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reality-exodus · 2 months

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Rebirth p.1

Pairing: George weasly x reader Word count: 1884 Summary: Y/N's pregnancy is something she realises late, as she attempts to speak to George, he has to go on the battle of the seven Potters.

It had been a crazy year Therefore actually living during the second wizarding world was something else. Both my parents were members of the order, and after Dumbledore’s murder everything seemed to be chaotically bad. They had a plan to lure the Death Eaters to Harry without sacrificing him. I was an exceptional potioneer or a more fun Snape as George always mocks me. I was fixing the last parts of the poly juice potion when my boyfriend entered and hugged me from the behind causing me to jolt.

“George!” I exclaimed and he kissed my cheek before letting go. “I will ruin the whole thing!” I shouted at him. Truth be told I disliked the plan. Both him and I were to participate therefore I stepped back- I couldn’t handle it at that point felt as if I should stay back Molly and Ginny shouldn’t be left unguarded. Other than that I had the worse feeling ever and it drove me sick.

“Excuse you- I cannot seem to not hug you when I see you.” His voice stroked my ears as he sat next to my working bench. Before I could reply he gagged. “How can you stand the smell?” He asked me and I chuckled.

“Numbing spell. I don’t feel anything.” I smiled at him adding the hair Harry gave me. Then added the stinky green slimed potion into seven vials.

“Smart girl, But I prefer when you make art. How am I supposed to drink that?” He asked me, his tone whiny therefore he landed me back on reality. My hand shook lightly as I was pouring it on the vials. My expression shifted almost too immediately at the mention of the situation.

“Hey hey- Y/N what- what is it?” He asked me his frown matching mine. He removed the small cauldron and the vial from my grip, my hands were shaking.

“I really don’t want you to go-.” I sighed and looked elsewhere. “I am sorry, I don’t mean to discourage you- I should’ve been used to it by now, mom and dad always go…” I explained but felt awful for bringing it up like that. He shouldn’t worry about me or a potential failure.

“Y/N, you are not discouraging me- you know me better than this.” George chuckled and pulled me close to him. “Everything will be okay.” He smiled at me, his smile was always suing bad thoughts away, stress and angst as well. George is aware of my difficulties on this spot, my parents often had missions assigned to them by the order that had them in jeopardy, countless nights I spent for a letter that they are alive. George was always staying up with me.

“I wanted to tell you something- Something about us-.” I sighed and looked at him, my whole body went numb and this time it was not the spell. But the goddamn voice of Madeye whining was heard.

“You will tell me once I get back.” George spoke, he stroked my cheek caringly. “Because I will always get back to you.” He spoke before pulling me for a kiss. I kissed him back, my lips hugging his. Usually it was the other way around- My passion made him chuckle lightly.

“Y/N your mother said you were the quickest.” He exclaimed, he was my mother’s mentor and my father’s as well. Now he wanted to be mine as well therefore I have a better chemistry with Remus Lupin.

“Am I not? I did make a potion for seven that takes three months in 20 hours… I’d call that lightning speed.” I spoke and offered the vials to Fleur, then to Ron, Fred, Hermione, Madeye who looked at it judgementally.

“It smells.” Alastor commented and I smiled.

“I may or may have not put the hair of a goblin in it…” I spoke before I moved to George and gave it to him my expression shifting from joyful.

“I’ll bring him back to you in one piece.” Remus spoke, his hand squeezing my shoulder assuringly as everyone was changing. He pulled me further. “Are you feeling well? You seem a bit pale.” He commented.

“I am awake two days… it’s the exhaustion.” I attempted to assure him but Remus only shook his head.

“Heightened senses.” Was all he said before returning back to the seven potters were standing in the middle of the room, he didn’t let me ask him though I knew he was aware of my current condition. I choked a laugh as Fleur was taking off her bra that wasn’t fit on Harry’s broad chest. Suddenly a potter grabbed my waist and kissed me. I let out a laugh.

“Now I cant tell who is Fred and who is you… You are identical.” I chuckled practically hugging Harry Potter.

“I am still prettier” Harry- Fred spoke up making me and George laugh.

“You wish” George chuckled, he was still holding me close to him but it wasn’t the same. I was literally kissing his sister’s boyfriend. Awkward.

The time passed- it was slowly moving on I was with Ginny in her room, she was reading to me a muggle book her father found and my eyelids went heavy, I hadn’t slept in some days, it wasn’t healthy and I had to be healthy these days. It was like a dream I was watching from afar. Voices- panicked voices. I woke up, reality hitting me hard once again- Someone was back. I launched my self downstairs to see Remus pointing his wand at Harry.

“Remus! What-?” I was to ask but then saw George- His head- he was bleeding “Oh my-…” I rushed and kneeled next to the sofa. He was white as sheet with Molly above him. His ghostly gaze looked up at me and his lips curved into a small smile that didn’t last more than two seconds. I could tell his eye lids felt heavy. He didn’t have the strength to move his gaze. I held his hand in mine but his fingers shifted cupping my hand instead. I teared up stroking his head slowly to take a look at the wound- I sobbed at the severity.

“Sssh” he shushed me that was all I need to keep my weeping silent. The last thing he needed was my sentimentalities. Remus placed his hand on my shoulder pulling me backwards lightly.

“There’s that spell on one of books of Snape-.” I turned to Harry. “This was a sectumsemptra-.” I sobbed the counter curse. Remus seemed thoughtful and Harry stunned. I felt the frustration boiling my blood. “And- and until then he needs the Anticeptic potion-.” I spoke, my voice was shaking and I sobbed. Once I turned around I saw Fred and Mr. Weasly. I didn’t realize they were back.

“How are you feeling Georgie?” Fred was asking, his hand shaking as well as he stroked George’s head. I was right behind him touching his shoulder. His gaze looking up at me before he made space for me too. I kneeled next to him.

“Saint like.” Georgie spoke and I got confused and looked at Fred.

“Come again?” Fred asked with a frown.

“I’m holey, Holey Fred.” Geroge chuckled weakly. I laughed getting his humor almost too immediately, his fingers waving lightly as I placed my hand to the spot they belonged. In his.

“The wole wide world of ear related humor and you go for ‘I am holey’? Pathetic.” Fred spoke, his lips crept in a smile and I couldn’t help but laugh. I admired their relationship- more than anything. It was so unique and pretty.

“Mad-eyes dead.” I heard- it was Bill- his gaze blank.

I covered my mouth removing my hand from George’s. I stood up almost immediately getting lightheaded. Fred got me before anything would happen further, unfortunately George saw it- he tried moving.

“Hey no -no” I exclaimed “I’ll get some air and make the potion alright?” I asked him- I didn’t bother hiding my tears anymore. It would be unnatural he knew me too well.

“Fred” George spoke his twins name and Fred knew exactly what his brother wanted him to do. He stood up holding my forearm for security as he escorted me out. Once we were out I let out a loud sob letting the bottled up sentiments out.

“Hey- hey” Fred pulled me in a hug. “He will be alright.” He assured me, rubbing my back in a soothing way. I hugged him too. He was the most important person to both our lives.

“Its- I wanted to tell him- And now I cant he is so injured- But I will not be able to live if he doesn’t know- if he never learns.” I babbled out between sobs, my tears were rivers streaming down my face- I stumbled- leaning against Fred’s physique.

“Easy Y/N!” he exclaimed as he kneeled down assisting me to sit on the grass. “Tell him what- He will live- he cant not do that.” Fred assured me- or more like attempted to do sofor both me and him.

“I tried telling him before you all left and he said I should tell him once he comes back. I had a bad feeling and it became real-.” I sobbed trying to unriddle what was so important what was panicking me.

“What are you talking about?” he asked me, I was shaking and he placed his coat on my shoulders and I hugged closer to me to get warmer.

“I am pregnant Fred! And he doesn’t know.” I exclaimed with a sob- “And now he is dying- he is bleeding out and we don’t even know the assessment of the wound and- I am not calm enough to do that-.” my overthinking habit was audibly taking over.

“You- you are- Y/N you need to calm down- not for you or George- but for the tiny creature here.” Fred assured me guiding me to take deep breaths. “Who else knows??”he asked me.

“Lupin understood- heightened senses.” I revealed my hand subcounciously to my belly. I had gained weight already but no one seemed to notice and I only found out two days ago before all these started.

“He will be alright okay? How about you tell me the herbs you need for that potion-.” Fred spoke, I could tell his panic rising.

“You know of herbology?” i asked with a slight chuckle, I was wiping my tears with my sleeve as I took the hand he offered to stand up.

“For your information, I know more than I let on.” Fred smiled as I started mentioning our years at Hogwarts.

Hey there

this ones a bit out of the blue as i rewatched some of the movies. I hope you liked it, it is uneditted and unprocessed. There will be one more part of this one shot soon to be uploaded.

Please let me know your opinion, it is always useful and appreciated to hear comments and remarks readers may have.

yours, Silvermist

PS/ I would gladly accept requests of harry potter you may have, send me a message or comment your request. I would gladly write about it.

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george weasly fanfiction #Harry potter fanfiction #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley #remus lupin #Battle of the seven potters #deathly hallows #harry potter #harry potter one shot #Harry potter oneshot #Fred weasly oneshot #George weasly oneshot

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incorrectbatfam · 5 months

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What do the Goofy Gooners look like .. asking for a friend …

Rob is a tired dad with an inferiority complex. He doesn't put much effort into his appearance because basic hygiene already saps a lot of his energy. He has reddish-brown hair that he keeps short for convenience and doesn't shave as often as he should, so there's always a thin layer of stubble. I picture him to be around 33 but stress makes him look older. He usually wears the same basic t-shirts and cargo pants—a polo would be fancy for him. He's on the underweight side because he frequently skips meals so his kids and Milo have enough. He also has random tattoos scattered over his arms plus one on his leg and neck. They don't mean anything, just dumb stuff he got when he was younger, including a winking emoticon and the Pillsbury doughboy.

Blaise is 26 and you can tell he's a stoner from the get-go. He has dirty blonde hair that he grows out but hardly maintains, and the same level of effort goes for his clothes. He often wears things he finds in dumpsters or thrift stores and chooses comfort over style. His clothes have lots of hidden pockets for lighters, firecrackers, and weapons. He's tall and lanky, which makes living out of Milo's car in the parking lot awkward (Rob offered his apartment but he declined). Similar to Rob, Blaise also has a number of meaningless tattoos plus several piercings. He also plays the guitar and keeps his lucky pick on a necklace.

Kellin is a 20-year-old originally hailing from Thailand. Their assassin parents trained them in gymnastics, martial arts, and various weaponry from a young age in hopes that Kellin would follow in the family's footsteps and join the League of Assassins. That obviously didn't work out and they traveled around as an independent hitman (hitperson?) for a couple years before they landed in Gotham. They're always battle-ready—if they could shower in their assassin uniform they would. They changed their name and keep their hair just long enough to mask their face. They're fluent in English, Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, and Arabic, but they prefer to let their actions speak for them instead.

Molly is a 25-year-old trans woman who incorporates her jobs as a drug dealer, team strategist, and nightclub DJ in a single look. She has long dark hair dyed with neon streaks but ties it up when fighting. She's not the most formidable combatant but she has basic fighting skills and is very calculative. Her primary weapon is a metal baseball bat, inspired by her favorite anti-hero, Harley Quinn. She also has a belt equipped with her experimental chemicals and smoke pellets. However, she's not allowed to pair up with Blaise on missions because it's an open secret that the two of them can't focus around each other.

Otto is a war veteran and car mechanic around the same age as Alfred, but that's where the similarities end. He's been wearing the same mechanic's uniform for the past four decades, the only differences between then and now being his hair thinning, a couple front teeth falling out, and acquiring a beer gut. His arms are covered in scabs and scars from the job and he's had trouble with his right knee ever since the army. On the surface he seems like a Boomer yelling at kids to get off his lawn, but he's more like a stern but well-intentioned grandpa who is disappointed to see nothing much has changed over the years.

