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im-a-wonderling · 1 month

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Survival Mechanisms ~ George Weasley

This is part three, so make sure you read Is It Still Punishment if It's Worth It? and Clumsy, Clumsy first!

Warnings: none

Word count: 4k

The N.E.W.T. preparatory witch was absolute rubbish.

With the exams looming, Umbridge had allowed for a dodgy witch from the Ministry to host an exam study session of sorts on the Patronus Charm. It was hard to believe that Umbridge could hate so many things and yet endorse a witch that wore a hat with green shamrocks and orange balloons.

A load of the Gryffindors were lounging around on the seats that had been pushed against the walls, having produced a fully corporeal Patronus. They cracked jokes and laughed with each other. Every so often, one of them would lazily sweep their gaze across the room at the students still struggling with the spell. Their palpable arrogance seemed to bounce against the stone walls, weighing down the room.

I gripped my wand tightly enough to feel every ridge of it against my skin.

Why were they still here? If they’d successfully completed the exercise, they could take their boisterousness somewhere else, preferably over the balcony of the Astronomy Tower.

“Expecto Patronum!” I said firmly, circling my wand. The most pathetic stream of silver yet flowed from the tip of my wand, disappearing in an instant. I grit my teeth, circling my wand again. “Expecto Patronum!”

“No, dear,” said the supervising witch, waddling over to me. “The wand movement must flow. Like this.” She demonstrated, and the silver form of a dog burst forth, running through the air in the classroom with its tongue hanging out.

I ducked my head in thanks, and she walked away to help a Hufflepuff. I glared after her, imagining transfiguring her stupid hat into a flower pot of marigolds. When I turned back to the fake dementor, it wasn’t the only dummy standing there.

George leaned an elbow on the dementor’s shoulder, looking at me with his grin reeking with complications. “All right?”

I extended my wand towards the fake dementor, waiting for George to get out of the way. But he remained squarely where he was. “What?” I asked tersely.

“Nothing.” His tone was far too smug for that to be true. “You’re just cute when you’re frustrated.”

Just then, George Weasley should’ve thanked every star in the sky that I wasn’t born a Welsh Green, otherwise he’d be a pile of cinders. Gritting my teeth, I flicked my wand at him, trying to scare him away, but George didn’t so much as flinch. “Go away,” I finally said. “I’m busy.”

George stood up straight, his arm leaving the dummy. But instead of going to join his housemates, he ambled closer. He had such a funny and easygoing way of walking. He put one foot in front of the other like it didn’t even matter where his feet ended up, because he was content wherever he was. “Struggling, are we?”

“Expecto Patronum!”

George side-stepped the spurt of silver that left my wand, and when it faded, he looked back at me. “Do you want help?”

“George, I’m not in the mood,” I warned.

“What’s your memory?”

I shot him a withering glare. “I’m not telling you.”

George brought both his hands to his chest, sticking out his lower lip. “You wound me.”

“I will if you don’t get out of the way,” I seethed.

George tilted his head to the side in the way he always did when he seemed to be sizing me up. Then he bent down and leaned in, and I prepared my wand, ready to cast the Revulsion Jinx if he so much as laid a finger on me. “Meet me on the sixth floor,” he said quietly, his words tickling my ear, “by the portrait of Edgar Stroulger.”

“So you and your Gryffindor pals can ambush me?” I bit back, turning my head to look him directly in the eye. “Absolutely not.”

“Do you never trust anybody?” George’s soft question paired with his unassuming eyes almost made me feel guilty.

“If you want trust,” I replied, “go bestow your relentless charms on a Hufflepuff.”

George straightened, looking down on me with furrowed brows. For a moment, we simply stood there, staring at each other. Had I finally gone too far? Was he going to throw in the towel? Would he take the advice I wasn’t sure I meant and go find someone easier to talk to?

Then his face split into a grin. “You think I’m charming?”

How could he do that? I’d never known someone who could receive such acidic words from someone and spin them as if they’d been given a compliment. “Why would you help me?”

“Because we’re friends now.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Well,” George’s eyes flicked over to the witch who’d just finished demonstrating how her own patronus walked on all fours, “you said you don’t snog your friends. We’ve never snogged, therefore we’re friends.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the flipping of my stomach. “I don’t think that’s how logic works.”

“Innit?” George straightened. “If you want help, you know where I’ll be.” And with that, he walked in his unhurried way out of the room.

The dark eyes of the dementor dummy bored into mine as I considered my options: staying and hoping the witch somehow became more helpful or taking a chance on George. I glanced at the witch, who was leading one of the other Slytherins in what appeared to be a breathing exercise.

Okay, clearly George could offer as much, if not more than, the witch. But the humiliation of failing in front of the witch meant nothing compared to how I would feel if George laughed at me.

Could I take that risk for the benefit of learning this charm?

I looked out the door George had just walked out of.

Stopping at the entrance of the Study of Ancient Runes classroom, I glanced around the corner, waiting for any sign of danger. Seeing none and walking slowly, I rounded the corner, coming face to face with the portrait.

Edgar Stroulger, the inventor of the Sneakoscope, looked warily down at me as he reached into his wrinkled purple robes to pull out the Dark Detector. It didn’t light up, spin, or whistle, which meant no one was doing anything untrustworthy nearby.

Did George pick this portrait to make sure that I wasn’t planning anything sinister? Or did he pick it so that I could be sure he wasn’t planning anything sinister?

Suddenly, the portrait swung outward.

My wand slid into my hand in an instant, and I pointed it, ready for action. “Calm down, it’s only me,” George said lightly, stepping out and closing the portrait behind him.

I waited a beat, just to see if George would start squirming, but he didn’t look the least bit concerned by having the tip of my wand an inch away from the tip of his freckled nose.

“Another make-out spot?” I asked, finally lowering my arm.

“Not yet, but there’s always time,” George replied with a cheeky grin. I waited for him to lead me somewhere, but he just stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at me.

“What?” I finally asked.

“You came.”

Were the words born of surprise? Excitement? Disappointment? I was unnerved by the fact that I couldn’t tell. “I don’t like failing.”

“Everyone knows that,” George chuckled. He gave a grand bow, indicating the hallway I’d just come through. “Shall we?”

I eyed George. Were we going to the Ancient Runes classroom? Or did he have somewhere else in mind? Was he bringing me to a second location? Wasn’t it common knowledge that one was never supposed to let a kidnapper take them to a second location?

“Well, we can’t practice charms in the hallway, can we?” he said, correctly interpreting my silence.

I sighed. “I’ll follow you then.”

George smiled and swept down the hallway, walking straight towards an empty stone wall. Was George about to walk right into it? And if so, did I have time to get snacks to watch? Just as I started to debate this, before my very eyes grew a large door, as if it’d just pooled out of the wall like melted chocolate.

“How did you–” I started to ask, a bit breathless. “How did that door just…appear?

George looked pleased at my response. “Hogwarts is full of surprises.”

I shook my head. If anyone would know about a secret door in Hogwarts, my money was on the nosy Weasley twins, but still.

George opened the door and made a little bow. “After you.”

My curiosity winning over my paranoia, I walked inside, glancing all about the room.

There was no furniture, only a wide-open space with a fire burning in the hearth across from the entrance. A few training dummies, similar to the ones the witch had been using, lined the walls. There lay an inherent conflict in the room between the cool, blue light from the windows which bounced off the mirrors and the yellow light of the glowing chandelier.

“Alright,” George said, rolling the sleeves of his uniform above his elbow as he brushed past me to stand in the very center of the room. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I followed him, dutifully pulling out my wand and keeping my eyes focused on one of the training dummies and not George. “Expecto Patronum.”

“You’re spiraling too big,” George said.

I tried again.

“No, not like–here.” The next thing I knew, George was at my back, his hand moving down my arm to encase my wand hand. “Smaller, softer.” My lips parted as his warm breath skittered across my cheek. His wrist moved, guiding my wand through the motions. “It’s not meant to be harsh.”

I glanced at the mirror across from us to see that George’s eyes weren’t focused on my hand, but on my face, which was steadily turning crimson.

If bringing me to this room was some sort of romantic move, I was determined that it would fail. The portrait of Edgar Stroulger would not become another make-out spot, and neither would this room. At least not with me. I kept my eyes studiously forward, waving my wand as instructed.

“Brilliant.” He spoke in a whisper, but it felt as though he were shouting.

"Expecto Patronum!" Silver mist flowed from my wand, more than before, and it didn’t fade as quickly.

“Better,” George said encouragingly. “Again.”

“Expecto Patronum!” Same result.

“Try again.”

I repeated the action, and the silver mist was gone in a moment. “Augh, this bloody charm is impossible!”

George rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and the appraising manner with which he looked at me made me nervous. “What are you picturing when you’re trying to conjure it?”

“Not–”

“Y/L/N.”

I lapsed into silence, keeping my lips stubbornly closed. Under no circumstances was I going to give him ammunition.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” George said softly. “I’m not harboring some secret plan to humiliate you. I’m trying to help, so will you please let those walls of yours down and let me?”

I just glared back at him, folding my arms tightly.

George sighed, moving to stand between the dummy and I. “Mine is a food fight with my family.”

The admission made me blink. Why would his response to my closed doors be to open his own? In spite of myself, I was interested. “Not some prank?”

George ducked his head, and I suddenly missed his smile. “No, not some prank. We were sitting down to dinner, and my dad leaned over to give my mum a kiss and he accidentally knocked over the cauldron, spilling pea soup everywhere.” George wrinkled his nose, as if he could smell it still. “My brothers and I were covered in it, and the whole dining room was dead silent…and then Fred threw his soggy roll at Bill, and next thing you know,” George smiled broadly, “we were all throwing food, even Mum, and Mum never willingly creates a mess.”

Even though I hadn’t been there, his memory was captivating enough that I could picture the large family laughing and slipping as they reveled in each others’ company.

George lifted his wand, and a burst of fear shot through me.

But before I could hurl a spell in his direction, he whispered his own: “Expecto Patronum.”

A magpie flew forth, soaring about the room with minimal flapping of its patterned wings. If patronuses could make noise, I had a feeling this one would sing the most beautiful song. Not because it was trying to compete with or impress anyone, but for itself, to represent the sheer joy that kept it aloft.

Then, it veered towards me, flying so close that I could’ve sworn I felt the brush of feathers on my leg as it began to circle. It flew higher and higher with every rotation until a silver cloud of mist surrounded me. Then, it shot away again, flying about the room.

“The Patronus is an outpouring,” George said quietly. “It’s the happiness that can’t be contained, therefore it must leap forward.”

I’d never been much good at outpouring. Everything I held dear was held behind my walls, for sharing things was the fastest way to spoil them.

But I wanted to learn this charm. How could I protect Clem if there was a gap in my magical prowess?

“What are you picturing?” George asked again.

I folded my arms. “I’m not telling you.”

“C’mon, Y/L/N, your wand movement’s good, you’re saying the incantation right. There’s only one thing that could be keeping you from casting it.”

I grit my teeth. If there was anything more insufferable than George Weasley, it was George Weasley when he was right. “I was…thinking of…getting my Hogwarts acceptance letter.”

George didn’t burst into laughter or devolve into mocking like I expected. “Why’s that a powerful happy memory for you?”

I looked away, staring at the door and stifling the wish to run through it. “My parents were going to send me to Durmstrang.”

“Oh.” George rubbed his neck. “Well. That would’ve been a shame.” There was a silence before I finally nodded, not wanting to say anything else on the subject. “Maybe try a different image?” he suggested.

“Like what?” I said hopelessly. “Hippogriffs tap dancing?”

George’s eyes gleamed, and the magpie landed on top of his head. “Now that’s a good one.”

“George,” I said warningly.

George rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. The longer the silence extended, the more I wished I could simply use George’s memory of his family food fight. Finally, George blew out his cheeks, imitating a frog’s vocal sac extending with a croak. “Don’t curse me for asking this–”

“No promises.”

