite.

Rhodey closed his eyes for a long moment and took a deep breath. For the first time he was thankful for Tony’s crazy phase, it had given the man much practice in patience.

Ten seconds later, when Rhodey was thoroughly sure that he had calmed himself down, he opened his eyes.

Bucky was still staring at him.

Rhodey almost swore in his moment of surprise. What was up with this guy? Did Hydra replace his eyelids along with his arm? Did he have some kind of second eyelid? Yeah, that must be it. Bucky was part crocodile.

Sam huffed out a small laugh, albeit slightly uncomfortable. “Hey, Buck?” He said, “You can blink now.”

Bucky blinked and shook his head slightly as he tore his gaze away from Rhodey and toward Sam. He visibly softened, his face completely transforming. He wasn’t quite smiling, but it was close.

If Rhodey were a weaker man, or maybe a fangirl, he would have gone: “Awwww!”

He settled for a knowing smile.

“You two been together very long?” He asked as casually as possible.

The couple pulled their eyes away from each to look back at Rhodey, and said colonel was getting the distinct impression that they might have forgotten he was there.

“A while,” Bucky said grudgingly.

Sam rolled his eyes, smiling.

Ah, there was a story there wasn’t there?

But, alas, Rhodey decided that he’d just stick to the point. “I’m happy for you both, really.”

“Thanks, Rhodey.” Sam smiled.

Just then the timer beeped over the oven, and Sam glanced back. Finally! His baked oatmeal was ready!

Sam pulled open the oven door then reached over to his right to grab an oven mitt when Bucky came right up behind him and used his metal hand to pull out the pyrex baking dish.

A wink and smirk, and the breakfast oats were placed on the top of the stove where it could cool off.

“Not that this scene of domestic bliss isn’t adorable,” Rhodey called, “But… arms dealers? Italy? Time sensitive? The bomb threat?”

Now that sure got the pair’s attention.

“There’s a bomb threat?!”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Tagging: @fanficmaniatic

#sambucky #sambucky fanfiction #james rhodes #rhodey #5+1 fic #marvel #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #fanfiction #sam wilson x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sam wilson #mcu #more to follow #sam x bucky #bucky x sam

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stellartales · 3 years

Text

Xiao | Call My Name — 02

Chapter 02 — Shadow in the Wind

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY PARTS OF MY FICS IN ANY FORMS AND CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

My fics are kept within Tumblr (@savagetrickster @justgenshin — I am both.) and ao3 but if you do see my works elsewhere apart from these two platforms, please notify me.

Disclaimer: It’s pretty obvious from what you have read in 01 but just for clarification’s sake, this story will not be following the game script. But I will draw ideas and inspirations from there.

Words: 1,734

Night fell hours ago. The moon was hung in full view for all to admire but the feeble light it emitted could barely be seen among the drifting wispy clouds.

The only thing that was keeping the room illuminated was the tender golden glow of the fire sitting in the two standing lamps.

Like every night ever since Wangshu Inn received her, a figure, right when no one was around, once again emerged from the shadows.

His piercing gaze — the only thing he allowed himself to touch her with — was contradictingly gentle as he accessed her pale face and listened to her breathing.

The tension on his forehead relaxed in what seemed to be... relief, at the absence of the harsh, shallow breaths he heard her fight to take when he found her.

He didn’t like how his steady hands shook then, with a strange…uneasiness, almost like fear.

“Paimon will stay with her, thanks lady boss!”

Voices outside of the door snapped his focus back.

“Simply ‘Boss’ will do, Paimon.”

His piercing eyes flickered back down to her and widened almost instantly to the sight of his outstretched hand, which somehow between his absent thoughts had ended up merely inches away from her face.

Flinching his hand away as if he was scalded, the figure in the room retreated from the bed and vanished into the darkness like the wind.

The moon was hung in full view for all to see but the feeble light it emitted could barely be seen among the drifting wispy clouds.

The only thing that was keeping the room illuminated was the tender golden glow of the fire sitting in the two standing lamps.

Just like how it was before, the room was left empty once more. As if he was never there in the first place.

Quiet movements behind her eyelids reciprocated to the gentle touch of a light breeze curling against her cheeks like doting caresses.

The sense of weightlessness was beginning to lift from her as dainty songs of singing birds and the soft creaks of wood started growing into her consciousness.

She could hear careful footsteps as well and felt more than saw a presence hovering near her, its warmth brushing against her skin until something damp was placed between her brows.

Her forehead clenched in a frown against the new sensation sitting on her face. Her fingers curled into something cushy and velvety as a weak groan left her lips.

Light beyond her eyelids beckoned her to open her eyes and so she did, squinting against the intruding brightness until she could finally adjust to the light.

Her vision focused into clarity and was greeted by a familiar stranger.

“You are...?” She blinked in puzzlement as she racked her brain for an answer.

Confusion marred a frown between her brows at the Inn’s boss who was standing over her with a mild smile — the fog in her groggy mind made it hard to answer the vague sense of recognition nagging her.

“Verr Goldet. Boss of Wangshu Inn.” The lady filled in the blanks helpfully, “Nice to have you back with us, Lumine.”

Wangshu Inn?

She tried to wrap her fuddled head around the new information as a memory of her running away from Dark Hilichurls with Paimon flashed past.

“Wait, but I was…” She was pretty sure she was a goner then. “How did—”

“You were out for so long, Lumine!” A floating little figure flew right up to her face before Verr Goldet could finish.

Lumine winced instantly to the sharp rise in volume.

“Shhh…You-You’re so loud.” She felt her head throb.

Paimon let out a small gasp and her face fell with a sheepish look.

“Oops sorry, Paimon is just excited ‘cause Paimon has been so worried...!”

“Sorry for worrying you, Paimon.” An apologetic smile sat weakly on her face. “But how long have I been sleeping?”

“And…” Her gaze shifted back to Verr Goldet, face scrunched in confusion “...how did I end up here?”

“Pretty long,” The lady boss merely nodded, “It’s been three days ever since Xiao-sama found and brought you to me.”

Xiao?

Her eyes widened.

Then that voice she heard...

The thirst to answer all the questions in her head spurned her to sit up in one quick move, only to be greeted by a sharp jolt of pain in her leg. “—ah!”

The giddiness swimming in her head made her see stars.

“Easy there, Lumine,” Verr Goldet’s voice matched the gentle backrubs the hand on her back made. “Afterall, you just overcame quite an ordeal.”

“An ordeal?” She held her head. “What happened to me?”

“You were down with high fevers due to the poison from the thorns of a Yingxuē and thankfully, that toxin could be easily flushed out through perspiration.”

“Ying…” The queasiness in her throat subsided. “...xuē?”

Then it dawned on her.

Oh right, it had totally slipped from her that her leg got injured all because of that bush and its stray branch.

And that was when she heard him.

“But Xiao…”

She still found it hard to believe — wasn’t that voice just a hallucination caused by the poison flooding her blood?

“Was he really there?”

Paimon nodded aggressively. “He was, he was!”

There was a spark in her eyes, “Right after you fainted, he appeared out of nowhere, striking down from the sky like lightning and finished off the Hilichurls in one sweep of his polearm!”

There was admiration she’d never seen in Paimon for Xiao since she did not have a good impression of the adeptus previously.

“...He was so fast Paimon could barely catch what happened!”

A chuckle turned her head back to the lady boss.

“That’s Xiao-sama for you,” Verr Goldet beamed, “He is afterall our mighty Guardian Yaksha; monsters are measly flies to the power of an adeptus.”

Lumine remained silent for a while.

Strong gratitude resonated in her heart along with a nearly tangible ache of curiosity and wonder for the adeptus.

“Is he here?”

A smile crept across Verr Goldet’s face.

“If you know where to look.”

— as she made her way out the door, behind the opened door was a brilliant view of the sky.

“But…” A rush of wind blew through the door, “...whether or not you would find Xiao-sama, it will be all up to him.”

The lady boss's smile turned mysterious as she looked back at them.

The setting sun on the horizon waned in the gathering darkness of the approaching night.

Guests residing in Wangshu Inn were mostly back from errands they had to run and settling down in the eateries the Inn had to offer.

Of course, Paimon would never give food a miss especially when Verr Goldet just invited her for a second round of dinner. Somehow during the days when she laid in the room on the highest floor battling the poison in her body, the lady boss had grown familiar with Paimon’s huge appetite.

Verr Goldet offered her a second dinner as well but Lumine had other ideas.

She had her fill in the room she woke up in and ordered a certain dish she insisted on paying, not wanting to be a freeloader but to no avail because—

“Xiao-sama trusted us to take care of you so it would be rude not to honor his trust.”

—the lady boss insisted after leaving behind a tray of her dinner.

The simple white garb on her was loosely comfortable to move in, but the winding staircase up to the upper balcony proved to be a challenge when she had to limp on one leg with a crutch tucked under an armpit while holding onto a takeaway lunchbox.

It had been what felt like five minutes ever since she began climbing the stairs. The dressed wound on her leg throbbed every step she took; the struggle to move were evident in her harsh raspy breaths and the way the thin coat of sweat stuck her fringe to her forehead.

Her other hand was clenched tight on the banister, knuckles white with effort.

And when she finally reached the top, she couldn’t help letting out a loud sigh of relief.

Lumine squinted her eyes against a burst of wind from the gaping door as she hobbled out into the open.

Her hair was blown back in the rushing wind and she could not hold back a shiver to the cool tickles of the ocean breeze.

“...Xiao?” She called out gingerly.

There was nothing but the wind and the sweeps of the waves below.

“It’s me, Lumine!”

Her eyes wandered to the dark sky above her as she continued to limp forward.

Her voice calling out to him kept scattering in the wind no matter how many times she tried or how loud she threw her voice into the wind.

Looking lost with sad eyes at the vast sky and the seemingly huge moon above, her voice grew weaker until there was no more.

Maybe this was how it is.

Perhaps to him...

The hopeful glint in her gaze dimmed as she lowered her gaze to a cruel thought in her head.

...she was nothing but just a mere mortal. Simply an annoyance he had to grudgingly protect.

— to make things worse, she didn’t even belong to this world.

Even so...

Her shoulders squared; her resolve to thank him refused to let her give up.

...just one last time.

Then she would stop — this bitter promise sank her heart.

“Please Xiao," Lumine raised her gaze again, "I know you’re out here. I’m sorry I’m back here again.”

She hobbled forward.

“I know you told me to leave you alone but I just—thunk” She felt the leg of the crutch supporting her hit an uneven portion of the wooden floor beneath her feet.

Her crutch cluttered to the ground before she could adjust her grip.

A sharp gasp surged through her throat as she staggered forward.

The ground was rushing fast toward her, the box in her hand was slipping from her hand.

Horror sept into her widening eyes.

Oh no oh no, the almond tofu is going to—

Then as if materializing out of thin air, a firm hold appeared around her waist and tugged her up in one swift move against a warm, breathing wall that could talk—

“What are you doing?”

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How do you like this story so far?

— published on 17.02.2021

#genshin xiao #xiao x reader #xiao imagines #xiao x lumine #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin impact xiao

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rynnaaurelius · 3 years

Note

P for The Kane Chronicles? (I’m pretty sure the Magician!Percy ‘verse doesn’t count since the ask game said ‘invent’.)

(Ask post that Anon is referencing is HERE)

Probably not quite in the spirit of the ask, but since I'm bored and I like playing around in the Kane Chronicles sandbox, you're getting a two for one special, so have a TKC AU and a Magician!Percy 'verse AU:

(Under the cut; enjoy my ramblings)

1. The Kane Chronicles but Carter and Sadie are in college AU

-I've got angstier and more epic TKC AUs in my notes [Highlights include: Desjardins-bites-it-instead-of-Iskandar-and-everything-is-actually-worse AU, Julius-and-Ruby-both-die-and-Carter-and-Sadie-get-raised-together-in-England AU, Zia-finds-Carter-and-Sadie-early AU, Doughboy-Saves-The-World AU (No I will not elaborate), Carter-and-Sadie-can-see-ghosts AU, god-reversal (So Carter has Isis, Sadie has Horus; I know things are the way they are in canon because reasons but I think Sadie should get a crown, actually), and, because it's me: everything goes wrong at the end of Throne of Fire while they're in the Duat, Sadie and Carter get thrown back in time] but this one has fluff, absurdity, and angst so here we go.

-So I know very little about how College Admissions: Non-American Edition works, but suffice to say, Sadie's starting at NYU as a first-year architecture major. Carter's been online at a German uni that Sadie can never remember the name of, but he's a math major specializing in something highly specific and nerdy.

-(Just. . .go with the conceit of the AU, for hilarity reasons. I haven't actually written this yet, so sorry to non-American college students)

-So Sadie and Carter basically make it through puberty with minimal incidents; the accidental magic kicks up a bit when they both hit 16, but other than that, they manage just fine.

-And then Sadie's grudgingly home for Christmas because her grandparents are footing the bill for that tuition (But, uh, they haven't gotten along great since Sadie came out as bisexual at 14).

-Anyway. New York. Distance. Fresh start. Architecture, because geometry rules and Sadie's going to spite the wanker of a math teacher she had Year 10.

-She comes home for Christmas to her grandparents, estranged brother and her father whom she hasn't seen since she was 13, and her father blows up the bloody British Museum.

-Sorry, just the Rosetta Stone. So much better.

-From there, things are more-or-less canon for The Red Pyramid, but with added:

-Sadie flirting with Zia because the face Carter makes is too good (Especially when Zia stops trying to kill them and flirts back)

-Carter using that math major to basically create and launch Captain America's Shield But Magic at people

-Carter's twenty and not fourteen so I can immediately incorporate my "Carter's a polyglot" headcanon off the bat

-House of Life politicking

-Sadie's ongoing feud with American TSA

-Set makes increasingly snarky comments about how at least the House sent young people old enough to drive while Sadie desperately tries to hide the fact that she doesn't know how to drive while Carter and Zia know how to drive way, way too many different vehicles

-The trade-off is that Sadie is the only one of them who knows how to move through a city without getting desperately lost or attracting amounts of attention because, her words, "she at least received that education in how to pretend to be a fucking boring person."

-#LetTheKaneSiblingsSayFuck2021

-Everyone figures out the Nephthys/Zia/shabti thing a bit quicker here and get directions, at least. Zia isn't Carter's first crush or would even be his first girlfriend (Or partner, because I am pushing the Bi!Kanes agenda as well) but he's also prone to be really all-in and romantic each time

-Sadie, to her credit, only pushes him into the pool over it once.

-Desjardins, in less funny news, is much less impressed with the whole "Let the Kanes do their own thing," and periodically send handlers bearing death threats to Brooklyn House.

-Which is both sometimes funny (Kindergarteners terrorizing magicians who had no idea what they were in for) and really, really not (Sadie and Carter facing veteran magicians with decades of experiences on them and who are absolutely willing to kill the Kanes).

-Anyway, Throne of Fire. Isis and Horus temporarily stop speaking to each other because there's now a feud over whether it should be Sadie or Carter on the throne, because Sadie's younger, but she's way better at magic and Carter is vehemently Team Doesn't Want The Throne

-This is mostly hilarious because Carter and Sadie are torn between an excuse to go off on each other for sibling-related shit and fucking with their on-and-off godly visitors.

-No one is ever sure how this is resolved by the end of the AU trilogy because Carter takes the throne but Sadie lurks in the corner and grins way too much for anyone sane's liking.

-She and Set get along famously in this AU. Amos is unnerved.

-Sadie doesn't get attacked in London by Babi and Nekhbet, but coming out of one of her architecture classes, which makes. . .for interesting results from onlookers, who mostly consist hungover drama students who think they're hallucinating and one blonde daughter of Athena

-Oh yeah, and this AU comes with bonus college!demigods who are constantly off-stage and convinced Carter and Sadie are minor gods who like to fuck with them.

-Annabeth's TAing a bunch of Sadie's intro classes and rotating between three theories of:

-1) Sadie is a daughter of Poseidon who managed to slip through everyone's nets and she and Carter are the di Angelos 2.0 (This theory gives Percy heartburn when he hears it)

-2) Sadie is some kind of monster playing the long con and working to destroy Camp Half-Blood (This theory spawns after Annabeth finds out Sadie is capable of magic and due to Sadie alternating between being very friendly and very stand-offish--as Sadie tries to figure out if Annabeth is a rival magician)

-3) Sadie is a minor god in disguise. She can't quite justify why a god would be taking Intro to Architecture 101 at NYU in the 21st century, but Sadie reeks of too much power and Annabeth would never put anything past any god at this point.

-Percy is so fucking confused.

-Actual conversation Sadie and Carter have about Sadie's Weird TA With The Knife And Her Surfer Boyfriend: "--they could be gods. They could be monsters sent by Apophis." "Apophis got a magic nuke to the face, brother dear. I think we're fine. Probably magicians trying to keep a low profile." "When it's gods, I'm going to say I told you so for the next century." "If you're so sure, bet on it, brother."