Milo is your standard 15-year-old delinquent. He's slightly small for his age and doesn't pack that big of a punch on his own, but put him behind the wheel and he's a total menace. When he's not driving, he keeps himself stimulated with video games or his collection of keychains (his favorite is purple bat because of his puppy crush on Spoiler). His look is reminiscent of early 2000s skater punks, including a bright red mohawk and his trusty headphones. Everything he owns, minus his car, fits into a single backpack. His weapon, on the rare occasion Rob lets him on the front line, is a batarang he found on the street.

Gene is someone you would never expect to have so many issues because on the outside he looks like an average 40-year-old glasses-wearing office worker. He has short sandy hair and dark circles under his eyes from nightmares. His meds help a lot, but sometimes he's still seen pacing around and muttering to himself. He's not a danger anymore compared to the past, which is why Rob trusts him enough to share an apartment. Gene focuses his nervous energy into his research and tinkering instead, amassing a comedic collection of hyperspecific gadgets.

Mac is basically the guy in the chair. He's 30 and has thick glasses, thick curly brown hair, a thin goatee, and almost exclusively wears flannel. His nails are down to a nub because he bites them when concentrating. He's also often seen with chips or an energy drink in his hands and wears a jailbroken smart watch. Of the team, he has the least physical prowess but the most brain power. He doesn't see combat often but keeps a pistol in case. He turned an old ice cream truck into his home/mobile office so he can plug in anywhere. Like Kellin, he's also not from Gotham, but instead Fawcett City and has a distinct Minnesota accent.

Booker is a 19-year-old Gotham U student and the third member of the team's Glasses Trio. He's an intelligent guy slated to graduate a year early and thus needs his internship credits sooner. He's very polite (albeit a little socially awkward) and puts his best foot forward by coming into work with slacks and fun patterned suspenders even though he doesn't have to. His hair has a slightly uneven fade because his sister insisted on practicing on him for cosmetology school, so he covers it with a fedora. He carries his things in a laptop bag and has an enthusiastic bounce in his step that only newbies would have.

Jackie and Gunner are Rob's 6-year-old twins (Jackie being 8 minutes older) and are the babies of this hodgepodge family. Jackie takes after her late mother with frizzy black hair usually tied in pigtails. She loves wearing pink, reads way above her level, and is a horse girl in that she wants one to stomp on the people she doesn't like. Gunner looks more like his dad, though his hair is a little messier and overgrown. He hates school but loves dirt and monster trucks. Both of them have a troublesome streak but Jackie's a little better at hiding it. They quarrel like siblings do but at the end of the day, they always stick up for each other.

#see previous posts #original character #batman #batfamily #batfam #batman family #dc villains #gotham rogues #dc comics #character idea #character design #headcanon #long post #tw violence mention

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geminialchemist · 2 months

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Long post with Hazbin Hotel S1 spoilers!

While I don’t think it’ll happen, what I’d love to see from season 2 of Hazbin Hotel is an episode set in Heaven, directly after the events of S1E6 “Welcome to Heaven.” Preferably, this episode will be either the first or second episode of the season, with Adam still alive and kicking as Heaven prepares for the next Extermination Day.

Why do I want an episode like this? Simple. Because after what happened in S1E6, Heaven has to be in a lot of turmoil. I’m talking total chaos, protests in the streets kind of stuff. Think about it from the perspective of one of the winners. Hell, think of it from the perspective of Angel Dust’s sister in Heaven, Molly.

You’re Molly, and you’re dead, and end up in Heaven. Score! So you go searching for your twin brother, who died before you(probably, canon is unclear right now). You two were close, and you had the best relationship with Anthony out of anyone in your family.

You search for a while. A very long while. Heaven is a big place, after all. You don’t find Anthony anywhere. You ask around, and no one has seen or heard of him. Doubt builds up, as this can only mean one thing and you dread getting that answer. Finally, you go to the big name taker himself, St. Peter, and ask politely if your brother has been through the pearly gates, and you hear the worst news since you got to Heaven, he didn’t make the cut and is in Hell.

So now you’re asking around to find out if anyone has ever made it up from Hell and into Heaven. Surely someone has, right? But as you ask the angels and other winners around Heaven, you get a variety of replies, ranging from pity to some straight up laughing in your your face over the very idea that a sinner can be redeemed. The answer, no matter who you ask, is the same. A resounding “No.”

So, Hell is forever(whether you like it or not), and you’ll never see Anthony again. There doesn’t even seem to be a way to message sinners, or visit them. You don’t think he deserved his fate, but you can only hope that Hell isn’t as bad as everyone says it is, and that he’s doing well down there.

Then one day, someone from Hell is visiting Heaven, which is unheard of and is causing a ruckus. The Princess of Hell herself is here! After a song and dance number, you discover she’s here for a trial hearing about if a sinner can be redeemed or not. This is the best news you’ve heard in decades! You might have a chance to reunite with Anthony! You go to the trial, take a seat in the gallery of the courtroom, and what you find out is horrific.

Hell is worse than you thought. Your brother, Anthony, of all people, is the example the princess of Hell is using to make her case, and now he goes by Angel Dust, and is forced to be a porn star. Despite unknowingly passing every test that Adam and the Seraphim place on him, they still deem Anthony unfit for heaven, even as Emily argues against this, siding with Hell’s Princess. Why is the princess of Hell more concerned with your brother’s fate than Heaven, who are supposed to be the good guys?

And even worse, you find out that every year, Adam and a bunch of angels under his command go down and kill sinners, just like your brother. Adam slaughters them, and doesn’t hide his enjoyment of his actions, even proclaiming his intentions of attacking the very hotel that is trying to rehabilitate sinners as his first target for the next extermination. And the head Seraphim, Sera, says and does nothing to stop him. She absolutely condones his monstrous actions.

Heaven has been killing people, committing genocide, for who knows how long? Denying your family, friends, and loved ones who didn’t make the cut a chance to change, and then murdering them? Anthony has only managed to survive by luck or skill, and now his head is directly placed on the chopping block after he’s gone through all this effort to get into heaven in the first place?

And now the courtroom is in shambles, angels arguing over this earthshattering news that Adam and Sera have been hiding from them. Even some of your fellow mortal souls are torn into two camps, one who thinks the sinners deserve whatever is coming to them, and the other like yourself who don’t want their friends and family in hell to suffer even more.

You decide to Hell with Heaven. Torches and pitchforks all around as over the course of a month you do everything you can along with your fellow likeminded angels and Winners to get the extermination canceled. Protests, threats, petitions, you try everything, but it’s all in vain as Adam gathers his troops and goes down.

Thats what I wanna see in the start of season 2, with the Heaven focused episode ending with Sir Pentious arriving in Heaven, proving a sinner can redeem themselves, and putting an end to the conflict. But just because Heaven decides to end the exterminations and work to redeem sinners now that there is undeniable proof walking/slithering among them, doesn’t mean it washes away their own sins. Sera can’t bring back the millions who were killed by Adam and his legions, who now will never have a chance to be redeemed and reunite with their loved ones in Heaven. Molly wouldn’t even know if Anthony survived the last extermination.

Let there be a shake up in heaven, let there be lingering resentment towards the angels for what they’ve done, let there be some kind of conflict or consequences for the actions Heaven took. I always hate when a show glosses over stuff like this. I want the final shot of this hypothetical episode to be Sera and Em sitting in that room, with protests right outside their door, discussing what needs to be done. Sera wanting to continue the exterminations, even if if it angers the winners because she believes its in their best interests, and Em trying to get Sera to change her mind, and call off the attack, only for Sir Pentious to pop in like he did at the end of season one, ending their discussion because now Sera doesn’t have a leg to stand on anymore.

You can even keep a comedic angle by having the Winners be terrible at civil protests because they’re all so goodie two shoes. They don’t want to throw a brick through a window, that would be rude and mean!

#hazbin hotel #angel dust #charlie morningstar #molly hazbin hotel #sera hazbin hotel #emily hazbin hotel #heaven hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin molly #hazbin sera #hazbin emily #hazbin theory #hazbin hotel spoilers

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saphirered · 7 months

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I saw the Autumn/Winter prompts and i have to.

So how about Solstice Kiss with Mollymauk preferably Spice and Fluff. I am a sucker for Molly (is it obvious?)

I’ve been dying to write for the M9 again! Especially after having been to the Live Show 😩Fluff with some spice coming right up! Hope you enjoy! 😘

The party rages on. Whatever solstice celebrations this village takes to are very much enjoyable. It’s a refreshing delight to see such peoples take to such debauchery without eye for consequence or modesty. Drink flows a plenty, delicious foods are shared graciously, and the company, the company does not judge. It indulges. When the carnival stopped here for their last show of the year they did not intend to stay this long but the snow kept them. A gift from the gods themselves according to some because they were welcomed by the locals and are more than happy to enable every poor life choice made on this eve for the sake of everyone’s enjoyment. No one would be left out. No one would feel sad or alone on this night. Tonight they are all among family and friends and lovers. It is a good night.

Mollymauk watches as you dance with Bo the Breaker. You’re spun into the arms of Gustav next who offers you a cup you take to your lips. You’re dressed to impress. While he might be a little biased he dares say you are the most beautiful creature to be seen. While you danced he had occupied himself telling some fortunes here and there. He’d have done it for drink and trade but these people offered generously, even more so when their cups kept refilling. Pockets heavy they kept coming to him still and he would tell them their fortunes. They’d eat up every word but despite his nimble fingers pulling forth the cards he searched for, he was slower than usual. You caught his attention, distracted him whenever you entered his peripheral vision and you knew it too. Little minx you are.

And then you disappeared into the crowd. His focus returned. If only for a little. Molly finishes up yet another fortune, reshuffling his cards how he always does, assuring they’re in the right order. He has a moment of respite and expects the next farmer to come chatter any moment. The chair opposite of him is not occupied but in front of him he finds a cup of questionable looking liquid. Arms drape over his shoulders sliding down until they link together over his chest. You perch your chin on his shoulder after pressing a quick kiss to his neck. He’s sure you can feel the goosebumps spread across his skin. Your lips are cold. He’s got every intention to change that now.

“So everyone is having a good time and you are reading fortunes? We closed hours ago.” You chirp letting your cold fingers trail along the exposed skin of his chest. More goosebumps. He can feel your smile when your lips brush so close to his ear. Molly takes the cup in one hand, putting his cards away with the other before he turns to face you better. You take the opportunity to slide into his lap and take a sip of his cup.

“What’s a little overtime for these good people.” He takes the cup from you. “I thought that was meant for me?” Teasing as ever. He takes a sip. Gods that’s good. Before he can ask you answer.

“Apparently they call it apple crumble mede. It sounds disgusting but tastes like apple pie. They also have cherry, chilli and whiskey but I’m particularly fond of the chestnut one.”

“So exactly how much did you have to drink?”

“Not nearly enough to be even remotely tipsy.” You’re truthful. You’d only had a single sip of those before you settled on this one. You’d barely had one cup. Molly shakes his head.

“Such a party and such little drinking? What has become of our reigning champion?” He jests and chuckles when you go to reach for the cup. He holds it out of your reach until you give up with a roll of your eyes. Only then does he feel safe to actually drink more. You clutch your hands together rubbing them for warmth and subconsciously move yourself closer into him.

“Cold?” He asks. You don’t even make a point to deny it. Instead you curl closer to him.

“I’m warm when I’m dancing. I feel like the dead of winter when I stop moving.”

“So what you’re saying is we got to keep you warm somehow?” Molly gives you the most suggestive look he can muster just to humour you.

“But what about the midnight dance?” You groan throwing your head against his shoulder. His fingers gently dance up your side, brushing up and down at an even pace. They slip under the fabric of your shirt. Molly is making it very hard for you to focus and he knows it.

