#chosen fanfiction

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Jesus | Wedding Waltz | Platonic

Dialogue prompt: “Dance with me.”

Requested: No

You don’t feel much like dancing, until the Messiah Himself offers you one as well as something different altogether.

When the wedding invitation for the son of your distant relatives Dinah and Rafi reached your household, you had been excited to go right away, unlike your father, who wasn’t keen on attending such events. Parties like these are your favourite, so you had already chosen your most beautiful tunic the day you found out Asher was getting married and had carefully selected flowers you’d braid into your hair when the day finally came. 

Weddings make you feel bubbly and happy inside, hoping that one day, you’ll be the one making vows to a future spouse. Your father is still adamant on him selecting a life-long partner for you, but he has found nobody to be eligible just yet. But who can blame the potential partners who were scared away by your father’s warning glares whenever they are around you? If anything, your father only makes it more difficult for you to find a husband because of this protectiveness, that was perhaps well-intended but turned out to be a burden instead.

The day was there and you had dressed up in your finest garment that was still deemed socially acceptable lest you outshine the bride, and you had tucked matching flowers into your (h/c) hair, which you then covered with a respectable headdress, so that a few blooms were peeking out from underneath it.

Upon arrival together with your abba, he has already drawn a scowl over his face that you don’t quite understand, but you aren’t going to let him ruin your mood. Instead, you find yourself a cup of wine and mingle with some guests before the ceremony takes place.

There are a lot of people who you don’t know, including a Man Who catches your attention almost immediately. He appears to be the Son of Mary and suddenly it clicks that it must be Jesus of Nazareth, a group of students lingering around Him at all times, men and women alike. Curiously, you try to listen in on their conversations, but it feels rude to do so, so after a while, you decide to step away and instead speak to an old couple.

After the commemoration, a few artisans tune their instruments before the party truly starts, and you’re on your third cup of wine when you sit down next to your father, whose face hasn’t changed into something more joyous.

The music makes it so that your foot taps rhythmically against the floor. Softly humming along, you let your eyes go over the crowd of people, enjoying their dancing. 

A hand on your knee stops your leg from moving and you look up, seeing your father giving you a warning glare. “Stop that,” he states, “You’re making me nervous.”

Sighing, you try to keep yourself still and can’t help but feel drawn to the party as well, although your father would never allow you to dance with strangers.

“Bah, this is the worst wedding I’ve ever been to.” your abba has a sour look on his face as he downs the final drops of his lukewarm wine and rolls his eyes in annoyance. “Get me another wine, why don’t you?”

He holds out his cup towards you and it takes you a second to realise that he is doing so, and it earns you a miffed click of his tongue. 

“Get your head out of the clouds, (Y/n). Not sure where your mind is wandering to this time.”

Without replying - for he doesn’t expect one - you take the cup and stand to follow his request. Sighing, you head over to the staff and find a woman wearing a red headscarf. On your way there, Mother Mary brushes past you. She seems to be a little agitated by something, but you cannot quite put a finger on it.

“Excuse me,” you say to the woman with the red scarf, “May I have another serving of wine?”

She turns to you and gives you an apologetic look. Embarrassed, she leans closer to you.

“I’m sorry, but we’re… We’re out.” she mutters. “We are working on a replacement, so please, if you can wait a few more minutes, we would greatly appreciate—”

“Ramah.” A man with dark hair and a colourful coat over his tunic appears behind her. He shuffles her way a little awkwardly and whispers something in her ear, at which she blinks in puzzlement. The woman named Ramah gives you a small smile and a polite bow. 

“Apologies for the inconvenience, I’ve got to go now.” She goes with her colleague and leaves you behind a bit confused, but as you turn, you come nearly chest-to-chest with nobody else than Jesus of Nazareth. You startle a bit, stepping away and looking at Him in slight shock. 

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to walk into You.”

Jesus smiles - how are His eyes so warm and kind? - and shrugs. “Not to worry. May I pass you by?”

“O-Of course,” you say, heading to the side so that He can pass. With a small nod of appreciation, He brushes past you, following the two servers. 

You return to your father with the empty cup and he holds out his hand already, but when you shake your head, he frowns. “What?”

“They’re working on a replacement.”

“They’re out?!” he huffs, “Unbelievable.”

He seems nearly offended that you’ve brought him such news. With a heavy heart, you take a seat next to him, longingly staring at the dance floor. People are still having a great time, but a few have already walked off, clearly noticing that something is amiss, asking for refills but not receiving them.

Plucking at a loose thread on your tunic, you sit through some time whilst your father complains about whatever ruined his mood this time. You wonder when he will decide it has been enough for the night and wants to go home. 

However, the voice of the Master of the Banquet suddenly tears through the crowd, calling for the music to stop. 

“Stop the music! Stop the music! Everyone, listen!”

The crowd falls silent and you crane your neck to see what is going on as all attention goes to the man in question. 

“I have something I would like to say. I would like to address the bridegroom and the bride's families.” 

You let your eyes go to them.

“At every wedding I've ever overseen, they serve the best wine first.And then when the people have drunk freely, much later in the feast, they serve the poorer wine, the cheap stuff.” The guests chuckle, as does your father. “Because, by then, who's going to notice, am I right?”

The Master of the Banquet pauses for a second and then turns to Dinah, the mother of the bridegroom. “But you– You've chosen now to serve the best wine I have ever tasted!” Looks of delight fall over the faces of the servers as well as the families, “Let us thank them for this unnecessary but honourable gesture!”

The crowd erupts in cheers as new cups of wine are divided. 

“May the wedding of Asher, son of Rafi and Dinah, to Sarah, daughter of Abner and Helah, be as pure and as fruitful as this wine!” Everyone raises their cups, including you, whilst the Master of the Banquet calls for a toast: “Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, Who brings forth the fruit of the vine. To Asher and Sarah!”

“To Asher and Sarah!” the people repeat, and everyone takes a long sip.

The Master had not been exaggerating. The moment the liquid hits your tongue, your eyes widen in surprise. “This is incredible!” your father breathes, “The best wine I’ve ever had!”

You give him a small smile. “I agree,” you tell him, “It’s unlike any drink I’ve ever had.”

As your father excuses himself, standing to get another serving for he had thrown back the contents in one large gulp, you let your eyes go back to the crowd again. Now way more relaxed, everyone starts to continue their festivities, gushing over how good the wine is, and you slowly nurse your cup whilst observing the dancing people.

If you could only join them…

You are just downing the final sip when a sudden shadow casts itself over you, intersecting in between you and the light source of the area. Puzzled, you take your cup down and swallow thickly, finding no one other than Jesus of Nazareth standing in front of you. 

He smiles slightly and gives you a small nod. “Shalom,” he greets, “How are you liking the wine?”

“I think it is really good. Abner and Sarah made a good call to wait until later to serve this.” 

Jesus chuckles. “Well, I couldn’t help but see you sitting over here. That man who was constantly sulking, was that your father?”

You give Him a tight-lipped smile and nod. “Mhm. He isn’t exactly fond of parties, so whenever we attend one, he always wants me to keep him company whilst the rest goes away to have fun. I mean, I don’t want him to be lonely, but… It would be fun to be able to join in on the festivities for once.” You aren’t even sure why you tell Him this, for what could He possibly do with this information? 

Jesus lets out a small hum and looks over His shoulder at his students, a few of whom wave Him over to come closer. 

“Hm, your father doesn’t seem to be here right now.” Jesus says with a playful tone in His voice. “What would you say if you went with Me to my followers and enjoyed the party? Dance with Me. Just for a while. You deserve to savour this happy event, too.” 

A bit abashed, you look into the crowd to see if your father is on his way yet. 

“I can introduce you to my students, I’m sure that they will like you.”

You clear your throat and stand up, still a little confused. 

“Why? I-I mean, why are You asking me?”

Letting out an amused sound, Jesus puts a hand on your shoulder. “Because I know you.” 

You frown slightly. “You know me?”

Humming in agreement, Jesus nods towards His followers. “Shall we go?”

“Wait,” you protest, “How do You know me? I cannot recall having met You face to face before.”

“Perhaps you should speak to my followers first to see what they think of Me before I reveal these things to you, (Y/n).” 

You can’t remember ever telling Him your name, but you’re already stunned enough to not question it. 

“But I will tell you something else that I know, but only if we dance.” 

He gestures into the mass of people and you cannot fight the smile that grows there. A few of Jesus' followers immediately head your way curiously. 

“Who is this?” a woman with dark hair asks, “Is she joining us?”

“A new student?” queries another disciple. 

Jesus puts His hands on the shoulders of two students who stand at both His sides, and He squeezes them gently. “My friends, enough with the questions for now. I haven’t asked her anything yet. Her name is (Y/n), that is what I can tell you, and you should wait for a while so that I can take some time to properly introduce her, hm?”

Shaking your head in puzzlement, you aren’t sure what to think. Whilst the music drifts through the air, you shuffle around as your body attempts to move with the sound, and upon noticing it, a few of Jesus’ followers decide it is indeed time to dance and be joyful about the wedding. 

Betwixt a tall guy and a man with dark curls, you join the circle of friends as they begin to swing to the rhythm. With a grin spreading over your face, it feels as if you’ve been with this group of people for way longer than a few minutes. The songs follow one another as you laugh and dance and cheer, learning the names of a few of Jesus’ followers: Mary, Andrew, there are even two men called James.

Your father returns to find the bench he had been sitting on empty, only to notice you in the crowd. At first, he lets out a grumpy huff, but after a few moments, he smiles slightly. 

Seeing you so carefree, happily moving around to the tune, makes him briefly reflect on his attitude towards you. For a second, he is inclined to walk into the group and drag you out, but he decides against it. Perhaps it is the wine that has him give in, but he allows it for now.

You can’t remember having so much fun before, and after a long while of dancing, you find Jesus’ gaze, and He smiles kindly at you. 

“May I speak to you for a moment, (Y/n)?”

“Of course,” you say, still laughing about a joke Simon was telling you, and you give them a nod as a greeting before following Jesus to a more secluded area. 

He turns to you and gives you a friendly grin. “I meant to talk to you about your situation.”

“My situation?” You’re almost offended.

“Your father,” Jesus states. “You’re unhappy.”

You sigh and cast down your eyes, embarrassed. “He-He is kind to me, pays for food and housing, and—”

“And yet.” Jesus interrupts. You let out a shivering breath and swallow thickly. “You feel like you’re trapped with him until you have a husband.” 

It is as if He sees straight through you.

“Can I… Can I come with You?” your voice wavers. “I mean not to become your wife or anything! Just… Like your students!” 

Chuckling, Jesus nods. “I figured that you meant that, (Y/n). And if you want to come with us, you must know that we travel far, but you’re more than welcome. But first, I think you should talk to someone about it.” 

He looks at something – or rather someone – behind you, and you pivot to face your father, who is watching you with tears in his eyes.

“Why have you never mentioned this to me before?” he queries, but there is no accusing edge to his tone. You take a deep breath, shaking your head as you feel your eyes grow wet. 

“Abba, how could I, if all I ever say is shut down by you? I mean no disrespect, but I cannot even tap my foot because it makes you nervous! Your constant presence scares off all potential spouses. If things remain this way, how will I ever find a purpose in life outside of taking care of you?”

Your father steps forward. “All I want is to protect you. It’s a dangerous world out there, (Y/n)! You know nothing about it.”

“Because you aren’t letting me get familiar with it!” you counter. “Please, abba, can I go with them? He is a Teacher and has a few followers who are also at this party– The people I was just dancing with!”

Your father looks at Jesus with narrowed eyes, a thoughtful look over his features. 

“What do You have to teach her?”

Jesus hums. “Many things.”

“For how long will she be away? A few days? A few weeks?”

Slowly shaking His head, Jesus shrugs. “That I cannot say. We will go wherever the road leads us, and… Well, perhaps that some time apart will strengthen your relationship. It’s not healthy to constantly remain together all the time, especially with (Y/n) being an adult already. And, who knows, I’ve got a few bachelors amongst My followers…” 

He is teasing, you know, but you fluster nevertheless.

Your father lightly chuckles, clearly more at ease, and bites his lip whilst he observes you for a few long moments. “Well, there is something about Him that makes me think that you’ll be fine. When are You leaving, Rabbi?”

Jesus smiles. “We can wait a day or so. Is that enough for you to get a clean tunic to bring with you?”

You eagerly nod, your heart skipping a beat. “Thank you, abba! And thank you for the opportunity, Teacher. I will not disappoint You.”

Lightly laughing, Jesus lets out a small noise. “Ah, don’t you worry about that. All I require is your heart, not your knowledge.”

Taking a deep breath, you grin widely. “Well, time for me to get that tunic, I suppose!”

Your father puts a hand on your arm and halts you in your tracks. 

“Not so fast,” he says, “First, a dance?”

You look at his outstretched hand, then look at Jesus, Who gives you a gentle look, and then take it, heading over into the crowd again to introduce your father to your new friends, who you will get more familiar with in this new opportunity that lies ahead.

#the chosen #reader insert #platonic #the chosen x reader #chosen x reader #chosen fanfiction #the chosen fanfiction #the chosen jesus #jesus x reader

[randxmthxughts]

Chosen by Eywa | Masterlist

neteyam x omatikaya!reader - complete

summary: eywa makes no mistakes... in the midst of his preparation to become the future olo'eyktan, neteyam is told to be with a chosen mate. guided by the signs of eywa, tsahik picks y/n, a woman orphaned by the war, whose heart already belongs to another. y/n's whole world begins to crumble, as she is forced into the loveless bond. will neteyam and y/n be able to overcome the odds and find their true happiness?

contains: arranged marriage, mentions of war and grief, angst, one-sided enemies to lovers

wc: 30.4k

a/n: i usually don't write for this trope but the idea had been inciting since rewatching the first avatar movie. this is going to be very angsty but very rewarding too and thank you to the anon who sent in the request ♡ so excited to start this journey with you!

general avatar masterlist

Chapter 1: The Dream Hunt

Chapter 2: The Betrayal

Chapter 3: Lessons to Learn

Chapter 4: Crossing the Bridge

Chapter 5: New Beginnings

Chapter 6: A Team of Two - finale

#neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #chosen by eywa series #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam angst #forced marriage #arranged marriage #one sided love #enemies to lovers #angsty romance #avatar 2 fic #avatar x reader #neteyam x omatikaya!reader #jake sully #tsahik #fanfiction #avatar fic recs #avatar 2 #neteyam #avatar the way of water #olo'eyktan #reader x neteyam #sully brothers

[dawn-the-rithmatist]

Obsessed with authors like Naomi Novik whose books always seem to say “no, fuck that, there is another way than cruelty, and we do have a choice to be decent, and not choosing it isn’t a burden but a cop out.”

Authors like Neil Gaiman whose books seem to say “we are all simply human, and that is so valuable. This world is worth more because we are in it, when we choose to notice and care”

Authors like Brandon Sanderson whose books say “We are all a little broken, and there is strength in not turning away from us, and there is pain in healing but there is also strength and hope.”

