#i finally pieced it together at the beginning of this week and it's STILL incomprehensible but i think the vibes are there

[a-flickering-soul]

EverymanHYBRID And Deer In Media: In Five Parts (click for individual comparisons)

Deer are both a symbol of fragile purity and the untamable wild–here, we examine deer in the context of man, where deer come to represent the urge within us to abandon the conscious ego for the subconscious id. The deer is a symbol, too, of rebirth, of transformation, of shedding and regrowing its weapons each year. To kill, to be reborn, to choose to be monstrous through our proximity to humanity. Is there not something pure in surrendering to animal instinct? If deer are the twin themes of innocence and wildness, then we in turn are the juxtaposition of humanity and monstrousness–our actions made monstrous by the attempt to temper them with humanity.

(transcript, analysis, and sources below cut)

1: The Secret History & EverymanHYBRID--Bodies

The Secret History, on the killing of a man in a hallucinatory bacchanal:

"'Henry,' I said at last. 'Good God.' "He raised an eyebrow. 'Really, it was more upsetting than you can realize,' he said. 'Once I hit a deer with my car. It was a beautiful creature and to see it struggling, blood everywhere, legs broken ... And this was even more distressing but at least I thought it was over. I never dreamed we'd hear anything else about it.'"

EverymanHYBRID, "Ryan and the SEVENTRIALSOFHABIT":

A shot of a deer's dead body at the side of the road at night, looking crumpled and not quite right. The captions read: "Jeff: It's a fucking deer, dude. (Evan: See it?) Yeah. Something cut its belly open. (Evan: It cut its belly open the wrong way.)"

Parallels drawn:

Consider this one an amuse-bouche. Henry draws comparisons between a man he killed to a deer he accidentally hit with a car, mildly naming the incident ‘distressing’. There is a lack of human empathy, of guilt over killing a fellow man. In comparison, Jeff, Evan, and Vinnie at this point in the EMH plotline have not yet become hunter or hunted–they have not yet been warped by their roles in this iteration and can acknowledge the upsetting nature of the events that befall them. Henry has tasted that amoral nature and is less human for it, more visibly willing to shed that veneer of attempting to care about other people. Jeff, Evan, and Vinnie have not yet reached that point.

2: “Whoso List to Hunt”, EverymanHYBRID, and The Secret History--The Chase

"Whoso List to Hunt", on hunting a fabled white hind:

"I am of them that farthest cometh behind./ Yet may I by no means my wearied mind/ Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore/ Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,/ Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind./ Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,/ As well as I may spend his time in vain. And graven with diamonds in letters plain/ There is written, her fair neck round about:/ Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,/ and wild to hold, though I seem tame."

EverymanHYBRID, "Slushpops and Surprises”

A shot of white text on a black page, "[Enter the tragic hero and his unattainable companion.]"

The Secret History, on hallucinations experienced during the bacchanal (bold for emphasis):

“‘Camilla said that during part of it, she’d believed she was a deer; and that was odd, too, because the rest of us remember chasing a deer through the woods, for miles it seemed. Actually it was miles. I know that for a fact. Apparently we ran and ran and ran, because when we came to ourselves we had no idea where we were.’”

EverymanHYBRID, “December & early January”:

A shot of Vinnie, hand covering his face in shock, as he sits and listens to Jessa’s last voicemail before she went missing. Jeff can be seen in the background, listening in silence. The captions read “[Jessa’s voice, recorded]: Steph, that thing you were talking about, I saw it...he’s real, he’s right here. What the hell does he want? I think he’s following me.”

Parallels drawn:

The deer symbolizes wild nature, something that man cannot obtain, touch, or capture without abandoning something of his own humanity. Similarly, deer represent the unattainable prey. Noli me tangere, says Caesar’s unattainable deer– touch me not, no matter how hard you may attempt to catch me. Jessa of EMH is deemed the unattainable companion and Jeff’s driving force to discover the truth behind the situation they’ve been placed in–it is Jessa, dangled in front of him after she goes missing, that leads Jeff down the path that inevitably leads to his own death after uncovering too much. The deer is to be chased, to be hunted, and never captured. Camilla from The Secret History believed herself to be a deer during the same hallucinatory bacchanal that cost a man his life, and led her brother and friends on a chase spanning miles. Jessa was hunted by an unknowable force, then used as bait to draw her partner down the path to his own death. Unattainability, the shape of something fleeing in front of you, elicits a powerful reaction to follow, to hunt, to chase. Jessa fell victim to that reaction. Camilla, and the white hind, did not.

3: The Myth of Diana and Actaeon, EverymanHYBRID, and The Secret History--Madness

The Diana and Actaeon Fountain at the Caserta Royal Palace:

The detail of the fountain shown depicts the pivotal scene in the myth of Actaeon and Artemis, where Actaeon, mid-transformation into a stag, is killed for the slight of viewing the goddess Artemis nude.The sculpture shows the transformation in no mercy, plain in its depiction of Actaeon’s pain and terror, and the simple ferocity of the hounds that surround him.

EverymanHYBRID, “May & June”:

A shot of Jeff, blood spattered across him, speaking with a shocked and angry tone. The captions read, “Jeff: Why were we doing that? That was...that’s not what we were looking for. We knew damned well that wasn’t what we were trying to kill. (Vince: Close enough.) It was a deer! It was a fucking deer! I tried to pull you off, you tried to punch me in the fucking face!”

The Secret History, on the Greeks’ view of beauty and terror (bold for emphasis):

“Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful to souls like the Greeks or to our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripedes speaks of the Maenads: head thrown back, throat to the stars, ‘more like deer than human being’.”

Parallels drawn:

Most depictions of Actaeon, sculpture or painting, usually show him with antlers or a deer lower body, leaving his head and face a recognizable human shape. However, the sculptor here decided to subvert expectations and leave his body human, giving Actaeon the animal head of a stag. The loss of control and the descent from human to animal is not glorified or made palatable by the mere addition of a crown of antlers--there is only the one constant, fear, that follows him all the way down. Madness may be defined as a loss of control, and there may be something beautiful and terrifying in feeling your sanity slip through your own fingers. Jeff, Evan, and Vinnie are overtaken by brief, inexplicable madness and tear apart a deer as they come dangerously close to uncovering exactly who and what is hunting them. They skate close to seeing soemthing they shouldn't see. It is only Jeff who looks up, shocked by the blood on his hands, and voices his fear. Vinnie, apathetic, lets it go. But Evan, houndlike and irrational, defends his kill.

4: EverymanHYBRID & Hannibal--Warnings and Temptation

EverymanHYBRID, “May & June”:

A shot of Evan, spattered heavily with blood, standing with shoulders caved in protectively. His left hand is raised to his mouth, with his hair covering his eyes, and he is licking the blood off of his fingers.

“Shot Through The Hart, and Hannibal’s To Blame” (bold for emphasis):

“In my post about ravens, I talked about how it’s not always easy to tell what the Ravenstag really means. Is it evidence of the Hannibalesque elements of Will’s soul? Or a warning of those parts growing within him? Does the Ravenstag urge Will forward on his journey, or warn him of what’s to come?”

Hannibal, Season 1, Episode 1 “Aperitif”:

A shot of the Ravenstag, staring directly into the camera with one hoof up, as if to approach. There are black feathers interwoven with its pelt and its eyes have an uncanny shine.

Parallels drawn:

On a naturalistic note, deer are skittish creatures. They have thin legs and a sleek body, made for running. A small head and big eyes, placed wide-set to see coming predators. Keen ears. They are ready at any moment to sense danger, warn others, and flee. When a deer does not move, it is either safe or sizing up its options, either accepting where it is or preparing to run. Deer, staring directly at the viewer, come as a sympathetic warning to flee or, in its dark eyes and firm stance, a temptation. Me tangere, they say. Come closer. We are one and the same. In Bryan Fuller’s Hannibal, the commanding presence of the Ravenstag serves as both a warning and a beckoning temptation to turn his feet down the darker path. It is otherworldly, black-furred and feathered, and yet a warning of events rooted in the real world--does Will understand what danger he is in upon meeting Hannibal and take the warning, or will he ignore it, sensing that same darkness in himself, that same potential for corruption? In EverymanHYBRID, it is that same killing of a deer that hints at that same potential for darkness growing inside Evan. He licks at his fingers, animalistic, fully ignoring his own Ravenstag warning signs for the delight of the hunt. Is he Evan anymore? Or is something else growing inside him?

5: EverymanHYBRID & Hannibal--Predator and Prey, or the Final Act

EverymanHybrid, “:D”:

A shot of HABIT, looking up a set of stairs with one foot on the bottom step. In one hand down by his side, he is holding a knife. His posture is tilted forward, poised, ready to spring into action, like that of a hunter.

“Shot Through The Hart, and Hannibal’s To Blame” (bold for emphasis):

“The idea of deer as symbols of rebirth also stands out to me. Hannibal is a series obsessed with becoming and transformation. People start one way, and are reborn as something completely other by the end of the show. There’s even a character sewn up into a deceased pregnant horse in the hopes that when she’s released, she will be literally reborn as something different. It’s thus a neat fit, this significance of deer with the themes of the show.”

EverymanHYBRID, “:D”:

A shot of Jeff, looking up and to the side with an expression of caution and fear. His eyes are unnerved, squinting as, from offscreen, HABIT’s hand plays idly with his hat.

Parallels drawn:

The first and final incarnation of the deer is, of course, prey. Beyond and before any symbolism of innocence and wildness and warnings, deer are prey animals, to be hunted and devoured. And yet, in keeping with the concept of contrasting symbolism, deer are not helpless. Yearly, they shed and regrow their antlers in a transformation of horn and blood. At the climax of EverymanHYBRID, the final reveal, the final transformation, comes to fruition. HABIT, formerly Evan, takes its place as the Hunter, the archetypal predator, with Jeff shown most prominently as the Prey. Jeff’s luck has run its course, with him in the chair as the sacrificial prey-victim to fall to HABIT’s knife. HABIT, reborn, reiterated, made incarnate through Evan’s unwilling transformation, is poised to start the hunt. This is the big reveal, the crux of the transformation, Actaeon caught mid-transfiguration and the bloody sloughing-off of velvet humanity to reveal perfect and gleaming antlers. This is what it comes down to, time and time again. The hunter and the hunted. The wilderness embraced and the wilderness captured, and the monstrosity in that act.

Works Cited

Callimachus. Actaeon and Artemis. C. 220 BC

Fuller, Bryan. “Apetirif.” Hannibal, season 1, episode 1, NBC, 4 Apr. 2013.

Koval, J., Caffarello, V., &; Jennings, E. (Directors). (2011, July 12). May & June [Video file].

Koval, J., Caffarello, V., &; Jennings, E. (Directors). (2012, October 9). :D [Video file].

Tartt, Donna. The Secret History. Penguin, 2006.

Uhminuh. “Shot Through the Hart, and Hannibal's to Blame.” Read the Rude, Wordpress, 19 July 2020.

Wyatt, Thomas. “Whoso List to Hunt, I Know where is an Hind.” c. 1530.

Honorary mention to this fanart by @/rrhaes that started this whole spiral

#emh #everymanhybrid #flickerthoughts #flicker wrote this #i'm serious when i say this has been brewing in my head for a calendar year #i finally pieced it together at the beginning of this week and it's STILL incomprehensible but i think the vibes are there #emh my beloved emh and the themes and motifs and symbolism that exists in my head #i have a love hate relationship w the secret history but i put it all in here #also i am two eps deep in hannibal but i think i got the gist idk #anyways i want you all to know i REALLY wanted to work in the iphigenia/steph parallels but it just didn't make sense in this context #maybe i'll post it later idk but!!! here take this #in keeping with the theme of my best literary analysis showing up when i'm at my breaking point wrt life #this :handshake: reylux parallels post -- created under emotional duress #i rly wanna do one that's like 'slenderverse women + being followed' bc that's a FEELING. #if i am saying the emh boys are actaeon torn to shreds by their own dogs after they hunt the wrong prey.....that's my business lmao #should i tag the other stuff? here i'll tag em here so they don't show up in search #hannibal #the secret history #flicker's meta

[hxseok-honee]

atlas heart || part 25

a/n : so sorry it took so long getting this update out !! i had a disgusting amount of work to do and i really was not doing anything else for a few days -- i really hope you like it!! pls lmk what you think about things now that jimin (and we) know everything! its gonna get,,,, i wanna say messy but messys not even enough to cover how messy its gonna get

previous | next

tag list!! [closed]

@deepseavibez @siredjoonie @kawaii-desv @knadiuniverse @anxious-reading @catbugsugarpea @cahowlkook @amoreguk @taekookandyoongi @nogitsune-sama @whitetshirtsrus @gustavkonrad @lilacdreams-00 @seungkwanismyaesthetic @mochiteddybear @cosmicdaylight @helpitskpop @lovetootie2x @unnoticeableparadox @applejuice218 @amicalostgirl @bad-idea-personified @moralita76 @yoongiscrackhead @thebleuprince @jooniesmind @incredibleella @missbowkimjinju @marifujioka @evil-ian @uqhgood @milky-way-bitch @yellohoshi @agust-suck-my-d @okaysoplshelpme @cutehoshii @dreamcatcherjiah @butterflylion @thesunisup-theskyisblue @thealexalcala​  @yoonjibby​ @baepsaekid​ @surviving-in-neverland​ @blaisezabini​ @melswolf​ @michiiedreamer​ @minimochimin @ebeanz​ @bts-bambi​ @sleepyje0n

________________________________

Jimin can’t remember the last time he’d closed his eyes for more than a few minutes. Time goes by so fast these days that he’s partially convinced he’s been falling asleep and not realizing it. The hours between class and dinner every day are spent in the library, his headphones shoved into his ears haphazardly while he tunnel visions onto what’s been in the back of his mind since the beginning of the year.

Those spare hours had turned into days and days into weeks -- weekends where he doesn’t even glance at his phone, unaware of the growing concern of his friends. It’s almost May now, the chill of early spring having melted away around him without him realizing. His schoolwork stopped being a priority ages ago, and he knows his grades are really taking the hit for it. He vaguely remembers Namjoon confronting him one night some time ago -- a week? Two weeks ago? -- but he can’t for the life of him recall the contents of that conversation. Something about hating to play the ‘prefect card’, but having no choice. He doesn’t even know if he’s still on the quidditch team. It doesn’t matter -- nothing matters when seeing everything with the perspective he’s got now.

Practically buried in scrolls and books, Jimin could care less about the time and the fact that he’s very obviously breaking curfew right now -- the library’s been empty for hours now, and the light outside the window has well past faded into pitch black darkness. He had to hide from Pince around 10pm, barely managing to catch the click of the librarian’s heels through the music blasting in his headphones to keep him concentrated -- it’s a miracle that she hadn't caught him, really. He’d never be able to focus properly back in his room, not when he’s this close to putting the pieces together.

It’s there, right there, everything scattered in his brain. He knows it’s sitting right in front of him, he can feel himself trying to hyperfocus on anything that can blatantly tell him what he needs to know. Flipping through the pages of a book with one hand and shuffling through scrolls with his other, he glances down at a scrap of paper with his own handwriting, chicken-scratch on a ripped up piece of parchment for him to refer back to every few minutes. There, in black ink, the words ‘vampire’ and ‘veela’ are written and then, later, crossed out. There’s one below it -- ‘maledictus’ -- that remains uncrossed and haunts his every thought.

For the better half of the week, he’d spent his nights scouring the bookshelves for any text he could find on blood malediction -- there isn’t much to show for his efforts. Too rare a condition to have any extensive research done, he could barely manage to put together a few measly scrolls and one book with less than a full chapter on the subject. Sighing heavily, Jimin leans back in his chair, rubbing at his temples while he reconsiders the information for what feels like the hundredth time.

It fits the fact that she has a blood condition… but it’s not right. There’s no mention of a potion or even of regularly experiencing sickness. Y/n is in the Hospital Wing like once a month. There wouldn’t be anything Pomfrey or Hoseok could do to help her if she was a maledictus…

He considers that maybe those things are part of blood malediction and that there just isn’t enough documentation for him to verify it. But there’s something nagging at him, telling him this isn’t right. He thinks back over everything he knows, trying to pull up the major details that could help him finally get some sleep. Ignoring the fact that he very well could doze off, even with his loud ass music, he lets his eyes close so he can think. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he’s sitting up in his seat, eyes wide as he recalls something said to him almost months ago, forgotten amidst everything else on his mind.

“What’s the deal with your roommate, Tae?”

“Who, Stephen?”

“No, not fuckin’ Stephen -- Jungkook!”

“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know?”

“Because Stephen doesn’t look at me like I’m the bane of his existence.”

“Yeah… I don’t know what you did to make Jeon Jungkook hate you, but it must have be serious--”

“Just tell me what you know about him, Tae.”

“I mean… nothing crazy, really -- an only child, comes from old money. Probably as old as the Malfoys or the Potters. His family’s the purest of purebloods. And always Gryffindors, just like the Malfoys are always Slytherins. It’s kind of nuts, having a family history like that.”

Jimin stumbles out of his chair, already making his way down the aisles of bookshelves, almost crazed with concentration.

Purest of purebloods -- there’s not a single pureblood family that isn’t documented in a registry… registry… regis-- aha!

Turning down an aisle designated for family registries dating back centuries, he scans the shelves at a lightening speed, finally coming to a halt in front of a tome titled Gryffindor Legacies. Hauling it from the shelf, he doesn’t even bother returning to his table, taking a seat right there on the floor.

Flipping straight to the back to search for the family name, he locates it easily and heads to appropriate page. Searching the family tree down generations, it takes him several pages of flipping through Jungkook’s ancestors’ lives to finally get to his parents. They’re the most recent entry -- new editions of the book are printed with each new generation, the original, handwritten copy belonging to the respective families. It’s an inefficient system for sure, but Jimin’s not exactly complaining when he’s the one benefiting directly.

Scanning the page, from the birth of his mother -- Jeon Eunha -- to her school days, from her marriage to his father all the way to Jungkook’s birth. Jimin expects the next part to follow the same structure of his mother’s story, recounting his childhood, but it diverges from that almost immediately with some extra lines that he almost feels don’t exist in the original copy at the Jeon family residence.

Not long after the birth of their first and only child, they were met with circumstances leading to the adoption and care of another, the recently orphaned infant girl, Y/n Y/l/n. In her days at Hogwarts, young Eunha had become friends with a female Ravenclaw student, who had a noticeably sickly pallor about her at all times. She was to become her closest lifelong friend. The same night in which Y/l/n was to give birth to her first child, she and her husband met an untimely fate in the form of a violent animal attack in the backyard of their own home. The Jeon family were the first to arrive at the premises, deciding immediately to take in the infant child and raise her alongside their own son. Not much else is known about the girl, only that she and the Jeon heir were to become inseparable.

Jimin stares down at the page, unblinking. There’s a lot of information to process, but the things that stand out most to him are the fact that Y/n’s mother was also apparently afflicted with the same illness as Y/n, and --

‘Violent animal attack’? I knew the car accident thing was bullshit, but… did her mom not even die in childbirth? Why would she not tell me… there’s nothing suspicious about an animal atta--

Almost like his brain has started to short-circuit after the long nights and lack of sleep, Jimin’s thoughts are gone instantly, replaced by the mental image of a book sitting not a even a few aisles away, on a table littered with all of the information he’d ever needed in the first place. He’s completely incapable of registering anything around him as he races back to his table, his mind flipping incomprehensibly between the information in front of him and all of the pieces of his memories, details that make too much sense in this moment to match anything but this one conclusion.

Most Muggles, however, will die from the extent of their injuries… all known instances of Muggle attacks have been portrayed in the media as ‘animal attacks’ so as to preserve the secrecy of the wizarding world…

Given the extent of the available research and data, collected almost entirely from male subjects afflicted with lycanthropy, not much is known about the hereditary components related to a female werewolf. Therefore, it is unknown if a pregnant female werewolf's transformations would affect the ability to carry the pregnancy to term…

Without any humans nearby to attack, or other animals to occupy it, the werewolf will attack itself out of frustration…

“My mom died in childbirth and my dad… just a… just a freak accident you know, no one’s fault or anything…”

Because werewolves only pose a danger to humans, companionship with animals whilst transformed has been known to make the experience more bearable as the werewolf has no-one to harm and will be less willing to harm themselves…

“You want to talk about forbidden, Jeon? Let’s talk about your illegal animagus status-”

The way one must imbibe it is very unique among potions, in that a goblet full of wolfsbane potion must be taken each day for a week preceding the full moon…

“…you know how long it takes me to make a full set of vials for you. I barely have enough to make it last 3 days…”

The monthly transformation of a werewolf is extremely painful if untreated and is usually preceded and succeeded by a few days of pallor and ill health…

“He was lowkey carrying her down the stairs… she looked kinda sick actually…”

Throwing scrolls behind him without care as he searches for the one with the final detail, he pulls his phone out when he finds it -- a book listing all of the recorded moon cycles for over a century. Jamming his thumb down on the icon that’ll take him to his search engine and typing with blind panic, he finds himself yanking out his headphones by the cord with one sharp tug when the answer flashes back at it him on the screen, and he realizes that almost all of the pieces are in place.

The quidditch match against Slytherin -- it was the night before a full moon.

“No, no… no, no, no, this can’t be right. This isn’t happening, this can’t be right, she can’t be--” Jimin remembers the text he’d sent to her almost 8 hours ago, sitting unanswered, and he moves without thinking. Slamming his hands down on either side of the moon cycle record, he flips frantically to the cycle for this current month, April of 1978. What he sees there has his heart dropping out of his chest.

“Next week? It’s next week? But that means she’d have to be feeling the effects of it this wee--” He’s cut off by the feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches for it almost desperately. It’s Y/n, finally responding to his concerned texts with nothing more than a single line. His blood turns to ice when he reads it.

I’m fine, just feeling under the weather.

--

When Jimin bursts through the door of Dumbledore’s office just past 3am, the headmaster’s already seated at his desk, evidently waiting for him. He’s donning a light blue robe with a matching sleeping cap perched delicately on his head, suggesting to Jimin that he’d somehow woken up knowing he was soon to greet a guest. All of the panic invading Jimin’s body is masked just slightly by guilt, only now realizing how late it is and how intrusive he must seem in this moment.

“Mister Park, you certainly are out quite a bit past curfew, no?” Jimin stands in the doorway cradling all of the scrolls and books he’d been hoarding the last few weeks -- he can’t very well have left a huge pile of evidence back in the library. It would have taken no time at all for someone to look through it and see there were connections everywhere to lycanthropy, even if he himself had been blind to it for so long.

“... Park? Mister Park?” Jimin jumps, lifting his tired eyes to meet Dumbledore’s concerned ones. The man continues once he’s got Jimin’s attention. “Surely, you must need something from me, or you wouldn’t appear so…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. Jimin’s aware of the state he’s in -- the dark rings under his eyes, his ruffled clothes and hair, the way he’s holding his books like he needs to protect them with his life. He looks unhinged. He feels unhinged.

Realizing he has absolutely no idea how to approach the subject of a potential werewolf at Hogwarts with the school’s very headmaster, Jimin decides to start by moving toward the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk.

Maybe I just need to sit down and take a deep breath. That should help--

He doesn’t even make it two steps before one of the many books he’s holding crashes to the floor between them, falling open to the page he’d stuck a pencil in to save his spot. The moon cycle for April of 1978 stares back up at him, and when he flicks his gaze up to peer at Dumbledore, he sees the headmaster’s expression has hardened with caution.

“Professor--”

“Have a seat, Mister Park.” Jimin’s heart lodges in his throat at Dumbledore’s tone, never having heard such a sharp edge to the kind man’s voice. He moves to the chair, setting the obnoxious amount of research haphazardly in his lap. His eyes will only go so far as the top of Dumbledore’s desk, unable to bring himself to meet the man’s eyes.

“Sir, I… need to ask you something.” When he isn’t granted a response, he swallows hard, pushing forward. “If there were to be a student at Hogwarts with a… peculiarity of sorts… how would you go about dealing with that?”

“How would I deal with what, Mister Park?”

“That student.”

“I’m not quite sure I know what you mean.” Jimin lifts his eyes then, confused, but he’s met with a deliberately ignorant smile.

“Sir?” Dumbledore’s smile, albeit strained, only widens.

“I think you may be suffering from a lack of sleep, Mister Park. There are no students at Hogwarts with any peculiarities, as you call it.” Jimin stares suspiciously up at him, knowing Dumbledore can tell that Jimin doesn’t for a second believe that claim. Breaking eye contact, he glances down at his lap, trying to figure out how to keep this conversation going. Trying to figure out why he’s even here.

Jimin looks down at himself and the pile of incriminating evidence, cursing his idiocy when he realizes just how bad this situation must look. A student out of bed way past curfew, barging into the headmaster’s office holding weeks of research and making outrageous claims about a potentially dangerous student. And he’s a Ravenclaw no less.