“–but why do you protect Clem so strongly?”

I stared at George, confused. Not by his actions, but by the small part of me that actually wanted to answer his question and share about the biggest love of my life. But I couldn’t shake the deep-seated fear that this information would somehow be the key to bringing me down.

“I swear to you,” George said softly as the magpie ruffled its wings, “Clem’s safer from me than my own siblings, because I won’t turn his teddy bear into a giant spider.”

I debated inquiring about the story that clearly lingered behind his oddly specific word choice, but decided not to. Letting out a long breath, I looked away.

“I was six when Clem was born,” I told the floor. It was much easier to speak to the stone floor than to the intently listening redhead. “I’d always wanted a sibling, but my parents struggled with having kids. Even when my mom was pregnant, the healers at St. Mungo warned her that she might lose the baby at any point, but my father…” I sighed. “He wanted a son. You know, carry on the family name and all that.”

Mercifully, George stayed silent, as if he knew one word from him would make me clam up and one joke right now would earn him a trip to the Hospital Wing with a pair of permanent elephant ears.

“They let me hold him, and he was so much heavier than I thought he was going to be.” I smiled softly. “I’d never seen a baby before. I thought babies were just…small people, but they’re not, they’re chubby and wrinkly and they’re red all over.” I glanced at the mirror and George’s unmoving reflection staring intently at mine, willing me to finish.

“I don’t think six-year-olds know much about anything. I definitely didn’t, but when I held my brother…” My courage quailed. I shook my head, raising my wand to attempt the charm again.

Suddenly, the magpie flew past me and then George was in front of me, his hand holding mine still as he looked down at me with something I couldn’t name or deny. “Finish it,” he said softly, but earnestly. “Finish the story.”

I couldn’t form the right words at first, but George didn’t say anything to break the silence as I struggled. “When I held my brother,” the image of my baby brother started almost glowing in my mind, “I knew what love was.”

George’s slight, answering smile was quite possibly the most genuine thing I’d ever laid eyes on. He released my hand but didn’t step away. “Try it now.”

I didn’t look away, not wanting to puncture the peace of the room with the incantation. I looked deeply into George’s brown eyes and whispered it. “Expecto Patronum.”

The room lit up with the silver mist that poured forth from my wand, more than before. At first the mist pooled beneath my wand, and then, rising up from the pool, rose a large but graceful four-legged creature that ran around the room.

A lioness.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled, but there was little heat behind the words. I couldn’t be ungrateful for the creature, not when it moved so freely about the room, as if it were as glad as I was that it existed. “Don’t laugh,” I warned George as the patronus walked a circle around him. “And if you make a joke about me being in Gryffindor, I’ll turn you into a toad.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” George followed the lioness with his eyes as she trotted closer to me, leaving trails of mist behind her. “Makes sense though.”

I studied the markings by the lioness’s noble face. “How?”

“Strength. Ferocity.” His eyes flicked up to mine. “Beauty.”

I blushed, and the lioness started running again, as if energized by the heat in my cheeks. The magpie swooped to join the lioness, who playfully swatted at it before leaping into the air to join it.

“So…what other spells are you and your friends mastering in this room?”

George’s glance cut quickly towards me, and the magpie dissipated. “What?”

I allowed the lioness to dissolve as well. “There are multiple training dummies, and whatever spell you have on that door, clearly you don’t want people inside.” I tilted my head at him. “And you’re brilliant, George, but Defense Against the Dark Arts has never been your strongest subject, and considering Umbridge’s educational skills…I can't believe you're doing it on your own."

George looked scared, and as much as I enjoyed finally seeing a bit of fear on his face, I couldn’t let it remain there for long. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret as long as you keep mine.”

George furrowed his brow. “Your secret?”

I stared at him, tongue-tied with disbelief. Did he really have no idea that he held a vulnerable secret? Had he not recognized that the knowledge of how deeply I loved Clem was a valuable piece of information? A vulnerability that could be easily exploited?

Too late, it seemed to dawn on him, and the sheer delight in his demeanor made me quickly walk for the door. “Wait–” he said.

“Time to leave, isn’t it?” I said shortly, but George caught up with me, blocking my way.

“You’re trying to blackmail me?”

I groaned, hiding my face in my hands. “Can we forget about it?” George burst out laughing, doubling over. I shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble. “Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m…sorry,” George wheezed, clutching his stomach. “You’re just so cute!”

“Excuse me?” I shrieked.

“What do you think you are,” he said, gasping for air, “MI6?”

“It’s a survival mechanism,” I mumbled, and his laughter started anew. Heat rushed into my cheeks.

George only laughed all the harder.

My goodwill evaporating, I shoved him. Hard.

The aggression in the gesture didn’t move George that far, but his laughter stopped as I stormed out the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, jogging after me, still looking amused. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry.”

I turned to look at him and saw the door melting away again.

“Besides,” George leaned against a pillar, “friends keep each other's secrets.” He looked so comfortable, so unbothered. I didn’t know many Gryffindors who would willingly share the same room with a Slytherin, and here was one of the most Gryffindor of Gryffindors, staring down at me without a hint of a long-suffering sigh.

“George?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you want to be my friend?”

George rolled his eyes, pushing off from the pillar. “Enough with the paranoia, Y/L/N.”

“No, I’m not paranoid, I just…I’m confused.”

George looked at me suspiciously for a moment before the suspicion dropped. “Well…why wouldn’t I?” he asked, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re smart, and I happen to think your survival mechanisms are extremely endearing.”

“I’m also a Slytherin.”

George groaned. “Not this again.”

I stepped forward, craning my neck to look up at George. “You’re goofy, but you’re not naive. And I can’t believe that you haven’t been given any grief about your interest in me.”

George pursed his lips, clearly unable to disagree and wishing he could.

“So why are you risking it?”

His brown eyes searched my face as he seemed to gather and ponder his response. “Maybe I was curious,” he said at last. “About the terrifying, mysterious Slytherin that never lifted a finger to harm anyone.”

“I’m not compassionate, George,” I replied. “I never lift a finger to help anyone either, and that’s just as bad.”

“No, I know you’re not, that’s not what I’m saying,” he replied.

“Well, then what are you saying?”

“It’s…it just…it seems like…” He trailed off, and while the suspense wouldn’t kill me, I was considering killing him.

“It seems like what?”

“It’s like you try not to exist.” George’s face took on an expression of deep perplexity. “You don’t make yourself smaller, not like some people do, you just…float through this castle like the ghosts, leaving no trace and only the occasional word.”

He stepped closer, and it took everything in me to remain still and allow him close enough to easily step on my toes if he wanted to. “You’re more than just a Slytherin, Y/N. Just like I’m more than just a Gryffindor.”

“Are you sure about that?” I replied, more breathlessly than I’d anticipated in my head.

“If I wasn’t more,” he smirked, “we wouldn’t be such good friends.”

I blinked at him. He really was curious. And his curiosity was, in turn, making me curious as to what kind of man stood in front of me. “George?”

“Hmm?” he said.

I gnawed on my lip. “Thank you.”

George’s face went slack.

“For helping me,” I added, hoping confusion was the only reason he was looking at me like that. “I…appreciate it.”

There was a beat while George stared at me like my breakfast pumpkin juice had been spiked with Nose-Grow potion and my nose was starting to resemble Professor Snape’s.

Then, a bright, dazzling smile spread across his face. “Cheers, Y/N.”

I lingered for another moment before giving George a sharp nod and quickly descending the stairs, silently asking the universe why my heart felt like it was swelling.

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#harry potter #hp #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #george #george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #room of requirement #hogwarts #slytherin!reader

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goodluckclove · 6 days

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The Hot Dog Scene (Migration Patterns Preview)

I feel like I have to include this to provide closure to those invested in my Hot Dog Discourse. It's a first draft so it might look different when the book comes out next year, but like...here it is. The Hot Dog Scene.

Edgar lingered. He looked tired in a positive way. Tired like how a person feels after they stop shouldering as much of their unimaginable burden. His eyes locked with Tenzin and he twitched an attempt at a smile.

“You want to get a hot dog?” Tenzin asked him.

He blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

“Or chili fries, maybe? I’m probably going to get chili fries.”

“It’s the place next door,” Jude told him. “It’s good. They make a great Seattle dog.”

Edgar furrowed his brow. “What’s that?”

“Polish sausage with grilled onions and cream cheese.”

“They also,” Tenzin’s stomach lurched again and she sighed inwardly. “They also make regular hot dogs that humans can eat.”

Apparently all it took was the concept of a new type of hot dog to immediately start lifting Edgar’s spirits. “It’s – good?” He asked. “I never thought...I couldn’t even imagine that to be a thing that existed.”

Jude got this devilish look on zir face that Tenzin hated. “You’ve had a bagel with cream cheese and lox, right?”

“I suppose I have.”

“It’s the same idea! If Riley’s working the counter ask them to add grilled cabbage with a sprinkle of jalapeno brine. You won’t regret it.”

A slow, warm smile blossomed over Edgar’s face. He was excited, genuinely excited, despite the looming life-changing circumstances hanging just above their heads. Earlier today he was questioning if Scott would still love him under a new set of pronouns. Now all of that was rendered unimportant thanks to the promise of a singular, five-dollar hot dog.

It was childlike in a way that struck Tenzin right across the face. She knew then why Scott fell for him so instantly. Why Katy considered him family.

She bopped him with the corner of her briefcase and nodded towards the door. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“Right now?” Edgar looked uncertain. “Don’t you still need to..?” Eventually his anticipation for a new flavor overtook whatever hesitation he had. “Uh – yeah! Yeah, okay. Cool!”

The hot dog place was dingy, yet clean. The checkered tiled floors were scuffed in the way that implied a heavy amount of foot traffic, while the furniture looked brand new. Tenzin and Edgar took a seat at the counter by the large window after they ordered.

Tenzin got a bite to eat here whenever she was in the area because it was a weird enough eatery to stock RC Cola. She sipped at the rim of her mug and enjoyed the icy, sweet fizz. Beside her Edgar watched out the window with the straw of his own glass held between his teeth.

“It’s interesting,” Edgar began.

Here we go. “What is?” Tenzin asked hesitantly, wiping her mouth with a napkin from the nearby dispenser.

“RC Cola is more sour than I expected. It’s not bad – I like how smooth it is. It’s like…” Edgar took a drink from the straw and analyzed it carefully. “Cinnamon, maybe. Some kind of orange or lemon, and – it’s crazy, but I almost get a hint of rose. It reminds me of kombucha.”

She didn’t even realize that Edgar got the same soda as her. It looked like he enjoyed it, though with much more thought than Tenzin tended to give to anything she ate or drank.

“Do you do that all the time?” She said. “Do you just analyze everything you taste?”

Edgar shrugged. “It helps me appreciate it.”

“You never just eat something just to eat it?”

He looked close to embarrassment, but something changed at the very last moment and he doubled down. “It feels more mindful to...know what I’m eating. And why I like it. How it makes me feel. I mean, growing up I didn’t always get – I don’t know. I like to be grateful for things like this.”

Tenzin let out a stifled laugh. She worried Edgar would take it personally, but when he spoke again there was a smile in his voice. “Do I sound like a crazy person?”

“You sound like a birthright.”

She looked at him sitting beside her. Edgar was newly relaxed – more so than usual, especially with it just being him and her on their own. He smiled easily with his eyes shimmering in a soft gold glow, one that held its potency without trouble. This might’ve been the first time she saw him use his abilities with total control. He looked in that moment like any other witch town member. If she noticed him in the Mess Hall she’d take him to be a new employee she just didn’t get a chance to meet yet.

