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miraculousmarifan · 2 years

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Day 9: Unexpected Weather

One last @felinettenovember prompt before I get really extra busy! Hoping that I’ll manage to write some more before the end of the year but we’ll just have to see!

This is an aged-up, fluffy piece. Around 1700 words. Enjoy!

Felix tried to pull his jacket collar a little higher to keep out the cold breeze, scurrying down the street and glancing between the sky and the ground. It figures that this was one of the only days he had decided to walk to his classes rather than biking, with forecasts of perfect temperatures and just the right balance of sunshine and light clouds. The morning’s brisk walk had lived up to his expectations, especially with the cup of coffee to warm his soul and fingers as he walked. Unfortunately the last half of his final class was disturbed with the distant rumblings of thunderclouds and darkness rolling in quickly.

Now Felix just hoped that he could walk quickly enough to his apartment to avoid getting soaked by the rain rolling in. He usually only went through this neighborhood on the very rare occasion that he chose to walk and wished he knew where most of the businesses were, let alone when they’re open, in the event he needed to duck in. He hadn’t even thought to bring an umbrella, with how lovely the day had looked this morning.

As the first drops of rain started to hit his head, he glanced at the storefronts and buildings along the street. Up ahead on a corner, he finally saw one with a light on inside. His steps sped up desperately in an attempt to avoid the heavier rain that had started to fall.

Right as the rain started to seep into his jacket, finding a path down his neck, he reached the awning of the store. A bakery. The wind was picking up, blowing the rain at an angle that meant he was only partially out of the weather when right up to the wall. He tugged on the door handle, hoping to get to a safer spot where he could wait out the storm.

Despite the posted hours showing that they’d be open, the door didn’t budge.

Felix tugged again, with no luck.

A third attempt was fruitless.

He dropped his head against the door, as the chill set into his bones. He couldn’t believe his perfect day had turned into this. He couldn’t help but wonder if whatever ran this universe had a grudge against him. Dwelling in his thoughts, Felix didn’t hear the gasp and rapid footsteps approaching the door he was leaned against.

His spiral and balance were broken by the door opening suddenly beneath him. He managed to catch himself before falling on top of the dark haired girl on the other side of the door, but was sure that his expression was comical.

“I am so sorry! The door handle sometimes sticks and I keep telling my parents that they need to get it fixed because people think it’s locked when it isn’t and they’re going to lose business at this rate!”— she pulled on his arm, bringing him the rest of the way inside—“Hurry up and come in before you catch your death in this storm!” With him in the building, she firmly shut the door behind him and turned to look at him.

Felix blinked a few times as his mind worked to catch up with the change in scenery. While his eyes moved over the space, his skin tingled at the warmth of the bakery and the smells were almost overwhelming. Then there was the short girl that let him in.

“Thank you for letting me in. I’m so sorry to inconvenience you.” He smiled with as much warmth as he could muster as he quickly turned back to her. He reached a hand out to take one of hers as he spoke again, "My name is Felix. And you are?"

"Marinette," she replied softly, blushing and looking at his face with a dreamy expression. The moment their hands made contact, he started to raise her hand and leaned to kiss her knuckles without breaking eye contact.

She suddenly jolted to attention, the blood fleeing her cheeks as she yanked her hand to her face with a sharp gasp! "Oh! You're so cold! I should've realized sooner with you being out in the rain! Let me grab you a towel to dry off"— as she spoke, she rushed towards a door behind the counter and rotated between watching her step and glancing at him—"and you can sit here until the storm passes! Oh and—" she reached the door, then paused before going through, turning once more to gaze earnestly at him," —would you like something to drink to warm you up? We have tea, hot chocolate, coffee…?"

"Tea would be wonderful if you don't mind the trouble. I drink nearly any type so whatever you have works for me."

With a quick nod, she passed through the door. Felix thought about the way she grew more flushed the longer she spoke, until the moment she stood at the door, looking at him with a fully pink face and shining eyes. He moved to stand next to the table closest to the door she had just departed, thinking how lucky he was that she had seen him outside. No other store would he anticipate such hospitality, just for coming in during a storm.

Her return was quick, with a small teapot and two cups on a tray and a towel slung over her shoulder. She smiled at him when she came in, set the tray on the counter, rather than the table he stood by, then handed him the towel.

"The tea needs to seep a little longer but I figured you could dry off in the meantime," she explained sheepishly as he accepted her offer, then she stepped around behind the counter and began to place a few pastries on a large plate. "Do you have any preferences for pastries? We have a variety and probably won't get as many customers in today with the weather."

"Ah. Anything is fine, as long as it isn't too sweet. I'm sure you probably know what pairs best with this tea."

With another nod, she pulled out another two different pastries and set them on the plate before setting that on the tea tray. She glanced up to see him watching her, towel wrapped around his shoulders, and blushed for a moment as she carried the tray over to the table. "If it's okay with you, I'll just sit here with you for a little bit. Things are so slow today…"

He nodded, smiling at the prospect of spending more time with the pretty girl in front of him, then sat down across from her.

She poured tea into both cups in silence, eyes flitting up to him occasionally, then gently passed one cup over to him. The warmth of the cup felt heavenly to Felix’s fingers and his eyes shut for a moment as he wondered that he hadn't noticed just how cold his hands had gotten. As he opened them, he caught her watching him curiously.

"So why were you out in the storm?"

Felix flushed, then explained his plan for the day and the resulting predicament. She looked sympathetic, even if she was slightly amused. She asked questions about him, such as where he was going to school, and he returned them in kind, falling into a rhythm as they got to know each other better. The pair found that while their university schedules didn't match perfectly, there were a few days a week where both had breaks from classes.

The afternoon wore on and the storm passed without either noticing as they chatted. Each refilled their tea cups when necessary and the pastries were casually eaten, though Felix couldn't tell afterwards what kind she had given them, as he was more interested in mapping the light freckles on her face or watching how her opinions about different topics would transform her entire countenance.

Both jumped and flushed when a woman leaning on the counter cleared her throat with the hint of a smile. Felix looked out the window to see clear skies, though the light was fading quickly, and Marinette turned toward the noise, then quickly stood up.

"Maman! I'm so sorry! I was a little distracted," she stuttered out, a hand reaching up to tuck back a piece of hair that had slipped into her face.

Felix stood stiffly and apologized as well, checking the time on the wall clock to see he had been there for hours. He felt his pockets and tried to remember if he had put his wallet in his pocket when he was on the subway or if he had slipped it back into his bag. He of course should've thought to pay for the food he had, especially with having stayed there in the warmth for so long. His self consciousness grew as he realized at some point he had slipped off his jacket and his hair must've been a mess from being out in the weather for so long.

The woman, Marinette’s mother, simply smiled wider, tilted her head and assured Marinette that it was all alright, as long as she introduced them to her friend. With quick introductions, Felix apologized to Marinette for keeping her so long and quickly found his wallet in his jacket pocket.

"How much do I owe you for the pastries and tea? I would hate to have put you out when you've been so kind…" Felix hated the way his voice seemed to stumble now, after they had been talking seamlessly for so long.

"Supper," Sabine chimed in, without a moment’s hesitation. The pair turned with wide eyes. The woman's smile grew and amusement shone through as she asked, "Does tonight work alright for you or do you need to hurry home?"

Felix agreed sheepishly and was escorted up to the family's apartment after being assured that the bakery sign had already been switched to closed and that this was not too much of a hassle.

In future weeks, Felix found himself walking to his classes much more regularly and spending much more time with a certain bakers' daughter.

#aged up #felinette #felinette month #felinette november #felinette month 2021

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whoppert · 3 years

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Sunna 1-2 (loki/reader) (stephen strange/reader)

6101 words

warnings: canon-typical fighting, including violation of ofc's mind with magic

AO3 Master Fic List

Stephen has been having dreams and they seem to be pointing to his soulmate, but when Loki comes along and decides he wants her, does the Sorcerer Supreme stand a chance?

Note: I amended the first chapter and split it in two. Everything will end up being the same, but I wanted to change how the characterization is revealed

Unfortunately, the museum director let me finish my shift early.

Normally, the walk back to the Sanctum was relaxing, but I only made it one block in the direction of home when the weather exploded into a rainstorm. It is the middle of summer and the forecast had predicted the temperatures to stay consistently hellish for at least two weeks, but you would have never guessed from the lightning skittering across the dull sky.

The people around me rushed to get out of the downpour, not a single umbrella amongst them, and traffic was in a deadlock from heavy taxi usage. I keep my gate brisk, passing by a group of unsupervised teenagers kicking water at each other and cackling.

At least they’re having fun, I thought morosely. That is more than I can say for the rest of New York. The thin clothes I had on had been chosen with the intention of keeping me cool in the heat, but the onslaught had fashioned a double-edged sword as a weapon against my outfit.

Thunder crackled, the sound echoing off heavy grey clouds which had dropped particularly low, pressing down on the city claustrophobically, the rain hard and painful on my skin. Rounding the last corner, I burst out into a brisk jog, being careful not to slip as I make my way up the stone steps, the considerable wooden door of the Sanctum opening by itself as though it recognised me.

AO3

It does recognise me, I remind myself, before Stephen’s words echoed in my mind: ‘centuries of having to contain magic has given it some kind of ungodly sentience. This house is alive.’

‘Ungodly’. Sure, there were rooms I couldn’t enter without fear of the house itself trying to consume me or my soul (or just my teeth - that had been an unusual New Year's Eve), but the wall of magically-warmed air that encompassed me as I stepped into the foyer was a nice reminder of the benefits of living at the Sanctum Sanctorum.

I sink to the floor, so preoccupied with coordinating my frozen fingers enough to untie my laces, that I didn’t notice Stephen’s presence until a wave of his magic caused all of the water to vanish. My clothes were instantly bone-dry and the edge of the cold evaporated with the water, but I couldn’t help but shiver at the memory of it.

“I thought you didn't get off work for another hour,” Stephen chuckled. “I would have picked you up if I had known you’d be walking in the rain.” He spoke with the ease of someone talking about driving a car, not creating a portal that connected the museum janitor’s closet to our living room.

“Phone dead.” At least my teeth were no longer chattering.

I manage to slip off my shoes, but it wasn't until after I rose to my feet and shrugged off my satchel that I noticed the tall stranger leaning against the foyer door frame. “I didn’t realise we had guests."

At my words, green eyes snap to mine.

Despite the lack of introduction, I know who he is; all of New York knows who he is. For a brief moment, I am scared, but from where he observes us he appears pointedly bored.

“Oh, I doubt Strange would refer to me as a ‘guest’,” Loki pulls his weight off of the doorframe, stretching slightly in the process, like a cat freshly awoken. “A ‘nuisance’ is more like it.” Feline, that’s how it could be described, the energy he radiated; feline in both menace and allure, a soft shiny coat and sharp claws.

“There are stronger words I would use before that,” Stephen said, stiff-lipped. The sorcerer stands still at my side.

“As for the rain,” Loki ignores Stephen, stepping just close enough to cut my friend completely out of the conversation, emerald eyes sliding down my form as if trying to remember where the weight of the water had caused my clothes to cling to my body, “I think that may have been my brother’s fault, and I apologise."

I do not reply, I'm not sure what to say.

Loki fills the silence expertly, "I have not had the pleasure of your acquaintance; I am Loki of Asgard.” A slender hand extends towards me.

Behind Loki, Stephen’s jaw is clenched hard enough to bite through steel.

My eyes flickered down to where his hand waited to be grasped and back up to his face, disapprovingly. “Once, Stephen briefly mentioned that there are an infinite number of timelines. Just dropped it right into conversation over breakfast, and these other universes house other versions of ourselves, and the differences between those versions of us and us ,” I gestured to the two men, “might be the tiniest, most unimportant details or the very fundamentals of our beings.”

Loki’s eyebrows raised, but he did not interrupt.

“As you can imagine, this concept had been difficult to distract myself from,” I did not move, didn’t step away from Loki. “Incalculable quantities of universes just exist passively inside the multiverse, and within those you can be certain that any and every difference has been explored. And yet… I cannot imagine a single universe in which I tell you my name or share platitudes with you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, Stephen is trying not to laugh.

Loki’s hand dropped from the air, sliding into a silver-threaded pocket nonchalantly. He throws a barb over his shoulder, “I can see why you like her, Strange. Did you make her audition for the role of magician’s apprentice, or was it a happy coincidence that you found such a plain and untalented human to control?”

Heat flooded my cheeks, but I used all of my energy to remain composed. How long has Loki been here? Stephen looks like he’s about to lock Loki in astral form and shut his body inside the mirror dimension.

“With the title of ‘Silvertongue’ I assumed you would be better equipped with witty gibes. Seems such low hanging fruit to resort to insulting my appearance. I’m quite disappointed.”

Loki only raised an eyebrow. “Trust me,” he purred, “I have no complaints about your appearance. I simply cannot wait to see what kind of pedestal Strange sits you on.”

Purple energy flickers at my fingertips, and I watch Stephen’s expression harden, but Loki seemed only bemused.

“It’s time for you to leave,” Stephen’s tone was icy and cutting as he steps closer to the god.

The magic in the room went quiet, as if the house itself was waiting to see if this was going to get ugly.

Loki didn’t even deign to look at Stephen, his studying gaze fixed upon me as he ignored the Sorcerer Supreme.

I refuse to look away.

“Loki. Get out ,” Stephen’s voice no more than a growl.

Finally, Loki broke, a wild grin spreading across his features. “Very well. If you hear anything about my wanted man, let me know. I’m not sure you’re capable of taking him in on your own. I’d hate for you to get hurt.” He swept a hand through his hair dramatically. “Strange it was amusing, as always, and as for you,” Loki’s eyes roamed down my form hungrily, “I’m sure I will be seeing you again soon.”

My sense of self-preservation must not function correctly, because I made sure Loki saw me flip him off as he vanished into thin air with a crack that seemed to echo in the thunderstorm outside.

Beside me, I could feel Stephen seething, but when I turn to face him he has hidden it under a layer of humor. “Sorry for the interruption folks, we will resume our regularly scheduled programming shortly. You wanna go straight into cataloging? Or do you wanna spar first?”

It wasn’t hard to beat Stephen today.

Usually he's much better at getting under my skin, trash talking and looking for weak points in my stance, but the encounter with Loki seemed to disturb him, and after my third time pinning him to the mat, I finally asked about it.

“So, Loki needs help tracking someone down, huh?” I rolled off Stephen, holding out a hand to help him to his feet, which he takes with a grumble.

“Escaped Asgardian prisoner. The leader of some political terrorist sect. Thor, in his bottomless intellect, has decided that his brother was the best person to track this guy down, and Loki has followed him to the city,” Stephen swung at me, but I manage to sidestep the arcing punch.

No part of me wants to address the pedestal comments from Loki, and Stephen seemed just as happy to ignore it. Stephen sees more in me and my limited magical abilities than Loki knows. Stephen sought me out, he wants to help me learn, help me be better; so I why do I always feel so insecure about my powers.

“Must be good at hiding if they can’t find him,” I reply. I think of the storm. “Asgardians seem to like making dramatic entrances.”

Another fist flies towards me, and then another. I duck low to avoid them, but as soon as I find my footing there were two jabs, a cross, and a left hook to contend with.

“Very astute observation.”

The narrowly-escaped hook had left Stephen’s right side undefended, and I take the opportunity to land a kick, drawing my foot up close to my torso and then sending it towards his hip with all my might, but he vanishes without a trace. Stephen ends up saving me from lurching forward when he reappears behind me, arms wrapping around my shoulders, restraining me, one hand finding my throat, fingers pressing into the skin there.

When I struggle, the grip on my neck tightens slightly. “Is that why you’re so distracted?” I manage to choke out through heaving breaths. “Thinking about the escaped prisoner?”

“What else would I be thinking about?”

My stomach knots. I can hear his controlled breathing in my ear, my body was pressed flush against Stephen, the heat between us in stark contrast with the chill of the storm, still raging outdoors. I try to twist my way out of his grip.

"Come on," he chuckles, "you'll never learn to fight properly if you can't shake the monkey off your back."

All I can think to do is to drop to my knees.

The hand at my neck releases immediately, before pairing with the other to stop my descent onto the floor, but the movement from Stephen was all I needed. He hisses when my elbow made contact with his ribs, recoiling at the pain and giving me the opportunity to break away from him.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me choke to death,” I'm smug, I'll admit it. “You are always exercising such caution around me.”

Stephen’s eyes widened a fraction before narrowing. “Don't want to explain to the police why I'm burying your body in the park. Besides, I could say the same about you.”

I hadn't realised he’d noticed. No matter how hard I concentrated, it was like I couldn’t push my body further, like there was some block on my ability to fight. Like something holds me back when I fight him. I didn't have the same problem with Wong, but neither did Wong, I had never won against that sorcerer.

“Yeah well, it’s hard learning to fight," I pout.

"You’re lucky to have a wonderful teacher.” Laughter dances in his eye, grey, so like the clouds.

If I wasn’t so stubborn and filled with adrenaline, I might have enjoyed the playful banter. “It’s not like any other new skill I’ve ever taken on,” I sigh, but bring my fists up to protect my face. “I know what I want to do, but my body won’t let me.” I swing, he ducks. "I'm not used to struggling so much."

“I think you’re just dazzled by me." He punches, I dodge.

“That’s your working theory? I thought you were supposed to be a genius! Colour me surprised.”

Stephen spits a fake laugh at me.

Once again I feel a presence behind me. Turning swiftly, I see Stephen approaching, but before I can even register, two Stephen Stranges are coming at me from opposite directions.

God, one of them is too much for me.

I lunge for the closest Strange. He manages to avoid the arms reaching for him, dropping into a crouch and leaping left, and sending a small burst of orange at my open side, winding me. I twisted hastily, trying to keep him in my line of vision, when-

Stephen, the one that was behind me at least, burst into a run, throwing himself at my feet and I realise too late what is happened and in turn jump too early, and Stephen, like a glorified bowling ball, clips my feet and I stumble sharply. Rotating my hips and shoulders, I tuck my body in and use the momentum to force me onto wobbly feet. Both Stephens vanish from their positions, and after a beat, mercifully only one reappears in front of me, materializing, fist already flying towards my face. My reflexes aren't fast enough and Stephen's fist catches my ear. I reared backwards, loose my footing and it was a simple push from him to take me down. For the first time that day I found my back on the mat.

“I’d rather face Loki, than two of you,” I muttered bitterly.

How does Stephen even know Loki. He had never mentioned the god before, but then again it seemed like every few hours he was dumping some other bucket of knowledge onto me about magic and demons and centering your chakras to avoid soul worms. It easily had never come up. When would Stephen even have the time to even mention that he was acquainted with a terrorist?

“I’ll try not to be insulted.” God, he is pompous when he wins, gloating bastard. “He’ll find his prisoner and then he can wander off back to Asgard or Muspelheim or Florida or wherever he plans to terrorise next.”

I chose to gripe.

Standing above me, Stephen stretches out his muscles before helping me up. “Right, time for some magic practice. How’s that invisibility working?”

I groan, “it’s not.”

My powers had shown themselves on a fateful day at fifteen when I had been confronted by the school bully. The memory was foggy, but if I concentrated hard enough, I could almost remember the look on her face as she was thrown backwards by a wave of purple energy. That was the full extent of my limited power and it had exhausted me. Stephen had explained that some people have a lot of magic at their disposal, and others had just enough to make life fun. It was very evident that I was not destined for greatness, and yet Stephen, the Sorcerer Supreme, for reasons I had never quite grasped, wanted to work with me.

“Tell me how you thought this spell up?” Stephen raised an eyebrow at me. “‘Came to you in a dream’, I believe you said.”

“Laugh all you want, asshole, but it’s true.”

I make a point of ignoring the smirk on Stephen’s face, and try to rally my senses about me. Shutting my eyes, I focused just as I’d been shown in my dream, visualising my physical body retreating into a pocket at my centre, like it was being sucked into a black hole.

One deep breath.

And another and another and then-

A soft sound of appreciation from Stephen. My eyes open and I find my body gone. My own physical form had disappeared from sight, but reaching forward I noted that I could still feel my body; feel where it ended and the air around me began (the air itself oddly cool), feel my limited power bubbling under my skin, wherever that was.

Relishing the look of surprise on Stephen’s face, I push him hard, but instead of surprise or shock he whoops with an aggravating glee, like he's proud of me, or something.

“Try fighting me now,” my voice sounded far away and muted like I was trying to yell underwater. “This is weird.”

Stephen gives no indication that he can hear me. I feel my own heartbeat as my chest pounds with excitement and exertion; the spell had never lasted more than a few seconds before but it had been about half a minute now-

Before I could celebrate my form flickers, the spell shattering and suddenly I am visible again, pulled forcefully from the black hole I had been sucked into.