Seriously, these folks do more for my faith and hope in this life than any religion ever has. I don’t have the words to describe it yet but just. Warm cup of apple cider held close to the chest on cold autumn night?? That’s the best I got

#recommendations #does this count as a recommendation?? everyone should read their things if they get the chance. must recommend. there now it’s a red #dawn speaks #the sandman #where death goes from person to person and the episode is a celebration of life as much as it’s life’s end #good omens #where people literally look at Heaven and Hell and say ‘we’re good thanks. we like Human better than Good and Evil’ #the scholomance #where people see ‘for the greater good’ and say in response ‘do better’ #the stormlight archive #which is some kind of ode to pain and healing and the way that process holds something difficult but so so beautiful #I have read fanfiction that has perfectly captured the human condition #and watched children’s shows that spit in the face of all the ways we have chosen to hate each other #it just. it hits different okay. #anyways thanks to people who make things #because you reach people <3

[foxs0x]

Sweet Sister, My Slaughterkin

I always wonder how Durge feels about Orin. I wonder if he would mourn her in some strange way.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanart #dark urge #the dark urge #bg3 durge #durge #bhaal #fanfiction #the dark urge bg3 #my durge #durge oc #durge bg3 #default durge #canon durge #canon dark urge #dragonborn dark urge #bhaal lore #chosen of bhaal #bhaalspawn tav #bg3 bhaalspawn #temple of bhaal #incorrect bhaalspawn quotes #bhaalspawn #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #baldurs gate fanart #orin bg3 #bg3 orin

[sophsicle]

Chosen, Chapter 4

#choices #fic: chosen #wolfstar #remus lupin #the marauders #marauders fanfiction #soph rambles

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: The son of the man who lost the Eagle of the Ninth would never be allowed a first command of his very own fort, would he? Marcus is posted not to Isca Dumnoniorum, but to a wretched and run-down garrison north of the Wall. There he finds that he is the new centurion of a group of scouts and spies, all of them British. He has few supplies and no experience. His men distrust him. His superiors despise him. His second-in-command is an incompetent drunkard. And the local tribes are determined to kill all of them. But the worst thing of all is one of Marcus' soldiers. He is an enigmatic, dangerous, and insubordinate man by the name of Esca, who makes Marcus yearn for terrifying things he has never before wanted and can never, ever let himself have...

Author: @sineala

#official fic poll #haveyoureadthisfic #pollblr #fanfiction #fanfic #tumblr polls #internet culture #fandom culture #fandom poll #Chosen Man #the eagle of the ninth #Marcus/Esca

[justanothercmblog]

One Last Chance?

This was written for the wonderful @imagining-in-the-margins family challenge for the months of April and May. I know I'm a little late but I only recently read this prompt that's also the summary and it really spoke to me! While writing I got really invested in the characters so I might write a couple more parts in the future!

Summary: Spencer and his wife have decided to foster a teenager.

Content Warning: foster care, neglect, foster sibling separation, minor mention of drugs, food & food insecurities. Please let me know if I missed something and I will add what's missing!

Word Count : 5.8k

_____

“Spencer, have you checked if the heater is on in their room, it’s freezing outside!” “Y/N, I have already told you, it’s warm in the guest bedroom, the thermostat is on too!” “It’s THEIR room, Spence, you need to check what you’re saying, if we want them to feel at home, we need to adjust our language too!”, Y/N chastised while she was running around their house trying to make everything look perfect, although there was nothing left to do. 

“Y/N, can you come here for a second?”, Spencer called out for his wife, softly catching her hand and tugging her closer to him, finally stopping her pacing. He took her other hand into his own and gently squeezed her hands. She looked up at him in confusion. “What is it? Did I forget something?” Spencer just smiled down at his beautiful wife. He knew she just wanted to be prepared for this new person who would join their little family any minute, but he also knew she’d run herself crazy trying to make everything right. 

“Y/N, everything is perfectly prepared for whoever will step through that door in the next hour. We are ready for them, we’ve got their room ready, your chilli is on the stove, we’ve put toiletries, extra clothes and towels out and got them more snacks than even I could devour in a week”, he listed and Y/N slowly but surely relaxed a little. “And most importantly my love, we are ready to support whoever will be joining us. You have so much love to give, anyone would be lucky to be on the receiving end of it. Whoever this kid is that will join us, they will feel that love and comfort just like I do whenever you’re with me.” 

Y/N had tears in her eyes now. “I just want them to feel welcome, who knows what they have been through”, she got out and Spencer pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back. “I know my love. But all we can do now is take it one step at a time, okay? We’re prepared and it will be fine.” Y/N nodded into his embrace. 

She knew he was right, they were prepared. After having a lengthy talk, the two of them had decided that fostering was the right decision for them to expand their family. They both felt deeply that bringing a new life into this world when there were so many kids without homes, seemed like the wrong way to go for them. They both felt that family was so much more than genetics and biological relations, they knew that love made family and that they had so much love to give. 

The decision to welcome older kids into their home wasn’t as easy to make. Spencer had some apprehensions, finally telling Y/N that he felt like older kids and teens might not respond well to him and his quirks. It took him a while to see that his own experiences with teenagers from when he was a kid were entirely different from how they would respond to him now. Y/N had acknowledged and listened to his fears and after seeing the statistics on how many older kids never found a safe home and tended to age out of the system, Spencer felt entirely wrong for not giving these kids a chance of a safe haven with them. Given their work schedule, they even decided that they wouldn’t be able to take smaller kids and so now they were awaiting their first placement. The social worker had called half an hour ago and only told them that they had a 14-year-old in need of a new placement and that they were going to be there within the next two hours. They didn’t even know their pronouns nor their background but they already felt for the teen. 

The two of them only parted from their embrace when there was a knock on the door. Y/N’s eyes went wide as she stared up at Spencer. “Oh my god, they are here! Spencer, they are here!!!” “Let’s go meet them”, he smiled calmly although inside he was anything but calm. 

They opened the door together to find a middle-aged woman and, standing next to her, clutching a plastic bag, a girl with deep-green eyes, long unruly brown curls and a scared look on her face. Y/N quickly caught herself and stopped what she was sure was staring, at the girl. 

“Hi! Come in, come in, it’s so cold outside!”, she ushered the two to step into their home. “Thank you Mr and Mrs Reid for taking such a last-minute placement! Maggie is really happy to be here, aren’t you Maggie?”, the social worker gushed and Spencer could see the girl anxiously tightening her grip on her bag before she nodded. “Well why don’t we go to the kitchen and we’ll talk a little more!”, Y/N tried to ease the tension, but the social worker had other plans. 

“I’m really sorry, but I actually have to go run by another case of mine. Maggie should be fine with you for now, I will check back in tomorrow or one of these days if there are any more questions and send you an E-Mail with any information you might need, it’s the weekend so the school won’t be an issue until Monday!”, she rattled off leaving Spencer and Y/N to stare at her for a second before Spencer was the one to find his voice first. 

“Let me walk you to the door, I do have a couple of questions”, he said, stunned and led the woman to the door, leaving Y/N with the teenage girl in their kitchen. She watched her husband leave the room, stunned as well, before snapping out of it and taking a good look at the girl that was just dropped off at their house like it was nothing. 

“I’m sorry Maggie, let me do this again: I’m Y/N and that dorky guy with me is my husband Spencer. We’re really happy to have you here with us. Do you want something to drink? I’ve also got chilli on the stove if you’re hungry”, the woman explained but the girl just stared at her for a second before looking back at where Spencer and the case worker had disappeared to. “I know this is all but ideal right now, you deserve a better start than this, I’m sorry honey”, Y/N said softly and before the girl could react to her words they could hear the door shut and Spencer stepping back into the kitchen. 

“Sooo, why don’t we show Maggie her room, hm?”, he said encouragingly but Y/N could tell that he was angry. Clearly, the caseworker had not made the best impression on him. “Come on, Maggie, we’ll give you a house tour”, Y/N agreed and smiled at the girl encouragingly. The girl had yet to say a word but followed the couple up the set of stairs to the first story of their townhome. Spencer and Y/N let her look into each room up there, their bedroom, the bathroom in the hall which would be the teen’s and finally, they opened a door and let her step in first. 

Maggie found herself in a beautiful and warmly lit bedroom with a queen bed, a desk, a sideboard with a TV and a big basket filled with all sorts of stuff. The teen’s eyes grew wide as she took it all in while still clutching onto the trash bag in her hands. “This.. this is where I get to stay?”, she asked carefully with a slight stutter, looking back at the couple that was now standing in the doorway together watching her taking it all in. “Yes, of course! Help yourself to anything you want, there’s a couple of snacks and drinks and I have some stationery on the desk if you’d like to draw or write, oh and I have a couple of clothes in the closet too, I didn’t know what you liked of course so it’s just basics”, Y/N rambled along while Spencer watched the teen, clearly a little overwhelmed with it all. 

“I also got you this blanket”, Y/N ended her monologue, holding out a soft yellow blanket, still in its bow from buying it. She had heard that it meant a lot for foster kids to have new things that they could keep and Y/N thought there was nothing more comforting than a fuzzy blanket. Maggie just stared at the blanket for a second, still holding her bag with two hands, before she carefully let the bag down beside her and took the blanket that Y/N was holding out for her. “Thank you”, she breathed out quietly, feeling the soft fabric against her palm as she held the gift. A silence settled in between the three and it was Spencer who decided to give the teen a little room to process all of her emotions. He knew what it felt like to be overwhelmed like that and had also learned the circumstances of the girl’s emergency placement tonight. 

“I think we’ll leave you to settle in now. We will be right downstairs in the kitchen and you’re welcome to join us and have a bite to eat any time. You can go take a shower if you want to, there are towels in the bathroom, or you can just stay in here if you want to be alone, whatever you decide is fine, okay Maggie?”, he spoke softly and watched the girl pressing her lips together and nodding. “Yes sir”, she uttered and Y/N’s brows furrowed in worry at that. “Oh no need for the formalities, I’m just Spencer and this is just Y/N”, he continued with his soft voice and the girl nodded again. “Okay, Spencer. Thank you.”

—--

Downstairs Y/N immediately turned around to Spencer and rushed him to tell her what the social worker had said. “You seemed mad, what did she say? How is she just going to drop a kid off at night and just leave like that? We don’t even know what the circumstances are! And all her belongings are in a plastic bag, what the fuck Spencer!”, Y/N burst out and whisper shouted at her husband. Spencer eyed the stairs nervous that the girl could hear them. “I know, I told the social worker the same thing but it seemed like she was overworked too and had a call for another kid that was in trouble, it’s bad, I know, but at least now she’s safe with us.” “Did she tell you if the placement would be for longer? Where did Maggie even come from?” Spencer nodded carefully. 

“Police busted her prior foster family’s home for drug manufacturing just a couple of hours ago. They found her and another kid in one of the rooms while they had a makeshift drug lab in the basement.” Y/N’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?”, she whisper shouted once again not believing a word she was hearing. “How did those people get a foster licence to begin with? Was she exposed to these drugs?” Then another thought hit her. “Are you okay?”, she asked softly and Spencer nodded quickly. 

“I am, truly I’m just as shocked as you are. Apparently, they had the drugs and equipment in the basement while the upstairs was relatively clear of any signs of drugs and stuff, still a messed up home though. She needs a permanent place to stay, the case worker didn’t say much but her biological family seems to be out of the picture.“ “God I feel so bad for her, the way she called you Sir? I hope she’ll come down to eat something later.” Spencer nodded and pulled his wife into his arms, pressing a kiss on top of her head and rocking them both back and forth for a minute. “We’ll help her through this”, he assured.

____

Upstairs, Maggie finally got a moment to sit down and process what the last couple of hours had looked like. She had gotten the fright of a lifetime when suddenly there were people shouting everywhere and her and Lila’s door was kicked in, revealing two policemen with their guns drawn at the two of them. Maggie had pulled Lila into her bed, pushing themselves into the corner and holding the younger child safely, whispering affirmations into her ears. After the policemen had lowered their guns they escorted them out of the house, putting them in a car and asking loads of questions while Maggie watched the house being torn apart and their foster parents being detained. 

It wasn’t like Maggie liked them or living there but at least they didn’t hit them, at least they had a bed to sleep there. Now where would they go? She had been worrying about what they were doing in the basement for ages, watching the sketchy people turn up all the time, really deep down she knew that one of these days it would have to turn bad. After it all calmed down a little they were given trash bags and asked to collect their belongings. 

Maggie helped Lila in packing everything that might be helpful and grabbed the few things she had that belonged to her in a way. Lila’s grip on her hand was tight and it only reminded Maggie that they were incredibly likely to be split up. They weren’t bio siblings, just both ended up at the same home. Lila was only 9, Maggie honestly didn’t know how she hadn’t gotten a better family than that so she had tried to make it a home for Lila for the past year and a half. There was no way that a family that would be interested in taking Lila would also want a teenager, she knew that. She was all too familiar with the system, the older she got the slimmer the chances for a safe, comfortable home. 

Maggie had given up all hope for adoption a long time ago, but for Lila, there was still a chance. So when Nadine came to take Lila, telling her she had found a nice family, Maggie had encouraged the crying child that refused to let go of her. 

“Lila, baby I’ll always always always be here for you okay? You have to be strong now okay? Nadine found really nice people, it won’t be like it was here, okay? You will have a really good time, Li, I promise I will try and visit okay?”, she had tried to make her voice sound steady but couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down her own cheeks. “What about you?”, Lila asked desperately. “I will be fine, I can look out for myself and I’ll get a safe place to stay too”, the teen encouraged but didn’t believe a word she was saying. Lila did though and that was most important. Before Nadine could take the girl away she hugged  her tight again and then kissed the girl’s forehead. “I love you Lila, you remember my phone number right? I made you memorise it”, she said and the kid nodded vehemently. “I remember Mags, I can call you?”, she asked and Maggie nodded trying to hold back the tears. “Please call me when you need me, I will always answer, I promise Li. Love you.”, she said again before the girl was led away, turning around once more and calling back: “Love you too Mags!”

And here Maggie was, alone again. Something she was very used to, so she pulled herself together, wiped away the tears and put up her guard again. Whatever was going to happen in the next couple of hours would decide where her life was going or what it would look like. She was at an age now where a group home was honestly the most likely option and it scared the living crap out of her to be in a home with older teenagers. Maggie could fend for herself but she wasn’t as tough as others in the system. She was an easy target, she knew that and she had to prepare herself for that. She was taken back to the police station where she stayed for another hour before a middle-aged woman introduced herself to her as Tanya. Nadine was still busy so she was handed over Maggie’s case for now. Great, now she didn’t even know her case worker anymore. 

“I made a few calls and found a place for you to stay, come on we’re going there now”, Tanya had said and Maggie just followed her along. “Is it a group home?”, she finally asked after they had been in the car for a couple minutes without the woman saying more. Maggie missed Nadine, at least she had attempted to make her feel better. “No, it’s not, you’re lucky, there’s been a new couple in the area opening up for older kids like you. Mr and Mrs Reid are expecting us any minute now.” 

____

And that had been all the girl knew before these two strangers opened up their home to her. Here she was now sitting in a perfect room in a perfect townhouse. She looked down at the blanket in her lap. It felt soft against her palm and the softness in addition to the softness of the bed beneath her made her feel weird. Like it was all fake, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was all too soft. The blanket, the bed, the light, the warmth, their voices. It was all too soft. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t how life went for her. She didn’t trust the peace. 

Before she knew what she was doing, she was pacing. Trying to make sense of what it was that was happening here. She didn’t want to cry, not again, it would only make it worse, she would only miss Lila worse and the people downstairs could hear her. There wasn’t even anything to cry over. This placement was the best place she had probably ever been put in, but that made it feel so wrong, like there was a bomb waiting to go off any minute. That bomb seemed to be her though, she felt like she was going to combust from the pressure that was building up inside of her, threatening to spill over. She had to let it all out somehow. 