“If you insist. I’ll never say no to a dance with you.” You make no move to get up just yet. “Come on… It’s tradition after all.” He lifts you to your feet until you stand on your own, then takes a step backwards and with a ridiculous bow extends to you his hand. Your freezing fingers touch his and he instantly brings them to his lips, shiver running down his spine as the cold hits him but he doesn’t let it stop him. Despite his warmer body, Molly still very much is susceptive to the cold, perhaps even more so than you.

Mollymauk leads you to the dance floor, where the commoners dance their commoner’s waltzes and let’s be honest, these are probably the only dances the carnies actually know. It’s something to bond over, to finally fit into the chaos that allows for mistakes and choses fun over perfection. The musicians play an upbeat tune while the locals sing the song in a chorus of dancers. Everyone seems to know the song, or at least enough to hum along where the words are but foreign to them or their ability to form coherent sentences, be they out of breath or too intoxicated. You spin under his arm, link your arm with his, close in, then apart, side to side and twirl around each other. You sway and sway, close in, a hairs breath away, and then too far. Repeat.

It’s the midnight dance, following the patterns of the stars and skies and constellations long lost to Exandria but it matters not. You feel alive, so incredibly alive. The dance is a short, too short but when you see that burning in those scarlet eyes, see that love and admiration, that joy, you know it’s just long enough. You know how this dance ends. You’ve heard the locals talk about it when you ran your errands. And so when the last note strikes and the cheers erupt, you step in close within Molly’s embrace. You look him in the eye, then down to his lips and place yours against his in a feverish kiss. His response is quick, one arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer, the other at the back of your neck tilting your head ever so slightly to gain better access to you. You feel his lips part, his tongue brush against yours and you invite him wholly. Perhaps time slows, or perhaps it moves all too fast because when you part you want more, so much more and when you look him in the eye, so does he.

Taking his hand you pull Mollymauk along away from the dancing and feasting people. Instead you make for a barn. Perhaps not the most glorious place but you’ve found yourselves in far worse. You quickly pick the lock and slide into the barn, Molly following behind. When he enters you quickly close the door and push him against it. Your lips are on his, hands sliding up his chest until you cup his cheeks. He takes a moment to recover but quickly his hand settle on your hips and in one swift motion he lifts you. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you along to the piles of hay. As you’ve done many times before, you push the coat from his shoulders. Begrudgingly he sets you down so you can take it off and without breaking contact once, place it down behind you. You use this moment to change places, urge him backwards and onto the coat.

You are the image of seduction and you bring him to his knees with but one wanton look; your lips are slightly parted, your pupils dilated. He can see your breath rise and the twitch of your fingers. All it takes is a gentle push of your guiding hand and he is at your mercy as you crawl on top of him, legs on either side, fingers in his hair pulling at the roots ever so lightly. Your lips meet once more, tongues dancing together, but a taste of what’s to come, of what you are setting out to do. It’s safe to say those solstice kisses are intoxicating but you can do so much more and you intend to prove it. He all but whines when you trail your kisses down his neck, being sure to leave many a mark there, and go down further and further until you feel him. You look up at him when you reach for the buckles of his belt, teasingly slow to undo them.

“Say the word.” You croon looking up through your lashes. You could have him undone right then and there. When he doesn’t respond thinking about what you’ll do to him, you let your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his trousers. The sweet noises he makes when he’s at your mercy.

“Please.” Begrudgingly he speaks but is cut off by his own mewling sounds when he feels your tongue circle him, then your lips wrap around him, just the once before letting your hands take over, stroking so slowly.

“That’s a good devil.” You grin and when you see the flush to his skin, feel his fingers lace in your hair you go down again. This will be an eventful solstice. One to remember for sure.

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #mollymauk x reader #mollymauk tealeaf #critical role #mighty nein #the mighty nein #critical role mollymauk #mollymauk

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lisbeth-kk · 5 months

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An eventful and busy day for a certain landlady.

January 5

It’s been another eventful day. My hand is steadier tonight, due to said events. Sherlock’s playing a piece I’ve heard before. Probably something played at the New Year’s Concert from Vienna. A Strauss waltz, I think. It’s beautiful. I must say I prefer it when he plays like this rather than assaulting his violin.

Tim has, as mentioned, changed his mood alongside mine. He was quite considerate and cuddly when my bad mood struck, but now he’s found a skein of yarn to fight with. I haven’t the heart to scold him about it. It’s not that I’m in need of it anyway. I can’t remember the last time I knitted.

John surprised me just before lunch, and that was the end of all the ache my body and mind had bestowed me with the first days of this year.

“You know what day it is tomorrow?” John asked me when we sat down at my kitchen table with a cuppa.

“Of course, dear. It’s Sherlock’s birthday. And Epiphany, but I guess it’s the former you’re referring to,” I answer cheekily.

John chuckles and blushes slightly. He clears his throat before he comes forth with his request.

“Indeed, Sherlock’s birthday, Mrs. Hudson. And you know that he normally doesn’t celebrates it, but…”

John trails off, seeming uncertain on how to continue.

“Go on, John,” I urge him.

“Well, it’s a bit different this year, I think.”

The blush gets deeper by the minute, and I find it adorable.

“I…uhm…well…I want this year to be the start of something new, you see. Nothing big, he wouldn’t want that. At all. Just the three of us. Maybe Molly, Greg and Mike as well, but I haven’t asked them. Mycroft…I think he…”

“Maybe next year,” I say, hoping to be helpful.

“Yeah,” John breathes and seems relieved.

“Do you want me to bake something?” I ask innocently, knowing that’s exactly why he’s come down here.

“Would you mind?” he asks a bit anxious. “I know you’ve been…”

“Nonsense, John! There’s nothing wrong with me. Not anymore at least. That Austrian chocolate cake would do nicely, I think,” I say and start to scribble down a shopping list.

John inhales sharply and looks at me with awe.

“You know how to make the Sacher Torte?” he asks incredulously.

His perfect pronunciation astounds me, but I guess it’s Sherlock’s doing. I can’t help but roll my eyes at him. There are so many things John doesn’t know about my past. Sherlock too, for that matter. I’m tempted to test my Austrian accent on him but decide against it. Best not give him a heart attack on top of everything.

“Leave it to me, dear,” I tell him.

***

My second visitor today was Sherlock. What he had deduced about John and his plans for the next day, didn’t surprise me one bit. I wonder if he knows how attuned he is to John and his every doing. Perhaps not consciously. By now, I guess it’s out of habit. Natural. Like breathing, which he finds so boring. I can’t help but smile at his childish behaviour. My precious boy.

“What can I do for you, dear?” I ask when Sherlock walks into my sitting room.

He doesn’t bother with knocking today, knowing that I’m mostly back to my normal self.

“I hope you granted John’s wish about tomorrow,” Sherlock starts.

When he opens his mouth to speak again, I hold up my hands to stop him.

“Of course, I did, Sherlock. Why wouldn’t I? Honestly, my dear, sometimes…”

I huff and beckons him to leave so I can start baking his cake. He takes my hand, brings it to his lips and kisses it tenderly. It brings tears to my eyes and when he thanks me in his most sincere tone, I spot a bit of moisture in his eyes as well.

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@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @safedistancefrombeingsmart @sabsi221b @peanitbear @gregorovitchworld @raina-at @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely

#six days of countdown #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #mrs hudson #sherlock fanfic #johnlock #bbc sherlock #ao3 fanfic #mrs. Hudson's diary #January 5

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absurdthirst · 2 years

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Idk if you’ve done this before (you can ignore this if you have) but how would each of the Pedro guys react if you told them you were pregnant?

**So I have done the pregnancy HC before, but that was when there were few boys, so lets add on to it.....

When They Find Out You’re Pregnant:

Javier: Shocked. No clue why because it wasn’t like either one of you were exactly practicing safe sex. Condoms were hardly ever used and you weren’t on birth control. He’s going to internally panic for a bit, disappearing into his work. He won’t disappear on you, he will drag into the apartment after you are asleep and get up before you do. Eventually coming to terms with the fact that he needs to be a better man and he comes home to tell you that he is all in.

Ezra: Worried. The life of a prospector and a floater is not the kind of life he wants for his child. He won’t articulate those worries, instead sleeping less and thinking long into the night while he has his hand on your womb. When he starts to form a plan for a life you can have that doesn’t include the danger of your current lives, he will wake you up, regardless of the hour to start excitedly laying out the plan.

Mando: Stoic. You can’t tell from the impassive view of his visor what he is thinking. Until the Crest goes dark and suddenly you hear his helmet thunk on the grated floor. Passionate lips overwhelm yours as he tries to show you what he is feeling. After he kisses you breathlessly, he will finally speak. “We will raise warriors cyar’ika. Marry me.”

Catfish: He is shocked and excited. He already has a child that he loves beyond comprehension. Never thinking he would have another kid after the divorce, so when you tell him that you are pregnant, he’s just in awe. Scoops you up into his arms and kisses you.

Tovar: A satisfied glint is in that grumpy Spaniards eyes. He was expecting it, never having bothered to pull away when he finally cums. “Good hermosa.” He tugs you into his arms and his large, war calloused hand cups your stomach possessively. “Maybe those bastards will stop sniffing around your skirts when they think I am not looking.”

Whiskey: Panicked. Nothing to do with you. But the damned fear of losing a second family terrifies him like nothing Statesman could ever throw at him. He’s going to need a bit. He’s really quiet and leaves for a mission. Until he realizes how it looks to you. That you might think that he doesn’t want you or that baby. Then you can expect his broken explanation as he begs you for forgiveness and to give an old fool another change at happiness. With you and the baby.

Max Phillips: ????????????? Lucy, you got some ‘splaining to do!(although once he finds out it is his….this frat boy vamp will be nervous as fuck. Will it be like him? Will it be like you? Will it be like some kind of mixed best of both worlds? And GOD FORBID you have a little girl. He will be beside himself. You have to tell him not to eat the little boy in her class that kissed her on the playground.)

Marcus Pike: Crying. Tears of fucking joy after making sure that this is what you want. He will be on cloud nine. You are carrying his baby and he just doesn’t know if he could possibly love you more than right now. There were times that he didn’t know if it was going to happen for him, love and a family. And you’ve just given him the world. 100% alllllll in.

Oberyn: Celebrates with you in the most obvious way. By taking you to bed of course. After exhausting you with pleasure, he will stroke your stomach and tell you how much he will love watching you expand with his child. Does admit that he would prefer that you refrain from your more…..risqué endeavors while you are carrying, for the health of the babe. Rest assured your prince with treat you like a queen.

Dave York: Proud. Extremely proud. He might not be what some would consider a good man, but he loves his children. He’s good with them. When Alice and Molly were little, he would change diapers and get up at 2am feedings with no complaint. Now he has a chance to do this again and he’s thrilled. You can tell from the way that he starts planning. He’s a planner, so immediately he starts getting things ready for the baby. As soon as he is done spreading you out and gently making you cum.

Max Lord: Overwhelmed....He already cannot give Alistair the life he wants for his young son. Cannot give him everything that his heart desires and it tears him up. His eyes are wide, almost devastated and he feels the extra weight of another’s happiness heaping down on his shoulders. He gives you a small smile and immediately puts on the charm that he uses to convince people to invest in his company and tells you that it is wonderful. Kissing you soundly and convincing you that it is the best news, even if he is falling apart on the inside.

Marcus Moreno: Slightly shocked. He’s thought his days of being a father to a baby were long over. His eyes are wide behind his glasses and he’s speechless for just a moment before joy takes over. Lunging forward and kissing you quickly, reassuring you that he is happy about the news. Wanting to know how you feel about it and how you feel. Missy is going to be surprised, but also happy. She’s always wanted a sibling and now she gets one.