-It's gods. Just the wrong kind. Sadie now owes Carter twenty bucks out of the Brooklyn House Betting Pool (That doesn't exist if you're Amos or under 15).

-Anyway, I'm pretty invested in this AU for the shenanigans, because I think every children's series deserves a "They Were Mostly Adults And Disasters Of A Different Kind" AU.

2. Magician!Percy 'verse but the Kanes are in San Francisco during the Quest for Artemis AU

-The sheer chaos potential of this is excellent, which is partly why I'm including it here. It's adjacent to TTC, so Percy's fourteen (We'll call it post-AU Throne of Fire, but the timeline's iffy in this 'verse because I'm fudging ages for Percy, Carter, and Sadie).

-Please note that Bianca is alive and well at this point in time; due to Percy's absence, another Hunter (We'll call her Agafya because Phoebe's still alive for BotL) came along and bit the dust in the graveyard saving Bianca's life.

-Percy, Carter, and Sadie are in the area after getting a lot of really weird reports from the Fifty-Sixth Nome relating to Mount Tam, and basically accidentally drop themselves in on the entire battle when Sadie's trying to get them through the Duat to see what the hell is happening.

-For added fun, according to my notes, this is right when Luke's offering Thalia the quite dead Ophiotaurus's entrails so that she may destroy Olympus.

-In the original universe, the entrails get destroyed by Frederick Chase on a Camel Sopwith.

-In this universe, Percy pulls himself to his feet first and threatens to burn Sadie's eyebrows off for dropping him on animal guts, of all things, before cheerfully introducing himself to a slightly stunned mix of Titans, Hunters, demigods, monsters, and one (1) goddess.

-All options being equal, Kronos probably would've taken the first option.

#i got an ask!#the kane chronicles #sadie kane #carter kane #zia rashid #pjo #percy jackson #magician! percy 'verse #this was fun #sorry it took so long anon

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dontmindmyshadowhunting · 3 years

Text

Welcome to Faerieland - Fan Fic (last chapters)

Here we go! Last chapters of Welcome to Faerieland.

Link to full story on AO3 here.

*****

Dru and Ash landed a mile or so away from their destination, in order to avoid drawing attention to the location. As soon as their feet touched the ground, the two rocs turned around and disappeared above the treetops.

“I can walk,” Dru said and Ash offered his arm to steady her while she limped toward the general direction of the cottage. She knew it pretty well, it had sort of become a Blackthorns’ country home.

“So how do you know this place?”

“My eldest brother is dating the King of the Unseelie Court, and that’s where they meet sometimes.”

Ash whistled.

“One of your brothers is King Kieran’s lover? I think I heard about him.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty serious, although they won’t ever be able to be official about it. I guess you know what the rules are about faerie royalty’s consorts?”

“I do,” he averted his gaze and brushed a hand through his hair, in what seemed to be a nervous gesture. Dru realized it was the first time Ash had looked uncomfortable about a subject.

“A lot of rules need to be changed,” he said abruptly. “Don’t you agree?” His green eyes bore into her as he said it, as if he was desperate for her approval.

“Well, King Kieran has already been carrying out a lot of changes since he came to power. It’s just that… sometimes, it takes time. You can’t change the world overnight.”

Ash kicked a pebble. “You could, if you didn’t insist on everything being consensual. Maybe King Kieran cares too much about what people think of him... or, you know, in general.” He shrugged but there was a predatory glint in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before, and it almost made her cringe.

“You know, Ash, if what you are looking for in a sovereign is arbitrary decisions and a bitchy attitude, we have the Seelie Queen for that.”

She had expected Ash to laugh, his free, careless laugh - God, she loved it when he did that - but he seemed lost in thought.

She had to admit she had been a bit harsh. She knew the Seelie and Unseelie Courts were in much better terms now that King Arawn was dead. The Queen had appointed the Unseelie Prince Adaon as her most trusted advisor and the two of them and King Kieran met regularly to reinforce the bonds and cooperation between both realms.

Dru started humming a song and Ash paused, his green eyes widening. “Are you singing… Royals ?”

“Yeah, I love that song. Do you know it?”

“I do,” he answered, suppressing a smile.

As they walked, she sang louder - she knew the lyrics by heart - and he watched her with glittering eyes, clearly entertained.

“And we'll never be royals It don't run in our blood That kind of luxe just ain't for us We crave a different kind of buzz Let me be your ruler You can call me queen bee”

“Maybe I will,” he whispered in her ear as he tickled her, and she elbowed him playfully.

He sang along with her then - he had a beautiful tenor voice - both of them throwing their heads back at the same time to howl at the sky “And baby, I'll rule - I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule” , like a pair of wolves. They roared with laughter, Dru holding her ribs and leaning against Ash for support. Watching him from the corner of her eye, she marvelled at the fact that she had found a new friend in such a short time.

At the Academy, people either feared her because she was a Blackthorn or wanted to be friends with her simply for that same reason. Or both. She was almost a celebrity, despite herself. Only because of her last name and her eldest brothers’ hand in ending the Cold Peace in the most spectacular way. And of course, there were always the loud-mouthed bigots and moralists who were baffled by the Blackthorns’ ties with the Fair Folk and their so-called “sexual and moral depravity”. The Rosales, of course, suffered the same criticism, and Jaime had always been a comforting shoulder and reliable friend to Dru in those moments where she felt she had had too much to deal with.

She didn’t want to worry Julian, Emma, Mark or even Helen with her troubles making friends at the Academy.

She couldn’t confide in Ty, because he didn’t care at all what people thought, and was content with sticking to his close friends, Livvy and Anush. His teachers, especially Ragnor Fell and Catarina Loss were absolute fans - even if Fell would never admit it - and everyone at the Scholomance was too impressed by his obvious academic superiority - and maybe, the Carpathian lynx tailing him - to dare bother him anyway.

Ash seemed to be far away from all of this, as if he had been living as a hermit in a remote tower, which was probably close to the truth.

He was the only one outside her siblings, with the exception of Jaime of course, to treat her like an ordinary girl.

And maybe, maybe someday Ash could become more than a friend. He was nice, definitely fun, absolutely gorgeous and he had kissed her after all, even though she knew it could be meaningless where faeries were concerned. She had been waiting for Jaime to figure things out for so long, and Ash had appeared out of nowhere and had shown interest without a moment’s hesitation.

She was interrupted in her thoughts as a broad-shouldered silhouette falling from the sky dropped on the ground before them. Dru released Ash’s arm to clap both her hands on her mouth, relief washing over her. Kit, looking as angelic as ever with his bright blue eyes and tousled blond hair, fluttered his white wings tipped with gold as he advanced gleefully to greet Dru.

The reunion was cut short as he was suddenly thrown back by a figure shooting straight into him like a cannonball and from one moment to the next, Kit disappeared into a ball of black and white feathers, rolling on the grass.

It took Dru a moment to realize that Ash had disappeared from her side and that he was actually the one who had attacked Kit. She ran to separate them but soon they were shooting up, caught in a wrestling match a few feet above ground, moving so swiftly they were a blur.

Dru let out a heavy sigh before she put two fingers between her lips and whistled as loud as she could. The two figures froze - they were still grappling each other - and looked down.

“ASH! KIT! Both of you. Get down here! NOW.”

They both looked at each other.

“ASH! What the hell is wrong with you, this is my brother’s boyfriend !” Dru continued, gesturing frantically toward Kit.

Ash released Kit first, grudgingly, and they both landed softly on the floor. There was a long gash across Ash’s cheek but he was grinning like the Cheshire cat, his eyes glittering in excitement. He winked at Dru as he wiped blood from his mouth. Kit was rearranging his hair, looking pissed, and Dru realized that his knuckles were bloody and that there was a small cut on his eyebrow. Both of them seemed otherwise unharmed.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Batman ?” Kit said, glaring at Ash.

“Sorry,” Ash replied, wiping dirt from his shirt. “I took you for a psychopathic jerk who nearly killed me a few years ago. He literally kicked me and my uncle out of the place we used to live in. You look exactly like him.”

“Well, it can’t have been me since last night was the first time I ever saw you,” Kit replied sharply, wiping his bloody knuckles over his shirt.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I figured that out pretty fast. You fight like a pussy compared to him.”

“Want to say that again?” Kit lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Boys, could you please stop comparing the sizes of your dicks, so we can move on?”

Ash and Kit complied, arguing over which Batman movie was best the entire way, until the cottage came into view, a few feet away. The door opened and Jaime came out of it, running toward them.

“Dru,” he cried out. He caught up to her, and threw his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. She lost herself in his familiar and comforting scent and pressed her cheek against his torso. “Mi corazón,” he whispered softly. "We were worried sick. Cómo estás?”

Jaime brushed his hands through Dru’s hair and planted a kiss on her forehead.

She swiftly pulled back, her eyes darting to where Ash was leaning against a tree, talking to Kit, his arms crossed. He was smiling indulgently at her, as if he didn’t mind.

“I am fine, thanks to Ash,” she said, and pulled Jaime over to where Ash and Kit were standing. “Jaime, this is Ash. Ash, this is Jaime,” she introduced, waving her hand awkwardly between the two of them.

“Thank you for taking care of our precious Dru,” Jaime said, extending his hand. “We owe you one.”

“No hay de qué!” Ash replied, shaking his hand.

“Hablas español?” Jaime asked, looking pleasantly surprised.

“Solo a hombres con un excelente gusto en mujeres.” He gave Jaime a wicked grin and looked pointedly at Dru. Jaime’s face fell.

A high-pitched shriek had them whip their heads up in time to see a majestic roc land on the ground, a few feet away. Ty hopped gracefully from the giant bird and walked immediately to Dru. He was pale - even more so than usual - with deep dark circles under his gray eyes, and Dru marvelled at how gorgeous her brother was anyway, whatever state he was in. She sometimes wished she had inherited the same stunningly sharp features. Without a word, Ty knelt in front of Dru and started inspecting her wound.

“Ash, this is my brother Ty,” Dru announced proudly.

Ash started to extend his hand but Dru shook her head at him. He let it fall by his side.

“Ty, this is Ash.”

Tiberius nodded without lifting his gaze.

“Who tended to the wound?”

“I did,” Ash answered.

Ty finally stood - and Dru realized Ash was almost as tall as Ty, which was saying something, since Ty was very tall - and glanced at Ash for the first time, his gray eyes looking down under his long eyelashes and not lifting up from a spot on Ash’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he said curtly.

Hesitantly, Ty put his arms around Dru in one of the rare hugs he had ever granted her. It was awkward and short, but Dru knew it meant Ty had been truly terrified of losing her.

After they released each other, Ty whirled and started walking toward the cottage. He paused after a few steps and glanced over his shoulder. The four of them had just been standing there, staring at him. “Are you coming?”

They all hurried after Ty, Dru having one arm around Ash’s, and the other around Jaime’s.

“So, tell me. Are all your brothers this handsome?” Ash asked her, as he looked Ty up and down appreciatively.

“EXCUSE ME? “ Kit interjected. His whole face had gone bright red in an instant and he started cracking his bloody knuckles. He looked poised for a second round.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” Ash did not seem in the least bit concerned by Kit’s reaction.

“It’s my boyfriend you are talking about.”

“And I just said I found him attractive. Is that in any way offensive?”

Dru laughed. “No,” she said. “I am sure you were simply stating your opinion and not trying to steal Kit’s boyfriend.”

“I am not trying to steal anyone’s lover,” Ash concurred, gazing wistfully at Dru. ”I just admire beauty when I see it”.

“But he would definitely be up for sex if Ty wanted to,” Jaime muttered sarcastically under his breath.

Ash shot him a puzzled look. “Of course, I would. Why not? Kit would be welcome as well, the more the merrier.”

Kit opened his mouth but seemed too much in a shock for a witty comeback. That was a first.

Oddly enough, Dru realized she didn’t feel jealous or baffled by Ash’s statement. He was like an untamed bird breaking out of a cage, unwilling to bend to any rules of propriety. She guessed part of it was due to his fey heritage.

“Mark is the Unseelie King’s lover, the Seelie Queen keeps trying to get into Julian’s pants and now you two,” Jaime said eventually, looking over at Ty and Dru. “What is it with the Blackthorns and the Fair Folk anyway?”

“Probably the exact same thing there is with Blackthorns and any other species,” Ash said evenly.

Everyone turned a questioning look at him.

“They are hot,” he said simply, and shrugged.

Everyone laughed at that.

*****

They were all starving so they decided to have breakfast in the cottage before heading back home.

Kit, wearing an apron that had "Doughnut sandwiches are a proper meal” printed on it (and that probably belonged to Mark Blackthorn), was in the kitchen, scrambling a huge portion of eggs in a large pan with a wooden spoon. He somehow managed to make it look totally hot.

“Eggs?” Ty asked Kit as he came to stand next to him and put a hand on the small of Kit’s back.

“Yeah, I would have cooked pancakes, but we are missing a few ingredients to do that. So it will be eggs. Eggs and fruits. God knows there are plenty of fruits here.”

“You know how to cook pancakes?” Ty asked, his gray eyes widening in surprise.

Kit shot him a shy glance.

“Yeah, I… I asked Julian for his recipe. You know, in case one day I needed to cook for you…r family.”

Kit and Ty both exchanged a look that was so intimate, Jaime had to glance away. He found Ash leaning casually against the fridge, his arms crossed, and gazing at him with a smirk on his face. He looked like he owned the place and hadn’t just popped uninvited into the home of strangers. When Jaime raised a questioning eyebrow at him, Ash unfolded his arms to draw the shape of a heart in the air in front of him. Jaime rolled his eyes. He definitely didn’t like this guy.

They set the table, while Dru was in the bedroom looking for clothes.

Kit and Ty sat next to each other, their fingers intertwined under the table and their backs to the kitchen counter, which left Ash to sit across from Ty and Jaime to sit across from Kit. They had left a spot at the head of the table for Drusilla, who would have Ash on her left and Ty on her right when she came back.

Ty only had fruits on his plate, and he was eyeing Kit gulping his eggs down, as if he was reconsidering having some himself.

“Want to try?” Ash brought his fork to Ty, who flinched as if he had been stabbed.

Kit grabbed Ash’s wrist and pushed the fork away from Ty.

“Ty can use my fork if he wants to try it. He is my boyfriend, after all.”

Ash shrugged. “Yeah, no worries, I think I got that. You can tattoo it on your forehead, it will spare you from having to repeat it to every living soul you encounter on Earth.”

Ash glanced at Jaime, and said in a lower voice, directed only at him. “And it will keep other people from pining for someone they can’t have.”

“Excuse me?” Jaime turned to whisper in Ash’s ear. “What does it have to do with Dru and me?”

“I was not talking about Dru,” Ash whispered back.

They both jerked their heads up, as Dru swooped in from the bedroom then, wearing a beautiful red dress that Jaime remembered having seen on Cristina. It was much tighter on Dru, clinging to her curves and emphasizing her cleavage. Jaime swallowed. He couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on in his head.

Ash immediately stood to draw Dru’s chair and she nodded by way of thanking him. She sat on it as if it was a throne, her chin up.

Jaime glanced over at Ash, who seemed so free about his sexuality, and felt a pang of envy.

“So, what’s your deal, Ash?” Jaime blurted. Ash raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “Are you…” Jaime cleared his throat. “Bixesual?”

A slow grin spread across Ash’s face. “We’ve just met and you’re already trying to fill your fact sheet about me and tick one of your little boxes?”

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Jaime said, feeling uncomfortable.

“I know you didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I am not offended by your question,” Ash continued in a gentler voice. “It’s just that… not everyone can fit into little boxes.” He swiftly glanced at Ty when he said it. It was a flicker movement, but lynx-eyed Ty caught it immediately.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Tiberius said. “I am definitely gay.” He slipped half a banana inside his mouth then, totally oblivious of the gesture. Kit and Ash weren’t though. Kit made a noise between a snort and a chuckle and spilled the water he was drinking through his nose and all over his shirt, while Ash almost fell off his chair roaring with laughter. Dru looked at the boys with motherly affection.

Jaime stood and hurried to the kitchen to get a towel to clean the mess. When he turned, Kit was already there, leaning against the kitchen counter, extending his hand and looking at Jaime with a genuine smile that lit up his gorgeous face.

“Thanks, Jaime,” he said, as he grabbed the towel and started padding his shirt with it. The planes of his muscles stood out and could be seen right through the wet fabric.

“No problem,” Jaime mumbled, feeling his heartbeat increasing inside his chest.

He averted his gaze, past Kit, to the table, where Ty and Dru had their heads bent together, caught in a deep conversation.