Her eyes fell on the blanket and before she knew what she was doing she grabbed the soft piece of fabric that was supposed to bring her comfort and threw it across the room. It landed against the closet door with a small *thump* sound and then just plummeted to the ground. Maggie’s teeth were clenched together as she watched it do nothing with how she was feeling and quickly she grabbed another pillow off the bed, launching it through the room similarly. Others followed until finally one of the pillows landed against a framed picture on the wall, causing it to come off the hook and fall to the ground with a loud clatter. It was only then that the girl seemed to come to her senses. 

Wide-eyed she looked around herself, seeing the damage she had done, pillows and blankets were scattered all around the room, the frame was broken and the glass littered the floor between her and the door to the room. Before the girl could do anything to tidy it all up she could hear hurried steps on the stairs and a knock on the door. Shit. “Maggie, we heard a noise, is it okay for us to come in?”, she could hear the woman’s, worried voice. Had she already messed up this chance of a home? She couldn’t get a word out, just stood there and stared. “Maggie, I’m sorry but if you don’t answer me I will have to come in, okay?”, she heard the woman say and it made her snap out of it. “No!”, she shrieked out but it was too late, the door had already been opened and Y/N carefully peered in, stopping when she saw the damage on the floor and then quickly looking up at Maggie. The teen's lip began to quiver immediately. “I …. I … I didn’t mean to”, she panickedly got out. “I’m SO sorry, I promise I will clean it up, I’m sorry I just … I …”, she couldn’t find words for what was happening. 

The whole reason for her even beginning to throw stuff around, not wanting to cry, was now senseless because as soon as she realised what she had done, the tears came streaming down her face. She didn’t want to leave again already. This couldn’t be happening, how did she already blow it up? 

She didn’t notice Y/N ushering Spencer to go and get something to clean the glass off the floor, nor that the woman was carefully stepping around the shards trying to get close to her. “Maggie, Maggie, it’s okay. It’s all good, it’s just a cheap decoration from Target, it’s okay!”, she tried to calm the girl down. Her voice was steady and soft. Maggie was violently shaking her head and backing away into the other corner of the room, now clutching her mouth with her hands as she stared at the broken frame. 

“I didn’t mean to, please I’m so sorry”, she kept saying when she hit the wall behind her. Y/N stopped her attempt to get closer. Clearly, she was scaring the girl, backing her in. So instead the agent kept her distance, holding up her hands to show her she wasn’t a threat. “I know you didn’t mean to, Maggie, I know and it’s okay, you’re not in trouble, it’s all okay", she said softly. “Can you look up at me please?” Maggie had her eyes shut since she had backed against the wall. She now forced herself to cast her eyes up at the woman standing across from her, she didn’t look like she was mad, maybe she was saying the truth. 

“Are you hurt? Did you get glass somewhere?”, she asked softly and the teen looked down on herself before shaking her head. “Okay, that’s good. Spencer is bringing up a broom and the vacuum and it will be all good”, Y/N smiled at the teen encouragingly just as Spencer appeared again. “I can do it”, Maggie protested, stepping forward a little. “We don’t want you to hurt yourself, it’s okay, I’ve got it!”, Spencer said with a soft smile on his face as he began to clean away the mess. 

Y/N looked back from her husband to the teen that was now standing beside the bed, cheeks still damp from tears and arms crossed in front of herself. Y/N chose to sit down on the bed. She softly tapped the bed beside her. “Why don’t you sit with me for a minute, huh?”, she asked and to her surprise, Maggie immediately followed the request. “I want you to know that you are safe here with us and that we understand that you have a lot of feelings going on for you right now. Today must have been a lot and this is all new to you so we get that you might be feeling sad or angry or confused”, Y/N said with a steady and soft voice, smiling at the girl and giving her room to take it in. 

Maggie listened to the woman speak, not knowing what to say. Only after a couple of minutes did a few words slip out. “It was all too soft”, she finally heard herself speak and she knew in saying that that it didn’t make any sense whatsoever. But Y/N didn’t question it. “Okay”, she simply said. “What can we do to make it better for you?” Maggie was stunned at the question. What could they do? They already gave her a room and snacks and didn’t yell at her after trashing the room. “I… I don’t know”, she said and Y/N nodded. “That’s okay too. Do you think you got it out a little bit?” The teen nodded. “How would you like something to eat and a glass of water?” Again, Maggie nodded and Y/N felt a rush of relief that they had finally made a little progress. She looked back at Spencer who had since cleaned up the mess and stood there awkwardly. This had been an eventful first hour.

—--

Together, the three of them went downstairs. Y/N pulled out three bowls and scooped the chilli into them while Spencer got some spoons and glasses and put them out on the table. “You can sit in whatever spot you want”, Y/N explained to the teen who pulled out one of the chairs and sat down watching the two adults carefully. They worked around each other so seamlessly, like a well-oiled machine and somehow they both just radiated calmness and comfort. The girl was still a little shaken up about what she did up in the room, but mostly now she just felt tired and hungry, really hungry. 

It had been one of those days where they couldn’t find anything good to eat in the house and Maggie had given the last of the bread with a little butter and sugar to Lila when they got back from school. Now the room smelled like actually good, warm food and just then Y/N placed a full bowl in front of her while Spencer put a basket with bread on the table too. The two of them sat down too, Spencer filling up all of their glasses with water. 

“I hope you like chilli, I didn’t make it too spicy, Spencer is sensitive like that and I didn’t know how you’d like it”, Y/N explained, but Maggie could already feel her mouth watering just looking at the food in front of her. She quickly looked up at Y/N. “Thank you, this looks really delicious”, she said politely and as the two adults picked up their spoons she finally started shovelling the comforting, hearty food into her mouth too. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had such a good meal. Y/N and Spencer shared the same sombre look watching the girl eat so fast and hectic. It was abundantly clear that she hadn’t been getting proper meals for a while now and had arrived hungry. 

“Is there anything you don’t like eating or you’re allergic to Maggie? Just so I know when I do the food shop and meal prep. I thought I could take you with me for the food run tomorrow and you could pick out a few things you like”, Y/N started a conversation when Maggie had slowed down a little. The girl perked up at that, surprised by the sentiment. “I … I’m not allergic to anything I think.”, she said softly, just thankful to eat anything really. “Okay that’s good to know, and anything you don’t like?”, Y/N pushed further. “I for one hate anything with fish or seafood in general, Spencer doesn’t like mushrooms, he says they’re too slimy”, she chuckled and watched the teen’s lips curve into a small smile. 

“I don’t like mushrooms either, they feel funny, but I’ll eat them, I don’t want to be a bother!”, she quickly backtracked. “No way, you will never have to eat mushrooms here, I will personally make sure of it!”, Spencer now interjected and Maggie chuckled a little at the man’s childish antics. “Okay”, she said softly. “I also don’t really like green beans”, she added quietly and Y/N beamed at the teen speaking freely. “Oh don’t worry we’re not the biggest fans of those either”, she assured. “Do you want a second bowl? I think I’ll go for seconds”, Spencer now interjected seeing the girl’s empty bowl. She nodded. “Thank you, that would be nice”, turning to Y/N she added. “It tastes really good. You’re a good cook.” “Oh thank you, honey, I don’t get to cook that often, so I’ll take the compliment”, Y/N thanked the girl while Spencer placed their full bowö back in front of them. 

“So you probably have a lot of questions for us, I imagine it’s a bit scary suddenly living with two strangers, so how about we tell you a little about ourselves and then you can ask us anything?” Maggie looked between the two adults and then nodded before continuing to eat. “Okay, so Spencer and I have been married for a year now and we’ve been together for 2 before that. We met at our job. We are both working at the FBI, we’re both agents.” Maggie’s head snapped up at that, and with wide eyes, she looked at the two of them again. THEY were FBI agents? They looked so.. so soft. He was wearing a sweater vest with a funny pattern and she wore fuzzy socks and sweats. 

“I know we don’t look stereotypical FBI right now”, Y/N chuckled. “We’re profilers so really we analyse the minds of criminals in order to catch them”, she explained and Maggie nodded. “We usually travel a lot for our job but our boss was okay with one of us staying back with each case so that we can be here for you. We both don’t have a lot of family, but we see our colleagues at the BAU as our family and you will meet them too when you’re ready.” 

Maggie nodded along, taking it all in for now. Spencer continued after that. “We both love to read, we have left a few books in your room too, but you’re welcome to help yourself to any book in the house and if you see one you’d like when we’re out just tell one of us we’ll get it for you. Y/N also knits while watching her TV shows, I’m too clumsy for that and I also feel like if you’re gonna watch something you should watch it and not just listen.” That earned him a scoff from Y/N. “It’s called multitasking I've told you before Spencer!”, she defended herself and Maggie smirked at their interaction, they really did seem like nice people. “I can teach you how to knit! I’ve made Spencer a lot of scarves already!”, Y/N now excitedly addressed the girl who bit her lip nervously now that she had finished her food. 

Maggie shrugged nervously, unsure about what to say to that. “If I can stay here that might be nice”, she said softly and Spencer and Y/N’s faces dropped significantly. The girl had just arrived and was already thinking about having to move  on, it made sense, they knew how often that happened, but they weren’t gonna let that happen. 

“If we get any say in it you stay here as long as you want to, I promise you that, Maggie”, Y/N said. “Why?”, the teen asked bluntly. “Sorry, what do you mean why?”, Y/N asked, taken aback by the question. “Why do you want me to stay longer? You could easily foster one of the little ones, they’re really cute and aren’t problems like … like big kids and … and teens..“, she explained herself while stirring in the remnants of her chilli. She couldn’t see the cautious and dumbfounded looks Spencer and Y/N gave themselves. Instead, she continued on with her rant. 

“I just trashed your upstairs bedroom, was really impolite and also, supplies and food are more expensive for bigger kids, teens get into trouble at school a lot more often than little kids and most foster teens above the age of 12 will not find a foster family and live in group homes where they’re prepared to age out of the system and be self-sufficient and even then 20% of us end up homeless when we turn 18. Older foster kids don’t get a chance like this, people like you don’t take us, they take the cute ones without trouble, people like me go into group homes or into families that just want to cash their checks. So why would you want me to stay here?” Maggie finally finished her rant leaving Spencer and Y/N speechless. 

The girl seemed to be shocked by her own words now as her head snapped up suddenly, looking up at the two adults and turning red in embarrassment. She quickly looked down at the table again. not bearing to meet their eyes. They sat there in silence for a moment before Spencer spoke up.  “Believe me, Maggie, I know all the statistics and that is exactly why Y/N and I decided to open our home to older kids like you. You deserve a chance just like the younger kids do, there are safe homes for them but as you said there are significantly fewer for kids above the age of 12 which just isn’t fair to any of you. We knew that we didn’t like the idea of teens ending up in group homes and ageing out to become homeless. We want to provide a safe and loving home, especially to kids who didn’t get the chance before”, Spencer said calmly. 

“What Spencer is saying is true, Maggie. We wanted to expand our family and we knew we didn’t want to bring a new baby into this world when there are so many kids who need a safe and loving home. We love kids, don’t get us wrong, but you’re still a kid too and what you’re saying isn’t entirely right, little kids come with a lot of work too, that’s not me saying we wouldn’t put in all of the work to accommodate whatever anyone staying with us needs, but with little ones, there is a lot of guessing whereas you can talk to us, tell us what you need, what you feel like. It can be a lot of fun to have a teenager in the house, we can talk about books and shows and Spencer and I get to feel young again”, she joked to ease the tension. “And with one of us being on their own from time to time because of our jobs, we also felt like it just made sense to take in older kids and teens like you because you would understand why one of us had to go from time to time, you know?” 

Maggie was taking in what the two of them were saying, embarrassed about what she had laid off on them. She never usually spoke up like that, people didn’t tend to listen to her anyways but apparently, Spencer and Y/N had listened and Maggie had to admit that what they were saying now sounded sincere. Nevertheless, she couldn’t let herself trust this yet. She could still be whisked away any second because of some stupid reason. For now, though she nodded and gathered all of her courage to look up at the two of them and smiled softly. “Okay", she said, deciding at that moment that she would try and hope one more time that this could be it. That maybe these people could be something like family one day.

#mentioningmargins #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #cm #spencer x fem!reader #dr spencer reid #fostercare #family #chosen family #criminal minds fanfiction

[welldonebeca]

i could have chosen you (and yes, i would) - Masterlist

Summary: To form an alliance with another Kingdom, your father arranges a marriage between you and James, the duke of Barnes and best friend of King Steve I of a neighbouring kingdom, and you struggle to make a relationship out of your arranged union. Pairing: Bucky x F!Reader Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, arranged marriage, medieval AU, fluff, eventual smut.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 on Patreon (10th of May on Tumblr) Chapter 8 on Patreon (17th of May on Tumblr) Chapter 9 on Patreon (24th of May on Tumblr) Chapter 10 on Patreon (31st of May on Tumblr) Chapter 11 on Patreon (7th of June on Tumblr)

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"i could have chosen you (and yes, i would)" was posted on my Patreon in October 2022 and is fully posted on my page. To read it before anyone else, consider subscribing! It's just $2 a month and it helps me a lot during these hard times.

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Tag list is open!

#i could have chosen you series #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes royal au #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fanfiction #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x you #bucky x reader imagine

[to-fly-with-clipped-wings]

Chapter 1.2 - Train Rides and Talking Hats

Chapter 1.2 - Train Rides and Talking Hats

Pairing: Harry Potter x Chosen One! Reader

“Oi,” you spoke, feeling your jaw clench at the blond boy’s demeanour. “I’d watch what I was saying if I was you, especially considering the crap that’s spewing out of your sewage-system of a mouth.” Draco Malfoy turned his sharpened gaze toward you. “And I’d be more careful if I was you. You don’t want to make enemies with the wrong people.” “The same goes for you.”  OR: in which you hitch a ride on the Hogwarts Express and buckle up for one hell of a ride. → Set in a universe where you are the chosen one, and Harry Potter is your best friend who tries to help you navigate the woes of being the lone hero of the wizarding world. A swap au where you are the chosen one, your parents are dead but the marauders + Lily are not. Eventual Harry x Reader, slowburn, friends to lovers. Series Masterlist

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡  　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

Perhaps, if you had any less self-respect, having had a mental breakdown on the King’s Cross platform would have been your morning on the 1st of September.

The train leaves at eleven, Hagrid had told you. The Caddels had dropped you off at the station at half past ten before leaving to drop Odette off at her new school, Smeltings, they’d said.

All you were really aware of was the nifty cane that came with the uniform, supposedly used to thwack fellow peers. An excellent training for later life.

Regardless of peculiar apparels or uniform, you had now acquired a steadily rising fear that you would never be able to wear yours, if you couldn’t uncover where exactly platform nine and three-quarters situated on the station. 

There they were, right in front of you, platforms nine and ten – right there – but nowhere could you spot any semblance or notion of anything three-quarters related. The large plastic number nine leered tauntingly at you, swinging back and forth vaguely with the passing breeze.

You had pestered the guard manning the station. He hadn’t even heard of Hogwarts, and since you had no flying clue where or even what the school was, you couldn’t describe it to him. The guard stared you down incredulously, as though you were trying to be stupid (you didn’t miss how he eyed Hedwig, the name you had christened your snowy owl, who chirped irritably back at him).