And he was reading her now. Reading her like Regina used to when they first met. Or was he? Growing up Tenzin would see her mom’s eyes glow momentarily in moments of high emotion. Regina told her it was an empty gesture, a reflex that couldn’t actually gain any real information. Not from Tenzin. Not anymore.

Edgar wore another beaded bracelet around his wrist that she didn’t notice until now. It was done up in multiple colors, just a repeating line of black and gray and white and green. She recognized the Agender pride flag as one of the gender identities Scott, and by proxy Tenzin, were informed of in their childhood.

That must’ve been one intense conversation between Edgar and Jude. Tenzin was grateful she didn’t have to be the one to navigate it.

“You never showed her your work,” Edgar said, eyes pointed down towards Tenzin’s bag.

“Mm,” Tenzin quickly put on an indifferent demeanor. “Don’t really need to.”

Edgar raised his brow. “Really? We drove all this way.”

“Well that’s the thing, isn’t it? That’s exactly what Jude’s thinking right now. So when I go ahead and ignore most of what ze told me to do, ze can’t get that upset,” Tenzin raised her drink to punctuate her point. “Because we drove all this way.”

“Clever,” Edgar said.

He said that with both sarcasm and admiration. Very recently she described Edgar as her brother. He technically was in at least a few senses. Absolutely not in many others.

When they met Tenzin was so crazed by her Knight’s Bond that she elbow struck him off his feet and could’ve easily beaten him to death. She cleaned the blood off his face once she healed him and he sat so carefully, not even wincing at the sight of his own blood.

It could be that he was used to the sight. The smell. The taste, even. Enough so that it didn’t surprise him anymore.

I won’t let anything put you in danger, she told him when he lingered in the car before meeting Regina. Tenzin meant it, too. She couldn’t explain why and even now the reasons confused and aggravated her.

The cashier that took their order came by with two baskets with hot dogs and fries. The teen placed one in front of each of them, muttered a weak bon appetite, and retreated back to the register.

Edgar’s attention was fully enraptured by the meal. He looked down at it and grinned. His eyes were massive and bright with shy excitement. Tenzin wonders how something so tarnished could be cleaned to glimmer so brightly.

It is unfair for Tenzin to feel an echo her feelings for Scott reflected in a separate human being. It just wasn’t right.

She took a french fry from the pile in her basket and bit into it. It was hot, but no too hot.

“How is it?” Edgar asked, hushed and eager.

Tenzin ate another fry. “Uh – good?” She attempted. “It’s...crispy. Salty. Made of – potato.”

Edgar picked up a french fry. It was a french fry. It was the first result in a stock image search of the word french fry and did not deserve remotely as much focus as Edgar was giving it.

“You know what I don’t see a lot of?” He looked at Tenzin but didn’t give her time to answer. “Waffle fries. Why do you think that is?”

He’s supposed to be the normal one, Tenzin thought in stunned silence. He’s supposed to be the one that got to be a regular human being.

Edgar didn’t look like he noticed her silence. “I think they’re harder to fry. That’s just my theory though. I never got to work a deep fryer,” he ate the fry in his hand and smiled. “Ooh, it’s fresh.”

He took a sip of his soda and took a deep breath, rubbing his hands in private anticipation. Edgar Gallows was the origin of Scott’s agony for his entire life, and now the guy was revving himself up to eat a hot dog. Treating it like he was about to land a perfect back flip on the first try. How did the events of Tenzin’s life lead up to this of all things?

She watched Edgar tenderly handle his Seattle-style hot dog, a title of which sounded deeply questionable since Tenzin had been to Seattle for business and didn’t see anyone slathering their processed meat with cream cheese. She wasn’t sure if it was an actually style native to the city as a whole. It was far more likely to her that some pervert thought himself clever and decided to make Washington worse as a result of it.

Edgar bit into the end and chewed. His focus was refined and laser sharp, but Tenzin knew she could’ve left the restaurant right now and he wouldn’t notice her absence until she was halfway home.

An entire conversation was being held with himself through the slight twitch of his brow and narrowing of his large eyes. The gold returned in a soft shimmer, showing just how much emotional stimulation Edgar was getting from just one bite.

He’s...reading the intentions? Tenzin truly felt one misstep away from losing her mind. Is Edgar reading the intentions of his hot dog?

She smiled deliriously thinking about it. Then, softly, she began to laugh. Eventually the sound was loud enough to attract Edgar’s attention. He swallowed and smiled sheepishly.

“’S good,” he said.

Tenzin tried to speak and could only laugh. She held her hand over her mouth, lolled her chin down to her chest, and laughed even harder. By the time Tenzin finally got a hold of her senses Edgar was already halfway done with his hot dog. He ate calmly and paid little mind to her hysterics. Edgar remained perfectly satisfied with the situation he was in.

“It’s really good,” he clarified while she caught her breath. “It’s probably top – top five. In my list of hot dogs.”

“It’s not even number one?” Tenzin’s voice was hoarse from laughter and she was forced to drink some cola to dull the burn. “Ah. Ah man. What a shame.”

“No, it’s good!” Edgar grinned. “I always love to try a new food.”

He looked happy. The affection Tenzin felt for him in that moment was stark and disorientating. It was something long-sleeping in her chest suddenly startled out of hibernation.

This was her brother. No. Yes. Maybe. The answer didn’t matter as much as Tenzin’s new conviction. Edgar was here now, after all this time, and there was no point resenting him for things he didn’t know, understand, or have any control over.

Scott was willing to die in his search for Eddie. If he didn’t find Edgar when he did, he likely would be dead. Or worse. But none of that happened, and now the two of them could sit together and eat a strange and slightly sacrilegious hot dog.

Edgar went back to happily eating. Tenzin decided to join him then, and she picked up the soft bun and bit into the sausage. She tried to focus on what she was eating. It was – crispy? Crispy, but not crunchy. It tasted like cooked meat and tangy cream – so creamy meat, but not like that because that sounds terrible.

It was okay.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #writing #authors of tumblr #queer writers #actually writing #migration patterns #novel excerpt #book excerpt #writing excerpt #the hot dog scene #hot dog discourse

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eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year

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Love to Spare - Part 6 (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Warnings (?): Angsty feelings, smooching Word count: 2k Part 5 Part 7 Masterpost

Summary: You receive a proposal at a moonlit ball.

The ball the following night was being held, of all places, at Bridgerton House. The viscountess’ chosen theme was ‘Midnight’, and the dress code called for dark hues of blue, the Bridgerton family color. You were outfitted with a gauzy navy gown smattered with sparkling silver embellishments, long silver gloves, and a glinting crystal tiara, filigreed with shapes of stars. You acknowledged how beautiful you looked, but couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to appreciate it when you knew it was done to appease your new husband and make you worthy of display when your engagement was announced. Your stomach was rolling with anxiety all day and it only increased as the hours grew later.

Walking up to Bridgerton House was surreal. Seeing the elegant mansion that was Anthony’s property somehow made you feel small. Your nerves were at fever pitch contemplating what awaited you inside. This had been the entire purpose of your entry into society. It was what was necessary to protect your family’s welfare, it was what you had been readying for for weeks. And yet, now that it came to it, something inside you was trembling and not with excitement. You needed to see Anthony. You needed to tell him about Sir Edgar’s proposal and get his perspective and his blessing before you made the most significant commitment of your life. You needed to borrow some of his strength. But he would be playing host. You couldn’t take up too much of his time. And Benedict…you couldn’t even think about Benedict, or the cruel irony of getting betrothed to a Graham while in the Bridgerton home.

Your head was spinning so much by the time you entered the main hall, you felt faint. You begged off your mother for a moment of fresh air and stumbled out onto a small terrace that overlooked the back garden. The clear night was participating famously with Lady Bridgerton’s theme, as a large moon shone bright in the sky, casting stark shadows everywhere. You tucked yourself into a wisteria-choked corner away from the windows and wrung your hands, just trying to breathe.

A familiar voice broke through the stillness as if on cue. “Miss y/l/n?” Benedict, devastating in a dark blue ensemble, walked up the terrace steps from the garden, eyes glinting in the moonlight. “You look…” He shook his head, gaping. “Tell me I’m awake because I fear I may have strayed into a dream.”

The poetic cheek did force a small smile from you. “You’re awake, Mr. Bridgerton. But please, the flattery isn’t helping my nerves.”

You resumed tugging at your gloves while his brow furrowed. “What is there to be nervous about?”

There was so much you wanted to tell him but couldn’t. Like the fact that the very sight of him, looking as handsome as he did, was only adding to your distress. You heaved a shaking breath. “I am expecting tonight will be…consequential.”

He paused and something seemed to shift in his eyes. That fathomless depth you had seen the night before was back. His voice reverted to that honeyed tone which made you lose all sense of time. “What a coincidence, I am expecting the same.”

You had no idea what he could mean. Was his family making some announcement? Would he be making his own proposal that night? Something icy clamped around your throat envisioning a smiling young woman taking his hand amidst applause. You silently chastised yourself. These thoughts simply had to stop. You tried to keep your voice cool and even. “And what consequences are you anticipating, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He stepped toward you, his long shadow starting to rise up the length of your dress. “Significant ones.” His voice had somehow lowered even further to a rumble.

“That my joy is multiplied.” Another step closer.

“That my heart is unburdened.” And another.

“That my very life is altered from this night forward.” He was looming over you, crowding out the moonlight as your back pressed against wisteria and brick, his dark eyes locked into yours.

Oh god…he couldn’t…this couldn’t be…he wasn’t…

But you could sense what was coming in your very bones, and despite how you knew you should protest, you didn’t. You swallowed thickly, offering up your last feigned attempt at ignorance in a choked whisper. “Significant indeed. What event could occur that would have so great an impact?”

“One which includes you.” Then his large hands gently cupped your face and his lips descended to yours, and colors exploded behind your eyelids that you had never seen in the natural world. You sank into the flowers behind you and his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you steady against him as his lips caressed softly.

When he pivoted his head, you panted, “Mr. Bridge…”

“Benedict.” He murmured against your lips, his voice reverberating into your chest. “Call me Benedict.” Then a second kiss, stronger, needier. You drank him in, savoring every detail, your body drawing you into him while your heart and mind warred in confusion.

He pulled back, his eyes alight in a way you had never seen.

“Benedict…” You breathed. The name so precious to you, used for the first time.

He held you, brushing his knuckles along your jaw as that crooked grin spread across his face. “Y/f/n, would it still your nerves if you spent the night on my arm as my fiancée? If this house suddenly became your family home?”

For just a brief moment your heart soared. Your most daring dream was yours for the taking. But then you thought of Anthony, of his reaction the night of your first ball, of all the help he had given you in securing an engagement from Sir Edgar. You began to stammer, feeling yourself torn in half a dozen directions.

Benedict stepped back and held your hands in his. “I can’t bear it any longer, this game of ours. You are a learned woman, trained to seek the truth. I believe you know my truth.” Then he sank to one knee, his grey eyes piercing in the moonlight as he looked up at you with a smile. “I want you to be my wife. I want your future and I want to make it everything you desire. Marry me, y/f/n.”

You couldn’t breathe. Nothing had prepared you for this. Somehow being offered the thing you wanted most in the world was only serving to break your heart. Though your lungs were struggling to work, your mind somehow snapped into focus. You were trained to untangle life’s messes by following the logical path, stating the facts, making your case.

“Benedict, I am courting Sir Edgar.” You said breathlessly.

His face fell a bit, but he shrugged off your statement. “You are not engaged to him. You can turn him down. Do you love him?”

You almost snorted at the simplicity of his question. Love was the last thing you had been worried about in your criteria for a husband. “Love is not the only factor in a successful relationship.”

At this he chuckled and stood again, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “Spoken like a true solicitor.” Then he leaned in and whispered, his tone the very definition of seduction. “Consider these factors. My every waking thought is of you.” He kissed the skin below your earlobe. “Your name is on my lips every night.” Another kiss, lower on your neck. “And your face is in my mind every morning.” A kiss on your collarbone. “Every time we part, I’m driven mad waiting to see you again.” A final kiss just above the neckline of your dress. “I know that we suit one another.”