Zach Wellison: Panicked. Like glazed eyes, heavy breathing panicked. He’s still not completely adapted to the idea that he’s not longer on the streets and he has a job that supports him. That he has a home to sleep under a roof every day. All the things that support that a baby would need immediately flashes through his mind. Only you wrapping your arms around him will bring him back to reality and he immediately hugs you close, promise you that he will take care of you and the little bean.

Javi G: Ecstatic. Overjoyed and tears spring up to his eyes. He is blubbering like a baby and he isn't ashamed of it. He loves the idea of you carrying his baby, basically blubbering about how much he loves you and how much he already loves his baby. He will be nothing like his father, your baby will know how much they are loved. His hands are all over your stomach, caressing the area where his child is safely nestled.

Dieter Bravo: He’s high as a fucking kite when you tell him, but then again, when isn’t he? He frowns at you in confusion and looks down at your stomach for a second before looking at your face again. “How?” He asks stupidly, as if constantly asking you to have sex with him wouldn’t result in a pregnancy.

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#pedro pascal #javier peña headcanon #ezra prospect headcanon #the mandalorian headcanons #pero tovar headcanon #agent whiskey headcanon #Frankie Morales headcanon #max phillips headcanon #marcus pike headcanon #oberyn martell headcanon #dave york headcanon #max lord headcanon #marcus moreno headcanon #zach wellison headcanon #javi gutierrez headcanon #dieter bravo headcanon