It took every ounce of your remaining willpower to not snap or lunge at him and cause a scene in the middle of the station, especially when a congregation of people had formed a circle around you to observe the exchange curiously.

Apparently, according to a variety of people at the station, there wasn’t even a train that left at eleven o’clock. And to top the cherry on your fabulous sundae of anxiety and chagrin, according to the large clock situated on the arrivals board, you had a little under fifteen minutes to be seated on the train. 

You wished Hagrid had left you with more information, but when the man had dropped you back at your house and allowed you the time to blink, he had vanished.

Urgent magical business, you mused dryly. Almost like the kerfuffle of being stranded on a station with not the foggiest idea of where to go. 

Fleeting anxiety began to weave around your periphery. What if you missed the train? Were you missing something? Did you need to cast a spell? Oh, you knew you should have read the books before coming to the station. You swore at that moment to leave no page in your spell-books unturned.

You prepared to brandish your wand at the stray ticket box next to platform nine, trying your very best to formulate a spell that would divulge the presence of platform nine and three-quarters. 

In a perfectly timed turn of events, a group of people passed behind you, and you managed to glean a glimpse of their conversation.

“ – packed with Muggles, of course –

You heard your neck crack from how fast you wheeled around. Muggles. You had never been happier to hear a single word. The speaker was a stout woman, to an audience of about five red-headed children. Four boys and a girl, who from the conversation that ensued, you discovered was too young to attend Hogwarts just yet.

You turned your hawk-like stare toward ‘Percy’, the oldest boy, as he dashed toward the brick wall of platform nine, pushing his trolley along with him. Wincing, you closed your eyes so you wouldn’t see him and all of his school supplies crash onto the floor. 

Miraculously, though, when you peeled your eyelids back open, the boy was gone.

As were the twin brothers, Fred and George (or did their mother say George and Fred?). 

There was only one more boy left; a tall – though that entire family seemed to be on stilts – lanky, deeply freckled one. If you wanted to know where the sons were disappearing to, this was your final shot.

“Hey!” you called out, dragging your trolley behind you as you approached the remaining members of the red-headed family. Then, realising how the abruptness of a random girl yelling at someone may be perceived as rude, you decided to dial back your advances. “Hi, sorry. Do you happen to know how to –”

“How to get on to the platform?” she said kindly. “No worries at all, dear. Is this your first time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.” 

She pointed at her last son. He had dirt on his nose. You tilted your head slightly toward him in greeting, but your mind, however, was still hyper focused on how the clock was dwindling closer and closer to eleven.

“Pleasure,” you smiled, desperation beginning to blemish your voice, evident as it began to inch one or two octaves higher. “So, er, I’m hoping that you do know how to get to the train?”

“That’s right,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Go on, go now before Ron.”

You ruffled the collar of your shirt, which was looking far too neat and sophisticated (and therefore, not nearly as charming as you liked it to be). “Thanks, Miss.” 

You sucked in a deep breath before gathering your courage and sprinted toward the very solid, opaque looking barrier of platform nine and three-quarters. 

As you were running, you realised you were almost there – and then, quite suddenly, you weren’t. 

Rather, you now found yourself underneath a sign that read Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock.

Permeating through a brick wall was yet another box to check from your list of magical experiences. Twice, actually, if you counted the entrance to Diagon Alley. Odd was it indeed, but it was your odd now, and you lest let anyone try and rob you of it. 

You stood in awe, head on a swivel as you examined the new environment. A mammoth of a train, one whose size could only be attributed to the slight of one’s magical hand, with smoke seeping out of its charcoal chimneys, stood tall against the crowded stage of the station. 

You turned around to see if the red-headed family had made it through as well, and sure enough, there they were. The woman was still looking at you, and when you waved at her, her face split into a soft smile and she returned the gesture.

You swept your dishevelled hair to the side – it had tousled itself into a heaping mess sometime during your episode on the other side of the train station. 

You only registered the consequence of this action when the red-headed woman’s eyes widened, and as an abrupt muteness circulated throughout the platform, capitulating the vocal cords of what seemed to be every single man, woman and/or child present there at that very moment. 

Families that were once bidding their children goodbye, lovingly caressing cheeks or smoothing down fly-away hairs, or families who were once loading trunks onto compartments, were now reacting in an identical fashion of the same scene that had transpired at the leaky pub; normal chatter was extinguished, and murmurs crept around the platform like an amateur thief in a treasure trove.

“The lightning scar!”

“Is that – oh, my sweet Merlin, it is!”

“Oh – where –?!”

“Move! Let me get a glimpse!”

“Look, over there!”

“(Y/n) (L/n)!”

You stiffened slightly under everyone’s combined gazes, the abruptness of this changing you off guard. But, as quickly as the alarm had rippled into your body, it had dispersed out. 

A smirk split your face, and you nodded toward the woman closest to you (who promptly went pink and near-fainted) as a way to acknowledge that you acknowledged their sudden interest in you. You heard someone chuckle at your brazenness, and a few more flurries of whispers burgeoned from other by-standers.

During the time it took for you to jostle your trolley into an empty carriage near the back of the train, the number of people actively tracking your every move had died down, though only by a fraction. From the corners of your eyes, you could still see the odd third-year trying to estimate how many laces you had on your shoes, no doubt so he could pester his parents into getting the same. 

(You kept to yourself that they had previously belonged to Odette, however, as you seriously doubted anyone wanted to know that (Y/n) (L/n), hero of the wizarding world, still wore hand-me-downs.)

Unfortunately, it seemed that although you possessed the power to terminate the reign of the darkest and most powerful wizards in history, you had apparently not attained the muscles required to heave your trunk up the stairs onto the Hogwarts Express. You stumbled back, cursing as you reeled from the pain that rocketed through your foot after you dropped your trunk on your toes.

“Want a hand?” 

You looked up. It was one of the red-headed twins, from that family you had met before.

“Yes,” you said almost immediately. “Er, please.”

“Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!”

The three of you managed to successfully store your trunk into the corner of your compartment. Before you could thank the twins for their help, though, one of the twins pointed at the spot on your forehead where the thin lightning-shaped scar donned your skin. 

“You’re (Y/n) (L/n),” he announced. Just like Olivander, this had not been a question, but rather a statement.

“Yes,” you straightened your posture a little higher. “That’s right. I am.”

The two boys gawked at you, and you subtly swept your sweaty hair to expose the scar even further. To your slightest dismay, however, the familiar voice of the red-headed mother drifted through the carriage before you were able to elaborate further on your battle-scar.

“Fred? George? Are you there?” Both the twins groaned at their mother’s summoning. Sparing one last glance at you, they ambled toward her call. “Coming, Mum.”

You waved the twins goodbye. Sitting down by the window, you ducked your head so you could listen to the family, who were still on the platform, whilst being half-hidden at the same time. Their mother had scourged out a handkerchief and was furiously scrubbing at Ron’s nose to rid the smudge of dirt that laid upon it.

You watched with amusement as Ron tried to lurch away before being caught in his mother’s iron-fisted clutches once again.

“Mum – geroff!”

One of the twins snickered, leaning close to Ron. “Aaaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” 

“Shut up!” You saw the oldest of the red-headed siblings saunter towards his family, already draped in his robes. A shiny red and gold badge was pinned onto his chest, with the letter P engraved onto it.

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said stiffly. “I’m up front, the Prefects have got two compartments to themselves –”

“Oh, are you a Prefect, Percy?” One of the twins gasped, bringing his hands to his face in disbelief. “You should have said something, we had no idea.”

“Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it, once –”

“Or twice –”

“A minute –”

“All summer –”

You huffed a laugh at the back and forth going between the family. Percy the Prefect’s face was starting to sport a lovely bright, irritable shade of red. 

“How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” queried one of the twins.

“Because he’s a Prefect,” their mother smoothed Percy’s already-perfectly-smoothened hair fondly. “All right, dear, well have a good term – send me an owl when you get there.” 

She sent him off with a kiss. 

You sunk back into your seat. For some reason, the jovial atmosphere you’d felt upon discovering the magical platform had now become strangely dampened. 

Call it a moment of weakness, sure – but in that moment, you wished that you could have a mother. A mother who would dote on you like that or who would comfort you. 

But, as soon as that looming train of thoughts had festered, you vanquished them from your mind – the other kids could keep their affectionate mothers who waved them goodbye as they left, the same, in fact, would go for their superficial, gentle-natured fathers; you had your fame and that topped any shred of whatever they may have had, whatever you were missing.

As though the red-head family were suddenly attuned with your train of thought, you heard the voice of the youngest child (the girl) pipe up. “Oh! (Y/n) (L/n) On the train? Please can I go see her, Mum, please, please…”

“You’ve already seen her, Ginny, and the poor girl isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo. Is she really, Fred? How do you know?”

“Asked her. Saw the scar. It’s really there – like lightning.”

“Poor dear.” 

Your fingers traced the pattern of the scar, not particularly enjoying the feeling of pity emanating from the family.

“No wonder she was alone. I wondered. She was ever enthusiastic, though, when she asked how to get on to the platform. I’d have thought she’d be scared, by herself…”

“Never mind that, do you think she remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?”

The red-headed mother swelled like an angry bullfrog. “I forbid you to ask her that, Fred! No, don’t you dare. As though she needs reminding of –... ”

The disarrayed ruckus of another family hurriedly barrelling onto the platform and ushering their boy onto the train, stripped your focus from the ginger group. 

Observing the mop of black hair, you realised pleasantly that it was the boy you had met at the Quidditch store that day in Diagon Alley. Closely behind him, a stressed looking woman with copper-coloured hair, followed him briskly onto the train. Your lips twitched as you noticed that she possessed the same brilliant green eyes as her son. 

The father, a carbon copy of his son, followed seconds after, carrying a tremendously large trunk onto the train. There was one more man – perhaps one of the uncles the boy had mentioned – who remained on the platform, presumably allowing the family their final moments together. He didn’t really look alike to the mother or father of Quidditch Boy’s family, so you guessed that he was probably an uncle by choice, not blood. He had sandy brown hair with substantially sized scars running down the entirety of his face and neck. There was a large, shaggy black dog beside him too, and you swore that it had winked when it saw you looking at it.

A shrill burst of steam raged outwards from the chimney of the train. You guessed that this was a warning to families that the train was about to depart right now. True to your word, just as Quidditch Boy’s mother and father practically leapt off the train carriage they’d left their son in, the train doors slammed shut, and the vehicle began dutifully chugging forward. 

Left behind now, was the platform of nine and three-quarters.

Leaning back in your seat, you exhaled roughly. This was it, the moment that marked the beginning of your journey into Hogwarts. You had no clue where you were going, but you just knew it would be good. A grand moment, you were sure, but what you were also sure of was that the next few hours on the train (or possibly days or months, who knew?) would result in you being bored out of your mind. Stuck in an empty carriage by yourself with no one to talk to – tragic – maybe it would do you some good if you popped down into one of the other carriages and try to find some other first-years.

Coincidentally, the door of the compartment was opened by none other than Quidditch Boy himself. His hair was askew, glasses lopsided and cheeks clearly flushed from the rush of trying to scramble onto the Hogwarts Express before it departed. He did not have his trunk with him, so his father was probably able to store it in time.

“Hey, again,” he flashed you a bashful smile. “Would it be alright if I could sit here with you?”

“Sure, no problem.” 

You observed him as he took the seat opposite you. He was already wearing robes of sorts, not the Hogwarts ones, judging from the lack of school emblem, but the sorts that you hypothesised would be the wizarding equivalent to a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Er,” he started, causing you to look over at him. “It’s nice to see you. Again.”

“Yeah.” you agreed with him, offering a lopsided smile. “Great. To meet you.” 

“Yep.”

The compartment fell into a highly awkward silence, one that you were not at all familiar with. Back with the Caddels, or even at your previous school, you had no problem whatsoever making friends with strangers. In fact, conversation came easily to you – you weren’t the school captain for no reason, after all. So the stuffiness invading the atmosphere was most definitely unwelcome, and quite frankly, unnatural.

Thankfully the awkward cloud hanging above you and Quidditch Boy dissipated abruptly when the compartment door slid open again, revealing the tall, freckled, ginger boy, Ron.

His eyes widened when he saw you sitting in front of him. “Uh – sorry, anyone else sitting here? Everywhere else is full.”

Quidditch Boy shook his head and Ron took the seat beside them, so they were both facing you. Ron’s eyes hadn’t settled and he kept on glancing toward you and then toward the window whenever he made eye contact with you. It was amusing, his discomfort, from how often he did it.

“Hey, Ron.” The red-headed twins popped into the compartment suddenly. “Listen, we’re going back down the middle of the train – Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.”

“Right,” said the youngest sibling.

So we’re not going to question the spider. Okay, seems good.

“(Y/n),” the other twin, the one who hadn’t been talking to Ron, turned to you. “And other Kid,” referring to Quidditch Boy, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.” The three of you said bye in unison as the twins left.

As soon as they were gone, Ron blurted out, “Can we see the scar?” You blinked at him, and he went pink, but complied anyway (you had no qualms to showing off the lightning-shaped bolt). Pulling your hair back, the scar on your forehead was revealed to Quidditch Boy and Ron.

“Wow,” breathed out Quidditch Boy. “It really does look like lightning.”

Ron was equally stunned. “So that’s where You-Know-Who – ?”

“Yes.” You grinned brightly at their awed expressions. They stared at you a couple seconds longer before Ron diverted his gaze back to the greenery flitting through the window.

“So, is your whole family magic then?” you asked Ron. 

You already knew that Quidditch Boy’s father was a pure-blood and his mother was a muggle-born, whatever that meant; you weren’t going to be the one to say you had no idea what those were.

“Quidditch Boy?” puzzled Quidditch Boy, eyebrows furrowing. 

Ah, had you said that outloud? Whoops.

You laughed, bringing a hand to your nape. “Sorry, I don’t know your name, so I’ve kind of just resorted to calling you Quidditch Boy in my mind.”

“Uh, well, I’m Harry, Harry Potter.” said Harry, smiling at you once more. 

“Nice to meet you, Harry Potter.”

Ron interjected into the conversation, for which you were grateful. The ginger boy seemed to hold the power of evaporating awkwardness with a snap of his freckles fingers. “Pure-blooded means that everyone on his father’s side is magic. I’m the same – everyone in my family is a wizard, well maybe except for my mum’s second cousin who’s an accountant, but we don’t really talk about him.”

“I get it,” you said, cupping your chin with your hand. “I’ve got no clue what I am. But I know that my father had no magic.”

“A muggle,” Ron nodded appreciably. “Well, basically everyone knows that your mother was a pure-blood, though. That makes you a half-blood like him, since you’re a mix of two bloods.” He pointed at Harry. You were slightly startled that he knew more about your family and lineage than you did yourself. Maybe you should get used to people knowing more about you, than you did yourself.

“A muggle-born’s a witch or wizard who was born from muggle parents,” continued Ron.

You tilted your head to the side. “Where does their magic come from, if they’ve got no magical blood or whatever?”

Ron looked partially affronted. “Who knows, – magic isn’t exactly something that comes in a nice little package that gets delivered to you when the time is right. All I know is that if you’ve got magic, then you’ve got it. That’s all there is to it, really.” He waved his hands about in the air for further emphasis.

This was probably a topic Ron was passionate about, as you noticed his ears flushing red under the combined blank stares of you and Harry. You decided then that if Ron were to ever wear something salmon-coloured, it would definitely wash him out. You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between his face and his left knee.