A wave of dizziness overtook me, and I jolted, swaying dramatically.

Stephen’s shaking hands were on my shoulders in a second, wrapping under my arms and supporting my body until his uneasy face wasn’t swimming in front of me.

“Hey, hey, hey,” his voice sounded tinny, almost like mine had sounded during the spell. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

I mutter my thanks, concentrating on keeping my breathing even. As soon as he was content I wouldn’t pass out he withdrew like I was poisonous, stepping away from me. That was the Stephen I knew. Arm's length, always.

“That was good. The spell I mean,” he still looked concerned. “I didn’t realise the extent of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were gone-”

“Uh-huh, that is what is usually meant when people say ‘invisibility spell’.”

“Ha-ha ,” Stephen rolled his eyes, and began packing up his sparring equipment, “but I, in all my infinite power, couldn't even feel you. Your presence. Your magic. Anything. It was like you popped out of existence.” When I didn’t reply, he added, “Pretty impressive I have to admit, lots of stealth potential.”

If there was something off about him before, there definitely was now. Behind the look of pride there was a kind of nervous strain.

“I wasn’t sure you were capable of being impressed,” the words were hard to form. Maybe I had been gone. My body certainly felt alien now, like I wasn’t used to being in it.

“I’m full of surprises,” he muttered with a grin. He excused himself to go back to his room to shower, but his gaze lingers on me just a second longer than expected.

AO3 chapter 1

AO3 chapter 2

A knock on the Sanctum door.

Both our heads snap up from the text we've been translating (or trying to anyway, neither of us had a solid grip on Ancient Sumarian), Stephen’s eyes flicked to the front door, visible through the library arch leading to the foyer.

“Were we expecting-” I started to ask, but was interrupted.

“Nope.” Stephen rose with a flourish, taking his time to answer as another rap echoed on the wood.

There was the creak as the door handle turned, the groan of the heavy wood.

I held my breath. Something was wrong.

“Ah, Loki,” Stephen announced so that I may hear, not bothering to hide his irritation, “what an unexpected annoyance.”

“Strange,” Loki’s voice reverberates in the room slightly, “I’m afraid I will be needing a place to lay low for the evening.”

“I can recommend a few dimensions far away from me,” Stephen retorted.

I can't help but laugh, and although neither even looked in my direction as I tried to stifle it, between a Sorcerer Supreme and a literal god, I had little hope that they hadn’t heard.

My suspicions were confirmed, when after a pause Stephen began speaking again with a little more light to his voice, “so fuck off.”

“Unfortunately I am here on the bequest of Thor,” Loki’s voice was smooth, and unyielding to the insult. “My brother wishes for the opportunity to build better relations with Midgard and, well, I thought, who better than to do that with but the most powerful sorcerer in the realm?”

“You flatter me, Laufeyson.”

“If there is one thing I am proficient at, it is flattery."

"Usually, tricks follow treats from monsters on your doorstep."

"No trick. Besides, all the evidence about my missing prisoner suggests that he is still in the city, and my brother would prefer that I don’t stray too far, in case of emergency. I’ve tried my luck with various hotels, but The Four Seasons was hesitant to give me a room.”

“Because you destroyed half of New York?”

“Between that and the lack of a credit card it’s an impossible job finding a place to stay.”

I knew that Loki had won. As much as Stephen disliked the prince, he wouldn’t risk offending Thor; it is always more helpful to find yourself amongst friends rather than enemies. This concept decidedly unapparent to Loki who found himself asking to stay with the person who probably hated him most on the whole planet, which was saying something. After Loki's last visit, I had managed to gauge something of his and Stephen's relationship. It seemed that no matter what, Loki will always try to disturb the plans of the Sorcerer Supreme. Stephen didn't give details, but I am comfortable saying the Stephen hates the Asgardian, even if he didn't say so expressly.

There was a deep sigh from the adjacent room and the sound of boots stepping onto wooden floorboards. Stephen’s warnings were aired: to leave us to our work, and to not touch anything at promise of death, and to my surprise Loki, the king of distraction in his own right, doesn’t even pop in his head to say ‘hello’ before stalking away down the hall. Stephen must have found it odd also, because he walks back into the library slight frown. Neither of us acknowledge it, instead content to go back to our work, despite the interruption.

The last month had been busy.

Both Stephen and I had thrown ourselves into our respective work. There were days where I would come home from my job at the museum only to find that Stephen had just gone to Hong Kong to study with a travelling master for a few days or popped out to rid a boy from the East Village of Interdimensional Plague. There was an entire week where all I saw of him was at mealtimes (that he only attended to please Wong, despite never eating with us). Wong was beginning to become my best friend.

If I could allow myself to be honest, I missed Stephen’s company around the house, but I didn't miss the look of concern he was sporting lately, like he was worried I would just drop dead on the floor and I decided as always, that I’d rather be busy than honest about my feelings.

Suffice to say, it had been more than a little surprising to find him in the library just after Wong and I had finished cleaning the common areas of the house from top to bottom. Of course, Stephen turns up just in time to miss scrubbing the floors.

“That word is losing something in the translation,” I said pointing to a collection of ancient characters illuminated by the orange glow of Stephen's translation charm. “It says ‘quiet’, but that word specifically refers to an uneasy quiet. Like when you think something is about to go terribly wrong.”

“Who taught you Ancient Sumerian?” Stephen’s voice peaked with curiosity.

“No one, I guess you pick up a word or two when you get your PhD in Anthropology.”

So I sat with him, offering help where I could, which admittedly, wasn’t often.

Stephen was in a cable knit grey sweater, appropriate for a late summer evening, but it hung off of him a little, like he had lost weight. Dark circles deepened the color of his eyes. Being the private person he is, normally, I wouldn’t have asked Stephen what had been keeping him so busy, but heavens above he looked like he could use a power nap.

“I’m worried about you,” I said from my armchair, sipping at the drinks that Wong had brought in for us. I got the impression from Wong’s annoyed face, that he normally wouldn’t have brought Stephen anything as a punishment from skipping out on chores, but Wong, too, seemed troubled by the state of our friend.

“Really,” Stephen took his time meeting my gaze. “There’s nothing to be worried about.”

“You can’t lie to me,” I joked. “I see right through you.”

Stephen gave me a forced smile in reply, but said nothing, and I was hesitant to push the issue.

A few hours later, our work is interrupted again when Wong strides into the library, out of breath. Stephen was already rising, his cloak wrapping around his shoulders as if anticipating the sorcerer’s needs.

“Stephen,” Wong was dressed to fight, “we are getting reports of a monster downtown.”

“I swear to god, if Morpheus is-” Stephen began, but Wong interrupted.

“It’s not Morpheus. Some kind of beast. Hurry, we have to get down there.”

I looked at Stephen, who was downing his cup of coffee. “I’ve got to take this.”

“That’s fine,” I really didn’t mind, a night to myself was welcome and rare. “I have some work to do for the museum anyway. Have fun, don’t get killed.”

Wong summoned a portal, which I admired, with only a reasonable amount of jealousy. Although I had tried, it didn’t seem to be in my magical capabilities to make one.

Stephen was just about to follow Wong through when he hesitated, shoulders noticeably tensing. "I can't leave you alone here with Loki."

I had forgotten, and the reminder was like a shard of ice in my gut.

"Stephen, we need to get moving-" Wong called from the sidewalk.

"A minute- I need to figure something-"

"Really, it's okay, Stephen. I'll be okay."

"But-"

"There it is!" Wong darts out of sight.

"I'll manage."

Stephen relents. “Just stay away from Loki, alright? If something goes wrong, ring me. He’s only trouble and I don’t need you two to burn the house down while I’m gone.” He shot me finger guns and backed through the circle, which began to shrink, his face reflecting a hint of apprehension about leaving me alone in the house with just Loki Laufeyson.

As if on queue, a mellow voice sounds behind me, “well, he certainly doesn’t trust me with his toys.”

I turn. My heart beats a little faster out of nervousness, as I survey the god before me. His ear cocks to one side like he can hear it.

Loki lounges on the brown leather sofa in the corner, lean legs spread wide, his temple resting on his fist with a kind of bored indifference.

“And I should?” It sounded less stupid in my head, but I was resolute that I would not him intimidate me.

“You may treat me however you like,” Loki smiled, seemingly in an attempt to look friendly, but I rise and walk out of the library, without giving it the second glance I desire to check if it's real.

Walking down the hall without the sound of footsteps behind me, I was sure Loki had left me alone. Making my way up the grand staircase, I round corner towards my room and stop dead in my tracks when I find Loki leaning against my bedroom door. I rally my courage and stomped towards my room.

“Taking me to your bedroom so soon after meeting me?” Loki’s eyebrows raise in feigned surprise. “Well, I normally don’t sleep with someone on the first date, but-”

"Move," I demand.

"Fine, I am exactly the type of person to sleep with someone on the first date-"

“Move,” I repeat. It wasn’t loud; I wasn’t important enough to yell at a prince and without Stephen or Wong here I wasn't willing to come off as as rude to him as I had been during our first meeting, but the order came out much bolder than I intended. Hopefully enough to hide my nerves.

“Make me,” his whisper was powerful, eerie and commanding.

The words churn my stomach.

"Move. Please."

He laughed, delighted. "No."

There are more reasonable toddlers. This is not important enough to ring Stephen over, right? Loki is just being a dick. No, I should deal with this on my own. He is definitely more powerful than me, that's not up for debate, but I did have the advantage of surprise.

Before he could say anything else, I will a rope of purple energy to wrap around his shoulders, moving the prince sharply to the left.

To my annoyance, he doesn't even have the sense to look anything but ecstatic at the move, and I had to make myself march through the door and lock it before I punched a god in the face.

There was a chuckle from outside the door, and I watched his shadow disappear as Loki meandered off down the hall. Finally. Finally. I will just wait it out until Stephen gets back and then babysitting Loki can be his problem. He's better equipped at dealing with him than I am, certainly.

I turn to my desk with a sigh and find Loki leaning against it.

My laptop is open in his hands as he attempts to log in.

“What is the password?”

“Get out of my room!” Was he specially trained to be annoying? No wonder Stephen can't stand him.

“Is that all one word?”

I want to scream. I am easily frustrated and Loki is easily frustrating.

“Come on, I know that you can look up information on that device, and I just know that I’ve heard of someone else whose magic reminds me of yours.” Loki wiggles his fingers for emphasis.

“Oh for god’s sake, what do you want?” I won’t punch him, I won’t punch him, I won’t punch him, that would only get me in trouble, I chant in my mind.

That infernal grin makes it's way across Loki's expression and he slips into the blue velvet armchair by the window. The dark suit he is wearing ripples with golds and greens at the movement. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I swear if you are only going to talk in riddles, I will have you bound in the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak and leave you to rot,” I hiss, refusing to engage him.

“With your power?” Loki sneered.

How did he learn to push buttons so well? We'd talked all of twenty minutes, but even at our last encounter he had made a point of plucking at my insecurities.

It is like we are playing some game that I wasn’t aware I’d joined.

“You wouldn’t have the chance," he continued. "Unless you go crying to the good doctor, but he’s so ham-fisted with his magic. I would be inclined to let you bind me yourself just to avoid having to watch him try.”

I am exercising every bit of self control trying not to look affronted, but his words have a strange effect on me. My fear swirls into the building frustration and leaves me unafraid. “Don’t you have some escaped prisoner to catch?”

“Oh, him?” Loki laughs. “No, I caught him weeks ago. I just wanted an excuse to visit so we could have a little chat."

I have the sense that I should be afraid.

"The magician king would never leave us alone together if he could help it, so I arranged the diversion downtown as a little distraction.” When I looked horrified, Loki added, "what? It's a juvenile, the most it can do is given them a stomach ache."

“What are you talking about?” I ask, exasperated.

He leveled his gaze, green eyes narrowing minutely. “What’s your game here? Obviously, you’re playing Strange, of which he must be suspicious, but what is your end goal? I am all too happy provide assistance if you could find something in it for me-”

Thank goodness I am fast and again all I had going for me was the act of surprise, but closing the few feet between us, I grab Loki by the collar of his suit before I can lose my nerve. My body strains with the effort, but for the first time in my months of training, I allow instinct to take over completely. Without thinking, without processing I control his body’s density and Loki sank into the chair around him, trapping him.

A burst of green light erupts, and I fall onto my ass. Loki is free of the chair and looked inclined to laugh until I kick his legs out from under him. He falls with a yelp on the floor, at my side.

For a moment, we both lay on the ground, staring up at the ceiling and breathing hard.

“You’re gonna have to teach me that one day, sunshine.”

“Not a chance in hell,” I muttered.

I had only ever practiced controlling the density of small, inanimate objects. Never had I attempted to make it work on another person, and I definitely hadn’t thought it through when I had… attacked Loki. Oh, shit.

I just signed my death warrant.

As slowly as I could stomach I tried to sit up, hoping that I wouldn’t black out from the dizziness. Head pounding, I barely register Loki’s hand on my arm, presumably in an attempt to steady me and I had been just about to thank him, when I felt a cool palm on my forehead.

The energy of Loki’s power flowed through me. So much stronger than anything I had ever felt and weighted with age. Mentally, I put up a fight, but my anger doesn't even register with the invading force, like trying to sweep back an ocean wave. I am completely, and utterly, helpless. Without a choice memories pop up, like I was watching some stilted version of my life flashing before my eyes.

Is this how I die? I wonder.

If I wanted to kill you, you would already be dead, Loki’s voice cascaded around my mind.

If I cannot force him out of my mind, I can try to hurt him physically, anything to break the connection, but in my exhaustion my powers have abandoned me. I try to push him away, but the full force of my strength doesn't even move him. He weighs me down with one hand.

A memory - the first time Stephen hadn’t taken it entirely easy on me during a sparring session. How intense he had seemed, the way his body pressed against mine as he pinned me to the floor.

Another - cuddling with the Cloak of Levitation on the sofa in the living room with a steaming mug of hot chocolate that Wong had boosted was Agamotto’s own recipe, passed down from sorcerer to sorcerer over time.

Watching Wong cook up the poison Stephen passes off as food, and then watching Stephen vomit half of it up twenty minutes later and in such sharp focus it made me nauseous.

The museum where I worked, and the exhibit I had been tending to when I’d realized a tall patron with grey hair at his temples and hands in his pocket was observing me.

Interesting… Loki mused in my head.

I want to fight him, to force him out, but he is too strong. It is a painful reminder of how little magic I have. Shamefully, I give up entirely and allow Loki to take what he wants.

Loki travels back further, the lens of this voyeuristic view of my life getting noticeably fuzzier like it was harder to draw older memories out.

My apartment that I lived in before I had been invited to live in the Sanctum.

My graduation ceremony.

My first date as a teenager with a girl whose name I could not longer remember.

Years of schooling played in reverse and I got younger and younger before my eyes, until I was finally greeted with the image of my parents hovering over my crib, from so long ago that I couldn’t even make out their faces.

Loki’s hand withdrew, his power with it.

I fell back to the floor with a gasp, gaping for air like a fish out of water, “you fucking prick. You asshole! You had no right to go through my life like that, you filthy, mind-invading monster!”

The air of arrogance had dissipated from Loki. “Forgive me,” his voice was no more than a whisper, and he looked so confused when I whirled on him that I almost felt all of the gust of anger blown out of me. “I was mistaken.”

Next chapter ▸

AO3 Master Fic List

#marvel au #loki #doctor strange #wong #marvel #marvel comics #marvel films #mcu #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #stephen strange #disney #avengers

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swiftscion · 2 years

Text

Searching For Something

“Hey Scáthach, find anything interestin’ yet?”

Larcei was, of course, referring to their shared mission. A simple mission, but a vital one all the same. The twins had each signed up for the task of cataloging endemic life in a largely unexplored territory in Faerghus. This task was a rare opportunity due to unfortunate weather conditions, so setting out sooner better than later was imperative. Good thing Larcei likes to rush headfirst into everything!

On her end, Larcei only took with her the bare essentials: gloves, jars, magnifying glasses, various baits, sacks, provisions, and her blade. Whatever her brother wished to bring was his business, she figured. Better to avoid an earful by not being responsible for his supplies.

The two set out with the horses and carts they were lent, arriving at the land in question with great haste. Once they arrived, a number of things were immediately apparent. Firstly, that weather was no joke! By merely stepping foot in this place one could instantly feel the sharp drop in temperature. A brisk wind blowing from the North only made things worse by blowing the cold onto your face, which made Larcei shiver. Besides that though, the plant life here was surprisingly abundant. Shrubbery lined winding paths, trees faded into thick forests, vines formed overgrowth on old ruins, and the occasional flower added some color to the scenery. Without a close inspection it’d be hard to tell which species had already been discovered, but that was precisely what they were here for!

After asking Scáthach her question, Larcei took a good look at the dirt beneath her. It was hard and cool, a sure sign of the encroaching winter, and harbored signs of animals. Scratches and prints were picked up by even Larcei’s non-observant eyes, and the odd feather suggested a flock of birds was flying with the wind. Perhaps they would catch some on a migratory journey, among other things.

“And you better not show me something boring. A few worms or snails are one thing, but I want something huge! Y’know, like a bear print--or a wolf!” Despite how bossy her demands sounded, the Isaachian woman’s tone was upbeat and hopeful. They had just arrived and dismounted to look around, so her actions still carried the warm glow of excitement.

Speaking of, why was Larcei so pumped in the first place? Studying had never been a hobby of hers, and even though this was some in-the-field research, it wouldn’t be a stretch to consider it outside her sphere of interest. It seemed... almost out of character for her. Almost.

@sharpscion

#IC #THREAD NO. 2 SCATHACH (SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING)#sharpscion

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Petals and Promises

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: A spring evening spent with Ron.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: none—fluff, kissing

You must say, the spring season was one that always brought with it a multitude of beauty. Whether it may be the newly blossoming flowers sprinkling colorfully just about everywhere in your slightly overgrown lawn and livening up your house, or the warming temperatures calling for open windows, even the rain showers that arrived whenever they so pleased—you can’t deny how much you love this time of year.

The air was warm yet still brisk enough for a blanket as you lay tucked comfortably within your hammock with Ron, the tattered flannel material draping over the two of you in ruffles of orange and red. It was enough to stave off the chill of the soft breeze that swept over your skin, gentle yet determined to send a shiver through you. Despite that, it brought with it the delightfully sweet scent of the flowers that surround you both, flourishing wildly in the flowerbeds and in the grass. It brought with it the ever so soothing sound as it weaved itself through brilliantly green leaves.

Perhaps the most enamoring thing to be admired out of everything was laying atop your chest, heaps of red hair blowing around softly on his forehead with every gust. The warm sunshine streamed through the branches above you, dancing across your skin, across his flushed cheeks in a golden glow. Ginger lashes curl and splay over the tops of those very cheeks, fluttering each and every time he blinked slowly as he fought valiantly to stay awake. His hand enveloped over top of your own, his grip tightening a fraction each time he needs reminding that you’re still tangled up with him. The unwavering hold on your hand had hindered your ability to turn the pages in your book, but you suppose it was worth the trouble, you knew it was.

It was his idea to come outside and enjoy the weather in the first place, particularly to enjoy it with you, though he simply enjoyed just being with you more than anything else. You knew full well he wouldn’t make it more than ten minutes without drifting off; you were right.

He didn’t entirely fit, his feet dangling over the edge, socks grass-stained and bunched at the ankles. The sunshine and singing of the birds proved to be far more soothing than he’d anticipated, and the way you’d been playing with his hair had him in and out of a slumber. That and the constant tickle of his hair on his face.

Reading the book propped open in your free hand was beginning to become a distracted effort, and you were only distancing yourself from the task the more time that had gone by. The gentle wind had a constant habit of crinkling and creasing your pages each time it’d brushed over them, eliciting an exasperated sigh from you. That, paired with the natural beauty all around you, the setting sun painting the sky in a palette of pinks and oranges; it was reason enough to pull your attention from the pages to elsewhere.

The windows of your sweet little home had been opened to let in the fresh air, the wind pulling the sheer cream curtain over your door blowing outward into daylight as it rests ajar, ruffling freely in the air before fluttering back to the ground for a few moments. Your two cats had wandered their way to the two of you through that very door, sprawled contently underneath your hammock as they relished in the evening sun. Occasionally, they’d paw curiously at Ron’s feet, always drawing a groan from him as he recoiled tighter into you until sleep had its hold on him once more.

You couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend your day if you weren’t honest; it was perfect in all aspects. One might think that the lives of two people with the ability to produce the most powerful of magic would forever lead chaotic lives, and that had been true less than a decade ago. But things were different now.

Magic was still present in your everyday life, it always will be and you would never tire of it. But it was seldom ever used to defend yourselves anymore, never used to harm another. It was used to wash the dishes when you hadn’t felt like it, to startle on another by switching the lights off from another room. It was used to douse each other with water in the backyard in goofy antics before the other could think of something more thrilling as payback. It was used to refill mugs of cocoa and coffee when you hadn’t felt like making anymore, to stir pots on the stove when you were far too caught up in dancing around the kitchen. Ron had learned that one the hard way when he nearly burnt the kitchen down when he’d been far too busy kissing you, admiring you like the lovestruck fool he knew himself to be.

Magic is used after a quidditch match gone wrong, to heal Ron with the most tender of spells and potions as possible. He refuses to go to St. Mungo’s whenever possible, preferring the care of you over anyone else. He claims your magic is much more powerful, though you knew all he’d really been wanting was you.

Magic was used for the fun you’d once imagined it to be as a child. There was far too much hurt and anguish by the hands of that very gift, and the two of you had been determined to use it for good, to use it for the lighthearted ways you’d always loved.

You had a home of your own, filled with moments to be cherished as long as your memory would allow. Filled with dancing in your living room at three o’clock in the morning, and never waking up without each other. To making a mess of the kitchen when baking a cake for the other’s birthday. Of silly anniversaries of things others might consider trivial. It was imperfectly perfect and it was bursting with a warmth and love you’d hoped to have; it was right for the two of you. It was yours.

In time, you felt the tips of his fingers dance tenderly across your wrist and up your arm a few inches more, the gentle touches bringing a soft smile to your face. They trace in unknown shapes for a short while, and unbeknownst to you he’d scrawled invisible ‘I love you’s’ there, his fingers soon splaying over your skin as he grabs your hand once more. You decide then and there that you’d never get any quality reading done beyond that very point, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you close your book and let it fall to the grass below you with a dull thud.

Your other hand brushes through his hair, a bit tangled as your fingers pass through it and you don’t fail to see the way he leans into your touch. Delicate purple flower petals are woven within the ginger locks, cream ones joining in from the two blossoming trees you lay between, and it looked soft and adorable. It was then that he lifted his head and looked at you, your fingers smoothing down his cheek. The smile gracing his lips was nothing short of adoring, and he was still very much groggy with sleep.

“Hey you,” he murmured, a soft laugh leaving his lips at the feeling of his hair sticking to his face. The humidity from that morning’s rainstorm had lingered, curling the ends of his hair.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” you beam, a laugh of your own escaping you as he makes his attempts to move.

His efforts were near futile as the hammock swayed and rocked and proved to be quite unforgiving, mere seconds from sending him tumbling out and onto the ground for what wouldn’t be the first time. But he manages somehow to avoid such a clumsy outcome, the swinging he so ungracefully caused now settling to a stop.

“What d’you mean ‘sleepy head’?” He asks, his words sleepily mingling into one another as his laughter fanned warmly across your lips.

The pad of your thumb brushed over his freckled cheek, the one that’d been significantly more pink than the other from having been pressed against you for the better part of an hour. Not to mention the sleep lines imprinted on his skin. You bit the inside of your cheek in an attempt to stifle your inevitable spill of laughter, thumb now swiping over the drool that had not quite dried at the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve been drifting off this whole time, perhaps the puddle of drool on my shirt will jog your memory,” you jest even though you felt tired yourself, his nose scrunching in protest to your words, “or maybe the snores that could be heard through the whole neighborhood.”

Your giggles intensified when he dropped a flurry of kisses to your neck with the full knowledge of just how ticklish it’d been. Giggles that were quickly muffled when he kissed you, his own having hummed against your mouth. His hair tickled against your forehead, brushing lightly against your cheek. He’d been due for a bit of a haircut; his hair had been dipping over his eyes, nearly dusting over his shoulders as it once had done when he was fourteen.

“Must you always tease me?” He mumbles, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile at the sight of yours.

“You make it so easy,” you counter, and he pressed kisses to your cheek. “How could I not?”

“So terribly mean, love,” he sighs, kissing you once more before wedging himself between you and the fabric of the hammock, tugging the flannel blanket up further.

“Yes, but I love you terribly,” you say, your nose bumping his as you look up at him.

The pale pink staining his cheeks is something not from the sunshine on his skin, rather your declaration of love. No matter how often you said it, it would always leave him blushing scarlet—you could say it a hundred times in a row and he’d flush each and every time it fell from your lips. His eyes sparkled blue-green beneath ruffles of ginger, his smile nothing short of beaming.

“I love you an awful lot,” he grins, still sleepy yet still so adoring of you as his eyes flutter closed.

Now it had been your turn to flush a rosy pink, an obvious fact that you tried your hardest to stave off as you leaned up and kissed the underside of his jaw. He tangles his legs with yours once more, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he basks in the very moment with you. In the very way the sun glimmers over you, golden and glowing, shining upon someone who he feels is the embodiment of that very sunshine. He basked in the way the soft pink petals on the trees above you float down in a floral rain. In the way you loved him as wholly as he did you, and he couldn’t quite believe that wonderfully dizzying fact.

You yawn as you nuzzle your face against his t-shirt, picking at a loose string. Somehow, he always smelled of cinnamon, for as long as you could remember he smelled of just that. It was delightfully sweet and so incredibly Ron, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted.

“Have you finished your book?” He asks softly, the fatigue that still remained heavy having him merely hum his words.

“No,” you mumble, “too distracted.”

His chuckle shook you softly, the feeling bringing a smile to your face as you looked up at him. “What?

You narrow your eyes in a playful glare as you look at him, lifting your head from his shoulder. His smile widened at that, a soft gust of wind blowing his hair in his eyes but he hadn’t bothered to move it. “I’ve heard you reread the same line four times in a row.”

His laughter was immediate to trail after his words, more so when you swatted his chest. He tipped his head back, the action ruffling his hair entirely as he found your expression humorous. It was rather hard to stay mad at him, however, not with the way he looked at you so fondly and not that you were even mad to begin with. You exhale a sigh, finding yourself looking at him the same despite your reddened cheeks upon mention of your blunder. It must have occurred when he’d held your hand.

You drop your head to his shoulder once more, unable to fight your smile. “Not my fault.”

His response is another bout of soft laughter, and no doubt the most beaming of smiles. “Whatever you say, love.”

The same fatigue you had teased him for just moments prior had held its grip on you, your laughter dwindling as your eyelids grow heavy. You hum in a late acknowledgement to what he’d said, “exactly that.”

You splay your hand across his chest, interlocking your pinky with his. His smile went unseen by you, one of awe and knowing all the same. He knew what that meant. It was a promise as most would think of it as, a silent ‘I love you’ as the two of you know it to be. He knew exactly the day it first happened. At the Burrow under the light of the stars, he’d told you he loved you for the very first time. It was that night that you wrapped your pinky around his, joined hands settled in the grass between you. With it accompanied the very three words that made his heart race and his cheeks flush. It was then, that very first time that night, that it became an unspoken action worth a thousand words.

So he smiles, he curls his pinky around yours and he smiles. Your own grin is just as unseen as his, but you didn’t need to see each other to know of it.

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to your nose when you look at him.

“I love you,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth in a tired attempt of a kiss. His smile was soft, and he still felt the tingle of your kiss as if it was the first time. He’s quite sure it’ll always feel that way. He knows it.

It was then that you tuck yourself against him, in the crook of his neck as the tattered flannel blanket settles warmly over top you both, the spring breeze brushing over your cheeks. You lay cradled within the canvas hammock that enveloped the both of you nearly in a cocoon. Your drowsiness was too hard to ignore by then, your eyes fluttering closed as his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

You were perfectly content to sleep there forever in the very arms, the very place you felt safest in. It was beautiful with the setting sun and the chirping of the birds. With petals falling in your hair and pinkies interlocked in a promise.

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @anchoeritic @ch0colatefr0gs @harrysweasleys @snitches-at-dawn @awritingtree @writeroutoftime

#ron weasley #ron weasley one shot #ron weasley fluff #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley x you #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley fic #ron weasly imagine #ron weasley headcanon

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xamassed · 2 years

Text

｢ @ghostlyanon / bryning’s birthday 11 • 1 ｣

For a long time now Annie had given up to the idea of finding the perfect gift for Bryning. She did not possess anything that held itself to the same amount of value as the present he'd given to her. If value couldn't be found in its price or antiquity, she figured a gift made by her own hands could have a different ( distinct ) value to itself that, hopefully, could portrait the amount of esteem she had for her friend.

Thus when the time came, she presented three gifts to Bryning, all carefully thought and crafted through especially for him.

One of them was a long scarf with threads of many blue hues that came close to the color of his eyes. She'd done her best to knit it for him ( and perhaps in her excitement, the garment might've acquired its excessive length ). Annie hoped he would like it and help him stay warm as temperatures dropped lower. "So you don't get cold when Winter comes."

The second and third gifts came in a single set. She'd prepared a treat for him herself! A cheesecake which tasted as good as it looked ( she'd made sure to practice throughly until she got it right ). Atop its surface... A lit up candle resembling a laid-down number eight, for he'd seen pass many years and he would come to see many still. This was the most important, for it was the candle that would carry out the genie's birthday wish!

"Happy birthday" she said, holding up the 'cake' with its candle above. Her smile for him turned warmer by the light cast by the flame before her, along with the joyous sentiment for this special day. "I-I hope I get to give you many more gifts for many years again... Oh, don't forget to make your wish!"

Bryning found humor in the situation — they both saw no real significance in the ‘birthday’ they had given themselves, yet each of them had made it a point to celebrate the other once the date finally arrived. Despite putting endless thought into his gift to her, he didn’t anticipate the same level of thoughtfulness. It wasn’t because he thought her careless or inconsiderate. He simply didn’t see why anyone would want to expend more than a single thought towards his happiness.

But he should have known that she would. She was too kind and too generous.

The scarf alone would have sufficed, the meaning behind the varying shades of blue not lost on him. He was slightly more tolerant of the cold thanks to his affinity for frost, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of feeling the nip of winter’s chill on his pale skin. The weather that day leaned on the brisk side, so he was prompt in wrapping the lengthy scarf around his neck and shoulders as many times as it could before the ends came to rest in front of his chest. His nose, red at the tip, buried itself in the material.

‘ It smells of her. . . ’ The observation was small, but the imprint if left in his heart was significant. For a solemn moment, he wondered if it would always smell this way. When the two were no longer close, when the two were finally to be separated by time and circumstance, would the scent remind him of this moment, or would he forget? ‘ I don’t want to forget. ’

He couldn’t be sure why it hurt so deeply, but it did. Even as she presented him the remainder of his gifts, he felt his eyes well-up. Emotion like this wasn’t common for him. He could only recall a small handful of moments when he’d wept, though he hadn’t quite reached that point — close, but not quite.

The flickering of the tiny flame atop of the candle’s wick was a blur of luminescent yellow, until he blinked away the tears that had welled along the bottoms of his eyelids.

“I won’t forget.” The conviction in his voice may have been out of place, but that mattered very little to him. “Thank you, Annie. The cake looks absolutely delicious. I can’t wait to try it.”

He muffled a sniff behind the scarf, gaze still intent on the endless loop of the infinity symbol she had used as the candle atop the cheesecake. Bryning fell into thoughtful silence, letting the mesmerizing dance of the fire help ease his heartache. Now wasn’t the time to mourn a loss that had yet to happen. She had opened her heart to him and with no reservations let him know how much she cared.

She wanted him to be happy, so he would try.

As a wish-granting being, he couldn’t have his wishes granted — ‘lest he earned them himself — but it was fun to pretend, and it was his subtle way of thanking Annie for her gifts.

With a finger, he pulled down the scarf and blew hard enough to extinguish the candle. In one swoop, the fire died, leaving behind a grey wisp of smoke and the aroma of singed waxed.

Through his eyelashes, he glimpsed towards Annie’s face. “I’m not allowed to tell you what my wish is, right? Then I’ll keep it a secret for now, but I will tell you this: I will treasure this scarf always, and I doubt I’ll forget his this cake tastes. I’m glad that I was able to share even one birthday with you, and I hope there can be many more as well.”

#ghostlyanon #「 ( bryning ; ic ) 」#「 v. the daze after a long sleep ( bryning ; modern ) 」#( okay this is dumb but - i was listening to critical role while writing this )#( and the background music was very slow and sad sounding )#( and it molded this ajfasjdhfsdf )#( at least the sad part. wheeze )

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blu-archer · 3 years

Text

Cold and Comfort

Sickie: Hybrid Jungkook

Caretaker/s: Taehyung/Hosoek

Snz and comfort based.

Poly pairing.

Alternate universe

Magic and hybrids are a thing, this is technically a universe that I write in often but I’ll probably categorize it differently from my previous Yoonmin based one...

I thought I’d post this since it’s been sitting in my files for a while, it’s probably not great and feels a little unfinished but I’m going through some stuff so it’s probably not going to get better than this... so yeah.. Sorry for any grammatical errors

Word count: 4894

****

Perfect. Because a storm was exactly what he needed right now.

Jungkook sniffled meekly as he burrowed his face further into his scarf, glaring tiredly at the icy rain that flooded the streets just outside the safety of the campus Fine Arts building. His studio class was technically still in session, but after trying and almost completely abolishing the wood block that he needed to carve his image into for his print media class, Jungkook was calling it quits almost two hours early.

His head and throat ached in a way that could only mean one thing, and he really didn’t appreciate the timing.

His printing project was due in just over a week and his lecturer already had it out for him for the amount of times he’d had to skip class or post pone meetings due to clashes with his minor dancing course. He couldn’t exactly help it though. It wasn’t his fault that his schedule tended to overlap a lot.

Jungkook stepped closer to the double doors, huddling behind the one that had remained shut in order to limit the amount of cold wind that entered the building. It was pouring buckets outside. The entire sky was painted a dark charcoal grey, making everything outside seem a lot more depressing and gloomier than what it should have been. It also didn’t help that while Jungkook was quite padded for warmth, his coat and jacket were not waterproof, and he did not think to bring an umbrella.

To be fair it hadn’t been raining when he’d left that morning.

He sighed heavy and rearranged his scarf so that his droopy, black ears managed to just slip under the material, making his neck marginally warmer. Ultimately he could wait for Yugyeom or Jaehyun to finish with their classes, while they didn’t have a car they did store umbrella’s in their lockers by the dance studio’s, but that would be a while still. And he couldn’t call any of his friends or boyfriends because they were all either working or out of town and he didn’t really want to make them come out of their way for a distance that would literally take him thirty minutes to walk through. It would honestly take them longer to get to him than it would for him to get home. He really just needed to stop over thinking the cold and rain and just walk now. He knew he was getting sick anyway, he could already feel the heaviness settling into his body, so a quick walk probably wouldn’t make it that much worse. Hopefully.

Before he talked himself out of it or his lecturer could possibly come and find him hovering in the hallway instead of class, Jungkook stepped out into the brisk and awful weather. He hugged his arms around himself and tried to stick close to the buildings so that he had some form of shelter, but there was nothing that could really shield him from the immediate sheet of icy water that smothered and drown him with each step he took.

So maybe walking hadn’t been the best idea.

His body trembled until it had finally reached a peak point of numbness about halfway back home. He had crossed over the bridge by the highway and was beginning to weave his way through the streets that held all of his favourite cafes and stores, but there was no stopping for anything today. It was like a spell had been cast over the town so that no one even thought to wonder outside. He had only seen a few cars as well, none of them stopping in their journeys – not even slowing down when passing by the soaked bunny hybrid. There was one car in particular that had driven so close to the sidewalk that the puddle it had gone through had shot up high enough to smack straight into his face. If the rain and wind hadn’t been so loud Jungkook was sure he would have been able to hear the water in his shoes squelching with each step.

He tucked his chin deeper into his chest, rubbing a wet hand against his nose as the cold caused a ticklish buzz in his sinuses. He could feel cold rivulets streaming down his ears, leaving him feeling uncomfortable and heavy headed.

He really hated the rain.

Eventually he turned up at home, walking up the three flights of stairs with shaky caution after he’d slipped on the first few before sighing at the relief of being sheltered and indoors when he finally reached the corridor that held their shared apartment. He sniffled and shook as he fumbled for his keys, taking far longer than usual to find the right one for the door. His neighbour had passed him with a look of sympathy as she carried on to her apartment, seemingly coming back from fetching her small child from school. He accidentally dropped them when he tried to slip a key into the lock. He could feel his neighbours gaze one final time before she disappeared, in which he then promptly sneezed deeply when he bent to retrieve the keys from the floor. After a few more shaky attempts he managed to get the door open, taking off his soaked shoes and bulky layers as soon as the door was shut and locked behind him, almost immediately sneezing twice into his fist from the warmer change of temperature.

Jungkook let out a wet sniffle and groaned as he shook his head to try getting rid of some of the water that had soaked into his ears and hair. It was mostly unsuccessful. There was now a puddle of water in front of the door where he had been standing and he couldn’t seem to bring himself to care about the trail he was leaving as he went down the passage to steal clothes from Tae.

He took his time in the shower, just standing under the hot water while his skin turned red and he burned the chill out of his skin. It was only when he started to feel light headed from the heat that he decided to get out, drying quickly to avoid the cold before changing into the softest baggiest clothes that Tae owned – it also happened to be Jungkook’s comfort clothes and had been since he and Tae had first started dating in high school. There was something about the scent and feeling of the material that made Jungkook feel completely and entirely safe. Perhaps it was because Taehyung had had the set of clothes for so long, and Jungkook couldn’t even begin to associate the items with anything besides his childhood best friend.

He scrubbed his hair with a towel, not feeling up to the effort of blow drying it, before grabbing the fluffy green blanket from Hobi’s wardrobe to drape around his shoulders. He needed something from both of his boyfriends, needing something with their scents. Hoseok had claimed that the blanket had magical properties purely because his mother had given it to him when he had studying overseas for a year, and it had kept him from most of his homesick thoughts or general dips in his mood. And therefore, it had quickly become a shared item for whenever one of their household felt down or off, there had even been a time when Jungkook had stolen and nested with it before Hoseok had moved in with them. It had been mildly embarrassing at the time, but if anything, it had helped ease any concerns Hoseok had had when he had first decided to try a relationship with two people – no longer fearing if Jungkook had just been tolerating him for the sake of Tae.

The bunny got to work on heating up some of the left-over pizza from the night before, grabbing a carton of banana milk from the fridge before finding his phone that had surprisingly fared well, despite how wet it had gotten from his walk.

Skipping past the group chat that he had with Tae and Hobi to avoid any unnecessary concerns, since he didn’t need Tae to know he had walked through a storm when the witch wasn’t anywhere close to check on him, he shot a brief text to Taehyung asking how the little workshop that Namjoon had taken him to for the day was going, then switched to Hoseok’s contact.

To: ~♥Sunshine☼~

Hobi, left studio early. Wasn’t feeling the mood… When are you coming home? It’s cold.

From: ~♥Sunshine☼~

One more class, then solo session with a senior. How’d you get home? Gyeomie ask Jackson to drop you?

Jungkook cleared his throat gently, taking his newly heated food from the microwave so that he could sit in the lounge and sprawl out on the couch. He looked at his phone again to see that Tae had answered him as well.

To: ~♥Sunshine☼~

Walked. Yugyeom was still in class.

From: ~♥Tae♥~

Learning so much! I met this really cool person that owns a crystal shop, so I can restock on things while I’m here. Might be home a bit later than planned but will definitely be back tonight! Love you!! Give Hoseok kisses for me when you get home!

From: ~♥Sunshine☼~

Bun…

Jungkook quickly sent a ‘stay safe’ to Tae before he tossed his phone aside so he could focus on nibbling his food with little interest while he played some anime softly on the TV. He snuggled down in the cushions to get comfortable and emptied his mind of any stressors that had been plaguing him.

He doesn’t quite remember at what point he had fallen asleep, he hadn’t done much besides lay around or make coffee since returning from class, so he hadn’t expected to be able to slip so easily into resting, but he wasn’t complaining about it. He’d been stressing enough over his upcoming assignments that sleep was a blessing that he hadn’t been getting enough of right now.

Jungkook rolled over on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around himself as he did, hoping that he would just go back to sleep. He rubbed his face into the blanket, scrunching up his nose as something tickled at his sinuses. He sniffed and tried to ignore it, but when he realised that it wasn’t going to subside he pushed himself up right. Squinting in confusion as he realised what he had thought was still natural light was in fact fluorescent, the TV had been turned off as well. He frowned with a sniff. He was waking up enough to realise that it had gotten dark outside and that meant that he probably wasn’t home alone anymore. Which… would make sense.