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sevcasejay1chicago · 1 year

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Sundays- Jay Halstead

Summary: A look into a typical Halstead Sunday.

~~~~~~~~~

If you ask Jay Halstead what his favorite day of the week is, he will always say Sunday. Not because he normally has the day off, but because of his girl. Before he met you, he would go to church and then come home to watch football or go to Molly’s for football parties and drinks. Now, he spends every Sunday with you.

Every Sunday morning, Jay watched as you get dressed and do some vocal warm ups. You have been a worship leader at your church, that Jay now attends with you, for 6 years. Jay loves to watch you get ready and you pay him no mind, knowing that he is watching, but used to it after roughly a year of marriage. While you blow dry your hair, Jay makes you both coffee and a quick breakfast before he parks it back on the bed and eats his breakfast while he watches you. He thinks it’s hilarious that you get excited every time he does this, like he hasn’t done it for you every Sunday since you started spending the day together. You always munch as you go, fluttering around like the princess you are as you get ready for the morning.

Watching you lead worship is another favorite for Jay. Even though Jay isn’t as musically inclined as you, nor was he ever really into worship music before, you have changed all that for him. The way you light up the stage without trying or wanting to be noticed always puts Jay in the worshiping mood and makes him so happy. He could watch you all day and worship along side you all day. Voight is great about letting him have his Sundays with you because it has changed Jay’s attitude ever since he began attending with you. You and Jay even have small groups that you are plugged into, even with his crazy schedule, but it makes both of you better people.

Jay knows your exhausted after 3 services. He stays for each one, but he knows the crowds can be draining for you. You have a low social battery in crowds of more than 10, so you are ready for a lazy day every Sunday afternoon. Sometimes a service can get heavy, and Jay is there for all of that too, but he always makes sure you are taken care of as soon as the truck doors close.

Jay always reaches over and grabs your hand before pulling off. He’ll grab your hand and wait for you to lock eyes before asking,”Are you doing okay? Anything we can stop and get before going home?” And then he will place the most gentle kiss on the back of your hand while he waits for your reply. He accommodates every need you ever think up, if there ever is one. He never wants you to burn out, just like you won’t let him burn out, so he returns the favor with as much love as he can muster.

Once Jay gets you home, he gets you to eat a light lunch and encourages you to go get comfy while he cleans the kitchen. Sometimes you don’t make it further than the couch if it’s been a particularly hard week and Sunday was just the final zap to your energy. Most Sundays, Jay will find you just slipping into bed when he finishes cleaning up. You have taken off your church clothes and thrown them in the hamper, taken off your makeup, and put up your hair.

Sunday afternoon naps are your favorite thing in the entire world. Jay has learned to love them too. When you crawl into bed after your little routine, you are in nothing but a pair of underwear. Sometimes you’ll put on one of Jay’s shirts if it’s cold, but that’s rare. You always try to wait for Jay, always sleeping better when he is either in the bed or you are in his arms, but the latter is what you prefer. If it’s a football day, Jay will plug in his Bluetooth headphones and watch the game while you nap. On the occasion, Jay will join you in your nap. Most Sundays, Jay will play on his phone or just lay there and watch you sleep, enjoying every moment he has with you. In general, Jay knows any moment with you could be his last, but as a detective that possibility is increased.

Jay never takes advantage of Sunday afternoons. He cherishes them and you. He loves how you glow when you wake up. Sometimes you’ll drool a little and apologize profusely, though Jay just laughs it off every time and wipes off his chest like nothing happened. You’ll blush when you realize his eyes are on you. Hazel eyes meeting his green.

Sometimes, you’ll convince Jay to lay in bed for the rest of the day. You love counting his freckles or tracing his skin. He’ll snuggle you in, kissing you anywhere he can comfortably reach. He loves when you giggle at the little kisses he pecks on your nose or cheeks. He loves to make you melt with little forehead kisses or work you up with kisses on your neck or behind your ear. He’s learned every inch of you. He has memorized your body like his own and sometimes he swears he knows your body better. He’d give anything to drag on and keep hold of a Sunday afternoon.

#one chicago #jay halstead #one chicago x reader #fluff #jay halstead x reader #ficlet #Sundays

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sofoulandfairaday · 8 months

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Hello! I absolutely love your Delphini headcanons, I feel like her character in the Cursed Child did such an injustice to both Voldemort and Bellatrix >:/

If you don't mind, can you do a pt 2 about Delphini in an AU where the Lestranges and Voldemort live/win + raise her to be just as amazing!!

Hi! Thank you for the ask, anon ❤️

I'm glad you like them, since she's a character I personally really disliked in the play (not even her as a person, but she's just so horribly written- TCC as a whole makes me cringe so bad).

For reference, they are talking about this post especially and also this one about her conception & birth and this one too (for good measure).

Warning: anon, I know you want fluff. But you're not getting it from me, I'm an angsty bitch, and the following is angst.

So. The only way I can see Voldemort wanting for a child is for his own personal gain, to have a backup plan in case his body fails. A sort of dark magic experiment. Perhaps he knew his time in his own body was limited (and he did go for the Stone first).

Boy or girl, the sex of the baby doesn't matter to him, it's just a body, just a clump of organs and cells and blood and power - do not get attached, Bellatrix.

She tries to obey his commands but fails miserably the more time she spends with the child, which is more than you'd think, seeing as she's been punished and put under house arrest.

Bellatrix's desire for a little boy, a little Master, one who actually loves her, is indescribable. Voldemort is the one who would prefer a girl. He gets his wish.

The Battle of Hogwarts is somehow won. How? I'll go ahead and say that Draco never disarmed Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower, ergo Snape was the Master of the Elder Wand, ergo Voldemort manages to kill Harry, but all his Horcruxes are destroyed, Nagini included. As for Bella, deus-ex-machina doesn't work here, so she defeats Molly.

Narcissa did still lie, so the three Malfoys are sooo fucked.

Rodolphus and Rabastan both live. The latter goes down a spiral of hedonism in Ibiza, the former is just so done. In the last year, he escaped from Azkaban and was promptly shot out of the sky, was publicly cucked, his Gringotts' Vault was broken into and he has now been through a battle to the death in his former high school. Little Cissy, who he's known since he was a child, was killed before his very eyes and his wife is hiding her obvious pain and betrayal.

As for the relationship between Bellatrix and Rodolphus, I can see a few things happening. In this AU, I feel like Voldemort would ultimately make Bella his official concubine. I accept a variety of headcanons on what happens next because I ultimately accept a variety of different (conflicting) views on what the Lestranges' marriage is like.

(1) Nothing changes. He's still her husband, whether he still loves her or not (and I think he does). He stays with her because of the position & power her closeness to Voldemort grants him.

This, I feel, depends on whether or not she is allowed to share his bed, how possessive you think Voldemort is (and his whole relationship to sex & intimacy), and Bellatrix's own ambitions. If she sees the option to be seen as a wife to the Dark Lord, even if not in name, she would take it. But I don't think Voldemort would ever grant her that, so in turn Bellatrix wouldn't let go of the title of Madame Lestrange that easily. Rodolphus can sleep with other people, but can't get rid of her, especially of his own volition.

Or maybe she's just greedy. Rodolphus wants a divorce because he wants an heir of his own and a wife he can sleep with and she goes "Nope, nu-uh, too bad", and tells herself it's not because she deep down needs his love.

(2) They get amicably divorced and are still friends/have a good relationship. Bella has lost both her sisters now, and Voldemort is still Voldemort.

This happens especially if he wants children of his own. But realistically, I think he just starts pestering Rabastan until he gets married (“To a woman, Rab, a WOMAN!”) and has little Lestranges to carry on the family name.

Delphi has her mother's eyes. Dark, and entrancing. Rodolphus wants to hate her, he really does, but he cannot bring himself to. She's the spitting image of little Bella, and looking at her is bittersweet.

I think he avoids her in the beginning (this also depends on Rod's characterization - whether he doesn't care about children and never wanted them, or he desperately wished he'd have one with Bella - the answer exists on a spectrum).

But Bellatrix and Voldemort are not parents of the year. Also, they have such a unique relationship, one so unhealthy and all-encompassing, that it shuts out the rest of the world, their daughter included. And Rod can't help but feel bad for this lonely girl.

The really tragic thing is that - and I'm sorry but this is the truth, and it sucks - Bellatrix would never love her daughter more than she loves the Dark Lord. This knowledge is a trauma factory in itself, but to make matters worse, this child's father is Voldemort, who has no concept of what selflessness and selfless love are. Since Rodolphus is clearly the most emotionally intelligent of the three (the bar is low), some part of his dark little heart must recognize this.

Also, the Dark Lord is a man with a plan. He has no more Horcruxes left, he needs another one. Guess who?

The downside to this is that he needs to anchor his child to life - no matter, she is just an extension of him, after all. Children being their own people? Nah. - but more importantly this means he's paranoid now. More than he was before. His soul is so unstable that he cannot make new Horcruxes, Delphi is his last one, so he needs to protect her with all that he has.

When she's a child, she doesn't see him much. She lives a sheltered life, with her mother who loves her very much and gives her as much affection as she can, but who ultimately follows the Dark Lord around like a puppy, and Uncle Rod. Uncle Rod is the only reason this poor girl's childhood even resembles a childhood.

She isn't allowed friends, and Papa (Voldemort cringes every time he hears this, and teaches her to call him My Lord, the way your mother does when she's about five) won't allow anyone near her.

He's also very particular about her health, and her studies. He gets updates on how her magic is manifesting (violently; Delphi is immensely powerful) and decides he will teach her personally when she turns seven.

He demands she spend her days training and studying: grammar, math, history, the basics of potion-making; her mother insists that she learn her ancestry (the whole of the Black Family, and the Gaunts, and even some Lestranges, for good measure), Abraxan riding, the basics of etiquette (I hated it too, Delphini, but that's not a good enough reason for you to conduct yourself like a savage!, while Rodolphus shakes his head incredulously, wishing Druella was there to hear it). Rod teaches her how to dance and wants to teach her Quidditch, but both Bella and the Dark Lord grumble what a waste of time, so he settles on teaching her how to fly a broom (Voldemort still grumbles because he can fly without a broom and will eventually teach Delphi to do the same, but Bella is mollified and allows it).

Her flying lessons with her father (she can get away with calling him her father and takes advantage of that) are some of her most cherished memories, actually. He has granted no one else this honour, not even her mother. (She doesn't know about Snape and no one ever mentions him anymore, so...)

Bella gives her her very first magic lessons, when she's seven or eight, but soon grows bored with it (powerful as Delphi is she needs to start from the most basic Wingardium Leviosas, spells that Bella now performs nonverbally and wandlessly, without even thinking about it, and revisiting the movements and theory behind them bores her to tears). She leaves it to her father who - surprisingly - has much more patience than she does.

He was her teacher too, after all.

By the time Delphi is 11, she could sit a Charms N.E.W.T. and pass with flying colours, and she's very good at Transfiguration too.

Voldemort sees no reason for her to ever go to Hogwarts.

Are you surprised? I bet you are.

After all, Hogwarts was his first and best home, the only place he ever felt was his own, the best experience of his life. I doubt he loved anyone or anything as much as he loved Hogwarts, the symbol of being a wizard to him. Denying anyone that experience, especially his own daughter, reads as an unspeakable cruelty. But he's never said he wasn't cruel. Granting her that - fundamental, wonderful, life-changing -experience would be selfless, it would be the right thing to do.

But Delphi is his Horcrux, his key to immortality, and quite plainly... his. He doesn't give a flying fuck that she has very few social skills, no friends, has no idea how to talk to people her own age. He doesn't trust her to meet other people, to make connections, to fall in love, basically to be exposed to anything that might turn her against him, or endanger her (him).

Being a manipulative bastard, he tells a tantrum-throwing Delphi that she can choose: go to Hogwarts and spend seven years revisiting stuff she already knows, surrounded by people who aren't worthy to lick her boots, and I cannot deny how disappointed I would be, Delphini (and this just ends the conversation because Delphi would kill herself before actively choosing to disappoint her father) or she can finally come and live with Bellatrix and him, and they will teach her the Dark Arts and whatever else she wants. Most of all, it's the promise they'll be there, that she'll have as much access to them as she wants.

By the time she's an adult, she's much more powerful than Bellatrix ever was. (And I won't lie to you, Bella doesn't particularly love this.) But still, she cannot beat her father. What sets them apart is the source of their power. Delphi, despite the ache she feels for her parents' love and affection, was born coddled and cared for. Her mother especially would never shut up about how she was a literal princess, royalty, the heir of Slytherin, etc. She never had to fight for it. She didn't hear bombs falling on London, didn't starve in a cold orphanage in the East End, was never tied to a bed and exorcised as the Devil's spawn- she was never truly hungry.

For all that they can teach her, they cannot make her ambitious. If she had gone to Hogwarts, she would have still been a Slytherin, based on her heritage and values, but she is nothing like her parents, character-wise. Bellatrix fought against the contraints of her society and her gender, Voldemort fought against his blood status and his fear of death.

The source of conflict in Delphi's story, on the other hand, is the family dynamics between the three of them. (You can make them as horrifying as you want, there is really no limit to the worst, as we say in Italy).

Delphi was born in the cage, loves the cage, and doesn't want to be free. If anything, she wants to be pulled further into it. I think there would be some sort of weird rivalry there, between her and Bella, for Voldemort's affections because they really are that scarce. But it would also come wrapped in a thick layer of guilt - what mother hates their daughter when she is overshadowed? What kind of daughter hates the only parent that actually loves her?

(Voldemort doesn't even realize he pits them against each other, half the time. He does that to people, it's almost subconscious now.)

She's deeply alone, by design, and only wants to be close to her mom and (especially) her dad. That is literally the only character trait she has in that dammned play, so I'll keep that as part of her personality.

Voldemort definitely did that on purpose. And as soon as he finally notices tensions rise between her and Bellatrix (I think Delphi's teenage years were even more rebellious than Bellatrix's) he puts a stop to it immediately - if you drive the girl away from me, from us, Bella, I will make you pay personally.