You tried to recover from the painful silence. “You two must know loads of magic then.” 

“Not nearly enough as my mum wants me to,” said Harry.

“Hear, hear,” mumbled Ron.

“Huh. Guess that’s one good thing that comes out of being an orphan.” 

You chuckled at the uncomfortable looks on the boys’ faces. 

“I heard you went to live with Muggles,” said Ron, scratching the back of his neck. “What’re they like?”

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Not outstandingly nice or anything, but they do their job. Would be cooler to have wizarding brothers like you though.”

“Not if you’ve got five of them.” answered Ron gloomily. “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes and Charlie’s old wand. I wanted an owl, but they couldn't aff – I mean, they got Percy one instead for becoming a Prefect.”

Ron’s ears went pink again. Your brain, it seemed, was temporarily delayed and was not able to formulate a response to that.

“I’m sure you’ll do better than all your brothers combined,” said Harry. 

Ron smiled gratefully at him. 

As the train rolled onward and your surroundings grew greener, you, quite helpfully, took Hedwig’s cage and placed her on the centre of the table, announcing that the first one to get nipped whilst feeding her treats would be declared the ultimate ‘Lame Loser Lord.’ 

The three of you fell into an easy conversation after that, and you barely even realised how much time had passed until a smiling, old-looking woman popped her head into the compartment and said “anything off the trolley, dears?”

With that lovely gesture, you had leapt out of your seat and essentially pounced onto the food she was offering. Your pockets were lined with wizard money now, an infinite stash really, and so there was nothing stopping you from buying three of everything she had. As such, you, Harry and Ron had to drag back the food you’d purchased before dumping it on the table.

“Hungry, are you?” said Ron, raising his eyebrows at the pile of snacks that was nearly as tall as him.

“Starving,” you grinned back.

You, Harry and Ron tore into the pasties and cakes, the mountain rapidly diminishing by the second. There was one incident with a chocolate frog creeping into Hedwig’s cage before getting mauled by her talons. The card that supposedly came with the treat, according to Harry and Ron, had also been destroyed, so Harry had given his to you. One with a moving picture of Albus Dumbledore, who had waved politely at your stunned expression.

Once you’d moved onto Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans, you found a lot of enjoyment when Ron had the misfortune of coming across a bean that tasted like dirty socks. Though, your amusement at Ron’s plight had been adjourned with the appearance of a round-faced boy.

“Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad at all?”

“No, sorry.”

You were taken aback when the boy promptly burst into tears. “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“He’ll turn up,” said Harry.

“Yes,” said the boy, turning away dejectedly. “Well, if you see him…”

“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” remarked Ron once the boy had left. “If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could.”

You deadpanned at him. “You haven’t even got any pets to lose, Ron. I’m betting that if you ever got one, you’d have even worse attachment issues than Toad-Boy.”

“Mind you,” said Harry, talking around his mouthful of Cauldron Cake. “That’s saying a lot.”

“What’ve you got then?” asked Ron, turning his head to glare at Harry. “You seem awfully high and mighty for someone who probably doesn’t have rat, or even anything at all.”

“I’ve got a dog,” defended Harry. “Snuffles.”

You and Ron both stifled giggles. “Snuffles? No way you named your dog that!”

“I didn’t pick the name!”

“A dog’s not as good as an owl anyways,” you teased.

“I’d beg to differ – my dog totally is,” Harry grumbled, crossing his arms. “Plus you don’t even need to have an owl – the school’s got its own aviary shock-full of ‘em that you can send letters with.”

“One day, I’m gonna get an owl.” Ron sighed dreamily. “Just for myself, I wouldn’t have to share with Fred or George or Percy or Ginny.”

“Who’s Ginny?”

Before Ron could divulge the identity of this ‘Ginny’, the compartment door was opened by a bushy-haired girl whose face was wrinkled up irritably. Toad-Boy also made a reappearance.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.” 

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” said Ron, but the girl wasn’t listening. Rather, she had been staring at you. 

“You’re (Y/n) (L/n).” she declared matter-of-factly. “I saw you on the station. I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

Ron gaped at her and Harry blinked a few times repeatedly.

“Be surprised if I wasn’t,” you said, winking cheekily. You also had no idea what she was talking about though.

She studied you appraisingly before asking Ron and Harry “and who are you?”

“Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter.”

“Pleasure. Well, I’m Hermione Granger. I was ever so pleased when I got my letter to Hogwarts, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learnt all of our set books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough.”

All three pairs of eyebrows furrowed in synchronisation. You, personally, had only caught about one-third of what she had been saying since she’d been basically rapping out her words. 

Herminkoni (was that what she said her name was?) began talking again. “Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds the best by far, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad. Anyay, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

Herpes Motion thus turned around and left, taking Toad-Boy with her.

“Well,” you announced cheerfully. “She was nice.”

“Sure,” muttered Ron, reaching for a Treacle Tart. 

“She was right about one thing though,” said Harry, grinning and brushing his hair out of his face. “Gryffindor, by large, is definitely the best house.”

“Who’s Gryffindor?” you squinted your eyes at him.

Ron attempted an exasperated face-palm with his left hand (he was still holding the tart in his right). Harry laughed at this, and proceeded to explain the four houses to you.

Gryffindor had been the house Ron’s and Harry’s families had gotten into. The house of the brave, it was known for. Ravenclaw, the house for smart people (you had a feeling you would not be getting into that); Hufflepuff was the house for the loyal and well-meaning. And finally, there was Slytherin. Both Ron and Harry detested the green-and-silver clad house, for it had been the group to pump out the most dark witches and wizards.

“Ah,” you said. “So naturally, we should hate that house, since that was the one Voldemort was – “

“Woah,” said Ron, looking impressed. “You just said his name.”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s just a name. Anyways, I’m guessing that you all want Gryffindor then?”

“Of course!” Ron puffed out his chest. 

“Hey, did you – ?”

Unfortunately, whatever Harry had wanted to ask had been interrupted by the compartment door sliding open again. 

This time, it was a group of three – the ringleader being a sallow-faced, gauntly blonde boy. The other two were giant-sized, goliath looking boys who looked like his bodyguards. And, of course, they were all fixated on you.

“Is it true?” he said. “They’re saying all down the train that (Y/n) (L/N)’s in this compartment. So, it’s you, is it?”

“That’s right,” you smiled at him.

His lips twitched into a small smirk. He waved his hand carelessly at the two body-doubles next to him. “This is Crabbe and that’s Goyle. And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Ron choked on his treacle tart, but you suspected that may have been him trying to disguise a sneer. Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Ron, causing your hackles to rise immediately.

“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.” 

Ron’s face went pink again and he sunk into his seat. 

Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry, but before he could say something about his family, you cut him off.

“Oi,” you spoke, feeling your jaw clench at the blond boy’s demeanour. “I’d watch what I was saying if I was you, especially considering the crap that’s spewing out of your sewage-system of a mouth.”

Draco Malfoy turned his sharpened gaze toward you. “And I’d be more careful if I was you. You don’t want to make enemies with the wrong people.”

“The same goes for you.” 

You stared down Draco Malfoy. Harry was glancing back and forth between the two of you, and he looked ready to stand up if this altercation escalated.

“You don’t get to come in here and poke fun at us,” you muttered slowly. “Especially, if you want to end up on good terms with me.”

His cheeks tinged a faint pink. “Not like I would want to be friends with the likes of you.” He placed the emphasis on ‘you’ the same way you did.

You, Harry and Ron all stood up. 

“I think it’d be best if you left.” you gritted out, disliking the boy less and less by every twitch of his rat-like face.

Unfortunately for you, Malfoy’s rattish face had broken out into a sneer. “You’ll regret making enemies out of me, (L/n). I promise you that much.”

He furiously spun around and out of the carriage, but not before he could shoot you a final scathing look. Crabbe and Goyle chased after him, robes billowing out from behind them.

“What a buffoon,” you huffed angrily.

“Agreed,” said Harry, still glaring at the door.

“I’ve heard of his family before,” said Ron darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.”

“‘Specially if they thought it was the winning side,” added Harry.

The door opened before you could open your mouth. There was Hermit Yeti, yet again, standing at the entrance.

“What has been going on? Why did I just see three boys bolting out of this compartment?” She looked you up and down. “You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!”

“They were the ones starting it – not us!” defended Ron, scowling at her.

“All right – I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” she said sniffly. “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know that?”

“Thank you,” you interjected, glaring at her on behalf of Ron. “Could you leave now?”

And finally, Herm-onion left.

If you had to guess, it had been only an hour after that when the train had pulled to a stop. You had donned your robes, ensuring that they still had your signature wind-swept appearance about them. Ron and Harry were also wearing their robes now too. You stuffed your pockets with the remaining sweets as you left the train.

Hopping out of the train and onto the station, you were delighted to be met with the familiar, gentle face of Hagrid. 

“Firs’-years! Firs-years over here! All right there, (Y/n)?” He beamed at you from under his scraggly beard.

You waved enthusiastically at him. 

The first-years, it looked like, had their own means of reaching the school, which involved travelling in groups of four in a little boat across a lake. You, Harry, Ron and the bushy-haired girl (to your displeasure) took a boat close to the front.

Whilst you did not dislike the girl, you weren’t fond of her tendency to huff or be bossy, especially when she did it toward Ron (which you found she did often). Harry hadn’t done anything to get into her wrong books, and nor vice versa, so they were probably on the most amicable terms between you, him and Ron.

The boats glided in unison across the great body of water, before coming to a stop at the front of the school’s castle. You could hardly hear Toad-Boy’s reunion with his toad (“Trevor”) amongst the excited buzzing in your ears.

The gaggle of first-years came to a stop at the entrance of Hogwarts, a ginormous wooden castle door. Hagrid raised his fist and rapped three times on it. 

The door opened immediately. There was a stern, grey-haired witch standing behind it. She was sifting through the crowd intensely, and her gaze did not linger on your scar like how most peoples’ did.

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

The door was opened further and you streamed into the Entrance Hall. The entire school was huge, you realised, and was very elaborately decorated – like something you would read in a book. Flaming torches illuminated the corridor. The first-years were pulled into a little room, next to a place where you could hear the rest of the school talking.

It was then you noticed that Ron appeared quite pale under his freckles and that Harry was fiddling with his fingers. In fact, every first-year seemed to be exhibiting some sort of nervous tick, apart from Malfoy, who was rolling his eyes for some reason. 

You drew your eyebrows together in confusion. Should you have been scared too? It wasn’t like they were going to force you to fight each other or anything right? At least, that’s what you hoped. Although, you definitely knew that if they made you fight, you’d win.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and speed free time in your house common room.

She continued giving a debrief of the houses, but as it was something you had already heard from Harry and Ron, it wasn’t anything new. You fidgeted restlessly, wanting to get onto the Sorting already.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” Her eyes lingered on your messy hair and ruffled collar, where one lapel was sticking up. 

Once she left, you turned to Harry and Ron. “What do they do to get us into these houses? Is it like a test? Based on how you answer, that’s where you get in? Like, ‘what is the square root of sixteen?’”

“That’s probably only good for finding Ravenclaws and non-Ravenclaws though,” said Ron, taking you seriously. “My brothers said it was a test too, though. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.”

Harry was looking more unsettled by the minute. 

“Hey,” you said, patting his shoulder. “Don’t be nervous. I’m sure Ron’s brothers are just messing with us.”

“Me too,” nodded Ron.

“But,” Harry’s green eyes met yours anxiously. “A test? In front of the whole school? I barely know two spells, how will they sort me with that? What if they send me home? What if –”

“Listen,” you said. “That’s already two more spells than I know, and probably most of the first-years too. That Malfoy included.” 

You narrowed your eyes at said boy, before returning them to Harry. “Don’t worry, alright? I’m sure we'll all do great.” 

Beside you, Ron nodded appreciatively (although it looked like his skin was beginning to reach a sickly pale green colour).

“You’re right,” said Harry, and you were pleased to see that he was a fraction less scared than he was a moment ago.

You didn’t bother with ‘smartening yourself up.’ You were already pretty smart enough, in your opinion. Having bested the darkest wizard of the age at a meagre one year old didn’t come to just anyone, you know?

After a whole debacle with some ghosts flying in to greet you before the ceremony, Professor McGonagall entered the room once more. You all trudged in a single-file line into the Great Hall.

You gaped openly at the Great Hall, which looked even bigger than the Entrance. Four long tables were lain across the room, with golden plates and goblets sitting on each. The students were segregated by houses, indicated by the colour of their robes and ties. There were also several candles floating in the air, which was pretty sweet too. Oh, and the roof looked like the sky as well. 

Professor McGongagall placed a three-legged stool in front of school, and then she placed a rusty-looking hat on top of it. You deadpanned when it broke into song, and even more when everyone burst into applause once it finished.

“So, we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Ron whisper-yelled to you and Harry. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!”

Harry gave him a nervous smile, and you said “I told you it wouldn’t have been that bad. Probably.”

Professor McGonagall approached the stool, unravelling a long roll of parchment paper. “When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

Hannah stumbled from the crowd of first-years and toward her. If you squinted, she looked a little like Odette, with yellower hair. She placed the hat on her head and after a moment of silence, the hat shouted out “HUFFLEPUFF!”

The table on the right, with the yellow-and-black clad students cheered and hollered as Hannah went to join them.

‘Bones, Susan’ went up next and she too went to Hufflepuff. ‘Boot, Terry’ went to Ravenclaw, and ‘Brown Lavender’ became the first new Gryffindor. The cheering from the red table was definitely the loudest, especially when right after ‘Bulstrode Millicent’ was sorted in Slytherin and all she got was only a polite and semi-silent applause from her new house.

A few more people went, and then, so did ‘Granger, Hermione’ (so that was her name) who sat on the stool for a precariously long period of time before being sent to Gryffindor. Ron groaned. Toad-Boy (Longbottom, Neville) got Gryffindor too, but he was on the stool for longer than Hermione. A few more people went after them.

You were raising your hand to scratch your ear when your name was called. 

As you stepped forward, the students in the Hall whispered loudly, just as they had done at the station.

“(L/n), did she say?”

“The (Y/n) (L/n)?”

Those comments did not help the rising ego blooming inside of you. You swaggered over the stool and sat down. Your fingers delicately gripped the brim of the hat. The fabric felt ragged and old underneath your fingertips. You brought the Sorting Hat down toward your –

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat had barely scraped the fly-away hairs on your head when it had shrieked out the name of your house. 

The Great Hall was silent for a few, stunned moments, taken aback by your instantaneous sorting (which you guessed was not a frequent occurrence). You stared back at them with wide eyes, darting downwards to look at Harry and Ron. They were wide-eyed too, before Harry broke the silence and beamed a gigantic smile at you, and the Gryffindor table erupted into cheers – louder cheers than for any of the people before you. 

You felt a warm glow in your chest. You looked around the table, and saw many friendly faces. Percy the Prefect had dived over the table (almost) to shake your hand vigorously and you could hear the Weasley twins jeering and yelling out “We got (L/n)! We got (L/n)!” Even a ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, was congratulating you by patting your arm, which felt like you were being doused in a cold bucket of water.

At the High Table, Hagrid was grinning and gave you the thumbs up. Dumbledore, you recognised him from the chocolate frog card, was up there too with a faint twinkle in his eye.

The only notable people left up, really, were Harry and Ron. 

Harry had been called first.