Ash was peering around Ty, watching Jaime with amusement. When he caught Jaime gazing back, he stuck his tongue inside his cheek, and started moving his fist back and forth in front of his mouth, miming a blowjob.

Jaime resisted the urge to flip him the finger.

****

When breakfast was over, Dru lay sprawled on a sofa, her leg propped on Jaime’s lap, and Ash was examining the sound system, so he could put music on.

Kit and Ty had disappeared. God only knew where.

“So, what was that demon attack in the middle of Faerie about?” Jaime asked.

“Ty has a theory. And you won’t like it,” Dru replied. “He believes the Unseelie prince who held us hostage has made an alliance with a Greater Demon… probably a Prince of Hell.”

Jaime tensed. If Ty believed this, it was very bad news indeed. “So why send an army of demons to attack an ally?”

Dru twirled a lock of her dark brown hair as she replied. “Two options. Either the Prince of Hell discovered that his ally had been exposed and wanted to silence him. Or… or we will soon be caught in the middle of an internal war between the Princes of Hell.”

“You mean… there might be more than one involved?”

“To quote Ty, evidence makes it more likely than not,” Dru replied, imitating her brother’s voice. Jaime felt dread wash over him.

He gently put Dru’s leg on an armrest and excused himself.

Sometimes, he felt so anxious it was all he could do not to curl up in a corner and wait for his chest pain and dizziness to fade. The mission he had carried out a few years back, where he had to stay hidden all the time, never staying in one place, had made him jumpy, poised for any threat. He didn’t want Dru to see that side of him. For her, he could only be the calm and reliable friend she was used to.

He decided to scout the rest of the cottage for an empty room. There was a corridor - leading to a bathroom? more bedrooms maybe? - on the left side of the main suite’s door.

He went through and just as he turned around a corner... stopped short.

Halfway down the corridor, Ty was leaning with his back against the wall and Kit had his hands propped on either side of him, trapping Ty in a cage of his arms… and they were kissing.

Jaime had never seen two men kissing before and he was surprised to see how tender and sweet it looked. Ty was running his long pale fingers in Kit’s blond hair while the other hand rested on the small of Kit’s back, half of it concealed under Kit’s waistband.

Kit was naked from the waist up and Jaime could see all the tanned muscles in his back contract as he deepened the kiss, eliciting soft moans from the Blackthorn boy.

They were beautiful together, two opposites inevitably drawn to each other, their bodies fitting perfectly like yin and yang.

Jaime felt his whole body react, with a familiar flutter around his stomach and heat rushing up his cheeks. He knew he should not be watching, but he couldn’t get himself to tear his gaze away.

Kit broke the kiss to trace the dark Marks swirling up Ty’s neck with the tip of his tongue. Ty’s gray eyes fluttered open and he caught sight of Jaime. His intense gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t even seem surprised or angry. He simply raised an eyebrow at Jaime as if to say Can I help you with something ?

Jaime hastily retreated to the living room.

He found Ash’s lean figure perched on the wide low table at the center of the room, dancing to the blasting sound of Beyoncé’s Single Ladies and singing along. “If you like it, you should have put a ring on it,” actually sounded very good in his velvety voice. He was twisting, hands on his hips, and throwing his legs up like a professional, while making dramatic faces at Dru, who was sprawled on the sofa, howling with laughter. As he brushed his lips with his finger, licking it and started caressing his torso while throwing his head back, shaking his beautiful silvery hair, he managed to make it look erotic and not ridiculous at all. Jaime had to admit… His moves were perfect, fluid, coordinated and he totally… pulled it off. Annoying jerk.

“Having fun without me?” Kit burst into the room - he was, fortunately, wearing a shirt this time - and immediately hopped on the table to join Ash and one could not imagine they had been wrestling less than an hour before.

When Dru caught Jaime watching them, she patted the spot on the sofa next to her and he moved to drop beside her, throwing his arm around her shoulders.

The music had changed to Rihanna’s S&M and Ash and Kit were dancing together as if they had rehearsed for hours, their dance steps coordinated and smooth. They looked like two lifelong best buddies who could guess each other’s moves. They were pulsing with energy, although obviously neither of them had slept the previous night. Ash made a show of licking Kit’s cheek, and Kit pushed him away, grimacing. When Ash arched his back to rub his buttocks against Kit’s crotch and Kit spanked him, Dru wiped tears from her eyes. Jaime imagined what it would be like to go to a nightclub with the both of them. They would most likely steal the show.

As if on cue, the next song was… Stole the show, by Kygo. As they danced close together in perfect synchrony, Jaime noticed for the first time the similarities between Ash and Kit. Though Ash was all pale, white blond hair and alabaster skin, and Kit was all golden hair and tanned muscles, there was something about their facial features, the planes of their cheeks, the lines of their jaws… They did not look like brothers, but they could easily pass for cousins.

Jaime grabbed a Hot Shadowhunters calendar that had been left on the side table and started flipping through the pages. Looking at the January page featuring Jace Herondale, he wondered why everyone said Kit was like a mini Jace when Jaime could clearly see there was a difference, now that Kit had grown into more adult features. At least to Jaime, Kit’s fey heritage was plain.

When the music changed to Charlie Puth’s Marvin Gaye, Jaime turned his head to find Ty leaning against the kitchen counter and watching the two dancers with a bemused expression, his arms crossed over his chest.

He eventually caught Kit’s eye, lifted a questioning eyebrow, and jerked his head toward the bedroom door. Kit stumbled from the table in his hurry to join Ty and followed him out of the living room and through the main bedroom door, which shut behind them.

*****

Kit jumped on the huge threesome bed as soon as they were inside the bedroom. He felt exhilarated, full of adrenaline and restless energy, and he wanted Ty so much that he was certain he would spontaneously combust if they didn’t share their bodies within the next minute.

He shot Ty a smoldering look as he lounged on the thick mattress, twisting his shoulders seductively while singing along to Charlie Puth’s Marvin Gaye, which was blasting through the thin walls.

“We got this king-size to ourselves Don't have to share with no one else Don't keep your secrets to yourself It's Kama Sutra show and tell, yeah”

Ty had folded his arms against his chest and was shaking his head, as if he didn’t know what to make of this misbehaving boy.

“Kit, you interrupted me earlier when I was trying to have a serious conversation. Will you please let me finish this time?”

"I'm in trouble." Kit continued, clapping a hand over his mouth in a dramatic oops gesture. "But I'd love to be in trouble with you."

Ty rolled his eyes. He didn’t seem ready to play along with Kit, so Kit finally stood and grabbed Ty's upper arms, forcing him to back up until he had him pinned against the wall. He started wiggling his hips, rubbing against Ty, his body swaying to the music.

“You've got to give it up to me I'm screaming, "Mercy, mercy, please!" Just like they say it in the song Until the dawn, let's Marvin Gaye and get it on.”

Kit slipped a hand under Ty’s waistband, straight into his boxer shorts, and whispered “Hello there” as he brushed his lips against Ty’s ear.

“Kit…” Ty said sharply, as a warning, though Kit could hear his breathing was uneven.

“Ty,” Kit replied with all the seriousness he could muster. “When I saw you riding that Shinigami demon carrying a crossbow, I was so turned on it was all I could do not to jump your bones there and then.”

Ty laughed softly. “It appears you have a kink involving me wielding dangerous weapons. Maybe I should bring a claymore to bed next time and threaten you with it.”

“Honey, you know that, as far as I am concerned, you carry the deadliest weapon around with you at all times,” Kit started stroking Ty’s length as if to illustrate his point. It hardened under his touch. Good, we’re heading somewhere. "I was talking about your brain of course," Kit added.

“Kit, listen to me.” Ty grabbed Kit’s wrist and pulled it out of his pants. Kit groaned. “Haven’t you noticed anything strange about Ash?”

That caught Kit’s attention. He had not expected Ash to be the subject of their conversation. He had actually hoped to avoid any kind of conversation altogether. For a little while at least.

“Well, I noticed he is an amazing fighter and dancer. I am totally up for challenging him again, either in a training room or on a dancefloor.” There was something about Ash and him fighting and dancing together, a raw yet steady energy, not like the restlessness and all consuming love he felt around Ty, but something grounding him, making him even more focused. As if he had found a kindred warrior spirit.

“He probably has no effect on you, but… I think spells have been worked on him to render him… likeable. People are inevitably drawn to him, want to protect and follow him.”

Kit swallowed, suddenly deadly serious. “Does this… work on you?”

“No. And I have several theories about that. First… Well, I am a bit different. My brain doesn’t work the same way others’ do. Second, the Blackthorns have a bit of Greater Demon blood, even if it is quite diluted. I do believe Dru genuinely likes him.”

“You mean from your ancestor Lucie Herondale?”

Ty nodded. “And the third and most important explanation is… you. You have my full loyalty.” He rested his forehead against Kit’s. “There is no way in hell I am following him, when I could follow you. ”

Kit brushed his lips over Ty’s.

“What about Jaime? He seems to dislike Ash.”

“I am still trying to figure this out. But it may be one of the reasons I am immune to it, myself.”

“What? You think the Rosales have Greater Demon blood as well?”

“Maybe. But that’s not what I was referring to.”

They were both interrupted when they heard voices raising in the living room. Jaime’s voice was the loudest. And he sounded totally pissed.

Ty hurried toward the door, and Kit followed.

****

As soon as Kit and Ty had disappeared behind the bedroom door, Ash jumped over Dru and Jaime’s heads to land behind the sofa and stole the Hot Shadowhunters calendar from Jaime’s hands. “Hey!” Jaime cried out.

Ash circled back and dropped himself next to Dru, which left her crammed between him and Jaime. As he flipped to the first page, the January page, Ash froze. He was gaping at the picture of Jace Herondale, as if he could not quite believe his eyes.

Falling for Jace Herondale, already? What a surprise.

But oddly, Ash didn’t smile or make a sarcastic comment, as Jaime would have expected. He had a sorrowful expression and a faraway look.

“This is Jace Herondale,” Dru said softly. “Surely, even you have heard of him ?”

Ash swallowed. “Yeah,” he said absently. “Yeah, I have. He looks… happy.”

“Well, of course, he is happy. He has it all, hasn’t he?” Jaime said. “War hero. Married to the love of his life. The Consul as faithful parabatai.” Ash flinched, as if each word was a needle to his skin.

“Ash, is everything okay?”

Ash shook his head as if to clear it.

“Yeah, yeah, I was just thinking about… the butterfly effect. How a single human being’s existence… or absence, can change the course of things… can change the whole world.”

Where the hell did that come from? Jaime wondered.

Ash lifted his gaze to stare at the door where Kit and Ty had disappeared. “Take Kit for instance. Who knew it would only take a hot boyfriend to turn a ruthless, bloodthirsty ruler into a harmless kitten.”

“Er- Ash, I am not sure I am following you,” Dru said gently. “What do you mean?”

Ash let out a heavy sigh and slumped back, crossing his long arms behind his head, the Hot Shadowhunters calendar left at the January page on his lap.

“Nothing, I am rambling.” It looked like he was lost in his thoughts again.

Jaime seized the opportunity to whisper in Dru’s ear. “Dru, can we find some place private to… talk?”

Dru gazed at him with a puzzled look on her face. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

Jaime didn’t get a chance to answer as the entrance door rattled at that moment and they both whipped their heads in the direction of the noise.

The door opened and Mark Blackthorn, all tousled blond hair, pointy ears and flushed cheeks, erupted inside the cottage, wearing ragged jeans and a white shirt with a message that stated, “All good things come in threes”. He paused, as if he didn’t really expect to see so many people in his living room.

Jaime immediately withdrew his arm from Dru’s shoulders and stood, but soon registered that Mark was not looking at him… He was staring at Ash who had, from one moment to the next, leapt on the table in front of them and was crouched on top of it, ready to pounce, a dangerous glint in his ice green eyes. He had moved to protect Dru from a potential threat, Jaime realized. And there was no trace of the Ash that had been goofing around with Kit a moment before. The feeling that he had been played like a fool until then hit Jaime like a freight train. They had all fallen for Ash’s laid-back, good guy act. In one instant, Ash had revealed his true, predatory nature…

“Mark!” Dru waved from the sofa, unfazed. “You already know Jaime of course and this is Ash,” she introduced. “Ash… this is my brother Mark.”

Ash relaxed from his stance and leapt off the table, flashing a bright smile and wearing his cool guy mask back on. As if he hadn’t been ready to rip Mark’s throat a second before. The abrupt change in Ash's behaviour almost gave Jaime a whiplash.

“Have we… met before?” Mark asked, looking at Ash with his brows furrowed as he closed the door.

“In any event, I wish to be properly introduced,” Ash said, evading the question. “I am Dru’s boyfriend.”

“Excuse me?” Dru interjected at the same time Jaime exclaimed “WHAT?”

Ash shrugged. “I thought our make out session had settled it.”

Jaime felt heat rush up his face. He whirled on Dru. “We’ve known each other for three years and you’ve known this guy for what? Less than twelve hours? And you’ve already kissed him?”

“To be fair, I am the one who kissed her ,” Ash said in a calm voice. “She didn’t tell me to stop, though.” He paused, his long fingers stroking his delicate chin as he pondered. “Then again, how could she have, what with my tongue being down her throat and all?”

“Ash, don’t intervene,” Dru said, her already white complexion growing paler by the second. “This is not between us.”

“Really?” Ash answered in a fake shocked expression. “I could have sworn it was my tongue down your throat.”

“What’s going on here?” Ty asked as he came out of the bedroom, followed by Kit.

“GREAT!” Jaime said. “That’s just my luck! We’re just missing Julian and…”

“And?” Julian asked, his tall broad-shouldered figure appearing in the entrance. He froze in the doorway, hand on the doorknob, his face a mask of shock as his blue-green eyes swept across the room.

“... And all my worst nightmares are reunited in the same room. OK, let’s be done with it.”

Jaime took a deep breath and caught each of the Blackthorn brothers’ gaze, one after the other.

“I. FANCY. DRU. OKAY? I like her. I know she’s sixteen, but we are good together and I want her to be my girlfriend.”

*Cough* “ Too late.” *Cough* That was Ash. Dru turned to glare at him.

“Well, that’s not even relevant anymore, is it? Since apparently… She prefers Legolas, here.” Jaime continued, waving his hand toward Ash.

“Why does everyone keep saying that? I don’t even look like him.”

“Lego-who?” Ty asked, puzzled.

“He’s talking about Ash. Don’t worry honey, I’ll explain,” Kit said, speaking for the first time.

“And what the hell are you doing here?” Julian asked, turning toward Kit, a flicker of panic crossing his features.

“He just came out of the bedroom with Ty,” Mark said.

Kit lifted both his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t having sex with him,” he blurted. “I mean… not this time.” His face went red. “I mean- I am out of here. If anyone’s looking for me, I’m in the bedroom.” He whirled and paused in front of the bedroom door, his hand on the knob. “Not having sex with anyone...” he specified before he disappeared behind it.

Julian heaved a sigh and turned his gaze back to Ash.

Ash gulped. He looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, his green eyes wide.

“This is not the end of it. But first things first. Can anyone tell me what the hell Ash Morgenstern is doing here?”

They had barely registered the question, when a sharp cry from behind Julian had them all jump. A slender figure peered around him, red hair like flames flowing over a green velvet dress embroidered with gold. Jaime had seen enough drawings and pictures of her to recognize her instantly. The Seelie Queen.

She pushed Julian aside and ran to Ash, throwing her thin pale arms around him and burying her face in his chest, the golden circlet around her head tipping to the side as she did. “Where were you last night? I came to the house, and it was empty . I have been looking for you everywhere since!”

Dru was staring at Ash open-mouthed. He shot her an apologetic look.

“Mom, let me introduce you to Dru. Dru…” Ash cleared his throat. “Meet my mom.”

*****

Tagging @gabtapia ❤️ Hope you'll enjoy it and, of course, don't hesitate to correct my spanish ;)

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elena-reina · 4 years

Text

Six o’ Clock - Draco Malfoy x Muggle Reader

Request: Hii! Can I please request a Draco x muggle/no-maj!fem!reader imagine where she moved to England from USA, & she happens to be close friends with the Weasleys, & one day when they take her to the Wizarding World, Draco & Y/n meet. While at first he wants to keep his snobby upfront (especially with her being a muggle), the more he sees of her (each time they bring her back), the more he feels drawn to her. They have a connection/spark & they both feel it. He asks her out on a date+holding hands💜 - kpopgirlbtssvt

Warnings: None

It was oddly quiet as Ron walked into the room you stayed sleeping. You were sleeping over at the Weasley’s house and normally there would always be some sort of loud noise going on, but not this time. He walked over to the small window above your bed and opened it letting a cool spring breeze flowing through with the birds chirping their afternoon hymn.