Shit. He probably thought I was some nosy little fucker trying to expose her and get her expelled.

Knowing that he’s risking a lot by being straightforward, he takes a single deep breath and meets Dumbledore’s eyes, his own filled with determination.

“Sir, I know about Y/n Y/l/n, and I know you do, too. I need to know how to take care of her. I need to know how to help her. I need you to tell me what to do because, to be honest with you, I’m freaking out.” The way Dumbledore’s examining him as he speaks tells Jimin that he’s right, but more importantly, it tells Jimin that Dumbledore hadn’t been expecting him to want to help.

“That is a very serious accusation you’re making, Mister Park, especially in this political climate. Very serious.” Jimin doesn’t waver when he responds.

“I know, sir. That’s why you’re the only one I’ve made it to. Because I need your help. Because I know you can help.” Dumbledore narrows his eyes, peering at Jimin over the tops of his half-moon spectacles.

“Have you considered the fact that just you knowing this information at all has placed Miss Y/l/n in more danger than she’s already in?” As soon as the words leave Dumbledore’s mouth, Jimin’s heart is stopping in his chest. All the times that Hoseok and Jungkook had told him to mind his business come rushing back, and he feels himself becoming sick to his stomach. Of course it’s more dangerous for her now that he knows -- he’d been too selfish to even think it through, too nosy for his own good. He had done all this to try to understand her, to try to be a better friend who can help when she needs it, but it’s all bullshit. Everything he thought he had done for her sake had actually been for his. For him and his stupid curiosity.

Lifting his head as a thought comes to mind, Jimin doesn’t even think twice before speaking.

“Can you erase my memories?” The headmaster’s eyebrows fly to his hairline, his expression becoming amused as Jimin continues rambling. “Can’t you obliviate me or something? Wouldn’t that be the best way for me to help her? Wait… but do you have to erase everything I know about her -- will I still know her? Can you make sure I still know her? I really like her! I don’t like Hoseok or Jungkook very much -- they kind of scare me -- but I like her! I don’t want to forget her, but also if me knowing that she’s a werewolf is only going to cause her more trouble, then I really think you should make me forget--” Dumbledore lifts his hand calmly, effectively silencing a frantic Jimin.

“Have you always had such a one-track mind, Mister Park?” Jimin smiles weakly, offering a half-joking response.

“It’s my only redeeming Ravenclaw quality…” Dumbledore chuckles before scratching at his forehead with a heavy sigh.

“Unfortunately -- and I do truly mean that -- I cannot erase a student’s memories. So, you and I will need to continue this difficult conversation.” Jimin considers the man’s words, knowing that it really would be better for everyone if he had his mind wiped clean and hating that he’d unknowingly put Y/n even more in harm’s way. He looks up when Dumbledore sighs again.

“Mister Park, you do understand that you are strictly forbidden from informing anyone else of this situation, yes?” When Jimin nods immediately, opening his mouth to assure the man that he wouldn’t say a word, Dumbledore only shakes his head. “No, Mister Park, I’m not sure you really understand. This situation is infinitely more complicated than you could ever imagine, so it is absolutely imperative that you keep this information to yourself.” Jimin blinks, unsure what’s meant by ‘infinitely more complicated’, but he nods again.

“I’ve put her in enough danger just by being here, Sir -- I’m not breathing a word of this to anyone.” Dumbledore examines him a moment longer, essentially staring into Jimin’s soul to gauge his trustworthiness. Eventually he nods, leaning back in his chair.

“What advice would you like me to give you, Mister Park?” Jimin stays silent, thinking hard about any way that he can make Y/n’s life easier, especially after all the trouble he’s caused up to now. His mind flashes back to the conversation he’d overheard in the library. He opens his mouth slowly, choosing his words with care.

“Sir… how does a student that isn’t even taking Potions know how to brew the wolfsbane potion? Isn’t it nearly impossible?” Jimin sees Dumbledore’s eyes flicker with recognition, and the headmaster responds cautiously.

“…If that student isn’t taking any kind of Potions course at all, they’d need to already be an expert from having dedicated all their studies to the art of potionmaking. They would also need an immense amount of private mentoring, even if they are taking Potions. We do not teach the wolfsbane potion in the curriculum. As I’m sure you can imagine, it wouldn’t fare well in these times…” Jimin squints, putting the pieces together quickly in his mind.

“And where would a student like that find this kind of… private mentoring?” The headmaster hums at Jimin’s question, peering down at him with knowing eyes.

“Well, Mister Park, if you wish to receive mentoring on much… safer forms of potionmaking, I’m sure Professor Slughorn would be happy to help you. However, if you are asking me about Mister Jung Hoseok of Slytherin House, and if you are wondering just how he became capable of caring for Miss Y/l/n at the young age of 13, well… you’re looking at his mentor.”

--

When Jimin leaves Dumbledore’s office almost an hour later, he feels like his head is going to explode. The nights of sleeplessness seem to also have come rushing back to him at once, and he’s not sure if he’s going to collapse first from the exhaustion or from the weight of everything he knows now. For a moment, he considers that maybe he really should ask someone to erase his memories -- Jungkook or Hoseok, perhaps.

Yeah, I’m sure they’d absolutely love to do me that favor.

Dragging his feet as he trudges down the corridor in the direction of Ravenclaw tower, Jimin stops short at a window when movement down by the Black Lake catches his eye. Almost as if thinking about them has caused them to materialize before him, Jimin watches the silhouette of Jung Hoseok stroll casually down by the shoreline, followed not long after by Jeon Jungkook racing toward him, a body perched precariously on his back. It’s not hard to see that Y/n’s clinging weakly to him as he runs, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he keeps his hands hooked under her knees. Jimin can see that she’s got a gown on from the Hospital Wing, and it’s obvious that Jungkook and Hoseok have snuck her out from under Madam Pomfrey’s stern supervision.

They head for the Forbidden Forest, Y/n reaching back for Hoseok when Jungkook passes him. She beckons him forward, and Jimin watches as the three of them disappear together into the trees. He sighs deeply when he can no longer see them, muttering to himself under his breath as he makes his way to his room, overcome with extreme guilt at the entire situation.

“You’ve really gone and done it now, you fucking idiot.”

#bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts hogwarts au #park jimin #jimin x reader

[popopretty]

Storm Bringer Spoilers (8)

I said I would translate this part earlier and the last week has been a busy one but it’s finally here. This is the part in CODE;03 (I guess) where Shirase finally got over his fear and risked his life to help Chuuya when Chuuya was fighting the skeleton that is supposed to be his “original” (I said so because we never know if it actually is the original or not). For a boy like Shirase with no special power, to throw himself into a battle like that for someone is a really beautiful thing to me. Their interactions here are so precious too. I couldn’t help smiling when I was translating it. I hope you enjoy it too and have a great weekend.

Feel free to retranslate it if you want. Just remember that I don’t speak either Japanese or English as my first language so there might be some mistakes or imperfectionness in this translation.

...

Hey, hey! 

Hey, hey, come on! What the hell is that? A skeleton? Are you kidding me?

Shirase rubbed his own eyes. That was not an illusion. The surrounding scenery was distorted. The abnormality of the gravitational field left the surrounding gravel floating in the air. 

In other words, the gravitational skill is being activated over there. In other words, Chuuya is over there. 

Too frightened, Shirase almost dropped the clothes bag that he was holding with his two hands. He held it back in a fluster. That was a clothes bag, however inside it was not clothes. It was a bag of stolen items. On his way to find an escape route, he entered a research facility and went gold hunting. After all, neither the securities nor the researchers were out. On top of that, in the research facility, there were a lot of jewels used for laser transmitters, high-speed computing terminals and a lot of other things that could be worth a fortune if sold. 

Shirase thought. These things will surely be burnt down to destroy the evidences anyway. If that’s the case, then wouldn’t it be of better help for people if we use it as a foundation to rebuild “The Sheep”, and let it be reborn as military money? I’m such a genius. He was thinking so as he got lost during his looting.

Then he wandered into this room. 

Shirase looked around restlessly. There was no sign of anyone other than Chuuya and the skeleton. Apparently they were fighting each other. He could catch a glance of the pained expression on Chuuya’s face. 

“Chuuya!” Reflexively, he ran forward, but stopped himself in panic. 

What am I doing? If I go to such a place, I will die. There is a limit to how foolish you can be to get involved in the fight between two monsters. I’m not that stupid. I act wisely and firmly. That’s how I have survived until now. 

Fighting is Chuuya’s job. Getting hurt is Chuuya’s job. Engraving our terror onto the enemies is also Chuuya’s job. And we handle everything else. That’s obvious. That guy has power. It’s only natural that he has to fulfil that responsibility.

But Chuuya today is weaker than ever. 

The Chuuya who is fighting right now has wounds all over his body. He has never seen Chuuya like that. He looks just like a boy of his age. 

No, not “just like”. Chuuya IS a boy of his age. Shirase suddenly realized that. 

... 

But still...

Still, it has nothing to do with me!

“Like I care! I am running away. Alone or not! You guys can do whatever you want about those war weapons or the truths of those special skills! I simply want to live a happy live!”

Shirase held his stuff carefully, turned his back and start walking away, as if he was carving each of his long steps into the ground.

***

The weight from the skeleton increased. In addition to the sound of their bones creaking against each other, there was another lower, heavier sound, probably the sound of the floor’s foundation being bent. If it were an ordinary human’s body, it would have become one with the floor long ago. 

“Stop...”, Chuuya spoke with his lungs being crushed as if he was whispering. “You are me...” 

There was a hint of hesitation shining in his eyes. 

The chin of the skeleton made a sound. The eye sockets carrying no lights at all were staring down at Chuuya. There was no emotions there. There was nothing. A complete void. 

From those eye sockets, from that nothingness, Chuuya heard something. Maybe it was just his imagination. But he couldn’t stop one word from popping up inside his brain. A meaningless word that seemed to be coming out from those white bones. 

”You were supposed to be like this."

“You are... me.” Chuuya said, glaring at the skeleton that had drifted so far from humanity, unaware of what he himself was saying. “If that’s the case, who in the world am I...?” 

The gravity got even stronger. The face of the skeleton which looked like death itself drew closer in front of his eyes. At that moment, someone shouted. 

“Ahhhhhhhhh!!” 

Someone just threw themselves at the skeleton and sent it flying to the side. The skeleton and that person rolled on the floor together. Chuuya opened his eyes wide. He knew the person. 

“Shirase...?” 

Shirase, who just rolled over, stood up and screamed in a squeaky, inarticulate voice. The skeleton that was using up all of its gravity to push down on Chuuya, was powerless to the attack from the side. Its elbow bone was dislocated from the impact. But that had little effects on its movements. It opened its jaw, trying to bite Shirase to death.

Shirase raised his clothes bag, which the skeleton bit right into. There were sounds of high-value jewels and electronic devices breaking inside, but the hardness of jewels had won against that of bones and iron. The lower jaw of the skeleton cracked vertically.

“Stupid Shirase! Run!” 

“Aaaaaaaa!!” 

Shirase shook his two arms with his eyes closed. His arms accidentally got caught in a transfusion tube connected to the skeleton’s spines. The tube came off and a black and blue chemical solution spilled out from inside. The skeleton suddenly tilted and stopped moving for a few seconds.

Chuuya noticed that. He screamed, “Shirase! Pull out those cables! All of them!”. 

Shirase was still waving his arms around incomprehensibly but after a short pause, he came to understand the meaning of that instruction. He rolled around, covered in chemicals, and grabbed all the cords and tubes that were dragging around like tails. He pulled them in and pulled out everything at once.

The bundle of cables leading to the next room were pulled out of the skeleton’s spine. 

The skeleton let out a scream. A body made out of bones only does not have a vocal organ. Its throat cannot vibrate to scream. That was the sound of gravity and the vanishing power of the skills that shook the bones and resonated like a musical instrument. It was the resonant sound of a scream that can take your soul away.

It sounded like a young boy crying in agony on the verge of death.

Eventually, the skeleton that had lost its instruction system and its source of energy supplies fell to the floor headfirst, breaking at its waist. Losing the gravity that was keeping its body together physically, it crumbled into pieces. Furthermore, the cracks from the attacks stared spreading through its body and it ended up breaking into countless fragments before vanishing.

 And just like that, the skeleton disappeared. Like nothing was ever there from the beginning. 

Chuuya was watching over it in shock, before he finally stood up. 

“Shirase.” 

Chuuya looked at Shirase while holding his side. 

“What?” 

Chuuya stared at Shirase as if he was trying to say something. He looked at Shirase who was covered in dirt, mud and the black and blue chemicals for a few seconds, then said.

“You look hella dirty now.” 

“Shut up!” 

Chuuya held out his hand. Shirase grabbed that hand and got up. 

“Let’s go. We need to meet up with Adam first.” 

“’kay.” 

Shirase and Chuuya walked alongside each other. Shirase took a quick glance at Chuuya. He was covered in wounds, dirt and blood. There were countless bruises and his side was still bleeding.

“Hey Chuuya.” 

Chuuya turned around. Shirase’s expression showed that there was something he had to say, something he had to apologize for. 

Chuuya waited silently. Then Shirase said. 

“You look hella dirty right now.”

Chuuya laughed with his eyes downcast, “Shut up!”.

....

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #storm bringer #spoilers #bsd spoilers #shirase #nakahara chuuya

[hd-fan-fair]

THE MASTERLIST OF H/D SEX FAIR 2020 FANWORKS

View the full list on [AO3] or under the cut below!

( Fanwork posted in chronological order by type )

ART

1. How hard can it be? (Digital Comic, Mature) Summary: 

Harry and Draco have to stay over at their friends' places for a few weeks, since the renovation of the Grimmauld Place hadn't been completed by the time they were back from their honeymoon. That creates a slight issue with being intimate but the newlyweds are nothing if not creative...

2. Revelio! (Digital, Teen and Up) Summary:

It's that time of year again for Witch Weekly's annual charity event! By popular demand, this year they have prepared a calendar featuring the sexiest studs in the Wizarding World. Gracing the cover in style, the Hogwarts staff is represented by none other than DADA Professor Harry Potter and Potions Professor Draco Malfoy. Grab one before they're gone! Reserve your copy by owl today!

3. Handling Dragons (Digital, Teen and Up) Summary:

Harry brought over dragons to Hogwarts for a new Triwizard Tournament or for a class. Draco is hopelessly turned on by the resident Professor or Hogwarts Medic. Draco wants his dragon tickled by Harry. Unknown to him, Draco is the only dragon Harry wants to manhandle.

4. I plan on getting very wet. (Digital, Mature) Summary:

When they arrived at their private beach holiday, they didn't expect it to rain all the time. Oh well, boys can still find a way to have fun.

5. The Dragon's Boy (Digital Comic, Explicit) Summary:

Harry is chosen to be the next sacrifice to the dragon, but it turns out this dragon is interested in Harry for entirely different reasons.

6. The Art of Trust (Digital, Mature) Summary:

One piece of rope offers what Harry and Draco seek the most from each other.

7. (Intimidating) Brand New World (Digital Comic, Mature) Summary:

Draco's nervously perusing a sex shop for the first time when he sees a flash of dark hair across the store. He'd know it anywhere, but why is Potter here? And what on earth is in that box he's buying? Years of uptight parenting from his parents have left him woefully lacking in knowledge about his newfound interests. Potter's always been rather uncaring of public opinion, perhaps he could be the one to help Draco figure it all out...

ART & FIC

8. as much a light as a flame (6303, Explicit) Summary:

His mother paints a wolf on his chest, its eyes bracketing his heart, and its muzzle pointed towards his groin. His aunt fills in the spaces around his waist and ribs with symbols he's lost the meaning of in the wash of whatever plant had been mixed in with the steam. They move after her brush leaves his skin, turning from incomprehensible marks to his name to wolf to home to hunt and then back to misunderstanding again.

His legs are painted in patterned bands, starting from his ankles and ending at his upper thighs. His groin is left unmarked, the pale and empty skin meant to leave no doubt of the Claim once he makes it.

9. Starkissed (32631, Explicit) Summary:

“Your tattoos!” The intruder says, boldly stepping over Ron’s chaise and crossing in front of Hermione to get to Harry, eyes wide and hungry. Harry immediately sits up, pulling the towel draped across the back of his chair down over his shoulders.   “No! Don’t cover them. They’re beautiful.” Harry hopes an indulgent trip abroad will help shake him out of the doldrums of his life. What he finds once he gets to Venice is more than he ever expected.

  PODFIC

10. Infuse With Affection, Enchant With Love by bafflinghaze (1.5 Hours, Teen and Up) Summary:

It starts with Draco making protective pendants for himself, his parents, and his friends, after the war. Something that would watch their backs—and their fronts—as people spat on them in the streets and hexed them in the alleyways. Draco gets better at it, does a course on it, and takes enough commissions for charmed jewellery that he eventually opens his own shop.

But Harry doesn’t know any of this. So when he sees Malfoy in a shop of charmed necklaces, he immediately tries his best to uncover Malfoy’s machinations.

11. Things Worth Paying For (1.5 Hours, Explicit) Summary:

After leaving post-war Britain for Paris, Draco is finally happy, with friends and a job he loves, But then his newest client turns out to be Harry Potter, and everything changes.

  FIC

12. Three Wishes (10161, Explicit) Summary:

Draco meets his fairy godmother and is granted three wishes. Unfortunately, they all keep coming back to the same thing.

********** Pop! 

"Oh, wow," Vince says, and is that sarcasm Draco hears? "I never saw that coming."

"What?" Draco opens his eyes. He's prepared for the theatrics of the puffs of smoke—Vince, despite the sudden career change, was never blessed with an overactive imagination—but what he was not prepared for was the sight of Harry Potter, bare-chested and dressed in arseless chaps, his hands bound and mouth wrapped around a ball gag while lying face down on Draco's sofa.

13. H.A.G.S. (Hogwarts Alliance for Gender and Sexuality) (9517, Explicit) Summary:

When Hermione decides Hogwarts needs a LGBTQIA+ club, of course Ron and Harry are roped into helping. After a rocky start, Harry begins seeing the club as an opportunity to educate students and celebrate diversity and sexuality at Hogwarts. He also starts seeing it as an opportunity to snog Draco Malfoy.

14. You Don't Know Me (Like You Used To) (33106, Explicit) Summary:

"Buy me a drink as compensation for maiming me?" he asks.

"And why the hell would I do that?" It’s a perfectly valid question. A drink invitation from Harry Potter is about as likely of a scenario as me streaking down Piccadilly in broad daylight. Consider me completely thrown off.

Sometimes it only takes a week to change everything. The story of how twenty-five-year-old Draco Malfoy hit one Harry Potter with a door and knocked both of their lives into somewhere entirely new.

15. the best treasure is up Harry’s arse (2891, Explicit) Summary:

Harry and Draco probably had a tumultuous time getting together, filled with angst and denial and pining and brooding. However, this is not that story. Here, Draco makes Harry come (more than once).

16. Breakin' the Rules (3146, Teen and Up) Summary:

Harry and Draco are Auror partners. They're in a relationship that they've been forced to keep secret due to relationships between Aurors being forbidden. Harry is okay with this, as he hasn't come out to anyone other than Draco, but after a mission goes awry, their relationship is exposed.

17. The HogShagMan (31685, Mature) Summary:

Professor Potter is called upon to teach the first-ever official course on Magical Sexual Relations at Hogwarts and, in the process, must navigate the pitfalls of relationship-building, the nefarious schemings of those entrusted with school funding, and the uneven tempers of his boss and several co-workers. Clearly, only ‘the’ Harry Potter can pull it all off.

18. Let's not wait for France (17714, Teen and Up) Summary:

All Harry had wanted from his Eighth year at Hogwarts was a little peace and a little privacy but, from the moment that he stepped onto Platform 9 3/4, it was obvious that nothing was ever going to be that easy.

An accidental bond with Malfoy that resulted in them having to stay together at all times was the final straw.

Things couldn't be worse. So much to a quiet year in Hogwarts.

19. Take All That You See (19666, Teen and Up) Summary:

Draco Malfoy has only two goals for his eighth year are Hogwarts: 1) stay as invisible as possible, and 2) get enough NEWTs to be accepted at a university abroad and get the hell out of the UK. Everything is going according to plan until he is unceremoniously outed by the Daily Prophet and subsequently disowned.

Finding himself the unexpected focus of unwanted attention and harassment, he is suddenly dependent on the good will and protection of the last people he would have expected — Harry Potter and his gang of do-gooder Gryffindors (plus Luna Lovegood). With his world turned upside down, how will Draco make it through the rest of the year? And worse still, as he grows closer and closer to Harry, how will he get out with his heart intact?

20. True Children Still (34240, Explicit) Summary:

After years of dancing around each other, Draco and Harry have finally begun to date, though they're taking things slow. They've got enough to figure out as it is, and the last thing Harry needs is an unexpected introduction to desires he's not quite ready to face.

21. Asking For A Friend? (13734, Explicit) Summary:

Asking for a friend? Don't be shy! I'm Genna Russ with advice! Draco Malfoy, drag queen and agony aunt for the Daily Prophet, is very happy with his life. He loves his job. He loves his drag queen persona. And he loves the fact that the wider Wizarding world doesn't know who is offering them sassy advice with their morning news.

When he starts receiving letters from one Harry Potter – letters that are too racy to publish – he does the only thing he can do: he replies. His carefully constructed secret life is at risk of being blown wide open, but he just can't help himself. Draco never did have any self-control where the Prat Who Lived was concerned.

22. All I Have to Do (9575, Explicit) Summary:

The Patented Daydream Charm (Adult Edition) allows you to enter a top-quality, highly realistic thirty-minute sexual fantasy. Solitude and privacy spells advised.

Or: Draco finally has some alone time; Harry just needs to nip in for a book.

23. Take My Wonder (3949, Explicit) Summary:

Harry Potter is the author of very well-written children's text books. Joshua Starkweather is the author of not-so-well-written erotic fiction. Only one person knows that they are one and the same.

24. (There Is Nothing) More Than This (5431, Explicit) Summary:

Harry Potter returns home past midnight, distressed and anxious about the multiple murder case that he is leading. His husband Draco looks after him, comforting Harry with his hands, his mouth and his unwavering love.

25. the space between (what you want and what you need) (13601, Mature) Summary:

As a specialist Healer in dark magic, Draco has had his fair share of difficult cases and awkward patients. Still, nothing has prepared him for a curse-paralysed Harry Potter.

26. Walk in the sun (18233, Explicit) Summary:

Harry is perfectly content with the life he built for himself; simple and private, it helps him heal the wounds from the war. He then accepts to go out with one of Neville’s acquaintances, never expecting that decision would bring him back to his obsession for Draco Malfoy.

“That was his cue. Had Harry stopped to think about his situation, he could have left. Malfoy was nibbling at his neck, he had his hand down his pants. All things considered, a disaster incoming. And yet, his feet still refused to move. After all, he was not the stop-to-think-of-consequences kind of guy.”

(Features drunken confessions, bathrooms, a lot of smut, sexy pictures, panties, cats and only one bed)

27. You Need to Just Do Whatever You Want (7998, General) Summary:

Draco's confused when he receives a manual explaining his magical inheritance. Being a veela would be good (at least he would be prettier), and a vampire would have been fine (another excuse to hide himself in the Manor). But a descendant of the God of Love, complete with arrows and a love quota? Now that's just bonkers.

A story in which Draco is Cupid (sort of).

28. Under my Skin (8258, Explicit) Summary:

One year after the war and after Hogwarts restorations, Harry is back at school to finally finish his education. He wasn't expecting McGonagall to assign him to protect Draco Malfoy, in case he was bullied during the classes. Although really just wants to relax on his last year in Hogwarts, he'd seen how Draco had changed at the trials. He knew being around him would be easy enough... Wouldn't it?

29. Glory, glory! (16898, Explicit) Summary:

It's 2005 and Harry has recently purchased a new mobile phone so he can easily keep in touch with his friends. Little did he know that the Muggle technology would lead him down a path of self discovery and safe exploration that would lead him into the soft recesses of the last person he ever expected. As it turns out, very good things can be found in the dark.

30. Husbandly Duties (2108, Explicit) Summary:

Draco and Harry leave their wedding after-party early for some quality one-on-one time.

31. Sex, Relationships & Love (3873, Mature) Summary:

Draco Malfoy runs an anonymous sex advice column in the Witch Weekly magazine and gets hundreds of letters asking him for advice on sex, love and relationships. How was he to know that the advice he had given in response to one of those letters would result in Harry Potter showing up at his flat at 6 in the morning?

32. Disparate (6022, Teen and Up) Summary:

Ever since he went to Hogwarts, Draco realized that he wasn't quite the same as the others.

Or: Draco Malfoy over the years as he tries to understand and accept his sexuality.