The Sorting Hat was sat upon his head for what seemed to be the better portion of an eternity. For the first time since your arrival, you felt a jolt of fear. What if you and your friends would be separated into different houses? You didn’t to be stuck in a full with only Neville and Hermione, everyday you would wake up to find Neville’s slimy toad on your pillowcase or –

You felt a surge of joy and relief, as after a minute or two, the hat declared “GRYFFINDOR!” and the Great Hall erupted in cheers for Harry. You clapped your hands and smiled widely, looking for him among the sea of red and gold.

He took a seat beside you and you high-fived him.

“Nice to see you here, Potter, Harry,” you said, changing your voice to mimic McGonagall’s.

“Nice to see you too, the (Y/n) (L/n),” he snickered, mocking the way the students had reacted when they’d heard your name.

You grinned at him, shoving his shoulder.

Ron joined you rather quickly, even though he was one of the last people to get sorted. You were delighted at this, as it meant you could still be with them for the rest of your Hogwarts years, according to what Professor McGonagall had said.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, “Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

He sat down, and as he did, food magically appeared in front of you.

“Is he – a bit mad?” Harry asked you uncertainly.

“Probably,” you said, shrugging, reaching for the roast potatoes.

You scarfed down your food, listening to the conservation around you. You cheered when the dessert had come, causing the people around you to chuckle, quietly – except for Ron, who had gotten to the apple pie before you could.

You wrestled Ron for a slice of said pie, and were happily munching on it when you glanced back up to the High Table. Hagrid was drinking from his goblet, and Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore were in a deep discussion with each other. Another Professor, in a purple turban, was fiddling nervously with his cutlery, tapping his fork against the edge of the table. He was speaking with a professor with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin.

The teacher, as though he could sense your presence, glanced straight past the Turban-Professor and bore his black eyes into yours – a sharp, hot pain seared within your scar, and you let out a hiss of pain.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked you, foreheading furrowing in concern.

“N-nothing.” The pain had left as quickly as it had come. How strange. You got the feeling that the hooked-nose teacher did not like you very much.

“Who's that teacher, the greasy-haired one?” you pointed at him, not discretely.

Harry stifled a laugh. “That’s Snape. No one likes him, they say he wants to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, but every year he gets stuck as the Potions one instead. My dad doesn’t like him at all – actually, my entire family doesn’t really too.”

“Why’s that?” you questioned.

“Not sure,” said Harry, but he scratched his cheek nervously. “They won’t tell me.”

Deciding not to press him further, you continued to watch Snape a little longer. He never looked at you again, though, after that.

Once the desserts had all faded away, Dumbledore had announced his final speech and conducted a very tragic school school orchestra. He wiped his eyes when he had finished. “Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

Powering your legs through the sheer force of the food you’d guzzled down, you followed Percy up to the Gryffindor Tower. With horror, you realised that you’d have to climb an average of seven staircases everyday, simply just to get to your bed. 

Anyways, the entrance to the Gryffindor headquarters was through a painting of a Fat Lady and she flipped open when you told her the password, Caput Draconis. You scrambled through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room. 

You lazily trudged up the stairs, and without even bothering to notice that your trunk had been transported up to your dorm room, you face-planted onto your bed and fell into a heavy sleep.

Perhaps you had eaten a bit too much, because that night, you had a very strange dream. 

You were staring into a mirror, desperately trying to tug off a purple turban from your head. When did you get a turban? How did you get a turban? The fabric of the turban grew tighter, making you feel a sharp pain in your skull as the turban squeezed your head like a vice. You wondered how you got into this mess in the first place.

Furiously pulling, pulling, at the turban finally caused it to unravel and expose your hair. With a start, as you glanced back to the mirror, you discerned that your face had, horrifyingly enough, taken on the face of Snape. His own black, empty eyes stared back at you. 

You scrambled back, leaping away from his cockroach-like eyes, only to find that, for some reason, there was a bottomless abyss behind you. You fell down, down, down into a pit. Closing your eyes as your head thrummed painfully, you braced yourself for the impact. 

A bright flash of green light, and a high, cruel laugh jerked you awake. 

Oddly enough, however, when you’d gone back to sleep, you hadn’t remembered the dream at all. You did question, however, the next morning why when you closed your eyes, all you saw was a luminous, green light in the shape of a lightning-bolt scar.

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡  　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

→ Author's Note: Hello my lovelies, welcome to ch 1.2 yippee!! Sorry that its super long but we’re pretty already halfway through the ch 1 portion of the series XD — I’m guessing now that it's gonna reach about 1.4 or 1.5 but I could also be widely incorrect :P Anyways that’s all so catch ya next time :))) thank you

Time for this chapters analysis ~ You will have probs noticed one of the most canon-divergent parts of this series so far is that instead of the same dilemma Harry faced when he was getting sorted (Slytherin vs Gryffindor), as soon as the hat touched the little hairs upon your head, you were sorted into Gryffindor. During this chapter, and a little of the last one (but mostly this one), I've kinda been subtly trying to hint that the Reader is really quite arrogant and brazen. Rather than Harry as the chosen one, where he longs for a quiet and normal life, Reader dives headfirst into her role. She shamelessly self-promotes her lightning-scar and doesn’t try to hide it – she knows she’s special and she feeds into that!!  She’s kinda like James Potter in that regard >.< and therefore I want her to kind of be epitome of a Gryffindor (courageous and arrogant) and maybe, maybe not, a parallel to Draco Malfoy (who also got sorted into Slytherin ASAP, and is ambitious and arrogant) hehe → that’s also why Reader and Malfoy get more aggressive even more quickly than Harry did in canon… Anyways!!! This is the briefest hint at what I have in store for this series, and we’ll see how Reader’s arrogance courageousness deviates Harry Potter from canon.  Tbh I’m planning to make the reader Percy Jackson-coded (with the sass and reckless bravery and loyalty and what not) and maybe just the slightest bit Gojo-coded hehe,  I know that it's not that clear rn lol but I’ll work my way into it hopefully… Anyways, thanks again! :D Series Masterlist

Taglist (thanks for asking!): @kaverichauhan

#harrypotter #harry potter fandom #harry potter marauders #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #harrypotterxreader #harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #HJP x reader #the girl who lived #train rides and talking hats #train rides and talking hats harry potter x reader #chapter 1.2 #chapter 1.2 train rides and talking hats #train rides and talking hats harry james potter x reader #real harry potter x reader #harrypotterxchosenone!reader #the girl who lived! reader #harry potter x chosen one! reader #the girl who lived harry potter x chosen one! reader #harry potter x reader tumblr #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #chosen one! reader #harry potter swap au #jily lives #the marauders live

[burntwaffle12]

"Fanfic ideas?" No, babygirl, they're visions and messages sent to me by god. I'm supposed to spread the word and bring balance to the world in the form of my two blorbos making out.

#not religious btw #its cool if you are tho #i swear the ideas come to me like im the chosen one and need to get it out for people to read #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfiction #fanfiction

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Jesus | Both Jew And Gentile | Platonic

Dialogue prompt: “My salvation is for anyone willing to accept it.”

Requested: Yes

As a Gentile, you feel unwelcome amongst the frosty Followers of Jesus. The Messiah Himself rebukes their sneers for a brief rundown of important factors within His lineage, reassuring you that it does not matter where you come from regarding matters of the Kingdom.

Abashed, you feel like an outsider as you scurry after the crowds of people, your hood pulled over your face to hide your identity. The air is thick with kicked-up dust and you stifle a cough behind your fist, following meekly, hoping to catch nothing but a glimpse. It is all you require to know that it is true, to know that He is the One. 

John the Baptiser had been adamant you’d go and see Him about your suffrage. The imprisoned preacher who had been introduced to you through your friend Joanna had immediately realised you were doing unwell when you visited him in his cell one evening with your brow knit together in discomfort. Pressure inside your head and behind your eye caused immense pain as well as memory loss, and over the course of years, it had grown worse. 

Jesus was the only One Who could help you now. John had been insistent and Joanna had convinced you to go find Him. 

And with nothing left to lose, you went to Capernaum. All the way from the Decapolis, you managed to find your way here, yet you were not the only one vouching for His attention. 

A jolt of pain goes through the side of your head and you squint immediately, squeezing your eyes shut as your hand goes up to your eye. With a pained groan, you slow in your step, but soon regain full consciousness as someone roughly pushes you forward. 

You stagger into the congregation of people who tug and pull at one another in the hopes of coming closer to the Rabbi, Who has found a place on a small platform to overlook the people. A few men, whom you reckon to be His followers, guide the horde to stand in even queues, but the impatience does not wane.

“He’ll be with you in a minute,” one of them says. He is clad in a light brown tunic and has sleek dark hair as well as a beard. On his face sits a determined frown. “Just give Him a moment, one by one, people!”

Looking around, you feel desperation weighing down your heart. How are you ever going to speak to Him if there are hundreds of people around?

A couple walks up with their daughter, who requires healing for her lungs, because she keeps coughing up blood. Jesus smiles kindly and you watch with bated breath how He puts His hand on her shoulder, closing His eyes to pray.

The girl seems to be visibly changing - her back straightens out as she draws a deep breath, and the widest of grins spreads over her face. The parents cheer and scoop her up happily. Contagious as their joy is, you cannot fight the smile that tugs upwards your lips. The crowd bursts in applause and sounds of delight.

A second person is being led to Jesus who seems to have some kind of malady regarding his toes, but these get healed as well. Dancing around happily, the man throws away his crutches, running off into the distance. You turn to watch him leave and smile broadly, glad to see that he, too, has been made better.

Next up are two sisters who guide their elderly mother to the Man and tell Him what is going on so softly that you cannot hear what is going on, but Jesus simply nods and puts a hand on her hip before praying for healing.

It does not get old – one after the other runs away bounding like young children with rejuvenated bodies, void from illness, and what else can you do but cheer and clap for God’s glory? John had indeed not been exaggerating when he promised Him to be a true Healer of both physical and spiritual matter. Your heart sings inside your chest and you feel like you are floating with joy for them, happily drifting closer to Him, slowly but surely as more and more people get healed.

However, at this pace, it might take ages for you to come up, and the sun is sinking behind the horizon, twilight painting the sky in pink and orange hues. Some people stalk off because their children get fussy, others lose their patience, but not you. You stand and wait even far after nightfall, and it is nearly your turn to be healed when one of His followers heads up to the person at the front and announces that it is time to call it a day.

“We’ve been waiting here for hours!” someone behind you cries out, “I even decided to skip dinner just so that I could be here. Now I am both sick and hungry! How unfair!”

“Well, our Rabbi is very tired and also needs to rest–”

Someone else expresses their disapproval. “And tomorrow we’ll probably have to wait for hours all over again!”  

As the bickering continues, you let your gaze go to Jesus, Who seems indeed exhausted, with dark bags tugging under his eyes as he gulps down the contents of a waterskin. You feel for Him, because it must not be easy at all, for people demanded things from Him for hours on end without giving Him a chance to sit down. 

Perhaps tomorrow, you think to yourself, stepping away.

However, another bout of pain renders you paralysed and you immediately halt to grip at your temple, groaning out in pain. Blood rushes inside your ears and for a moment it is all you can hear.

“Careful! Are you okay?” a muffled voice sounds. Your limbs hurt and you’re suddenly a lot colder, until you realise that you must have fainted, for you are sprawled out on the ground, pathetically so. In the process, your hood must have fallen off, and the follower of Jesus with the sleek hair staggers back in his actions to help you back up. 

“She’s a Roman!” he spits, “What do you think you are doing here, huh?!”

“Simon, leave her alone.” Jesus’ voice cuts through the air loud and clear and everyone steps away from you as He approaches, “That’s quite enough.” 

For a long moment, Jesus looks at you as you lay on the ground, covered in dust, almost pathetic, with your knit brow where sweat has started to form, (h/c) strands sticking to it as you unevenly breathe, “Jesus of Nazareth,” you say, “I’ve heard about you from your cousin.”

“She knows John?” a curly-haired and curious disciple questions, but the follower Jesus had called Simon bumps him in the arm. 

“That doesn’t matter, she is a Roman!”

Jesus turns to him sharply and gives him a stern look before looking back at you again. He holds out His hand. “Get up, daughter.”

“Daughter? Jesus, how can You possibly say that to—”

“Simon, you can learn a lot from this woman.” Jesus cuts him off. You take His hand at last and allow Him to help you up, and you find your balance by grabbing onto his arm for support. 

“Thank You, Rabbi.” 

Jesus smiles and nods. “Of course. You have travelled far to be here, no?”

“I have.”

“All the way from where?”

“Machaerus.” 

“Hm…” Jesus hums, looking over His shoulder to cast a glance in the direction of the disciple who has been opposed to your presence here, “That is a long way from home, (Y/n).” 

Your eyes widen, and you know that of course He knows, but you ask it regardless: “How do You know my name?”

Jesus’ dark eyes glitter a little as he smiles. “I know a lot of things about you. For example, that you have been struggling with intense headaches for years, that they have started to become worse and happened to make your life a whole lot more miserable.”

You whisper an affirmative answer and bring your fingers to one eye before closing it, so that you can press down on it, somewhat alleviating the pressure. “I’ve… Been having trouble remembering things.” you say. “It’s embarrassing, really.”

“Not as embarrassing as you being Roman–”

“Simon.” Jesus snaps at last, pointing a warning finger in his direction. “Not a word from you anymore.” He looks at you again and kindly smiles. “You said that you know John?”

“Yes.” you say, “He told me to go and see You. I-I know that You can heal me, Lord.”

Jesus hums and slowly nods. “That is all I need to know.”

“I-I-I know that You are probably not really willing to help out a Roman like me. I know that my people hurt Yours. And I’m so deeply sorry for that. I-I can even pay you. I’ve got money, and-and-and– I understand if you don’t want to heal me because I am a Roman.”

“There is no need for you to pay me.” Jesus interrupts you. Simon inhales to comment something vile, but Jesus has to do nothing else but pause in His words for the disciple to decide against it. “Your faith is enough payment as is, hm? Even though you aren’t Jewish and you were not forced to listen to John’s advice to come and seek Me out. It is wonderful to see.”

You let out an amused huff and smile, a more serious look befalling your features. “Please, Lord, I know You will heal me.”

He places His palm onto your temple, right on the spot where the pain is located, and closes His eyes. You follow this example and bow your head, and even though you aren’t very familiar with the God of Israel yet, nor with the customs in Judaism and what this would mean to your Roman traditions, all you can suddenly sense is warmth, as if something flushes over your and rinses you away from your illness. 

It takes only a few seconds, but when Jesus withdraws His hand, you know that you’ve been healed. The pressure behind your eye is gone and you can suddenly see way clearer, a gasp of amazement leaving your lungs. Of course you were fully aware that He would heal you, and you had been completely convinced that He would be successful, but it still feels like a relief. 

Jesus smiles at your wonder and you fall to your knees immediately, putting your hands together under your chin as you look up at Him with a gasp. “Thank you, Lord, how ever can I repay You? I did not deserve this.”

“If you want to repay me, let me suggest something.” Jesus begins, smiling. “First, come stand with Me. Please.” He helps you to your feet and you look at him expectantly, the amount of followers surrounding Him increased in number for of course it has drawn attention. “My followers here seem to be very wary of you, because of your background. And you said that you are aware that the Romans have hurt the Jews and still do so in many ways. However, they seem to be forgetting something very important.”

Jesus turns to His disciples, who give you suspicious looks, but the gaze of their Teacher makes their sneers falter in shame. “My lineage contains many Gentiles, my friends. Do you remember who Ruth was?”