I can see Delphi running away from home and getting into trouble because of her complete lack of awareness on how the world actually works, begging (through the Dark Mark or whatever else) her father to come rescue her, and Tom (who obviously watches from afar, to make sure his Horcrux isn't truly destroyed) saying no, deal with it. She gets out of most of it because of her immense power, but these brushes with real life leave her rattled.

Can you imagine a boy trying to hit on her?

If he knows who she is, she can never truly trust him: they're all trying to curry favour with her father (it's possibly the worst way ever to do so- trying to take something from him). If he doesn't, her absolute lack of social skills and general arrogance put a dent in her physical attractiveness. (She is a beautiful girl; after all, her parents are Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Black.)

Delphi is more powerful than Bellatrix, her position in society is higher than Bellatrix's and still, her father trusts her mother more than her.

By the way, no, she isn't his named heir, she isn't the commander of his armies or anything of the sort. Voldemort does not share power, that's the whole point of his character. The Minister is still a puppet minister, he is the commander of his own armies, and Bella is a close second.

She also doesn't make that many public appearances; people know of her by now, but they aren't granted access - the image of Nagini, his last Horcrux, in that magical cage resonates with me. It takes years before the war is truly over.

She grows up to be a wonderfully intriguing mix of arrogance and insecurity. Much like Bella, she grows up with the burden of being told she was destined for greatness because of her blood, her family, and not because she herself is great. Unlike Bella, Voldemort has no intention of setting her free, not even in the half-hearted way he does Bellatrix (guys, as much as we love them, she is very much his slave, however willing, in canon). She's the ultimate girlboss: beautiful, smart, powerful... 2/10 personality.

You can do what you want with her story from here onwards. One more tragic than the other. Or you can give them a happy ending, provided that Voldemort's brave new world knows what therapy is.

I don't think this is what you wanted, anon, but alas it's what I genuinely think would happen. Delphi's """"character traits""" in the play are her cunning (that she developed to survive, and that she wouldn't necessarily need in a world where she grows up a pureblood princess), her loneliness and the bone-deep need she feels for her parents' love. Since she wouldn't be herself without those... yup. This is my view.

(Sorry.)

#delphini riddle #bellatrix lestrange #lord voldemort #rodolphus lestrange #bellamort #asks #answered #hp headcanons

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anonymousewrites · 1 year

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A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 2) Chapter Six

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Six: Broken Code

Summary: Irene has returned, and Sherlock and (Y/N) face a puzzle that could destroy years of work.

One wakeup call, shower, and change of clothes later, Irene was sitting across from Sherlock and (Y/N) in the living room as John hovered awkwardly in the kitchen.

“So who’s after you?” asked Sherlock.

“People who want to kill me,” said Irene.

“Who’s that?” repeated Sherlock.

“Killers,” said Irene casually.

“Being more specific would be more helpful,” remarked (Y/N).

“So you faked your death to get ahead of them,” said Sherlock.

“It worked for a while,” said Irene, smirking.

“Except you let John know that you were alive, and therefore, us,” said Sherlock.

“I knew you’d keep my secret,” said Irene.

“You couldn’t,” said Sherlock.

“But you did.” Irene smirked. “Now, where’s my camera phone?”

“It’s not here. We’re not stupid,” said John.

“Then what have you done with it?” asked Irene. “If they’ve guessed you’ve got it, they’ll be watching you.”

“If they’ve been watching us, they’ll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago,” said Sherlock.

A good diversion. Let them break into that instead of here, thought (Y/N). But I have a feeling Sherlock’s just going to hand it over to see what happens with this case.

“I need it,” said Irene.

“Well, we can’t just go and get it, can we?” said John, crossing his arms. “Molly Hooper. She could collect it, take it to Bart’s. Then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back.”

“Very good, John,” said Sherlock. “Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions.”

“Thank you. So, why don’t—Oh, for the love of God,” groaned John as Sherlock pulled out the phone and handed it to Irene.

Knew it, thought (Y/N). “What do you have on there?” they asked.

“Pictures, information, anything I might find useful,” said Irene evasively.

“What, for blackmail?” asked John.

“For protection. I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be,” said Irene.

“I guess when you mess with powerful people you need to have security,” murmured (Y/N).

Irene nodded. “I like to slap them around, but I’d prefer them to not slap around me.”

“So, how do you acquire this information?” questioned Sherlock.

“I told you, I misbehave,” said Irene with a smirk and a wink.

“You accidentally got something that’s more danger than protection, didn’t you?” asked (Y/N), leaning forward.

Irene chuckled and smiled. It was softer, less conniving. If Sherlock was correct (and he would say he always was), he would say Irene seemed to like (Y/N). “Clever kid,” she said. “Yes, I did. Problem is: I don’t understand it.”

“Show us,” said (Y/N).

Irene reached out, but Sherlock held the phone out of her reach. “The passcode.” Irene just stared at him until Sherlock handed her the phone.

She frowned as she typed in a code. “It’s not working.”

Sherlock grabbed the phone back. “No, because it’s a duplicate that I made, into which you’ve just entered the numbers 1-0-5-8. I assumed you’d choose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyway.” Sherlock pulled out the real phone and typed in the code. The phone beeped angrily.

(Y/N) recognized it from his first attempt. This code wasn’t correct, either. And now only one try was left. If they got it wrong, the phone would destroy itself.

Dammit. Irene is clever. It’s impressive but annoying because she’s outplaying us. (Y/N) shivered. Moriarty outplayed us, too… Now that really ruined their mood.

“I told you that camera phone was my life,” said Irene. “I know when it’s in my hand.”

“You’re good,” admitted (Y/N).

“You did your best,” said Irene. She smiled playfully. “And I’m sure you’ll get another chance to prove your prowess.” She held her hand out, and Sherlock begrudgingly handed over the real phone. “There was man, an MOD official,” explained Irene as she unlocked the phone and began going through its contents. “I knew what he liked. One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn’t know it, but I photographed it. He was a bit…tied up at the time.” She smirked before holding out the photo to (Y/N) and Sherlock. “It’s a bit small on that screen, but you can read it.”

(Y/N) peered at the email curiously. They wanted to know what all the hubbub was about. What was the email that was going to save the world?

007 Confirmed allocation 4C12C45F13G60A60B61F34G34J60D12H33K34K

(Y/N)’s mind automatically began dissecting and reassembling the string of numbers and letters in multiple attempts to decode the meaning.

“A code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it, though he was mostly upside down as I recall. Couldn’t figure it out,” said Irene. “What can you do, Sherlock, (Y/N)? Impress me.”

(Y/N) rearranged it. Seat numbers—Passenger jet—flight from Heathrow—007—They furrowed their brow. 007? Where have I heard 007? What’s that reminding me of? They were so absorbed trying to figure out what they were missing that they didn’t notice Sherlock beginning to speak.

“There’s a margin for error, but we’re pretty sure there’s a 747 leaving Heathrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore,” said Sherlock. John’s face was blank, and Irene had raised her brow. Sherlock nodded to (Y/N). “They get it.”

“Huh?” said (Y/N), blinking as they were pulled from their mind.

“It’s a flight,” said Sherlock.

“Oh, yeah, it is,” agreed (Y/N). They cleared their throat. “The numbers aren’t a code—they’re seat allocations. There’s no letter ‘I’ because it could be mistaken for a one, ‘K’ is the width of the plane, some groupings of numbers are seats grouped together, like couples or families. Only a jumbo jet is wide enough to need a letter ‘K’ or rows past fifty-five, which is why there’s always an upstairs. There’s a row thirteen, which eliminates the more suspicious airlines.” They paused as their mind circled back to the 007 number and the memory it was triggering, but Sherlock nodded at them to continue. And they wouldn’t disappoint him. “Then there’s the style of the flight number, 007, that eliminates a few more. And assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from the Heathrow airport.”

They frowned. “But—007…Why is that bugging me?” they murmured.

John and Irene sat there, stunned. Sherlock grinned proudly. (Y/N) tapped the table angrily as the 007 number itched at them.

“Please don’t feel obligated to tell us that was remarkable or amazing. John’s expressed the same thought in every possible variant available in the English language,” said Sherlock. He was supremely proud with how well (Y/N) had done. His brow furrowed slightly, though, seeing (Y/N)’s frustrated expression. Something was off, and they could sense it.

“Wow. You’re completely right,” said John. He held up his phone. “Flight 007 from Heathrow to Baltimore.”

“Damn it!” shouted (Y/N) suddenly. They stood up and turned on Irene, who was busy typing away on her phone. “No!” They grabbed for the phone, but Irene dodged.

The telltale whoosh of a message sending answered them, and Irene switched off her phone, shrugging. “Sorry, dear. You’re clever, but that wasn’t quick enough.”

(Y/N) turned to Sherlock, eyes wide. “Sherlock—007. ‘Bond Air is go.’ ”

Sherlock sucked in a breath. Mycroft’s operation. They had just explained his entire operation to a woman who could now bring the entire British government to its knees. Sherlock could see (Y/N)’s nerves getting the better of them, and he cursed himself for pushing them to continue the deduction. He should have realized something was the matter when they did and stopped the whole thing.

“Is something the matter?” asked John.

“Nothing that matters now,” said Sherlock. They couldn’t change what had happened. Hopefully, however, Mycroft would figure out a solution to save his operation. He waved a hand at John. “Just go to work.”

“Right…” said John uncertainly, but he left anyway.

“I should have realized. I should have stopped speaking when I realized something was wrong,” muttered (Y/N).

Sherlock shook his head and knelt by them. “No. It’s not your fault. I pushed you to keep solving the code. I should have noticed something was wrong and stopped you. I’m the one with more experience.”

Irene grinned. “I needed intelligent people, and you both delivered.”

(Y/N)’s narrowed, and they glared at Irene. That was it. They were going to destroy whatever she had planned.

A knock sounded at the door, and it swung open to reveal an government official. The repercussions of Irene’s actions were arriving.

“Have you come to take us away?” asked Sherlock, standing up.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes,” said the official.

“Well, I decline,” said Sherlock.

The man pulled out an envelope and handed it to Sherlock. “I don’t think so.” (Y/N) looked over Sherlock’s shoulder as he opened the envelope and found to airplane tickets.

“Tata,” said Irene, smirking and waving her hand.

(Y/N)’s gaze was cold. They knew she’d be joining them soon. Unfortunately, it would be on her own terms. (Y/N) turned away and followed Sherlock to the dark car.

As they drove, Sherlock spoke, “There’s going to be a bomb on a passenger jet. The British and American governments know about it, but rather than expose the source of that information, they’re going to let it happen. The plan will blow up. Coventry all over again. The wheels turn. Nothing is ever new.”

No one answered, but (Y/N)’s mind was racing. There was more to this than just a bomb. Mycroft was cold and aloof, but he was smart. He’d have a way to not sacrifice so many lives. And they had probably ruined. (Y/N) narrowed their eyes. It just gave them more motivation to take down Irene.

At the airport, Sherlock and (Y/N) exited the vehicle and walked towards the 747 Jumbo Jet. Agent Neilson of the CIA stood at the base of the steps.

“Well, you’re looking all better. How’re you feeling?” asked Sherlock pointedly.

“Like putting a bullet in both of your brains,” said Neilson. He watched them walk up the steps. “And they’d pin a medal on me if I did.”

Sherlock’s hand went to (Y/N)’s shoulder and guided them into the plane. He wouldn’t let Neilson threaten them a third time. Inside the plane, (Y/N) and Sherlock walked through the corridors. Bodies were lined up in seats but…they were just that—bodies. They were dead.

So that’s Mycroft’s solution, thought (Y/N).

“The Coventry conundrum,” said Mycroft from behind them, and they turned. “What do you think of my solution? The flight of the dead.”

“The plane blows up midair. Mission accomplished for the terrorist. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies,” said Sherlock in understanding.

“Neat, don’t you think?” remarked Mycroft.

“All of those cases. The girls not seeing their grandfather, the man claiming to have non-human ashes…” (Y/N)’s eyes widened as they realized those were some of the bodies Mycroft had commandeered. They looked at him. “The body in the boot of that car…Was that another ‘flight of the dead?’ ”

“At least someone sees the bigger picture,” said Mycroft sardonically as he looked at Sherlock.

“How’s the plane fly? Of course—unmanned aircraft. Hardly new,” said Sherlock.

“It doesn’t fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can’t fool them now,” said Mycroft bitterly. “We’ve lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished.”

“Your MOD man,” said Sherlock.

“No, Sherlock, you,” said Mycroft. “A man desperate to show off setting a terrible example to a teenager and a woman clever enough to play them like a fiddle.”

“It’s not (Y/N)’s fault,” said Sherlock. “I pushed them.”

“No, Sherlock. I could have stopped…” murmured (Y/N).

“And yet my brother is the one who was played,” said Mycroft, sighing in disappointment.

“It’s my fault, too,” said (Y/N).

“Poor dear,” tutted the voice of Irene Adler behind them. “Sherlock, you should really look after them better.”

“I drove you two into her path. I’m sorry,” said Mycroft.

“Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk,” said Irene.

“So do I. There are a number of aspects I’m still not quite clear on,” said Sherlock.

“Not you, Junior. We’re done,” said Irene. She passed him and went to Mycroft. “There’s more. Loads more. On this phone, I’ve got secrets, pictures, and scandals that could topple your whole world.” She smirked. “You have no idea how much havoc I could cause, and there’s exactly one way to stop me. That is, unless you to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother and his child.”

Mycroft gritted his teeth and looked away. He knew he was beaten. He couldn’t throw his brother and his kid under the bus. They were his family, and as much as he preached that sentiment was foolish, Mycroft was protective of them.

“I have a meeting house nearby. We can conduct our…negotiations there,” said Mycroft.

“You better send for some paper and pencil. And some wine. We might as well make this fun,” said Irene. She smirked. “For me, that is.”

Mycroft and Irene descended the steps from the jumbo jet. (Y/N) paused before they went.

“Sherlock, if we could open the phone, that would solve everything, right? Mycroft would have information she is trying to hide, probably from other governments and organizations, too,” said (Y/N).

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, but we have only one chance. Otherwise, the phone destroys itself.”

(Y/N) furrowed their brow. I have to figure it out, then. I need to win this. It’s my fault this flight can’t go. I need to do this. Their eyes were cold as ice as they followed Irene’s smug figure into the car. She’s not getting away with this. Screw her protection. I’m winning here.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

#a study of the heart and brain #x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #x nb reader #nb reader #sherlock #sherlock x teen!reader #sherlock x teen reader #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #x teen reader #x teen!reader #found family #irene adler #the woman

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deathclassic · 10 months