33. Silver Scales in Pools of Green (26603, Explicit) Summary:

Draco is one of the last sirens of the seas, who escaped to the human world looking for friendship and food, but captivity found him instead. For seven years, he's gotten used to his life as human entertainment, and prides himself in his ability to make humans fall in step to his song.

That is, until everything falls apart when he has an audience with green eyes...

34. It's So Hard (9170, Explicit) Summary:

Draco has posed for some interesting photos, and it is currently making things very... hard for Harry.

35. On Your Shore (35113, Mature) Summary:

Clearing out a remote house full of cursed collectibles in the Outer Hebrides? Not a problem for an experienced curse breaker like Harry Potter. Spending a week with the straight, happily-married man that he’s starting to have feelings for? And sharing a bed with him at night? Surely Harry can handle that, too. But both the house and Draco Malfoy have secrets to uncover, and Harry might be in deeper water than he thought.

36. A Little Less Broken (6417, Mature) Summary:

After the war Draco thought he would never feel again. But a mix of revenge gone wrong and Harry Potter, might help him to feel just a little less broken.

37. Always (20147, Explicit) Summary:

In which Draco is the (in)famous erotica writer H.J. Belladonna, writing successful scandalous novel after successful scandalous novel and hiding his true identity, and Harry is questioning his sexuality after reading one of Belladonna’s books. Until ten years after the war their paths cross again, and Harry doesn’t only question his sexuality, but also the meaning of his obsession with Draco Malfoy.

“You look like something my cat dragged in,“ Blaise said from the sofa. Draco’s sofa, in Draco’s tiny flat. “You don’t have a cat, because you’re too vain, Blaise. A cat would get hair all over your expensive clothes,“ Draco replied and then ignored Blaise in favor of going into the kitchen to get some hot sweet tea into his system. Maybe that would make his day better, even if it had just started and the potential for disaster was high. Blaise followed him. “I’ll take one too.“ “You can’t use my home as your personal hotel, Blaise,“ Draco said, but he was already grabbing two cups out of the cupboard. He was too tired to use magic, after writing the whole night, he felt like all the magic had been absorbed by his parchment. Some of his sanity maybe too.

38. Absurd. (3773, Explicit) Summary:

When Draco discovers a kink that Harry's been hiding from him, he has no choice but to explore said kink, right? Right.

39. For Want Of Five Minutes (And a Locked Door) (4333, Mature) Summary:

It’s hard enough to get five minutes to yourself in a house of five kids, nevermind getting five minutes with your boyfriend for anything else.

40. Let Out the Beast (9649, Explicit) Summary:

In the wizarding world where alphas are looked down upon for their lack of control and unseemly aggression, it is generally accepted that they are not allowed to work in places like schools and hospitals where their nature could risk the people there. When Draco Malfoy suddenly shows up at Hogwarts smelling strongly like an alpha, Harry is beyond baffled. The fact that no one else seems to catch his scent only adds to his confusion. But, of course, the most puzzling part is how Harry’s body reacts to that scent.

41. Flowers, Dildos and Other Courtship Gifts (15853, Teen and Up) Summary:

Harry Potter is the Ministry's star auror trainee, and Draco Malfoy is the cute florist in Diagon Alley who Harry stares at through the window during lunch breaks and leaves. That's all they are and all they would ever be. (Really.) Until Harry accidentally mails Draco an autumn themed dildo (among others). Cue: bad planning, owl kidnapping, and flangst.

Or two emotional gay disasters fall in love in the middle of autumn.

42. he touched me, so I live to know (4729, Mature) Summary:

Five times Harry Potter is unsure about touching someone and one time he isn’t.

43. cut my name into your lip (6321, Explicit) Summary:

Harry can't take it anymore. Seriously. If Malfoy chews on the end of his quill/licks his spoon/sucks on the papercut on his finger one more time, Harry's going to put an end to it.

44. Realities, Unfurling (45487, Mature) Summary:

Draco Malfoy is released from Azkaban into a changed world.

45. The Delicate Balance of Light and Shade (13288, Explicit) Summary:

With the war finally over, Harry tries to find his own path in a world where he is free to make his own choice. On a holiday in France, he unexpectedly falls in love with art and painting. Returning to Hogwarts to help rebuild it, he is paired up with Draco Malfoy to restore the Room of Requirement - and unexpectedly falls in love with Draco. When the rebuilding efforts are done, Harry disappears.

Years later, Draco goes to Muggle London at Pansy's suggestion to visit an art gallery. The name of the Muggle artist is unknown to Draco, but the subject of the erotic paintings is shockingly familiar: it's Draco himself. It's time to confront the past and make some long-due confessions.

46. Tonight's the Night (Gonna Be Alright) (9181, Explicit) Summary:

Sex is hard to come by when you're 40 and have kids.

Or: Five times Harry and Draco tried and failed to have sex and one time they were successful.

47. The Spoiling of Sex From Enthusiastic Ignorance (6079, Explicit) Summary:

Draco is going to lose his virginity, so help him god, and he's going to lose it to one Harry Potter. Why? Because of his big cock, his status as The Top Five Quidditch Players in England, and Witch Weekly's Most-Eligible Bachelor for eight years straight. At least that's what he tells himself. Too bad first times rarely go as one plans, and now Harry is looking miserable and Draco doesn’t understand why.

48. you killed me on the moon (4906, Explicit) Summary:

'You barely know me. We do not know each other.’

‘Beyond this overwhelming need to submit to you, completely and utterly?’ Potter raises his eyebrows, stretching his scar. ‘Beyond this bone-deep awareness that you are made for me, and I for you? That our destiny was written in the stars, in the very foundation of our known world?’

An A/B/O Royalty!AU wherein a desperate Slytherin prince faces a proposal from the conquering Gryffindor king.

49. i just want your extra time and your... (9058, Explicit) Summary:

Ron should know better than to speak Latin in a magical library. If he’d just left well enough alone, instead of trying to badger Malfoy for the details of his newest novel, Harry wouldn’t have to listen to all of this chatter about how bloody decent Malfoy is, and he wouldn’t be dealing with all of these...feelings. Really, it’s all Ron’s fault that Harry’s mind is stuck on Malfoy like this again.

50. The Kisses Don’t Count, If No One Else Knows (41492, Explicit) Summary:

Minister for Magic Harry Potter does not love his job. The one bright point in his life is his secret relationship with Quidditch Super Star Draco Malfoy. When they're 'outed' by a peeping tom with a camera, Harry has to decide what's really important.

51. You Do Your Body Work, I Feel My Pulse Working Overtime (1627, Explicit) Summary:

Harry did not have an addiction to watching Draco masturbate on camera. He could stop any time he wanted to. Really.

52. Right Romantic Setting (6266, Explicit) Summary:

On the twelfth day of their romantic relationship, Draco and Harry take Albus, Scorpius and Rose on a weekend trip to Muggle London that Ron and Hermione were supposed to lead. At the fully-booked hotel where they'll be staying for the night, they're surprised to discover that their rather plain room has only one bed. It's definitely not the right romantic setting for their first night together but, as Draco comes to realise, there's good in taking things slow.

53. Portrait of a Marriage (130627, Mature) Summary:

Harry didn't want to marry Malfoy, he really didn't, but he also does want this house and Malfoy looked so smug and well - now they are married, and the house still doesn't like him, and Malfoy only looks more smug.

Draco didn't want to marry Potter, he really didn't, but he also does want this house and he never seems to be capable of escaping Potter anyway, so if he is already doomed to being married off he might as well decide for himself what he is worth, sign the papers and ignore everything wrong with that plan until physically no longer possible.

54. Regardless of desire, life hands you who you are (29803, Explicit) Summary:

When Draco finds himself wrongly accused – of course it's Potter who swoops in to save the day. Isn't it always Potter?

#hd sex fair #Draco Malfoy #Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter #Harry Potter #drarry fic #drarry art #drarry podfic #drarry recs

[whenisitenoughtrees]

infinity, and beyond

He remembers the first time he kissed Janus. He remembers the way they were curled up against each other, the lights dimmed and the television on low volume, neither of them paying attention to the images on the screen. It was messy and terrible, as far as kisses go, and Patton loved every moment of it, and when they pulled away from each other, they were both breathless, smiling, and he knew then that what he felt, Janus felt too.

He remembers, too, the moment he heard about Virgil.

It's not every day that your husband's long-lost kid breaks into your house. It's not every day that you find out your husband of four years is an alien.

Patton's just trying to roll with the punches.

Content Warnings: threats of violence, mild body horror, brief, non-graphic panic attack

Word Count: 7,168

Pairings: Moceit, parental Anxceit

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

Patton’s day begins with a teenager holding a knife to his throat.

Technically, the day has already begun; it is mid-morning, the sun inching steadily toward noon. But Patton has barely been awake an hour, has been sitting at the kitchen table with his mug of coffee, staring at all the final exams he has yet to grade as he waits for his brain to start functioning. He likes Saturday mornings; he would go so far as to say that they’re usually his favorite part of the week, because usually, Saturday mornings mean sleeping in, wrapped in his husband’s arms, and later, a big brunch and a lazy day. But today, an emergency called Janus into the office, and he has a backlog of grading to finish this weekend, so here he is. Squinting, bleary-eyed, and with a sad lack of a husband to keep him company.

That is when the teenager appears.

Appears, because there is no better word for what happens. There is no break-in, no slamming of doors or shattering of windows. One minute, he is alone, and the next, there is another person in the kitchen, a young person who can’t be any older than seventeen or eighteen, and Patton barely has time to process that before they lunge for him, knocking him from his chair and to the floor, pinning him against the cool tile.

It takes a second to process the bite of cold, sharp metal against his throat, but as soon as he does, Patton wakes up very, very quickly.

“Please—” he tries, but the teenager hisses at him, actually hisses, and through the panic that is filling his mind and drowning out all logical thought, Patton realizes that something about this isn’t right. Something beyond the fact that there is a knife against his throat and oh god oh god oh god there is a knife against his throat—

The teenager opens their mouth, their face set in a harsh, threatening glare— and it’s their face, there’s something wrong about their face but he can’t quite— but the sounds that come out are gibberish, something guttural and rasping and nothing like any language that Patton has ever heard.

“Please,” he gasps, his voice thin and high and terrified, “please, I don’t know what you’re saying, I can’t—”

He breaks off, because he thinks that if he tries to say any more, it will come out as nonsensical crying, and somehow, he doesn’t particularly think that this person will be swayed by something like that.

The teenager’s lips twist into an impressive scowl, and with the hand not holding the knife, they reach for the pocket of their— hoodie? If it’s a hoodie, it doesn’t quite look like one. It’s something about the fabric, something about the way it moves as they do, but Patton can’t spend energy on figuring that out right now. He tenses as they root around in their pocket, clearly searching for something, and muttering to themself in that same garbled speech pattern. They come up holding something, and Patton can only catch a glimpse of it— what looks like a small, silver disk— before their hand is moving, clapping it against and then inside his ear and—

There is a moment of sharp, almost blinding pain, starting with his ear and shooting through his skull, and then nothing, and he struggles to regain his breath.

“I said,” the teenager growls, “where is he?”

Patton blinks. The sounds they are making are still the same, are still strange and incomprehensible, only, they’re not exactly, because they resolve into recognizable words inside his brain, and if he hadn’t been panicked before, this would definitely be enough to do the job, because what exactly did this person just shove inside his ear?

“What—” he starts, and then the words themselves catch up to him. “Where is who?”

The teenager growls— and it is truly a growl, like an animal would make— and presses the knife in closer. Patton valiantly resists the urge to whimper.

“Don’t fucking play with me,” they snap, and somewhere, back in some hysterical portion of Patton’s mind, he is tempted to chide them for their language. “His DNA signature is all over this fucking house, so where is he? What’ve you done with him?”

Patton can only stare.

Part of his mind has devoted itself to putting the pieces together, no matter the impossible picture they form. Part of his mind is taking in the pale skin that isn’t white at all, but rather a light purple, the way their facial features are just a bit too sharp, a bit too angular to be those of a typical young adult, the way that the spots under and around their eyes aren’t makeup, but instead move, twitching to and fro in unison with their gaze, and that alone is almost enough to send him spiraling, to draw him toward a conclusion that can’t possibly be true, that he can’t possibly comprehend.

The rest of his mind devotes itself to being astonished.

“Are you talking about Janus?” he asks, and he can’t keep the incredulity from his voice.

He doesn’t know which seems more unlikely to him, that this strange, violent, maybe-probably not human person has broken into his house and is threatening him with a sharp knife, or that this strange, violent, maybe-probably not human person is looking for his husband. His husband, who makes him breakfast in bed in the mornings and tea in the afternoons, when he has too many essays to look over and a headache pounding behind his eyes. His husband, who bristles and snarks at everyone around him, who works a corporate job he dislikes and comes home exhausted and irritated at the end of the day and still smiles, that soft, sweet smile that is meant only for him, that nobody else is privileged enough to see. His husband, who he has been married to for four years now, the best four years of his life, who he fell in love with in coffee shops and movie theaters and in the rain, that one day when they were caught out in the park without their umbrellas and had to run all the way home, soaking wet but giggling, grinning and knocking into each other.

His husband, who refuses to talk about his past beyond a sentence or two, here and there, brief anecdotes that never reveal much at all. But Patton has never needed to know his past to know him, and even now, when it seems that his secrets have burst into their shared life in the most violent way possible, disrupting all sense of equilibrium and turning the world on its head, he refuses to believe that there is any secret so great as to force a divide between them.

The teenager— if that is what they are, if the appearance of youth is an accurate indication at all— bares their teeth, teeth that are too sharp, too pointed, teeth that scream predator. “Who else?” they demand. “I won’t fucking ask again. Where is he?”

“He’s not— He’s not here,” he manages. “He’s at work, I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

Please, let that satisfy them. Please, let them leave. Please, let Janus come home. Please, let Janus not come home, let him stay at the office, far away and safe. Please, let him come home and tell me what’s going on, why this is happening, who this is and how they know each other. Please, please, please.

He doesn’t know what he wants. Doesn’t know that he wants to know what he wants.

“Yeah, right,” they say, and he would be insulted by their skepticism if he had room for any emotion other than fear. “That’s likely. You could have him cut up in the basement for all I know.”

He gapes, stunned by the accusation. And for a moment, his indignation is enough to override all common sense, ignore all the impossibilities of the person holding him to the floor, ignore the knife pressing up against his skin. Because, well, first of all, he has no idea where that idea came from, but the very thought that he would do something like that at all, much less to—

“Cut—” he starts, and has to try again, because he can’t wrap his head around the notion, around the idea that that could potentially be something he would want to do, that that is the first thing this person thinks to accuse him of. “Cut up? Janus is my husband.”

Their eyes widen. “Your what?”

“My husband,” he repeats, the reaction emboldening him. “We’ve been married for four years.”

They blink at him, and it’s a motion that takes up their entire face rather than just their eyes, because those moving dots… those are eyes, too. Patton can’t deny it, can’t deny that this person, whatever they are, has eight eyes. Eight eyes, just like a spider, and his outrage fizzles out in the face of that realization, fades back into terror, into a racing pulse and breaths that come too short and quick, and he is confused now too, confused at what this person wants, because their words almost seem to suggest that they don’t want to see Janus harmed at all, that they think he is the threat. That they think he is a threat to Janus.

But Patton isn’t the one with the knife.

“Please,” he says. “Please, just, you can look around the house, there’s pictures of us. We’re together, we’re happy, and I don’t know what you want, but just please, please don’t hurt him.”

“Don’t hurt him?” they repeat, and somehow, whatever strange translation system is at work in his head manages to convey their disbelieving tone. “What the hell are you talking about?”

They seem surprised that Patton is making the insinuation at all, and Patton can’t help the incredulous noise that escapes him.

“You’re holding a knife to my throat!” he all but shrieks, the words ripping out of him at a much higher volume than he intends. “What am I supposed to think you want?”

They make a strangled sound, one that his mind doesn’t resolve into words.

“You—”

And then, they stop, tilting their head. A moment later, Patton hears it too, and dread forms a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. There is a clattering sound, a key turning in the lock, and the unmistakable creak as the front door opens. The teenager stands, suddenly, a fluid motion, but Patton is frozen in place, barely noticing the removal of the knife and the pressure holding him down, too busy trying to think of a way out of this, or to protect Janus, if worst comes to worst. He’s trembling so hard that he’s not sure how quickly he’ll be able to get up, but once he does, he’s in the kitchen. There are weapons here. All he has to do is grab one, no matter how ill it makes him feel to use his cooking instruments in such a way.

He won’t let this person hurt Janus. Not if he has any say.

“I’m home, love!” Janus’ voice drifts through the house, smooth and unconcerned. There is a familiar thump; that will be his briefcase hitting the floor, and then a rustle of clothing as he sheds his suit jacket. His footsteps draw nearer, and even as the person’s face shifts into an expression Patton has no hope of interpreting, he readies himself to leap to his feet, to fight if need be.

“I just love when idiots call me in for an issue that it would take someone with half a brain twenty minutes to solve,” Janus says, sounding terribly exasperated, and normally, this is when Patton would go to him and give him a hug, would lean his chin on his shoulder and hold him close, or at the very least call out to respond to him. But he stays still and quiet, and the footsteps pause.

“Patton?” He sounds uncertain now, but he’s coming closer again, and Patton finds himself staring fixedly at the entryway to the kitchen, raising his head from the floor to see. Oddly enough, the teenager stands stock still, making no motion to turn to where Janus will appear in mere seconds.

And then, there he is, and Patton cannot help the instantaneous flood of relief at seeing him, at seeing Janus, his husband, poised and confident and unharmed and here. He stands on the threshold, adjusting the gloves on his hands, and Patton watches as his face transitions from calm to confusion to something between anger and fear as he takes in the scene, the toppled chair and rumpled papers, the figure standing in the midst of it all, knife clutched in one hand. And then, he locks gazes with Patton himself, and his eyes blow wide with worry even as the rest of his face schools itself.

“And just who the fuck are you?” he demands of the person. To anyone else, he would sound completely collected, but Patton knows him too well to miss the tremor in his voice.

The person doesn’t move.

“I’d appreciate an answer,” Janus continues. “I’d also appreciate it if you’d step away from my husband.” Janus gives him a tight smile, one that is probably meant to be reassuring, and he returns it as best he can.

And then, slowly, the person pivots on their heel, putting their back to Patton. He can no longer see their facial expression, blank and unhelpful though it was, but he can see Janus’ perfectly well, and as such, he can see the way he holds onto his cool anger for all of five seconds, before it shifts into undiluted shock. His face pales, his lips parting slightly, and he actually takes one stumbling, hesitant step forward, and Patton’s heart begins beating triple time because he has no idea what could make him react like this.

And then, the person speaks.

“Janus,” they say, and the noises that spill from their mouth remain strange and unfamiliar, but somehow, Patton hears the wetness in the name, the fragility, the desperate hope. The knife goes clattering to the floor.

Janus makes a sound, wounded, astonished, and Patton has never heard anything like that come from his husband’s throat, and it scares him.

“Virgil?” he rasps, and evidently, that is all this person needs, because they launch themself forward, and Patton’s instincts scream at him to try to stop them, to leap at them or grab at their hoodie or do something. But Janus’ arms open wide to receive them, and then the two of them are hugging, holding each other tightly, and from here, Patton can see the way Janus’ hands fist in the odd material of the teenager’s clothing, the way he buries his face in their shoulder, and Patton has never been more lost.

Virgil. He recognizes the name, he thinks, and it only takes a moment to summon the memory from the depths of his mind, blurred with age and the faint buzz of alcohol and the heat of the summer night. But Virgil rings out in his mind as clear as a bell, somehow bringing more questions and few answers, because none of this makes any sense at all, because one night, two and a half years ago, Janus told him that he had a son, and that he loved him, and that he lost him, and that his name was Virgil, and then he refused to say any more, and Patton let it go in favor of holding him because the look of devastation on Janus’ face was like none he had ever seen before.

So, this cannot be Virgil. But surely, Janus would know the face of his own son, would never embrace a stranger, and would never embrace… whatever this person is, because Janus is sharp and Janus is observant, and he has most certainly picked up on all their unusual features, on all the ways that they cannot possibly be human. So that means that this must be Virgil after all, and Patton can only watch as they cling to each other, like they’re both afraid the other will disappear if they let go.

And Patton doesn’t know what this means.

-----------

He remembers the first time he kissed Janus. He remembers the way they were curled up against each other, the lights dimmed and the television on low volume, neither of them paying attention to the images on the screen. They stared at each other for a long time before he leaned in, before he dared to take the initiative, and he has never felt happier than in the moment when Janus met him halfway, pressing his lips firmly against his, their noses knocking into each other, their teeth almost clacking together as they sought more, more contact, more closeness. It was messy and terrible, as far as kisses go, and Patton loved every moment of it, and when they pulled away from each other, they were both breathless, smiling, and he knew then that what he felt, Janus felt too.

He remembers, too, the moment he heard about Virgil. He remembers, because he knows only fragments of Janus’ past, a past that he is certain is dark and full of sorrow, and that is why he has never pushed for more than what Janus is willing to give, content to gather up the bits and pieces he is offered and guard them close.

Most of the surrounding conversation is hazy, blurred by one too many glasses of fine wine and a summer heat wave that permeated every inch of the apartment they rented at the time, no matter the efforts of the air conditioner to banish it. But he remembers the way Janus quieted, all of a sudden, face still and contemplative and sad in a way that made his heart clench.

“Have I ever told you,” he said, “that I have a son?”

And he could only stare and shake his head; the answer, of course, was no, the revelation so unexpected that he had no idea how to react.

Janus smiled, small and bitter, like a gash in his face, bleeding him dry. “I do,” he said. “He’s beyond my reach, now. I won’t be able to see him again.”

He remembers he made a noise, tiny and shocked, and that he stretched a hand out, placed it on his, and Janus accepted the touch readily enough.

“His name is Virgil,” Janus continued. “I think he would like you. At least, I hope he would.” He tilted his head, eyes distant. “He’s prickly, slow to trust, abrasive in general. But he’s a good kid. Was a good kid. I suppose he’s not… well. It’s been five years, now.” He closed his eyes, bowing his head. “He would like you,” he repeated, sounding more than a little broken. “He would like you.”

And he didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know what to say at all, his words failing him. So he tugged him closer with both arms, leaning him against his chest and rocking him gently, holding him close, and Janus pressed into the contact and didn’t say anything else.

He drew the conclusion that Virgil was dead, died tragically young, somehow. Looking back, he’s not sure how he arrived there, when Janus used the present tense the entire time, quite clearly speaking as though Virgil was alive and well, just somewhere he couldn’t go.

He thinks he might understand that part a bit better now, at least, though most of it refuses to sink in. But the facts are these: Virgil, if this is Virgil, cannot possibly be human. No human looks like he does. And this fact, too, leaves Patton with far more questions than answers.

-----------

“You did what?”

Janus’ voice is loud, sharp, and it brings Patton back to the present in an instant. He doesn’t know how much time has passed while he ruminated, tried to fit all the puzzle pieces together while well aware that he only has about half of them, but Janus and Virgil have drawn back from each other, Janus’ face twisted in alarm.

“We did research before I came down here!” Virgil says. “I’ve seen what humans want to do to us! For all I knew, he’d locked you up in a room and dissected you.”

Ah. So Janus isn’t pleased that his son—his son, his son, this is Janus’ son, his husband’s son— threatened Patton with a knife. Patton would feel more gratified if he weren’t stuck on us, trying desperately to ignore the voice that whispers in the back of his mind, the one that says, well, doesn’t that make sense? Virgil’s not human, that much is obvious, so doesn’t that mean that Janus is—

“You—”

And for the first time since he recognized Virgil, named him aloud, Janus looks at Patton, and Patton looks back, unsure of exactly what emotion is showing on his face. Confusion, probably; lord knows he’s feeling enough of it right now. But for whatever reason, Janus’ expression crumples, and he gently places his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, moving him to the side.

“Virgil,” he says quietly, and for the first time, Patton realizes that he isn’t speaking English at all, but rather, that same unfamiliar language that Virgil has been utilizing, the one that morphs in his head into something that makes sense. “I… need a moment.”

“But we only just—” Virgil begins, turning so that he can see both of them at once. And then, he stops, something odd passing across his face, something that Patton can’t interpret at all. “So you really are… with him.”

“Yes.”

“But he doesn’t know,” Virgil states.

Janus closes his eyes. “No,” he says.

Virgil is silent for a long moment. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll just… go in this other room, I guess. Over here.” And with that, he backs out of the kitchen and into the living room, disappearing from Patton’s line of sight.