It took a few moments for him to get to his feet. His head had spun for a bit before he chanced putting any effort into being vertical, but he did manage to stand and stretch – not waiting a second longer before grabbing the blanket once more and wrapping it around his shoulders. Making his way to the kitchen to find water, his nose twinged once more and he snapped forward sharply with a throaty “Huhe’TSHhh”, merely tightening his grip on that blanket before he ducked down again.

‘Heh’ehhhshheww … Heh’eehhhTCHsheww!’

“Bless you, Kookie.”

Jungkook sniffled and blinked blurrily into the kitchen space, only noticing that Hoseok had been seated at the table going over what he could only assume had to do with the dancers students.

“Thangks.”

Hoseok’s brows were furrowed with concern as the bunny hybrid just made his way towards the cupboard to drag out a glass before taking it to the fridge to find cold water. Jungkook wanted to cringe at how wet his sniffling had now become but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“How you feeling?” Hobi asked, concerned but toned down enough for the bunny to know that he disapproved of his actions. The elder glanced away briefly to continue checking his exam schedule, not looking at Jungkook as he said, “The walk must have really gotten to you.”

“mmm…” Jungkook gulped down his water before he discarded the glass and moved so that he was behind his boyfriend, rubbing his face gently into the crook of Hobi’s neck even if the dancers body language had first implied that he was mildly annoyed. “I’ve been feeling off all day. But it’s worse now, my head hurts.”

That caught Hobi’s attention. He twisted in his seat so that he could hold his hand to Jungkook’s face. “You’ve been sick all day? Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you even go to class?”

Jungkook shrugged. “If I said something then Tae wouldn’t have wanted to go to that workshop thing, or you would have tried to get the day off, even though you’ve been trying to work at the school as much as possible for your students right now. And anyway, I was hoping that I would be able to get some work done. I didn’t think it would rain.”

“Oh god, you walked in that while sick?” Hoseok pulled the hybrid into his arms so that his head rested on Jungkook’s shoulder. “My poor bunny, I swear you’re going to shave years off of my life with how easily you just disregard your health. Have you at least taken something?”

Jungkook grimaced. Hoseok let out a heavy sigh before getting to his feet and tugging the hybrid back to the couch that he had fallen asleep on earlier. Because of course Jungkook wouldn’t have taken something. Of course he would have waited until someone came home, and would have not bothered to mention anything about how he had felt before then – always quick to not be any form of immediate inconvenience.

“We don’t have much of anything left from last time… I’ll call Tae to pick something up, hopefully somewhere is still open.” Hoseok left Jungkook after covering him with the blanket, moving into the bathroom for a moment before returning with a box of allergy meds and a thermometer. “I know it’s not much, but if you want to take something now…”

Jungkook didn’t complain, merely dry swallowed two pills before allowing Hobi to slip the thermometer under his tongue. He pulled the blanket tighter around him as he coughed – lips drawn tightly together to avoid spitting out the device before it was ready. Hoseok took a seat beside him, running a hand up and down the length of Jungkook’s spine. He peered at the hybrid with a heavy, concerned gaze as he waited patiently for the small alerting beep – pulling the stick from Jungkook’s mouth when he did finally hear it. His concern didn’t ebb.

“You’re a little warm… but that’s not particularly surprising.” Hobi murmuring, watching Jungkook’s lips fall into a soft pout and his ears droop further into his face. Hobi peeled some of the blanket back, having to tug it a bit when the bunny gripped tighter, and half pulled Jungkook into his lap so that they were both covered by the fluffy green warmth.

He sent a somewhat lengthy text to Taehyung with stern instructions before he let his arms become a frame around the larger boy that had pushed himself into his chest. A wet nose pressed to his neck.

Hoseok sighed but didn’t put forth any humorous complaints like he usually would to lighten the mood, he had a feeling as much as Jungkook would probably try laugh at them, he wouldn’t necessarily appreciate them. So, he merely embraced the other, kissing at his hair line as the bunny drifted off.

….

Hoseok had been catching up on some series when Jungkook had woken up, wanting to shift positions so that he could lie length ways on the couch and use Hoseok as a pillow while he slept – which had maybe lasted an hour before he had begun to cough and rub at his nose insistently.

“Do you want to sneeze maybe?” Hobi asked gently as he ran a hand over Jungkook’s ears. “It might help…”

Jungkook whined and sniffled into his boyfriends lap. It had to have been over three hours now since he had taken the allergy meds and he was a mess. The itchy feeling wasn’t leaving him and he wanted to sleep, or at the very least be able to focus on whatever series Hobi had put on. He rubbed his nose into Hobi’s stomach with very little progress. Hoseok took to slowly running his hand up and down the length of Jungkook’s left ear, hoping to send some sort of content through the hybrid.

It was mostly working, Jungkook sighed and relaxed his tense body. While he was still feeling the active buzz in his sinuses, a familiar warmth flooded his system and he was left uncurling his tightly pulled in body as the fuzzy sensations started to travel down his spine.

Hobi smiled. He easily forgot how soft and submissive Jungkook could be when he wasn’t feeling well, it wasn’t something that Hoseok particularly enjoyed to see, since the hybrid was usually sick or in pain, but it wasn’t all bad. Especially from the caring side of things. It wasn’t terrible to have Jungkook cling to him or Tae and seek general comfort and closeness more than being keen on isolating like he himself usually did. Or at least he usually tried to. Living with Taehyung and Jungkook had taught him that there was no running from cuddles.

Jungkook gave small pleased ‘hums’ as Hobi gently began to rub at the soft ears, moving in massaging circles from the bottom all the way up. When he reached the base, Jungkook subconsciously raised his head to push his ear harder into Hobi’s fingers. His body giving a light tremble as Hoseok laughed and focused his attention on where Jungkook’s ears met his hair, enjoying the soft sounds that escaped the bunny.

“Is it good?” Hobi asked teasingly when he noticed Jungkook’s foot twitching into a tapping motion on the couch. He wondered what it felt like. He had always been too shy to ask Jungkook about what he went through each time he or Tae played with his ears or tail, despite being in a relationship with the bunny for almost 2 years now and seeing that what Jungkook felt was clearly one of pleasure, he just couldn’t bring himself to ask the details. As a human he’d probably never understand it properly, and he didn’t want to seem jealous of it or something – because he wasn’t. He was just curious, and he’d much rather be able to be the giver if it meant seeing his bunny writhe and moan at his touch.

He’d have to remember to ask Jimin, maybe he could give a better explanation and pointers than what the internet did.

Jungkook moaned as Hobi found a particular spot right at the base of his ear, the bunny had been leaning into it so much that he was holding himself almost upright with his arms propped under him, hovering over Hobi’s lap now. His mouth hung open a bit with heavy breaths and glazed eyes peered through dark lashes. Hoseok rubbed harder, watching as Jungkook sniffled persistently and shivered against him.

“You okay still?”

“mmmhh, it’s good…jus-just ti-ticklish..” he sniffled wetly. “I’b gonna sne-hih-sneeze.”

Well this was new, but not entirely unfamiliar territory. Taking pity on him, Hobi started to rub at the other ear as well. A deep bubble of heat burst through him as he watched Jungkook’s expression switch from pleased to downright euphoric. His breath stuttering and hitching as Hoseok become more determined in his activity. Jungkook was so beautiful, even when he looked like a mess. It was a hot mess, one that Hoseok had been a participant of creating. It didn’t take much longer before Jungkook was crumpling into his chest, tears brimming in his eyes.

Heh’ ehHHESHEW! ISHHHEW’uh Heh’EHHTCH’ahh… Hih..snf… Hiehh’TCHshhiew!

“Bless you.” Hoseok could feel the spray settling on the visible skin of his collar bone. “Are you done?”

Jungkook sniffled deeply, letting out a heavy sigh that forced him into a bout of soft coughs. “It still.. ugh.”

“Tickles? Should I fetch you tissues? We can coax them out if you want…”

Jungkook didn’t answer verbally, just sunk his face back into Hoseok’s neck while his hands clung to the elders shirt with an iron grip. That was as much an answer as he was going to get.

They remained in that position, both having fallen asleep at some point, until Taehyung came sneaking into the house later that night. The witch winced as he accidentally bumped into the trellis of plants by the door that Jimin had gifted him a year ago when he was shaking water droplets from his hair. The sound resonating through the silent apartment with more volume than he would have liked. His wince returned as he realised that Hoseok was blinking wide, blurry eyes through the darkness in his direction, the only source of light being the T.V. that his boyfriends must have forgotten to turn off.

“Sorry, it’s just me.” He reassured softly before flipping on the passage light so that Hoseok could see him better without bothering Jungkook too much. Tae lifted up a large, damp paper bag that hadn’t been able to fit in his backpack with the other materials he’d bought throughout the day. “I got some stuff. Most of the places had closed already but I found this one pharmacy that had just closed and convinced one of the workers that it was extremely vital that I got medication and stuff, so he let me inside for a bit. Praise that guy. Much thanks was given. A saint amongst people.”

Hobi let out a soft chuckle at Taehyung as shuffled closer to set a gentle kiss against his temple before leaning down and brushing the hair back from Jungkook’s face to press a kiss too his forehead as well.

The witches brows drew together at the slight heat that radiated off of the hybrid. He ran his hand through the bunnies hair, giving a gentle scratch at his ears as he watched Jungkook cuddle closer to Hoseok in his sleep. The blanket that covered them slipped down a little and Taehyung was quick to tuck it back under Jungkook’s chin.

“Is he feverish? This came on so quickly, he seemed fine earlier.”

Hobi yawned widely, shifting in his seat but not making a move to push Jungkook off. “I thought so too, but he told me that he woke up feeling sick. He also left class early and walked through that storm to get home.” He sighed and Taehyung’s brows raised with surprise, his mouth slightly ajar as if he wanted to say something but no words came out. “I think we can be grateful he isn’t worse. I gave him some allergy med’s since its mostly his sinuses that were bothering him and that’s all we had, but they didn’t last very long. He was miserable for a while before he got to sleep. I don’t think he ate much today either…”

“…Should we give him something now?”

Hobi bit at his lip. He knew hybrids could tolerate certain things a bit better than humans could, but he still didn’t like the idea of giving the bunny medication on an empty stomach. And eating at this hour… it must be at least close to eleven pm now.

“ If we feed him now he is probably just going to get nauseous. I don’t want him to feel worse..”

Tae nodded in agreement, still carding his fingers through Jungkook’s hair. “We can make a nice breakfast tomorrow and give it to him then. I got some new herbs and crystals, so I’ll make him some new charms as well. For you too.” Hoseok smiled at Taehyungs concern. “You still have classes tomorrow right? Yoongi is still out of town so I don’t really have to go into work. Namjoon is probably sick of me hovering anyway. Between him breaking jars and me doing the wrong measurements and methods, Yoongi may just bury us alive when he gets back.” He chuckled nervously, but Hobi knew that Tae had mixed feelings of disappointment and worry when it came to his work. “I just mean, I’ll be able to stay with him.”

“I know.” Hobi replied, staring at Tae’s downward gaze. “I think we’ll both appreciate the effort, Tae. I’ll try get home early, but it will probably be just the two of you in the morning. Just email his lecturers.”

“Of course…” Tae pressed another kiss to Jungkook’s forehead, then to Hoseok’s lips before the elder broke into another yawn. “I’ll pack this stuff away quickly then we can head to bed, just give me a second.”

The witch disappeared, not trusting himself to try to levitate anything like Yoongi had taught him -he was still only getting it right a third of the time. So it took a bit longer than he planned, but he eventually packed away the food and goods that he’d gotten and left his charm materials and medication on the table to be dealt with in the morning. He re-entered the dim lounge to see Hoseok gently shaking Jungkook to a somewhat state of consciousness so that the elder could get up.

When Jungkook let out a deep whine Tae moved beside them and slipped his arms under Jungkook’s legs and back to lift him up. It was a bit of a struggle at first, since the angle was weird, but he bumped the bunny up in his arms to get a better grip and then carefully carried him to their room down the hall. Hoseok was a bit slow to follow, taking a moment to stretch and get life in his legs before he joined them. Jungkook buried his face into Tae’s shoulder as the lights in the passage forced him further into the land of the living.

“Tae…?” Jungkook sniffed, then pushed harder against Taehyungs body. “Eh’hii’ehSHHieww. Eh’iishieww!... … ‘m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Bun. Bless you.” Tae murmured. His shirt was still a little damp from the rain when he had to climb the stairs anyway. “Let’s get you to bed, Hobi is bringing your blanket so you can stay warm and comfortable.”

Jungkook nodded before sneezing again. Behind him, Tae could hear Hobi’s soft blessing and sloppy, half asleep movements as he used furniture and the wall to no doubt help him walk. Taehyung forced himself not to grimace at the delayed thought of how both of his boyfriends had kept him in the dark about things for most of the day. Hoseok had probably been exhausted from his classes and yet he had chosen not to bother Tae with any concerns until it was late, and Jungkook had acted like nothing had been wrong at all when he’d spoken to him earlier…

He kicked open the bedroom door with a shake of his head, walking into the dark room with perhaps a bit too much force. He was being dumb. This wasn’t necessarily about him, and he knew that. It’s not what he was supposed to be focusing on.

He set the hybrid down on their bed, opening up the duvet and encouraging him with little pats to roll towards the center, before he went and grabbed the ‘magical’ blanket from Hobi who was still only halfway up the passage – sparing an embarrassing chuckle as Tae picked him up as well – so that he could give it to the bunny before he started to look for it.

“You should change.” He said once he had set Hobi down and left him to handle settling Jungkook with gentle pats. He tossed some sweatpants and a T-shirt at Hoseok, before grabbing his own pajama’s to change into. “How was school?”

Tae listened to Hoseok tiredly ramble on about his students and the upcoming exam preparations while they both got dressed for the night. Overall, it sounded particularly stressful, and some of Hoseok’s kids weren’t the most hardworking – even if they had the talent to be amazing. Hobi more often than not would break down in spiralling rants about how they needed to work harder or at the very least pay attention in class. Honestly, Taehyung couldn’t fathom who wouldn’t be interested in having Hoseok teach them. The man was one of the most passionate people he had ever met, it was actually what had drawn him to the human. Of course now there many other traits that he loved, but Hoseok’s passion would always be his first.

He added a brief skim of his daily events, knowing that even if Hoseok was trying his best to pay attention, the elder needed to sleep more than he needed an immediate recap. Tae merely ended his tales by saying that it was ‘Knowledgeable and fun’ before he ruffled Hobi’s hair and jumped onto the bed, cuddling up to Jungkook’s sleeping figure. He imitated the bunnies deep snores and earned muffled laughter from the elder as he joined them on the other side of the bed.

“Good night TaeTae.”

“Sleep well, Hoseok.” Tae murmured. The lump in his chest from early slowly melting away as sleep dragged him into darkness.

#bts sickfic #bts fanfic #taekookseok #bunny hybrid jungkook #witch taehyung #dance teacher hoseok #sick!jungkook #sneeze #colds #alternate universe #ended badly #sorry

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doyoungiesbunnies · 4 years

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Change of Seasons

[8:17 AM] - Lucas

When did it get this cold? Why did it get this cold?

I burrow myself farther into my fleece blanket, pulling it over my ears and sniffing at the sudden blockage in my nose. That’s what I get for sleeping with the windows open.

What I hate about the change of seasons: it always comes with a new head cold, adjusting to the weather, sudden rude drops in morning temperature.

An eye cracks open to the golden rays streaming in. Despite wanting to shut the pane closed, the desire to remain in warmth is stronger.

The phone vibrates on my bedside dresser. Reaching out to grab it, I instantly regret plunging my arm into the brisk air, retreating back into my body. The screen lights up to the new messages.

“Good morning sweetie 😘

I’m outside, let me in?”

The flutter in my chest spreads warmth to the rest of my body. I huddle my arms close to my chest as my thumbs tap a response.

“Too cold to get out of bed”

“But I came to see you 😞”

And just like that, the pouting image of my boyfriend is enough for me to roll out of bed, blanket draped over my body, and pad to the front door in my slippers. As soon as the wind blows in, I shiver and clutch the blanket to shield my body.

Lucas’s hearty laugh bellows from his chest, shutting the door behind him. “Aw, my baby’s cold,” he coos, my favorite dorky smile exposing teeth. His large arms wrap around my torso to place a kiss on my forehead while pulling the fleece over my head as a hood.

I lean into his warmth. Somehow, he’s the perfect temperature despite him just coming from outside. He draws me closer when he notices how comfortable I am against him, his fresh laundry scent invading my nostrils.

“Come on, let’s go cuddle in bed.” He kicks off his shoes without letting go. “I’ll warm you up.”

Lucas leads me back into bed, shutting the window before climbing in next to me. He wraps me up well, pressing me into his chest.

I nuzzle him, appreciating the large hand patting my back rhythmically. The silence makes me peek up at him, only to be met with his heart-melting expression staring back down at me. Chocolate brown orbs almost twinkle from the seemingly infinite affection they hold, the corners of his lips turned up and relaxed.

The hand on my back reaches up to stroke my temple gingerly. “I’m so lucky to be your personal heater first thing in the morning.”

What I love about the change of seasons: It always comes with warm morning cuddles from this giant, goofy lover boy.

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maxrev · 3 years

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Traditions for Tradition’s Sake

Thank you @nightmarestudio606 for the help with a title, as I was just too happy to write something to think so far ahead lmao

Anyway, have some Niall and Kaidan at Christmastime (a bit late)

“So, where we off to?” Niall asked.

“It’s a surprise,” Kaidan told him.

“I hate surprises.”

Pausing in the act of pouring hot chocolate into two large travel mugs, Kaidan smirked, “Do not. You love surprises.”

With a look worthy of the Grinch himself, Niall huffed in annoyance. “Fine but only when they involve you,” he conceded.

“Good thing this one does then. It means you’re sure to love it.”

Niall slumped against the counter, defeated, and watched Kaidan move around the kitchen in a continuous rhythm, packing a basket full of goodies. Of course, the hot chocolate was not complete without a can of whipped cream for topping and cinnamon to taste. He was also pretty sure he’d seen a flask of whiskey make its way into the basket. When he’d questioned Kaidan, all he’d gotten was ‘something to make them toasty.’ Didnae need whiskey for that.

However, it meant wherever they were going was sure to be cold. Although, snuggling up with Kaidan had many advantages and was worth braving the temperature and snow outside.

He was currently packing small snack bags of pretzels dipped in yogurt and chocolate, frosted Christmas cookies, and Niall’s personal favorite, shortbread. Though the last was only added recently, just for him. Each goodie Kaidan and his mother, Grace, had made by hand, their own little tradition since he’d been a boy. And while he and his mother baked, he’d go out with his father to cut down a Christmas tree, something the three men had done together this year, walking all the way out to the back plot of land which had never been cleared for planting fruit trees and boasted a forest with all different sizes of evergreens.

The Alenko family traditions had now become a part of Niall’s life, though he chose to help only minimally in the kitchen. He’d didn’t mind cooking but baking was too precise and he nearly always messed something up.

He reveled in being part of such a close, loving family and how they celebrated, missing the ones he’d had with his own family, now all gone.

Once the last item made it into the basket, Kaidan stopped, hands on hips, brown eyes checking every inch of the kitchen to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Walking towards the pantry, his tousled dark head disappeared inside. Niall looked at the basket, thinking it probably weighed more than the St. Bernard, Riley, currently snoozing by the fire.

“You know,” he mused, “if ya keep feedin’ me like this, I’ll be looking like St. Nick verra soon.”

Kaidan emerged from the pantry, a wicked grin on his face. With a wink, he sauntered over to Niall, arms wrapping around his waist as he leaned in close and whispered in his husky voice, warm breath tickling Niall’s lips, “Then I guess I’ll have to sit on your lap and tell you exactly what I want for Christmas.”

Eager to hear more, Niall countered with, “Dinnae keep me waitin’. Tell me now.”

Kaidan chuckled, low and soft. “Don’t worry, I will. But,” he held a finger against his lips, “we have things to do first.”

Much to Niall’s dismay, he turned and hefted the heavily laden basket with ease and walked towards the front door, a smile on his lips as he looked over his shoulder. “Come on, Santa, let’s go. I have a surprise for you.”

“I do love surprises.”

“I thought you didn’t.” Kaidan had stopped by the door to bundle up warmly.

“Changed my mind. Ya did say the surprise involved you.”