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Tag Game Tuesday Wednesday Thursday FRIDAY!!!

Thank you for the tags you lovely humans <3 macy @celestialmickey evie @energievie jay @surviving-maybe nosho @creepkinginc harvey @mikhailoisbaby ajax @transmickey lyds @ardent-fox and deena @suzy-queued <3 <3

name: molly :D

age: 24

favorite season: SPRING

movies or tv shows? oooh both and neither hahaha it REALLY depends on my mood but i will choose tv shows if i have to

do you carry a bag/purse? what kind? i have a trusty backpack always, i have to carry recipe books and shit

what color is your water bottle? it's a clear plastic one

what color is your phone case? black, just matte black

do you sleep in silence or do you need white noise/sounds/music? sometimes i listen to things to get sleepy but i need mostly silence to actually sleep

top sheets: yes or no? NOPE NEVER

you’re in the candy aisle at the corner store, what are you grabbing? oooh probably a little chocolate bar bc the lollies i like come in bigger packets and i want something smaller

preferred mode of travel (plane/train/car/bus/on foot/etc?): i dont care, whatever is easiest for the situation

what’s your phone background right now? my lock screen is my cat and my home screen is,,,,,nathan young from misfits bc i havent changed it in 5 years

are you more of a minimalist or a maximalist? Maximalist 100%, i like THINGS and owning PHYSICAL THINGS

it’s time to paint your bedroom! what color are you choosing? Probably white, i painted a wall bright green as a teenager and it's turned me off coloured walls lmaooo but white so i can put colourful things on it

and finally, tell me something that brings you joy: my patisserie course, im learning so many new things and techniques and it's awesome especially coming out of 5 years of studying graphic design and just the burnout i experienced from that

i feel like everyone and their mothers have done this already so im just going to tag a bunch of people just to say hi and hello how are you: @gnallavich @ian-galagher @mishervellous @twinklyylights @look-i-love-u @imikhailotakeyouian @iansw0rld @metalheadmickey @gardenerian @lingy910y @phansterdam @iero @callivich @tellmegoodbye

#mutuals #tag game

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talonslockau · 2 months

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Forest of Secrets - Chapter 14

Chapter 13 || Index || Chapter 15

“The Twolegplace patrol will be Tinyfrost, Graystripe, and Darkstripe…”

Fireheart forced himself to stifle a yawn as Tigerclaw droned on about who would be on what patrols for the day. Even though the threat the tabby tom posed was constantly on his mind, it was hard not to get drowsy when he talked on and on for what felt like an eternity.

“... and Fireheart will be guarding the prison.” He perked up briefly as he heard his name called, before scowling as he realized what his assignment was. He was certain he had been assigned to prison guarding twice as often as any other cat - him and Tinyfrost, that was. Between that and patrolling the Twolegplace border, he had barely done anything else in the past quarter-moon.

He spied a wicked smirk on the deputy’s face as he turned away and the rest of the Clan began to congregate into their various patrols. As tempting as it was to lash out, he knew better than to draw attention to himself. For the time being, it was better to be humble and put up with the dung that Tigerclaw slung his way. It wouldn’t be long, he told himself, until the traitor’s evil plots were revealed to everyone: until then, he would have to suffer in silence.

He made his way past the apprentice den to the foxhole, where a gray form was beginning to push their way through, carrying a dirty mossball. “Yellowfang.” Fireheart mewed in greeting, dipping his head respectfully before taking a seat in a grassy spot near the prison entrance.

The old healer grunted acknowledgement as she squirmed through the entrance, several joints popping as she did so. She paused to shake the dirt out of her pelt, before dropping the moss-ball by her paws. “Fireheart. Tigerclaw assigned you to guard duty again?”

“The fifth time this quarter-moon.” The ginger warrior replied glumly. “I guess I shouldn’t complain too much - it’s easy enough to do. But…”

“I know, I know. You warriors prefer showing off your skills.” The grizzled molly rolled her eyes dourly. “Well, you can help supervise him while he stretches his legs. Better you than a cat like Tigerclaw, I suppose. You know they’d just claw each other’s ears off.”

Fireheart stared at her. “What do you mean, stretches his legs? In that tiny foxhole? It’s barely big enough for a cat his size to turn around!”

Yellowfang chuffed at him. “No, mousebrain. Outside the hole, out around camp. It might be cold, but the fresh air and sunlight will do him good.”

Fireheart glanced behind him at the hole, the fur on his scruff rising in apprehension. He was supposed to guard Brokentail, not take him out for a leisurely stroll. What would Bluestar think? “He’s supposed to be imprisoned.” He pointed out carefully, not wanting to get an ear-lashing from the cantankerous former Shadowclanner.

“And he’ll still be stuck in camp, won’t he? I’m not asking you to take him to go meet his old cronies.” He winced slightly at the old healer’s harsh growl. “You’ll just need to watch him. It’s not like he can go far right now.”

That was true, he thought guiltily to himself. But something about it still felt wrong. “I have to get approval from Bluestar first. If something happens…”

“Oh, for Starclan’s sake!” He folded his ears back at the molly’s outburst. Just as he opened his mouth to protest further, she shook her head and sighed. “No, Fireheart, I’m sorry. You’re only doing your duty to Thunderclan, just as I’m only doing my duty to my patients. Go on, then. I can keep watch for you while you go ask her.”

He blinked in surprise at her sudden change in mood, but nodded quickly in acceptance all the same. “Thank you.” He mewed, quickly getting up and hurrying across camp before she could change her mind instead. He slowed as he reached the lichen curtain that fell across Bluestar’s den. He had a good reason this time for visiting her, but the thought of entering her den still made him nervous. What if she got mad at him for interrupting her peace?

“Who’s there?” He jumped slightly as he heard the leader call out from within her den. “I can see your shadow, you know.”

“I- er- it’s me, Bluestar. Fireheart, I mean.” He mentally admonished himself for sounding like such a fool in front of her. “May I come in?”

“Ah.” Her tone lightened immediately as he identified himself. “Yes, of course, Fireheart. Come in, come in.”

He took a deep breath and pushed his way through the curtain. Bluestar was sitting in her nest, cleaning her whiskers with one strong yet delicate paw. “What brings you to my den? Surely you’re not just looking for my company.” He blinked as she spoke. Was that a joke from the regal queen? He wasn’t sure.

“Well, uhm, Yellowfang wants to let Brokentail stretch his legs, or something like that. For his health. I- I know you said that he’s our prisoner, and I’m supposed to be guarding him, so I, uh, wanted to ask your permission first?” He sounded like a young apprentice, his voice almost a squeak as he finished speaking. There was no reason to be afraid of her - she wouldn’t exile him for asking a simple question, would she?

The silver molly stopped cleaning herself and his heart skipped a beat as she focused her icy blue eyes on him. “Yellowfang said that, did she?” She considered the ginger warrior in front of her for several heartbeats. “And what do you think?”

He hesitated, unsure of how she wanted him to answer. “Well- I mean, only his front paws work, so I don’t really think he can run away. And it’s not like he’s going to be able to tell enemy warriors about our camp from his foxhole. Not unless we got more prisoners, which I don’t see happening, I mean unless some other leader goes rogue and-”

“Fireheart.” He startled a bit as she spoke, looking up from where he’d been staring at his paws. “You can relax, you know. I’m your leader; I’m here to help you, and the Clan.” He realized she was staring at him in concern now. “Is something besides Brokentail bothering you?”

He thought instantly about Tigerclaw and his treachery. He could tell her the truth, all of it, right now. They were alone, and even Tigerclaw was out on patrol. No one else would overhear, or even know.

But he knew better than that. He had no proof for his accusations; not yet, anyways. “I- Well, it is about Brokentail. At least a bit.” He fibbed, recalling the fear he’d felt when he thought he had killed the rogue leader. “I’m the reason Brokentail went under that Monster’s paws. I was chasing him, and he wasn’t looking where he was going, and- he couldn’t stop in time.” He dug his claws into the dirt, remembering the moment with such crystal clarity. “I thought I killed him. The warrior code, it says not to kill other cats, but-”

He stopped himself, taking a deep breath in and out. Though he had been fibbing, at least at first, part of him was terrified of what Bluestar might say at his admission. But when he looked back up at her, her gaze was filled with that familiar motherly warmth and compassion.

“What happened to Brokentail is not your fault. It is his. If he had followed the code, we would not have needed to chase him out. He would not have been sheltered in that old Twoleg nest, with the other rogues. And he is the coward that chose to run, rather than stand and fight you. You are a good warrior, and you have beaten him before, but your victory the second time was hardly a sure thing.”

He relaxed at her soft mew, soothing a wound in his mind he hadn’t known was there. “As for the code, Brokentail was not bound to it or its laws the moment he chose to abandon it. Killing him would have fallen outside of the code.” She stepped out of her nest, coming to stand in front of Fireheart and gently nosing his forehead in comfort. “If you had killed him for good that day, I do not think a soul in Thunderclan - or even Starclan - would have blamed you.” She murmured softly into his ear.

He stared at the ground in front of him for a moment, nodding slowly. That had been about what Longtail had said to him, in the heat of the moment. But he knew that the skinny tabby had had his own reasons for wanting Brokentail dead, and it was hard to trust his assessment. “I understand. Thank you, Bluestar.” He replied at last.

“Of course. I understand your worry, Fireheart, but I have seen your heart. No matter what happens, I have faith you will try to do the right thing. So long as that is the case, you have no reason to fear.” She stepped back, taking in his demeanor. “Now then. Is that all?”

He blinked, trying to remember why he’d come in the first place. “Er- you never said what to do with Brokentail.”

“Ah, yes.” The silver-furred leader returned to her nest. “He may walk around camp at Yellowfang and his guard’s discretion. I agree with your assessment: even if he tried to escape, I doubt he’d get up the side of the ravine, so long as his back legs are broken.” She lapped at one paw for a moment, before pausing. “You can tell Tigerclaw and the other warriors that, as well.”

He nodded quickly at her words. “Of course. Thank you, Bluestar.”

Just as he turned to leave, he heard her cough. “Ah - but he is not to go within one fox-length of the nursery. You can tell them that, as well.”

He glanced back at her, his head tilted in confusion. “May I ask why, Bluestar?”

She paused for a second before sighing. “It’s as much for his safety as for the kits’. You’ll surely remember that it was under his orders that Goldenflower was attacked and her kits stolen.” She shivered slightly at the memory. “I have no doubt that Frostfur remembers, as well. I would rather not have any… unfortunate incidents resulting from him straying too close.”

He also shivered at the thought. He remembered how Frostfur had verbally attacked Ravenspirit, back when he had only been trying to bring water to her kits. Ravenspirit had been her Clanmate, and she had watched over him since he was a kit with the other queens. How she might react to a cat that had already threatened her kits and her mate… “Of course, Bluestar. I’ll let Yellowfang know, as well.”

“Good.” She flicked her tail to dismiss him, and he quickly pushed the lichen out of his way and hurried across camp, to where Yellowfang was waiting.

“Well?” The healer asked him with her typical scowl. “What did Bluestar say?”

“She said that he can leave the foxhole if his guard allows it, but that he’s not allowed within a fox-length of the nursery.” Fireheart summarized quickly as he took up his spot in the dry grass next to the prison, puffing his fur up against the cold.

Yellowfang snorted dismissively at his words. “Why? Does she think he’s going to steal some kits away under our noses?” She grumbled, rolling her eyes at the thought.

“No, but the queens might think that.” He replied steadily, glancing towards the nursery. Frostfur and Goldenflower had taken their kits out of camp to frolic in the snow; they were four moons old, now, and getting too big for the nursery to contain them. “You treated Goldenflower’s wounds. Surely you remember what Brokentail’s rogues did to her.”

“Ah.” The gray molly dipped her broad head in understanding. “Yes, I remember. And queens can get very protective of their kits- especially their first litter.” She sighed and glanced over her shoulder to the foxhole. “Very well. Even avoiding the nursery, there’s still plenty of camp for him to walk around in. I’ll go fetch him, then.”

She disappeared into the dark of the prison, momentarily leaving Fireheart alone with his thoughts. He glanced over camp, but most warriors were out hunting or patrolling the borders; Dustleap was keeping a watchful eye over camp from near the nursery, while the elders were bickering in the sunlight. He winced a bit as he noticed Snowkit among them, batting a mossball back and forth with his mother and One-eye.

He turned as he heard Yellowfang shoving her way through the entrance, Brokentail’s scruff in her jaws. It was a tight squeeze, especially with two broad-shouldered cats, but she somehow managed to push her way through. “Now then. Practice those exercises I showed you; your back won’t get better unless you make it.” She deposited him gently in the dirt, before stooping to pick up the dirty mossball she had dropped.

“What, you aren’t going to stay?” Fireheart asked, alarmed. He had been expecting to watch her chaperone the exile around camp, not swiftly disappear as soon as she had dragged him out.

She rolled her copper eyes at him. “I need to go take this dirty moss to the dirtplace, then hunt for him. I’m sure you can manage to watch him.”

“Well- but- I-” He stammered out, watching helplessly as she proceeded to ignore him and cross camp towards the bramble tunnel. He knew logically that the former Shadowclan leader couldn’t hurt him, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be alone with him either.

“What’s the matter, kittypet? Scared you can’t beat me in a fair fight?” Brokentail taunted as he stretched his claws out to the sky. Fireheart glanced down at the tabby tom, whose legs were wrapped in a combination of sticks, cobwebs, and bindweed. Even though they now looked normal, they still dragged uselessly in the dirt behind him - it would be months before he would potentially be able to walk with them again, if all of Yellowfang’s knowledge worked.

“I’m not a kittypet.” The Thunderclan warrior snapped wearily. He knew better than to give the rogue any reason to bicker with him, but he wasn’t going to put up with being called a kittypet until sunset either. “I’m far more of a warrior than you ever were.”

“Your mother a kittypet? Your father a kittypet?” The prisoner sneered at him, his words like fangs looking for a weak spot.

“My mother was, yes.” Fireheart mewed steadily, but he hesitated as he thought of his father. He recalled the story Tallstar had told him, about Jake, and how they shared such similar pelts. Could that curious kittypet have been his father? He didn’t know. “I don’t know who my father is. You could be my father, for all I know.” He snorted at the thought of being related to the fleabag next to him, but he supposed anything was possible. “Though I’m sure the mere thought of you fathering a Thunderclanner is an insult to you.”

Brokentail chuckled beside him, a harsh and wheezing growl not unlike Yellowfang’s. “You’re closer to the truth than you realize.” He finally replied, rolling his head and flexing his broad shoulders.

“Well, I-” The ginger tom stopped and stared at the tabby, baffled. “What? I don’t understand. Are you saying you had a kit with a Thunderclanner?”

“Once.” Brokentail seemed to smirk as he watched Fireheart staring at him, as though he were basking in the attention he had finally gotten from his guard. “Many seasons ago, now. Don’t look so surprised; I was once quite the charming tomcat, in my youth.”