You shuddered at the heat of his lips and how he was reciting back to you all of the ways you felt about him. Your voice was shaking, “How do you know that?”

“Because of how you treat my brother. You care for him the same way I do. I didn’t know I’d ever meet a woman with the spirit and smarts to put up with the likes of him.”

Anthony. You had to remember Anthony and how he had forbidden this. You simply could not marry Benedict. Despite everything your body and heart were screaming for, you wouldn’t allow it to happen. It was too much entanglement. You didn’t want to be the cause of spite between these men that you cared for so deeply. You felt bitterness at being forced to choose and mocked him. “So a marriage would be convenient because I could help you look after him?”

He was taken aback. “No, no, it’s more than that.” He shook his head and took your face in his hands again. “You are so much more. You were building a life for yourself outside of all this.” He gestured vaguely back toward the house where the sounds of the party could be heard. “Do you know how rare that makes you? A jewel among pale stones.” He ran a thumb across your cheek and looked at you in that marvelling way again. “That is all I want too. Let me take care of you and we can build that life together. With passion, direction, a sense of purpose! Let me share in the beauty of your mind and your soul.” His hands travelled down the length of your arm and he brought your hand to his lips.

“You are exceptional.” His voice grew soft as he kissed your glove, the same way he had when you first met. “And I have felt exceptionally happy spending time with you.” He turned your hand and kissed your palm. “I love you, y/f/n. And will do so until my heart stops beating.” Then he held your hand to his chest.

Everything within you was shattering. You had never heard such beautiful words, and they were uttered by the most beautiful man you had ever seen. He could be yours, for the rest of your life. But at what cost? Your feelings for Benedict ran so hot, but you knew that your feelings for Anthony ran deeper. You could not betray your oldest friend, not even for a chance at what seemed to be perfect happiness. For all of your long years together, Anthony had always been a loyal friend. You owed him the same in return. Tears began to sting your eyes.

“Benedict, we can’t.”

He let your hand fall, pain creasing his brow. “Why not?”

Your voice was hoarse as you tried to keep from sobbing. “We would make a mess of things. It’s too complicated.”

“It’s not complicated at all!” He threw his arms wide, desperation cutting into his words. “Do you have feelings for me or not? It’s as simple as that.”

“It’s not.” You were crying freely now.

“It is!” He shouted, his voice wounded. “Either I’m mad or you’re not being honest. Look me in the eyes.” He closed in on you, searching your face. “I know you’re too ethical to lie to me. Look me in the eyes and tell me you have felt nothing between us. Tell me how you truly feel.”

Blinded by your tears, all you could see was his anger. But you knew that if you were going to have one Bridgerton brother despise you, you would rather it was him. You needed to get out of there.

“I’m sorry.” You gasped, then tore away back into the house.

You somehow managed to find your mother and make it to a carriage before you broke down sobbing. She didn’t press you for an explanation, likely assuming that you were mourning your independence as you approached your engagement. All she did was soothe you and promise to sort everything out tomorrow. You hadn’t even seen Sir Edgar that night, nor Anthony, and you didn’t know when you would again. You didn’t know what you should say, or who you should say it to. You laid awake, tears running into your pillow, letting your sense of reason silence, for the final time, the protestations of your heart.

Tagging: @venomsvl @colettebronte @faye-tale who are following along so sweetly; and @makaylan @chaoticcalzoneranchsports to whom I apologize again for pain <3

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safarigirlsp · 1 year

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The Beast

Vampire Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: None! Shocking! Some light horror and sexy themes.

AO3 Link

For Halloween, please enjoy this wicked fairytale for Transfusion Tuesday and also writer wednesday based a request from this Edgar Allen Poe prompt list. Notes of Beauty and the Beast, Dracula, and The Raven in my best Poe-ish attempt 🍂🍁🍂

This also continues my Wicked Fairytale Series where I give my own twisted twist to the classics, like Cinderella , A Midsummer Night’s Dream and A Christmas Carol.

For as long as anyone could remember, the castle had loomed from its cliffside perch above the sleepy little town far below. Like a raven, always watching, always waiting, for its prey to wander close enough to be ensnared in its shadows that stretched forth like grasping talons when twilight grew dim. Every night, when the mists swirled like waltzing specters and the chill settled like death’s hand upon the stricken, mothers would tell their children the tale of the Beast that had always lived in the castle.

With windows like nefarious eyes, peaked rooftops like arched eyebrows, spires rising like devilish horns into the sky, and the spiked iron teeth of the courtyard gates, the castle was a being itself. A monstrosity more imposing than any gargoyle watching over a churchyard. If the Beast didn’t ravage any hapless passersby, the castle itself looked eager to devour them whole.

For as long as fairytales had roots, the quiet little village had by horror been haunted. The frigid darkness that swirled through the streets like a wayward horseman’s spirit, lost and forsaken, was as warm as the kiss of a summer breeze compared to the icy black terror the Beast wrought upon those foolish enough to venture forth in the witching hour.

Far wiser than their human masters, animals would never dare encroach upon the accursed castle. Venture too far into the castle woods and horses would buck and bolt and hounds would whine and turn tail. Deer and fox and cheerfully colored songbirds knew they were unwelcome inside the black woods, among the dead trees with branches like demons’ claws, twisting up from Hell. Only the other creatures of darkness and malice, wolves and ravens, kept company with the Beast in his woods and his lair of stone. Man alone, with his mind for reason and penchant for fumbling upon the worst conclusion, hazarded to trespass upon the castle and meet his death at the gruesome hands of the Beast within.

Or so it had always been said. For no man who had made the perilous journey into the darkness of the castle’s shadow had ever returned.

From the topmost window in the highest tower, the Beast watched the foolish mortals go about their trivial fleeting lives below him, nothing more than ants crawling before a god. The Beast watched with loathing untold and seething unmeasured at the trivial humans who lived their fleeting lives with a carefree happiness he would never know. A silent snarl curled his lips at the sight and his tongue would absently trace over the tips of his fangs, thinking, as he often did, of the sweet taste of blood when they tore through frail flesh.

The tower spire was a freedom for the Beast, a reminder of the benefit of the bargain he had made centuries before. A deal sealed in those ages deemed dark -- dark and befitting of the curse that had stricken the Beast. Down leagues of staircases that seemed to spiral down to the bowels of the underworld, past long hallways winding lonely through bleak walls and past portraits of the long-dead and forgotten, deep in the cold earthen sepulcher in the castle dungeons lay an ancient coffin, undisturbed but never at rest. Inscribed upon the coffin and tarnished by the passage of centuries was its intended occupant’s name and title. Sir Kylo Ren.

Far longer ago than anyone in the inconsequential little town remembered, a knight protected the land and the woods and the cliffs. The Black Knight built a castle on the highest mountain, a fortress of stone to keep the woman he loved safe within its walls. The Black Knight was as beloved by his vassals as he was feared by his enemies, for he protected his own with a fist gloved in steel armor as black as his rage. But memories are as short as the frivolous lives of the townspeople and now no one remembered the Black Knight and his valor. But all the townspeople remember the creature he became. The Beast.

Not even the mighty power of the Black Knight, his strength beyond all other men, could save his woman when the plague settled its pox over the land. She was swept away from him on a green tide of pestilence to a place he could never follow, for surely a man as fearsome as himself could never trail an angel’s wings through Heaven’s Gates. The winter that blew in after her death never again lifted from the knight’s castle grounds nor the gloom from his heart.

Offering solace to the distraught shell of a man the Black Knight had become, a witch emerged from the shadows. Never before nor since was the treacherous creature seen, save only that one harsh winter night when Sir Kylo Ren had naught for company but his thoughts that churned blacker than cauldron pitch and more poisonous than Cleopatra’s adder. Like a raft to a drowning man, the witch offered the Black Knight that which he wanted most in the Hell his world had become. To know happiness again. To feel warmth and pleasure. For his true love to be returned to him.

A deal was struck, unholy and perfidious, back in that forgotten age of knights and witchcraft. The bargain was not to be for the Black Knight, for bargains offer a benefit. It was a trick as vile and malicious as the fumes of the underworld. Wearing the tempting veil of a bargain, it was a curse wrought upon the Black Knight. And from the curse, from the coffin of the noble knight, a creature of the night emerged. More monstrous than a vampire, Sir Kylo Ren was transformed into an unholy beast.

A curse lifted by a lover’s kiss or a moment of understanding was too simple, for love can bloom in an instant in the darkest hours of the night and flutter away with the rising sun. Sir Kylo knew well how to elicit lust and desire, how to arouse the flames of passion and ecstasy that would quickly flare into a wildfire of love. The Beast’s curse could only be undone by the rarest of women; the woman who could look upon him, see the ferocious beast he was, and show no fear. It was one thing to love a monster, as some women did with their own vile husbands, but yet another to show no fear in the face of monstrosity. The boldest knights looked upon the Beast with fear hammering in their chest so fast that Sir Kylo could dance to the beat. What woman could show bravery and valor where even the finest knights could not? None who had the misfortune of crossing paths with the Beast in the long centuries since the curse was levied upon him.

A curse that only affected the accursed was too benevolent, for there must be consequences to those who would be so tenacious as to attempt to cure the Beast. The witch was cunning and her curse had teeth as sharp as the wolves of the forest. Sir Kylo would not have been known for centuries as the Beast without good cause, without earning that loathsome moniker. Fear was his most morbid aphrodisiac, the spiced scent of terror sent the Beast into a frothing bloodlust. And what remained of the man Kylo had been was lost in the turbulence of mayhem and drowned in the blood that flowed in torrents when the beast was summoned forth to bring the wrath of Hell down upon the fearful and unworthy.

Gentle and loving women, wanton and deceptive women, those pure of heart and those of unadulterated sinfulness alike, all met with equal savagery when their fear bloomed beneath their skin, coursed through their veins like the finest wine. At the faintest hint of fear, the Beast consumed what remained of the man and tore the women apart with razored fangs and supernatural strength. The body of a healthy young woman contains scantly little blood, barely enough for an aperitif, and would only whet the Beast’s appetite. Those were the nights, those nights the Beast hoped beyond hope that he had finally found a woman with the heart of a lion, when blood covered the streets of the town the next day and loved ones tried to piece missing relatives together from the limbs that had been torn off and scattered away from their bodies.

When the Beast tasted the blood of the fearful, he raged. Until the Eastern sky glowed as red as the blood on his lips, threatening him with the dreadful sunrise, he raged. And so, the Beast cloistered himself inside his castle, imprisoned himself in a fortress of his own doing. Venturing no longer from the walls of his castle and the prison of his curse, Sir Kylo waited for a death that would never come. Or so he tried. Some nights the hunger, the longing, to be free of his curse was stronger than his will.

On those nights, he would let others bleed for him. On those nights, he would watch the life drain away from a frightened woman as she found the sweet embrace of death for which he so longed. On those nights, he knew that his soul had deserted him some forgotten time centuries ago, and the terrible parts of him that remained would never again be lifted from darkness.

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For as long as you could remember, you had heard the legend of the Beast that lurked inside the castle on the cliffs. Fairytales for children, you reasoned every time you rode through the forest while the black bramble clawed at you as if to keep you trapped inside forever. Sometimes, it felt as though something more watched you than the vacant lonesome windows. But the windows were always black as arched abysses, no candle ever flickered inside the castle, no sound ever echoed through its cavernous halls. No living soul could endure in that perpetual darkness, as bleak as the harshest winter chill, devoid of light and cheer. No Beast lurked in the castle. Ghosts perhaps, lonely specters of those long-dead, but nothing with a heart that still beats.