“Oh, indeed it does.” Kaidan gave him a heated look before bundling up and headed out the door. If he kept it up, Niall would be shedding layers all the way to -- well, wherever they were headed. With a sigh, he slipped on his boots and gloves, donned his pea coat, and reached for the toque and scarf Grace had knitted just for him in his favorite colors; black, red, and white. An early Christmas present.

He stepped out onto the porch to find a winter wonderland scene straight from a painting; multicolored lights swayed from the eaves in a soft puff of wind. The porch railings were wrapped in the same lights, twinkling merrily, their colors muted, reflecting against the pristine snow. The railings along the porch and steps were wrapped with lights and garland, intertwined.

A large pine tree off to the side of the porch was also wrapped with lights, both multicolored and white. As he closed the door, a thick, beautiful evergreen wreath decorated with assorted Christmas decorations and bells, jingled softly. The foggy windows along the porch were gently lit from within by battery operated candles, shedding amber light out onto the porch.

Hearing a noise, he turned, mouth dropping in an O of surprise. Kaidan stood in front of his parent’s beautiful black Friesian, Warlock, coat glistening in the light of a half moon, whispering to him quietly while one hand played with the forelock. The horse nudged him in the chest, making him stumble, and he laughed in response before pulling a carrot from his pocket. Niall felt green with envy. As the horse happily munched on the carrot, the bells around it’s neck rang in the air.

Behind the horse sat a beautiful sleigh, adorned with intricate designed scrollwork one might find in days gone by. It was a deep red, the designs painted a shimmering gold. The runners waxed and ready to glide effortlessly over the snow. Inside the bench seat was covered in red velvet and piled high with warm woolen blankets and at least a few afghans he was sure Grace had knitted over the years.

Walking down steps cleared of snow, Niall appreciated the sight of Kaidan’s dark head resting against Warlock’s, kindred spirits.

Kaidan looked over as he approached, “Ready for an adventure?”

“Oh, 'tis an adventure yer plannin’? I thought ‘twas a surprise?”

“It’s a surprise adventure.” At Niall’s look of skepticism, he amended, “An adventurous surprise?”

Niall couldn’t help but smile, “With you? Always.”

Leaving the horse, Kaidan walked over to wrap Niall’s scarf snuggly about his neck before tucking it inside his coat.

“What, am I wee lad of five?”

Kaidan tugged on the scarf, before smacking Niall lightly on the shoulder, “Sometimes, though there’s truly nothing wee about you. Now, climb in and let’s get going.”

As soon as he was settled, Kaidan flicked the reigns and called out, “Time to go, Warlock. Let’s show Niall some amazing sights.”

The horse neighed in response and with little effort, pulled them forward and on into the night. As if powered by holiday magic, the sleigh glided effortlessly over the mounds of snow like it was floating along in the air. Niall remained quiet, taking in the peaceful moonlit scened around them. The trees in the orchard, all lined up in rows, and the evergreens scattered haphazardly about, wore their winter coats with refined elegance.

The air was sharp, crisp, and fresh; completely unlike the salty sea air they had living on the beach. It was brisk and cold, clearing Niall’s head from the usual doubts and anxiety which always seemed to follow him around, though less and less as the months went by.

Above them, a dark, velvety canopy was the backdrop for millions of twinkling lights, the stars on gorgeous display as if the whole galaxy was a Christmas tree.

As if no time had passed, Niall realized with a start the sled was slowing to a stop in a small, sheltered alcove amongst the hills, a windbreak of evergreens behind them to keep the chill winter breeze off their skin. Kaidan climbed out and whispered to Warlock while rubbing his neck. Going back to the sleigh, he reached behind the seat and brought out some hay, spreading it out on the ground for the horse.

It was just like Kaidan to always make sure everyone, animal or person, had what they needed.

He climbed back in and reached inside the basket to hand Niall his mug and the flask of whiskey.

“Tryin’ ta get me drunk and take advantage of me?” He dangled the flask in the air. “Take more’n this ta do the trick.”

A dark brow shot up in response, “I need to get you drunk to take advantage of you?”

Without waiting for a response, because they both knew it wasn’t true, Kaidan dug around in the basket and pulled out some of the goodies he’d packed and handed them over. He then shook out several blankets and layered them on their laps before wrapping two of the afghans around their shoulders. A nice, toasty cocoon of warmth.

Niall added a bit of cinnamon to their mugs and Kaidan followed it with a dram of whiskey and topped them with whipped cream. The two sat side by side in this quiet little world, munching contentedly on Christmas snacks and drinking hot chocolate. The whiskey warmed him from the inside out and while it was cold, he wasn’t too uncomfortable. Besides, their body heat warmed him up quite well.

Following a bite of cookie with hot chocolate, Niall swallowed them down and asked, because he was really curious. “So, is there any particular reason we ventured out in weather cold enough to freeze my bollocks into bags of ice? Is this a strange Canadian passtime or something?”

Kaidan nearly choked on his drink, coughing and sputtering with laughter. “Um...no. No, it isn’t. But, there’s actually a very good reason we’re doing this. Just enjoy the surroundings - and the company - and be patient.”

“‘Tis no virtue of mine, patience, as you well know but aye, the company is verra enjoyable.”

Leaning over, Kaidan softly brushed their lips together. “For me too.”

Wherever Kaidan was, Niall wanted to be there. It didn’t matter the circumstances, just as long as they were together. With Kaidan by his side, he could face anything head on.

They sat in the sleigh snuggled side by side, eating, drinking, and talking. Eventually, despite the cold, Niall began to drift off. He was happy, warm, and full; the perfect recipe for a nap.

Kaidan nudged him lightly, “Hey, sleepyhead, wake up.”

Niall blinked open his eyes, “What’d I miss?”

“Well, my stellar company for one.” Niall snorted and Kaidan glanced at him in mock indignation. “Are you saying my company isn’t any good?” As Niall shook his head no, yet didn’t stop laughing, he sighed and crossed his arms. “You also missed the moose who came up and asked for directions.”

Struggling for breath at the statement, mentioned so seriously with no hint of amusement, Niall managed to spit out a retort, “Must’ve been a female. A male wouldn’t ask for directions.”

“Very funny, Niall.”

“Ya know ‘tis true.”

“You didn’t miss anything yet,” Kaidan assured him.

Mouth cracking open in a wide in a yawn, he waited, then asked, “Hey, d’ya have anymore shortbread? Oh, and whiskey. My bollocks really are goin ta freeze off.”

“Those wee things? I doubt it.” Niall glared at him. “So I’m not keeping you warm anymore? That hurts.”

Niall nudged him, “Stop. Ya know I just want more.”

Kaidan chuckled, “Yeah, I do.” He handed the flask over along with a bag of the shortbread, pulling it back when Niall reached for it, eyes narrowing in thought, “Although, you did say you were worried about becoming St. Nick. Maybe you’ve had enough?”

“Well, you dinnae seem upset if I did, so why should I worry? More of me tae love, aye?”

“Ohhhh, aye.” Kaidan eyed him up and down as if he was a popsicle and the weather was dangerously hot. Might end up there at this rate.

He popped a piece of shortbread into his mouth and as he chewed, Kaidan grabbed his hand and squeezed, “There! Look up, Niall.”

Nearly choking on the shortbread, he did and was overcome with awe at the site which greeted him. Across the sky was a giant ribbon of colors in vibrant hues of pink, blue, violet and green. They flowed across the dark sky, lighting it up like a carnival, colors swaying and dancing to the earth’s own music. It was spectacular. Niall felt small in the presence of a wonder such as this.

He watched for several minutes, mesmerized, at the splendor before him. Turning, he saw Kaidan watching him.

“You’re not watchin’ them dance?”

“I’ve seen it a few times and right now, I’m enjoy watching you more. The look of awe and wonder on your face, the colors as they dance across your skin, is much better than watching them in the sky.”

Voice gruff with emotion, Niall pulled him close, “Ach, ya flatterer,” for a kiss which left them both breathless and hungry for more. Very warm as well.

As they watched the light a bit longer before they began to fade, Niall spoke softly, “My da told me about them as a wee lad. Said his da had showed him, told him a story they were our kin, gone up to heaven and paintin’ the sky just for us. I remember I could imagine Gilliana doing such when she...well, maybe ‘tis all of them up there now, paintin’ the sky for me. And you now, as well.”

“What a beautiful thought, Niall. I love it and from what you’ve shared of them, think they would do so, Gilliana spurring them on.”

Turning, he captured Kaidan’s face in his hands, “Tapadh leibh, mo chridhe*,” he whispered softly against his lips.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for coming along and enduring the chilly weather just for me.”

Niall snorted, “Chilly, he says. Aye, I’m happy to be here with ya.”

Grasping the reigns, Kaidan turned Warlock and headed for home, remaining quiet, leaving Niall to this thoughts who knew he would treasure the memory of this night forever.

#mshenko #mass effect #Niall Shepard #Kaidan Alenko #custom shepard #christmastime #holiday fun and stuff

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lemonietrinket · 4 years

Text

Camping ||| NCT 127 & WayV x Reader

Start

Genre: Fluff, adventure, interactive choose-your-own-story Overall Warning(s): References to alcohol use but nothing severe/dangerous, some foul language Word Count: 1014 Ambience: here

AN: not all options are available yet because this is quite a big thing, but I need to get links available otherwise admin is going to become a nightmare

~~~

The night grew cold as if by the flip of a switch, the temperature drop encompassing the valley and drawing in a mild storm not far behind. As soon as everyone had retreated to their tents after feeling the first flecks of rain, the wind rose, buffering the canvas sheets and biting at a loosened tether. Its high-tone crackle was just loud enough to prick at the ears, even through the noise that continued after.

After a couple of drinks prior, as well as several rowdy choruses of old 80s songs and tussles in the fresh grass, even as the rain picked up the many inhabitants continued to shout and call to one another. Some were cackling tipsily from far behind you, a couple were bickering somewhere off round the front, and before long came the inevitable loud whack from one of the furthest tents, with a cacophony of stifled laughter and whines to follow.

You meanwhile inhaled deeply, shutting out the noise and leaving it distant amongst the wind. It was a skill you had taken a while to learn, but had proven to be invaluable with just how much noise your friends were capable of making. Leaving the ruckus, you became mesmerised by the faint dapples of rain rippling across the dark skin of the tent, specks of shadows that made their staggered way out of the hazy spotlight, to merge with the void out of reach of the moon’s light.

The silvery glow from the celestial sister high above had been all that allowed you to see, dimly shimmering through the canvas and casting silhouettes upon your two friends, who despite the chaos outside, were snoring contently. But as the storm ushered in, bringing the brisk chill that only the damp air of a squall in the dimming summer could bring, the chalk dust face disappeared into the thick of the night, leaving little glow to the valley at all. And that in turn left the only source of light being the occasional random torch arcs roaming like strobe lights from the tent next-door—otherwise, everything was pretty much painted of ink.

You couldn’t make out what your temporary neighbours were squabbling about over the wind, but it sounded like much more of a party than it did where you were. When you had chosen your tent-mates you had expected to have stayed up all night, because surely, if they weren’t here, they would have been at frat parties dancing the dusk through to a waltz with dawn—but in a strange twist of fate here they were, after several drinks, crowned as the first to fall asleep.

Johnny, as soon as he pulled his blankets over him, was out like a light. He had led the charge earlier in the day, and had shown no signs of stopping, gleefully chasing the others around only to throw them over his shoulder when he inevitably caught them; his long strides had proved to be quite the unfair advantage, not that anyone could stop him from playing even if they wanted to. None of that Johnny could be seen in his sleeping features now. With his strong arms scrunched at his chest while his plush lips squished into an unrequited kiss at his pillow, you hadn’t hesitated to take a photo of his precious face for blackmail later. On the furthest mattress from you was Jaehyun, who had insisted on staying up a little longer. He’d gotten a lot more talkative the more he drank, though it meant it wasn’t long before he gave in too, his cheeks rosy from all of his indulgences despite your previous advice and gleaming eyes languidly blinking. He’d passed out diagonally on top of his sleeping bag, one foot shot out at an angle that couldn’t be comfortable no matter how much you considered it, the other—now you thought of it, you had no clue where. It was as if the night had consumed it.

You meanwhile were perched bolt upright, staring into the dark aimlessly, completely unable to sleep. Perhaps it really was the noise that kept you from rest—you may have been used to their seemingly never-ending energy but the incessant clacking of the tent clip would be enough to drive even the most robust insane. Maybe it was the unfamiliar surroundings and the way the shadows pooled in the corners of the tent, too dark to even let the light of a flame escape. Whatever it was, you found yourself unable to catch a wink of the sleep that the other two had succumbed to. You rationalised that they had stolen all the sleep available.

The small chuckle that had escaped you quickly died down however, as truly, you couldn’t believe your luck. When you’d planned the trip you’d figured that the sun would rise before you slept, but this was what you’d received instead. How had you ended up with the most boring tent?

Hearing another bout of raucous laughter from somewhere in the distance, and watching Johnny scrunch his nose in response to the increased volume of Jaehyun’s sudden snore, you decided it was time to take action.

Laying your options out before yourself, your eyes firstly settled on Johnny. You could wake him up, you supposed, to get some conversation at the very least. Alternatively, since he was such a nice person—and since you now began to consider how that wouldn’t be an option, because waking Johnny up had never proved to be any less than a nightmare—maybe you could try to at least hunker down with him. It would no doubt be comfortable, he kicked out a lot of heat after all. Or, after catching Jaehyun mumble something intelligible from the other side of the tent once again, you could try and help him settle properly, especially since you could already hear the others eventually complaining about it when they finally decided to sleep.

That being said, you could also very much ignore both rational options and instead brave the poor weather outside to explore what the other tents had to offer.

What do you choose?

Try and get Johnny’s attention

Go check on Jaehyun

Venture out into the wilderness

~~~

AN: this is just a miniseries i thought i would start off with on a whim, bc ive always wanted to try something like this, and also i feel like my blog is dead bc of my creative fluctuations lately

(tw: mental health, madd) i wont bore people with the details of my mental health disorder, but its being a pain in quarantine for a variety of reasons, and it means my creative output is severely out of whack

basically, the proper long things (such as pirate ateez series, Love endings and such) that i promised are coming! but please bear with me, my brain isnt in the right state to write them yet and i want them to be worthwhile, so this is what im trialling until it is

there is also no Dream bc it would make just too many options for me to cope with so im really sorry :( if people like this sort of thing then i will do another which does include them in a different scenario

sorry, thank you, and i hope you enjoy playing along :)

Masterlist

(edited: July 15 2020)

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randomnoteforfuturereference · 4 years

Text

The Quarry

This piece is actually part of a larger fic I did a while ago (fic on AO3 is called Quarried Depths, which @kleeklutch helped with during the beta process), but I thought it capable of standing alone as a one-shot. It takes place between “2.3 Meet the Frogs” and “2.4 Hazeapalooza”, when Nursey and Dex... didn’t have the best relationship; this piece specifically takes place right after that scene where Nursey spilled the cereal and milk on Dex (and in this case, on Dex’s laptop as well). It also explores a bit of how Dex looks up to Ransom.

Warning: There’s a first-person depiction of an anxiety attack, as well as unintentional self-harm via scratching.

Anyways, hope y'all enjoy.

--- --- ---

“There are eight d-men on this team,” I breathe through clenched teeth. “Eight. Coaches could have paired me with any of them. Instead, I have to. Put. Up. With. You.” I punctuate the last few words by prodding a trembling finger into his chest.

I don’t give a damn if Nurse gets the message or not, but a distant tendril of satisfaction blossoms within me when he flinches back. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that something crumples behind those dollar-green eyes of his.

Not bothering to wait for a further response, I turn back and continue on my way.

Nurse doesn’t bother following.

I don’t go back to my dorm. In all honesty, I don’t know where I’m going. I just need to be somewhere without people. Without judgement.

As my feet carry me on my way, the haze of rage begins to ebb and the thrumming gradually quiets. With that ebbing, my brain plays catch up and clarity is restored. With that clarity, two things hit me.

The first is the fact that I had wandered out of campus and into Samwell Park. Not only that, but judging by my vantage point and surroundings, I went past the dam and past any defined trail. I really am in a spot where I won’t be bothered, even with the university visible across the Pond’s surface.

The second thing that hits me is the full weight of what just happened. The possibility that my computer will not survive this. The fact that this fight between me and Nurse was probably the worst that has happened between us. The fact that this blow-up happened in front of the team and much of the school.

That weight settles into my stomach and pulls my insides down with it.

Did you really think you’d make it? He’s right. You don’t fit here. You don’t fit with them.

Did you see their faces? They hate you. And why shouldn’t they? You never say the right thing. They were just being nice before. They were being generous. And now you’ve really blown it.

My skin pulls taut and, as it tightens, it constricts my chest and sends a familiar damn itch all over. Shedding my backpack does nothing to ease that.

Now they are going to tell Hall and Murray. Now the coaches are going to kick you out. Then where are you going to be? Where’s your scholarship going to be? Gone. All that investment. All his investment for you. It’s all going to be gone. You’re going to lose a scholarship and a laptop. All within one semester.

Just because you have to be Billy the Blunder.

Gasping for air and clawing at my arms, I finally collapse and curl in on myself to weather the storm.

Because that’s what you’re good at. Weathering.

It’s all you’re good at.

I don’t know how long I lay where I fall. Could be seconds. Could be minutes. Could be hours.

Whatever the case, the storm finally ebbs, and as my breaths slow and even out, I unfurl and lift myself off the forest floor.

All things considered, it was probably one of my worst attacks. I don’t even have to look at my stinging arms to know that I’m going to have to keep my sleeves down for the next few days or so. Easier will be not showing my hands so that nobody can see the little bloody crescents gouged into them.

Just to be sure, I sit on a rock that juts out over the water and go through some of the breathing exercises taught to me. It doesn’t banish completely the tight feeling in my chest, but little by little it loosens things up.

As things loosen up, I take stock of the setting: The clear sunny day with just the a slightest cool breeze. The extreme clarity of the water suggesting that turnover hasn’t happened yet despite the time of the year. The shore terminating in a rocky drop-off with no bottom beyond.

It dimly occurs to me that this spot most likely was a quarry once.

Feeling back in control and getting a good gauge on my surroundings, I get an idea.

I place my laptop in a shaded location where I can see it, strip down to my underwear, use my clothes to make a nest around the computer, inhale a deep breath, and take a leaping dive off the rock.

The briskness of the water is like a sledgehammer to my lungs. It’s a familiar pressure, however, and not unwelcome. As my momentum slows, I release just enough air to allow for a steady descent. The cloud of shimmering bubbles clears to reveal a sight before me. Shafts of dappled light from the noonday sun dance around the pale surroundings and occasionally illuminate the blurry forms of various fish gliding and hovering around in the distance. Unlike the majority of the Pond, which is shallow enough to walk through for a hundred feet without the water reaching your neck, here I’m rendered tiny by the cliff-like wall plunging down to indiscernible depths.

If anything, and despite the very real danger it can pose, the incomprehensible nature of the environment that dwarfs me is a source of comfort. It doesn’t judge. It doesn’t spurn. It doesn’t give a flying fuck where I come from and who I am. It just is and offers a familiar presence that supports and embraces even as the mild protests of my lungs signal for me to kick back up to the surface. That embrace relaxes me in full, and the breath I take upon breaking the surface reinvigorates my body.

I should do this more often.

As I swim around the surface, the sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs breaks me out of that state of calm, and it gives me cause to press close to the edge and reach for a small rock. That is, until the crunching is accompanied by the grumbling of a familiar voice and the flash of a white cap.

“Over here.” I punctuate my call by lobbing the rock into a leaf pile in front of me and pushing off the rocky wall so that I can be seen.

Ransom jumps straight up and lets off a high-pitched yelp — city folk… — before he whips around, does a double-take, and finally focuses on me. After taking a few steadying breaths, he gingerly picks his way towards the edge of the rocky bank. I doubt those loafers, which probably cost as much as everything I had on half-an-hour ago, are made for going through anything rougher than cobblestones. “You’re fucking hard to find, you know that right?”

“Wasn’t planning on being found,” I counter. “How’d you get this far?”

“Left breakfast early, and I saw you stomping southbound along the Pond. Wasn’t too hard to follow your trail — if I had to ask some random witnesses that you passed — until the damn path withered away to nothing after I crossed the bridge by the waterfall,” he grumbles while looking around. “This really is the fucking Forbidden Forest.”

I can see how he may have that impression. The vegetation here’s likely secondary growth, but considering how well-established it is in general and how thick the trees are, it’s really old secondary growth. Perhaps old enough to be non-virgin primary growth. Don’t know the age of Samwell Pond, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s at least a century old. The quarry itself was probably abandoned long before it and the surrounding land was flooded when the dam was built.