Patton glances back to Janus, who is just standing there, still as stone, staring at him, and he opens his mouth, fully intending to chide him for talking about him, or about something tangentially related to him, at least, like he’s not sitting right here. But no sound comes out of his mouth, and suddenly, he finds himself wheezing, gasping for breath as the events of the past few minutes crash over him, and oh god, how is he supposed to process this, reconcile himself to this, because he knew his husband had secrets and he still doesn’t think he understands fully but he does understand just enough to know that everything he thought he knew is not as it seems and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with this and—

“Breathe, Patton,” Janus says, and a gloved hand appears in his vision. He grasps it thankfully, squeezing it tight, and the contact serves to ground him, allows him to calm his panic, little by little, until his mind clears enough to realize that Janus is kneeling in front of him, expression twisted into some awful combination of worry and apprehension and a hesitance that Patton has not seen in a long, long time, not since the earliest days of their relationship, when Janus seemed so uncertain that his affections were welcomed or wanted at all, and Patton had to work so hard to convince him otherwise.

But before he can do something to comfort him, Janus draws into himself, pulling his hand back and looking at the ground. “I suppose you have questions,” he says, and Patton almost laughs at the understatement, restraining himself at the last second.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and he wants to reach out, wants to take Janus’ hand again, but Janus’ body language is so closed off that he’s not sure any touch at all would be welcome. “So, uh, that’s Virgil.”

Janus nods.

“Your son, Virgil.”

Janus nods again, his eyes flickering up for a moment and then back to the floor again.

“I’m sorry he acted the way he did,” he murmurs. “He was scared for me, so he jumped to the worst possible conclusion.”

“There was no harm done,” Patton replies, matching his soft tone. “I mean, that was really scary. I was scared. I think I still am. But I’m not hurt, and everything’s turned out okay.” Even as the words leave his mouth, he has no idea whether he’s telling the truth or not. Have things turned out okay? Have they really? He feels like they’re dancing around the most important subject, the elephant in the room, and what’s more than that, they both know they’re doing it, neither of them quite willing to broach the topic.

But they need to. So Patton does.

“He’s not…” He pauses, taking a breath, marshaling all the courage he has left in him. “He’s not human.”

The statement hangs in the air between them, like a comma in a sentence, waiting for the inevitable continuation.

Janus shakes his head, just slightly, the motion so small that Patton might have missed it had he not been looking. “No,” he says, “he’s not.” And he falls silent, unwilling to elaborate, still unwilling to so much as meet Patton’s eyes, and that leaves the impetus of the conversation on him, doesn’t it? It leaves him to voice the rest, to dare to seek confirmation of a fact that half an hour ago, would have been too unbelievable to consider. Still is, to be frank.

“He’s… an alien. He’s not from earth,” he says, putting off the inevitable for as long as possible. He stares at his husband, who he loves, who he cherishes, who he treasures, who he thought he knew. And he still does, surely, because he knows what Janus is like, knows who he is if not what he is, and that has to be enough. He’s determined to make it enough. “So… are you? An alien, I mean?”

The question is out there, now. There is no taking it back. And Janus looks up at him, finally, expression pained.

“Yes,” he says simply, and Patton has to take a moment to breathe, to wrest his spiraling thoughts back under control, because what exactly is he supposed to make of this? This feels too big for him, too vast and too shocking and too incomprehensible, and nothing, nothing has ever prepared him for this possibility.

“Okay,” he says, even though he feels like it’s really not. “Okay. That’s… okay. I need a second to, um. I just need a second.”

“Of course,” Janus says, inclining his head, and then he moves as if to stand, and no, that is absolutely not what Patton wants, so he grabs at his sleeve with one hand. Janus freezes, staring at the spot where his fingers connect with his shirt.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to leave,” he says, his voice coming out somewhere between cross and petulant. “I can have a second perfectly well with you here.”

“Oh,” Janus says, settling back on the floor. He looks more than a little bit lost, as if he can’t fathom why Patton would want him to stay, and that does hurt a bit, the implication that he thinks Patton might not want him anymore, because of this. Which, he supposes it’s a rational fear; it is, after all, a rather large secret to drop on someone four years into a marriage. But Patton just needs time to process, and once he has, he thinks he’ll be alright.

So, he closes his eyes, focusing on the texture of Janus’ sleeve against his fingers, soft and silky.

What does this change, really? A lot, obviously, but how much of that actually matters? Does Janus being an alien change the fact that he always eats the last of the ice cream, or that he insists on doing the dishes by hand, or that he cried when Bambi’s mom died even though he pretended not to so that he could comfort Patton? Does it change the fact that he’s a terrible blanket hog, or that he denies loving to cuddle but instantly latches onto Patton the moment they’re both in bed together, or that he always seems to know just what to do or say when Patton is tired and sad and all the world feels gray?

Does it change that he loves him?

No. No, it can’t possibly affect any of that at all. And he’s known that all along, really, the realization lurking just under the surface, waiting for him to have it on his own time. He feels relief flood him, because alright. His husband is an alien. It’s going to take a long time for him to be used to that. But he’ll be damned before he lets that come between them.

He opens his eyes.

“I love you,” he says, and he puts all of his sincerity, all of the reassurance he can muster into those three words. And he is prepared to say more, to go on at length about all the reasons why, but Janus winces, turns his head away.

“You can’t say that,” he says. “Patton, you don’t even know what I look like.”

He frowns. Janus’ tone edges on defeat, on something uncomfortably close to despair, and he doesn’t like that at all.

“I’m looking at you right now,” he tries, but Janus just shakes his head.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” he says, cold and biting and yet, still reluctant, as if the admission is being ripped from him. “I literally hide my true appearance from you on a daily basis. I’m not human, and I don’t look like one, not when I’m not trying to.” He turns back to him then, meets his eyes, and it’s almost like a challenge, as if he’s certain in his words, certain that Patton will turn his back on him over something like appearance. And it’s true, this new admission throws him for a bit of a loop, but he thinks if he can accept the fact that he is married to an actual alien, he can accept this, too.

Janus is a very attractive man. But Patton didn’t marry him for his looks. And no matter what sort of alien he is, no matter what he’s hiding, whether it’s tentacles or feathers or extra eyes or what-have-you, Patton will love him just the same. What concerns him most is that Janus doesn’t seem to know that, seems to think that this will be the deal-breaker, will be what sends Patton running. And he is expecting Patton to run; that is becoming increasingly clear with every passing minute.

He spent a lot of time, early on in their relationship, showing Janus that he cared about him, showing Janus that he was allowed to be cared for. He didn’t expect to have to do it again, didn’t expect to have to prove his affections once more, four years into a happy marriage, but he will do whatever it takes.

“Then show me,” he says softly, and pitches his words carefully, trying to make it seem like a request and not a demand, trying to make sure Janus knows that he doesn’t have to do anything at all, not if he doesn’t want to. “Show me what you look like.”

Janus laughs, short and sharp, like a razor’s edge. He passes a hand across his face, and Patton’s fingers finally slip from his sleeve. He removes his hat, and then, to Patton’s surprise, he begins to unbutton his shirt, shrugging it from his shoulders, and then follows that with his gloves. Patton watches as the garments hit the floor, suddenly anxious, though he tries not to show it. Whatever Janus is about to show him, it is crucial that he doesn’t allow himself to have a negative knee-jerk reaction, doesn’t allow himself to recoil before his head and heart catch up to his instincts.

Even if Janus turns into… a giant spider person, or something equally scary, he’ll still love him. He knows that, knows that there is nothing that Janus could do or be to make him stop, but what is most important right now is making sure that Janus knows that.

Janus doesn’t say anything else, just settles back firmly on his haunches, bracing his hands against his thighs, shutting his eyes. And his face slides into something blank, into something impassive, but for just a moment, Patton thinks he sees a flicker of apprehension, even of fear, and he wants nothing more to reach out, to insist that everything is going to be alright. But he knows that Janus won’t believe him right now, will shrug off any touch, so he restrains himself, and watches as Janus begins to change.

It’s slow, at first, subtle. His skin almost seems to ripple in place, and then it— flips, for lack of a better word. It reminds him of Mystique from the X-Men movies, or one of those sequined pillows or shirts that has another color on the other side, revealed when you rub the sequins the other way. His skin flips, and in its place is scales, smooth and gleaming, in dappled patterns all across the left side of his face and down his chest. And as Patton stares, utterly fascinated, they move and shift across his body, curling into different designs and reflecting different colors, green and brown and yellow. And where his skin is still bare, it seems to even out, any blemishes disappearing, and it takes on a slightly yellow tint.

And Patton is so occupied by this that he almost doesn’t see the extra arms, folding out of seemingly nowhere, two extra pairs, one resting limp at his side and the other curling around his abdomen protectively. Three pairs of arms, six hands, each one now tipped with sharp claws, and Patton gapes at them, allowing himself one moment of pure surprise before turning his attention back to Janus’ face.

It looks sharper, more angular, a bit thinner, just different enough to throw him off balance a bit. But looking at Janus, his eyes screwed shut and lips pressed into a thin line, as if awaiting judgment, he can only see his husband there, not the stranger he half feared would take his place.

And the scales, well. The scales are lovely. They shimmer and shine in the light, and Patton can’t quite tell what color they’re trying to be, nor if there is any meaning to their movements across Janus’ skin, but he is captivated by them, by their twisting, shifting beauty. They almost look as if they are dancing.

So, he does the only thing he can think to do, and reaches out to caress his face.

Janus starts, eyes flying open, jerking back, but Patton pursues him, tracing his thumb across his cheekbone. The scales there are smooth and cool to the touch, just slightly bumpy, and Patton runs his fingertips across them, learning their shape and feel. Then, Janus makes a whimpering sound, and he freezes, watching him for any additional reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Should I not do that? Does it hurt?”

“No,” Janus says, almost a stutter, “no. It— feels good. It’s just, I’m not used to—” He breaks off, shuddering, and he presses his face into Patton’s hand. His eyes are open wide, flitting across Patton’s face, and he realizes that his eyes have changed, too. One is the familiar, warm brown that Patton is used to, but the other is golden-yellow and slit, like a cat, or like a snake, and it’s quite possibly one of the most gorgeous things that Patton has ever seen.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says. “You’ve been so scared, haven’t you?”

At any other time, he thinks that Janus would deny it. Janus has never been one to admit to his own vulnerabilities, has always preferred to cover everything up in a layer of sarcasm and insults and misdirection, and on the worst days, even he has trouble getting him to admit that something is wrong. But now, Janus just shakes against his hand, his whole body trembling, and says nothing at all.

“I’m so sorry you felt like you needed to hide this,” he tells him. “I think you’re beautiful.”

“I have six arms,” Janus says hoarsely, as if he thinks Patton can’t see them. “Patton, I— I have scales, I have six arms, I have—”

He cuts off with a strangled gasp as Patton grasps one of his hands, one of the new ones, one of the ones hanging at his sides, and brings it up to his lips, planting a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

“They’re very nice arms,” he tells him. “And I think it’s ridiculous that I could have been having six-armed hugs this entire time. Don’t think I’m not going to have you make up for that, mister.”

Janus laughs wetly, and this time, it’s more genuine, and laced with surprise. There are tears in his eyes, Patton realizes, tears in his eyes and beginning to streak down his cheeks, and he reaches out to wipe them away on autopilot. Janus shivers every time he makes contact with a scale, but his eyes never leave his face.

“I love you,” Patton says. “I love you, all of you, no matter what you look like or what planet you’re from. I’d love you if you were a slimy tentacle alien like in the movies. I’d love you if you had an extra head, or, or a really long neck, or if you were secretly two feet tall and bright blue. And I told you on our wedding day that I would follow you to the ends of the earth, do you remember that? But I only said that because I didn’t know that going further was an option.”

He scoots a bit closer, removing his hand from Janus’ face so that he can grab two hands at once, not paying attention to which ones. Janus’ breath hitches.

“If you honestly think,” he says seriously, “that you could ever do anything to get rid of me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

And at that, Janus lets out a sob, loud and messy, and throws himself forward, colliding with Patton’s chest. It’s an awkward angle for a hug, but Patton is too preoccupied to care, is too busy bringing his arms up to hold him, rubbing circles into his back and tracing the scales he finds there. And he’s basking in the sensation, too, drinking in the fact that there are six arms hugging him right now, clutching at him tightly, holding onto the fabric of his shirt for dear life, and he has never felt so safe, never felt so warm. So he relaxes into his husband’s embrace, embraces him in turn, lets him weep and shudder against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Janus gasps out, “I’m so sorry I doubted you, I—”

“It’s okay,” Patton murmurs. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve--” He stops, his attention suddenly distracted. “Is that a tail? Do you have a tail?”

It certainly looks like one, snaking its way out of Janus’ pants, long and thin and scaled, and how he missed that, he has no idea. Janus pulls back a bit to look him in the face. His eyes are red-rimmed, his skin flushed orange rather than pink.

“Yes,” he says. “Is that… alright?”

Curious, Patton extends a hand. The tail wraps around his wrist snugly, tugging at his arm, and he giggles a bit.

“Oh goodness,” he says, in lieu of a real response, not bothering to stop the delighted grin that spreads across his face. Janus relaxes, untensing, and slumps forward again to rest his head on his chest, releasing a long, heavy sigh.

“I’m still sorry that I kept this from you,” he murmurs, and Patton glances down at him, carding his free hand through his hair.

“You don’t have to be,” he says.

“Maybe not, but I am,” Janus replies. He shifts in place, angling himself to be able to meet his eyes. And Patton once again finds himself fascinated by his heterochromia, at the contrast between the eye he knows well and the eye that is new. It’s almost a comforting sight, once that reminds him that no matter his appearance, Janus remains the man he knows and loves.

“Did you mean it?” Janus asks. “When you said that you would go further than the earth, if given the option?”

A thrill runs through him. “Are you giving me the option?”

Janus hums. “Virgil is hardly going to be content with leaving me here,” he says, and then twists around further to stare Patton full in the face. “But I won’t leave you,” he insists, voice growing vehement. “And I won’t ask you for more than you’re willing to give. If you want to stay here, then we’ll stay here. The choice is yours.”

And Patton leans forward and kisses him on the lips, soft and short and sweet. “I’ve told you,” he says. “Where you go, I’ll follow.”

And he means it. He means it more than anything else he’s said in his life. He means it with the weight of all the years they’ve spent together, all the love he has to offer. Where Janus goes, he will follow, to the ends of the earth and beyond it, and there is a whole universe out there, waiting to be explored. He will have to make arrangements, of course, will have to contact his school and figure out something to tell his parents, and perhaps he should be dreading that, but all he can feel is exhilaration. Because his husband is an alien, has surely seen so many things that are so much bigger than their little lives here on earth, and yet, he is willing to stay here, with Patton, for Patton, and all Patton would have to do is ask.

But just as Janus has chosen him, he has chosen Janus. And for Janus, he would go anywhere.

“Because you know,” he continues, “I think you’re pretty out of this world. In fact, I’d even say that you’re a real star.”

Janus snorts, messy and undignified, and Patton smiles, pleased by the reaction.

“So, how about you introduce me to your kiddo,” he says. “Without the knives, this time. And you can tell me what I should pack.”

And Janus smiles at him, sweet and joyful, one of those expressions that no one else gets to see. Despite everything, that smile is still the same.

“Okay,” he says, and stands, pulling Patton up with him. “Let’s do that.”

And Patton clasps one of his hands, and lets Janus lead him onward.

----------

End Note: There are plenty of things that I would like to explore in this ‘verse, including putting proper focus on the anxceit, having Virgil deal with suddenly having another dad, Patton continuing to adjust himself to the new circumstances, and whatever the other sides are up to. So, I’m tentatively going to label this as a series. Future installments will be under the tag ‘it’s a space opera (and oh how the arias soar)’

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii@severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease

#sanders sides #ts sides #moceit #parental anxceit #patton sanders #ts patton #janus sanders #ts janus #virgil sanders #ts virgil #long post #my fic #it's a space opera (and oh how the arias soar)

[wallwriterstuff]

is it okay if you do one about the reader who is 13-14 going with Bella to save Edward and when Alec see's her, he realizes that she's his mate and tries talking to her and her being scared but after sometime they have a sweet bf/gf relationship? Thank you, and your writing is awesome, sorry if I bothered you

Hey hi hello, you most certainly have not bothered me at all 😊 You’re very sweet and I’m glad you enjoy my writing, I hope you like this piece just as much as the others!

Just as a wee reminder to yourself and others who wish to request anything Alec related from me, when I write for Alec, I do tend to write him as the 13-14 year old book version. The only time I age up Alec and Jane to the 16+ year old movie version is if I receive an NSFW request for them. I am still figuring out what I’m comfortable writing in terms of the level of explicitness, so while I figure out what sort of NSFW requests I will and won’t take please be patient and don’t be rude about it if you send me something I don’t think I can deliver, there’s plenty of other really incredibly writers out there I’ll happily link you to if I don’t think I can provide what you want. 

For now, have this fluffy little piece. 

Forever Yours:

Words: 5416 (oopsie)  Warnings: There is some description of injuries later on and a lot of descriptions of fear and distress in the first half of this fic. 

Alec was not one to dwell on things he didn’t find interesting. In his human life he had been pigeon-holed into farming, the manual labour something that would support his family and one of the few occupations he could actually get training for, since it meant sending him into a field and leaving him there to work alone most of the time. His village was not a welcoming place to people like him and Jane, and despite his vocation to be a blacksmith his dreams were shelved in order to provide for his mother and sister. The end result was an insatiably curious young teen desperate to break free of the tedious field work and explore what else the world had to offer him, a trait that had only been solidified by his transformation.

Currently he found himself fascinated by the readings surrounding physical Geography, the formation of the world brought to the forefront of his mind after passing through a village that had suffered an Earthquake on a mission not a month earlier, and studying such things was how he spent the majority of his evenings now. Then in the Cullen boy came, bedraggled and smelling like three week old garbage he was pleading for the end of an existence far greater than his human one could have ever been, and Alec’s mind was set whirring into motion once more.

He couldn’t begin to fathom the mind-readers motives for wanting to end his immortal life, not when it had offered Alec so much. Over the course of centuries, he had accrued wealth and knowledge, prestige, and authority that the boys in his village could only ever dream of given the circumstances they were born into. Immortality offered an eternity to pursue what interested you without the disruption of sickness, or fear of being left out of doing what you love due to injury; Alec never have to worry about being unable to train because he’d sprained his ankle after all.

No, no it was simply incomprehensible as to why the Cullen boy would throw away his immortal existence so readily, and when the reason why was finally revealed to them it only left Alec all the more baffled. A human? He wished to end his life because a human had done the same? Humans died everyday in droves, most of them tripping over their own feet and into their graves. They were weak, fragile, dim-witted enough that most actually deserved the cattle-like status his predatory nature accredited them. For Edward to willingly choose one as his mate had been foolish from the start and Alec had to wonder if this wasn’t some sort of cosmic ‘I told you so’. Surely a human couldn’t be the true mate of a vampire? Alec had never pondered over the mating bond before but as Demetri and Felix silently followed after the boy to see to it he did nothing foolish, he began to wonder about the nature of such bonds.

Aro and Caius had both turned their mates, as had Chelsea. They had all felt some form of affection for their mates as humans but had the bond solidified before or after their transformation? Were the red strings of fate he’d read about in varying fantasy novels real to some extent? Venom hardening them to form the strong bonds that allowed vampires to mate for life? He couldn’t imagine ever loving anyone to the point that Marcus had, where they became the only thing his world revolved around and left it collapsing once they were gone. Humans surely weren’t capable of loving anyone with that kind of depth, were they? Not with their flawed design.

“Dear Jane, please go and see what’s taking them so long?” Aro requested. Jane gave him a sugar sweet smile in response, kissed Alec’s cheek and floated gracefully down the steps and towards the door. Alec watched her go before returning to his thoughts, the conundrum still fresh in his mind, but Aro did not let him remain there, a drawn out sigh escaping him as he steepled his fingers to rest his chin on his hands.

“Something bothers you, Master?” he asked, tilting his head. Maybe he was having similar thoughts and they could brainstorm together. Aro stared at the doors ahead of them, his expression completely impassive. Alec was treated with the deference his gift and status demanded but out of them two of them, he knew Jane would always be the favourite, and he was okay with that. He would serve loyally as long as he lived, grateful for all the Masters’ had given him, but he did not need to be valued in the way Jane did.

“I hope Edward does nothing foolish. He would be a great asset to our little household.” Aro responded. Alec kept his face impassive, mind immediately turning now to the tactical advantage telepathy could offer. Edward’s gift was indeed powerful in its own way, to hear over great distances would compliment Demetri’s tracking ability well and override Felix’s tendency to impulsively use his brute strength without identifying priority targets first…

“Undoubtedly.” Alec agreed. Aro chuckled slightly.

“Your mind is preoccupied Alec, perhaps you ought focus it?” he suggested lightly. Alec forced back an eye roll, inclining his head to indicate he had heard him before stepping down from his place beside his throne. He retraced his sister’s footsteps, following the main hall along until he reached the secretary’s desk. Gianna glanced up, standing to greet him with the professionally polite smile she was obliged to give him, even though her heart was thundering in her chest.

“Have the others returned yet?” he questioned. Gianna shook her head.

“No Alec, they have yet to come back this way.” She answered. Alec hummed thoughtfully, engaging his senses and straining his ears to listen to the stumbling footsteps approaching. There were the usual graceful taps of his sister’s dainty steps, the tell-tale smoothness of vampires moving along stone, but the clumsy thudding that followed was definitely human in origin. What cause did they have to bring humans back into their home? That was Heidi’s job after all, and she would be returning home soon enough to slake their thirst.

“But Bella I don’t-“

“Just…not now.”

Bella? Isabella? The human mate? Now that perked his interest. Alec watched with keen eyes as the doors slid open to reveal his siter first, and a brigade of people behind her. Felix and Demetri brought up the rear as Gianna greeted Jane with the same professional courtesy she had him, the golden-eyed Cullen’s following along behind her. The two humans they had brought with them were corralled between them. One clung to Edward like a barnacle to the underside of a ship, spindly arms thrown around him despite her chattering teeth and goosebump riddled flesh. She was quite ordinary in appearance, plain even, yet the way Edward stood made it abundantly clear that this human was something extraordinary to him, something he would protect. The other was...oh how to describe her?

She captivated him almost immediately, Alec unable to take his eyes off of her approach. Was she always that pale or had the situation leeched the colour from her face? Was she always so wide-eyed or was it fear that had blown those (Y/E/C) irises wide open? She was smaller in stature than the other, yet similar enough looks wise it was clear they were siblings, one older one younger. She was perhaps his physical age with all the wide-eyed innocence that entailed, gangly limbs she hadn’t really grown into yet carrying her along with a bit of encouragement from Felix’s proximity, and the Cullen woman’s guiding hand.

“Sister, they send you out for one and you bring back three, such a clever girl.” He teased, Jane’s scent invading his nose and helping refocus his mind. Her eyes rolled, but she still embraced him as she always did with a trill of laughter to boot.

“They made it all to easy.” She responded. Alec could see the malice in his sister’s eyes and guessed that she was not appreciative of having to wait for the humans. It irked him more than it should, that the young girl had potentially unintentionally incurred his sister’s wrath, the mere notion that perhaps Jane’s thoughts of her were less than savoury something that made every protective instinct he had ever had for his sister flare and extend to this stranger.

“Edward, you seem in a markedly better mood.” He said, hoping to distract himself from the sudden, unnerving discovery.

“Marginally.” the mind-reader agreed, though his voice was blunt and cutting. Clearly Edward was not in the mood to talk.

“But Alice I still don’t know-“

“Shhh Y/N, not now.” Alice Cullen, the seer that Aro had raved about from the moment he had learned of her existence. Alec should have been interested in her, should have been evaluating her as a threat and a potential ally, but his mind had been thoroughly distracted by the small human once more. Y/N…it was a good name, a name that felt pleasant in his ears and rolled easily off of the tongue.

“But Alice-“ the urgency in her voice tore at his heart and Alec had the strange urge to comfort her. Did she truly know nothing? If she knew nothing of their kind she had broken no law and there was no reason to put her through any of this, it was unnecessary suffering.

“Is this the cause of all the trouble?” he asked, unable to keep the scepticism from his voice as he took in her unremarkable sibling. Isabella seemed to shiver under his stare (much to his amusement) though it was the younger girl whose reaction he was more interested in. Her head turned his way, (Y/C/H) hair swishing with the movement as wide (Y/C/E) eyes latched onto his own and refused to let go. The scent that was wafted up his nose was almost unbearably tantalising, the controlled burn in his throat flaring to a raging inferno that he almost choked on for a moment before he caught himself. Edward’s stare was penetrating, Alice Cullen tightening her grip on the young girl in her care in case he made a move. He swallowed back the fire but there was no hiding the way his eyes had melted to black, and the sweet tinge of fear in her already too appealing smell only made him want to give into his urges all the more.