For as long as you could remember, you had believed that.

The woods were gloaming, desolate, and dense, as you rode home from far away. Nevermore, your horse and most trusted friend, was as black as a raven in a midnight graveyard. Boldy, you rode him through the woods into which no man would venture during the hours no good woman should be awake. Howls from wolves and hoots from owls kept you company along with the nervous snorts of your horse, but there was no faster way home. There may have been tales of terror about the Beast, but even the most skittish person knew that wolves would never attack a mounted rider. Not even in the cursed depths of the black forest.

Spires, silhouetted against the stars and blacker than the midnight sky, captivated your attention when it should have been elsewhere. The frightened whiny and startled rearing of your horse altered you to the danger you had ridden into. A pack of yellow eyes and white teeth leered at you from the trees on all sides, and excited yips and growls greeted you as the wolves moved in for their kill. Nevermore bolted, you didn’t try to slow him. You could stay with your horse through rearing and bucking and running at breakneck speed through the roughest terrain. But even you were no match for the tree branch as thick as your waist that knocked you out of the saddle as your horse ran under it.

Breath refused to refill your lungs when you hit the cold hard ground. The world spun and bells tolled in your ears as you watched Nevermore gallop away, his black coat vanishing into the black woods like ink into oil. You felt the pack lunge for you even before you heard the rush of bodies running at you on padded feet, and you grabbed for the knife in your boot. Its blade would be little defense against an entire pack of wolves, but it was only your breath that had left you, not your fighting spirit.

Even as you drew your blade, a shadow blacker than the foulest witch descended upon you. Like a widow’s veil, the black cloak of your savior floated over you as the towering man who wore it charged between you and the ravening wolves. Growling more savagely than the animals, the man clad all in black hunched his broad shoulders as the wolves attacked. Faster than your eyes could follow, almost as though his enormous physique had blurred into smoke, the man tore the wolves apart like a lion tearing through lambs. When the ground was littered with grey furry carcasses, the man rolled his shoulders before turning to you.

A black scarf covered the lower half of the man’s face and a long veil of sable hair fell in chaos around his shoulders. His eyes were just as lupine as the wolves had been, gleaming gold in the pale moonlight and fixed upon you. Sweeping his cloak aside, he offered you his massive gloved hand and pulled you gently to your feet. He snugged the scarf more securely over his prominent nose before moving close enough to you to assure that you had no grievous injuries.

“Terrors fill these woods in the dead of night,” he told you in a voice that had the power to hypnotize you if you let him. “A beautiful woman should know better than to venture out alone.”

“I’m no longer alone.” You smiled and for reasons unknown to you, the man flinched at your smile as shocked as if you had struck him across the face.

“No, and your peril is now far greater for my company.” Smoothing his hand over his hair, the man looked up at the moon and shook his head almost morosely. “You cannot travel through this forest on foot and alone at night.” He again extended his hand to you. “Join me. Be my guest for the evening, but you must leave at daybreak.”

“Where will you host me?” You looked around the desolation of the forest to make your point. “There is nothing in these woods.”

“My home, naturally.” His eyes crinkled with a smirk that was concealed by his scarf as he gestured toward the dark towers in the distance.

“Ah, so you’re the infamous Beast who lives in the castle?” you teased pleasantly, but the man did not smile. Rather, his eyes grew serious at your words.

“I am Kylo Ren.” He squeezed your hand reassuringly. “I am the Beast.” His eyes burned into yours, the color of firelight. “And you must not fear me. Never fear me.”

“You’ll find I don’t frighten easily,” you assured him after you gave him your name, and then added playfully, “And you, Kylo Ren, are ill-suited to doing so.”

For the darkness and the scarf that veiled the lower half of his face, you couldn’t be sure, but you thought you saw him smile.

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Wrapped snuggly around his face, the scarf Kylo wore was the only preventive measure he could take to avoid the scent of delicious, maddening fear. Only that length of worn black wool stood between you and a death more vicious than that wolves would have given you, should he smell a hint of fear on your breath. Kylo’s senses were heightened. He saw in the darkness with mosaic vibrance, he heard the whispers of spiders spinning their webs high in his rafters, he could scent the sweet perfume of fresh blood on the breeze from the village miles below when an animal was butchered. The scarf did little to inhibit him but still, he smelled no fear. The scent of horse and of the ocean from which you had traveled lingered on your clothes and the clean floral scent of your hair delighted his senses while the honeyed scent of your skin filled his mind with possibility. He smelled enough to see the steps of your long journey into his forest, but he did not scent fear. And his heart jumped at that epiphany.

The darkened woods put fright into the bones of brave men, but you walked beside the Beast with confident ease. Even through the gates to his courtyard, gaping like the open mouth of leviathan with sharp iron spikes for teeth, and through his once beautiful garden that was now naught but dead bramble and roseless bushes of black thorns, you were not hampered by fear. As Kylo approached the arched double doors of his castle, they opened for their master and his guest, though no servants remained inside.

Torches in sconces and candles in gilded candelabras bloomed to life just ahead of you as you followed the towering man through his labyrinthian hallways. Your footsteps echoed off the stone floors while his remained deathly silent. Whether after centuries of living with the castle alone for company the stone had absorbed his own life force and knew his whims, or the ghosts who lingered and suffered within had deigned to do his bidding, Kylo never knew nor cared to question. The eyes of the dead watched from their portraits and tapestries. Perhaps it was not an illusion when those woven and painted eyes followed the movements of the living, curious to see the new guest their master had brought into the castle and fascinated to watch the horrific death that was surely soon to meet with the beautiful woman. Still, Kylo smelled no fear nor felt the prickle of trepidation on the air.

“You must be famished,” Kylo told you as he escorted you into a grand dining hall that erupted in golden light upon your entry. The sprawling table was long enough to host a battalion and slathered with enough food and wine to overfeed every vacant seat.

“Expecting guests?” You raised an eyebrow at the opulence before you.

“Only you,” he said as he pulled out a chair for you at one end of the table.

The aromas that filled the dining hall, scents of fresh meats and sauces, cheeses and sweets, and blood red wine, emboldened Kylo to remove his scarf as he took his seat at the opposite end of the long table. With the length of the table and the cornucopia of scents between you, he felt assured he could maintain his composure. Temporarily.

It was on instinct that he inhaled deeply, as he often did before meals. He smelled the full bouquet of you then, and it was not fear but excitement and arousal that perfumed you, so tempting as to threaten to send him into a frenzy. When you smiled beautifully at him as you sipped your wine, that boldness beguiled his grim scowl into smiling.

It was as if he had gifted you something precious with his smile, one that intuition told you had not been used in untold years. With his scarf removed, you could look upon the features of the Beast who struck fear into the hearts of men. He was dangerous, to be sure, but that quality added to his dark and devilish handsomeness. From his long glossy hair to his well-groomed Van Dyke, he was as sleek and dark as a panther. Even the harrowing scar that traced a painful pink welt down his right cheek added to his dashing. Only his smile revealed the outward indicia of his curse, the viciously pointed fangs of a vampire. One of those fangs drew over his plush lower lip as he admired your exquisite beauty and his eyes gleamed with golden light that danced with the flicker of candles.

“This is excessive.” You smiled as you speared a perfectly juicy filet with your fork and teased, “So much indulgence is practically sinful.”

“Vices are much more interesting than virtues, darling.” He inclined his head as he savored a piece of meat so rare as to be nearly bleeding raw. “Virtues bore me so.”

“Molière would agree with you,” you replied with a smirk, citing the source of his witticism.

“Smart woman.” He allowed admiration to wash over his features before quoting Moliere again, this time knowing you would catch the reference, “Beauty without intelligence is like a hook without bait.”

“So, you think you’ve caught me?” you retorted. “Lured me in with food and decadence?”

“No, lovely girl, it is you who has captured my attention and admiration.” He leaned toward you, resting his arms on the table. “I have taken your baited hook and swallowed it whole.”

“It does you a disservice that it is not part of the Beast’s legends what a seductive host he is,” you said coyly as you sipped your wine.

“Dinners and seductions often go well for myself and my guests.” Mirroring you, he took a drink of wine, leaving a berry stain on his lips. “It is what comes next that makes me a monster. It is after the seduction is over and minds are sobered when tragedy befalls my guests.”

“Do you think such a tragedy will befall me while in your care?” Your words were meant as an invitation, one he knew well.

“I will not allow it.” Kylo breathed deep, still scenting no fear in the air, only your uniquely erotic perfume. Nevertheless, he declined your offer for wont of trusting himself and a darkness passed behind his eyes. “But you must keep your distance from me. Do not let appearances deceive you or wine imbue you, I am every bit the monster of legend. I am the Beast.”

“You’ll find those bestial qualities of yours don’t frighten me.” You leaned forward, accepting his challenge. “They excite me.” You made a point of letting your eyes trail down his body, openly evaluating him. “You do not strike me as a monster, only a man who needs a woman’s touch.”

“You are tired and weary.” He pushed to his feet, dismissing you, forcing down the pained grimace that threatened to twist his lips. “I shall have a horse waiting for you in the morning. You will not see me again.”

“I cannot simply ride away on one of your horses and never see you again. That’s absurd,” you huffed, indignant from his rebuff. “I must at least return your horse and repay you.”

“Your pleasant company is compensation enough.” He raised his large hand in protest against further argument. “That a beautiful woman with wit and grace would stumble into the bleakness of my life for a night is more than I could have hoped for. You have brought an evening of sunlight to a man who has not seen such warmth in longer than I can recall.” He walked to you, tall and proud, and took your hand to lift you from your seat. “No, accept my kindness, for I am thankful for you to know only kindness from me. Remember me fondly. But never return.”

Inside his glimmering eyes, you saw restraint behind the passion, as if he were holding a part of himself prisoner. His hand was strong and warm, seeming to offer you all the safety in the world so long as you held it. Leading you from the dining room, he took you through his castle, up spirals of staircases, to show you to your room. Your bedchamber for the night was even more luxuriant than the bountiful dinner.

Longing demanded you pull him close, but you refrained. The turn to advance was now his. But he only lifted your hand and placed a kiss on it as searing as a flame and as soft as velvet. His lips were reluctant to leave your skin, so he growled against it, “It is the most valiant kindness I can give you to leave you now. Dream sweetly of me, darling. And when the sun rises, leave my castle and never return.”

Like a specter or a memory, he turned abruptly and his broad frame vanished into the shadows of his hallway. No candles or torches lit his way, the darkness his oldest companion.

*******************************************************************************************

Icy spiderwebs of frost streaked across the glass of the arched windows gave the morning sunlight a crystalline brilliance when it streamed into your bedroom to wake you. The sun’s beautiful rudeness announced your stay at the Beast’s castle had ended. A fire that should have burned out during the night still roared in the fireplace and despite the cool stone walls, the room was filled with warmth. The castle and whatever spirits haunted its halls had welcomed you to stay forever, even if its Master would banish you for your own safety.

A note rested on the nightstand beside you, yellowed parchment folded and sealed with a blood red wax emblem depicting a mounted knight slaying a dragon. The letter came with the knowledge that Kylo had entered your room sometime during the night, had been close enough to touch your sleeping body when he left the letter. You wondered if he had. You hoped he had. A new breed of warmth flooded your body as you broke the letter’s seal. Penned in elegant calligraphy, Kylo spoke to you.

You have given me more than you shall ever know. The gift of your enchanting beauty, your brilliant smile, your sparkling eyes. You gave me the memory of the man I once was, a taste of a life long forgotten. To ask more of you would only serve to put you in the gravest possible danger. I shall not introduce you to the Beast of legend, but content myself in knowing you met only the man. Take my gifts and my thanks, and flee from this cursed place as fast as my horse can carry you.

Your servant, Kylo.

After the third read over his letter, you were resolved. You most certainly would not grant his entreat. You were not leaving his castle.