“Anyways, took me a while, fuck you very much, but here you are.” He looks me up and down with raised eyebrows. “Didn’t expect this.”

I’m just glad that he didn’t find me while I was having the attack. Still, I scowl back. “What’s so strange? Students play in the Pond all the time, and last I checked the park has a ‘swim at your own risk’ rule.” Then I realize that the water’s clarity means that he can easily see my briefs as I keep afloat. “Also what I have on has nothing on the stuff, or lack thereof, idiots have worn around town.”

Ransom mulls that over and shrugs with a chuckle in acknowledgement. “I’m more meaning that it’s the middle of fall.”

“It’s a nice day.” Possibly the last nice day in a while if the forecast’s correct. “Isn’t Toronto supposed to be around the same temperature?”

He snorts. “You picture me going out for a Halloween plunge in Lake Ontario?”

To my own surprise, I bark out a small laugh. “Guess not.”

Satisfied with my swim, I climb out, shake myself off, and hop back onto the sun-warmed rock to lie down to bask and dry off. I don’t miss that Ransom’s staring at my arms and hands, which I keep balled up. While he thankfully doesn’t say anything specific, he still asks, “Are you going to be alright?”

I give a shrug of my own. “I’ve had worse.” Guess it’s already time to face the music. “So when do I need to clear out my locker?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Dex,” Ransom huffs while kicking his shoes off, plopping down on the ground next to my rock so that we’re eye level, and swinging his feet over the edge. “So you two got in a little tiff. Okay, a major tiff. Still, you should have seen some of the tirades Jack meted out. Especially at Bitty. They got pretty epic.” For good measure, he pops those last few syllables and kicks at the water to send it upwards into a sparkling arc.

“Sure, but I bet they weren’t regular. Let’s face it: there’s no way Nurse and I get along, the other D-men are already paired up, and the team clearly likes him more. Hell, I know I’m good on the ice, but I’m certainly not spectacular like you or Holster. So if I were in charge and had to trim things down, I’d bin me first.”

Ransom widens his eyes at my admission, and even I’m a bit surprised how easy it is to say that.

Maybe I really don’t belong here.

“Fuck,” Ransom breathes as he squints at me, “you’re serious aren’t you.”

I just shrug at that. “Don’t want pity, if that’s what you think.” I really don’t. I wouldn’t mind if people here actually managed to see things from my perspective, but there’s no point in being broken up about them not understanding.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to be a doormat if shit’s thrown my way.

Minutes of silence pass between us. Silence that Ransom breaks first: “Two weeks.”

“What?”

“Give your partnership with Nursey two more weeks.” He holds up his fingers for emphasis. “If you both truly think this pairing is a disaster, then I’ll talk to Jack and the coaches to see if we can work something out.”

That’s more than cutting it close if they think something can be worked out before the season really starts getting into the swing of it. I squint up at him. “You really think two weeks will make a difference?”

Ransom shrugs. “It might. Better chance than if we don’t try anything. And seriously…”

“Yeah?”

“You two fit together better than you think.” Ransom doesn’t acknowledge my scoffing but instead holds his hand out. “So do we have a deal?”

“That assumes he wants to stay partners with me.” The image of Nurse flinching back from me plays on repeat, and for some reason my stomach clenches at it.

“I’ll talk to him.”

Like it will do any convincing. Whatever, it’s two more weeks. “Don’t get your hopes up,” I mutter as I shake the offered hand.

Deal settled, the two of us continue staring out at the Pond and university itself in silence once more.

And once more, Ransom disrupts it.

“Dex?”

To my surprise, Ransom’s voice now sounds stilted and hesitant. When I look at him, his face is a neutral mask except for a clear twitching tension within his jaw. Considering the air of confidence he always shows in his casual banter and poise, the unease that he’s radiating makes me sit up and turn towards him. “Yeah? What’s the matter?”

“What did you mean when you told Nursey that he’s ‘given everything’?”

That’s what he’s so conflicted over? “What do you think I meant? Just because Nurse has been swaddled in luxury doesn’t give him the right to lord it over me.” As I’m talking, it dawns on me why Ransom was so apprehensive. “Wait, I don’t have a problem about you and the rest of the team being rich. I don’t have a problem with him being rich. If I hated rich people, I wouldn’t—”

Ransom holds his hand up to stop my rambling. It doesn’t escape my attention the massive exhale that he releases. “It’s okay. It’s o—“ The words die as his brows pinch together. “Wait, no, it’s not okay.”

The backtrack puts me at a loss. “What are you talking about?”

Ransom stares at me, opening and closing his mouth as if he’s ready to say something but holding back. Ultimately he shakes his head and looks away. “Nope. Nah. Not doing this.”

What. “What?”

“Even if I didn’t have a meeting later in the afternoon, I’m not putting myself through this. At least not right now.” I try to ask him to clarify, but he just continues: “Go to the library. Talk to someone willing to discuss with you. Except for Shitty; he’s smart and a great guy with great intentions, but…”

“No fucking kidding…” Nurse is obnoxious enough, but I don’t know what I’d do if Knight was a D-man I had to be paired with. I've been civil and deferential all this time, but I’m not going to go out of my way to be chummy with that lefty-than-thou blowhard.

Ransom must have heard my muttered statement, as he lets off another sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “See, it’s shit like that why the team… nevermind.” He shakes his head. “Look, all I’ll say is that Nursey probably didn’t think you were yelling at him for being rich, and remembering some of the stuff he talked about may help you figure out what I mean. Also there’s a term that I recently learned that might be useful to you: ‘Intent versus Impact’. If you think you got it figured out and want to make sure, then we can talk.”

“But you’re barely giving me anything to figure out!” It’s fucking ridiculous. Why should Nurse get any sympathy from me if I don’t even know what supposedly bothers him?

My protests are answered with a snort. “Like you’ve been forthcoming about yourself.”

Ransom’s disdainful scoff feels like a slap in the face, and I can’t help but reel back a bit.

He must notice my reaction, as his voice softens. “I don’t want you to think I’m unwilling to talk if there’s anything you need help with. But William?” Both the use of my first name and the plea in his voice makes me look up at him. Really look at him to see lines of worry etched into his face. “We’re a team. I’m not saying that you should bare your soul. But we can’t have your back if you shut us out.”

A stiff breeze makes me pull my knees up to my chest.

I don’t need anyone to have my back. I’ve already said what I’ve needed to say. No reason for anyone to go out of their way for me. I did alright before, and I’ll do alright now.

Still, I humor Ransom: “I’ll take that into consideration.”

His raised eyebrow makes it obvious that he doesn’t believe me, and he looks ready to call me out on it. Ultimately he just shakes his head before glancing at my clothing nest. “Anyways, I was just coming to check to see if your computer’s alright.”

At least that’s something straightforward I can talk about. “I need to wait for it to dry first. Then I’ll check if there are any issues.”

“Well, I hope there aren’t any…” That air of pensive awkward settles over him again.

This time, I huff, “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Ransom allows for another minute or so before speaking: “You can’t afford a replacement, can you.”

Is he just figuring that out? “Well technically, I have enough money to buy one…” Really don’t want to elaborate beyond that.

I don’t have to. Ransom wide-eyed stare and the sharp exhale tells me that he's read between the lines. I’m still baffled that he didn’t know, but I’m also beyond thankful that he’s not showering me with platitudes or falling over himself with guilt.

“If it’s truly busted, I’ll see if I can rally the guys to help you replace it.”

“I don’t need your charity,” I growl. I’m completely sincere when I say that I don’t mind that my teammates are rich. But like hell I’m going to let them pay their way into my good graces or buy themselves a pat on the back because they are oh-so-generous. And like hell I’ll let Nurse buy himself out of the mess he made.

Ransom sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose again. “Then don’t think of it like that. Think of it as a team expense to make sure that things run smoothly. After all, the last thing we need is for the loss of your computer to put your academics at risk, which would put your athletics at risk, which would disrupt team dynamics,” he notes while ticking off each stage of the scenario with his fingers and waving them in my face. “So it’s not just about you.”

Well, when he puts it like that, the last thing I need is to be a burden on the team. And if they— fuck dammit, he’s good.

I take a deep breath. “If, and only if, anything needs to be replaced, it will probably just need to be a part and not a full replacement.” Not to mention that I would need to figure out how to repay them.

Hopefully it won’t come to that. It better not come to that.

For once, Ransom is satisfied with my response and relaxes fully to pipe, “Sure thing! Just let us know.”

“Also… do you think you can refrain from mentioning this spot? I’m not saying to keep it top secret, and I know it’s public land anyways.” Hell, for all I know, people come here all the time, and I just caught a lucky break today. “But it’s nice to have a quiet place, just in case.” Not to mention that the last thing I want is for this patch of forest and pond to become sullied by a kegster crowd.

For one reason or another, understanding dawns behind Ransom’s eyes even though he keeps his tone light. “I don’t think you have to worry about crowds of people here.” He scowls at the surrounding vegetation with suspicion. “But how about this: I’ll keep it on the lowdown if you help guide me back to civilization. Deal?”

“You do know that I practically came here by accident, right?”

He shrugs. “Even if you did, I trust you to find a way out. Faster than me for sure.”

I blink. I mean, I’m not exactly surprised at the assertion that’d I would be better at navigating a forest than most of my teammates. Haven’t made it secret that I hunt, after all. But that one trusts me to lead him out catches me off guard.

Once I get my bearings straight, I murmur, “Deal.”

Ransom flashes one of his trademark smiles and holds his fist out, and his smile widens when I bump it.

He has a really nice smile.

#William Poindexter #Derek Nurse #Justin Oluransi #Omgcp #omgcheckplease

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robins-whump · 5 years

Text

Bad Things Happen Bingo #11

Bingo Card: Shivering and Shaking

Fandom: Original Work

Characters: Finn and Tristan

Wordcount: 1613

The chill of stone had seeped into his very bones. Shivers wracked Finn’s body, huge shudders that knocked his elbows against the walls. Finn’s chest rose and fell in uneven bursts. Short huffs of clouded the frozen air with steam. Each warm breath made his nose flare momentarily with heat and he brought shaking hands closer to his mouth.

From what little he had seen of the outside world in the last few months, he knew that winter was coming. Frost had set in three days ago and hadn’t lifted since. A sheen of ice was slowly creeping through the window, icy tentacles leaching all warmth from the stone cell. Finn spent all his time huddled in a ball, limbs tucked into the thin t-shirt he wore.

Everything seemed to be filtered through a fog not unlike the mist that curled over Tristan’s lawn in the morning. It swirled around in his head, cold and blunt. He could barely think around it, consumed with the aching, painful, destructive cold-

The lock to his cell door clicked open. Finn’s eyes snapped up, flitting around as the door opened, revealing Tristan. He was wearing his usual crisp suit with the addition of a thick navy woollen coat, perfectly smoothed over his frame. Brown leather gloves protected Tristan’s hands from the cold. Every inch of clothing was perfectly comfortable and suitable for the cold weather.

The reminder of his own sparse clothing made Finn’s own fingers throb. He dropped his eyes before they could meet Tristan’s. he tucked his hands against his chest, under his t-shirt.

Tristan strode casually over, shoes clacking against the stone. He frowned down at Finn who deliberately looked away. Tristan reached out and grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to look Tristan in the face. “You’ve been so quiet lately, darling. I’m starting to think something is wrong.”

Finn’s eyes skittered away, breath quickening. Blood would have pumped in his ears if it hadn’t all withdrawn to his centre. “I’m just, j-just cold,” he managed.

Tristan slapped him sharply across the face. Finn immediately went silent and still. His cheek was warmed from the slap, tingly and hot. Is that what warmth from Tristan was? Tristan cut into his thoughts.

“Don’t be so ungrateful. You’re lucky I even let you stay inside rather than throwing you into the snow.” It was snowing? “If you were on the streets you’d be dead already. You’re lucky I took you in before that happened.”

Finn bit his tongue and jerked his head in a nod. “I-I kn-know,” he said, chattering teeth interrupting his speech. “I’m, I’m s-sorry. I’m, I’m j-just, s-so cold.”

Tristan released his chin and Finn instinctively cringed backwards. The ever-present hand went to his hair and smoothed it in a parody of comfort. The warm glove on his head made Finn shiver and lean closer despite himself. Tristan murmured something softly. His features took on something of a calculating look. Finn stilled, uneasy.

“Perhaps there is something we could do. Follow me.” Finn looked around, waiting for the trick. When none came he hesitantly clambered to his feet. Tristan gripped his wrist tightly, warm hand like a brand around Finn’s frozen skin. He was lead out of his cell and up the stairs at a brisk pace, tripping to keep up with Tristan’s long strides. When they entered the main part of the house, the radiator-heated air washed over him. His skin stung with hot pinpricks even as he sighed gratefully.

When they reached the door to the bathroom, Finn stopped in his tracks. “N-no,” he said, muscles tense and ready to bolt. “Pl-please, sir, I c-can’t, any, anything else, n-not the wa-water, please,”

Tristan ignored him and dragged him forward. “Don’t be ridiculous, pretty bird. Or would you rather go back downstairs? So ungrateful.” For a second, Finn looked hesitant, and Tristan took that moment to shove him forward into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Finn tripped and fell onto the cold tiles, scooting back in terror as Tristan advanced. His back hit a cupboard and he braced for a hit. None came. Instead a hand – without a glove this time – snaked around his neck to grip firmly. Finn’s words died in his throat. Tristan squeezed tighter. He crouched down look at Finn more closely. A small smile played on his lips.

“What’s the matter? I haven’t even threatened you with anything.” Yet, Finn heard between the calmly spoken syllables. Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to?”

Finn shook his head, eyes wide and fearful.

“Excellent.” Tristan released him and stood in one movement. Finn gasped for breath beneath him.

Horror clawed its way up Finn’s throat as he heard a tap turn on. He turned to see steam rising from the bath tub and Tristan rolling up his sleeves.

Finn’s breathing sped up and he clenched his knees tight. His skin tingled unpleasantly, perhaps in anticipation of the heat of the bath.

Minutes later, Tristan turned back to him. “Clothes off.”

Finn froze for a second, until Tristan just barely raised his hand in his direction. He flinched, expecting to be hit. Unwilling hands tugged off his t-shirt and yanked off his pants. He stood nervously, waiting to be told what to do. A pointed look towards the bath, and Finn was stepping hesitantly forward. His first foot in burned and prickled like the water was molten lava. The next was no less painful. Tristan’s hand pressed down on his shoulder, forcing him to sit down. Finn’s entire body erupted into hot flashes of pain, even as his feet grew used to the temperature. He clenched his jaw tight to avoid crying out. A small whimper escaped anyway.

Tristan did nothing for several minutes until the burning receded and was replaced by an enveloping warmth. Despite himself, Finn began to relax. His tense muscles, strung tight from nerves and the incessant cold, loosened slightly.

Then Tristan struck.

Two hands forced Finn underwater, one over his neck and another pressing flat against his chest. His mouth opened in a scream, bubbles escaping and inhaling a lungful of water. He thrashed in the water for several moments, hand around his neck gripping like a vice until he managed to still his panicked body. He could feel his pulse now, pounding loud and steady in his ear. The burning water was setting his ears on fire.

He couldn’t have breathed in any more water even if he’d wanted. His mouth gaped like a fish, eyes bulging in their sockets. Finally, after an eternity of screaming lungs Tristan dragged him up and released him.

Finn took a great heaving gasp, then expelled all the water he’d inhaled, coughing uncontrollably. He sobbed without restraint, clutching at the sides of the bath. “I’m s-sorry,” he cried, desperate. “So sorry, I’m s-sorry, I’m-”

Before he could take another breath he was forced under again. He didn’t struggle this time, not for a whole minute, and then as his hands reached up to grab at the air he was yanked up again. He barely had time for any stuttered apologies before he was pushed underwater yet again. His lungs were screaming ten seconds in, and by the time he was pulled up he was trying to drag the bathwater into his lungs. Finn didn’t try for words this time, sobbing and ragdolling when he was lifted out of the bath and laid on the floor. He curled up and wheezed, eyes squeezed shut against the world. Tristan threw a towel on him and he clutched it close, not even attempting to dry himself.

Tristan looked down at him impassively. “Do you understand now, little bird? Not to be ungrateful?”

Finn nodded. “Y-yes, I’m so-sorry, so, s-so sorry.” He hiccuped, tears streaming down his face. At that moment, he would have agreed to anything to avoid being pushed under again. His clothes were thrown at him and he hurriedly towelled off and dressed whilst Tristan waited impatiently. He clambered to his feet, unresisting as Tristan smoothed his hair and gripped his wrist tightly again.

Tristan steered a now compliant Finn down many passageways. He stopped outside the door to the cellar. Finn trembled, sending Tristan a pleading look. Tristan deliberated, then prodded him forward. He opened a cupboard, empty except for mops and the faint smell of detergent and snapped his fingers at Finn, pointing inside.

“Can I leave you in here tonight? Remember, if you try to run, I’ll leave you outside in the snow to freeze to death. Alright, darling?” Tristan said, a casual twist to his words that twisted something unpleasantly inside of Finn.

Finn gave a small nod and tucked his knees up to his chest. His captor smiled down at him, as if he was trying to be reassuring. “What do you say when someone does something for you?”

Finn swallowed. “Th-thank you,” he forced out, gut clenching.

Tristan patted him on the head, making his cheeks burn. Then he locked the door and Finn was alone in silence. Tears were still winding their way down his cheeks. He stifled sobs and collapsed onto his side. Droplets of water dripped from his hair but he was rapidly drying in the warm environment. It seemed abandoned cupboards got better heating than his cell did. In the hours before he managed to fall asleep, he staved off unwanted thoughts. Unwanted gratefulness that Tristan had, at least, let him stay upstairs where it was warm. He didn’t have to do that, a small voice whispered to him. He shook the voice off and hugged himself closer. When he next woke, he was just barely warm.

#whump #bad things happen bingo #badthingshappenbingo #finn #tristan #drowning #filled prompt #writing #crying #manipulation #threats #fear #afraid #not stockholm syndrome but definitely some rationalising of bad situations

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strawberriestyles · 5 years

Text

Part 3: Candles

(BANNER MADE BY MY TALENTED SWEETIE PIE @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy)

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which you’re persuaded to help a young witch named Harry.

Read previous parts here.

Word count: 4.5k+

Author’s note: ONCE AGAIN SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT. I really hope y’all like this one. It took me months and short bouts of motivation to write. PLEASE do not forget to reblog and leave a little bit of feedback. It helps us writers out TREMENDOUSLY.

Magic. That seems the be-all and end-all. It’s what your translations are helping Harry to work, and what the two of you have decided his payment will be. Magic. In exchange for your help with his Latin, he will teach you how to harness magic. At least, as far as your mortal self can harness it.

“All beings have a li’l bit o’ magic in them,” he explained to you. “Some more than others. Witches an’ creatures have the most—more than yeh can probably imagine. But I think you have a li’l bit more than the average mortal. Maybe there was a witch somewhere in your ancestry, way back down the line.”

“Really?”

“Way down the line,” he emphasized.

But the idea was still there. You might have witch blood in you. And you had thought you couldn’t be any more enthusiastic about what you were doing.

Now, the inside of Harry’s car smells of his usual spice, but also of damp leaves and dirt. The windows have been cracked open. It’s one of the nicest days that you’ve seen since fall began, and even though the sun is descending, there’s still a subtle warmth in the air. It beats the biting chill that you’ve become accustomed to. With the soft sounds of the car’s engine and the outdoors, the even softer hum of an acoustic guitar from the stereo, you’re at risk of being lulled to sleep.

Harry puts the vehicle in park when you reach his house. The little cottage has come to offer a sort of comfort to you. Perhaps it’s the fascination that Harry and his knowledge have to offer you, or perhaps it’s only the tea that he serves you.

“C’mon,” Harry murmurs, rolling up the windows.

With a bit of effort, you unbuckle and lift yourself from the car, following Harry inside. The windows of the house have been cracked open as well. Nicks sits on the sill of an open window in the living room, peering at the little insects that float by. It smells fresh inside. Not so much clean, with the scent of dirt wafting through the air, but less shut in, less stifling. You take a deep breath and let out a yawn.

Harry glances at you as he sheds his jacket, slinging it over the arm of the couch.

"You tired?"

You shake your head, covering your mouth to hide the end of your yawn. "No, no, I'm fine."

"Y/N, no offense, but yeh look like yeh haven' slept in days." Harry cocks his head and raises an accusatory brow. "Yeh almost fell asleep in the car."