He looked at your sleeping figure and grabbed one of the pillows that fell off the side of the bed. Lifting it up ever so slightly, he smashed it straight down onto your head with as much force as a pillow could give.

“GET UP LAZY BONES!”

You violently sit up, breathing heavily and delusional. Looking around, you were still in your sleepy daze, not fully aware that you had just been woken up. Finally settling on a blurry-looking Ron, your rubbed your eyes.

“Ron,” you warned, still very sleepy, “If you ever wake me up like that again, I will personally throw you off the ledge of the tallest building.”

“Mum wants you to wake up and come downstairs to eat before we head off,” he smiled, placing the pillow back on the bed.

You yawned, scratching the side of your head. Swinging your legs over the bed, you stood up and stretched before turning back to Ron.

“Where’re we going?” you asked, rummaging through the clothes in your suitcase.

“We’re going to take you to the Diagon Alley,” he said proudfully sticking out his chest.

“Diagon Alley?” you questioned, picking out a cute spring dress and sandles.

“The Wizarding World,” he said in a duh tone, like you were supposed to know what it was called.

You had barely known about Witches and Wizards until about four or five years ago when you met Ron and his family when moving from America to the United Kingdom. You’ve always had a suspicion, but nothing was ever confirmed until you walked in on Mrs. Weasley washing dishes by waving her wand around.

That was a fun experience to witness.

You stood there, laying your clothes down on the bed and crossed your arms.

“Well,” you said, “Do you mind?” You motioned towards your clothes and pointed to the door. You weren’t going to change with him in the room. You were close but not that close.

Ron’s face began to heat up and red crawled all over his cheeks with realization. “O-Oh right, sorry,” he mumbled embarrassed and made a quick exit towards the door. You smiled, letting out a little laugh and got dressed before heading down the stairs and eating breakfast with the rest of the family.

After eating everyone stood at the fireplace huddling around it. Ron stood on the right side of you while Mrs. Weasley was on your left, huggin gyou and rubbing your shoulder. In her hands was a small pot filled with dust.

“Alright now, who’s going to go first?” she spoke sweetly.

“Y/N should go,” Ron chirped, smirking.

“No, no I think Ron should go, I don’t even know what we’re doing right now,” you said quickly in defense.

“Don’t worry dear. We’ll have Percy go first and demonstrate for you,” she said.

Percy stepped forward grabbing a handful of the dust in Mrs. Weasley’s hand before walking into the fireplace.

“Y/N sweetie, this will transport you to the place you want to go. All you have to do is grab a handfull of this Floo Powder,” she said motioning towards the powder,” And throw it down yelling very, very clearly Diagon Alley.”

You gulped nodding before looking back at Percy. He nodded at his mom and threw it down.

“Diagon Alley!” he shouted. Green flames engulfed him and soon enough his entire body was gone. Your eyes widened, you didn’t know if you were impressed or scared. Maybe a little bit of both.

“Wait, do we know if this is going to work with me?” you asked, “I’m not magical like you guys.”

They all laughed. Ron grabbed your hand and grabbed a fist full of the powder.

“You’re going to be doing it with Ron, sweetie. Don’t you worry,” she said holding out the pot. You placed your hand into it grabbing a fistfull and walked to the fireplace with Ron. The two of you stood side by side. You glaced up at Ron and back towards everyone else staring at you.

“Don’t let go of each others hands, and speak clearly. Both of you,” she warned.

You were really excited and had a huge grin on your face. Okay, it’s go time. You and Ron both threw the powder at the same time.

“Diagon Alley!” you two said in unison.

The last thing you remember seeing was green and soon you were transported into a busy street filled with other magical witches and wizards. You looked around in amazement.

“Woah,” you breathed out, letting go of Ron’s hand and wandered forward. Ron followed you, laughing at your amusement. “Is this where you go to school?”

He shook his head. “No, I go to school at Hogwarts. This is Diagon Alley.”

You looked at him dumbfounded.

“This is kind of like a mall?” he said questioning himself, “There’s an assortment of restaurants, shops, and other sights. It’s usually way less busy than this when school is in session, but for now I am just going to show you around.”

You nodded in agreement as people walked past the two of you. Some would glance your way curious and others would straight on ignore you. Not that you would notice, perhaps it was your bubbly personality that kept catching the attentino of others. You looked a like a little kid running wild in a candy shop for the first time.

“Right here is Olivander’s,” Ron spoke motioning towards one of the buildings, “This is where you pick out your first wand.”

“Oooh, can I get one?” you giggled, lightly pushing his shoulder. He smiled, rolling his eyes.

“It wouldn’t work for you, Y/N, you’re a muggle,” he said.

“I know, I’m just teasing, Ron,” you sighed, before another building caught your attention. “What’s that?”

“That is-”

“RON!”

You two halted in your steps and turned around. Running towards him was a pretty curly-haired girl and a boy with circular glasses. They engulfed him in a hug one by one and then turned to face you.

“Hi there, I’m Hermione Granger, and this is Harry Potter,” Hermione said cheerfully holding out her hand. You gracefully took it, and Harry’s as well.

“Hi, I’m Y/N Y/LN.”

Harry looked at you curiously. “Your accent, it’s different. You’re not from around here are you?”

You shook your head. “She’s from America,” Ron said for you, almost sounding proud of it.

“America!” Hermione gasped, “You have to tell us about over there, what’s it like? What kind of schools do they have over there? What do they focus on teaching you? What house are you in? Oooh, what creatures-”

“She’s a muggle, Hermione,” Ron groaned, embarrassed from all the questions she was asking you. You laughed.

“Oh, what brings you here?” Harry spoke up.

“Just sight-seeing. Thought that I would-”

“Uh oh, Malfoy twelve o’ clock,” Hermione said cutting you off, looking past you.

You turned around to see what she was talking about. Walking your way was a tall boy with sleek white-blond hair, a pale complexion, and silver eyes. He was in a cleaned up black suit and looked rather handsome. Forgetting that you were standing next to Ron, your entire focus shifted onto the boy whom they called Malfoy. He stood confidently a foot away from the group, eyeing them all down before his eyes rested on you. He had a hard facial expression on his face.

“Scarhead, Mudblood, Weasle,” he spat and then looked at you, “What’re you, another Weasley or their pet.”

“Don’t bother with this one Y/N, he isn’t anyone of importance,” Harry spoke up, angrily looking at Malfoy.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, and you are?” you replied back with as much sass as him.

Draco was taken back by your accent, but intrigued. He was quickly able to discern that you weren’t from here.

“Draco Malfoy, a pure-blooded wizard of the highest taste, what’re you doing hanging out with them?” he sneered.

“I’ll just so have you know Malfoy that-”

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Malfoy snapped cutting Hermione off, “Typical of you Mudbloods to bud into other peoples conversations. Learn some manners.”

Scoffing at his rudeness, you folded your arms across your chest. “These are my friends and I don’t like how you’re speaking to them. What’s a mudblood?” you asked turning to face Hermione who was giving Draco a death stare.

“It’s a magical person who has muggle parents,” she grumbled, “It’s very demeaning.”

“You don’t know what a Mudblood is? You must be one,” he spat, running his hand through his hair, smirking grudgingly.

“Actually, I’ll have you know that I am a muggle!” you said proudly like it was an achievement. Ron mentally face-palmed knowing that Draco was about to get a load of this.

“Y/N,” Ron groaned under his breath catching your attention. Confused, you looked back at Draco laughing hysterically, almost in a taunting way.

“Now this all makes sense. You ran out of friends haven’t you all, so you had to capture a random muggle from somewhere else to bring the fame back to your names,” he taunted, “Pitiful, all of you.”

“Let’s go,” Ron said grabbing onto your hand, ushering you away.

“Muggles don’t belong here!” Draco called out after you. You turned your neck to get one last look at him before being rushed around a corner.

The rest of the afternoon was fun, despite that small altercation you had earlier. Ron scolded you for telling Draco you were a muggle but you shrugged it off. It didn’t offend you to be called a muggle because that’s what you were. Why should you be ashamed of being who you are. You went back to the Weasley’s house after eating dinner and went straight to bed because you were exhausted.

The next morning you woke up and wanted to go back to Diagon Alley. You quietly walked downstairs and saw Ron cleaning his plate. You walked up to him and covered his eyes with your hands.

“Guess whoooo,” you lightly sang, standing on your tip toes.

“Grandma?” he gasped dramatically.

You rolled your eyes, removing your hands, and lightly punching him in the shoulder. He craned his neck smiling and returned to washing the plate.

“Can we go back to Diagon Alley?” you asked.

He rinsed his plate and put it to dry on the side. He turned to face you and eyed you. “Sure. Anything in particular you wanted to look for?”

“Well I just wanted to see what else was around, I enjoyed being there yesterday,” you smiled.

Ron agreed to go again and left to go let his Mrs. Weasley know that they will be going back. You did the same old routine of holding the Floo Powder and yelling Diagon Alley with him.

You were transported back and you looked around again amzed like it was the first time you had been. Ron chuckled beside you catching your attention.

“What’s so funny,” you asked, walking side by side.

“Your child-like amusement is funny to me,” he said, taking a turn to lead you down another part of Diagon Alley that you hadn’t been down before.

“What’s that?” you asked aloud pointing to one of the shops. He walked up to the window and looked at it.

“That’s the Firebolt. It’s one of the fastest Quidditch broomsticks.”

“A Quidditch broomstick?” you questioned.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” he confirmed again.

“No.. I know that, but what’s Quidditch?”

Ron laughed at you. You were really getting sick of all this laughter. How does he expect you to know any of this. You weren’t a witch. You didn’t grow up with this kind of lifestyle.

“Stop laughing at me,” you glared, “I don’t know what that is. What’s Quidditch?”

“It’s-”

“-It’s a sport we wizards play by scoring more points than your opponent. Unless you catch the golden snitch, then you automatically win.”

You turned and looked at who spoke over Ron and saw Draco standing right next to you. He wasn’t looking at you but was looking at the broom while was glaring at Draco. Not that he had paid any attention to him in the first place nor cared.

“So it’s like soccer?” you said, slightly turning to face him.

“Soccer?”

“Yeah, you score points by kicking a ball into your opponents goal, but... I don’t think we have anything like the golden snitch. What is that by the way?” you answered.

“Must be a muggle sport,” Draco scoffed, “The snitch is worth one-hundred and fifty points. The game can only end when the Snitch has been caught but only by the Seeker.”

“A Seeker?”

“Y/N, enough of the questions and lets go,” Ron groaned no longer wanting to be in the presence of Draco. He grabbed your hand and yanked you over to the side.

“Why do you keep talking to him,” he groaned, clearly annoyed.

What was his problem. It’s not like you were outright looking for him. All you did was ask questions.

“Ron, what’re you talking about. All I did was ask about Quidditch,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like you were answering any of my questions in the first place.”

“I was about to until snakeface cut me off, you were encouraging him!” he exclaimed, walking ahead of you. You quickly tried to keep up with him.

“How was I encouraging him? Are you really getting upset with me right now, Ron? I haven’t done anything on purpose to make you mad at me!” you shouted back at him. He abruptly stopped, having you almost crashing into him.

“Lets go back home,” he grumbled. You opened your mouth to say something but stopped. You wanted to argue back, but you knew that it wasn’t going to go anywhere. Ron was all bent out of shape and anything you say would only make things worse. So you complied and went along with him.

For the rest of the day, you and Ron stayed away from each other. Not that it made any sense. You spent the rest of your time hanging out with Ginny and just girl talking.

Ron no longer accompanied you to Diagon Alley when you asked, so you hung with Ginny instead. However every time you returned, you inconspiculously ran into Draco everytime. It was becoming a frequent thing, and each time you ran into him, the more you two would talk. You had been going for weeks.

At this point you didn’t know if you were going to explore the Wizarding World or if you were going hoping to bump into Draco- which always happened.

At first Draco held up his snobby front but by the end of the day he would always forget all about it and his goofiness came out. And the best part about everything? Ginny didn’t mind. She didn’t have the same kind of resentment towards him like her brother or his friends did.

However there was one problem.

It was the next day after weeks of visiting. You ran into Ginny’s room where she was already dressed.

“Ginny!” you exclaimed pouncing onto her back.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed returning the same energy you had, giggling.

“Are you ready?” you chirped.

She brushed a knot out of her hair and placed her brush down. She turned to face you with a half smile.

“Y/N, I would love to accompany you, but I’ve made plans today,” she frowned. Your happy exterior faltered. Biting on the inside of your lip, you thought to yourself.

“Well that’s okay, Ginny. I appreciate you going out of your way to accompany all these weeks,” you said, taking her hands into yours and swinging them.

And then a bright idea popped into your head.

“I know that face,” she laughed, “What’re you thinking?”

You let go of her hands and started to pace the room. You did have an idea, but it was a tricky one. Was it worth even saying?

“What if,” you began as Ginny leaned in listening attentively, “I went by myself.”

She looked at you like you were crazy.

“I’m sorry, but what?”

“What if I went by myself to Diagon Alley,” you repeated.

“You’re absolutely mad Y/N,” she laughed.

“I’m serious!” you laughed with her, “I’ll take the powder and just go by myself.”

Ginny stopped laughing and looked at you seriously. “Y/N, I don’t know if the Floo powder will work on you. You’re not a witch.”

That’s what you were afraid of.

“Well, we don’t know that it won’t work. That’s why I can try?” you said more as a question.

Ginny didn’t immediately object it. That gave you a little hope.

“How’re you going to get back?” she said rubbing a hand over her face.

You hadn’t thought about that. You didn’t have an answer.

“I...,” you began while looking around the room as if it were going to give you an answer. Your eyes rested on a clock. “How about you pick me up?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back today. It could be hours from now,” she said.

“Then I’ll wait for you. If I don’t magically find a way back by six o’ clock, then I’ll be waiting in front of Olivander’s Wand Shop. Deal?” you pleaded sticking out your hand.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, scratching the back of her neck, “Mum would kill me if anything happened to you.”

“Nothings going to happen, I promise. So deal?” you tried again, batting your eyes. “Pretty pretty pleaaaase?”

She groaned and grabbed onto your hand shaking it. “Oh alright fine. Be at Olivander’s by 6 o’ clock sharp!”

You jumped up with glee, bouncing towards the door. Hopefully it works.

“And Y/N!” Ginny called.

You came to halt and turned around, eager to head towards the fireplace.

“Remember, it’s called Diagon Alley. Speak very clearly, if you don’t then I don’t know where you’ll end up and mum will kill me.”

“Got it! Diagon Alley!” you reassured her.

You’ve done this plenty of times. What could go wrong?

You ran to the fireplace and took a handfull of the Floo powder. Stepping inside you turned so that you faced the outside of the Weasley’s house. Taking a deep breath in you focused.

“Diagonally!” you shouted throwing the powder down. You were engulfed in green flames and began to spin very fast.

This felt different than all the other times where you held onto somebody’s hand and transported. This was way more nauseating making you almost feel sick to your stomach. Something hard knocked your elbow and you tucked it in tightly, still spinning and spinning. Finally coming to a stop, you fell, face forward, onto cold stone dizzy and you could’ve sworn bruised. You stood up and you appeared to be in a stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop but nothing seemed as bright and happy like it did before.

A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. You turned your head too look at the dark, and even worse, narrow street through the dusty shop window. This was definitely not Diagon Alley.

Your heart rate picked up and you knew you had to get out of here. You began to walk towards the door when a hand was roughly slammed down onto your shoulder making you gasp and turn around.

“And just who might you be?” a creepy and wrinkly stooping man said eyeing you up and down. He smoothed his greasy hair back from his face.

“O-Oh, I’m just.. I’m not-”

“You’re not wearing robes, eh,” he said in his oily voice. “Who do you work for?”

He got uncomfortably closer to you to the point where you could smell his breath. You attempted to take a step back but he was suspiciously watching your every move.

“I don’t- I don’t work for anyone-”

“And your accent...,” he drawled.

It would be best if you had just stopped talking overall at this point. You were screwed and you didn’t know what you were going to do.

Seconds later, a bell clanged, and someone had stepped into the shop catching the man’s attention.

“Young Master Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you... How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced-”

“Y/N, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” that familiar voice said with a wave of relief washing all over you.

The oily man’s smile faded and he slowly stepped away, still eyeing you. You turned around and looked at Draco’s face, still shaken up. He looked at you motioning towards himself. You sped walk closer to him and stood by his side.

“Draco I-”

“Shh,” he hushed immediately. you nodded zipping your mouth closed as he straightened his suit. He pushed you behind him. “Mr. Borgin, sorry to bother. I came looking for her. She must’ve ran off when I wasn’t looking. Good day.”

“Good day yourself, Young Master Malfoy,” he lightly bowed and disappeared into a backroom.