Despite your best efforts as a huntress, you could not find Kylo upon your morning search. Although, a concerted search of the fortress and grounds would take a fortnight. The castle was vacant, but it was not empty. Filled with memories, its walls held the faded echoes of laughing happiness and enraged screams, its floors stained with tears of joy and of hardship, with the blood and sweat of the generations who had lived and died inside throughout the centuries. Wonders lurked behind every door, dusty and forlorn, but wondrous beneath the neglect. Tarnished was the former majesty that had once graced the castle, but gone it was not. It would require no more than attention and a loving hand to restore its resplendence. You suspected the same of its master.

It was the cathedral-esque library that captured your interest and held it until the sun bid you farewell and twilight painted the sky crimson. Each of the thousands of leatherbound volumes was a gateway to a new world, another adventure, a life you’ve yet to live. Easily and happily lost inside an adventure captured by ink on paper, you did not notice the passage of hours until the words you read grew dim in the gloaming. Even as you thought it, the castle’s candles and torches sparked to dancing life.

With the setting of the sun the master of the castle awakened. And you felt it. The walls creaked and the tresses groaned, sharing the Beast’s pain. A growl filled with rage and despondence boomed through the long, lonely halls so that it was adopted by the walls in its reverberations. Next were crashes, the splintering of wood, the breaking of glass, the clang of metal, as furniture was destroyed by its wrathful master like a lamb at the slaughter. The sounds of frenzy and destruction led you easily to the Beast. To the dining hall that had been so grand the evening before but was now ravaged and torn through, as though a tornado had spun itself to death inside.

Silver strewn, furniture broken, table overturned, portraits slashed, and drapes hanging askew were all illuminated by dying candles that lay flickering and strewn across the floor like dying soldiers on a battlefield. In the twinkling golden light, you saw the Beast. And the Beast Kylo Ren had become was full of fury and sorrow and bloodlust, with no trace of the dashing man who had shown you a perfect evening. Shoulders hunched, long hair wild, muscles rippling beneath black fabric that was ill-suited to restrain them, Kylo snarled viciously as he grabbed another unfortunate chair and threw it against the wall with enough force to shatter it to splinters.

You could feel his rage and his pain as though they were your own. Rage at the monstrosity that lived inside him. Pain at sending away the woman who gave him a taste of salvation.

“You needn’t make such an ado over my departure,” you said calmly as you stepped fully into the broken dining hall. “You’ll find it has been delayed.”

Kylo whipped his head to look at you and you saw the face of the Beast. Razored fangs, two on each side of his upper teeth, were ready to tear you apart and his eyes were unnatural gleaming gold. A demon’s eyes met yours in place of a man’s. You saw in them shock that turned at once to shame and then bled into fear. Terror at the thought of harming you, because surely you would be overcome with fright, that deliciously irresistible fear, at the sight of him.

But the only fear was his, you had none. Stepping over rolling candles and broken glass, you walked to him with confidence until you stood close enough to feel the heat of his powerful body.

“You’re not the most dangerous thing in this castle tonight,” you told him in a sultry lift as you reached behind his neck. Without giving him the option to resist, you pulled him down to meet your lips and kissed him with a passion that set the soul within him burning as he crushed you to his body, wanting nevermore to release you from his embrace. There was no fear, only searing desire as you licked over the tips of his fangs and his tongue danced with yours. His golden eyes were molten when you finally drew apart and your lips were swollen with ripened pleasure when you said to him, “It took a witch to curse you. Only a witch can cure you.”

“A witch?” He cocked an eyebrow at you as a ferociously handsome smile curled his lips. “My darling, whether you offer a cure or another curse, I am yours for the taking.” He kissed you again, deep and lingering, then asked, “A lady as rare and radiant as you can only be a white witch?”

“Oh, I’m as wicked as they come.” You grinned wickedly indeed. “I came to the darkness long before you ever asked me to join you for an evening in your castle.” You stroked his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath your hands, his love and passion rekindled. “We shall share in this darkness, and within it, find more light and happiness than mere mortals have ever dared to dream.”

“Darkness or light, I will not let you walk in either alone.” He held you tighter, his strong arms wrapped around your body. “Until mountains crumble to dust at our feet, I will hold you and love you with all the might of my heart. It now beats for you alone. For as long as there are stars to shine and a moon to light our way, I will never leave your side.”

*******************************************************************************************

Tagging some wicked witches!

#my stuff!#my writing #halloween #vampire #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #best #fic #kylo #writer wednesday #knight #Jacques

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atalossofwords · 3 months

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Getting it together. Or else + RANPOE

"Come on, get it together. You can do it." He says, taking a deep breath. Laying on the couch in the corner, Ranpo snickers. Edgar turns around, losing all his self-consciousness in a pique of anger. "You are not helping, Ranpo-san!!"

Ranpo waves one arm at him, calling him forward. Edgar sighs, but does step closer; there are very few things on earth that would make him deny Ranpo, after all.

"C'mon Eddie. It's just an interview in your book. They already went over the questions with you." He says, grinning up as he smooths one hand over Edgar's jacket. Edgar knows it's supposed to be soothing, but he can't help the shiver that goes through him. God, everytime Ranpo touches him, no matter where, he always gets all warm and tingly.

Of course, Ranpo notices.

His eyes open, jade-green framed by long lashes and a grin sharp enough he could cut himself, still has marks of, imprints of those canines practically living on his thighs. "Edgar."

Anf, oh, oh, must he do this?? Edgar doesn't have the composure to deal with this, he'll melt on a puddle and they'll need to scoop him up into a jar for the interview, he can't do this.

"Yes, dear?" He asks, trembling and sweating and eyes fixated on Ranpo's.

The detective reaches up, grabs a hold of his tie, and yanks Edgar down. His knees hit the floor, legs folding under him like that's where he's always been meant to be, kneeling at Ranpo's feet, green eyes looming above him.

"Get it together, Ed. Or else."

Edgar gets it together.

#writing #bsd #bungou stray dogs #edgar allen poe bsd #ranpo edogawa #ranpoe #drabble #slightly suggestive

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happypopcornprincess · 1 year

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Mickey Garcia Holiday One Shot Sneak Peek

Christmas ain't the same without you

Pairings - Mickey Garcia x Fem!Reader

Premise – Holidays without your lover aren't the same, you miss him with all your heart and he does too.

Word Count - No idea,

Warnings: Some strong language, references to Pop Culture, allusions to SMUT and a very brutal game of UNO

a/n - Thank you @labarboteuse for this wonderful request. I initially planned it s a headcanon but the holiday season was approaching so I made this into a holiday fic. I hope you like it <3 any and all headcanons/blurbs are mostly welcome.

December 25, Christmas Eve

“...and then Phoenix lost her shit and then we had to group up and shield Harvard from getting waterboarded by her.” Mickey’s face on your phone was scrunched up in delight, as he laughed recounting the tales of Christmas at the base to you.

You touched your screen as if it were his face.

Mickey was your best friend, your husband, and the love of your life.

Staying away from him while he was deployed was difficult, and you handled it like a champ. Occasionally, though, sadness would loom over you unexpectedly. Like waking up and reaching out for him, and meeting the empty side of the bed. Accidentally making two cups of coffee in the morning. One day, when you realized he was not there when you called him, you broke down in tears.

But nothing hurts like not having him home during the holidays for the first time.

When Abuela Juliana bribed you with her homemade caramel cupcakes, you couldn't say no to Mickey's family; his parents, his brother Edgar and his wife Veronica, and their four-year-old twins Camillo and Ariana.

As a single kid, you were sent to boarding school away from home. You hardly knew your parents, and they were always on some crazy trip to Europe every year during Christmas. Celebrating the holidays with his family made you feel at home. Abuela would never let go of a chance to remind you that it was your home too, and you and Veronica were her granddaughters.

You had been reading in Mickey's old room, halfway through an Agatha Christie novel from his bookshelf before he called. It was cozy, with a makeshift space near the window to read, and a lot of Star Wars and hip-hop posters everywhere on the walls.

“How was Christmas?” he asks you, smiling at the camera.

“It was perfect. Abuela kept her promise, making a batch of caramel cupcakes just for me. Camillo and Ariana almost caught Edgar placing the gifts under the tree, but Veronica and I distracted them with Spongebob Squarepants.”

“Clever.”

“Marina and Carlos banned me from the kitchen because I tried to help them, and then fed me your share too.” you sighed.

“God I hope you didn’t eat all the cupcakes, share it with Edgar and Ariana too.” he shrugged.

"No way. Nu-uh" you nodded and snuggled under the covers.

Mickey listened to you with a sad smile on his face, and it hurt you to see that he so clearly missed home.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be home Carino," he says in a dejected tone.

You just wish you could squish his face with your hands and smother him in kisses. He was sad, and you hated seeing him like that.

“I miss you, baby," you say.

He smiled, “I miss you more.” he said as he lay down on his bed. “I really wanted you to be my kiss at midnight.”

“Me too.” you sniffle, tears brimming your eyes as you recall last year when he was home with you, and held you close as you counted down to midnight.

“Baby…” he whispered, noticing your tears, “don’t cry, please.” His eyebrows furrowed with worry, but just as he was about to say further, his image shook around.

It was Phoenix on the screen now, smiling with a Santa cap on.

“Mrs. Garciaaa! Happy Christmas my girl!” she hollered. You wiped your tears and realized she was drunk.

“Happy Christmas Nat.” you smiled, as she passed the phone to Payback.

“I’m sorry Y/N, she’s been drinking like a sailor once we stopped her from waterboarding Harvard.” he sighed, the camera shaking as he walked because he was clearly swatting away Phoenix with his other hand.

Rooster, Bob, Coyote, Harvard, Yale, and even Hangman joined in to wish you. By the time they handed the phone back to Mickey, you were laughing again.

“There's my girl,” he whispers softly to you, his brown eyes adoringly looking at you.

"Good night, sweetie." you breathe out and kiss the screen.

He blushes and kisses his screen, “good night baby, can’t wait to meet you.”

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Find the Full fic here!

Requests are open! Feel free to request anything.

@tuiccim @parkjammys @akinrawsx @asteph22 @iamthebeth @thefandomqueenbb @onlyhereforthefics @yikesdameron @savedfanfics1992 @amigaytho @samwilson-mylove @jenniweaslee @anna-phora @fluffyprettykitty

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crookedherringcolorclod · 2 years

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Sakamaki Brothers: During their younger days headcanons part 2 (Shu and Reiji finding Subaru ft. The Triplets)

Part 1

•Shu thought it was a good day that day, he finished his studies, and he was dismissed early from his mother’s lessons for his splendid performance or so she said.

•He thought about what to do with all this extra time, so he decided to go and meet Edgar in the woods earlier than the usual time the boys have set up to spend time in the forest and play with his newfound friend until it was almost time for supper.

•There were more guards than usual surveying the castle during the morning parole so Shu had to take another route to go to the forest that would lead him to the human village.

•The route was longer and took more time and it just happened to go past Christa’s tower. It was a tall stone tower and it loomed over the garden of white roses, eerily.

•Shu giggled at the times that Reiji would flinch every time he heard the third wife of his father has her episodes. Reiji tends to mistake Christa for a ghost most of the time and Shu knew about his little brother’s fear ever since they were toddlers.

•Shu would also recall how he never saw her come out of the tower, he had only seen Cordelia for a long time and had just met her sons recently.

•His mind stopped wandering when he heard small sobs coming from the white rose bushes. Shu immediately pressed forward and searched for the source of that sound.

•His mother didn’t approve of Shu getting his clothes getting stained and expected them to be nice, crisp, and pristine. Yet ever since Shu had met Edgar, he did not care much about his clothes getting dirty as the maids would take care of the grass stains and the splotches of mud.