"I'm sorry," you say. It's punctuated by another louder yawn, and you lean against the wall where you're standing. "I had some pretty important exams the past couple days."

"'S fine. Yeh can take a nap upstairs an' we'll just do some work when yeh're better rested."

"Harry, I don't need—"

"Yes, yeh do." Harry wanders over to the windows and scratches at Nicks's head. You can hear her purring from across the room. "Don' need yeh mistranslating a word and makin' me blow up the whole house. Go ahead. We're not in a rush."

Despite your protests, you're relieved by the offer. You don't say another word before you slip off your own jacket and shoes, and make your way up the narrow staircase behind the couch. It's the first time you've been in Harry's bedroom, and it's just as simple as the rest of the house. A bed, a side table with a candle atop it, and a wardrobe. You wonder briefly whether the wardrobe might take you to Narnia, and then laugh to yourself as you climb into the bed. The window in here is open as well. The air temperature has begun to drop with the sun. You pull the blankets around yourself and yank them up to your chin. The bed smells like Harry. Your head has barely touched the pillow before you feel sleep pulling at you, dragging at your heavy eyelids.

You almost think you're already asleep and dreaming when you hear the stairs creak beneath someone's weight. You crack your eyes open to find Harry hovering in the doorway. He hesitates for only a short moment before making his way to the other side of the bed. He doesn't pull back the covers, only lays down beside you.

"Yeh mind?" he whispers.

You hum in response. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your body back against him. You lean into his touch and that's all you remember before sleep finally closes in.

***

Harry wakes you accidentally as his body jostles yours. You peel your eyes open and find the room dark, no light but that of the moon. Harry lifts his head beside you and hushes you when you begin to ask a question.

“Think I heard somethin’,” he whispers. His arm tightens around you in the silence and you strain your own ears.

There’s a distant sound from downstairs. Something like a cough before it becomes clearer. Retching.

“Fuck,” Harry grumbles, and then he pushes away from you, lighting the candle on the bedside table with a press of fingertips.

“What is it?” you ask, throwing back the covers. The air has chilled significantly and you shiver at the first brush of it over your skin.

“Nicks.”

Harry waits for you to climb out of bed and then tromps down the stairs with you in his wake. The candlelight is dim and you stumble into the back of the couch at the bottom of the stairs, gasping when Harry waves his hand and the small flames along the walls blaze into glowing fires which light the room. Harry takes a quick glance around and drops his head.

"No," he murmurs, raking an agitated hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "No, no, no."

Harry whips around the corner toward the kitchen and you're hot on his heels. You hear the sound of retching again when you reach the doorway and find Nicks atop the wooden table, spilling the contents of her little stomach over its surface. Flower petals and herbs litter the rest of the wood. Harry swears under his breath.

"Yeh stupid fuckin' cat," he chastises, leaning his forehead against the frame of the entry.

"I'm guessing those were important ingredients," you observe softly, hoping not to upset him any more than he already is.

"Fuckin' rare," Harry replies. He turns back to the table and his eyes glow that intimidating, fascinating blue.

"Harry," you warn, "be gentle with her."

"Took me hours to find those plants out in the woods!" he shouts, but the glow diminishes and you feel the tense muscles in your shoulders slacken. Nicks looks up from her place at the table, just long enough to catch the anger brimming around the edges of Harry's face, and has the sense to hop down and scamper out of the room.

"An' that was a week ago," Harry continues. "The closer to winter we get, the harder they get to find. Who knows if there's even anythin' left—Christ, I could just kill her." Harry spins into the hall, looking as if he might do just that.

"Harry," you say again, catching him by the elbow. "It's okay, that's what cats do. I'll help you find more, okay?"

He glances at you, struggling to relax his clenched jaw, but eventually nods. "Lucky they weren' fuckin' poisonous," he mutters under his breath as he turns once again and makes for the door on the other side of the kitchen. "Could ring her li'l neck. S'posed to be smarter than the average cat."

As he pushes into the outdoors, you have the sense to turn back into the house and collect your jackets. The kitchen smells sickly sweet and florally when you enter it again. The muddied mess that Nicks made has spread across the tabletop, seeping through the cracks where planks of wood meet, dripping mutely over the floor.

Outside, the air is brisk, and you immediately wrap yourself up before navigating into the trees after Harry. He’s still fuming, fists tense at his sides and shoulders squared. His eyes scan the forest floor for signs of the plants he needs to gather.

“Harry,” you mutter, draping his jacket over his shoulders before he can move away from you, “can you please chill out? Like, just a little?”

“I’ll ‘chill out’ once we’ve got the fuckin’ ingredients,” he snaps, “all right?” But he takes the jacket with a murmured thanks and slips his arms into it. You ignore his attitude and follow him deeper into the trees.

"What should I be looking for?"

"Most important is the bloodflower," Harry says, scanning the ground with every step he takes. "'S a really dark red. Almost black in the center an' kinda scarlet at the edges o' the petals. The rest I'll probably be able t'find close to the house. The bloodflower only shows up at night and it thrives on moonlight, but it prefers warmer weather. Tha's why I collected it weeks ago."

Harry's voice begins to rise in irritation again and you don't say anything else for fear of upsetting him further. The two of you fall into silence as you trek farther and farther from the cottage and Nicks and the ruined flowers and herbs. It feels like nearly an hour before Harry stops abruptly, staring up into the sky with a blank expression on his face. You come to stand beside him, hands stuffed into your coat pockets and chin buried in your collar to shield your skin from the cold breeze that has picked up.

"Don' have time for this bullshit," Harry whispers, closing his eyes and letting out a deeply frustrated sigh as the moon appears from the cover of a dark cloud.

You nod absently, though he's not looking at you. Your cheeks began to ache a while ago, and you've been quietly hoping that he would give up for some time. But as you turn your gaze toward the ground again, your eyes widen.

"Harry," you prod, pulling at the elbow of his jacket, "are those what you're looking for?"

At the base of a tall, bare-branched oak off to your right lays a bed of dark flowers, their edges glimmering ruby in the patches of moonlight that filter through the treetops. You move the few paces to reach them and kneel down in the dirt.

"Don' touch 'em!" Harry shouts as you stretch out a hand. His own fingers curl around the back of your coat and tug you backward rather roughly. You scramble out of his reach, startled.

"What the hell, Harry?" you gasp.

"'M sorry, 'm sorry," he mutters, holding his hands out to help you up. "Yeh can' touch 'em with your bare skin. Suck the life right outta yeh. Yeh'd be dead in ten seconds flat."

You take another glance at the flowers before reaching for Harry's offered hands and letting him pull you to your feet. "Nicks ate them though, didn't she?"

Harry nods and wipes the dirt from his palms. "She's a Familiar, though. No one's really sure what they're descended from, but they have immunity to bloodflowers. Maybe they have some Nymph or Dryad ancestry somewhere. Do yeh have some gloves?"

With a deep frown, you reach into your pockets again and pull out your gloves, handing them over. Harry slips them on despite the tight fit and squats down where you were kneeling, carefully tearing up a handful of bloodflowers by the stems. When he rises beside you, you find that the stems are spotted with sharp thorns like roses. Another cloud passes in front of the moon and you watch, entranced, as the leftover flowers on the forest floor curl in on themselves, retreating from the darkness. The plucked flowers in Harry's gloved hand, however, remain open and beautiful.

"Weird," you whisper. Harry cracks a smile, his mood visibly lifted since he's found his most elusive ingredient.

"Let's get back, then."

***

The fragrances of varied flora fill the kitchen, sharp, putrid, and unexpectedly bitter. Nicks’s mess has been cleaned. Harry grinds a mixture of herbs and flowers by hand, pulverizing them with a mortar and pestle that appear ancient and foreign. You’re almost afraid to ask him about them—they could be made from human bones for all you know—so you refrain.

Nicks, hoping to be back in Harry’s good graces, paces back and forth in the doorway, flicking her tail behind her. She lets out a soft meow every once in a while, but Harry pays her no mind.

“So what really is a Familiar?” you wonder aloud. “What do they do?”

“They’re like all-around sidekicks,” Harry answers with a chuckle. “Lot o’ witches end up pretty lonely. Familiars are companions, assistants, protectors. Help to gather ingredients and things like that, ward off hexes and harmful spells.”

“And how does a witch end up with one?”

“‘S kind of weird.” Harry chuckles again. “But I’ll tell yeh if yeh really wanna know.”

You nod encouragingly, and Harry pauses to add yet another sprinkle of a new plant to the mix. He begins to grind the ingredients together once more.

“Well, ‘s a toss up whether you’ll get a male or female. But the cool thing about relationships between witches is tha’ there’s always a female Familiar involved. Could both be females, or one could be male, but yeh know yeh’re not with the right person yet if there are two males.”

“So, like soulmates,” you suggest. “If you’re soulmates there has to be a female Familiar in the mix.”

“If yeh wanna think of it that way, sure,” Harry agrees with a smirk. “When the woman gets pregnant, the Familiar does too.”

“But you said there could be two female Familiars.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at you and sets the mortar and pestle down for the first time in what feels like a half hour. “Know what I said.”

“So what, the cat’s just pregnant?” You scoff. “Like the Virgin Mary or something?”

“‘M not very familiar with Christianity, but if that’s how it happens, yeah.”

Your mouth drops open. “I was joking.”

Harry grins at you and tries to smooth a stray chunk of hair from his face with the back of his flower-stained hand.

You frown and turn to look at Nicks, who sits staring at you, her tail flicking as it usually does when she’s in your presence.

“What about gays?”

Harry turns to the sink to rinse off his hands, but you see his brow furrow. “What about ‘em?”

“How do the kids of gay witches get Familiars? They can’t have them. Does it work for adoption, too?”

“No.”

“What, so magic is homophobic?”

Harry chuckles beneath his breath. “D’yeh hear yourself?”

“You just said they don’t get Familiars.”

“They’re adopted,” Harry says. “Chances are they’re not witches, an’ if they are, they’ll already have a Familiar.”

“Oh,” you mumble, pressing your lips together, “right.”

“Familiars aren’ always cats, though,” Harry continues, as though you haven’t been dumbstruck. “Can be any animal, really. M’ dad’s is an iguana.”

“You’re telling me that an iguana gave birth to that cat?” You point almost accusatorially toward Nicks.

Harry lets out a bark of laughter as he turns to leave the room. “Was m’ mum’s Familiar that had Nicks,” he corrects as he exits into the hall and rounds the corner.

You stick in the kitchen, leaning against the back of a chair. Nicks follows Harry into the living room, where you can hear him turning the thick pages of a book—probably the book. You tilt your head back to stare up at the textured ceiling.

“So, what about mortals?” you ask. At first, you think he doesn’t hear you, but then he grunts and snaps the book shut. His footsteps sound as he returns to the kitchen.

“Mortals?” he prompts, staring down at a paper in his hand.

“Yeah, say a witch ends up with a mortal. They don’t have Familiars. What happens then?”

Harry lifts his eyes to yours and leans against the frame of the entryway, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Doesn’ happen very often,” he answers. “I don’ know a single couple like that. But I would assume, if they were supposed t’ end up together, the witch would have a female Familiar and it would work pretty much the same way."

"But if I have witch blood in my ancestry like you think, shouldn't I have a Familiar too, then?"

Harry licks his lips. "Not if the witch in your ancestry had a male Familiar."

"So, what you're saying," you begin, "is that whoever it was had a kid outside of their 'soulmate' sort of relationship? Like, not with the person that magic said they were supposed to end up with?"

"Smart girl. Now—" Harry moves into the kitchen again and lays out his piece of paper on the table. Nicks, in her nosy way, has followed him, and twines herself between his legs. "Think I've gotten all the ingredients for this one, but I could be wrong. There was just a paragraph a' the end there that I couldn' really make out."

You settle your palms on the tabletop and take a quick glance over the sheet of paper. With each passing translation, the Latin has seemed to grow more difficult, more complex and intricate. Harry's scribbles have transformed from short words and chopped sentences to a full paragraph of text.

"I'm confused," you mutter after a minute or so.

Harry, nosy yet patient, has positioned himself at your shoulder, watching your fingers trail over his handwriting. He raises his eyebrows.

"Are yeh stumped?" he asks. "Hmm. Maybe I need t'start lookin' for a new translator. If yeh can'—"

"Shut up." You cut him off with a huff of breath and the amused quirk to his lips only serves to infuriate you. Perhaps it's the lack of sleep still gnawing at you. "I can read it just fine, thank you. I'm just confused about what it means."

"Well, how 'bout we start with what it actually says," Harry suggests. You have to make an effort to keep your tone even.

“Blood drawn with love,” you reveal. "It says you need blood drawn with love. What the fuck does that even mean?"

Harry grins at your agitation and turns to the stove, lighting a burner in his usual flashy manner and placing a closed pot on top of the flame.

"We'll worry about tha' when we get to it," he says, and the mystery of everything grates on your already sensitive nerves.

"What's in the pot?" you ask, ready to snap if he refuses to answer this question too.

"Tallow."

“Tallow?”

“Yeah. Animal fat.”

You wrinkle up your nose. You're surprised at the straightforwardness of his answer, but also confused.

"What are we doing with tallow?"

"Makin' candles."

"Candles?"

"Candles."

Harry smiles at you again and when you don't smile back he sighs. "D'yeh want me t'make yeh some tea again? Seem upset. Tense."

"No, I don't want any of your weird tea. I wanna know why we're making candles."

"Makin' candles for the spell," he says calmly.

Despite your protest, he's digging through the cupboard above the sink, lighting another burner, pulling out the familiar ingredients for his soothing tea. You cross your arms across your chest.

"Relax," coaxes Harry. "Please. 'M not actin' any different than usual, you're just tired. Still can' tell yeh everything about the spell, okay? But you'll figure everythin' out once it's put together next week."

"Next week?"

"Halloween. Tha's when the full spell goes into effect. Now, please drink this."

Harry hands you a steaming mug of tea. You're amazed at how quickly he's come to make it, without much thought at all, it seems. You take the drink from him and just the warmth of the cup on your fingers seems to help your muscles settle.

"Okay," Harry says once you've taken a few cautious sips and he's watched the frustration in your face smooth out. He opens up his pot of tallow and stirs it with a wooden spoon. "Can yeh hand me tha' bowl? Don' touch the bloodflowers."

You set your tea down and grab the mortar full of its ground up plants, passing it to Harry, who dumps the contents into his melted tallow and stirs everything together. Steam rises from the pot, filling the room with a sort of aromatic haze that makes you even more tired than you already were.

Harry looks silently down at Nicks for the first time since you've returned to the house. With a flick of her tail and a short mew, she hops up onto the table, biting the head off of a bloodflower and jumping over to the counter beside the stove. You've never seen this type of interaction between the two of them. It's almost as though he's spoken to her the same way he asked you for the herbs. She drops the full flower into the pot and then sits back on her haunches, purring elatedly when Harry finally pays her some attention and scratches at her cheek.

As you watch from the other side of him, Harry stirs the tallow. The bloodflower dissolves right into the concoction and the liquid wax transforms from a pale yellow to a red that's so bright and vibrant, you're unconvinced that it's not actual blood.

"Yeh feel better now?" Harry asks, resting the spoon against the side of the pot. He turns his attention away from the stove and faces you. When you look back up at him, you're suddenly very aware of the close proximity, of the blue that still rings his irises, thought it's not currently glowing. "Yeh had enough tea?"

You give him a soft nod.

"'S good," he says, placing a hand on your hip. The fingers of his other hand cup the side of your jaw, and though you can feel it coming, you still gasp as he presses his mouth strongly, confidently to yours.

Your surprise doesn't keep you from gripping at his arms and returning his kiss. You're sure that somewhere in the room the candle mixture is bubbling and Nicks is pointedly annoyed, but your eyes have crept shut and you can't hear anything but your own blood pumping in your ears, the soft parting of Harry's lips from yours before they return with a vengeance. He backs you into the wall beside the counter, wrapping his arm around your waist to tug your hips against him. His other hand slips to the back of your neck, holding you steady as he sighs and tilts his head to kiss you deeper.

Your fingers tighten on Harry's arms as you try to keep up. It's like he's spent his entire life perfecting the way to make you melt, and you just can't seem to catch your breath. His tongue teases at the corner of your mouth. Your lips part and he fits his own between them, pulling on your lower lip. Your breath shakes.

And then his teeth clamp down sharply.

You shove Harry forcefully away from you as your tingling lip bursts with sudden pain. When you open your eyes, he's looking at you blankly. The daze of your kiss doesn't keep you from feeling the constant sting in your mouth. You lift your fingers to the source and when you pull them away, blood is spreading over the skin. You swipe your tongue across your lips and taste copper.

"What the fuck, Harry?" you whisper, lifting your other hand to your face as a drop of blood trails down your chin.

Harry doesn't say anything as he approaches the stove again and spits into the bubbling pot. A mess of black smoke rises up into the air, but you're too preoccupied to wonder.

"C'mere," Harry says quietly, and when you look up he's standing in front of you again, his hand reaching for your face. You turn away from him, swiping at his hand. He catches your wrist and his other hand takes hold of your chin, his thumb cleaning away a line of blood. Before you can do anything more to protest, his lips are back on yours, gently this time, just barely grazing the skin. Your eyes don't close. Harry raises a brow at you and presses one more slow, gentle kiss to your mouth. When he pulls back the pain has dulled, the blood stopped. His fingers brush against the side of your neck and somehow you find yourself relaxing.

"'Blood drawn with love,'" Harry quotes when he realizes that you won't be speaking first.

You shake your head quickly, face screwing up. "I don't love you," you tell him with conviction. "I've known you for three weeks."

Harry chuckles and nods. You shiver despite yourself as his fingers lower to trace your collarbone, struggling to keep your eyes open and steady on him.

“Lots o’ spells are pretty straightforward. Some of ‘em are more vague. The vague ones are usually pretty lenient with their requirements,” he informs you. "And for the record, I don' love you either."

Your frown deepens.“Well, couldn’t I have made you bleed?”

“Doesn’ work like that." Harry takes a careful step closer to you dipping his head into your shoulder. His lips follow his fingers along your collarbone. You shiver again. It's frustrating, but you have to tilt your head back against the wall and clench your hands into fists to keep from pulling on him again. "Can’ harvest ingredients from the speller," he utters against the base of your throat, "unless it specifically tells yeh to.”

When Harry finally releases you and takes a step back to lean against the table, you're glaring at him.

“Wha’? Yeh still mad abou' the bite? Listen, I—”

“Don’t say ‘harvest,’" you tell him with a shake of your head. You're sort of embarrassed by how easily you've folded and forgiven him. But your lip feels unmarred already, the taste of coppery blood replaced by the taste of Harry. You take a deep breath. "Makes me feel like a field of fucking corn. Or the dove that they kill in witch movies.”

"Dove?" Harry smiles smugly. "I like tha'. But I won' kill yeh, my dove." He takes your hand and brings it to his lips, spreading wet kisses over the back.

Your own teeth settle into your lower lip. You're charmed. And irritated. You don't want to be this easily molded, like wet clay, putty in his adept fingers.

“Will yeh help me pour this into molds?” Harry asks, lowering your hand but steering you back toward the stove. When you glance inside the pot, you find that the contents have turned an ominous, absorbing black.

You nod, taking the handful of wicks that he hands to you.

“These special wicks too?” you wonder aloud.

“I bought ‘em at the craft store.”

“I didn’t think you knew what a craft store was,” you inform him with a soft laugh.

“‘M a witch,” he says with a grin, “not a hermit. Now, let’s pour these candles so you can go back to bed.”

Part 4: Pentagram

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #blood moon

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brutuskorov · 5 years

Photo

betrayal never comes from the enemy...