He hadn’t realised he’d taken a step towards her until she flinched back from him, and for the first time in a long time Alec felt genuine pain. The fear on her face was obvious, the rampant thudding in her chest tangible proof that she was terrified, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it and he didn’t like that he didn’t like it because she was just human, flawed and breakable and pathetic so why oh why did it pain him so to see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes?

“Y-your eyes…they just – your eyes just…Bella what did you get me into?” her voice wavered and something inside him just snapped. For once, Alec didn’t feel the apathy that came with taking a life seen as less valuable than his own, he didn’t take any sort of joy in watching her be afraid of his advance. He couldn’t deny it, not when the feeling was so deeply rooted and burned so fiercely, like a flower that been laid dormant beneath the Earth suddenly bursting from the soil to bloom brightly. He was protective of this human he barely knew, and it was terrifying to feel so connected to someone he had never met before.

“I mean you no harm, I give you my word.” The promise had escaped him before he had really thought it through and he was well aware he could not keep such a promise, but she didn’t care to hear it anyway, cringing even more into Alice since Bella seemed to refuse her in that moment. It only made him angrier. He was angry with himself for suddenly losing the emotional control he had gained over a long millennium of living, angry that he was making promises he couldn’t keep, and he was angry at the stares he was receiving from those he would call friend. Jane looked the most outwardly shocked before she quickly covered, but the one person he would have hoped would react positively just didn’t. Y/N was too afraid to see sense, and he supposed given the pie-crust promise he’d just made that might be a good thing, even if it hurt. He was angry to that her sister ignored her obvious need for comfort.

He let his sister take the lead as they headed back to the throne room, trying to fight through the sudden swell of confusing emotion and sensory information. His nose seemed attuned to her scent, suspiciously close to his favourite smells of lemongrass and gooseberry, his eyes magnetised to her form to the point he turned his head to glance back at her so frequently that Demetri felt the need to motion for him to keep his head turned forward. Humans radiated heat anyway but she felt scorching, a mini-sun whose tendrils reached out and left warmth lashing down his spine. His ears were full of her heartbeat. She was so thoroughly distracting he could barely take his eyes off of her after he had taken his place by Caius, the blonde man staring with such distaste at the both of them that Alec felt a strong urge to step between them and absorb the glare himself.

He could only half pay attention as the conversation unfolded around him, because Y/N wouldn’t stop looking at him like he was the devil incarnate and it bothered him immensely. He had dealt with it his whole life, a social pariah for his links to witchcraft and someone whose gift left him with few friends since they feared the authority it gave him. He had handled it then, and he handled it now, he could deal with other people looking at him like that but not her, anyone but her.

“Alec!” Jane hissed his name and Alec snapped to attention, mist unfolding from his palms so he was ready to take down any threat that came at him. Demetri snickered loudly enough it reached his ears and Alec’s glare was so deadly it drew a soft whimper from her. He almost groaned. Could he do no right by her? Y/N had started trembling a while ago but now there were full body shakes wracking her from head to foot, her teeth grinding together so loudly he worried the teeth might snap under the strain she was putting on them. Aro’s laughter clattered through his head and he turned to face him, at a loss as to what to do for once. He didn’t honestly think that he could hurt the girl if asked.

“My dear boy it would seem you are quite distracted by young Miss Swan. Oh to be young and in love once more!” he tittered. Alec froze, every muscle locking in place as the distinct feeling of distress rose through the confusion and anger and pain he’d been desperately trying to wade through. Love? He definitely did not love the girl, it was mere curiosity and nothing else, the same curiosity he applied to his studies.

“Love?” Jane’s voice was equally as harsh and Aro seemed surprised by her reaction. Alec was not. For centuries they had had only each other, the centre of a small world where they seldomly let others join them. The very notion another might be welcomed into his heart would be not just repulsive, but very troubling for her.

“Why, don’t tell me you cannot see it? Already the bond between them has set, the thread connecting them tied at both ends. Are you not happy for your twin to have found such a rare and beautiful thing?” Aro wondered. As if Aro had perhaps waved a magic wand his mind settled. His brain had tried to fight what his body already knew, his subconcious screaming the word while his rational mind raced a million miles ahead to try and outrun the answer until it could run no more, and the two collided. The aftermath of the explosion was calm, almost wonderous, for he would finally get the chance to study something he had never studied before.

“You’re my mate.” He breathed. Even he could hear the awe in his voice, though nobody but him seemed to find it wonderful. Jane hissed, both Cullen’s tensing up while Bella recoiled from her sister like she was diseased, and Y/N…Y/N just cried. Alec’s world ground to a halt, the pain his mate spilling out and into him. He descended the stairs with every intention of stopping her tears, hoping to calm her perhaps and explain exactly what it meant to be mates, but Y/N didn’t let Bella refuse her this time and sought refuge in her sister, sobbing all the while.

“Wh-what did you do! Why d-did you bring me h-here? I d-don’t want to st-stay with him!”

The words were a hard blow, they struck him in the gut and it was the closest he’d felt to nauseous in centuries.

“I have no desire to keep you here, but if you would please-“

“Leave me alone! I w-want to go home!” she cried, not so much as turning to look at him. If he hadn’t been a vampire he would probably have missed all of the muffled words she heaved into her sisters shoulder.

“You can still go home yet-“ he had paid enough attention to know Bella was not being executed at least and as his mate Y/N was exempt of that fate to, “-all I would like is a chance to talk.” Alec’s plea fell on deaf ears, his hand shrugged off of her shoulder.

“No!”

Alec straightened, wiping his face of any and all expression, he didn’t so much as give any of them a farewell before he left the room. The sudden rejection stung worse than the fire that had once burned his flesh from his bones, and the hollow that opened in his gut grew wider and wider with every moment that passed since the second he’d left her. He put down his books, spending his nights envisioning her tear-stained face and wondering what would have made her smile instead. He craved to know every like and dislike, to hear her voice when she wasn’t consumed with horror and fear, to learn more about her life and contrast it with his own. They had all tried to talk him round in the intervening months, but Alec couldn’t find the strength to drag himself out of the numbness that had enveloped him. Not until Marcus came by to see him anyway.

“What do you require of me, Master?” he asked, staring aimlessly out of the window at the Garden’s below. Marcus seated himself at the desk across the room, the one littered with books Alec hadn’t had the heart to open since the fateful day his mate had left him.

“Didyme was not immediately drawn to me either.” He rasped. Alec’s head whipped around at that, the shock on his face obvious. Marcus had been nothing but a shell in all the time he had known him, grieving a lost love so profound Alec was sure that their story must have been the greatest romance ever known. To hear Didyme had not readily accepted him was both astounding and…it gave him hope.

“She didn’t?” he hedged. Marcus glanced to him, a wisp of smile floating from his lips before his expression fell flat again.

“She was a headstrong woman, and for a while she resented Aro for what he did to her, to me. She could not revel in her new state as we did, this world was so different from the one she had known…it took time for her to adjust before she truly opened her heart to me.” His words were like a soothing balm on the raw wound her rejection had left behind.

“I might find it more encouraging if I was sure I might yet see her again.” Alec frowned slightly as Marcus pushed to his feet.

“There will be opportunity enough to visit her yet, you might yet be surprised.” He answered, floating from the room like dust on the wind. Alec stared at the door, his mind mulling over the cryptic message before the briefest hint of a smile twitched his lips upward. Hope was a beautiful thing, and it only grew in his chest as Aro deployed them to Seattle not a day later to deal with a mess created by a gaggle of newborns. When stressed, vampires did not fidget but rather became motionless and immobile, but while he sat rigid as stone in his seat for the flight over his mind became restless. Where would he find her in this city? If Marcus’s cryptic message had been for him then surely he knew he would find Y/N here? Demetri’s hand on his arm made him pause before he stepped off of the jet.

“She’s in the city Alec, if you need a guide.” His voice was low enough nobody but him would hear him. Alec fully planned to take him up on the offer once their work for the night was done, it wasn’t often the tracker was rendered unnecessary, but Alec didn’t need Demetri’s gift to know when he had found her.

Her sobbing was ingrained in his memory after all.

The rage that built in him was blinding, his body unable to move fast enough to put himself between Y/N and the newborns dragging her mangled body from the wreckage of a car they had flipped. All around him was the screaming and snarling of newborns, the metallic screech of hardened skin coming apart as they put an end to the atrocity. His mist had exploded outward, rippling in every direction and he had only just enough sense of mind to ensure it didn’t harm his coven mates as he tore apart the newborns who had dared lay a hand on his mate. Chest heaving and throat blazing, Alec felt the blood on the ground soak his trousers as he collapsed beside her. She was screaming, body contorting in awful ways as her face turned red, veins popping in her neck as it strained. Alec placed a cool hand shakily on her forehead, beyond furious with the grotesque bitemark marring her shoulder.

“What were you thinking brother! Now that we have destroyed this group we – we…oh…oh Alec…” the rage that simmered in Jane’s voice very quickly dissipated when she saw the state he was in. His head was swimming, the appealing scent of blood hanging heavy in the air while his gut twisted and fury and terror raged war in his heart. She was turning, there was no doubt about it, the venom was leaking out of the wound with her blood. She was turning and it wasn’t his venom.

“I – I can take away the pain.” He stammered. He had wanted someone to do that for him when he burned. It was the greatest act of mercy he could think of, perhaps the greatest way for him to show his love for a girl he barely knew but wanted to oh so badly.

“You will starve yourself before she completes the transformation. There is hardly enough venom in that bite Alec.” Felix pointed out. Y/N let out another tortured shriek, body twisting. He heard the broken bones in her legs crunching at the movement and said a silent prayer to thank whatever deity was watching over her that the venom was excruciating enough she wouldn’t have to feel broken bones on top of it.

“So what do I do? Leave her like this? She’s in agony!” he snapped, “She’s in agony and I can end it!”

“It is a natural thing brother.” Jane said quietly.

“But it does not have to be endured forever.” Demetri weighed in finally, “Give her some more Alec, shorten the process and if you find yourself unable to stop…well, we will stop you.” Alec could only give her an anguished stare, loathe to cause her anymore pain but knowing Demetri was right. The longer the change dragged on for the less likely it was she would survive, but if he bit her again, gave her more of his venom to override what little was already diffusing through her blood, it would shorten the process considerably. He could already feel the acidic liquid pooling in his mouth and he hoped she could see just how apologetic he was, though he didn’t think it likely given how her eyes had rolled back into her head as she convulsed with a shout.

“Stop me Jane, forget our oath this one time and do whatever it takes to stop me.” He demanded. Jane looked horrified by the very thought but Alec didn’t wait for her to consent to his plea, cradling Y/N close and closing his eyes as he bared his teeth, ready to bite into the buttersoft sinews of her throat…

“What are you thinking about so hard?” her voice was melodic in his ears, a symphony he never grew tired of. Startled from his reverie, Alec had to pause a moment to gather his thoughts and remind himself where he was. Volterra was bathed in sunshine once more and his skin refracted it beautifully against the walls of the garden, the book in his lap long since discarded as his mind began to wonder. It had been a while, since he’d recalled that fateful night.

“You’re back,” he noted with a small smile, “I was thinking about you of course, as I always do when you’re not around.” Her smile could have lit up New York city, and Alec adored it. Y/N hadn’t been happy upon waking up in Volterra, Alec by her side as he quietly explained she had been made immortal in desperate circumstances. It had taken her many months to get over the traumatic incident but since she had started to bounce back to her old self, Alec had discovered a rather beautiful, happy person he really rather liked. Since she had been forced to spend so much time with him, letting him coach her in the new way of life she had to adopt, she had taken quite a liking to him to it seemed.

“You should be proud of me, I got to the nomad before Demetri so we all got to come home sooner. You should have seen his face!” She giggled. Alec couldn’t help but smirk, smug and proud as he pulled her down to rest between his legs, back pressed flush to his chest. Her scent dragged him under, a tranquil wave settling those restless parts of him that recognised how incomplete he felt without her around. He buried his nose in her hair to take a deep lungful of the addictive smell.

“I’m always proud of you.” He promised softly.

“Have you just been reading all the time we’ve been gone?” she wondered. Alec hummed, picking up the book he had discarded and reopening to the page he was on.

“It was the one you recommended to me. I’ve just gotten to the chapter where Sephy realises Callum is one of her kidnappers.” He revealed, and without hesitation he dropped his cheek atop her hair and began to read aloud. She melted into him, her hands mindlessly reaching for the ground every now and then while Alec focused his energy on his book, the peaceful atmosphere remaining unbroken for a chapter more before she shifted. He relinquished her immediately, knowing his mate was never one to stay still for too long, only to be surprised when she turned on her knees with a ring of daisies in her hand. Alec raised an eyebrow and she grinned.

“I hereby declare you King Alec of Castle Volterra!” she announced. The daisy crown was placed daintly atop his head, only to fall and get stuck on the bridge of his nose. Too big to be a crown but too small to be a necklace. Her face fell into a pout as Alec began to laugh, very gently rearranging the daisies so they rested at an angle and were slightly weighted down by some of his brunette hair.

“I, King Alec, declare I cannot rule without you, Queen Y/N,” he proclaimed, offering her his hand. She giggled as he pushed to his feet, pulling her with him. She was forever going to be shorter than him, just a little, and he loved that. “Now, as our first royal duty, that dye you ordered came. I decree it’s time to give our guard matching uniforms!” He was bolstered by her obvious enthusiasm, crimson eyes sparkling.

“It came? The neon green one?” she asked eagerly. Alec nodded, unable to keep his laughter at bay as she bounced up and kissed him so quickly she almost broke his teeth with the speed she moved at. He didn’t get to voice his protest because she was already dragging him by the hand back towards the castle. Before he had met her, schemes like this would have made his nose turn up in distaste. How childish these endeavours were, how wasteful of their time. Y/N had changed his perspective on a great many things, and it was rather nice now and then to give into the childish ways his physical age demanded he give in to every now and then, he had gotten so good at repressing those throughout the centuries but she seemed to bring out the playful side of him. If anything had managed to convince Jane she was a good addition to their family, it was tallying how much more Alec had smiled since she came into his life to stay.

“I can pilfer the shirts, they’re far less likely to suspect I am up to any wrong doing than if they smell you in their rooms.” Alec pointed out in hushed tones. She nodded, her head tilted up as they walked close together, co-conspirators to anyone looking in.

“Okay, you steal the shirts while I mix the-“

“Mix the what, exactly?” Demetri’s voice came from behind them and with wide eyes Y/N yelled ‘Scatter!’ before the tracker had the chance to grab either of them by the collar. Alec bolted after her down the corridor, just ever so slightly lagging behind her since she still had her newborn strength and speed. She grabbed his wrist without warning and Alec felt Demetri’s hand swipe right through his head before she tugged him straight through a wall and they began to freefall into the courtyard below. Demetri was cursing up a storm inside, her gift having turned them both immaterial long enough to allow them to pass through the walls in a way he couldn’t. Collapsing in a fit of boisterous laughter the pair lingered in the sunlight, eyes bright and smiles wide. For a moment, anyone passing them by might have forgotten their glittering skin and vibrant red eyes, mistaking them for two normal teens experiencing the euphoria of puppy love.

“Did you see his face!” she gasped. Alec could only smile at her, hand reaching to tuck a lock of stray hair behind her ear so he could have an unobstructed view of her face. Her smile faded slightly, expression growing more sheepish instead.

“I was too busy looking at yours. I think I would like to spend every day I have looking at your face over his. I love you Y/N, at least, I think this is what love feels like.” His brows furrowed, the confession falling from his tongue without his permission. He wondered if perhaps it was too soon, too big a word to label the affection they held for one another, but seeing the way her face lit up told him otherwise.

“Pinky swear it, Alec. If you don’t pinky swear it’s not real.” She said, holding out her hand. Alec rolled his eyes but looped his pinky through hers, cementing his promise with all the binding legality the pinky swear had to offer.

“I swear it Y/N. I’m forever yours.”  

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #alec volturi fanfiction #volturi fanfiction #alec volturi #jane volturi #felix volturi #demetri volturi x reader #alec volturi x reader #we all know he's a soft boi #deep deep down #and a bookworm

[lettrespromises]

╰┄───➤   LettresPromises informs you : you have one notification. ❜ Letter object : ‘Screaming into the abyss’ - Katsuki Bakugou.

╰──➤ Katsuki Bakugou sent you a letter, would you like to read it? ❜

Letter object : Injured, Bakugou is forced to stay at home under the orders of the medical unit where he will begin being tormented by his own emotions and the guilt of not being able to help you. As the emotions build up within him, he finally explodes, and you’re here to pick up all the shattered pieces and glue them back together. 

Author’s letter : ❝dear reader, I had to, I’m so sorry but I had to write something about this following the catastrophe of chapter 285. I do hope, however, that you will like this (and I might have gotten lost in descriptions once again so I apologize in advance.) also, bonus point if you’ve read nietzsche or heard about his theory on the abyss (wink, wonk @ the last line of the letter.) sending lots of love your way! sealed with a kiss,  nikki.❞ Genre : Angst, fluff, comfort. Warnings : Cursing. Word count : 2.6K.

Maybe, the mask deserved to fall. Maybe, the mask was meant to be shattered. Maybe, the mask belonged amongst the ashes. The crimson mask which, to the common eye, echoed to the imagery of a surge of flames which were fueled by passion and perfectionism. These flames were scary, almost untamable in a way, but they were beautiful, tempting— and here laid mankind’s first paradox : feeling the urge to approach and tame a wild entity. But today, the shine reflecting in this suffering inferno has changed. It’s not longer crimson, it barely holds any shade of red. This fire used to burn to intimidate others, now, it burns just enough to survive. It has changed.

And that’s how everything became blurry— the crimson orbs found themselves to be the martyrs of the emotions draining them. Pearls of salt gathered at the corner of his eyes and fell while following the path created by the dry tears which had previously rolled down the flesh of his cheeks. It was like a cascade, and the rhythm of the tears almost seemed mechanic— as soon as a tear hung from his chin, another one started taking form to replace it right away.

Knowing that he couldn’t control his own emotions drove him insane, but he fell in the trap set by his subconscious— the more he was thinking about how to gain the upper hand over his emotions, the more he felt constricted by the invisible knots forming in his throat. Perhaps knowing that there was no other solution left was yet another motive to cry about.

Bakugou’s head hung low, his crimson orbs never leaving the floor as he was doomed to observe his own downfall through the repetitive drops of his tears. He didn’t dare to blink either, judging that it would only make the tears grow bigger until he would not be able to perceive something clearly anymore. His nails were dug into the skin of his palms, imprints of crescents trailed behind as a testimony of his frustration. His mouth was wide open, too, Bakugou was inviting his body to scream its pain, force the illness out of his body, and although he forced himself to voice vividly his agony, no sound came out of his mouth— he was screaming into the abyss.

« God-fucking-damnit, why is it so fucking hard, hah? W-Why can’t I fucking get this out?! » A crescendo shadowed his intonation, but failed to cover the betraying breaks accompanying his voice. The surprising cracks in his voice made him shut silent, and for a second, he wished no sound could leave his parted lips if it meant he was going to show even more vulnerability. But most of all, he wished that you would not come home earlier and perhaps in the nick of time, he would have re-gained the possession of his own emotions. He couldn’t find himself to imagine a scenario where you would burst out of the door and see him naked, in a way— what were you going to say to him? Were you going to call him ‘weak’? Were you going to break up with him? Were you going to be disgusted? If it meant losing you, then Bakugou was willing to be a silent martyr.

He was way past trying to find an answer to the enigma and thus find why his emotions were filling his senses, he knew that said answer was not going to fall straight from above, perhaps there was no answer. But he couldn’t help and reminisce the events which took place a few weeks prior to that— he failed to arrest a villain and, whilst battling them, got severely injured and was forced to stay off of hero duty for a few weeks. Bakugou felt useless, and guilt for not being able to save citizens was exuding from his every pore, sometimes, he wondered if he really deserved the status of hero in these conditions. The sole heroic acts he was allowed to do was send a text to ‘Shitty Hair’ and congratulate him on his work, not that he would ever openly admit that he was willing to do anything and everything to take his spot.

His work was dangerous, he would wake up every morning wondering if today was the last time he was going to kiss you goodbye, and perhaps he started pouring more bits of genuine adoration in his morning pecks since this epiphany struck him. But his work was also addictive, the sensation of feeling adrenaline course through his veins until hitting his brain was a marvel and he just wanted to know what it felt like to save civilians, prevent crimes from happening— he wanted to witness this all over again, as if he had been overwhelmed by a sudden wave of amnesia.

The sound of keys rattling in the lock didn’t even startle him, he stopped crying, and that was enough of a victory to him already. But as soon as you stepped foot in your shared apartment and were welcomed with silence, your guts were quick to tell you that something was off. You ventured in the vicinity with cautious steps, as if you were discovering your apartment all over again under the heavy influence of silence, but you couldn’t see Bakugou anywhere.

« Katsuki? Are you here? » You called, not sincerely expecting an answer. « Oh, fuck off already. » He responded silently, sincerity abandoning his words.

You had tried to look for him in every room, but failed to find him. Sure, there was one last option and the most intimate one, but knowing that Bakugou could possibly be stuck in your bedroom felt like breaking his own intimacy. You had tried to be by his side as much as you could during his time at home, but you were a hero yourself, and perhaps you felt like staying away from him for a bit would diminish the burning sensations of his pain.

You found yourself knocking against the door and immediately forgetting about your own advice on how to give him intimacy, « Katsuki, I know you’re in there. » but you met silence as a response. Pursuing your intentions, you tried opening the door but you realized soon after that it was locked, your brows were furrowed in incomprehension. You allowed yourself to release a breath you ignored you were holding until feeling the invading sensation of several knots forming in your stomach under the feeling of guilt, and thus, you fell on your knees near the door, weakened.

« Katsuki, love, do you want to talk about it? » You inquired, the sound of your voice coming out as a hushed confession.

« Talk about what? » He barked but it was innocent.

« Don’t tell me you locked yourself in our bedroom because you actually like it. »

« I do whatever I fucking want, that’s none of your goddamn business. » This is why he should have stayed silent, to avoid the crack to distort his voice.

« Katsuki, open the door before I destroy it with my bare hands. »

You were met once more with silence, but this time it hurt more, probably because Bakugou chose not to respond deliberately. Still, you waited for a few seconds, never leaving your position nor moving by an inch— after all, you still had the hope that he silent because he was on his way to come open the door. But, oh well, what a disillusion!

« Come out of the bedroom whenever you want, I’m out. » your actions accompanied your words and you got up, dusting yourself off in the process.

And while your hands swatted away the bits of dust clinging onto the fabric of your pants, the deafening sound of your bedroom door swinging wide open caught you off by surprise. You were met with the dim fire dancing in his crimson orbs before acknowledging the invading sensation of his limbs encompassing your waist in a (literally) breathtaking hold. You were rendered stiff, not only because of the rapidity of this action, but also because this was not a characteristic of Bakugou. His head was nestled in the crook of your neck, not that he had the courage to willingly show his face marked by the torment of his emotions anyway, and his fingertips almost turnt white under the pressure applied on your lower back.  

« Don’t go anywhere, stay here. » hot breaths crashed against your skin. « I’m not going anywhere, I’m here, I won’t go away. » you responded equally as intimate, your fingertips brushed the roots of his hair in circular motions. « Now, » you let your hands travel down his face until cupping his cheeks and making him bore his eyes into yours, « do you still refuse to talk to me? »

He blinked once, to make sure he had heard correctly, and then a second time, to prevent the tears from finding the familiar path drawn on his cheeks. He couldn’t stand looking at you, or rather, he couldn’t stand the fact you were looking at him in all his shameful glory, bare with all his emotions written all over his face. But from your perspective, never once did he look as beautiful as now— the reddish tone of his eyes married the scarlet color of his iris, the color of his cheeks matched the color of his eyes, too. But most of all, he was beautiful because he let his emotions speak for him.

He was hesitant, unsure of how his body was bound to react, unsure of how you were going to react as the haunting thoughts of you finding him weak were still clouding his mind. And yet, he couldn’t gather enough strength to look elsewhere but in your eyes, as if a calming bliss were attracting his orbs like magnets would do. He took one breath, it was solemn, but necessary for both the sake of his tirade but also for the sake of unifying his thoughts upon exposing them to daylight.

« I fucking feel like shit ‘cause I haven’t done anything since I’m injured. You, Shitty Hair, Dunce Face, everyone is busting their ass off to fight shitty villains left and right and I gotta’ stay at home doing nothing. I can’t do shit to help you. For fuck’s sake, I can’t even cook to help you out after your day on patrol— I’m fucking useless, you hear me? I’m fucking useless while you’re risking your life out there every day. What the fuck am I supposed to do? Sit here and not do shit? Sit here until I have a fucking confirmation that you’re safe and sound? I fucking hate this, I fucking hate feeling like a burden to you, I fucking hate feeling useless! » The more he talked, the more venom he spat, the more his voice was breaking under the tight grip of his emotions.