Draco grabbed ahold onto your hand and pulled you along outside. You had emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. Turning your head, you looked at the sign of the shop. It was called Borgin and Burkes, makes sense why Draco called that man Mr. Borgin.

Two shabby-looking wizards were watching you follow Draco from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other.

“Draco,” you tried again.

“Be quiet right now, Y/N,” he muttered lowly, still pulling you ahead. You didn’t know where you were going, but you were thankful to have been with Draco. You had passed many questionable shops, one of them being a shop selling poisonous candles. You didn’t even know this was allowed in the Wizarding World.

Draco pulled you up a flight of steps and soon enough, you saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the distance that Ginny had told you to be Gringotts Bank; a bank for the witches and wizards. Draco had steered you right into Diagon Alley, where you had wanted to be in the first place.

"Are you dense? What were you doing down there," said Draco scolded harshly.

“I didn’t know where I was. I used that magical powder in the fireplace and then I wounded up there,” you defended, still a little shaken up. “Where was I?”

He shook his head running a hand through his hair. “That was Knockturn Alley, it is extremely dangerous for muggles like yourself. Had they found out what you were they would’ve killed you.”

You widened your eyes and looked at your feet. “Thank you for saving me back there,” you said shyly.

Draco stood there nodding mumbling a ‘you’re welcome’ under his breath. He fumbled with the hem of his jacket. He wanted to say something but he didn’t know how to go about it.

“Okay, well uhm, Y/N,” he spoke clearing his throat. You looked up, gazing into his silver eyes. He was nervous.

“I wanted to ask you this under different circumstances, but would you.. like to go out some time?” he asked. A blush slowly crept onto your cheeks. For weeks you’ve been feeling attracted towards him, but never knew if he felt the same way. It was the same vice versa.

It could’ve been his accent, his height, the way he dressed, or even his whole demeanor. There was just something about him that you felt drawn to.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you released a cheesy smile. “Are you sure you want to do that with an American muggle like myself? With a muggle who doesn’t belong here?”

He lets out a small smile, closing his eyes, and bowing his head. He opens his eyes and nods. “I’ve always loved a challenge.”

He extended his elbow for you to link onto. “Shall we?” he asked.

You accepted his arm, wrapping yours around it. “Just as long as I’m back at Olivander’s Wand shop by six o’ clock.”

“Deal,” he grinned, taking you to who knows where.

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kettlequills · 3 years

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unsure at this point whether elenwen would benefit more from a long course of therapy or a good dicking. luckily, neither of these are in store for her, so enjoy an elenwen who is not hinged at all plus sybille, who is having a very bad day. TW: blood drinking, cutting, violence, manipulation and threat, sexual themes, and character death. implied sybille/istlod, a lil elenwen/elisif, uhh idk if youd say this is elenwen/sybille but hm. enjoy, and gimme a shout if you think it needs an extra tag. a03

Elenwen discovers Sybille's secret, and has ... words.

The Thalmor Ambassador had come to Solitude and found an empty palace. No one else was there but Sybille, left to frustratedly amuse the Ambassador while someone hurried to fetch the steward, the Jarl, somebody. Anybody, but Sybille Stentor. Some dispute had drawn them away – some fluster in the training yard – Sybille neither knew nor cared, except that Falk was not here to ask the Ambassador why she had come to darken their door, nor even Elisif, to gracefully offer wine and bread to the sour-faced elf.

Even if it had not been months since she had last slaked her thirst in the prisons beneath Solitude, Sybille still would have had little patience for this. The Thalmor irritated her, with their poorly-hidden disdain, their smugness, their superiority. As it was, her head pounded, her throat ached, and moving around in the dim evening sunlight was painful enough that it made her vision blur red. She had begun to hear heartbeats in the chests of her friends, the Jarl she was trying to become loyal to, and each night was an exercise in self control growing monumental in difficulty.

And there was Elenwen standing with her hands behind her ramrod back, looking as if she had sniffed something foul. Her expression was so forbidding, so bleak, so threatening that Sybille immediately perceived why the weak-willed guards had found someplace else to be. For once, she was completely alone, unflanked by unsmiling justiciars.

Foolish, or another spiteful little snub. No, Elenwen had nothing to fear in the heart of the Blue Palace – as much as they might whisper into their pillows how much they hated Thalmor oversight, Thalmor gold still sweated in their palms as they tipped their toothless necks back for the glutting. Why bother with guards, when you had the helmless court of Solitude on a leash?

Oh, Istlod. How he would be ashamed, to see his court reduced to this.

“Ambassador,” Sybille ground out, hating this. She wasn’t supposed to be the one greeting dignitaries come to pander and parley. That was Falk’s job, or the Jarl’s – but Istlod was long gone, and Torygg was dead, now.

Torygg, Torygg. He’d been just a boy; Sybille remembered as if it had been yesterday his chubby hands grabbing on the front of her robes, his lisping pronunciation of “ibble!” before he’d learnt to say her name. A gangly teen, pimple-faced but trying desperately to be noble, the pride of Istlod’s eye, blushing-bold. Bare years after, before even the flower of his prime – dead, dead and cold on the cobbles. Sybille had promised Istlod to keep him safe. But she’d failed. She failed, and Torygg was dead, his murderer walking free and all that was left was … Elisif.

Elisif. A dear girl but… not Torygg. Young, foolish, easily swayed. Inexperienced. Weak, when they needed strength. When Sybille needed Torygg. She was fond enough of her but Elisif looked at her like she was drowning, always begging for advice, and when Sybille met her eyes all she saw was the moment when Torygg had heard Ulfric’s challenge ashen-faced, then turned to his bright young wife and visibly steeled himself.

Ready to die, rather than dishonour her, disappoint her.

It wasn’t Elisif’s fault that she had survived Ulfric when Torygg had not, but Sybille could not stop blaming her. Still, Sybille wished she was here now. The young Jarl was better at this, the inane courtesies, the lies, than Sybille was. Even if Sybille thought she was far friendlier to the Thalmor Ambassador than was wise.

“Court Mage,” Elenwen greeted, polite as picture. In her clipped Dominion accent, the two words sounded loathsome as a curse. Her lip curled upwards in an estimation of what she probably thought a smile was supposed to look like. It was all sneer, and like most of the Emissary's facial expressions, was tinged with pointed disgust.

She was standing rigidly in the main hall of the deserted emptiness of the Blue Palace like a stubborn brick over a fire. Choking all the air out of the room, stifling, her presence as oppressive as a lead weight. The maids had all found themselves somewhere else to be, fearing, no doubt, the Ambassador’s legendarily cutting tongue and Sybille’s own displeasure at being left to entertain. As if she did not have a thousand more pressing matters to attend to, and barely the patience besides.

Not even when she was well-fed, which she was not.

They stood in silence for a moment, Sybille warring with herself, before she grudgingly asked, “Are you in need of refreshments, Ambassador?”

Hospitality, to a pit viper. If Sybille had not been what she was, the thought would be funny. As it was, it only insulted – Solitude did not need any more secret teeth tracking the prey that would not be missed. Sybille had heard the rumours, like everyone else, of secret Thalmor dungeons, and screams from beneath the solar so loud that they could be heard over the music during the parties. The prisoners of Solitude – such as they were – were Sybille’s domain.

“No,” said Elenwen, a pinch too swiftly, as if the very idea was nauseating, “And yourself, Court Mage?”

Sybille's control of her face was not so slight that she blinked, but she was aware of a tightening around the skin of her knuckles. The words, the consideration, were so odd in Elenwen’s cold, autocratic tones that at first she was certain she had misheard.

“I fail to see how that is any concern of yours,” Sybille said rudely, and suddenly, Elenwen changed.

She turned fluidly towards Sybille and prowled closer, the stiffness as if she was daring not to breathe for fear of inhaling foul scent gone. Her sneer vanished, smoothed into a smile, wide and full, completely genuine, utterly threatening. Her eyes glittered flatly, like mirrors. Her movements were slow and slinking. Gone were the sharp clicks of her boots, muffled by some trick of her step that left her silent as a panther.

Sybille was left feeling like the world had suddenly shifted to the left and left her behind, as dizzy as if a rug had been pulled out from underneath her. A moment ago, the Thalmor Ambassador had stood in front of her, haughty as ever, unbending with her stiff Altmeri pride – but this hungry, prowling creature was not her.

Her teeth sharpened in her mouth at the implicit threat that rolled off Elenwen, at her approaching closeness, the blood Sybille could sense flushing the capillaries under her skin, pounding through the chambers of her cold Altmeri heart. At once, Sybille was immensely aware that there was no one to observe them; no one at all.

And it had been weeks, weeks since Sybille had drunk her fill.

“How quickly these mortal children wane compared to the lifetime of an elf,” Elenwen murmured. Her voice was throaty and rich, the sharpness of the consonants blurred by a coastal accent that Sybille swore she had not had before. “How we see them pass us and consign the summers of our childhoods to the distant realm of myth and mystery as they bloom and fade in the blink of an eye. Truly, I am impressed at how faithfully you served the late Jarl Torygg, like you served his father Istlod before him. Tell me, how many of them have ... failed to see?"

Elenwen's horrible smile stretched wider.

"But I see, Court Mage.”

“I am perfectly well-appreciated within my position, Ambassador,” Sybille said coldly.

She was beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable. There was no possible way that Elenwen knew her secret, but the damn elf seemed far too smug for Sybille’s liking. She hated these types, the twisted double-talk that meant something else entirely. Was she attempting to recruit Sybille to the Thalmor? She had to know that Sybille would never have agreed to that, for Istlod’s sake, who had been miserable at the news of the Concordat, if nothing else. Now, if only they were somewhere a little more secluded, then Sybille could teach her some proper manners –

Except no, she couldn’t, that was the Thalmor Ambassador. People would notice if she visited the Solitude dungeons and came back with marks on her neck and a hunger to be bitten, drained deep, pliant in the arms of a predator, better attitude notwithstanding. And Sybille couldn’t kill her. Not without reprisal.

Istlod would have wanted Sybille to kill Elenwen. Except – no, he had agreed to the peace too. Her fangs pressed insistently, dully, on her tongue.

Elenwen’s smile widened. Sybille saw every one of her straight teeth. Too white, too even, lined up like regiment soldiers or grave-markers for war-dead. Some of them were fake, she was willing to bet. This wide, the makeup caking her cheeks folded around her smile unflatteringly, the thick foundation hazed with cracks. Fake, fake, but the blood that ran under her skin was real.

Sybille could force her to bleed, force her to feel spark-bright pain, force her to reveal the truth under her teeth, her claws, her little boot knife. Even an ice-spike would do, chill that golden flesh high and taut until it pebbled with goosebumps and she was shivery and damp, and the heat of her blood spilling over her chest made her gasp at the shock of warmth.

That would make her speak straight and true, if nothing else would.

“It has been a dry spell in the prisons, hasn’t it?” Elenwen purred, soft, sympathetic, as if she was commiserating over something truly terrible, “My condolences, truly, you have been much more patient than I would. But tell me, have any of your beloved young humans noticed you have not aged a day?”

“Many humans are not aware of the life spans of an elf,” she said, to hide the fluttering of something that was beginning to feel like panic or fury. “I am Dunmer, a few decades are no great time to me.”

“Could you go decades, I wonder?” Elenwen’s smile dropped, but the look that replaced it was worse, coquettish, sly. She contrived some way of looking up at Sybille through her eyelashes painted and curled with oil despite her taller height and took a falsely-nervous step closer, all awkward shoulders and sliding foot, just as if she was a wheedling young lover begging her first kiss. But her eyes danced brightly, privately, as if this entire interaction was nothing but a game they were playing, just the two of them. “I rather think you’re hungry now.”

“I ate this morning,” Sybille lied flatly, “with the rest of the hall.”

“Tch,” said Elenwen, as if Sybille had missed a step, and belatedly, Sybille realised it would not be any hardship for a spy group as developed as the Thalmor to verify that lie, “Are you sure, Court Mage? We could test it, if you like. How much of you would be left, after decades? It’s been such a short time, and yet, I can see it in how you look at me.” She came closer, thrilled and faux-breathless. "You are hungry."

“I am quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sybille bluffed, but she knew she had lost. Whatever game the Ambassador was playing, Sybille did not know the dance. She glanced haphazardly around the room, but they were truly alone. She could not hear so much as a scuffing slipper or clank of mail.

“Two months, three, since you last drank blood,” Elenwen clarified, so there was no possibility at all of pretending that she did not know, and smiled, smiled, smiled wide at the look of horror on Sybille’s face. Ice poured down Sybille’s spine. The floor dropped out from underneath her. No, no no, the Thalmor could not know.

“Were you fucking his father?” Elenwen asked conversationally, in the silence that fell, “Torygg’s, I mean.”

“I don’t… That is a serious accusation, Ambassador!” Sybille hissed, ignoring her, unable to name the feeling that started icy in her fingertips and spread dully and low up into her breastbone until she ached the whole way through. Her stomach knotted and writhed.

“Aren’t you thirsty, Sybille Stentor?”

Elenwen was so close now. So close that Sybille had to step back, her tall shadow casting her in gloom. Her eyes were half-moons behind the sun, and the light gilded her blonde hair like it was strands of gold. A strand drifted out of its aggressive pinning as Elenwen bent forward, swaying into Sybille like she was magnetised, and tickled there along her artificially-blushed cheek. Sybille could smell the powders, the hotness of her skin trapped beneath it. She had bleached with lemon oil recently, a faint scent clung to her, almost drowned by the floral drench of cosmetics.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” Sybille snapped, mouth dry as bone, and Elenwen laughed. It was full and unrestrained, a laugh from the stomach, and nothing at all like the stiff, courteous little smirks she gave as ambassador. It rang, rich and loud, through the entire hall, down the stairs and over the thrones, and Sybille heard it with a sinking feeling of a lock snapping shut.

Elenwen would never have laughed so loudly, so out of her stiff Ambassador performance, if she thought it was possible she could be overheard. Would she? Was this a bluff?

Sybille’s gaze darted again to the dark eyes of the doorways, but the palace seemed empty. Were there Thalmor in the wings? Elisif. Was the Jarl safe? She should be – though had not Sybille sent a servant to fetch the Jarl, the steward? Was Elenwen planning to unmask her before the court?

“Come on now,” said Elenwen, warmly, her smile conspiratorial like they shared a secret, just her and Sybille, “We’re all alone now, and I’m right here. Why don’t you bite me? Look,” She undid the first two buttons of her uniform, exposing a long line of pale gold throat. “I’ll make it easy. Do you like it easy?”

“Are you insane?!” Sybille snapped. There was no other possible response to that.

Nonetheless, her eyes were drawn to the expanse of bared skin, the delicate lines of the veins and tendons in Elenwen’s neck. She could see the forklike line of her jugular, the thinner softnesses of her veins. Vulnerable. The skin here had not been painted and powdered, hidden as it normally was under her collar. It was paler, yellower, like Elenwen did not get enough sun. Sybille wondered how she bruised. Whether she would paint over the bruises Sybille would leave her, when she woke in the morning, and wondered how she had struck her neck in the night.

Sybille swallowed around a mouth pooling with spit. It had been too long.

She could see the hollow where Elenwen’s pulse fluttered, waiting for Sybille to sink her teeth home. What would she taste like? Could anyone truly blame her, if she took just a little taste, just the tiniest mouthful, to sate her burning throat?

Surely, if she was doomed already, it would not hurt.

“Bite me,” ordered Elenwen, steely. Softer, she said, “Bite me, Sybille Stentor. You must be so thirsty. Doesn’t it feel like flames in your throat?”

It did, it felt like each inhale peeled dry chunks of her throat off with all the gentleness of searing sandpaper. Elenwen was so close now that Sybille could lift her chin and kiss her, close enough that her breath, warm, alive, smelling vaguely of summer-wine, brushed Sybille’s cold cheeks. Elenwen’s warmth was like another creature between them, the impossibility of Sybille being the dead one, with Elenwen’s eyes like a mirror to every fear Sybille had ever banished.

“You must have confused me with someone else,” Sybille said faintly as Elenwen stepped even closer. Their bodies brushed, her breath fanned hotly over Sybille’s forehead.

Elenwen hummed a little, disappointed. “Perhaps,” she said, and suddenly there was a dagger in her hand, so quick even Sybille’s vampiric eyes could not spot it. Just as fast, the dagger flashed, once, twice – and then the heavenly aroma of fresh blood reached Sybille’s nose. On Elenwen’s neck, either side of her tendons, two deep slices welled fresh red, deep, deep enough that after the first droplet rolled enticingly towards her collarbones another followed.