(a character analysis)

basic information

FULL NAME: boris korov PRONUNCIATION: BO-ris KO-rov MEANING: boris - fight, fighter. REASONING: his father named him long before he was born. boris, fighter, if he was a boy. sezia, protector, if he’d been born a girl. for his father, his child (regardless of gender) was to be his legacy -- he meant for the name ‘korov’ to mean something. boris is not as ambitious as his father; he’s more of a follower than a leader, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t follow his father’s words. (it is lesser known that is mother called him borya, little snatches of affection he holds close to his chest.) NICKNAME(S): brutus, borya PREFERRED NAME(S): brutus BIRTH DATE: december 23rd AGE: 33 ZODIAC: capricorn GENDER: male PRONOUNS: he/him/his ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual (while boris has experienced attraction towards multiple genders, he only ever acts on it with women) NATIONALITY: russian ETHNICITY: alaskan native; kuyokan-athabascan CURRENT LOCATION: verona, italy LIVING CONDITIONS: simple & stark, though he has the means for a more luxurious life. TITLE(S): emissary

background

BIRTH PLACE: yekatrinburg, russia HOMETOWN: verona, italy (since he was a teen) SOCIAL CLASS: boris was born poor. his father earned well enough through his criminal dealings, but spent it just as quickly -- he was a man who enjoyed life and didn’t believe in the notion of saving. boris himself made his way up EDUCATION LEVEL: boris’ education is haphazard and all over the place due to the instability of his father’s career. he completed his 12th year in italy, but went back to russia to spend some time in the conscripted army. boris didn’t return to school for a while, focusing more on mafia activities. he did return to school and started a degree in strategic management when he left verona, but dropped the program when he returned to the Montagues. FATHER: vadim korov MOTHER: juniper korov née locklear SIBLING(S): talia korov (deceased before boris’ birth) BIRTH ORDER: i. talia -- ii. boris CHILDREN: n/a PET(S): a moroccoan uromastyx named ‘lizard’ OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: cousin -- ava locklear (located in america); niece -- sonya locklear (located in america) PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: n/a ARRESTS?: a couple times for teenage stupidity, but his connections to the mafia meant he always got off PRISON TIME?: n/a

occupation & income

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: private military contractor through almaz-antey SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: montague emissary TERTIARY SOURCE(S) OF INCOME: n/a APPROXIMATE AMOUNT PER YEAR: appx. € 180,000 / year CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: boris knows he didn’t earn his job -- he was placed there with the intention of smoothing the way for montague goals. he’s specifically assigned to various pharmaceutical and drug companies where he intentionally suggests security plans that leave room for the montagues to take their share. it also allows him to play the part of a bodyguard when necessary. the job satisfies the hum under his skin that demands action but it isn’t exactly his passion. PAST JOB(S): montague soldier SPENDING HABITS: he doesn’t really spend money beyond essentials. of course, at this point, essentials includes paying off contracted killers, bribing government officials, etc. picking apart a mafia empire isn’t cheap, but he doesn’t really spend money on himself. he’s not thrifty but his income to expenditure ratio means he ends up having plenty in his bank account. MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: tucked in a cabinet by his flat’s front door is a getaway bag -- it contains burner phones, travel documents, everything he could need to run again.

skills & abilities

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: 8/10 OFFENSE: 7/10 DEFENSE: 7/10 SPEED: 7/10 INTELLIGENCE: 8/10 ACCURACY: 9/10 AGILITY: 6/10 STAMINA: 9/10 TEAMWORK: 5/10 TALENTS: tactics & strategy, far-sighted, detailed SHORTCOMINGS: disloyal, selfish, detached LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: russian (fluent), italian (fluent, but accented), english (passable) DRIVE?: yes JUMP-STAR A CAR?: yes CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: yes RIDE A BICYCLE?: yes SWIM?: no PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: no PLAY CHESS?: yes BRAID HAIR?: yes TIE A TIE?: no PICK A LOCK?: yes

physical appearance & characteristics

FACE CLAIM: martin sensmeier EYE COLOR: dark brown HAIR COLOR: black HAIR TYPE/STYLE: usually short -- he wore it in a buzzcut during his brief stint in military GLASSES/CONTACTS?: n/a DOMINANT HAND: right HEIGHT: 6′1″ WEIGHT: 75 kg BUILD: tall, solid -- not buff, but not lean either EXERCISE HABITS: he’s very regimented in his exercise -- runs early every morning, weight trains every other day, practices hand to hand fairly frequently. he likes moving in any form. SKIN TONE: dark brown with warm, coppery undertones TATTOOS: though he’s often contemplated getting one, he hasn’t found a design he’d like to commit to PEIRCINGS: none MARKS/SCARS: a scar on his leg from jumping a barbed wire fence, a bullet scar on his shoulder, a couple others here and there he doesn’t even remember getting -- he fought too often to remember every scar NOTABLE FEATURES: high cheek bones and full lips; his gaze is very flat USUAL EXPRESSION: stoic, veering towards a scowl CLOTHING STYLE: he gets cold easily, so he wears jackets well into summer. he prefers neutral tones. dark jeans, beige turtleneck and an army jacket is a very typical basic outfit that he’ll wear anywhere. JEWELRY: n/a. ALLERGIES: peanuts BODY TEMPERATURE: normal DIET: his diet is unhealthy in that he very rarely cooks for himself, but he does eat a variety of food and prefers high protein diets. PHYSICAL AILMENTS: n/a

psychology

JUNG TYPE: ISTJ JUNG SUBTYPE: Type A ENNEAGRAM TYPE: type 8 – the challenger MORAL ALIGNMENT: true neutral TEMPERAMENT: choleric ELEMENT: earth PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE TYPE: kinesthetic/spatial APPROXIMATE IQ: 110 MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: n/a SOCIABILITY: introvert EMOTIONAL STABILITY: stable, his mood does not shift easily OBSESSION(S): damiano montague COMPULSION(S): he’s very particular about the state of things in his home. he likes it clean and neat. PHOBIA(S): n/a ADDICTION(S): he knows his father had a problem with gambling so he avoids it DRUG USE: he prefers alcohol to drugs ALCOHOL USE: he drinks to unwind, sticking to beers mostly. at parties he’ll go for dark liquors but he doesn’t particularly care for booze. PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: ha. yes. but he’s tempered his instincts well.

mannerisms

SPEECH STYLE: when he speaks, it is short and concise, never more than necessary. he will answer questions at face value and doesn’t elaborate unless asked. He takes lots of pauses and is slow to reveal his thoughts. ACCENT: his russian is flawless, his italian less so -- the words tend to come out a bit harsher. his english is passable with a strong russian accent. QUIRKS: if boris can walk somewhere instead of taking a vehicle, he will. he hates public transportation however, and prefers motorcycles to every other vehicle. HOBBIES: running, walking, listen to music HABITS: he runs every morning, immediately after waking up. he drinks his coffee black (he doesn’t like espresso). he wakes up at 5:45 am every morning, no matter what time he went to bed. boris is inherently a man of habit, he likes routines. NERVOUS TICKS: fist clenching and setting his jaw DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: revenge, justice, respect, family FEARS: failure POSITIVE TRAITS: driven, reliable, dedicated, detailed NEGATIVE TRAITS: selfishness, fails to see bigger picture, disloyal SENSE OF HUMOR: sarcasm, understatements, subtle humor DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: to emphasize a point. CATCHPHRASE(S): n/a

favorites

ACTIVITY: running ANIMAL: gazelle BEVERAGE: water BOOK: he doesn’t really read. CELEBRITY: natalie dormer COLOR: navy blue DESIGNER: he doesn’t know designers. FOOD: pierogies FLOWER: red poppies (his mother’s favorite) GEM: diamonds HOLIDAY: winter holidays in general MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: walking MOVIE: the good, the bad, the ugly MUSICAL ARTIST: jidenna QUOTE/SAYING: “no legacy is so rich as honesty.” SCENERY: wide open lakes that are frozen over SCENT: pine SPORT: boxing SPORTS TEAM: italian football TELEVISION SHOW: 24 WEATHER: cold & brisk VACATION DESTINATION: mountains

attitudes

GREATEST DREAM: destroying the montagues GREATEST FEAR: failing his father’s legacy MOST AT EASE WHEN: running LEAST AT EASE WHEN: attending fancy parties WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: getting caught in his schemes before he’s ready BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: returning to the montagues despite his betrayal BIGGEST REGRET: leaving in the first place -- he has to re-prove himself MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: when he was young, he once cried after falling. his father laughed so hard, he never cried over little things again. BIGGEST SECRET: he betrayed the montagues to a russian mob TOP PRIORITIES: slowly dismantling the montague empire

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nehswritesstuffs · 6 years

Text

The Scottish Werewolf of Hackney - Part VIII

It’s October! \o/ My Northern Hemisphere blood is relishing in the cooler temperatures, which is all much better for tea, sleeping, dressing in layers, and of course, a new stage in my sports intake. XD *smacked*

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V

Part VI - Part VII - FFN - AO3

Clara and Basil settle into their temporary mountain residence, but a worry surfaces in a terrifying way. [2671 words; Whouffaldi werewolf AU]

When planning on doing outdoor things during the autumn months, there is a very important thing that people should remember while in Scotland, just as they would in many other places. As the air cools off it loses its ability to hold moisture, which creates weather that is not only brisk and chilly, but wet as well. It’s the sort of chill that gets deep into one’s bones, down into their very soul. Snow and ice may attack and numb the senses, as an over-utilized air conditioning unit might, but the wet-cold of the autumn season transforms an individual into something else entirely, seeping down into a person’s very being until there is nothing that isn’t chilled and damp and dreary, feeling as though there shall never be anything warm and dry again, nor were things ever like that to begin with.

That was the sort of season that Basil and Clara came across when they found themselves dropped off at a bus stop in what felt like the middle of nowhere, the day after leaving London. Armed with bags of personal belongings and food, they hiked through the surrounding Cairngorm Mountains until just before sundown, when they come across a small hut partway built into a hillside. A worn wooden sign emblazoned with “GO AWAY HUMANS” in large lettering was attached to the front door (with smaller print saying “if it’s not on a map or a list, it’s not for you to use”) and old padlocks on the door and wooden shutters kept the place closed. The lock on the door gave way wonderfully despite the rust, Basil was surprised that he could still find the keys to the shutters, and soon they had the windows open and a fire going.

“This place is in amazing shape,” Clara marveled. The inside walls were all made of stone, with flooring to match, and a sturdy-looking wooden roof above them. There was a table, a couple chairs, some well-beaten pans, a few cupboards, and an elevated wooden bunk that their sleeping bags were already laid out on. Most everything felt still a bit damp from the humidity, yet nothing appeared to have been touched in a long time, even by a rouge mouse.

“I have a ward around the place, put there by an old friend who used to dabble in basic magic, and that taps into most animals’ fear and cautionary instincts,” he claimed. “The sign changes languages depending on who reads it, the ground around the walls is solid enough to have them not need much patching, and there is a drainage system that keeps everything from flooding from rainwater or snowmelt. We did some work on the place about fifteen years ago, so all the wood here is relatively new, as well as pressure-treated and moisture-sealed so that nothing warps too horribly, too quickly, while we’re not around.”

“How did River’s family get this place? I thought these sorts of places were all owned publically or something like that.”

“Most in the area are, but not ours.” Basil pulled on a couple of cords that were hanging from the ceiling, afterwards going to the pump at the sink and working it until water flowed. “Her mother’s family has roots nearby, leading to property claims that are probably older than the union of the crown, and this place was grandfathered in when the park was created, or close to it; I don’t remember the precise details anymore.”

“Did you come here often?”

“Not as often as we would have liked, no.”

“I think we should make an effort, given how secluded it is,” Clara suggested. “It could be useful for when we want some time alone.”

“It could,” he chuckled. “Can you imagine Nardole following us out here?”

“Don’t say that; he might feel he’s being summoned,” she laughed. “I can see him using the opportunity to do nothing but complain. He seems to be rather good at complaining.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Basil closed the shutters and locked them up, keeping the dark night out and the warmth in. “I need the moon to be full soon—I cannot wait around with only a partial moon to keep things from going sideways.”

“It doesn’t work to just stay out in a partial moon for longer?” Clara wondered.

“No; I need the full strength of the moon. Instead of like charging a battery, it’s more like supplying power to a house. If you only allow seventy-five percent of a current into the wiring, nothing will be able to run normally like it would at a hundred percent, no matter how many other things you shut off.” His arms were acting wildly as he spoke, adding silent emphasis to his words. “I can only transform partway right now, which is only going to cause issues.”

“…and what if it’s cloudy that night? It’s not like we’re in the least snowiest place in Britain right now—I’m surprised it was just raining earlier…”

“All I need is half an hour of combined time under the full moon over the course of the night,” he replied. “That gives the clouds most of the night to be pesky and in-the-way.”

“…and if you don’t get that…?”

“You can leave if Coal Hill’s back in session in the meantime, but I would have to stay here until I get what I need from a full moon.”

“Winter’s on the way! A new term at your job! You can’t just run away from those things!” Clara felt exasperated about the fact that she even had to mention it. “Do you always run like this?”

“No, I do not!” Basil insisted. Clara gave him a flat look, which she did not let up until he finally relented. “Okay, yes, I do this a lot, but if it was really that much an issue, then I would’ve been fired for it by now, don’t you think?”

“I think that you need to make sure you stop this if you want to actually advance this relationship any farther than this bothy,” she replied. She stared at him, sizing up the situation, and nodded gently. “Don’t run, and if you have to, then you run with me.”

“Promise,” he said. Holding his hand out, he waited until Clara took it in her own before allowing a grin to stretch across his face. “When I say run, we run.”

“I lay claim to Fiancée Vetoes, which will later mature into Wife Vetoes, so that you’re aware,” she reminded him. She pulled him towards the bunk and they both wedged themselves in between the sleeping bags, glad that they were able to use each other for warmth as they were careful about how to cushion themselves from the wooden surface. Using his own arm and a bunched up coat as a pillow, Basil had Clara rest her head on his chest, keeping her close.

“Veto all you like—chances are that you’ll agree with me when the times come.”

“Mmmhmm, sure,” she teased sleepily. With weather outside good for napping and cuddling, combined with a long day of hiking after a train ride behind them, Clara quickly succumbed to the sleep she didn’t even know was waiting for her. Being snug up against Basil kept her warm and comfortable, and she didn’t fight the urge to slip into a gentle dream.

Lulled by the thoughts of future visits to the bothy, of a future with Basil, she dreamt on.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

High grasses, low shrubs, and rolling hills; the sky was grey and a gentle breeze teased her hair and jacket as she stood, looking out over the vista. A hand took hers and she leaned on the arm it was attached to—she didn’t have to look to know who it was. Thunder rumbled low in the distance, signaling a storm was coming

“It’s gorgeous,” she said.

“It is ugly,” Basil replied. “All the beauty I need is holding my hand.”

“Flatterer.”

“It gets me good things, I’ll give flattery that.” He turned and faced her, holding her face as they kissed. The wind began to pick up slightly, just enough to notice, though the two gave them no heed.

Just as Clara thought she would collapse from weakened knees and a lack of breathing, a peal of thunder made Basil step back from her. He clutched his head and shouted, clearly in pain, and looked as though he was ready to fall over.

“Basil…?!”

Lighting nearby caught her attention, striking one of the few trees within her view of the vista below. It only took a moment to look away, yet when she turned her attention back to Basil, Clara felt her heart go into her throat—fur had sprouted all over his body and his features were beginning to change. His face grew a snout, his fingers transformed into claws, and his clothes tore as he struggled to stay in them. She took a step towards him and—

One swipe and she recoiled, her jacket cut clean through and blood began to spurt from the openings. She stared at him, eyes wide and terrified, and the horror set in—there was no sense of recognition in his eyes in return, only a primal and animalistic urge…

…and that urge was hungry.

Clara quickly turned on her heel and ran, injured arm be damned. With Basil tied up with the concept of leaving his clothes as he thrashed about, she was able to get a decent head start, nearly making it to the tucked-away bothy before she heard the wolf’s howl behind her. She made it into the bothy and used the wooden cross-bolt to secure the door; at least now she had time to collect herself and think for a moment. There was little there that she could utilize as weaponry and the main of what she had was fire-related, the proper fresh materials for which were all outside. She was just going to have to wait it out until easier prey came along and distracted the werewolf—he could only stalk outside for so long…

With her jacket off and the bandage she was wrapping around her arm cooperating, Clara sat on the floor and braced herself against the bunk as she shook in terror. It was probably only an accident, she told herself. He was likely to be himself again after things had a chance to settle down. It wasn’t even like the moon was out or anything.

Just then, there was a large THUD against the door, accompanied by a canine snarl. Clara scrambled over towards the fireplace and found the poker as the noise continued. She held it with the pointy part out, hoping that it would be enough of a deterrent to stop the werewolf from approaching her. The wood near the hinges began to splinter and the rusted fasteners holding together the bolting system started to give way. Before long, the door came down all together and the wolf-man snarled as he stepped inside.

All Clara had time to do was catch his soulless, unfeeling eyes before her defense was brushed aside and a strong set of sharp teeth wrapped themselves around her neck…

Screaming and sobbing, Clara woke up in hysterics. Basil attempted to hold her close and prevent her from thrashing off the bunk, yet that got him smacked in the face and kneed in the crotch. They both fell from the bunk to the floor, still tangled in their sleeping bag cocoon, and scrambled to get away from one another. Basil made it out first, with Clara then taking the sleeping bags and reflexively pulling them tighter around her.

After a moment to catch his breath, Basil stared at his fiancée in complete shock and confusion. He carefully approached the bundle of sleeping bag and gingerly put his arm where he figured her shoulder was—she recoiled at his touch.

“Clara…?” There was no reply. “Clara…? What’s wrong? Answer me, Clara.” She peeked out at looked at him, allowing her arm to poke out so that she could touch his stubbly face.

“It’s you,” she nearly marveled. “…but you were…”

“I was what, Clara?” A nasty feeling roiled in the pit of his belly—he did not like her expression, as fear did not become her. “It’s clear you had a nightmare, so what happened in it?”

“You transformed,” she replied quietly. She took her hand back to wipe the tears stubbornly forming in her eyes. “You transformed and there wasn’t any of you left. There was no trace of my Basil, of Bill’s Doctor, of Coal Hill’s interim caretaker… and then…” Instead of saying it, she put her hand to her throat and he instantly knew.

“Oh… Clara… I’d never do something like that to you,” he swore. “Don’t be afraid of me and what I will become once I have the full moon hit my skin again; any injury I’ve ever given anyone has been because they were too close as I was thrashing about during a difficult transformation. I’m aware the entire time—I would never knowingly cause you harm.”

“A-Are you sure…?” she asked. He nodded.

“Certainly.”

She gazed into his eyes, the very ones that she saw moments ago in her dream, and took note of the differences. The Basil in her dream had lost all the sparkle, all the life, all the kindness, and yet this one still had those things and more. He picked her up—sleeping bags and all—and placed her back on the bunk, sitting down next to her.

“If you’re not feeling up to being here while I transform again, you’re more than welcome to leave,” he said. Clara shook her head in response.

“I guess it was always at the back of my mind, but it took until now for it to surface,” she admitted. He rested an arm across her shoulders and she leaned into the touch. “I’m sorry—for all the talking we’ve done, that’s a pretty big thing to miss.”

“Something tells me we’re not the talking type,” he shrugged. “Yeah we talk, but big things can be hit-or-miss. I’m sure had we met under different circumstances, we’d part before we ever got the chance to admit our feelings towards one another.”

“Now that would definitely suck.” She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You sitting alone in your academic tower, pining over what you couldn’t even place you missed, is a silly image.”

“Silly, yes, but terrifyingly possible,” he replied grimly. He gently flattened her hair—now wild from sleep and terror—and tucked a stray strand behind her ear. “I know what I miss from before, but the thought of parting from you without even the hint of what I passed on is enough to make me want to get the TARDIS and whisk you back to Bristol before the school year ends.”

“…the what…?”

“That’s what I call my car, remember?”

She puzzled over that for a moment before it hit her smack in the face. “You mean, you still have that Soviet-era heap of junk that you drove just to piss people off? There hasn’t been a Tardyska made since I was five.”

“It is a highly reliable piece of machinery.”

“If my German uni neighbor was correct, you were safer in a Trabant, and those had to be refueled by pouring petrol directly under the bonnet. You’re a liar.”

“I accept this as true.”

“Which part? About the Trabant or that you’re a liar?”

“I guess you’re going to have to find out.” He leaned in and kissed her playfully, bringing out a giggle that encouraged him further. Squeezing a breast, he relished the sound she made inside his mouth as she straddled his lap, taking charge in the eventual breaking of their sex moratorium.

Soon there would be nothing to worry about, he thought, for once he was revived, nothing was going to come between them.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A/N: I’ve mentioned the Cairngorms in a different fic as a backdrop, but it is really worth mentioning again. It is one of the coldest, highest, and snowiest places in the British Isles. There are other subranges in the Grampian Mountains that cross Scotland, but the fact that the Cairngorms are often cold and snowy makes them a good setting for things in general (even though the desolateness might be compromised by backpackers and hillwalkers in real life).

#Whouffaldi #Clara Oswald #Twelfth Doctor #Whouffle #werewolf au #Doctor Who #fan fiction #GOSH I want to go to the Cairngorms and just wander around taking in all the beauty #I don't often come into contact with mountainous areas so when I do it gets a bit silly #but yeah so this I wanted to get back to a wee bit of the horror element #to set things up for later #because raisins

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