It was your turn to reply, but your brain couldn’t seem to form a comprehensive sentence. Sure, there were words and whatnot, but none clicked to create a real sentence. Your mouth was set agape in anticipation, and you laid your gaze upon him and his features— how he dug his pearly whites into his lower lip to refrain himself to give in to the temptations of his emotions and cry, how his eyes screamed for an answer on your end because he couldn’t stand silence as an answer, how he tried to catch his breath and ease his heart.

Your palms were still covering his cheeks. But if this action came from a place of willing to get his attention, now you just felt as if you were cradling the finest piece of china which threatened to shatter at any given moment. You knew how horrible of a situation this must have been for him, so you allowed to grant him his deserved intimacy, your palms orientated his cranium in the crook of your neck, just enough to give him sentimental privacy. And although you claimed that you were doing this for him, you were also doing this to prevent yourself from breaking into tears. Your hearts beat in unison, so did your emotions.

« I don’t even know where to begin », you begin as your digits ran through his hair to soothe him, « I feel so guilty for not doing something about this before », upon saying this, Bakugou pinched your hip in disagreement to which you let out a hushed yelp in response, « Bakugou Katsuki, I know your pride will tell you not to believe me but listen to me for one second, will you? It’s plain and simple, you’ve always been the person I look up to the most. When we were at U.A, I wanted to be like you and every time I was asked who was my inspiration, I would always say that it was Mount Lady or All Might but the only person I could think about was you. You did injure yourself, it sucks but you did it while fighting off a villain and you allowed a family to escape the zone safe and sound. You’re injured because you saved people, not because you tripped down the stairs. » You finished, allowing your lungs to absorb some much needed oxygen while Bakugou slightly tightened his hold as he already missed your voice.

« If you’re not proud of yourself, you know I’ll always be. And, please, you’re not a burden— if anything, I’m glad to know you’re safe here but I also know that soon enough you’ll be able to cook me something because you hate it when I cook for you. », you continued and obligated him to face you one last time, « whenever you’re in doubt, think of how much I love you, and how great of a hero you are. » you concluded your sentence by reducing the space between your lips and crashing yours against his in a unison of sentiments.

Both protagonist shut their lids close to allow the sensations granted by the kiss to roam their body and mind while they were both persuaded of seeing stars. Sure, you had kissed Bakugou more times than you could remember in the past, but here, you could easily discern the tones of care, gratitude and genuine adoration gracing your lips. And once oxygen failed your lungs and had to break the kiss against your will, you noticed that the crimson inferno was more vivid than earlier— Bakugou thanked your passion for fueling his fire and bringing it back from its ashes, like the fire of a Phoenix.

« ‘Love you, too. » Bakugou whispered against your lips.

« I’m sorry, care to say it again? » you responded, a playful smirked plastered on your facial features.

« Hah? Didn’t you fucking hear what I said? » He stared at you in disbelief, already second-guessing his choices in declarations, « I’ll say this once, so listen well, dumbass : I love you. Got that, now? ‘Cause I’m not saying it again. »

But you heard everything, of course you did, you always do. You hear his odd nicknames, you hear his cursing, you hear his screams, you hear his secret declarations of love and you hear him when he’s screaming into the abyss.

« I love you too, Katsuki, so much. » The abyss stared back at him, and offered him a smile.

#bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x reader #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #bakugou fluff #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #bakugou oneshot #bakugou hcs #bakugou smut #bakugou imagines

[chilling-seavey]

OH MY GOSH OKAY SINCE WE'RE DOING THE CHRISTMAS WRITING PARTY CAN U WRITE ONE FOR PASSCHENDAELE WHERE IT'S THE FIRST CHRISTMAS AFTER THE WAR OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT? OR OR OR THE CHRISTMAS TRUCE

Love the idea of the Christmas Truce and I forgot I actually had this one planned since the beginning! For those of you who don’t know, The Christmas Truce of 1914 was a true event that happened, where British and German soldiers left their trenches on Christmas Day and celebrated together in peace. 

Get your tissues ready.

Also thank you to @janav21 for helping me with some German translations xx

T/W Mentions of war violence, death, the honest truth the deep down all humans are good, and the first seeds of what would later stem into PTSD

December 24, 1914

“Post for you, Lance Corporal Seavey.”

Through the darkness of the night, Christian raised his head from the side of the trench to look up at the man standing in front of him and holding out a brown paper wrapped package. With shivering hands in gloves that didn’t do much to keep in the heat, Christian reached up to take it from him, the men sharing stiff nods as thanks and acknowledgment before the man continued down the lines.

It was a particularly cold night and the ground was frozen with fresh fallen snow, stained red in places from battles and brown in places from upturned soil made from shells but the light flurries that fell through the silent night made it feel somewhat peaceful. Christian pulled at the string and opened his package, the first thing on the top being an old family photograph of his parents and his younger brother and younger sister and him from years earlier when they were small. He smiled warmly at the memory, missing them more than ever on Christmas Eve. Normally they would be sitting by their Christmas tree and singing carols and drinking warm mugs of tea around the fire but instead, he was sat all alone in frozen stiff soil trenches in the middle of Belgium. The next item was a letter tucked on top of a small bar of chocolate. Christian smiled at the gift and unwrapped the corner of it to take a bite.

The crack of the cold coca from his teeth seemed to nearly echo through the barren wasteland the British army found themselves in, but Christian smiled bashfully to himself as he let the sweet flavour melt in his mouth. As he ate his treat, he unfolded his letter from his mother to read her near weekly correspondence.

My Darling Christian,

Christmas is not the same without you. Anna and Daniel and I decorated the tree together last week and there was no one to put the star on top. Daniel took your job instead but he had to stand on a chair and nearly toppled right off! You would have had such a laugh with us. I couldn’t resist a year without at least giving you something small so I hope this chocolate bar suffices – we are not allowed to send anything larger. I hope next Christmas I will see you home again as I miss you terribly. The world over here seems so much darker without you around, my sunshine, but I am sure you are bringing your bright spirits wherever you go. Please write me and let me know how Christmas is celebrated in Belgium (although I know you are most likely already writing an essay for me!). Your weekly letters make me miss you more but they let me know that you are well and safe.

I love you, my sweet angel. Happy Christmas.

Mum xx

Christian sniffled and folded the letter to tuck it back into his inside breast pocket along with the photograph of his family. With one more bite of chocolate, he folded it back up and tucked it in his pack before letting his eyes close and his head rest back against the wall of the trench, light snowflakes falling against his face that took a while to melt with the chill that coated his pale skin. He would reply to his mother later as it was getting late, and the usual waiting game was sending Christian into a restful state.

It wasn’t long before a noise could be heard in the distance and a few of the British men quickly snapped to attention to see what was happening out in the darkness of No Mans Land. Christian sat up too, locking in on the soft tune that was drifting through the nighttime air. The words were incomprehensible but the tune was more than familiar.

“What the bloody hell is that?” one of the men whispered.

“It…It’s Silent Night, sir.” Christian answered quietly.

The higher ups turned to the Lance Corporal as if forgetting the young man could even speak. A small group had gathered in their section of the trenches, all the men bundled up in their jackets and gloves as they listened to the German soldiers singing Christmas carols from a few many yards away.

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht!

Alles schläft, einsam wacht

Nur das traute, hochheilige Paar.

Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh,

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh.

The British soldiers stood in silence as they listened, a few humming quietly to themselves as if afraid to make their presence aware to the enemy. Finally, one of the newer men sang first, his curly hair falling from under his cap and his glasses slightly fogged up from his warm breath through the cold night, joining right in along side the Germans,

Silent night, holy night!

Shepherds quake at the sight!

A few more men joined in, Christian included,

Glories stream from heaven afar;

Heavenly hosts sing Al-le-lu-ia!

And soon everyone was singing together in harmony,

Christ the Savior is born! / Christ, der Retter ist da!

Christ the Savior is born! / Christ, der Retter ist da!

By the final verse, both sides of the front lines were singing loudly together, their voices carrying across the vast expanse of fields and raising high into the night sky. Half in English and half in German, they sang in one choir,

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht! / Silent night, holy night

Gottes Sohn, o wie lacht / Son of God, oh, love's pure light

Lieb aus deinem göttlichen Mund, / Radiant beams from Thy holy face

Da uns schlägt die rettende Stund, / With the dawn of redeeming grace

Christ, in deiner Geburt, / Jesus, Lord at Thy birth

Christ, in deiner Geburt. / Jesus, Lord at Thy birth

When the song concluded, silence fell once again over the battlefields, the snow falling steadily around them. Christian smiled a little to himself at the momentary peace and tucked in for the night with his family photograph held right against his heart.

December 25, 1914

As the sun rose on Christmas morning, the British soldiers wished each other ‘Happy Christmas’ as they started their usual breakfasts or morning duties. It wasn’t long before one of the higher ups was ordering a rise to arms and Christian snatched up his rifle with the rest of the men to get into position.

“There’s a man over there.” the soldier said, peering through the viewfinder out across No Mans Land. “He’s holding his hands up in their trenches.”

The British cocked their rifles.

“Don’t fire!”

“He’s unarmed.”

Christian peeked up over the edge of the parapet and someone grabbed his shoulder to pull him back down to safety. He shrugged him off and leaned back up again, watching the German man walk shakily and slowly out of his trench and onto the fresh fallen snow of the battlefield, hands raised and any weaponry missing.

Christian was a man who had too much trust in people – at least up to the end of 1914 – and he didn’t think twice before dropping his rifle to the floor of the trench as well as his pack of grenades and bullets and stood up on the fire step with his own hands raised.

“Lace Corporal Seavey, what the hell are you doing?” his Lieutenant snapped.

“Must be a trap! You’re gonna get bloody well blown up!” another added from farther down.

But Christian climbed carefully out of the safety of the trench, his heart hammering in his chest as he touched the crisp white snow of the Belgian field and shakily got to his feet to face the enemy. A few more German men climbed out of their trenches followed by a few British and soon the two sides were meeting in the middle. It was silent except for the chilly winter wind that whistled across the land and the crunching of snow under military boots. Christian fell to a stop in front of the young man opposite him, the German’s face looking just as hesitant as Christian’s himself. He had the nicest grey eyes Christian had ever seen and he offered out his hand with a nervous smile tugging at his lips. Christian looked down at his outstretched hand before taking his handshake.

“My name is Christian.” he spoke slowly.

“My…name…is Heinrich.” the man replied.

“Pleased to meet you, Heinrich.” Christian said.

“Freut mich, dich kennenzulernen.”

The enemies seemed to group up and well wishes of Merry Christmas is English and German moulded as one and chatter rose across the Belgian fields. Handshakes were shared and photographs were taken and tensions felt like they had vanished. Christian pulled out his unfinished chocolate bar and offered a piece to his new friend.

Heinrich grinned and nodded, taking a small square with icy hands and a warm, “Danke.”

They ate together for a moment in calm silence, both a little shy but their bashful smiles were mirrored with near relief.

“Wie alt bist du??”

“Sorry?” Christian looked over at him.

“Uhm…” Heinrich thought for a moment before pointing to his watch and then gesturing up. “Years? You?”

“Oh. I am twenty-four.” Christian answered, showing the numbers with his fingers. “You?”

“Dreiundzwanzig.” Heinrich did the same, showing a two and then a three with his hand.

They shared smiles, cheeks a rosy red in the winter air and the tip of Christian’s nose was turning pink too. He offered Heinrich another piece of chocolate before taking out his photograph from his pocket and stepping closer to show him.

“This is my family.” Christian told him with pride and he pointed to each of his family members, “Father-”

“Vater.”

Christian glanced up at his new friend and nodded in agreement, “Yes. My Vater.” He continued on, “My Mother-”

“Mutter.”

“Sister and brother.”

“Schwester und bruder.”

“Yes. Anna and Daniel.”

“Anna?” Heinrich questioned, looking at Christian with wide shining eyes.

“Yes. My sister.”

Heinrich reached into his own jacket pocket and rummaged around a moment before pulling out his own photograph and held it out to show Christian, the blonde woman sitting graciously in the frame.

“Anneliese. Meine frau.”

“Frau? Wife.” Christian said. “Anna.”

“Yes, my…Anna.”

The young men shared excited grins and another piece of chocolate as a few men around them started singing more carols. Food rations were shared and a few drinks were poured and German and British men were arm in arm and singing loudly together. Heinrich and Christian stuck together, joining in for a few photographs taken by their officers and the group shared a good laugh when one of the German generals slipped on a path of ice and fell on his behind.

Soon, with the heat of the excitement and festivities, jackets were being tossed back into designated trenches and someone brought out a soccer ball, earning cheers from both sides. Small teams were divided up – British against Germans of course – and they played together most of the day, using jackets and canteens as makeshift goal posts as the watching soldiers stood in lines around their little made field. Christian pulled an impressive dive to catch the ball before he was scored on and loud excited cheers erupted from both sides at the move. Heinrich pulled him up from the snowy ground with an offered hand and Christian thanked him with a smile as he brushed himself off.

By the time the sun was starting to set, everyone was taken by surprise; the day had gone by so fast. Newly formed friendship groups said their goodbyes and Christian and Heinrich shared a friendly embrace as well.

“Happy Christmas.”

“Fröhe Weihnachten.” Heinrich held out a ration of cigarettes towards him with a friendly smile. “For…the schokolade.”

Christian didn’t smoke but the gesture was beautiful and he took the small pack within their final handshake, “Thank you.”

“Hope…you see…your Anna soon.” Heinrich spoke slowly through his broken English.

“You too.” Christian said as they dropped hands.

They shared one final nod, as if trying to piece together the incredible goings on of that day and the fact that they had just wholeheartedly trusted the enemy. Both sides were bordering on treason after spending such a day together but they returned to their trenches without another word or a single shot fired. Christian got himself settled with the sun setting and leaving the trenches in darkness, feeling more at peace than he had in a while. He was too tired to write to his mother that night, fading into a sleep stemmed from exhaustion from the day’s unique festivities. Even still, everyone was wondering what the next day would hold and if the truce was a turning point for the beginning of the end of the war.

With daybreak came another attempt of peace, and Christian found himself beaming with excitement as Heinrich and a few German men were making their way over the battlefield again after breakfast. Christian was stood beside the British Lieutenant-Colonel as they had their rifles at the ready out of habit but Christian didn’t even have his finger on the trigger.

One of the German officers who was walking over spoke first from the halfway mark between their front lines, “You still got the armistice?”

Christian started to stand up to join them but the ringing of a single shot rang through the barren fields before he could move. He watched as Heinrich fell backwards, shot right through the head until his blood was staining the fresh white snow and his grey eyes staring lifeless into the sky. The cold face of the British Lieutenant-Colonel was unphased as they were propelled into another battle by that single shot.

Another battle where they were forced to kill those they just celebrated with a mere day before, with whom each side shared stories and photographs and treats. Now, both sides were forced back into the usual way of the war under orders of their stern officers who claimed the only way to win was to gain their ground. Christian sat alone that night, a blank parchment on one knee, the pack of German cigarettes on his other, and the vision of Heinrich’s lifeless eyes in his mind. He sat there for nearly an hour trying to figure out what to say to his mother, only getting as far as her name scribbled shakily in the top left corner.

Christian didn’t smoke but that night he pulled one of the cigarettes from the German ration and borrowed a light from another soldier and he let himself sit against the side of the trench and mourn the loss of a friend. He felt guilty and shameful and disgusted with himself and with the war and with the concept of even being there at all, how each time he pulled the trigger he was killing one of his momentary friends. Good men who were friends and brothers and sons and husbands.

Christian couldn’t get himself to return a letter to his mother. He no longer felt like his mother’s angel that she called him so often. And he never would be again.

#✉ #daniel seavey #christian seavey #ww1 #christmas truce #why dont we #why dont we imagines #christmas writing party 2020

[aquaticibex]

-The Vow-

Alex, in all of his observational prowess, still somehow got separated from Valarian as they passed through the large cave system. His mother's lab was elusive, and she wanted it that way. He pressed on through the dark, and began to feel a peculiar odor infiltrate his senses. Everything grew fuzzy as he stumbled through the blackened corridors, moving forward on will and instinct alone. At last, he found that he had arrived in the familiar, empty tiled room.

The same room he had seen once a week since was a boy. It made him shiver to hear how silent it had become. In his memory, there were faint voices in the distance, guards at the dyoors, the brewing of concoctions and dull humming of devices, but now... now there was nothing. Dead. Still. Empty. Not even equipment remained in the room.

He couldn't wait for Valarian here, but after locking eyes with the cold golden orb that had appeared before him, he knew it wouldn't matter. “Mother...” he growled, “...what have you done?”

She shifted from the familiar throne-like chair that he was often chained to. The low scent of blood making him dizzy. He shouldn't be here like this, he knew this. Yet he couldn't move.

“My dearest son, I knew my husband was going to tell you, and yet you are too late,” she sneered. A sinking feeling rose in his gut as she stood over him. She held a chalice in one hand and a syringe in the other. “Your father had a good reign, but I fear its time for one of my own beautiful creations to take over, don't you agree!” Her voice was as chill as a desolate, frozen cavern; lifeless and hollow. “You two were always meant for this, destined for it. To fight to the death.” She ran her fingers along the rim of the chalice. “I raised you both so well, so methodically, so carefully, and this, my son, will be my greatest achievement.”

Suddenly, Cigfran swooped in, breaking her concentration, clawing and pecking before being struck away. She fell to the ground, breaking one of her delicate wings on impact. She slinked away in pain as Alex used this chance to free himself of her grip, readying his magic. His glare was met with a soured expression from his mother. “You are an insult to our family name and have betrayed all that our house stands for,” Alex cursed. “This marks the end of your wicked farce! Face me!”

With that they took into a clash of blades, ultimately ending in his sword driving deep into her side as her fist made sharp contact with his chest, knocking him back with surprising strength and precision. Everything ached, and she began to reach once again into the recesses of Alex’s mind.

“So you've bested me...” she huffed, blood dripping from her lips, “I’ll not die here. No. You will wait here and act to my will. You can hear me, you are bound as my fledgling, duty bound to my word and whim. I have won my child. Relax, embrace me, you can see me, I am family.”

Worn from the fight, Alex found it harder this time to resist her influence. He winced as he felt her voice creeping into his thoughts.

“I must say it took a lot of work to learn how to manipulate such an ancient bond... but I've finally done it. And it only took driving you deeper into your vampire nature.” She readied the syringe as Alex dropped helplessly to the ground. “A fair trade that I hold all the cards in.”

He couldn't think as a fire consumed his mind. Everything hurt, but he couldn't scream. He felt the needle pierce his skin, and the dreadful sensation of losing to the dreadfully familiar beast looming in his mind. The last remaining strings of rebellion cut, Alex dropped into unconsciousness while his body moved completely under her will. He stood, and sat in the throne to wait, much as a puppet on a string would, drinking from the cup in his hand. His mother slid away into the long dark caverns, leaving the room once again silent. Alex, or what was left of him, sat, silently waiting.

Beneath the foundations of the castle, Valarian waited patiently for Alexander’s return. He had told him that he would scout ahead, and would only be a moment, but that moment had come and gone five times over, and uneasiness was beginning to brew in Valarian’s heart.

His eyes, now gilded with dhampir sight, were not burdened by the darkness. He could make out every shape and shadow, and realistically knew he would detect anything that approached him, but just the knowledge that he was sitting in pitch darkness roused a kind of primal fear his humanity left in him.

“I should search for him...” he reasoned to himself. “If everything is truly alright, he’ll be able to find his way back to me.” Valarain ran his fingers tenderly over the ring that adorned his finger. “He always does.”

He stood up and began tailing Alex, following the twisting tunnels and caverns, searching for their conclusion, but it seemed the deeper he delved, the more they opened and sprawled.

He wandered awhile longer, beginning to worry they’d truly been separated when he felt a tingling sensation crawl through his senses, familiar and fond.

“Alex!” he whispered, detecting his scent.

Then it was like a trail had been laid for him, the scent in his mind manifesting into a whispy path that pointed directly through the caverns. He turned and followed, his pace quickening.

At long last the path led him to a narrow corridor, at the end of which stood an ancient iron door. Valarian braced himself against it and pushed it open, the harrowing creak echoing down the tunnel behind him.

He recognized what lay inside immediately. It had been rifled, the strange equipment had been all but stripped bare, but he knew it.

This was the queen’s laboratory, and in the grand seat opposite him, sat Alexander, appearing limp and unconscious.

“Alex..?” he whispered, approaching him cautiously. “Alex... can you hear me?”

Alex raised his head slowly at the sound. A voice. It grated on his senses and made him grit his teeth. He held his hand up to stop whoever had been approaching from coming closer. How long had he been there?

"Who are you?” Alex glowered, disdain crossed his features as he sat up. There was so much pain. Everything hurt, and did nothing for his mood. Something whispered to him that he hated this being before him.

Valarian halted in his tracks, perplexed at the question and visible hostility in Alexander’s stare.

“It’s me, Alex, it’s-“

He felt a chill through his body as his senses picked up another scent. A cold one, icy and forsaken. The scent of the queen. She was near... or rather, she had been until very recently. Valarian put together the pieces and looked into Alexander’s eyes, now burning with hatred.

“Alex... whatever she’s done to you...” he said, gentleness in all his tone, “...I know you’re still in there.”

This thing knew him, Alex thought. How? Had it always been this way? He wanted to stand, but when he tried, he stumbled down to his knees, pain ripping through him. His head was aching. He still couldn't push through this fog. Talking seemed to help. “Just tell me who you are!" He was frustrated. Don’t let him get close.

The sight of Alexander as he was now was ghastly. But the way he stumbled. The way he convulsed, the way he struggled to breathe and speak... this was a transformation. He’d felt that way before when Alex turned him all those years ago... but this was far more sinister. Alex had been there for him while he struggled to regain control. Valarian could barely remember the transformation itself, but he remembered Alex. He remembered his voice calling to him, telling him to hold on, to come back to him, and had it not been for that voice, he would have gotten lost in the void.

And as little experience as Valarian had with vampiric ailments and transformation, if he had to be that voice for Alexander, calling him back from the void, he would do it gladly. Without hesitation.

His resolve strengthened as he approached him.

“Come now. You know me, Alex,” he coaxed, laughing gently, “After all we’ve been through together, I don’t think you could forget me...” Slowly, he reached a hand out to him. “...and I certainly couldn’t forget you. Even after five years of trying, I couldn’t forget you.”

Alex charged forward, whipping his arm across Valarian’s body, digging his nails into his skin with a deadly grip. The force from his blow pushed Valarian backward, almost toppling him to the ground. He gasped in agony as the claws sank through his skin, but the pain only fueled his determination to burn brighter.

“Do you remember when we first met?” he asked, regaining his breath. “When we crafted that salve together, and I doubted the recipe, you told me to trust my heart.” His flesh quivered under the stabbing pain of Alexander’s grip. “You told me... to trust my heart then, and I’m trusting my heart now when it’s telling me that you aren’t a monster, Alex.”

He brought his hands to where Alex latched onto him, trying to ease his grip.

“Do you... do you remember when we went scavenging for pearl agates along the riverside?” Valarian winced, focusing completely on Alex, “It was in the heart of winter, and it was frigid. When I slipped on the rocks and fell into the water? And you-you dove in after me... and you brought me back... and that was the first time I felt your lips on mine, breathing life back into me, and I didn’t even notice how cold they were because I was nearly frozen myself... but you warmed me... you saved me Alex. You brought me back. And I think I fell for you that night, Alex. Beside that fire, warmth coming back to my bones... do you remember?”

Alex let go, his throat burning being so close, fangs aching as his....(his mind?) pushed him.

“Drain him. Let him lay.”

Releasing his claws, he laced a hand forcefully around Valarian’s neck, drawing his head back in one motion. His other hand wove into Valarian’s hand and held it tightly.

"Val....Please help me... I can’t get her out."

His words slurred, dizzy and desperate. His memories came and went as brief, incomprehensible flashes. This person was his friend? His name was Valarian. They've know each other a long time. He seemed to know him... to love him. And perhaps... he loved Valarian too?

She wanted him gone. His mother would get rid of him. His master. Her commanding voice flooded his thoughts once more:

“Do as I say. End it. Don’t push for him to kill you here and now. Do not give him that chance.”

His face drew closer, breath dancing over his long hair as deadly daggers threatened to rip every ounce of life from his prey. His scent was like home, each ragged breath pulling in the intoxicating smell. In the brief moment the voice in the back of his head was silent, Alex’s eyes caught sight of the face he had pulled back. Gold eyes met brown as they locked on to one another.

Valarian’s eyes widened with terror as Alexander grabbed his hair and pulled back his head, exposing his neck. One of his hands gripped predatorily in his hair, the other clinging desperately, pleadingly to his hand. He whimpered, gripping Alex’s hand back with all his strength, gathering all his courage to continue.