“Boaz’ wife.” Simon notes, and Jesus nods, patiently awaiting an addition to that answer. 

“And?” He queries when nobody speaks up. 

“And she was a Moabite.”

“Yes, thank you, Nathanael. Ruth was a Moabite yet one of my ancestors. Anyone else that springs to mind?”

Brief silence. “Rahab?” a woman asks with a little uncertainty in her voice.

Jesus hums. “Yes, Ramah, really good. Two Gentiles down, and we’ve two more. Does anyone know?”

“Tamar and… Bathsheba.” A young man with brown curls states, and a taller man that stands beside him claps him on the shoulder.

“See, you did pay attention when Abba told us about it!”

Chuckling, Jesus nods. “Well done, John, I’m sure that Zebedee will appreciate that. Now then, Philip, I’m sure you will know this. What does the prophet Isaiah say about the nations?”

The follower named Philip clears his throat before reciting a prophecy: “And in that day there shall be a Root of Jesse, Who shall stand as a banner to the people; For the Gentiles shall seek Him, and His resting place shall be glorious.” 

At these words, Jesus pivots back to you. “Jesse is a descendant of them, and I Am that Root of Jesse. And you sought me out and found me to be the Banner. All you did was believe. It is all I require. Not your lineage, nor where you come from. My salvation is for anyone willing to accept it. And that includes you, (Y/n). So, back to my suggestion, and you may refuse, but I would be very sad if you did.”

You hold your breath as Jesus watches you with a kind smile. “Join Me and my followers on our next trip to share your story. We have another Gentile in our midst but not a Roman yet, so imagine the way you could spread the Kingdom of God.” 

With a widening grin, you put a hand on your chest and give a small bow. “I would be most honoured.” Jesus lets out a small hum and behind Him, his disciples seem to be a tad shaken by the news. However, your face falls and you blink in puzzlement. “However, I don’t know what that means, the Kingdom of God. I’m not familiar with anything, really.”

Laughing lightly, Jesus puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t you worry about that,” He says, turning to His followers to look at them one by one. “My friends here can teach you a whole lot, and we’ve got some time. But first, I think they should apologise for being so short-sighted.”

“I’m sorry.” the disciple named Simon mutters, and even though it does not come over as genuine, he lets his gaze fall to his feet in shame. 

Jesus winks at you and smiles. “He’ll warm up to you.” He whispers, “Now then, everyone, say shalom to our new addition. You’ve got a lot to learn from one another, I’m sure.”

And He is right, you realise when you are approached by a few followers who seem keen to meet you, their nerves taken away by the reassurance of their Rabbi. 

A new, irreversible phase starts, and you are delighted to be part of this group, grateful for Him.

#the chosen #the chosen x reader #x reader #reader insert #platonic #jesus #jesus x reader #the chosen jesus #chosen x reader #angel studios #chosen fanfiction #fanfiction

[randxmthxughts]

Chosen by Eywa - The Dream Hunt - Chapter 1

chapter 2 →

summary: eywa makes no mistakes... in the midst of his preparation to become the future olo'eyktan, neteyam is told to be with a chosen mate. guided by the signs of eywa, tsahik picks y/n, a woman orphaned by the war, whose heart already belongs to another

contains: arranged marriage, mentions of war and grief, angst, one-sided enemies to lovers

wc: 4.6k

a/n: i just wanted to say a major THANK YOU for 4k and for the support you have shown for this series before i even posted anything 😭 i hope this meets your expectations, and i am very excited for the next chapters

chosen by eywa masterlist | general avatar masterlist

Eywa makes no mistakes. Y/N had clung to these words her whole life, since the day her parents were taken by the merciless war against the sky people. She found comfort in knowing that her journey was already prewritten, destined for a greater purpose. But she had never expected for Eywa to turn her world upside down, forcing her to question everything she believed in, and lead her to a love that she never imagined possible…

The scent of smoldering herbs filled the air, mingling with the soft groans and hushed whispers of the healers attending to the small party of warriors. Y/N's deft hands worked quickly, spreading the last thick layer of healing poultice over the gash on his arm. He winced at the searing pain, then let out a weak chuckle at his own reaction.

"Mawey," she murmured to the injured warrior, her voice sweet with warmth that she failed to conceal, “We are done.” Their eyes met briefly, and a blush crept up Y/N's cheeks.

She turned away, to hide a small smile that tugged at the corners of her lips, and stepped closer to Kiri to search for another remedy in their shared basket. Neteyam, sitting beneath his sister's tender ministrations, winced slightly. His eyes then spotted Y/N, who was rifling through the herbs and ointments, though her thoughts seemed to drift somewhere else.

“What are you looking for?” Kiri asked, poking her head out from behind her brother.

“Oh,” Y/N turned, flashing the siblings a sheepish smile, “Was just making sure that we had enough eanean.”

Kiri nodded, though she was hardly convinced. Having worked with Y/N side by side for years now, she had grown to read her subtle moods. Over the past few months especially, with the increased work, the two women had become closer, and Kiri had suspected that there was something going on between Y/N and Kaye, the warrior she was just tending to. But she ultimately decided not to intervene. 

“I still don’t understand how you even crossed paths with those skxawngs at the Eastern border,” Kiri returned to the conversation she was having with her brother.

"They were lying in wait," Neteyam answered, his gaze still fixated on Y/N, "I don't know how they figured out we'd be there today, but they attacked us from above."

"That's very bad," Kiri sighed, applying fresh bandages to his back, “What if there were more of them?”

She circled to stand in front of her brother, while her eyes darted around the spacious tent. The healing tent had been expanded due to Mo’at’s request, who had decided that the old one was too cramped. Mo’at also took on more students because of the attacks from the sky people, and the clan now boasted a larger number of healers than ever before.

"We probably wouldn't have made it out alive," Neteyam sighed, disappointed. 

The future Olo’yektan saw no point in hiding the intensity of the day’s event; he had barely escaped his own death earlier. He was assigned to lead the party, and the weight of bringing his warriors to safety was heavy on his shoulders. How could he ensure they would never end up in the same situation again? Getting trapped by the sky people, almost facing death. He couldn’t help but feel insecure in his own ability as the future chief, maybe he wasn’t ready to pass his Dream Hunt yet.

Kiri's shoulders slumped in response, though the answer wasn't difficult to guess. She stole a quick glance at Y/N, who seemed to be frozen in place, listening to the conversation. If anything happened to Kaye, if she lost another person she loved to the war, would she be able to bear it?

The familiar touch of Kaye's hand on her back broke Y/N out of her thoughts. As he passed by, uttering a grateful "thank you," she blushed deeply, but the worry in her eyes was not lost on Neteyam.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Y/N dipped her feet into the cold water, feeling the soreness starting to slip away from her body. The river was serene, calming her, as she had been on her feet all day, working under the watchful eyes of Mo’at and tending to the injured warriors. Kaye, who sat next to her, nudged her thigh with his. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers, his canines peeking out with a small smirk.

“You know I don’t like it when you are upset with me,” he said, nudging her again playfully, “Y/N.”

Her ears twitched, as she turned to look at him with a hint of annoyance at how unserious he was being. He had accidentally blabbered about his stupid idea to take on two geared up sky people at once and almost lost his arm during the encounter.

“The Great Mother may have looked after you today, but it won’t always be so,” she said firmly, “I lost my parents to a slip-up like this. Eywa does not intervene in these matters.”

“I know,” Kaye cupped her cheek tenderly, recognizing the reminiscing in her eyes, “I will be more careful.”

She leaned into his touch, eyes closing for a moment with a small sigh. Her mind wandered back to the memories of her parents. It was a pain that never fully went away, a constant ache that still kept her up at nights.

“I worry about you, Kaye,” she murmured.

“And I worry about you,” he replied softly, his thumb rubbing circles on her cheekbone, “Which is why I think it is time to tell my family about us.”

Y/N blinked at him, feeling the familiar spark of hope ignite within her, but she quickly pushed it aside. She had heard these words from Kaye before, a promise that he had broken time and time again. His family held importance in the clan, his parents were strict, determined to arrange a mate for Kaye, just like they did for the rest of their children. And she was never worthy of their attention. She had nothing to offer to them. Kaye knew that too well, but he continued to give both of them false hopes of a bright future together.

“You don’t have to, it is no rush,” she mumbled, wondering if her devotion to him would ever be matched, “I don’t want you to fight with your parents.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Like in the womb of Pandora, surrounded by the elders and the Tsahik, Neteyam proudly wore the white paint on his body as he silently took a seat in the middle of the circle. His mother lingered behind with a mixture of worry and pride on her face; she had looked forward to the day her firstborn passed the Dream Hunt, but the earlier encounter with the sky people had shaken her slightly. What if Neteyam was too tired and wouldn’t survive his uniltaron? Jake threw an assurring arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his chest, and she gratefully complied, peeking at her son with a smile. Jake was grinning, confident that Neteyam, who had already accomplished so much at his age, would pass his trial with ease. He had prepared for it for months, what’s one more rite?

The chanting began to pick up with the beginning of the ritual, and knowing his role too well, Neteyam opened his mouth willingly when Mo'at approached him with a glowing worm hanging from her fingers. The worm wiggled around as Neteyam closed his lips around it and chewed it down. The smoke from burning herbs filled his nose and eyes, burning all the way to his lungs. 

The chant grew louder and more hypnotic, and the taste of the worm on his tongue numbed his buds like a torch. Neteyam felt his body vibrate involuntarily, and as his father placed an arachnoid on his neck, he felt it stung him twice mercilessly. Neteyam squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the noise and the pain, as his mind began to slip into a trance. He could feel his lungs give out with a sharp pain and as he desperately gasped for air, it seemed like he was falling, spiraling down with nothing to grab onto. His heartbeat suddenly was louder, faster in his ears, thumping in a rhythm as he plummeted it down. The world went dark, and when he opened his eyes, Neteyam saw himself in the forest, surrounded by mist.

His body went limp for a moment, bright sunlight blinding his vision. He gathered his energy and barely moved to his feet, when with a sudden gust of wind, a banshee flew right above him, so close to the ground that it almost threw him off. Instinctively, Neteyam reached to cover his eyes with his hand, and then he was no longer himself.

His body ached, as it began to stretch out. His hands were growing, transforming into wings, as venom flowed through his blood, he was suddenly floating above the forest. It was like he was on the back of his ikran but the feeling was more intense. Unmistakably, his mind was no longer his own, Neteyam saw and felt through the banshee.

A rush of adrenaline burst through him, and Neteyam, for the first time in his life, was free, as he soared through the sky. He couldn’t express it, but he could feel it somewhere in his heart that this is what he was meant to be. One with Eywa.

As he flew over the trees, he spotted and neared closer to himself. His own Na’vi body stood small and fragile from the new point of view. But there was also somebody else standing next to him. A woman holding his hand. She was laughing, her voice vibrantly filled his ears with a pleasant sound. A long necklace wrapped around her neck and hung all the way down to her stomach, adorned with big beads, glistening under the sun, and blue feathers. Her hair was let down in soft waves, and her face… When Neteyam tried tracing her features, he realized he couldn’t. The image began to slip away from him, and he felt his body betray him once again…

Suddenly, his eyes flew open, the darkness of the cave enveloping him. His trembling body was arched, palms digging into the soil beneath him, sweat rolling down his face in big drops. Neteyam took a moment to regain his breath, heart pounding.

“It is finished,” Mo’at’s voice broke the silence, words echoing through the cave.

Neteyam winced slightly at the loudness and rubbed his eyes to regain his vision. He could feel the eyes of elderly on him, then the relief in his mother’s voice, as she rushed to his side. Her hands reached for his face, massaging his temples.

“Did you see your spirit animal?” Neytiri asked with a smile, her eyes brimming with curiosity.

Neteyam nodded weakly, a small smile of his own stretching across his lips. 

“I saw an ikran… I was the ikran!” he exclaimed, his laughter filling the cave.

Jake and Neytiri joined in his giddy laughter, the rest of the circle smiling in approval. Neytiri pulled her son into a tight embrace.

“We are very proud of you, son,” Jake said, crouching down next to them and patting Neteyam’s head, knowing exactly what he went through.

“Thank you,” Neteyam smiled, then as if he remembered another vision from his Dream Hunt, continued, “But I saw something else too!”

Mo’at approached him hastily, making a room for herself, as she splayed her fingers against Neteyam’s face. She peered into his amber eyes with curiosity, urging him to continue.

“I saw a woman,” he smiled, the memory returning to him, “She was holding my hand… well, the hand of my Na’vi body.”

Neytiri gasped softly, her eyes widening with shock. Mo’at’s expression remained stoic, though she gripped Neteyam’s shoulder. 

“Did you recognize her, child?” she questioned, concealing her surprise.

“No, I couldn’t see her face,” Neteyam shook his head with a slight disappointment, “She was a Na’vi woman. But I couldn’t see her clearly.” He looked to his father, seeking answers, but found only confusion there. 

Neytiri and Mo’at shared a knowing glance before rising to their feet. Neytiri brought her hands to her chest, anxiety etched onto her features. Jake registered it immediately, now alerted too by their reactions. 

“Is something wrong?” he whispered to her.

She looked back at him, confusion marring her expression. She wasn’t really sure what it meant, only knew that Eywa very rarely sent a vision during the uniltaron. Mo’at circled around Neteyam, the air thick with tension. He waited patiently, his eyes trained on his grandmother, though he was already a little worried by how long she waited to speak. She took a step back and motioned for him to stand up. He complied, his body still weak.    

“The Great Mother had blessed you with another vision, a peek into your destiny,” Mo’at’s tone was serious. 

Jake’s ears perked up, unsure if it should excite him or scare him. He looked around the cave, seeking for a similar reaction, but everyone except him and Neteyam seemed to have an idea of what it meant. 

“What does it mean, grandmother?” Neteyam asked carefully.

“It is time, Neteyam,” Mo’at spoke with a glimmer of pride in her eyes, “The Great Mother thinks you are ready to take a mate. Your journey begins now.”

Neytiri wrapped her arms around her son once more with a bittersweet smile. She seemed relieved by the explanation. Neteyam, like the perfect son, had passed every rite on his own. Now it was time for him to face the rest of his challenges with a woman by his side, someone he would love and cherish. He wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. Jake watched with the same confused expression on his face, ever so often glancing at Neytiri to try and understand how he should react.

“If you have already chosen a mate in secret from the clan, you must reveal it now, child,” Mo’at spoke again. 

“No, grandmother, I have not chosen,” Neteyam shook his head firmly, “I am not mated with anyone.”

“Very well,” Mo’at heaved a sigh, then tilted her head slightly, “Do you have anyone in mind for the role?” 

“No,” he shook his head again, this time slightly embarrassed by his own answer. It was the only thing he lacked so far, “I didn’t have time for that.”

The words brought a pang of guilt to his parents. They both lowered their ears immediately, feeling fully responsible for raising their son with such a weighty burden on his shoulders.

“Good. Then the search begins,” Mo’at announced, “You will hear the answer soon.”

Neteyam felt his heart sink. His mouth hung open, as he looked around the cave for support but the elderly only seemed content with the decision and began to disperse. He would hear the answer? Were they going to decide for him? Of course, arranging bonds was quite common and successful in his clan, especially within the line of Olo’eyktans. Their mates were chosen carefully, keeping in mind that the couples had to be strong enough to lead their people through thick and thin. But he was content with his life as of now, exploring the forests and working on his skills. Neteyam didn’t feel ready, despite his vision. He glanced at his father, who was now frowning and clearly holding himself back from speaking, biding his time until they were left alone to discuss the matter further.