Sybille swallowed. She could smell it, thick as perfume, tantalising as an oasis in the desert. Elenwen’s blood was fresh, healthy, and right there. It was bright red, scandalously scarlet, against the warm gold of her throat, like a slash of silk. The candlelight from Sybille’s little alcove shone and shimmered in the droplet like the magicka in it sparked and sung, for Sybille alone. Begging her, almost, to lean forward – barely any movement at all, to chase the droplet with her tongue, lap up along that proud, stiff neck to the wet gash that fluttered like breathless lips waiting to be kissed.

How fast was Elenwen’s heart beating, to push such quick, steady little pulses down her neck? The collar of her robes was darkening to a liquid blackness, but Elenwen did not seem faint at all. Would she be strong til the end, Sybille wondered, would her heart hammer and struggle against her lips, her hands, her body and Sybille’s mouth? Would she pant and gasp and writhe, or would she fall still and silent, terror-glazed eyes and frozen muscles, or best of all, would she struggle and strain, drum weakening hands against the firm cage of Sybille’s arms?

“It’s a bad time to be a vampire in Solitude, isn’t it?” Elenwen asked, friendly, almost sweet, “With all that terrible news about undead stirring in the catacombs. A death sentence for you if anyone should find out, I expect.”

Sybille opened her mouth but her fangs were beginning to protrude, and venom ran eagerly down her chin. Elenwen’s gaze tracked the wetness in her mouth, and her voice dropped an octave when she spoke again.

“But I’m right here, and I’m offering,” said Elenwen, soft as a spider, warm as the blood Sybille could not tear her eyes from. “I could do so much for you if you enthralled me. All the power of the Thalmor at your fingertips…”

She chuckled, darkly. This close, Sybille felt it vibrate through her chest into Sybille’s own. The movement of her shoulders had a droplet of blood, teetering on the steep ridge of her tendon, tumble headlong into the sleek curve of the dip where her collarbones joined her neck. The swipe of red glistened wetly.

“… and I have so many more little puppets dancing for me than you could ever guess, Sybille Stentor. You would never have to fear being found again. All it would take is… a taste. Bite me.”

Pressing her shoulders back against the wall, Sybille turned her head away stubbornly. The stone was cold through her robes. Elenwen’s warmth was dizzying by contrast. Sybille was hot with bloodlust, had never wanted so badly. She was aware, as if it was happening to someone else, that she was trembling.

Involuntarily, she considered Elenwen’s offer. Imagined stepping forward, grasping the elf’s thin waist, following the trail of blood with her tongue. Licking up that taunting trail over the rigid line of her tendon, sucking hard and strong on the slash she’d cut into her own neck, the bones of Elenwen’s hips fine as glass under her grip. Imagined how Elenwen would go moaning-soft and boneless as butter in her arms, her long ears brushing over Sybille’s hood as her head drooped. How Sybille would have to catch her when her knees buckled, the reflexive way she would go to push Sybille away turned to a trembling grasp, rigid at first by the pain, then softened by the venom, how her brilliant, hard blazing eyes would go soft, dark, round with venom and bloodloss euphoria, when Sybille imposed her will over her, how Sybille would drink, and drink, and drink-

But no – it was broad daylight in the middle of the fucking Blue Palace, there was no way that Sybille could drain Elenwen or thrall her quick enough to avoid discovery, and that was only if Elenwen didn’t have some other plan. There was no way that Sybille would go along with some Thalmor plot out of – hunger, hunger alone.

What would Istlod say?

Elenwen pressed close until she was crowding Sybille against the wall. Her body was thin and bony, the buckles of her uniform dug into Sybille’s breastbone. Her lips brushed the tip of Sybille’s ear through her hood when she spoke. This close, the smell of blood was intoxicating.

But Sybille was not strong enough to push her away.

“Drink,” Elenwen cajoled. “It’s been so long since you last had a prisoner, hasn’t it? …Such unfortunate accidents.”

Sybille heard the shift of cloth, that and outrage had her turning her head back to glare at Elenwen, but she was too close, and instead Sybille’s nose butted against her smooth cheek. Her skin was searing hot, a fine dust from her makeup tickled Sybille’s nose. Sybille felt Elenwen’s repressed shiver at the chilly brush of Sybille’s dead skin against hers in the pit of her stomach. “You-?”

“Me,” Elenwen confirmed, smile widening in Sybille’s peripheral vision.

Sybille was transfixed as Elenwen lifted her finger to the bleeding wound on her neck and shoved her finger in, stark, bold, crass. Her smile never wavered at all at the pain. Her bright, bright eyes were focused on Sybille. The part of Sybille that had been mortal once was horrified at her disregard, the part of her that thirsted so badly for blood it barely cared anymore found it unbearably erotic.

She behaved like a venom-drunk thrall, but she smelled rich and fresh, unbitten, untainted. Did she feel no pain, or did she not care? … Did she like it?

The deepened wound gushed redly down her neck, and Elenwen leaned even closer, until the warmth of her body pressed Sybille’s cold one through their robes, like she wanted to become one with her bones, buckles and all. She was thin, thinner than Sybille had expected her to be; she could feel the ridges of Elenwen’s ribs, her small breasts, the cavernous flutter of her stomach.

Elenwen’s finger, glistening with her own blood, raised towards Sybille’s watering mouth.

There was nowhere to go. She turned her head, straining, but Elenwen chased her, cornered her, and Sybille’s mouth parted involuntarily to stop it from painting her lips red. If she tasted the blood – even a droplet – Sybille knew she couldn’t hold back. She choked out a little moan when Elenwen let her finger rest there inside Sybille’s mouth without touching her at all, breathing in the scent of her, so strong, so present. Slender and long, she could have tickled the back of Sybille’s throat if she chose, made her cough and gag and choke, but she did not, instead she teased, not touching, not tasting, forcing Sybille to breathe around the inescapable allure of her.

“I must confess a little professional curiosity,” Elenwen told her, intimate as a lover’s whisper, “I’ve never met a vampire before, and I’ve always wondered how it compares. The blood of Alinor’s finest surely ought to taste better than the swill in the dungeons, though personally, I can’t say I’ve ever tasted much of a difference – Nord, Altmer, Dunmer, we’re all good in wine.” She smirked a little at that. “Won’t you taste, for me?”

The saliva pooled down around Sybille’s fangs and over her chin. She closed her eyes in humiliation.

Elenwen tutted. “I suppose not. Perhaps this will help.” She drew closer, closer, nudging under Sybille’s hood, until her breath puffed over Sybille’s ear, waking long dead nerves with a shiver. Her free hand bracketed the wall above Sybille’s head, then stroked down over the back of her neck and seized the base of her skull. Her fingers knotted into the hair there, each one hot as a brand.

Sybille forced her tongue against her teeth, trying to ground herself through the strain in her jaw. Elenwen’s blooded finger in her mouth was a burning beacon, commanding attention. Spit and venom drooled continuously down her chin. Elenwen’s thready heartbeat – affected, now, by the bloodloss – pounded underneath Sybille’s ribs like a call to war.

“I killed Torygg,” Elenwen breathed into Sybille’s ear. “I told Ulfric to kill him. I broke his mind and I told him to murder poor King Torygg. I was told he squealed like a stuck pig when Ulfric knocked him down, broke his darling bones with one of those beastly shouts of his. Did you hear them break? There’s a certain sound a bone makes when it shatters beyond repair, and the look in a plaything’s eyes, when they realise they are only breakable meat – well, you don’t need me telling you how sweet that is. … I envy you. I wish I could have seen it.”

Elenwen’s gory detail was not needed. That day was burned into Sybille’s memory, the dull wet pops, the snaps and cracks of Torygg’s bones, the horrible thud and the wail he’d made in the thunderous after-shocks of that terrible Shout, the bitter venom in Sybille’s mouth when Ulfric contemptuously cut his head from what remained of his shoulders with one swipe. Ruby-red, it spurted from the messy stump, it had puddled in the grooves of the courtyard’s cobbles, and weeks after rust-red flecks were found, splattering shoes and hems. Torygg had contained so much blood in him, so much of Istlod, and his iron scent was seared into her nose, her mind, mixing with the tantalising barely-there taste of Elenwen in her mouth.

Sybille gurgled on a gasp. She closed her eyes harder, overwrought, fighting to restrain the tears that welled there. That broke through the blood-haze. She’d known. She’d known it had been too simple, that it hadn’t made sense. But – the Thalmor, killing Torygg? Manipulating Stormcloak?

Elenwen moaned at something on Sybille’s face, tearing her concentration. The vibration stirred Sybille’s chest, the quiver of her ear, and Elenwen’s hips ground against hers in subtle, excited circles. It was vile. It was seductive. Sybille had never wanted to break more than she did now. She deserved to die. Wouldn’t it be worth it? Grief, sick desire, warred with prudence. But – this was what she wanted, Sybille fought to remember, the Ambassador was trying to manipulate Sybille to – to –

She was so thirsty.

Sybille’s teary glare did not seem to faze Elenwen at all. This close, she could see the breaks in the makeup that covered Elenwen’s skin, the artificial wrinkles that made her look older than she truly was. Everything fake, a performance. She made a negative sound around the venom bubbling out of her mouth, and Elenwen smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“And I think I might fuck that idiot doll you’ve got on the throne, too,” Elenwen whispered, and Sybille’s jaw muscle jumped. Her catlike eyes warmed with glee. “Oh, I know you were warning her off my little parties. Came back in too much of a state once, did she? The funny thing is that she approaches me – you should be thanking me, really, all that whining about her poor husband, but she cheers right up if you get a little summerwine into her, turns right into quite the … bold … little … slut.”

That last word was delivered in a hiss, lips brushing Sybille’s ear, and at once, she couldn’t take it any longer. She jerked to snarl back, and Elenwen’s bloodied finger rubbed the soft wetness of the inside of Sybille’s mouth. The rich taste of fresh blood overwhelmed her, blanked her mind. Sybille sucked reflexively, and Elenwen’s breath stuttered in her chest. She threw back her head, exposing her bloody neck, and ground hungrily into Sybille.

“Does your doll like knives?” Elenwen panted. “I do.”

Then, she laughed, delighted and breathless, as Sybille’s hands left the wall and found themselves somehow on Elenwen’s back, pressing her close, wrinkling her robes beneath clenched fists. She bit the flesh between her teeth, dazed, searching tongue prodding for all the blood she could smell but not taste. Her own venom burned her throat when she swallowed.

“Oh, though I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Elenwen continued, tugging her finger free, “She will learn to, if I want her.”

Her body tensed as if she meant to move back, but Sybille shot forward faster than lightning with a bloodcurdling snarl. She seized Elenwen’s hair and waist in a vicious grip, bringing her face close to the dripping wounds. The blood, hot and wet, the revenge, the wanting. At last, Sybille dared a tentative lick, a long, sure line up Elenwen’s neck, chasing the path of the bleeding. She tasted like magic, sun, knives, sharp and a little acrid. Intoxicating. Sybille smoothed over the wetness of the open wound, and she hesitated there, damnation at her lips.

A man’s face was before her eyes, fuzzy Nord-beard, mournful wrinkle-sagged stare. …Istlod?

Elenwen did not fight her at all, though Sybille felt the prick of her dagger against her ribs, a second from slipping into her heart, even as she whimpered at the tightness of Sybille’s grip on her fine hair. It was soft, thin as insect-wings over Sybille’s fist. Elenwen’s body hummed with tension like a live-wire, she breathed in gasps, and she trembled faintly with an unbearable want that Sybille could feel straining to pierce the skin, meet its echo in the parched emptiness of Sybille’s bloodless gut. But her knife tickled at Sybille’s robes, warning and promise both.

“Go on,” Elenwen goaded, her voice strained, a little breathy, cracked with desperation, “Hurt me. You must want to. I killed him, I starved you. Hurt me.”

Could she drain Elenwen before Elenwen stabbed her? There was some reason why Sybille could not drink, she knew that, but all thought deserted her every time she breathed, every time she couldn’t help herself and licked the welling blood before it reached Elenwen’s collar, tracing the topography of her willing throat. Elenwen made sounds, beautiful and ragged, when Sybille lapped at her with her cold tongue, shivered in her arms, all eager sighs and clutching hands and poised knives. But still, Sybille did not affix her mouth over the pumping vein and drain, drain, drain her dry.

“Just-!” Elenwen bit out, “What’s wrong with you? Just – do it…”

Sybille strained against her desires. A battleground between her self-control, the mind of the mage who had served loyally for years, and the hungry animal that howled for blood. Istlod. Torygg. The sweetness of the elfsblood – sunlight and sweat, blade-tip lick – in her mouth. The iron reek of Torygg splattering over the cobbles. Elenwen’s gasps, overlaid with the symphony of Torygg’s body breaking, shattering, pulping under the force of Ulfric’s rage. The world had quaked then, now it whimpered in Sybille’s arms, immobilised by her grip. Istlod at peace on his bed, still smiling his last smile. Torygg’s tears. Elisif wailing, when the sword came down. The war-prisoners in the dungeon, hollow-eyed men whose blood tasted of death and despair. The Thalmor’s snake-whisper, hurt me.

Sybille felt Elenwen’s ear twitch against her hand. A moment later, footsteps rushing towards them.

“Out of time, vampire,” Elenwen cooed, almost a disappointed sigh, and when she pulled back this time Sybille felt her numb fingers release her.

She swallowed, copiously, trying to empty her mouth of spit, and burned hotly with indignation.

“You dare,” Sybille rasped, but Elenwen only quirked her lips, apathetic to Sybille’s fury.

A flash of light and the marks were gone, eaten by healing magic. The dagger disappeared into the folds of her robes, the buttons done up, the stray hair smoothed back into its severe imprisonment. She stood an easy few paces away, as if she had never dared to come so close to a starved vampire, a vampire she had starved. It took moments, and through it all Elenwen’s expression was bored, not a hint of fluster, not even a breath of that wretched amusement or nauseating intrigue.

“I’ll send a prisoner or two your way,” Elenwen promised in a flat voice, plucking at the neckline of her robe. “Do think of me when you drink them, won’t you?”

She drew herself up, and suddenly the Ambassador was back, rigid and stern.

“The Thalmor appreciates your cooperation in this matter, Court Mage,” she said sniffily, the accent disappearing as if it had never been there in exchange for the ringing, cold tones Sybille was used to from her. Pinched about her eyes there was nothing but vague disdain, as if she knew nothing about Sybille, as if she had never clung to Sybille and all-but-pleaded to her, and in fact, considered her just as interesting as a cockroach beneath her heel.

She turned away when Falk rushed out of the bowels of the Blue Palace and greeted her with a flurry of apologies. There was not a wrinkle on her uniform. Her heels clicked loudly on the marble as she followed Falk, reverberating into Sybille’s ears, as if she was the only sound.

Sybille sagged against the wall, and cursed Elenwen in every tongue she knew. Sybille considered herself good at reading people, had thought herself safe, well-protected here at the heart of the court. But the damned Thalmor had her over a barrel. She had no doubt these prisoners of Elenwen’s would be nothing but good men and women who had simply fallen on the wrong side of the Dominion, and Sybille nothing more than a convenient way of disposing of them. She could not see a way out of this trap easily – Elenwen could expose her with a word, had proven her control over Sybille’s food source, had threatened the last dregs of the family Sybille had loved.

Sybille needed blood from those who wouldn’t be missed, needed secrecy, needed to be in court even more than ever to protect Elisif and Solitude now she had glimpsed the danger Elenwen posed: the disdainful Ambassador, the eager prey, the gloating predator, glossed in her makeup to falsely age herself, in her uniform that hid her thinness, with her secrets and her contradictory masks. And yet, the most troubling of all was that Sybille could not tell which of the sides of Elenwen she had seen was the truth, and which was the lie.

#inkwrites #elenwen #sybille stentor #skyrim #tes #this wasnt my best work but it was fun #i was in a vampire mood anyway and i had the prompt waiting so why not? lol #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls #my fic affinity

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

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Desolation Destroyed My P****: Web!Jon, Gertrude/Agnes Repressed Homoeroticism, and Gerry faking his own death

Another installment in the slowly complicating Web!Jon AU based off The Convention on Chronographer Lane/The Monster at the End of This Book. You don’t need to know anything about the other two installments, the main story, or the actual Web!Jon story that will get WRITTEN once I’m done with Space Cadet. Full story under the cut. GERTRUDE POV BABY LET’S GO DON’T BE A COWARD AND EMBRACE THE GERIATRIC LESBIANS.

CW for body horror

2002

People did not call Gertrude for favors.

Somehow most of the community had fallen under the impression that it was a bad idea to owe a favor to Gertrude Robinson, because she always came to collect. Gertrude had worked hard to enforce this. Most of those in her...field knew better than to ask an enemy for favors, and Gertrude made a habit of collecting enemies. She was not in the habit of collecting friends.

Allies, maybe. She could count her allies on one aging hand and have fingers left over. Unfortunately, Agnes Montague was one of them.