“S-see?” Valarian assured him between breaths, “you-you do remember me.... I knew you would,” he trembled, chuckling lightly. He continued:

“Alex, do you remember when-when you told me... you loved me?” Valarian could feel Alex’s fangs nearing his throat. “And you tried so hard to hide, but I knew what you were going to say before you said it... and I know... even though... even now, you’re hiding in there, I know you’re not-I know you’re not going to hurt me. I know...”

Valarain brought his other hand up and caressed Alex’s face.

“Alex...” he swallowed, “You always came back to me... even after I ran... like an idiot, I ran from you, and I hid for years and years and you still found me...” He sighed remorsefully. “Oh Alex... my Alex, such pain you must have been in, but you found me, Alex... you fought and fought and you found me... and you brought me back. You always brought me back. Just like you vowed you would.” Valarian stroked his face tenderly with the edge of his fingers, feeling the hunger and heat of the breath on his neck. “Our vows Alex? Do you remember? That day on the bridge... we took shelter from the rain, and you-you promised... I remember.” He traced Alex’s face with the back of his hand, running the solid texture of the ring across his skin. “I remember our vows, Alex.”

Alex grasped his hair threateningly tight. Valarian covered his hand with his own and squeezed it. He took a deep breath, grounding his voice, and ceasing the trembling.

"I say these words...” he recited, “...with the hope that one day... we may be bound forever in a complete union of souls...”

A growl came from Alex’s throat, but Valarian continued.

“In this most sincere vow one heart can make to another. Should we ever be parted, I will seek you with every part of my being.”

He closed his eyes tightly.

“You... shall never... be left to suffer the lasting pang of loneliness, nor the ever-flowing passage of time. I will be your sword and sheild, call and I will answer. This is a vow by lifelong devotion....”

He gripped Alex’s hand tighter, feeling his fangs graze his neck.

“My love is true, by my blood do I swear this to you... Alexander Vallentyne...”

His recitation closed with devoted finality. Under the deadly besiege of Alex’s grip, Valarian’s face was a picture of absolute peace.

“...I love you...”

A beat, a breath, Valarian felt the fangs lift from his throat.

"By this vow I am bound..." Alex mumbled closing his eyes. He rested his forehead against Valarian. The voice was purged from his mind, and he knew he only had moments before he was released back to the troughs of agony.

Lifting his head from his shoulder he caught the other’s lips in deep but short kiss, having to tear himself away lest his control faltered again.

"My love,” he gasped, “I’m so sorry... I... Have I hurt you?" His voice was still shaking. Never had he felt so out of his own control. So entrapped. So Defeated. He was tired and could no longer stand, and expending the last of his strength, he dropped to his knees. Valarian hurried to his side, shifting his weight to support him.

“No... of course you didn’t! Alex, I’m fine! I’m here!” He cradled him, burying his face in the crook of his shoulder. “I’m here...”

He held him like that, shielding him, sheltering him, as Alex had done for him so many times before.

Alex leaned into him. A light, pained laugh slipped through his clenched teeth. "I didn't realize... how much it hurts to die."

Valarian felt a lump forming in his throat. He knew he wasn’t losing Alex, but the grief was swallowing him all the same. It hurt, but nonetheless, he held him tightly, squeezing his hand through his spasms and convulsions. Every time Alexander winced or gasped in pain, Valarian would grip his hand, and whisper gentle words to him, assuring him, staying with him till the very end.

After awhile, the pain began to subside. Alex fell limp with an expended numbness allowing him to relax his body. "I am... I am so glad you are alright,” he trembled. “I don't even want to think... where I’d be without you.” His eyes fluttered, too exhausted to focus. “You've done so much... driven me to be so much better. To do what for years I hadn’t strength to do. Valarian...” His hands traced along his lover’s face. “Thank you for staying beside me."

Valarian continued to hold him, bringing a hand up to his face to meet Alex’s. He laughed sweetly.

“I told you when you found me, Alex, after I ran, after I hid, after I made it so very difficult for you...”

He pressed a kiss against the prince’s hand.

“I’m never leaving your side again.”

[honestlyfrance]

bury me here

pairing: sam/bucky

square filled: palm kisses/wiping away tears ( for the kisses bingo held by @bingokisses​​ !)

warnings/content: angst, hurt/comfort, soulmate AU, established relationship, angst with very happy ending

summary: Bucky Barnes is afraid of losing his soulmate another time.

a/n: oh hey it’s like 1.8k words and a week after the last one! im not playing to win but it just so happens that my fill is also the bingo call so i plowed thru this :D please leave some feedback and tell me if you like it; it goes a long way <3 enjoy! (also title ripped off from my old fic that didnt finish lmao)

my masterlist | find this on ao3

He asks you to bury him right here, and you laugh. Oh, how hard you laugh. You can’t find a proper reaction to such a thought so you brushed it off with a simple friendly gesture. Bury me here, the request echoes in your head when you drive back to work, when you wake up before sunrise, and when you come running back into his home in a fervent sweat. Bury me right here with you, he says to you. It must be all just a funny joke because there he lay… lifeless; a vessel without a soul. He asked you to bury him that night, and you were a coward, and that killed your lover in the deepest way possible.

You mourn. You sobbed— You screamed, you screamed until the air is exhaled out of your lungs until heaven and hell could hear your plead and resurrect your man. You hold onto his shirt, tugging on it, hoping that his chest elevates just a little. You wanted to find him in the dining room eating his breakfast but all you found was his soul slipping from your fingertips. Yes, Bucky Barnes, the universe isn’t kind, and Fate doesn’t care if Sam Wilson breathes his final breath.

That was two years ago, and Sam had never let it down. He teased and jested at Bucky’s obliviousness every chance he got. Bucky’s just glad they were soulmates with souls irrelevant to time, hence, they were excused from death when with each other.

After that moment, Bucky never left Sam’s side (but if the man says he needs his space, Bucky will give him that). They go grocery shopping together, they sleep together, they were partners in crime together, they did most things together. Out of everything, Bucky’s favorite thing to do with Sam was falling asleep with him. They would both be in bed, in their little bubble enjoying their time in silence and tranquility; Sam would be jotting down in his planner and journal while Bucky would be looking through his socials and occasionally send a link of a funny video or picture to Sam’s respective DMs. After all that mess of poking each other’s feet and just slyly catching a glimpse of each other. Sam would turn off the bedside lamp as Bucky begins to spoon him. It’s their kind of bubble of peace and oh wow they feel like flying being light as a feather right here.

They sleep with each other’s stardust in their veins, wrapping their fingers around the other’s wrists to feel their lover’s life strum against theirs. Bucky loved moments like this, when he could have Sam in his arms for a long time, never letting go. It assures him much like a kiss, fleeting and deep, yet he understands and he doesn’t doubt it. Falling in love must be like this: fleeting and deep, a constant fact.

It’s because Sam was so beautiful it’s incomprehensible, and to think that Bucky hadn’t realized he had fallen in love sooner. It all looks like a joke, he swears, and he still laughs about it, how ridiculously oblivious he was. All those nights under the stars and morning runs that consisted of sunrises that look like his love; these are the things that made Bucky look so stupid next to love, but he thinks it’s alright. He knows now, and he knows he’s so hooked up he’s never giving up.

So it’s no surprise why he’s still shaken up from finding the man he loves slipping from his grasp. It’s a scary moment, to see the love of his life slowly fade away, stars at the back of his eyes, night turns into galaxies, everything so pretty but everything was dead. God, death never was supposed to be so pretty and he was prepared to mourn for that too.

Bucky cries in his sleep as he sees those same stars he looked up to like the art Sam analyzes: carefully crafted by the very thing that created who he was, it was never supposed to be so intimate. He sleeps with Sam in his arms and all he could feel is stardust slipping away, further and further as he drowns in his sleep, and he worries that he’ll lose it all when he wakes up, his arms empty of the world.

He’s shaking, his breath stuttering like a panicked child. He wanted to come back home, back to Earth, relive nothing but happiness and Sam’s laugh, so bright and charming he’s swooned every single time like a damn fool. Bucky wanted to sleep in Sam’s arms without ever feeling like he could lose him at any minute. Bucky wanted to believe that Sam is his soulmate and they’ll live forever, as they feel they could be.

Sam wakes up with Bucky’s tears painting the back of his shirt. His heart aches at the mere feel of it, knowing that his man will never let it go. Let it go? How can I let go of a possibility? he would say, and Sam breaks a little bit in the inside as he turns around to face him. He’ll find him shaking, his arms around himself, and his eyes shut tight. Bucky will see stars in his sleep and that’s too beautiful a dream to wake up from, so Sam really couldn’t wake him.

It’s like this some nights. Bucky refuses to get help but will reluctantly do so anyway, just so Sam wouldn’t pester him. Bucky tries, oh how he tries but it’s no use; how can he not be scared about an eventual thing? One day, it’ll be the day without Sam that he’d lose him, and he’s not ready for that yet.

“I’m dreaming…” Sam sang, his voice so hushed that it’s breaking. The back of his hand brushes against Bucky’s wet cheek and the man visibly shivered. “…of a white… Christmas.”

It was the first of August but Sam couldn’t wait for the holidays. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, and Christmas — oh! and New Year’s Eve.

“Just like the ones… I used to know…” Sam continued to sing, and as he sang, the closer his lips set a gentle kiss on Bucky’s forehead. It was just a fleeting kind of kiss, nothing too exciting, but the way Bucky’s shoulders rolled back, exhaling a little sigh, and his eyebrows relaxing, Sam could tell it meant everything.

Sam couldn’t help but smile at that. He brushes his hand against Bucky’s cheeks and began to wipe the tears away, humming to the tune of Christmas songs as August wind zips past their window.

“Is it the day of your Lord, already?” Bucky hummed in his sleep, his fingers curling around the collar of Sam’s shirt.

Sam hummed back, snuggling closer to his man that their noses are almost touching. “No. Christmas songs are just nice.”

“I know. That’s why I let you play them in July.”

“James… It’s August already.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed deeply as he scowled. “The fuck?”

Sam’s laugh, even in the first few seconds of the next day, was as lively as if he was awake, but in fact, he’s still stiff as a log and half asleep when he’s wiping Bucky’s tears away. Bucky hummed along with Sam and it’s their kind of symphony. His breathing was lax and Sam didn’t have to hold his breath anymore.

“Can I tell you something, Sammy?”

Sam’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Bucky’s open ones. The room was pretty dark, but it’s as if he could see the blue in them as clear as day. “Yeah, Buck?” he said.

Bucky pursed his lips, wrapping his arm around Sam’s waist. “You don’t have to do that for me. Don’t wake up.”

“I want to. Why don’t you want me to wake up?”

And it’s innocent, almost child-like when he says it. Oh, naive Bucky, he and his aching heart, forever played in Sam’s hands, it’s all in six words: “You grow old when you’re awake.”

There’s goes Sam’s heart shattering into a million pieces, his breathing stuttering for a moment before he stares at Bucky, trying to piece in the vague shapes in front of him, figuring out the details that made sense. After a few seconds of silence, Sam lurches forward and captured Bucky’s lips in his in a chaste kiss, sweet and deep, Bucky’s already twisting him so he could lay on his chest.

Sam lets go but he plants a quick one again before he says: “That’s not how this works, you know.”

“A lover can wish.”

Sam’s got his hands on Bucky’s chest as the man turns the lamplight on. They’re then doused in orange light, and it dances in Sam’s brown eyes, the absolute picture of a supernova, or the sun, swirling in the darkest recces of space like a burst of God’s light. It’s such a beautiful sight that Bucky just had to voice out his thoughts, his breath on Sam’s neck as he says it all, those same words in his thoughts: like a burst of God’s light.

Sam smiled, chuckling as Bucky brushed his fingers above Sam’s eyebrow. “You’re a poet at one in the morning too, huh?”

“A poet’s gotta have ‘nother poet,” he replied as he brings Sam closer to his body, his arms enveloping around him like a warm blanket.

“Hm, all I can say is just stop worrying,” Sam whispers into Bucky’s ear. “You’ll have white hair stressing like that.” Sam’s hands caress his cheeks, forcing the man to look into his eyes. “I need you to know that we both grow old. People age. We do that. But you know what doesn’t change? Our eyes. Ma’s always said if you’re gonna fall in love with someone’s body it better be the eyes, because God— those never change, not even the color nor the pupil.”

Bucky hummed, and when he smiled it was all squished up from Sam’s hands, and that only made his smile reach into both their eyes. “Your mama’s nice. Wish I could’ve met her.”

“Well, that’s a long time from now.”

With that, Bucky’s hand interlocked with one of Sam’s. Turning it over, Bucky pressed a deep kiss into the palm of Sam’s hand. He practically inhaled Sam’s scent as he did so, kissing his knuckles then his fingers, then to the wrist then to the elbow. As he did this, Sam’s found a home in the crook of Bucky’s neck, a smile on his lips he couldn’t wipe off.

“I love you and your eyes,” Bucky says out of the blue, the light turned off and the morning light creeping through the gaps of their curtain.

Sam groaned and rolled over, his hand still intertwined with Bucky’s. “Is it morning already? What did we do.”

Bucky planted a kiss on Sam’s ear and the man snorted at that, turning quickly to face him as he says: “Kissin’ and sleeping. The perfect combo.”

Sam laughed at that, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck as the man brings him close to his chest. There they felt each other’s life strum in a better place: the heart. It’s their favorite song in the entire world too.

#sambucky #kissesbingo2020 #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon #france: works #france: kiss fill #look! im posting sambucky fics in the tags! #france: writing

[hermannsthumb]

90+96?

90. Unexpected Virgin + 96. Scars 

from fanfiction trope mashup here

continuation of me filling ancient, 2 year old prompts in my inbox! sometimes you just gotta return to the basics and write post-movie first time :’) this is the first thing ive written on my new laptop, MOMENTOUS OCCASION. as u might have guessed 18+/NOT SFW BELOW CUT

—————

They’re about an hour into the impromptu We Didn’t Die! party currently ravaging the base when Hermann–stripped out of his sweatervest, and clutching his cane like a lifeline–suddenly grips Newt by the forearm and swings him around to face him. “Newton,” he declares, as the contents of Newt’s plastic cup slosh to the floor, “I would like to invite you back to my quarters.”

It’s probably due to the two shots of vodka Newt downed in quick succession about twenty minutes into the impromptu party that the innuendo flies right over his head, and, instead of accepting enthusiastically, he merely draws his face into a pout. It’s not unusual for Hermann to force him to go to bed, especially after a week of all-nighters in the lab, but now? During this? They’re practically guests of fucking honor. “To sleep? Lame. I’m not tired. Hey, unwind, have a drink!” He pushes his plastic cup into Hermann’s face.

Hermann pushes it away. “I believe you misunderstood me,” he says. “I’m asking you to have sex with me, Newton.”

“Oh,” Newt says.

They’re out of LOCCENT in a flash, and bursting through the door of Hermann’s cramped quarters in another. Newt has been fucking vibrating with energy all day long–excitement, elation, fear, straight-up terror–and he’s more than ready to unleash all twelve hours’ worth of it, plus twelve years’ worth of pathetic pining, on Hermann in the most awesome, cathartic victory sex the world has ever seen. And now that they’re finally alone–now that they’re finally alone together–

“I am so fucking horny right now,” Newt breathes. He kicks off his boots: one of them flies across the room and knocks over a precariously-balanced stack of books, while the other smacks against Hermann’s dresser and sends a photograph of Newt and Hermann crashing to the floor. “Holy shit, you have no clue. Oh my God.” Truthfully, he’s been sporting a half-boner since he threw his arm around Hermann in LOCCENT, and Hermann gave him that little smile and tucked up against him, but Hermann doesn’t need to know that. 

Hermann’s eyes are dark, and his pupils are wide. He wets his lips as those eyes sweep over Newt. “I. Ah. I am, as well.”

“Fuck yes,” Newt says. He moves his hands to his collar, where he rips off his tie, but he stops at his buttons with a grin. He could at least pretend to play hard to get. “Hey, you want me to take my shirt off?”

“That’s typically what’s done, isn’t it?” Hermann says. “During–” He clears his throat. “During these sorts of things?”

“Right,” Newt says. “Okay, do yours too.”

They take their shirts off. Hermann is sporting a nice set of shoulders and biceps, and an even nicer set of pecs, and Newt thinks that trim waist would be the perfect size to wrap his fingers around, but his too-pale skin hugs his ribs a little too-tightly. There’s not a hint of hair in sight. The exact opposite of Newt, basically, in all his hairy, tattooed, out of shape glory. It’s kind of perfect. Newt bets they’d fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces.

He wolf-whistles before he can help himself. “I should’ve known you’d be even hotter under all those stupid sweaters.”

“Oh,” Hermann says. His mouth twitches up into a coy echo of his earlier smile. “Thank you. I think.”

Newt wants to get all over that hot bod, and so he does, inching up to Hermann until their stomachs brush and their chins bump, and planting his hands on either side of that neat, sexy waist. He’s right about it being the perfect size to grab. Hermann watches him through his dark lower lashes, standing perfectly still; he’s holding his breath. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” Newt says.

Hermann nods.

They kiss. It’s pretty cool, even if Hermann stands as stiff as a board, arms hanging limply at his sides, and even if when he finally decides to use tongue it’s at the moment Newt decides to use teeth and he ends up firmly biting down on it. “Ow,” Hermann hisses, pulling back sharply.

“Sorry,” Newt says. “I haven’t gotten laid in ages. I kinda forget how to, uh...” He tries to kiss Hermann again, but at Hermann’s darkening, skeptical expression, drops it. “Uh, you wanna take this to the bed?”

“Take off your jeans first,” Hermann says.

They stare at each other.

“Not–I mean yes, but–what I mean is they’re filthy,” Hermann snaps. “I’m not having you dirty up my sheets. Grime and blood and who on Earth knows what else.”

“Sure,” Newt says, and grins again. He fumbles with his belt and drops his jeans, and Hermann’s gaze drops too. Never one to pass up putting on a show, Newt tips his crotch forward to make his boner just that bit more prominent, and just that bit more in Hermann’s personal space. “Like what you’re seeing?”

Hermann nods.

Newt takes Hermann’s right hand and places it on his hip, just the waistband of his boxers. “You wanna take these off?” he says. He punctuates the question with a little kiss to Hermann’s throat. It’s so smooth–not at all like the scratchy, stubbly mess across Newt’s. He kisses it again, just ‘cause it’s nice, and feels more than hears the low rumble of a groan that rises in the back of it. Hermann’s shut his eyes.

“Ah–Newton–”

When it becomes clear Hermann won’t be sticking his hands down Newt’s boxers any time soon, Newt backs him up to his bed and pushes him down into it. Hermann sprawls backwards with a small thump. His cane clatters to the floor. “You gotta do some of the work here, dude,” Newt laughs.

To his surprise, Hermann flushes. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I haven’t much. Er. Experience, with this sort of thing. I’m not quite sure what to do.”

This comes as no small surprise to Newt. Hermann’s just…Hermann, y’know? He’s bitchy, and weird, and kind of weird-looking, but he has a sexy way of rolling his r’s and a sexy mouth and, apparently, a sexy bod, and if Newt–the guy’s certifiable rival–has wanted to get into his pants for ages, he’s sure he can’t have been the only one. But hell if the thought of being the first one to do it doesn’t turn him on likes crazy. “Luckily for you, I’m a pro at sex,” he lies. “I’m amazing. Just ask anyone. Wait, uh, not anyone, I don’t mean–”

“I know,” Hermann says. He sits up and plucks at Newt’s waistband. “May I take these off now?” He wets his lips again.

“By my fucking guest, dude,” Newt says.

Hermann tucks two elegant, nimble fingers under the elastic and slips Newt’s underwear down to pool around his ankles, finally letting his erection breathe a little. Newt leers down at him. “What about now?” he says. “Huh? You like this?”

But Hermann isn’t looking at his dick, inches from his nose though it is; Hermann’s looking to the left of it. “You have a scar here,” he says, and pokes at a small expanse of skin on Newt’s thigh between two tattoos.

“Uh,” Newt says. “Yeah, dude. I rammed into a table when I was rollerskating in the house once and had to get stitches.”

Hermann traces his fingers over the scar. “You must have been quite the handful as a child,” he says wryly.

The incident in question happened when Newt was twenty-four, but he decides it’s best to not divulge that particular bit of information to Hermann. “Uh. Yeah.”

Hermann reaches down and unbuckles his own belt, then begins to partially wriggle out of his stupid baggy pants and tighty-whiteys. “We’re matching,” he says. “Look.”

His left hip and thigh is a mess of scar tissue that Newt imagines, at one point, must’ve hurt like a bitch. Way more than Newt’s stupid incident with the roller skates. Way more than could even be compared to Newt’s stupid incident with the roller skates. But he smiles anyway: he likes the idea of it being some giant, flashing sign from the universe of their drift compatibility. “Have you looked in the mirror?” he says, and shuts his non-bloodied eye to make his point. “We’re not just matching there.”

“Hopefully not permanently,” Hermann says. He finally turns his attention on Newt’s dick, scrutinizing it like it’s one of his incomprehensible equations. It gets Newt even hotter. “Would you like to have sex now? I’m eager to put your renowned skills to the test.”

Newt doesn’t miss the sarcasm. It’d be kind of hard to. “Jackass,” he says. “Move over, I’m getting in.”

Hermann divests himself of the rest of his clothing and shuts off the overhead light while Newt makes himself comfortable on Hermann’s bed, though he leaves his small bedside lamp on to cast them both in a cozy yellow glow. All of Hermann’s room is shockingly cozy, in fact: the quilt tucked in neatly to his cushy mattress, the tea kettle on his dresser, the soft rug on the floor, the space heater (shut off) half-hidden in the corner. No wonder Hermann sleeps in so late. If Newt’s setup was like this, he’d never leave his quarters either.

“We could get under this, if you’d like,” Hermann says, pinching a bit of the quilt. “It’ll be warmer. It can get very chilly in here.” He fidgets. “And. Er. It’ll be easier to wash my sheets, rather than…”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Newt says.

They move under the quilt. Hermann’s breath is warm on Newt’s face, and losing a layer seems to have imbibed Hermann with a newfound sense of confidence; his hands begin wandering across Newt’s body, up his sides, down his back, squeezing and pinching his skin, cupping his ass, and he layers kiss after kiss to Newt’s neck, his throat, his jaw. Newt rocks into each touch and moans helplessly. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Hermann murmurs into his ear. 

Newt laughs weakly. He’s gotten cute once or twice, but he doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him beautiful. It’s nice. He likes it. “Aw, dude.”

“You are,” Hermann says. “I’ve always thought you were. It’s been a terrible distraction in the laboratory.” He leans in and kisses Newt, still as graceless and chaste as before, but his low murmur has returned when he finishes, and it makes heat pool in Newt’s stomach. “Mm, sometimes all I could think about was how badly I wanted you.”

“Sometimes I used to jack off after we argued,” Newt blurts out.

Hermann blinks, surprised, and laughs. “Did you?”

“In the bathroom. Once in the supply closet. Nnh. Ah, fuck, Hermann, fuck–”

Bored of talking, apparently, Hermann’s decided to creep his hand lower and curl it around Newt’s dick. His touch is light, and unsure, and it kinda just makes it all even sexier. “I wish you told me this was your first time,” Newt whines out, pushing into Hermann’s fist. “I would’ve, guh, bought you dinner. Or something. We could’ve waited. Made it–made it meaningful.”

“Darling,” Hermann says, “this is perfect.”

Hermann kisses him; Newt comes, gasping and whining into his mouth. It’s a little embarrassing. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him beautiful, but he knows no one’s ever called him darling, and with Hermann the one being so sweet to him--it’s too much.

“Shit,” he pants afterwards, while Hermann examines the sticky mess on his fingers with mild interest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to--I wanted to last longer.”

“Oh, we’ve got all night,” Hermann says, sounding pleased. He wipes his fingers off with tissues from a box on his bedside, then drags Newt’s hand under the covers to cup his own neglected dick, fluttering his eyelashes coquettishly. Newt swallows down a whimper. It’s not fair that Hermann is doing better at this than Newt. “I would like very much for you to touch me.”

“Okay,” Newt squeaks.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #not sfw /////

[hd-fan-fair]

THE MASTERLIST OF H/D SEX FAIR 2020 FANWORKS

View the full list on [AO3] or under the cut below!

( Fanwork posted in chronological order by type )

ART

1. herman_the_moth | Tumblr: caroll-in drew How hard can it be? (Digital Comic, Mature) Summary: 

Harry and Draco have to stay over at their friends' places for a few weeks, since the renovation of the Grimmauld Place hadn't been completed by the time they were back from their honeymoon. That creates a slight issue with being intimate but the newlyweds are nothing if not creative...