•So, when he was rummaging the bushes, he didn’t find the crying child immediately until a small, scratched hand reached out for him. It turned out the child’s hair blended with the white roses, making it difficult for Shu to find him.

•Then Shu finally brought the small albino child out of the bushes and just booked it towards Reiji, knowing how well-informed his little brother is. Plus, he didn’t want to explain to the family doctor about who the child is and where Shu had found him.

•Meanwhile, Reiji was just having his teatime after his grueling study session when Shu knocked on the door with a scratched-up kid in his arms.

•Reiji was obviously irritated that his older brother just decided to barge into his lab as if he owns it, but he had to focus on removing thorns from the open cut cuts on the child’s arms, some were big and some were too small that it took longer for Reiji to snag on it with his tweezers.

•Shu also got a wet cloth and dabbed it on the child’s wounds. Cooing at him and tried to talk to him so he won’t focus on the pain.

“Shhhhh it’s ok, just look at me, okay? You’re going to be all right.” Shu cooed at the child, wiping his tears with his handkerchief

“Uuuu… mommy, I wa…want my mommy” the child sobbed out as he rested his head against Shu’s chest, Shu would hold the boy’s hand tighter to help the boy ground himself.

“Please don’t lean against that good for no- I mean Shu, I’m still trying to disinfect your wounds, do please hold still”

•An hour later, Reiji managed to patch the child up revealing his small pale face covered in tears and snot. He still had his baby fat on his red cheeks.

•Shu knelt down to the child’s eye level and tried to ask for his name, only for Reiji to retort that that must be their youngest half-sibling, Subaru.

“Have you not paid attention, Shu? Is it so hard to fit that in your head?”

“Reiji, I have only seen you my entire life and we just met the triplets days ago, besides, do you really think we are the only children of our own Father?” Shu said exasperated

“Don’t you dare talk about father like that! You- “

“Reiji, not now, save this conversation for later”

•Shu thanked Reiji for his troubles and tried to make conversation with Subaru, combing through his hair to fish out leftover rose petals.

“What were you doing there you silly boy? You got hurt too, what were you looking for?”

•Subaru had calmed down at that point, hopped off the stool, grabbed Shu’s hand, and lead him to the window.

•It turned out that Subaru wanted to visit his mom and tried to escape. He saw one of the maids and tried to hide in the rose bush and endured multiple injuries while waiting for them to leave.

•Shu eventually managed to escort Subaru back to his room so he can rest, all the while convincing Subaru that Shu would take him to Christa’s tower tomorrow after Subaru gets some sleep. After that, Shu then ran into the human village to meet Edgar and play with him as usual.

•Edgar even noticed that Shu was happier that day, so when they were picking apples, Edgar decides to ask him why.

“Say, you’ve been a lot chipper lately. Did anything good happen? You’re getting more apples than usual” Edgar asked, as Shu gathered almost half a dozen apples in his arms.

“Ah… I have met my siblings for the first time… they are from different mothers from mine, and I wanted to give them something”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?! Here, take this bag with you, your gonna need it!”

•Shu then profusely thanked Edgar and they have to part ways for the evening. He did manage to give an apple to each of his brothers after visiting Edgar.

•The triplets were beyond happy to see their oldest half-brother again and accepted the apples Shu gave them. They still had to be quiet about their enthusiasm in hopes that Cordelia won’t see Shu near them.

•Ayato was wide-eyed and curious and kept asking questions as he could relate to topics about food more than the music and composers that Laito would gush towards their eldest brother. Laito even wanted to let Shu watch him play a new piece he practiced so hard on.

•Ayato asked about where Shu got the apples, and who grew them, and even asked if he will even get the chance to see Edgar. Could he even get more apples to eat?

•What? It’s not like Ayato can wrap his head around the new composers at the time such as Bach or Beethoven. He’s a kid and his mom made him study too much. Let him enjoy this.

•Meanwhile Kanato is sitting on the ground, pretending to feed Teddy his apple. It’s adorable.

“Teddy, here, have some… nom nom nom… Teddy found your apple delicious, thank you”

•As for Subaru, he would attempt to use his vampire strength to try and split the apple evenly. He said he wanted to give the bigger half of the ripe apple to his mother so that she could get better and that if she gets better, he can spend time with her even more.

•Ever since the rose bush incident, Subaru always tried to follow Shu whenever he couldn’t go to the village and Shu appreciated his youngest brother’s company.

•Although Shu never brought Subaru to Edgar, he feared that he might get in trouble if two of the King’s sons snuck out of the castle.

•As for Reiji, he would look down from the large window of the castle when Shu was not looking. Reiji would grow more bitter as he watched Shu spend time with anyone.

•Why did he even feel that way? Why did he even care if his other brothers won’t approach him? Reiji intends to study hard and try to gain even a fraction of his mother’s affection, that was all.

•Yet when he would watch his half-brothers play and see Shu smile so brightly, something tugged on his cold and stoic heart, yearning perhaps? Maybe the loneliness has finally crept into the cracks of his heart?

•Perhaps not.

Author’s note: I hope you like it! Feel free to comments your thoughts on my works.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #ayato sakamaki #sakamaki ayato #kanato sakamaki #sakamaki kanato #laito sakamaki #sakamaki laito #shu sakamaki #sakamaki shu #reiji sakamaki #sakamaki reiji #subaru sakamaki #sakamaki subaru #diabolik brothers #diaboys

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multipleoccupancy · 8 months

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@regretmedicineandsmokes

Edgar had extended an invitation to John to join him for lunch with the option of staying the night at the embassy if he needed to. The ornate Georgian building was something of a maze of rooms and corridors so he had been sure to wait near the entrance to meet him. Spotting him for his distinct eye-patch the moment he walked through security.

"Doctor John," he greeted in his usual grumpy tone but he did move to shake his hand, playing the diplomat given that his agitated boss was undoubtedly looming on a landing somewhere watching him. "I am glad you could make it," he took a moment, just a quick assessment to see how he seemed, they had after all seen, fought and been through some horrors already. "How are you?" He asked very genuinely as he lead him away from the main hall and off into a long corridor, out of sight from his overbarring boss.

#regretmedicineandsmokes #John #Edgar #<3

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starshinesoda · 5 months

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I've finally posted one of my writings!

Look! It's right here!

It's called Where the Woods and Water Meet, and it's a fantasy story! I'll leave you with the description~

In the veiled corridors of power, Royal Advisor Edgar Merlot decides that the kingdom needs a forceful change. In a daring gambit, he enlists the notorious criminal, Pirate King Biter, to execute his vision. However, the plot to abduct and imprison Queen Flora Fae unravels into chaos as the queen unveils a labyrinth of connections reaching into every corner of the realm.

Embark on a journey with our intrepid queen and others as they navigate the treacherous waters of political intrigue, betrayal, and the new militant state led by 'The Mad Raven,' Edgar Merlot. The kingdom teeters on the edge of upheaval, and allegiances will be tested. Will Flora's web of connections prove her salvation, or will Pirate King Biter's audacious plot plunge Legenda into darkness?

Join the dance of power and deception as we unveil the secrets behind the throne and the looming shadows that threaten to reshape the fate of the kingdom.

A few chapters are up already! Feel free to leave feedback and I'll do my best to update it regularly!

#writers #creative writing #writeblr #bookblr #art #wattpad #fantasy fiction #fantasy novel #work in progress

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the-clawtake · 1 day

Note

I humbly request MORTAL for Glimpses of the Past game. MechWarriors face death quite often, quiaff?

(@is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not)

(This is basically a direct follow-up to the snippet for FORGED, takes place probably a couple of hours later, during the Battle for Tukayyid. If you haven't read that one, the background follows. During the Ghost Bear's initial withdrawal from Luk, ComGuards Twelfth Division engaged the Seventh Bear Guards who were screening the retreat. Star Colonel Hall, who commanded the Seventh, chose to stand and fight, and his command died to a Warrior. During the fighting, Holth Forest was ignited and the conflagration devastated the region. Star Commander Jehan MacKenzie has found himself commanding a Trinary of scattered Warriors who have gotten seperated from their units in the confusion of a night retreat. To reach the rendezvous with the rest of their Clan, they have to pass through the inferno.)

Heedless of the sweat dripping down his brow, Jehan keyed the toggle for his neurohelmet’s display overlay, trying to find something that would let him see where he was going. He couldn’t just look through the canopy of his battlemech – between the smoke and the falling ash and the occasional lick of flame, visibility was almost nil. Several times now, he’d almost fallen, tripping over a fallen log he hadn’t seen or stepping into a dip he hadn’t expected.

Others in his ad hoc trinary had not been so lucky. Oh, they’d helped the ‘mechs back to their feet, and the warriors had kept going, but Edgar would be in the tender care of the Scientist Caste’s doctors for some time tending his ribs, and Aud had been forced to wear her respirator after a bad fall had managed to actually crack her Timber Wolf’s canopy. Now she was breathing canned air to avoid smoke inhalation, and hoping they got through the worst of the flames before she ran dry.

UV, useless. The smoke blanketing the area blocked it just as well as natural light. Toggle. MagScan would only show up ‘mechs or vehicles, not trees or terrain. Useless, toggle. Light Amplification... That one seemed to help, until a flare-up ahead blinded him for a moment. He froze, yanking back on the throttle, and rocked as the Dragonfly staggered under him. Panting for a moment to catch his breath, the comms stuttered and staticy voices checked his status. He hit the transmit button.

“Status nominal. Continue.” The heat in his cockpit was unbearable, and he struggled to settle his breathing, reaching into the drawer beside him for something to drink. Empty. He worked his jaw, trying to moisten his lips with saliva, but to little avail. Resigning himself to discomfort, he throttled forward again, and hit the toggle for the next overlay.

Thermal imaging. This was worse than useless, the entire world glowing white, with brighter swirls where the smoke curled up. Once more. This one helped. A wire-mesh was projected onto his HUD, outlining the topography, at leasts according to the maps Clan Ghost Bear had available, and the maps of Holth Forest were actually quite good. They did not mark all the roads, for whatever reason, and care had to be taken for spoil piles around the unmarked roads, suggesting they were recent. He glanced at the bottom corner of the display and hit the comms again.

“All units, engage topographical imaging overlay.” As he said it, he realized how obvious it should have been. Had he the energy he would have shook his head. Instead, he settled his reticule over a fallen log looming in his path out of the smoke, and after a moments hesitation, triggered his pulse lasers. The flashing beams cut through the downed tree and it collapsed in two pieces, no longer an obstacle. His head spun as the temperature in his cockpit spiked, and there was a hum as the heat sinks kicked into overdrive. An alarm blared as the shutdown warning flashed in his display and he fumbled for the override as he stepped over the fallen log, branches crumbling into cinders under his ‘mech’s feet.

It was well after dark when twelve Battlemechs stumbled into the middle of the Beta Galaxy camp. They were uniformly dark grey, mottled with patches of black char and paler ash. Every one of them was damaged to some degree, from weapons fire and impacts and prolonged heat exposure. They did not communicate, just limped and staggered through the perimeter and stopped, shutting down where they stood. The technicians had to cut their way into the cockpits, the latches had welded shut from exposure to the inferno that Holth forest had become. The pilots were rushed to the nearest aid station, to be treated for heat exhaustion, dehydration, and in several cases, smoke inhalation. They would miss the rest of the fighting, recovering in time to learn that while their Clan had achieved a marginal victory, the Clans as a whole had lost the Trial.

#battletech #mechwarrior #star colonel jehan mackenzie #Ask The Clawtake

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ikeromantic · 7 months

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Alice and the Beast, pt 3

For my IkeRev 1K follower celebration, the votes came in for an AU with the Red Army and Alice in Beauty and the Beast. Part 3/5 Approx. 2500 words.