He snorted in disbelief at that. All Brokentail cared about was himself: what cat couldn’t see that? “And you loved her?” He asked the rogue incredulously.

The rogue rolled his dark eyes at that. “Hardly. She was weak, whiny, and wormbrained. A typical Thunderclanner, really. But she very much adored me, for some reason I’m sure made sense in her tiny little head.” He shook his head dismissively at the thought.

The fur on Fireheart’s scruff rose briefly before he forced it back down. The callous attitude was hardly unexpected from the dark tabby, and it wasn’t as if he ever knew the molly in question. Unless he did? He gazed out across camp, wondering briefly if he had ever met Brokentail’s mate.

“We met at a Gathering, the moon after I became a warrior. I think she was quite impressed with the tales of my strength - that’s why Raggedstar made me a warrior early, you know.” Brokentail continued, either not noticing that he had briefly lost his guard’s attention or not caring. “It wasn’t long before she was begging to meet me on the side of the Thunderpath. She even showed me some of Thunderclan territory, the little fool.”

Fireheart nodded along listlessly as he glanced over the camp, before a terrible realization jolted through him. “That’s how you knew where our camp was.” He mewed accusingly, glaring at the prisoner as his claws dug into the dirt.

“Hmm.” Brokentail gave him an appraising look, sending shivers up his spine that he did his best to hide. “So even a kittypet is smarter than Thunderclanners? I suppose I can’t say I’m surprised.” The tom scoffed, flicking his ear dismissively as he looked away. “She didn’t show me, but she was such a predictable creature. Took the same path back to camp every time. You can hardly blame me for following her on a few occasions, can’t you? Surely you would do the same in my place.”

Fireheart’s lip curled in disgust. “I wouldn’t, actually. I don’t need to know where the other Clans’ camps are, because I’m not a murderous tyrant bent on driving them all out.”

The codebreaker shrugged, unbothered by the hostility in his voice. “Your loss, then. A good warrior never turns away from a potential advantage.” He examined his paws as though checking for dirt in between his claws. “She died on the Thunderpath, several leafbares ago. Sometimes I wonder if she was looking for me.”

The warrior blinked in shock at the indifference in Brokentail’s voice. “Did you kill her?” He asked, forcing his fur to lay flat. It would hardly be the first murder that the dark tabby had committed, after all.

The exile gave him a long, cold stare out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t need to. She wasn’t a threat to me.” He replied at last, before lapping at one dirty paw.

“And those kits you murdered were threats?” Fireheart challenged.

Brokentail scoffed again. “Those kits were weak. I was merely training them and they died. They never would have survived a battle, even if they survived leafbare.” The cold exile’s features softened suddenly. “That Thunderclan molly bore a single kit before she died. A tom, she said. She said he looked just like me, and that she’d bring him to meet me when he was old enough.” He shook his broad head wistfully. “He probably died without her. Thunderclan kits do tend to be so weak.”

His eyes widened in shock. Brokentail had had a son- a Thunderclan son? His mind suddenly was racing with possibilities. Many cats had died in the leafbare before he had joined the Clan, warriors especially. It was equally likely that Brokentail was right - his son could have died without his mother to care for him, especially if he hadn’t been old enough to leave camp at her death.

He gazed across camp, where Dustleap sat watching vigilantly. He looked so much like his father, Tigerclaw, with his narrowed eyes and dark tabby stripes. They had the same broad shoulders and wide head, just like Brokentail.

A thought suddenly sprang to his mind. Tigerclaw had no siblings, and his parents had died long before Fireheart had joined. He knew all too well that the two shared the same black heart and ignorance of the code. They even had the same long fur and amber eyes.

Was it possible? Could Tigerclaw be Brokentail’s long lost son?

#talonslock #warrior cats #the prophecies begin #fanfic #thunderclan #fireheart #tigerclaw #bluestar #yellowfang #brokentail #dustleap #one-eye #snowkit #speckleflight #talonslock story #forest of secrets

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daydream-cement · 1 year

Text

Violets and Rose Ch. 4

Larissa Weems x OC (Fern Rogers)

Synopsis: Larissa and Fern take flight. Larissa meets the parents.

Authors Note: If you would like an image of how I see Fern’s parents, think of Molly and Arthur Weasley from Harry Potter. They wouldn’t red hair, but the dynamic and personalities would be about the same. Song for this Chapter would be That’s All Right by Elvis Presley.

“Ferny, it’s time to wake up…” Larissa shook you gently, her lips pressing against your shoulder as she woke you. You rolled over with a groan, burying yourself in her chest, not ready to get up for the day. Larissa rolled her eyes and continued trying to wake you, “We need to leave for Burlington in an hour so we can catch our flight, sweetheart.”

You took a deep breath, lifting your head to look at her. As always, you were completely blown away by her beauty and you even had the pleasure of viewing her with no makeup and hair down, “Mm, who made you so beautiful?”

Your sleepy smile and tired eyes were too much for Larissa to bear. She swooped down over you, straddling you and peppering you face with kisses. You couldn’t help but laugh at one of these rare moments of silliness from Larissa, “Stop. Stop.”

“You shouldn’t say cute things if you don’t want to be smothered with love.” Larissa finished with a big kiss on your cheek before sitting up with her ass against your hips.

You gazed up at her, admiring her beauty once more. Your eyes fell onto hers. You took her hand in yours, pulling it up to yours lips to kiss the back of it. Larissa loved when you did this. The gaze of admiration and the gesture of kissing her hand always made her feel beautiful and ethereal.

She bent over, kissing your lips this time, her hands came down on either side of your head. You hands reached around her, roaming her back for a moment until you found the hem of her nightshirt. Your hands slide up her sides, dragging the shirt upwards and exposing her pale flesh. Meanwhile, her lips hadn’t left yours and she moaned as she felt you hands move higher and higher.

She was the one who broke the kiss, however, just before your hands reached her breasts, “No, we have to get ready. We have less than an hour.”

“Exactly, its only 30 minutes there… We have time. Our bags our packed,” Your hands moved back down her body, now shifting to her ass to give it a squeeze.

“Fern Rogers.” Larissa scolded before she rolled off of you back onto her own side of the bed. You had to admit you were a little disappointed in her unwillingness to tempt being late for a little fun.

“We can be quick!” You didn’t mean for your tone to sound like you were begging but it was pretty close to that.

“Just last week you said, and I quote, ‘Larissa, dear, a typical church service is over an hour. Why wouldn’t I at least take the same amount of time to worship at your alter?’”

Her quoting you made you laugh, “I’m a changed woman. Quickies are fun too.”

Larissa was already up out of bed. She began unbuttoning her nightshirt, but it seemed a little slower and methodical. She was looking directly at you with each button, shrugging it to the floor when she was done. There was no doubt in your mind that she was teasing you.

You crawled across the bed, resting at the edge on your knees, hoping she would allow you just a taste of her skin. Wish granted. She took a step towards you and you were close enough to catch her nipple in your mouth. You were definitely going to be late to the airport.

———

And late to the airport, you were. One thing led to another. Larissa ended up having to do her makeup in the car which led her to be in a bit of a grumpy mood as she prefers sitting at her makeup table. Once you finally made it to the airport, you had to run through security to your gate. They were calling the last group of tickets when you rolled up.

“You are so lucky we didn’t miss this flight.” Larissa gave you a playful nudge as you waited in line.

“What did I do? You were the one who kept saying, ‘More, more, more.’” You whispered, teasing her straight back. You unzipped your purse and found the tickets so they could be scanned once more.

“Oh, yeah? Well you were the one to give me that look.” Larissa knew you would know what she was talking about. There was this look that you gave her that initiated many of your sexual interactions. You would stare at her lovingly. It was as simple as that, but whenever Larissa caught you doing it she was ready to pounce on you, “You give me these- Yes, thank you.”

Larissa stopped her sentence midway when you scanned both of your tickets and resumed her sentence as you walked down the jetway, “These ‘fuck me’ eyes and I just…”

“Larissa, they aren’t ‘fuck me’ eyes. They are ‘I love you’ eyes… Wait, am I doing it now?” You look up at her like you usually do when you admire her.

“Yes.” Larissa held back her laughter.

Your mouth hung open in shock and a titch of anger. You had never known. You always thought you were giving her this cute look of adoration, but it turns out you were giving her a look that made her want to jump your bones, “I thought I was being endearing and cute.”

Larissa gently rubbed your back for a moment, “Sorry, dear.”

The line on the jetway moved quickly. Larissa tried getting seats in the front of economy to stretch out her legs, but when that failed you convinced her to spend the money for first class. It was tough convincing, but you explained that comfort was essential. She rarely bought things for herself or splurged so this was an exciting thing to experience for you.

You settle into your seats, ignoring the safety demonstration and voices over the intercom. Soon enough, you were up in the air and the 5 hour flight began. You spent the majority of it sleeping against Larissa’s arm. Ever the workaholic, she spent the flight working on updating the Nevermore Academy Code of Conduct.

When there was about thirty minutes left to the flight, you were awoken by a shaking. As you open your eyes, you can see Larissa’s knee is bouncing up and down, causing her whole body to vibrate. You stretch an arm out and place your hand on her knee, indicating she should stop moving. You watched as she then moved her hands together and began nervously twisting and pulling her fingers.

You lift your head up to look at her, moving your hand from her knee to her hands, “Nervous?”

“Terribly.” Larissa’s eyes were focused out the window. Her hands clasped around yours and she began almost began using your hand as a stress ball which made you wince in pain.

“Wanna see a trick?” You smile at Larissa, finally earning her attention. She probably doesn’t care to see a trick, but you decide to try and distract her anyway.

You take your hand from hers, gathering Larissa’s leftover apple core from lunch by the stem and your empty coffee cup. You place the coffee cup in her right hand and drop the apple core inside. Then you guide her free hand to cover the top of the cup. You glance up to her momentarily, seeing a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, “No peaking.”

You place both hands on either side of the cup and watch Larissa’s face as she cant hide the childlike enthusiasm as the leaves brush against the palm of her hand. You wait a few moments longer before leaning in towards her, like you were about to tell a secret, “Go ahead and look.”

You remove your hands from the cup and Larissa moves her left hand away to see a little apple tree covered in the smallest flowers and apples.

———

Larissa’s nerves returned no long after your little plant trick. You could tell she was abnormally nervous by the ways she clung to your arm, but you didn’t say anything. You knew she was just going to have to meet your mother to feel a little better.

Diane Rogers found you both. She made your father, James, keep circling through the airport parking lot so they wouldn’t have to pay for parking.

“Fern!” She waved wildly near the baggage claim area before rushing towards you, sweeping you up in her arms. Your mother was a beautiful woman who shared many features as you, only she wore her hair a little longer and she preferred a dress to wearing jeans like you and your father. When she pulled away, she took your face in her hands and checked you over, “Have you been eating enough there? Your father said the weather has been terrible where you were. What’s this?”

Her eyes drifted down to a half-clothed bruise on your collarbone that must have been left behind by Larissa this morning. Your mother’s eyes wandered away from the bruise, over your shoulder, and up to Larissa’s face.

“Oh, is this her?” Your mother was absolutely giddy, looking from you to her back to you again, “She is so beautiful. Oh, why am I saying this to you when I could just be telling her.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Rogers.” Larissa kept her hands nervously crossed in front of herself, unsure of how to properly greet her.

“Diane, sweetheart, just Diane.” Your mother pushed past you and pulled Larissa into a hug as well, “You didn’t tell me she was so tall and beautiful, honey.”

“I did too, mom.” You shook your head and gave Larissa a look to let her know that you had, in fact, told your mother all about her.

Diane ignored you and kept talking to Larissa, “I have just been dying to meet you, sweetheart. Fern has just been so happy every time she calls and its just Larissa this, Larissa that. I swear she can’t stop talking about you. You know when she started working at Nevermore, I was asking her if she found any pretty girls in that little town of yours. She said no, but a mother knows when her baby is lying to her. Oh, sometimes she would call and just talk about how incredible her boss was.”

You tried interrupting your mother, but there was no stopping her now. Any secrets you had ever shared with your mother were now free game to share with Larissa. Your mother put a hand on Larissa’s back and began walking her to the spot where she told James to meet her. You walked behind them, pulling the suitcases.

Your mother waved down your father and he parked, popping open the trunk. Your father made sure to pull you into a one armed hug, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Howdy, kiddo.”

“Sir.” You used the same joking term of endearment you had used since you were in high school. Your hands abandoned the handles of the bags and wrapped them around his middle.

“Has your mother already stole your girl?” He asked peaked around the car. His eyes couldn’t find them because Diane had already ushered Larissa into the backseat of the van so she could ask her a million and one questions.

“You know it.” You smile, pulling away from him so you could help load the bags into the car.

Your father quickly started a conversation about this years crop growth for the area’s farmers and the issues with the inconsistencies of irrigation. For most of the drive, two separate conversations occurred, one in the front seat and one in the back. From Larissa’s consistent laughter and engagement in conversation with your mother, you assumed that they were building a fast friendship which warmed your heart.

“Your momma has a party planned out at the old barn for you coming home.” Your father seemed proud with the information he shared with you, “The cousins are coming too. You gonna sing with them?”

“Only if you sing your Johnny Cash songs.” You shoot your father a playful glare. While you came from a long line of normies, you had to admit that many of your family members were gifted musicians. This made just about every Roger’s party a town affair with the music and booze offered.

“Fern Gully, you’ll never guess who I saw at the grocery store.” Your mother leaned up between you and your father, by her tone you knew she was about to share a little gossip with you, “That Sarah McKay. Apparently, she is still working down there at that dingy little 2nd Street bar. She tried asking about you, but I told her that you were dating some tall drink of water out in Vermont.”

“Mom…” You let out a sigh, wishing she wouldn’t have brought up your ex in front of Larissa.

“But…”

“Mom.” Your voice was more of warning, you knew that she had said something that would upset you.

“I can’t lie to you, honey. I did tell her that you were coming home for a couple weeks.” You truly hoped that if you stayed away from the downtown area, you wouldn’t even have to think about seeing your ex while you were in town. Now that Sarah knew you were coming home, there would be no avoiding her.

#stately sequoia #larissa weems x oc #the cedar have eyes #violet and rose #larissa weems #fanfic #wednesday netflix #gwendoline christie #lesbian larissa weems

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