Also unfortunately, Agnes disliked and distrusted the Institute so severely she only ever called when she knew Gertrude would be in her own home - so, at one am, on a Saturday. The shrill blaring of Gertrude’s almost unused home phone startled her from her nightly reading, and she was forced to bookmark her place before picking up the phone.

She never spoke first on the phone, and old precaution, but Agnes knew that. “Don’t worry. I’m only calling for business reasons. I need another favor.”

Gertrude’s lips thinned. “Agnes. It’s been a while.”

Six months and a week, not that Gertrude was counting. The last time Agnes had called her up asking for a favor was the first time they had ever spoken: a request for help escaping her cult. It had been a long, messy business. The burn scar had only just healed.

They had a moment of sentimentality, then. A moment of sentimentality that had begun so many years ago as their lives were tied together in that forest, and stretched forward in time and space to culminate in a single mistake. It was a mistake Gertrude was afraid she was still making now.

“I would have called, but it was still dangerous,” Agnes said cheerfully. She had been a morose and sulky woman, when Gertrude first met her. She had brightened considerably since they had won her freedom: like the turn of winter into spring. “It’s settled down quite a bit, which is why I need the favor.”

“You still haven’t paid me back for last time,” Gertrude said mildly.

But Agnes just laughed, warm and soft, despite the cold welcome. “I feel like we both got something out of that arrangement, don’t you?”

They did. Gertrude wasn’t sure which arrangement Agnes was referring to. “Fine. What is it you need? Within reason, Agnes. I’m not sure I have another great escape in me.”

“I need three false identities,” Agnes said, shocking Gertrude deeply. People only tended to call Gertrude when they need something murdered or blown up. Not that she minded. “You know everybody, and I’ve been a bit cloistered these past few years. I have a source who knows some people, but the person that we’ve been avoiding also knows those resources, so they’re right out.”

“Running an underground railroad, are we, Agnes?” Gertrude asked archly.

Agnes laughed again, and despite herself the sound still rang something buried and cold in Gertrude’s heart. “I figured I’d try my hand at the good guy thing. What can I say, Gertrude? You were a good influence on me.”

“Don’t mock me.” But Gertrude sighed anyway, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll get you in touch with who I use. If you give me your email I can connect you.”

“...what’s -”

“Never mind. I’ll pass your phone number along. Goodnight, Agnes.”

But the line crackled and fuzzed, and Agnes didn’t hang up. Neither did Gertrude. When Agnes spoke again it was soft - not hesitant, Agnes was never hesitant, but gentle. Agnes, Gertrude had found, could be more gentle than anybody else. “We never visited that lake.”

“Those are just dreams, Agnes,” Gertrude said - harshly, maybe unkindly. She didn’t know how to be anything else.

“Not to me. I - no, John, don’t eat that, you don’t know where it’s been!” Agnes sighed, sending a crackle of static over the line and catching Gertrude’s attention severely. “I have to go. Goodbye, Gertrude. Thank you for your help. Call me sometimes, will you? For personal reasons. I gave you my number for a reason.”

Gertrude hung up on her, deciding not to dignify any of that with a response. She hardly had the time to make - personal phone calls.

What foolishness. Agnes had infected her with such foolishness.

Gertrude went back to her book, mind working furiously, trying to remember if she had ever read of a ‘John’.

*****

Unfortunately, ‘John’ was about as common a name as they came.

Gertrude herself scarcely had any time to follow-up. Judging from Agnes’ words and tone, John was a child of some sort - had Agnes kidnapped somebody else’s child? Her child? (Gertrude had a very ridiculous thought for a moment before dismissing it, before grudgingly accepting that Agnes was made out of wax and that nothing was technically impossible). She gave Agnes her guy’s phone number and wished she could wash her hands of the matter. What Agnes did from now on would hopefully be none of her business.

Gertrude wished she could delude herself into believing that.

But Gertrude’s work was picking up, the rituals coming in faster and faster, and she found herself running about much more than she should at her age. Emma was invaluable, Fiona worked hard in research, and Michael was...sweet, but she trusted them with little information and trusted them less to watch her back. She couldn’t dedicate the amount of time she wanted to a hunch.

To make matters worse, Mary Keay had seemed to misplace her child. She was torn up about it, in her...own way. Gertrude wasn’t concerned. The boy was seventeen. He’d be back in three months with another two piercings, a Grateful Dead shirt, and no money. Goodness knows Gertrude had done it enough at his age. Did kids still trail along at Grateful Dead concerts? What was Gerry always listening to these days, Green Day? Green Day concert.

As such, it was two weeks before Gertrude even had time to follow up with her contact. It only took minimal application of her blackmail before he spilled what Agnes had him make, and the full details therein. Most importantly, her new listed address. That, at least, ought to be real.

As Gertrude rode the Underground to the humble London neighborhood where Agnes had apparently escaped her followers, sneering at young men who tried to give her their seats, she flipped through the paperwork. Agnes Montague, twenty seven - my, wasn’t she vain - born in London, England. All of her details seemed fairly legitimate. New NIN, credit score, false history, the usual. So it wasn’t her she was trying to hide.

The second file was more interesting. There was her mystery John. Jonathan, apparently. Jonathan Montague.

Gertrude’s eyebrows crawled up. What was her game?

The announcement of her stop echoed smoothly through the train, and she quickly folded up the papers and stuffed them back in her purse. It was a short walk from the station to the flat complex where Agnes was now staying, and she found herself ridiculously wondering what Agnes would look like.

Would her hair be the same color, the color of licks of fire straining into the night sky? Her eyes the same forest green, a rainforest any woman could drown in? Her skin rosy and soft, with full appearance of youth and longevity, never to age or decay? Gertrude was only barely sixty, but she was feeling her age with every year. Her living had been hard, and it was finally catching up with her.

What else would catch up with her, once she knocked on Agnes Montague’s door?

Apartment number 426, 1446 Frederick Street. The strange thing about it was the welcome mat set outside the door. There was a little smiley face. It was so incongruous with Agnes, yet so oddly fitting, that Gertrude found herself smiling.

She knocked once, twice. Her lockpicks were up her sleeve. Hopefully Agnes wasn’t home and she could snoop, but -

The door opened to reveal Gerard Keay, looking down at a loose crumple of bills in his hand. He was so busy counting them out that he didn’t see who was standing at his doorstep.

“Thanks, mate, we -” Gerard finally looked up, and his face whitened. “You aren’t pizza.”

“So I’ve been told,” Gertrude said dryly. “Are you going to let me in?”

He let her in.

******

So that was where Gerard had gotten to.

Agnes, who had been pulling soda out of the fridge in their small kitchenette, was much happier to see her than Gerard was. It was the first time anybody had been happy to see Gertrude suddenly turning up at their doorstep in a very long time, and it made Gertrude almost uncomfortable.

“I’m here for business reasons,” Gertrude felt the need to tell her, as she glared Gerard into sulking miserably on the couch. He had dyed his beautiful hair some nasty black color, which was either for disguise purposes or for...what was the word...goth? Goth purposes? Gertrude was very thankful she did not have children.

But Agnes just smiled at her, as if she saw straight through. Which was ridiculous. There was nothing to see straight through. “It would be pretty strange if you stalked me until you found my address and showed up at my home in the middle of the day holding lockpicks for business reasons, Gertrude!”

“It’s for personal reasons.”

“There we go. I would offer you some pizza, but it seems that it’s not here yet.”

“So it seems.” Gertrude turned her eyes on Gerard, who wilted. “I hope this is a valuable lesson in checking to see who is at the door before you answer it, young man.”

Gerard mumbled something.

“I know for a fact your mother did not raise you to be this careless.”

“My mother barely raised me at all,” Gerard grumbled.

“Fine. Then I did not teach you to be that careless.” That got an actual flinch out of him, and Gertrude sighed. “What is going on here, you two?”

“It’s a very long story,” Agnes said.

“Containing very many events I am under pain of death not to tell you about,” Gerard added. “Are you going to tell Mum I’m here?”

Gertrude sighed.

The flat was small, clearly newly rented. They had very little furniture, and what they did have was clearly liberated from charity shops and kerbs. Their living room held a battered television, one of those gaming consoles Gerard liked so much, a scuffed and thoroughly singed coffee table to match an equally singed couch, and a pair of overstuffed bookshelves. A cutaway wall revealed a small kitchen, with a nook that held a rickety kitchen table. None of it seemed particularly out of the ordinary for two young people, strongly resembling Gertrude’s own first flat.

She cautiously sniffed the air. No smell of candles. Hm.

She was just about to push the matter of how exactly the Messiah of the Eternal Flame and a bookseller’s son met and became flatmates when a crash and a thump echoed from the hallway. Gerard jumped off the couch, and Agnes bit her lip. Another rattle echoed from the hallway, and something deep in Gertrude’s mind recognized the sounds as those of a caged animal.

“What is that,” Gertrude said flatly.

“I’ll check on him,” Gerard said quickly, fleeing into the hallway. He knocked on one of the doors - Gertrude noticed that there were two on each side, three bedrooms and a bathroom - and said something quietly against the door, before cracking the door open a few inches. Gertrude couldn’t see what was inside, and she couldn’t maneuver herself closer without alerting Agnes.

There was another crash, and Gerard slammed the door shut quickly. He grinned broadly yet anxiously at Gertrude, tittering a laugh. “It’s nothing! Nothing to see here. Would you like a cuppa, Gertrude!”

“Hm,” Gertrude said.

They gave her a cuppa. She sat on the couch, Agnes and Gerard anxiously standing in front of her wringing their hands, and pretended to sip the cuppa.

“Promise there’s no human flesh in it,” Gerard said. Gertrude arched an eyebrow at him until he sighed, took it, took a small and exaggerated sip, and then passed it back.

It was only then that Gertrude tried some. She couldn’t help but smile. Agnes’ tea was always perfect.

“Can one of you tell me why, according to the government, you are now legally siblings?” Gertrude asked archly. She put one hand down on the cracks between the sofa cushions beside her, pretending it was for balance. “Without lying, please.”

Agnes shrugged helplessly. “Gerard didn’t want to live with his mother anymore and I wasn’t doing anything important.”

“We thought about faking a corpse but was afraid that would just excite her,” Gerard said, depressed. “Hopefully when I don’t turn up she’ll just assume I was eaten by a book.” He affected a faux-nasally tone that did, admittedly, sound a lot like Mary. “ ‘If he’s too incompetent to survive he’s no good to me as a son. Good riddance to bad rubbish, his whole line’.”

“Gerry won’t let me immolate her,” Agnes said seriously.

“She’s my mum, Agnes!”

“Immolating parental figures is very therapeutic.” Agnes patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “When I set everybody who ever loved me on fire, I felt great about it.”

“It seemed very cathartic,” Gertrude said dryly. She dug her fingers deeper into the crack between the cushions until something soft and thread-like rubbed between her fingers. Bingo. “Why the false identities? Why not simply let Gerard live with you until he turned 18?”

“We want him declared dead,” Agnes said simply. “And we want him to have an actual identity for when that happens. This is the best way to keep him away from his mum. Besides, Gerard Montague has his A Levels and a diploma for uni. ” She shrugged. “And hopefully he’ll be staying with me for quite a bit longer than a year.”

Interesting. They really did know each other. Maybe they were even really friends - although Gertrude was forced to wonder what a woman in her sixties and a teenager had in common. Gerard had mentioned wanting to go to university, but they had all known it was a pipe dream. Dreams like that often were. Gertrude neatly withdrew her hand from the cushion, folding her hands over each other in her lap. She rubbed the thread between her hands, satisfied when she felt its loose, sticky elasticity.

How interesting.

“And Jonathan?”

Both of them froze.

Gerard broke first, laughing nervously and high pitched. “Who’s that?”

Gertrude lifted her hand, showing both of them the thin strand of spider-silk pinched between two bony fingers. Both Agnes and Gerard whitened. “I imagine it’s whatever Avatar of the Web you have locked in the back room that is responsible for these.”

They winced simultaneously, glancing at each other. Doubtlessly trying to come up with a cover story. Gertrude sighed, standing up from the couch and straightening her skirts. Nothing for it then. Her Glock was still strapped to her thigh, and a hunting knife at her other.

Gertrude knew very little about the Web. Just, she suspected, as it liked. It had no rituals, and held no explicit threat to the safety of the world. It was a threat, for sure. Even worse, a threat that Gertrude knew infuriatingly little about. But it was not the most immediate threat, and as Gertrude spent every day drowning under more and more immediate threats she held very little time for those which weren’t promising to end the world anytime soon.

Maybe that was why Gertrude was fully planning to leave this flat and never mention its inhabitants again - not to Mary, not to Dekker, and not to whatever scattered remnants of her cult that Agnes had left alive. Whatever Agnes wanted, it seemed to be closer to a normal life living with her friend than anything world-destroying. And whatever Gerard wanted...well, he was a good boy. He wouldn’t do anything dangerous to anybody other than himself. Mary didn’t have to know. Perhaps it was even for the best.

“You really don’t want to go in -”

“Gertrude, please, he’s in a rather delicate stage right now -”

Another thump against the door. As Gertrude left the living room, crisply walking down the thin and crowded hallway until she stood in front of a thin and battered-looking door, she could slowly begin to hear the faint but distinct sounds of...chittering. Skittering. It was a sound she had heard only once before, during a brush with the corruption.

Gertrude raised a hand to knock at the door.

A hand shot out, pale and thin, and clasped Gertrude’s wrist in its grip firmly. Despite herself, Gertrude’s breath caught. Agnes’ touch still did that to her, it seemed. When she glanced to the side, she saw Agnes standing next to her, mouth stubbornly set firm. Her long and silky orange hair tumbled over her shoulder, glimmering under the soft lights.

“The world’s a cruel place, Gertrude,” Agnes said. “We’re just trying to look out for each other.”

“We all chose this life,” Gertrude said, voice tinged with reproach.

But Agnes just set her jaw stubbornly. “We didn’t.”

It was a we that didn’t include Gertrude - but, of course, so little of Agnes’ life did.

Gertrude let her hand drop to the doorknob, and she didn’t meet Agnes’ eyes as she twisted the knob and let herself in.

Some part of her felt it very idiotic, to walk into what she knew was a spider’s lair. A ridiculous part of her mind couldn’t help but hum the little nursery rhyme she had learned as a girl. But if it was truly dangerous Agnes would have prevented her from going in, instead of asked her to. Some part of Gertrude trusted that, a part of Gertrude that somehow still survived despite everything.

It wasn’t that Agnes appealed to the softer side of Gertrude. It was more that Agnes appealed to the hardest and cruellest parts of her, her tough outer shell, that ached for a reassurance that even a woman raised in utmost cruelty could make the choice to be kind. That there was still goodness in the world. If even a Messiah of the Eternal Flame could smile like that, could look at Gertrude with those deep and unfathomable eyes, then maybe all of Gertrude’s efforts weren’t for nothing.

The room was white. No, not white - just covered in long, ropy strands of spider-web. Different shapes and sizes, different lengths and thicknesses. Some of it was wispy and gentle, like cotton fluff, while some of it was closer to rope. It wasn’t arranged in a spider’s beautiful pattern, an elegant nest: it was more like an explosion, as if it was thrown anywhere and everywhere without regard.

The webs didn’t cover everything in the room. A bed was clearly visible, draped with webs as it was. There was a closet, and several boxes stacked in the corner with loose clothing draped over them. That was every piece of furniture and personal item in the room. It was a minor miracle that the living and dining rooms didn’t have more spidersilk in them - a testament to Agnes and Gerry’s tidiness, or a sign that the inhabitant rarely left the room.

The inhabitant of the room was curled on the bed. It - he, perhaps? - was sitting upright against the wall, knees curled up against a chest, forehead resting on the knees. He was half-obscured by webs, but Gertrude could immediately tell that the figure wasn’t very old. Gerard’s age, or perhaps a bit younger.

The webs did little to obscure the four arms - two flesh, two hinged and black and hairy - curled around the boy’s body.

The boy didn’t look up when he saw her. Gertrude wondered if he even noticed. She was only just beginning to wonder what the thumps were when one of the spider arms lashed out and crashed against the wall, shaking the room.

Hm. This was Gertrude’s first Web Avatar, but if they all looked and acted like this then she could only assume that they would be much more obvious than they are. New, then. Maybe as new as those identities Agnes had applied for.

Normally she’d torch it and go home, but with both Agnes and Gerard in residence that option was out of the question. Her curiosity had been satisfied: she could turn around now and leave the room, knowing what it was Agnes and Gerard were protecting. She could let the inhabitants of this flat fade into obscurity, secure in the knowledge that none of them wished to harm her or the world.

But Gertrude was a bit too curious for her own good, or perhaps a bit too soft, because she found herself stepping forward.