Part 1 Part 2

Alice woke with a start. She was in a strange place, and it took a moment to remember where and why. Then it all came rushing back. She wanted to hide under her blanket and just go back to sleep. Anything but face her first day as a prisoner in the mansion. But she couldn’t do that. She’d made a deal, and she was going to uphold her part of the bargain.

There were clothes in the wardrobe that mostly fit, which was a pleasant surprise. Alice wondered if that was more of the mansion’s mysterious magic or an unexpected kindness on the part of her hosts. She dressed in a plain gown and apron, and pinned her hair back in a messy bun. Then she stepped out, determined to do whatever was necessary to see her father’s debt repaid.

No one met her as she stepped out into the hall. At least today it wasn’t so dark. Light crept in at the edges of the heavy, dusty curtains. Alice decided her first order of business, after breakfast anyway, was to take those down and give them a good washing.

Alice wandered down hall after hall, taking turns at random. She couldn’t remember going to bed last night and had no idea how to navigate. She knew she was on the second floor, but not which stairway to take. She passed one set of wooden doors, carved with fanciful roses, painted red and gold. They were so pretty that she stopped to look at them. What kind of room would have such an entrance?

Curious, she pulled at one of the handles and was almost startled when it swung open. The room within was a vast bedroom. One side was taken up by a monstrously large four-poster bed, made up in red satin sheets and hung with thread of gold and velvet curtains. There was a wardrobe and a desk, and a wide window that overlooked the courtyard garden. The room was surprisingly clean and well kept, the kind of place she could imagine a Lord Kingsley sleeping in.

On one of the bookshelves near the desk, sat an odd decoration. One that caught her eye. A scarlet rose that shone with the light of magic, floating by itself beneath a glass and gold dome. The pedestal was littered with lost petals, and only a few still clung to the bloom. One looked as if it was about to fall, clinging to the stem by a frail, crimson edge.

Alice reached up as if to touch the glass.

“What are you doing?!” The roar of displeasure caught her by surprise.

She turned, stumbling. Her hand caught hold of the shelf, and a book fell to the floor. The Beast loomed in the doorway, but only for a moment. Before she could even scream, he lunged for her. He caught her arm in one of his huge hands. A claw caught her apron and tore it as he grabbed her and pulled her away from the shelf.

“You shouldn’t be in here! You aren’t allowed!” His voice was raised, sharp and furious. He gave Alice no chance to reply as he dragged her out of the room and slammed the door behind him. “Stay out of my room.” His voice was lower now, but no less furious. “Do you understand?”

The Beast shook her as he asked again if she understood. Alice was too afraid to speak, so she only nodded. Her eyes felt hot with tears, a mix of anger and fear that washed through her like a storm. All the things she might have said - ‘I didn’t know’, ‘I’m sorry’ - fled her mind as she dangled in his grasp.

“This is my fault,” Edgar interrupted, seeming to appear out of nowhere. “I let her wander around unattended.”

“See that it doesn’t happen again,” the Beast growled. His blue-eyed stare was as hot as a blacksmith’s coals and it burned into Alice.

“Y-yes.” A hot tear escaped the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek. She wiped at it furiously.

The Beast’s expression wavered, and he finally looked away. He set her on the ground and walked off without another look back.

Alice sagged back against the wall, feeling completely exhausted by the encounter. Her hands shook, and she hid them in the apron pockets so Edgar wouldn’t see.

Edgar took out a little wax-wrapped candy. It was a hideous shade of green. “Here. These always make me feel better.”

She took it and popped it in her mouth without thinking about it. The flavor was tart and sweet, and it made her cheeks almost hurt from the sour tang. “What is this?”

“Crabapple.” Edgar smiled. “Now let’s go have breakfast before you find more trouble.”

They met Kyle in the garden, sitting at a small glass and wicker table. A simple breakfast was laid out, tea and pastries and fruit. Kyle had his head in his hands and looked entirely miserable. When Edgar and Alice sat down, he raised a finger to his lips. “Shhhhh.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “We haven’t made any -”

“Shhhh,” Kyle groaned.

Edgar leaned over and whispered theatrically, “Hangover.”

“Oh.” Alice nodded. She’d never been hungover, but it seemed fairly miserable when the men in the village had them. “Is there something I can do to help?”

Kyle shook his head and groaned again. “Just give it a few minutes.”

“Ummm, ok?” Alice tried to ignore him as she poured a cup of tea and snagged a berries and cream tart. “So, can I ask a question?”

“Sure. Ask whatever you want.” Edgar grinned.

She took a breath. “Why was he so angry? I didn’t mean to intrude or anything.”

Kyle and Edgar shared a look. Edgar grimaced. “Lord Kingsley takes his privacy very seriously.”

Alice nodded, hoping for more, but that was apparently all the answer she was going to get. “Well . . . I guess I won’t go in there again.”

Edgar nodded. “Seems like a good idea.” He didn’t seem bothered at all. He chatted with Alice about the village and her favorite books, encouraging her to talk about her life. It was easy to open up to him, with his friendly smile and playful gaze.

After a little while, Kyle perked up. He started eating and poured his own cup of tea. Alice didn’t think he was paying any attention until he looked up from his plate to ask, “So, you know a lot about books? You read any medical texts?”

“Yes?” She tilted her head. “Why?”

He stood up. “Come on. You said you would help me out.”

Alice glanced at Edgar, uncertain if she should go with Kyle or not. Edgar just shrugged. She decided she might as well. After all, if she was with Kyle there was less chance she’d do something else to gain the Beast’s ire.

Kyle took her to a part of the manor she hadn’t seen yet. A suite of rooms that looked more like - “Is this a doctor’s office?”

“I am a doctor. So yeah.” Kyle sat down heavily in a worn, padded chair. He gestured to another seat so Alice sat down too.

“How did you end up here? I mean . . . usually doctors work in towns . . .”

He shrugged. “My family has always worked for the Kingsleys.” Kyle sighed. “Anyway, if you want to help, you can take a look at those books, see if they can be fixed.” He gestured to one of the many stacks of books strewn over nearly every surface of the room.

“Sure?” Alice went to look at them. They were medical texts, so worn and used that the binding was coming undone. She started to separate the books by what repairs they needed, moving the stack, but stopped when a glass bottle rolled out from behind them.

She picked it up, peering at the label. “Erm, Kyle? Why is there a bottle of beer in this -”

He snagged the bottle and popped the cap. She watched as he took a deep draught of it. “Thanks. I couldn’t remember where I put that one.”

“It’s a little early for a drink, don’t you think?”

“Nah.” He scratched his head, looking away from her and around the room. “Who decides this stuff anyway?”

“R-right.” Alice couldn’t help but smile. She’d never met anyone so laid back about everything. “You know, it’s kind of hard imagining you being a doctor.”

Kyle chuckled. “I get that a lot. ‘Cause of my age.”

“And your attitude.” She grinned at him.

They spent the day tidying the office - Alice tidied and Kyle read and drank. He even fell asleep, which she thought was pretty funny. His chin rested on his chest, a little bubble of ale on his lips. He didn’t stir when she moved things around, so she just let him sleep.

The late afternoon sun shone like molten honey through the windows, heralding the coming sunset. Kyle told her she could go for the day, even though there was still plenty of mess to worry about. “Are you sure,” she asked. “I want to work hard so I can pay off my debt fast.”

Kyle frowned. “You have to take care of yourself too. If you overdo it, you’ll get sick.”

Alice considered arguing about it, but he looked serious. “Alright. I guess I can work on it more tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Right.” Kyle put his feet up. “Hey, I didn’t ask but, do you like ale?”

She shrugged. “Sure? I guess?”

“Hm.” He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll bring you something good to try at dinner.”

Alice grinned. “That sounds great. Thanks Kyle!” She was still smiling as she headed down the hall, looking for her room. She thought she knew where to go, but soon became lost again. Too many halls and doors, she thought. “At this rate, I’ll need to draw a map to get anywhere.”

She tried not to feel too nervous, but the memory of the Beast that morning was still fresh. If she went somewhere she shouldn’t be . . . Alice shivered. He’d only yelled at her but the look in his eyes left a deeper mark. He could have done so much worse. She hoped to just avoid him. Edgar and Kyle were nice enough, and surely they had plenty of work for her. Maybe she could pay off her father’s debt without even seeing the Beast again.

A door to her left swung open just as she walked past, and Alice came face to face with the subject of her thoughts. The Beast stared down at her, eyes widened with surprise. “You.”

His gravelly voice made her jump back, nerves jangling. “I - I’m sorry! I got lost again!” Alice froze, trembling.

The Beast took a step back, his gaze sliding away from her. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

Alice took a breath, trying to get control of her reaction. She nodded. “Y-you didn’t. You just startled me. That’s all.”

“Good.”

She looked back up at him, studying his face in profile. There was something almost gentle in his expression, regretful and lonely. It made her want to comfort him. Alice cleared her throat. “So. Umm. Could you point me toward my room? I . . . I really am lost.”

The Beast studied her for a moment and then nodded. “I can walk you there.”

“Oh! Ok. Thank you, ah, your lordship.” Alice felt flustered and couldn’t decide why. It wasn’t fear, exactly. There was just so much intensity about him, like a fire burning just beneath the surface.

“You may call me Lance.” He held out his arm.

Alice laid her hand on it, her pulse racing. “Thank you, Lance.”

He gave her a small smile. The barest curling at the corners of his lips. Despite the flash of sharp fangs, there was something endearing about the expression and it made Alice wish she could see him smile more.

They didn’t talk while they walked through the halls, but the quiet between them was comfortable. As if they knew each other well enough now not to need words to fill the space between them. Alice found herself watching him from the corner of her eye, noting the grace of his movements, the quiet power of him. He was still frightening, but less now. As if exposure to him only revealed there was more to him than the brute he appeared to be.

Lance stopped in front of her door and after a moment, she relinquished the grip on his arm. He scuffed a bare foot, seeming suddenly awkward. “Have a good night,” he murmured.

“You too,” Alice smiled at him and pushed the door to her room open. The sight beyond startled her. This was not the room she’d woken up in. This one was immeasurably larger, the walls on two sides covered with deep-set shelves and filled with books, floor to ceiling. She must have made a sound in surprise, because Lance was there beside her again.

His sapphire gaze held her as she tried to find the words for what she felt.

“This is . . . Lance, my room isn’t . . . where did all these books come from? This is amazing!” Alice felt overwhelmed, unable to take it all in. There were more books here than she’d seen in her whole life prior.

“Edgar said you liked books.”

She turned and grabbed his hand with both of hers. “Did you do this for me?”

“I - yes. As an apology.” He flexed his claws, eyes fixed on their joined hands. “I should not have lost my temper with you.”

“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have gone in your room.”

Lance sighed. “Do you accept my apology?”

Alice’s eyes snapped to his face, realizing he meant it. “Of course. Yes! I- will you accept mine too? I really am sorry I was so nosy. I can’t accept any of this if you won’t forgive me.”

His eyes widened as he regarded her. “Yes. If you insist on an apology.”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m glad. I want us to get along. Maybe even be friends? If that’s ok?” Alice could feel him tense up and wondered if she had pushed too far.

“Friends.” He rumbled the word as if trying to recall what that meant. Then he nodded. “We can try.”

Alice smiled at him brightly. “I’m glad.” Then she had an idea. “Would you like to have dinner with me? Well, with me and Edgar and Kyle?”

“We haven’t eaten together in a long time.” Lance considered her request. “I think that would be nice. Tonight, then.” He gently pulled his hand from hers. “I will see you then.”

“Great!” She paused to look back at the room full of books again, feeling such a sense of exhilaration at the unexpected gift. Then she realized she still didn’t know where her room was. “Wait! Lance!”

“Two doors to the left, Alice.” There was a sound after he spoke, almost like a laugh, low and deep, unpracticed.

Part 4

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #ikerev au #ikerev lancelot #ikerev edgar #ikerev kyle #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #follower celebration

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