“Neteyam, you should go to the celebration, your brother and sisters have been waiting for you this whole time," Neytiri spoke softly.

"But mother -" Neteyam tried to protest.

"No buts, boy," his father interjected, “You did well. Go celebrate."

“Fine,” Neteyam nodded, his voice falling to a whisper.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

It has been a few days since Neteyam passed his Dream Hunt, but he was already impatient for his grandmother’s decision. It could take her months to make it, yet he couldn’t help the anxiousness. Was he too late to choose a mate for himself? What made it worse was the conversations he overheard between his parents. He tiptoed around the corner of his family tent, his mind already racing with conflicting thoughts. He had gathered every argument and piled it into a high tower, ready to unravel it onto his parents, but as their voices grew louder, he couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"I can’t believe you’re going along with this, Neytiri," Jake's voice echoed, his tone growing more exasperated by the second. "He should have a choice in who he wants to spend his life with."

"He didn’t make a choice in time," Neytiri replied, her voice firm, "But the Great Mother has. A mate has already been chosen by Eywa.”

“And what if he doesn’t like this arrangement? You were in his place once,” Jake was upset. He had never expected Neytiri to agree with Mo’at’s decision.

“Ma’Jake,” Neytiri sighed, “Eywa makes no mistakes. Neteyam received a clear sign, it would be foolish to ignore it.”

Neteyam's heart skipped a beat at her words. His mother seemed determined that it was the right step to take, and deep down, he thought he agreed with her. He had to trust in the wisdom of Eywa. Yet, Neteyam was scared because of his own helplessness. 

“I don’t know…” Jake trailed off. 

It wasn't fair play, arguing with Tsahik’s decision, with Eywa’s signs. Jake may have lived on Pandora for over 20 years, having been reborn as a Na’vi, but he still felt like an outsider when it came to the traditions of the clan. He wasn’t going to enforce his opinions with his position as Toruk Makto and go against everyone. But he also didn’t want to see his son suffer.

Neteyam sighed before stepping into the tent and revealing himself. Both of his parents stiffened, having suspected that he overheard their conversation. He felt caught between two and he had no other choice but to put a stop to it.

“‘Itan,” Neytiri’s expression softened, sensing the uncertainty in his eyes. She walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, “I know that you might feel confused but I believe that accepting Eywa’s sign will lead you to being a strong leader someday. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices, but ultimately the Great Mother looks after us. Our fate is already written.”

“Whatever your grandmother decides, you don’t have to go along with it, if you don’t want to, Neteyam,” Jake added with a strained voice, “Trust your heart.”

Neytiri nodded with a small sigh. She too was conflicted, torn between her trust and her love for her son. The vision during the Dream Hunt was a rare blessing, and Neytiri didn't want Neteyam to miss out on it.

“You have been destined for greatness, ‘itan,” her expression softened, “We will be with you every step of your journey.”

“Thank you,” Neteyam looked between his parents, “But I decided to accept the sign. And I want to make you proud,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jake and Neytiri exchanged a glance. Neteyam could feel the weight of his clan's expectations heavy on his shoulders, like he couldn’t refuse, no matter how much his parents expressed they would support him. Now, as he looked at their worried faces, he knew he had to put his own desires aside for the sake of his people. 

“Grandmother sent me over to get you. She has her answer,” Kiri’s voice trembled slightly as she delivered the news, interrupting their moment.

Her ears were flat against her skull, face etched with worry for the burden placed upon her brother. She could only hope that he would be happy and at peace with whatever will be decided.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

One man's joy is another man's sorrow. 

Becoming the future Olo’eyktan’s mate, getting accepted into his family, being his family, filling the hole left by the death of her parents. To be granted the ultimate praise and be chosen by Tsahik, be approved, be enough. After losing everything, it all seemed too good to be true to Y/N.

Her heart sunk deep in her chest, voice hitching in her throat before words of protest could even escape. How could she agree to being with Neteyam? Sure, he was handsome, skillful, he was respected and would be sweet to her. But he wasn’t Kaye, wasn’t the one she wanted. Not the one who promised to be hers. No. It was going to be Neteyam, the future Olo’eyktan. The guy who had grown up with the eyes of the whole clan on him. Who was performing all the time, concealed his true feelings. Someone whom she didn’t know well, whom she never saw that way. 

“Y/N, do you accept?” Mo’at asked, her voice louder this time.

Y/N’s thoughts raced faster at the gravity of the question. Mating with Neteyam would fulfill her duty to her people, a duty to carry on the traditions, an opportunity to belong, to be part of something bigger, greater. To finally feel useful, be able to give back to her clan. She glanced at Tsahik and could see the disapproval etched on the older woman’s features. 

Any girl would kill to be in her position. It felt like a slap to even consider rejecting Neteyam, Mo’at was convinced that her grandson was going to be everything and more. She had seen him in her visions since even before he was born. He had a strong heart, was destined to be a leader, guide his clan to a better future, make a happy one for himself too. 

The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, each breath Y/N took felt like a burden on her chest. Jake and Neytiri, who stood nearby, waited patiently, hoping for the answer they wanted to hear but also expecting the one they feared. It was hard to tell apart which was which. Y/N stole another glance at Neteyam, whom she had greeted only a few minutes ago, just before his grandmother revealed her vision of Y/N being mated with him. He looked guilty, chewing on his bottom lip, muscles tense, as he desperately seeked for a reaction from her, anything. He felt the guilt eating away at him, he wasn’t blind, Neteyam had seen they way she was around Kaye. He just couldn’t understand why they had never announced it to the clan. Maybe things wouldn’t be so difficult now… 

“I-I,” she stuttered, “I don’t know what to say, it is a great honor but…”

“But you deny?” Mo’at raised her eyebrows in disbelief, completely baffled with her answer.

“No - yes,” Y/N stammered, shaking her head, “I am only saying that there are many women in the clan who are worthy of becoming the mate of the future Olo’eyktan. Women better than me, who would know how to lead a clan.”

Mo’at pursed her lips together, clearly dissatisfied. Y/N wanted to scream, to run away, to hide from the responsibility that was thrust upon her so unexpectedly. Neteyam's eyes bore into hers, pleading silently for a chance. But she didn't know him, not really. How could she possibly agree to mate with someone her heart didn’t long for? Neytiri shifted uncomfortably, nudging Jake to do something, anything to ease the situation. He sighed, stepping forward to Y/N.

“I know it can be hard to let people take care of you, kid, but sometimes it is okay to let yourself just be,” he placed a hand over her shoulder, his features etched with sincerity, “Your parents were great people. I thought very highly of them, I truly mean it.”

“I know, Olo’eyktan, they respected you too,” Y/N nodded weakly. 

Ever since their passing, Y/N could feel Jake’s protective gaze on her. He had been looking out for her for years now, making sure that people in the clan treated her well. It was him who had asked Mo’at to take Y/N as a student because he saw the potential in her to help others. But now, it was time for him to be taking all that back, and the realization made her heart clench painfully.

“I’ve never told you this but before your mother passed away, I was there with her,” he paused for a moment, “She asked me to take care of you, to make sure you had a place in the clan. And I know of no better way to fulfill that wish than this.”

As he spoke, Y/N's felt like shrinking under the weight of his arm still resting on her shoulder. She couldn’t tell him that her heart belonged to someone else, someone she could never have because she had nothing to offer. Nothing to give, nothing to make his family think she was worthy of him.

“The sign of Eywa was clear,” Neytiri chimed in, drawing attention back to her, “Neteyam had a vision during his Dream Hunt. He saw his mate.”

“But that’s… that never happens during Dream Hunts!” Y/N seemed baffled too.

She looked at Neteyam, hoping for a further explanation, but he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Shame and pressure showed on his face, as if the argument made by his mother put him into an even deeper pit of despair. 

“It happens rarely,” Neytiri continued, then smiled softly, as if catching up on with her own thoughts, “Very rarely, Eywa sends these signs to exceptional Na’vi. It must be her way of saying that it is time to let somebody else help him on the rest of his journey.”

Useful. It was the precise word Y/N used, whenever she asked for Tsahik’s help during the lessons. When her eyes would go red from the amount of tears she shed when she felt unwanted. When she hid herself from the man she loved because his parents would never accept her. Y/N had always been a hard worker, eager to prove herself in the clan, but no matter how much she did, it never felt enough.

Neteyam watched her with fear and desperation. Now the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to make things work. The pressure of being the perfect son, the future leader, was a weight that he needed to share with someone strong.

Then they saw it. A single atokirina’, a sacred seed that had last appeared to Y/N on the day her parents were killed, floated around her, casting a soft glow over her features. For a moment, nobody spoke, watching the seed with adoring smiles. Y/N's expression softened too, feeling as if the Great Mother herself had blessed her. Eywa had spoken.

“It seems like Eywa tries hard to convince you, my child,” Mo’at's words were soothing, her voice softening as she spoke with adoration for her world.

"To be chosen by Eywa is a wondrous thing,” Neytiri added with a grin.

Y/N’s gaze met Neteyam's, his eyes searching for any sign of what she was thinking. Did he feel the same pressure as her? Did he want this, or was he as trapped as she was?

“Is this really how it works?” Y/N asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Eywa speaks to us in many ways, my child,” Mo’at nodded.

chapter 2 →

♡ taglist ♡ : @kiri-tuk @samiiistarss @afro-hispwriter @sharkybabe9 @iwantjaketosullyme @thexplosivegirl @peachinsomniac @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @koala-wonderland @sakura-onesan @bakugouswaif @nilsafaune-art @dimplesxx @yogurlllllllllllll @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @theycallmesia @crazy4books1 @empiricsad @summertimedepression @vihelm @athenachu @cleverzonkwombatsludge @ducks118 @couragemydearheart @ishadori @cheezitcracker @xstarsmvxz @jkeluv @qtkat @marsbars09 @xstarsmvxz @jkeluv @buckysleftarm420 @171625362772 @soleilmoon @skyline-night @bakugouswaif @blueslxt-primary @kavyaas-world

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#♡♡♡ #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #chosen by eywa series #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam angst #forced marriage #arranged marriage #one sided love #enemies to lovers #angsty romance #avatar 2 fic #avatar x reader #neteyam x omatikaya!reader #jake sully #tsahik #fanfiction #avatar fic recs #avatar 2 #neteyam #avatar the way of water #olo'eyktan #reader x neteyam #sully brothers

[parkvcrs]

#coryxkenshin #memes #cory kenshin #cory devante williams #the shogun #the chosen #the samurai #coryxkenshin imagines #coryxkenshin x reader #coryxkenshin fanfic #coryxkenshin fanfiction #coryxkenshin x y/n #cory kenshin x reader #comfort youtuber #youtuber x reader #youtube #spooky scary sunday #momo #sss #coryxkenshin meme #coryxkenshin fanart

[foxs0x]

First / Back / Next

I love grumpy Sceleritas, he who loves his master best.

Also I don’t know wtf is happening with his legs, I kinda gave up trying LOL

Pg3

The Imp of the Perverse

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanart #dark urge #the dark urge #bg3 durge #fanfiction #bg3 tav #durge #sceleritas fel #the dark urge bg3 #dark urge memory #dark urge comic #the imp of the perverse #bhaal lore #bhaalspawn tav #bg3 bhaalspawn #bhaalspawn #bhaal #bhaal babe #just bhaalspawn things #chosen of bhaal #temple of bhaal #fuck it we bhaal #durge bg3

[elysianholly]

Masquerade (WIP)

Thought I'd share a bit of my upcoming Elysian Fields April Challenge fic. This is plotted at 16 chapters, and 5 are complete at the moment. There's zero chance the whole fic will be done by the end of April, so the current plan is to post the first chapter and then wait and schedule the rest for later this year.

Inspired by this challenge on Elysian Fields. As of yet unbeta'd.

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

Title: Masquerade

Pairing: Buffy/Spike

Timeline: Post-Chosen

Expected Publication: Mid-2024

-------------------------------------- “So,” Willow said blankly once Buffy reached the end of her sales pitch. “You’re…staying. In Los Angeles. Indefinitely.”

Buffy furrowed her brow, glanced around at the others. It was just the core gang—Willow and Xander, Giles and Dawn, plus Faith and Kennedy, the latter of whom was there more an accessory to Willow, considering Buffy didn’t give a crap how she voted. Those girls who were set on seeing through the slayer gig were out with Andrew, and thank god for that, as there wasn’t enough room in her father’s house to accommodate everyone. Barely enough room to accommodate the people she was looking at. All of whom were looking at her with varying degrees of uncertainty. Something Buffy did not appreciate.

“No,” she said slowly. “I’m not staying in Los Angeles indefinitely. Just until we find out what Angel is up to.”

“And what do we think he’s up to?” Xander asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The eyepatch and shaggy hair gave him an air of manufactured authority that Buffy could do without, particularly when he was looking at her like she had a screw loose. “No offense, Buff, but none of us even knew this law firm was a thing until, what, last week?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just that you seem really worried about something that wasn’t on our radar before.”

“Xander, how do you think things end up on our radar?”

He shifted a bit at that, gave the room a look with his good eye as though trying to drum up support. “I’m just saying… Is it possible that you’re overreacting to this Angel news?”

“How so?”

“Because Spike died,” Kennedy said shortly, then threw up her hands when Willow shot her a warning look. “What? It’s what we’re all thinking, right? She learned that the necklace or whatever that killed her boyfriend came from this law firm and suddenly it’s all she can talk about. She didn’t even care until that Angel guy told her.”

“I didn’t care?” Buffy echoed, her shoulders going tense. Not that that was saying much—she was always tense whenever Kennedy opened her mouth, and usually for good reason. “According to who? You?”

“What? You were all proud of him on the trip up.”

“I’m still proud of him. I can be proud of him and suspicious about the thing that killed him at the same time.” She turned to glare at Willow—it was safer than glaring at Kennedy directly. Not as likely to lead to a larger screaming match, and therefore easier on her blood pressure. “The amulet—”

“Closed the Hellmouth,” Giles said in his watcher voice, or as she was starting to consider it, his I-know-better-than-you voice. “It worked as it should have. And given the information Angel was provided, we can’t say that the other outcome was unprecedented. The amulet was said to have cleansing powers—it did. Angel also told you that it was volatile, dangerous. It was. What exactly do you think you would have done differently?”

#spuffy #spuffy is endgame #spuffy fanfic #snippet sunday #spuffy wips #spuffy fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writing #buffy summers #post chosen #post series #fanfic wip #works in progress

[zilaphone]

Smosh fic writers + readers I have a question: when you write/read characters like the Chosen, Augustus, Brianna, JDB etc- do you picture their exact cast member as you write them? a younger them (a good chunk of fics have them in high school)? cartoons? I'm genuinely so curious

#this sparked bc so many writers mention that they're writing about the character not the cast member #so i wonder if that distinction carries over to how you see them too #me personally it's like I'm watching a nickelodeon sitcom with all the traditional actor blocking for the camera's sake #notably i don't see them as their 30 y/o actors somehow my brain has hazily deaged them to about so random age but like. edgy ofc #smosh #shayne topp #the chosen #damien haas #ausgustus st cloud #courtney miller #Brianna Boho #spencer agnew #john d. bad #john down bad #smosh fic #smosh fanfiction