Her low-heeled boots didn’t slide on the web, but it did stick. When she lifted her feet they tracked up thin spiderweb, and she resolved to burn this outfit once she made her way back to the Archives. After a few breathless moments, Gertrude found herself standing in front of the boy, who hadn’t seemed to notice her yet. Poor situational awareness. He’d fit in well with Gerard.

“Jonathan.”

The boy looked up at her, and anybody else would have bit back a scream.

He had eight eyes - black, glistening, unreal. Bulbous and unsettling, they skittered and twitched in strange directions, as if uncertain how to work or how to see. New, brand-new. Uncontrolled. The boy’s mouth parted in slight surprise, but it was obviously difficult to read any sort of expression.

He didn’t say anything. Gertrude found herself absently wondering if spiders had tongues.

“Do you know what is happening to you?”

The boy stared at her, long enough that Gertrude found herself wondering if he still clung to sentience, before slowly nodding his head. Good.

“Then you know how to stop it,” Gertrude said sharply, and the boy sat up straighter. “Stop moping about, now. Look around. You’ve destroyed your room.” She gave the boy a moment to look around, expression still inscrutable, before she went back on the attack. “You’ve sulked long enough. Put away those arms, now. Go on.”

The boy stared at her, coarse black spider arms twitching and curling.

“You know what’s happening,” Gertrude said firmly. “It’s your body. Not theirs. It’s your body, Jonathan. Bend it to your will. Not theirs.”

Slowly, disgustingly, the arms began to recede. They slid back inside his torso, sucking into his ribcage, shifting and clicking and chittering, until there was nothing left but an ordinary chest. Gertrude was even now able to recognize his shirt. It was one of Gerard’s. Green Day.

“Your eyes now. Come on, hurry up. I haven’t got all day.”

The eyes pulsed and twitched, bubbling strangely. One of them whirred, glistening with a thousand fractals.

The boy opened his mouth, and garbled speech came out. “I can’t...I can’t…”

“You have no choice. You must, so you will. Come on, Jonathan. Listen to me. It’s your body. It’s not theirs.”

The eyes melted back into Jonathan’s face, and that was so disgusting Gertrude politely looked up. She had seen worse, but no point in subjecting herself to it. When she looked back down she was shocked to see, for all appearances, a teenage boy.

He had a thin, severe face, and large cloudy grey eyes. His hair was curly and matted, and despite his posture Gertrude could tell that he was the kind of short and built that was straining up against an imminent growth spurt. His skin was a light brown, with thin lips and features that suggested mixed ancestry. He looked very much like a regular, if somewhat striking, teenage boy.

“There you go,” Gertrude said, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Who the fuck are you,” the rude child said.

“Jon!”

She had been so focused on Jonathan, that she hadn’t noticed when Gerard and Agnes entered. Gerard practically jumped onto Jonathan’s bed, mindless of the spiderwebs, and folded him into a tight hug. Jonathan clung back desperately.

“Don’t worry us like that,” Agnes said. She had appeared at Gertrude’s elbow, and moved forward to sit on Jon’s other side and give him a tight hug too that he returned just as fiercely. She looked up at Gertrude over Jon’s shoulder and mouthed ‘thank you’ to her, which she waved away. It had hardly been anything.

“I think I’m rather owed a full explanation now,” Gertrude said pointedly. “And I think young Jonathan needs a bath.”

“What? No, I -” Jonathan separated from Gerard, and sniffed his shirt. He pulled a disgusted face. “Ew. Yeah, okay.”

******

They did not give her the full story. Gertrude wasn’t sure what she was expecting.

Oh, they gave her the broad strokes of it. All three of them were ‘old friends’, despite one of them being sixty and the other two being actual teeangers. Gerard and Agnes, especially, gave off the air of having known each other for years. They both seemed less familiar with Jon, though no less affectionate. Gertrude felt like she was trying to put together a puzzle with mittens and no idea what the final image would be.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on Jon for a while,” Agnes said apologetically. They were all sitting around the rickety kitchen table now. Gertrude passed her teacup to reheat, which she did with a smile, and Gerard was at the door accepting the pizza from a confused deliveryman. Judging from the amount of takeaway containers, these two hadn’t been doing a lot of cooking. “He ran away from his grandmother’s a month ago. He made it to London and lived on the streets for a few weeks until I finally tracked him down. He’s been staying with us ever since.”

“When Agnes got in contact with me and told me that she found Jon, I figured it was time to bounce.” Gerard put some plates on the table and slid the pizza box into the center. Agnes eagerly grabbed the pizza and put a slice on her own plate. At Gerard’s look, Gertrude held up a hand in a ‘no thank you’ motion, and he shrugged. “Agnes has been trying to get me to stay with her since she lost her cult, but I figured I would just ditch Mum once I hit eighteen. Then...stuff happened...and I don’t really trust Agnes alone with a teenager anyway, so I left. Easy.”

“Thank goodness she’s only left alone with two teenagers now,” Gertrude said. She glanced at Agnes, who seemed unrepentant. “Is anybody looking for Jonathan?”

She shook her head. “Parents long dead. His Gran...she won’t look for him. Nobody will. I doubt any of them remember he exists. ”

“Did Jonathan make sure of that?”

Abruptly, Gerard looked very uncomfortable, but Agnes just nodded calmly. “Yes, likely.” At Gertrude’s ticked eyebrow, she continued, “She’s alive. But Jon...he’s convincing. We think. So far as we can tell. Nobody’s going to be looking for him, even the police.”

“Did we tell you how he was getting money while he was on the streets?” Gerard asked gleefully. “Apparently he can walk up to Canary Wharf bankers and convince them he’s their cousin visiting from out of state and ask them for spending money. They just believe him! Isn’t that wicked?”

“It’s easy. All you gotta do is make them feel guilty for forgetting you were coming.”

Jonathan, dripping wet from the shower and dressed in some cleaner hand-me-downs, appeared in the doorway. He walked forward until he was leaning against the kitchenette wall, accepting the pizza Gerard quickly passed to him. Clean and human, he looked like any other teenager. The only thing that revealed him for what he was were his eyes: empty, lifeless, and dull.

“Hey, you’re still human!” Gerard said, perking up. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah, tons.” Jonathan masticated his pizza, grease dripping down his chin. He locked eyes with Gertrude, who was careful not to blink as she stared back at him. “Who’re you?”

“The Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute,” Gertrude said crisply. “Gertrude Robinson.”

Jonathan’s mouth slowly fell open, revealing the primordial mass of globby cheese. Gerard was nearly bouncing in his seat, mouthing ‘It’s her!’ over and over again.

“I told him about you,” Agnes said quickly - so quickly that it could have only been a lie. “Only good things, believe me!”

“I’m sure.”

“Wait,” Jonathan said, eyes darting back and forth between Agnes and Gertrude - who, Gertrude was somewhat embarrassed to find, were sitting somewhat close. “She’s the girl -”

“Girl who helped me get those new IDs for you guys,” Agnes said desperately. “Although she’s more of a woman. Say thank you, boys.”

Both boys mumbled thank-yous through mouthfuls of pizza.

“How did it happen?” Gertrude asked Jonathan carefully. She was careful to keep that - pressure off her words. Very few reacted well to it, and she didn’t want to deal with a rampaging spider teenager again. “Your transformation. And don’t speak with your mouth full.”

Jonathan sassily made a show of swallowing the whole mouthful of pizza before he spoke. “I trapped my entire secondary school in a nightmare web where they all got turned into flies and eaten by spiders,” he drawled. “Oh, wait. I got bitten by a radioactive spider and ran away to London to fight crime.”

Gertrude gave him a very, very unimpressed stare. Jonathan smashed more pizza in his face. For a boy that must have been raised by his grandmother, he had no manners.

A grandmother that he had likely done something to, to guarantee that she wouldn’t look for him. To ensure that an entire town wouldn’t search for him. Wiping a life off the map like that - what kind of teenager would do that without a second thought?

A boy who found himself turning into a monster, fleeing the people he could hurt so he could reconvene with friends that understood?

Or a newly born monster that shed its old skin the minute it could?

Gertrude, as a younger woman, would have tended towards the latter. As an even younger woman, a child, she would have said the former. Now, she knew better than anyone how it could be both: a boy’s motivations propelled by a monster’s impulses, until even limbs of flesh were puppeted by silken threads.

The Web was the fear of manipulation and being controlled, Gertrude repeated to herself, a mantra so familiar that it had worn grooves in her mind long ago. Jonathan had already proved adept at the art: swindling money to survive, erasing the imprints that a life left behind.

Was she being controlled now? Was it any coincidence, that Jonathan ran into the arms of the one supernatural force in England that Gertrude wouldn’t shoot on sight? That he was lying in wait with the disappeared son of two people who had once been prominent in Gertrude’s life, a little boy she had seen grown up into a kind man despite all odds?

Jonathan had inserted himself neatly, cleanly, and absolutely into Gertrude’s life. And he had done it almost even without her noticing.

Of course, it was also the nature of the Web to make one ask these questions. It wasn’t just controlling - it was the fear of being controlled. By even thinking about this, Gertrude was playing straight into his hands -

“Gertrude.”

It was Agnes, sitting by her, looking at her with a softly sad expression. Her hands were in her lap, but they were twitching as if she wanted to reach out and take Gertrude’s hands in her own. They would be so different - they had always been different - but occasionally it felt as if whatever warmth they carried was the only heat that warmed Gertrude at all anymore.

“If you don’t trust him, trust me.” Something flickered deep in Agnes’ eyes, like a hearth. Maybe that was Agnes: a hearth, house and home. “You can trust me.”

“Can I?” Gertrude asked, mouth unexpectedly dry. “How can someone like me trust someone like you, Agnes?”

Agnes smiled, baring teeth white and perfect as wax. “There’s nobody on Earth like you, Gertrude. You know that just as well as I do.”

Both boys had their hands slapped over their eyes, horrified.

Maybe that was what convinced Gertrude: not Agnes’ promise of a safe place to rest in a tumultuous and dangerous world, but the fact that both these boys found that promise horrendously yucky. It wasn’t human - Gertrude had the feeling that no emotion from Jonathan could truly be human - but at least it was benign. In this world, sometimes that was the best you could ask for.

“Fine. I put them in your charge, then, Agnes.” Gertrude drained the rest of her tea, eyeing the leaves critically in her cup as the boys whooped and Agnes exhaled heavily. Her tea leaves read a bad omen. That was comforting: she liked to know what was ahead of her. “If I hear any statements about a strange boy swindling businessmen out of their salaries then I’ll know exactly who is responsible. Am I understood?”

“They weren’t missing it,” Jonathan grumbled, before Gerard elbowed him in the side. “Fine! Fine, you won’t hear anything about it.”

Not what she had said, but she’d take it. The supernatural was at its least dangerous when it felt scared and hidden. Nothing was more dangerous than an Avatar who felt themself above human laws and rules. Or, at best, Gertrude.

They never tended to live long.

“Uh. Ms. Gertrude.” Gerard awkwardly creased his greasy napkin, expression tight. “Are you going to tell Mum?”

“Tell her what?” Gertrude asked archly. “I hardly think what Gerard Montague does is any of Mary Keay’s business.” As Gerard broke out into a relieved smile, Gertrude added, “Don’t give me any reason to charge after you, Gerard. You’re impulsive and reckless. Your mother’s kept you safe from yourself so far, but you’ve decided that you no longer need that protection. Don’t make me regret keeping my mouth shut.”

Jonathan snickered, ignoring Gerard’s flush. “Whipped.”

“I’ll speak to you outside, Jonathan.”

This time it was Gerard’s turn to snicker as Jonathan flushed and straightened away from the wall. “You’re in trou-ble!”

Good lord. This was why she hadn’t had children.

But he followed her out the flat anyway. The flat complex was smaller, just a few buildings connected by sidewalks and catwalks, and the flats opened into the fresh air. As they emerged onto the first story, Gertrude let Jon lean against the railing and turn his head towards the sun. The wind blew softly, and Jon exhaled softly as he closed his eyes. Issues controlling a human form meant that he likely hadn’t been outside very often lately.

“Tastes weird,” Jonathan decided finally, as if they had both been waiting solely for his judgement. “Air back home always tasted like salt. Everything was fresh and clean. It wasn’t anything like dirty, smoggy London.”

“Go back home, then.”

Jonathan snorted bitterly. He had turned his back to Gertrude, leaning on the railing to stick his head out. As if she wasn’t a threat. “Can’t. Gran doesn’t know I exist anymore. Trust me, nobody’s missing me back home.”

“How can that be? There must be school records, any kind of documentation. You must have known dozens of people.”

“Ah, that’s the genius of it.” Jon turned around, grinning lazily at her. He leaned against the railing, elbows back and resting on top of the metal frame. “All I needed to do was implant a few strategic suggestions. Just on the people who interacted with me the most, or the people most responsible for me. Gran, Mr. Heathcliff, Ms. Robbins, Dr. Yung.” He wriggled his fingers experimentally - like a magician doing a magic trick, or a puppeteer pulling strings. “Every time someone asks them where I am, they tell them that I never existed. And, you, know, wouldn’t they know? Jon’s Gran would know if Jon existed or not. So they doubt themselves too. Maybe Jon was never here, not really. Maybe he was just...a faint dream. The kind you forget the moment you wake up.”

“And the papers?”

Jon shrugged. “A person’s in charge of those papers. Ms. Hastings, school secretary. When she sees my student file, she’s going to ask my headmaster about it. And he’s going to say - who? And she’ll remember that I was nobody to remember at all. And those papers will become just so much garbage. When the cop, the government clerk, whoever, remembers that there’s no Jonathan to remember, that’s it.” Jon grinned at her, a proud kid showing her a perfect score on a report card. “Anything is beatable, Ms. Gertrude, if there’s human error involved. You can build the most perfect machine in the world, but so long as a human’s involved in any step of that process then it can go wrong.”

“Did the Web tell you that?”

“My Mother trades in lots of secrets, Ms. Gertrude,” Jonathan said, and in the turn of a second his eyes hardened into beetle-black shells, black and inhuman, before he forcibly pulled them back in again. Jonathan grimaced, gritting his teeth as he kept the transformation at bay. “Sorry. Sorry. I - I don’t want to hurt anyone. I won’t. Agnes and Gerry are going to help me. I’m going to choose what kind of mo - person I am. I’m going to choose right.”

“See to it that you do.” Gertrude stepped closer, and she knew that her face was stony and cold. Revealing nothing, with no weaknesses or cracks to exploit. She had lost every weakness long ago, save one. “I know where you live, Jonathan. I know what you’re capable of - even more, I suspect, than you yourself do. Mind yourself, and I won’t have to find a solution to your problem.” She let her eyes glint, just once. “I’m very good at finding solutions, Jonathan.”

Jonathan looked away first, of course. He swallowed heavily. “Mother told me about you.”

“All good things, I’m sure,” Gertrude said dryly.

“She says I’m not ready yet. She said we have someone else for you, but I’m not ready yet. She says I’ll be the King one day, maybe, but not today. I’m...still hatching. It’s uncomfortable. It’s so -” Something haunted flashed through Jonathan’s lifeless grey eyes, and he shivered. “It hurts. So much.”

“So I hear,” Gertrude said, no trace of sympathy in her voice. “Good day, Jonathan.”

She left Jonathan there: shivering, alone, and human for now.

She would see him again, she knew. A frightened teenage boy who promised her that he’d be king of the Web one day was a warning sign if she’d ever heard one. But if it was a warning sign, then it was one Gertrude was meant to hear. A shake of a rattlesnake’s tail: a creature that wants to go through the energy of biting you as little as you want to be bit, so save us both the trouble.

And maybe Jonathan’s comment, so offhand he may not even have realized that he was making it, was a warning of its own: a spider in her own camp. Who?

Agnes was waiting for her, by the Underground station. She didn’t know she got there before her. Young people moved so fast these days. She smiled and waved when she saw Gertrude, as if they both had arranged to meet there.

“What is it now?” Gertrude asked, exhausted. “Another favor?”

“Just a thank you for helping me keep the boys safe,” Agnes said cheekily. She stepped up, carefully, brushed a kiss to Gertrude’s cheek. Gertrude, idiotically, let her. “Call me, okay? For personal reasons.”

“Maybe,” Gertrude said, to the hearth that burned low in her heart, “if it’s for personal reasons.”

It wasn’t until she was halfway home on the Underground, thinking about noting down the address of Agnes’ apartment, that she found herself wondering what the address even was. Thomas Street...No, Jackson? 144...5?

What was she trying to remember?

No matter. Getting old again. Gertrude continued making notes in her notebook, reminding herself to search for a spider’s web, as the train rattled on for home, and the warmth of a kiss lingered on her cheek.

#my writing #tma #gertrude robinson #agnes montague #gertrude robinson/agnes montague #gertrude/agnes #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfiction #gerard keay #jonathan sims #web!jon

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