2. chachisoo | Tumblr: creeeee drew Revelio! (Digital, Teen and Up) Summary:

It's that time of year again for Witch Weekly's annual charity event! By popular demand, this year they have prepared a calendar featuring the sexiest studs in the Wizarding World. Gracing the cover in style, the Hogwarts staff is represented by none other than DADA Professor Harry Potter and Potions Professor Draco Malfoy. Grab one before they're gone! Reserve your copy by owl today!

3. Pinky_Wisteria | Tumblr: snarkyships-drarryside drew Handling Dragons (Digital, Teen and Up) Summary:

Harry brought over dragons to Hogwarts for a new Triwizard Tournament or for a class. Draco is hopelessly turned on by the resident Professor or Hogwarts Medic. Draco wants his dragon tickled by Harry. Unknown to him, Draco is the only dragon Harry wants to manhandle.

4. digthewriter drew I plan on getting very wet. (Digital, Mature) Summary:

When they arrived at their private beach holiday, they didn't expect it to rain all the time. Oh well, boys can still find a way to have fun.

5. Pinkelephant42 | Tumblr: Pinkelephant42 drew The Dragon's Boy (Digital Comic, Explicit) Summary:

Harry is chosen to be the next sacrifice to the dragon, but it turns out this dragon is interested in Harry for entirely different reasons.

6. sugareey drew The Art of Trust (Digital, Mature) Summary:

One piece of rope offers what Harry and Draco seek the most from each other.

7. Pinky_Wisteria | Tumblr: snarkyships-drarryside drew (Intimidating) Brand New World (Digital Comic, Mature) Summary:

Draco's nervously perusing a sex shop for the first time when he sees a flash of dark hair across the store. He'd know it anywhere, but why is Potter here? And what on earth is in that box he's buying? Years of uptight parenting from his parents have left him woefully lacking in knowledge about his newfound interests. Potter's always been rather uncaring of public opinion, perhaps he could be the one to help Draco figure it all out...

ART & FIC

8. p1013 drew and wrote as much a light as a flame (6303, Explicit) Summary:

His mother paints a wolf on his chest, its eyes bracketing his heart, and its muzzle pointed towards his groin. His aunt fills in the spaces around his waist and ribs with symbols he's lost the meaning of in the wash of whatever plant had been mixed in with the steam. They move after her brush leaves his skin, turning from incomprehensible marks to his name to wolf to home to hunt and then back to misunderstanding again.

His legs are painted in patterned bands, starting from his ankles and ending at his upper thighs. His groin is left unmarked, the pale and empty skin meant to leave no doubt of the Claim once he makes it.

9. Zigster drew and wrote Starkissed (32631, Explicit) Summary:

“Your tattoos!” The intruder says, boldly stepping over Ron’s chaise and crossing in front of Hermione to get to Harry, eyes wide and hungry. Harry immediately sits up, pulling the towel draped across the back of his chair down over his shoulders.   “No! Don’t cover them. They’re beautiful.” Harry hopes an indulgent trip abroad will help shake him out of the doldrums of his life. What he finds once he gets to Venice is more than he ever expected.

  PODFIC

10. Bluedreaming read Infuse With Affection, Enchant With Love by bafflinghaze (1.5 Hours, Teen and Up) Summary:

It starts with Draco making protective pendants for himself, his parents, and his friends, after the war. Something that would watch their backs—and their fronts—as people spat on them in the streets and hexed them in the alleyways. Draco gets better at it, does a course on it, and takes enough commissions for charmed jewellery that he eventually opens his own shop.

But Harry doesn’t know any of this. So when he sees Malfoy in a shop of charmed necklaces, he immediately tries his best to uncover Malfoy’s machinations.

11. smirkingcat read Things Worth Paying For (1.5 Hours, Explicit) Summary:

After leaving post-war Britain for Paris, Draco is finally happy, with friends and a job he loves, But then his newest client turns out to be Harry Potter, and everything changes.

  FIC

12. palendrome (nerdherderette) wrote Three Wishes (10161, Explicit) Summary:

Draco meets his fairy godmother and is granted three wishes. Unfortunately, they all keep coming back to the same thing.

********** Pop! 

"Oh, wow," Vince says, and is that sarcasm Draco hears? "I never saw that coming."

"What?" Draco opens his eyes. He's prepared for the theatrics of the puffs of smoke—Vince, despite the sudden career change, was never blessed with an overactive imagination—but what he was not prepared for was the sight of Harry Potter, bare-chested and dressed in arseless chaps, his hands bound and mouth wrapped around a ball gag while lying face down on Draco's sofa.

13. Maraudersaffair wrote H.A.G.S. (Hogwarts Alliance for Gender and Sexuality) (9517, Explicit) Summary:

When Hermione decides Hogwarts needs a LGBTQIA+ club, of course Ron and Harry are roped into helping. After a rocky start, Harry begins seeing the club as an opportunity to educate students and celebrate diversity and sexuality at Hogwarts. He also starts seeing it as an opportunity to snog Draco Malfoy.

14. dracoismytrashson wrote You Don't Know Me (Like You Used To) (33106, Explicit) Summary:

"Buy me a drink as compensation for maiming me?" he asks.

"And why the hell would I do that?" It’s a perfectly valid question. A drink invitation from Harry Potter is about as likely of a scenario as me streaking down Piccadilly in broad daylight. Consider me completely thrown off.

Sometimes it only takes a week to change everything. The story of how twenty-five-year-old Draco Malfoy hit one Harry Potter with a door and knocked both of their lives into somewhere entirely new.

15. bafflinghaze wrote the best treasure is up Harry’s arse (2891, Explicit) Summary:

Harry and Draco probably had a tumultuous time getting together, filled with angst and denial and pining and brooding. However, this is not that story. Here, Draco makes Harry come (more than once).

16. Orpheous87 wrote Breakin' the Rules (3146, Teen and Up) Summary:

Harry and Draco are Auror partners. They're in a relationship that they've been forced to keep secret due to relationships between Aurors being forbidden. Harry is okay with this, as he hasn't come out to anyone other than Draco, but after a mission goes awry, their relationship is exposed.

17. tigersilver wrote The HogShagMan (31685, Mature) Summary:

Professor Potter is called upon to teach the first-ever official course on Magical Sexual Relations at Hogwarts and, in the process, must navigate the pitfalls of relationship-building, the nefarious schemings of those entrusted with school funding, and the uneven tempers of his boss and several co-workers. Clearly, only ‘the’ Harry Potter can pull it all off.

18. Gnarf wrote Let's not wait for France (17714, Teen and Up) Summary:

All Harry had wanted from his Eighth year at Hogwarts was a little peace and a little privacy but, from the moment that he stepped onto Platform 9 3/4, it was obvious that nothing was ever going to be that easy.

An accidental bond with Malfoy that resulted in them having to stay together at all times was the final straw.

Things couldn't be worse. So much to a quiet year in Hogwarts.

19. GallifreyisBurning wrote Take All That You See (19666, Teen and Up) Summary:

Draco Malfoy has only two goals for his eighth year are Hogwarts: 1) stay as invisible as possible, and 2) get enough NEWTs to be accepted at a university abroad and get the hell out of the UK. Everything is going according to plan until he is unceremoniously outed by the Daily Prophet and subsequently disowned.

Finding himself the unexpected focus of unwanted attention and harassment, he is suddenly dependent on the good will and protection of the last people he would have expected — Harry Potter and his gang of do-gooder Gryffindors (plus Luna Lovegood). With his world turned upside down, how will Draco make it through the rest of the year? And worse still, as he grows closer and closer to Harry, how will he get out with his heart intact?

20. gracerene wrote True Children Still (34240, Explicit) Summary:

After years of dancing around each other, Draco and Harry have finally begun to date, though they're taking things slow. They've got enough to figure out as it is, and the last thing Harry needs is an unexpected introduction to desires he's not quite ready to face.

21. RoonilWazlibMalfoy wrote Asking For A Friend? (13734, Explicit) Summary:

Asking for a friend? Don't be shy! I'm Genna Russ with advice! Draco Malfoy, drag queen and agony aunt for the Daily Prophet, is very happy with his life. He loves his job. He loves his drag queen persona. And he loves the fact that the wider Wizarding world doesn't know who is offering them sassy advice with their morning news.

When he starts receiving letters from one Harry Potter – letters that are too racy to publish – he does the only thing he can do: he replies. His carefully constructed secret life is at risk of being blown wide open, but he just can't help himself. Draco never did have any self-control where the Prat Who Lived was concerned.

22. fluxweed wrote All I Have to Do (9575, Explicit) Summary:

The Patented Daydream Charm (Adult Edition) allows you to enter a top-quality, highly realistic thirty-minute sexual fantasy. Solitude and privacy spells advised.

Or: Draco finally has some alone time; Harry just needs to nip in for a book.

23. simeysgirl wrote Take My Wonder (3949, Explicit) Summary:

Harry Potter is the author of very well-written children's text books. Joshua Starkweather is the author of not-so-well-written erotic fiction. Only one person knows that they are one and the same.

24. Ladderofyears wrote (There Is Nothing) More Than This (5431, Explicit) Summary:

Harry Potter returns home past midnight, distressed and anxious about the multiple murder case that he is leading. His husband Draco looks after him, comforting Harry with his hands, his mouth and his unwavering love.

25. disapparater wrote the space between (what you want and what you need) (13601, Mature) Summary:

As a specialist Healer in dark magic, Draco has had his fair share of difficult cases and awkward patients. Still, nothing has prepared him for a curse-paralysed Harry Potter.

26. FreddieFoxBaxter wrote Walk in the sun (18233, Explicit) Summary:

Harry is perfectly content with the life he built for himself; simple and private, it helps him heal the wounds from the war. He then accepts to go out with one of Neville’s acquaintances, never expecting that decision would bring him back to his obsession for Draco Malfoy.

“That was his cue. Had Harry stopped to think about his situation, he could have left. Malfoy was nibbling at his neck, he had his hand down his pants. All things considered, a disaster incoming. And yet, his feet still refused to move. After all, he was not the stop-to-think-of-consequences kind of guy.”

(Features drunken confessions, bathrooms, a lot of smut, sexy pictures, panties, cats and only one bed)

27. Countingcr0ws wrote You Need to Just Do Whatever You Want (7998, General) Summary:

Draco's confused when he receives a manual explaining his magical inheritance. Being a veela would be good (at least he would be prettier), and a vampire would have been fine (another excuse to hide himself in the Manor). But a descendant of the God of Love, complete with arrows and a love quota? Now that's just bonkers.

A story in which Draco is Cupid (sort of).

28. PollyWeasley wrote Under my Skin (8258, Explicit) Summary:

One year after the war and after Hogwarts restorations, Harry is back at school to finally finish his education. He wasn't expecting McGonagall to assign him to protect Draco Malfoy, in case he was bullied during the classes. Although really just wants to relax on his last year in Hogwarts, he'd seen how Draco had changed at the trials. He knew being around him would be easy enough... Wouldn't it?

29. Drarryismymuse wrote Glory, glory! (16898, Explicit) Summary:

It's 2005 and Harry has recently purchased a new mobile phone so he can easily keep in touch with his friends. Little did he know that the Muggle technology would lead him down a path of self discovery and safe exploration that would lead him into the soft recesses of the last person he ever expected. As it turns out, very good things can be found in the dark.

30. Enchanted_Jae wrote Husbandly Duties (2108, Explicit) Summary:

Draco and Harry leave their wedding after-party early for some quality one-on-one time.

31. Yesimawriter wrote Sex, Relationships & Love (3873, Mature) Summary:

Draco Malfoy runs an anonymous sex advice column in the Witch Weekly magazine and gets hundreds of letters asking him for advice on sex, love and relationships. How was he to know that the advice he had given in response to one of those letters would result in Harry Potter showing up at his flat at 6 in the morning?

32. Poison_literature wrote Disparate (6022, Teen and Up) Summary:

Ever since he went to Hogwarts, Draco realized that he wasn't quite the same as the others.

Or: Draco Malfoy over the years as he tries to understand and accept his sexuality.

33. Archaic_Nepenthes wrote Silver Scales in Pools of Green (26603, Explicit) Summary:

Draco is one of the last sirens of the seas, who escaped to the human world looking for friendship and food, but captivity found him instead. For seven years, he's gotten used to his life as human entertainment, and prides himself in his ability to make humans fall in step to his song.

That is, until everything falls apart when he has an audience with green eyes...

34. unadulteratedstorycollector wrote It's So Hard (9170, Explicit) Summary:

Draco has posed for some interesting photos, and it is currently making things very... hard for Harry.

35. xanthippe74 wrote On Your Shore (35113, Mature) Summary:

Clearing out a remote house full of cursed collectibles in the Outer Hebrides? Not a problem for an experienced curse breaker like Harry Potter. Spending a week with the straight, happily-married man that he’s starting to have feelings for? And sharing a bed with him at night? Surely Harry can handle that, too. But both the house and Draco Malfoy have secrets to uncover, and Harry might be in deeper water than he thought.

36. lyonessheart wrote A Little Less Broken (6417, Mature) Summary:

After the war Draco thought he would never feel again. But a mix of revenge gone wrong and Harry Potter, might help him to feel just a little less broken.

37. Ischa wrote Always (20147, Explicit) Summary:

In which Draco is the (in)famous erotica writer H.J. Belladonna, writing successful scandalous novel after successful scandalous novel and hiding his true identity, and Harry is questioning his sexuality after reading one of Belladonna’s books. Until ten years after the war their paths cross again, and Harry doesn’t only question his sexuality, but also the meaning of his obsession with Draco Malfoy.

“You look like something my cat dragged in,“ Blaise said from the sofa. Draco’s sofa, in Draco’s tiny flat. “You don’t have a cat, because you’re too vain, Blaise. A cat would get hair all over your expensive clothes,“ Draco replied and then ignored Blaise in favor of going into the kitchen to get some hot sweet tea into his system. Maybe that would make his day better, even if it had just started and the potential for disaster was high. Blaise followed him. “I’ll take one too.“ “You can’t use my home as your personal hotel, Blaise,“ Draco said, but he was already grabbing two cups out of the cupboard. He was too tired to use magic, after writing the whole night, he felt like all the magic had been absorbed by his parchment. Some of his sanity maybe too.

38. blowfish_diaries wrote Absurd. (3773, Explicit) Summary:

When Draco discovers a kink that Harry's been hiding from him, he has no choice but to explore said kink, right? Right.

39. Postjentacular wrote For Want Of Five Minutes (And a Locked Door) (4333, Mature) Summary:

It’s hard enough to get five minutes to yourself in a house of five kids, nevermind getting five minutes with your boyfriend for anything else.

40. acupforslytherin wrote Let Out the Beast (9649, Explicit) Summary:

In the wizarding world where alphas are looked down upon for their lack of control and unseemly aggression, it is generally accepted that they are not allowed to work in places like schools and hospitals where their nature could risk the people there. When Draco Malfoy suddenly shows up at Hogwarts smelling strongly like an alpha, Harry is beyond baffled. The fact that no one else seems to catch his scent only adds to his confusion. But, of course, the most puzzling part is how Harry’s body reacts to that scent.

41. Erebeus wrote Flowers, Dildos and Other Courtship Gifts (15853, Teen and Up) Summary:

Harry Potter is the Ministry's star auror trainee, and Draco Malfoy is the cute florist in Diagon Alley who Harry stares at through the window during lunch breaks and leaves. That's all they are and all they would ever be. (Really.) Until Harry accidentally mails Draco an autumn themed dildo (among others). Cue: bad planning, owl kidnapping, and flangst.

Or two emotional gay disasters fall in love in the middle of autumn.

42. glittering_git wrote he touched me, so I live to know (4729, Mature) Summary:

Five times Harry Potter is unsure about touching someone and one time he isn’t.

43. MistyDeath wrote cut my name into your lip (6321, Explicit) Summary:

Harry can't take it anymore. Seriously. If Malfoy chews on the end of his quill/licks his spoon/sucks on the papercut on his finger one more time, Harry's going to put an end to it.

44. ebbet wrote Realities, Unfurling (45487, Mature) Summary:

Draco Malfoy is released from Azkaban into a changed world.

45. Nympha_Alba wrote The Delicate Balance of Light and Shade (13288, Explicit) Summary:

With the war finally over, Harry tries to find his own path in a world where he is free to make his own choice. On a holiday in France, he unexpectedly falls in love with art and painting. Returning to Hogwarts to help rebuild it, he is paired up with Draco Malfoy to restore the Room of Requirement - and unexpectedly falls in love with Draco. When the rebuilding efforts are done, Harry disappears.

Years later, Draco goes to Muggle London at Pansy's suggestion to visit an art gallery. The name of the Muggle artist is unknown to Draco, but the subject of the erotic paintings is shockingly familiar: it's Draco himself. It's time to confront the past and make some long-due confessions.

46. Pineau_noir wrote Tonight's the Night (Gonna Be Alright) (9181, Explicit) Summary:

Sex is hard to come by when you're 40 and have kids.

Or: Five times Harry and Draco tried and failed to have sex and one time they were successful.

47. Cibee (Cibeeeee) wrote The Spoiling of Sex From Enthusiastic Ignorance (6079, Explicit) Summary:

Draco is going to lose his virginity, so help him god, and he's going to lose it to one Harry Potter. Why? Because of his big cock, his status as The Top Five Quidditch Players in England, and Witch Weekly's Most-Eligible Bachelor for eight years straight. At least that's what he tells himself. Too bad first times rarely go as one plans, and now Harry is looking miserable and Draco doesn’t understand why.

48. epsilonargus wrote you killed me on the moon (4906, Explicit) Summary:

'You barely know me. We do not know each other.’

‘Beyond this overwhelming need to submit to you, completely and utterly?’ Potter raises his eyebrows, stretching his scar. ‘Beyond this bone-deep awareness that you are made for me, and I for you? That our destiny was written in the stars, in the very foundation of our known world?’

An A/B/O Royalty!AU wherein a desperate Slytherin prince faces a proposal from the conquering Gryffindor king.

49. M0stlyVoid wrote i just want your extra time and your... (9058, Explicit) Summary:

Ron should know better than to speak Latin in a magical library. If he’d just left well enough alone, instead of trying to badger Malfoy for the details of his newest novel, Harry wouldn’t have to listen to all of this chatter about how bloody decent Malfoy is, and he wouldn’t be dealing with all of these...feelings. Really, it’s all Ron’s fault that Harry’s mind is stuck on Malfoy like this again.

50. Oldenuf2nb wrote The Kisses Don’t Count, If No One Else Knows (41492, Explicit) Summary:

Minister for Magic Harry Potter does not love his job. The one bright point in his life is his secret relationship with Quidditch Super Star Draco Malfoy. When they're 'outed' by a peeping tom with a camera, Harry has to decide what's really important.

51. VeelaWings wrote You Do Your Body Work, I Feel My Pulse Working Overtime (1627, Explicit) Summary:

Harry did not have an addiction to watching Draco masturbate on camera. He could stop any time he wanted to. Really.

52. letsdothepanic wrote Right Romantic Setting (6266, Explicit) Summary:

On the twelfth day of their romantic relationship, Draco and Harry take Albus, Scorpius and Rose on a weekend trip to Muggle London that Ron and Hermione were supposed to lead. At the fully-booked hotel where they'll be staying for the night, they're surprised to discover that their rather plain room has only one bed. It's definitely not the right romantic setting for their first night together but, as Draco comes to realise, there's good in taking things slow.

53. pixiedustatsundown wrote Portrait of a Marriage (130627, Mature) Summary:

Harry didn't want to marry Malfoy, he really didn't, but he also does want this house and Malfoy looked so smug and well - now they are married, and the house still doesn't like him, and Malfoy only looks more smug.

Draco didn't want to marry Potter, he really didn't, but he also does want this house and he never seems to be capable of escaping Potter anyway, so if he is already doomed to being married off he might as well decide for himself what he is worth, sign the papers and ignore everything wrong with that plan until physically no longer possible.

54. sassy_cissa wrote Regardless of desire, life hands you who you are (29803, Explicit) Summary:

When Draco finds himself wrongly accused – of course it's Potter who swoops in to save the day. Isn't it always Potter?

#hd sex fair #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter #drarry fic #drarry art #drarry podfic #reveals are here!

[1dfangirls35]

Voir Dire (N.H.) A fake dating OU about contracts, soulmates and risking it all for love.

Masterlist // Tell Me What You Think!

twenty-seven

Niall sat at a coffee table in West Hollywood, tapping his fingers against the wooden structure . He told himself he was only doing that because he was impatient, but the truth was, he was a little nervous about being here. Krystal had asked to grab lunch with him today. He wasn't keen on the idea at first, especially considering he and Kelsey were still at a sort of impasse. But he'd thought about what Kelsey had said the other night, and he knew she was right. He needed to ask for the paternity test; to give him peace of mind once and for all.

Things with Kelsey, were well... at a standstill. She'd texted him the next day, apologizing for the way she'd acted. Saying that she knew he was just trying to do the right thing, but that she still wasn't quite sure where her place in all this was. She said she needed time; that maybe she'd rushed into things.

Niall had begun to wonder if maybe they'd both rushed into things. Was Niall rushing into this new record label? His departure from Capitol? Was this all too much too soon? It had seemed like the perfect solution weeks ago, but now, even Niall questioned whether being back with Kelsey was the right decision for anyone other than him.

But for now he was at lunch with Krystal. Who also happened to be the last person Kelsey would want him to be spending time with. Niall knew this lunch was a necessary evil. He needed to figure this out: the balancing of these two women in his life, because for the time being he was doing a real shit job at it, if he said so himself.

Krystal arrived looking flustered. Her usually well-groomed blonde hair, a mess on the top of her head. Her face tired, like she hadn't slept in days. Niall noticed that her baby bump was just beginning to peak out from her oversized grey t-shirt. Before long it would be impossible to hide. She greeted Niall with a hug and a somewhat forced smile.

"How are you?" Niall asked, as Krystal took a seat across from him, taking a sip of the water with lemon that Niall had ordered for each of them.

"I'm okay," she replied, and Niall sensed the fatigue in her voice. "Thanks for grabbing lunch with me, I know Kelsey probably doesn't like us being seen together." Krystal averted her eyes, like if she stared at Niall for too long, someone would come and tell her off. Had she forgotten that in the eyes of the press these too were still very much together?

"Actually, I was glad you asked. I had something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Niall I need to tell you something," Krystal blurted out, as if she hadn't even been listening to what Niall had been saying. Her voice strayed from its usual confident nature. Niall could tell whatever she had to say was bothering her, because she can't seem to sit still, fidgeting in her seat like a child in kindergarten.

"Is it the baby? Is everything okay?" Niall asked, his mind jumping to the worst possible scenario.

"Everything's okay Niall. The baby's fine." Krystal's hand reaches down to feel the small bump on her stomach that was growing daily.

"Then what is it?" Niall asked.

Krystal took a deep breath. "Please try to understand, I didn't want to lie to you Niall. I was just trying to do what I thought was best."

"Krystal..." Niall began, feeling his pulse quicken.

"I wanted it to be yours," Krystal spit out, her eyes growing glossy. "I wanted it to be yours SO bad. Because I knew that you, Niall Horan, would take responsibility. You wouldn't run the opposite direction, and you wouldn't leave me all alone. You would be the best dad that the world had ever seen," Krystal's words had turned into sobs now. "And he, he was just some dead-beat minor league baseball player that I slept with because I was lonely. And when he dropped me, and I found out, I didn't even let myself think twice about it. Because it could have been you. I needed it to be you." Tears run down Krystal's cheeks now, and Niall noticed that a few fellow restaurant patrons had turned their head to look in their direction.

"What are you saying?" Niall asked, but he was pretty sure he knew what exactly what Krystal was saying. He just needed to hear her say the words out loud.

"The baby's not yours, Niall. I got a paternity test."

Niall felt the world come to a stop. Words were leaving Krystal's mouth in flustered sobs but he was hearing it all in slow motion, like someone had shoved him underwater and he could only make out bits and pieces. He wasn't sure if it was relief, anger, disappointment or a combination of the three, but for a man who usually had an endless supply of words, he found his reserve to have suddenly run dry.

"How long have you known?" he asked, fighting back the lurch in the back of his throat. The thought that if he had simply asked, if he had done what Kelsey said months ago, he could have avoided this mess in the first place. Niall thinks of all the nights he spent tossing and turning over how to make this work, how he was going to be a father and travel the world playing music and do right by his kid. Except it wasn't his kid now, was it?

Krystal's eyes dropped to the floor in shame. "About a month."

"Were you going to tell me? Would you have even told me if it wasn't for Kelsey?"

Krystal bit her lip, because even she wasn't sure of the answer. She'd like to think that in the end she would have come clean, that she wouldn't have let her one mistake ruin the life of the one man who had done nothing but treat her with respect. The man who had changed her life, and in most ways for the better. But the truth of it was Krystal had wanted to be selfish, because the thought of having to raise this child on her own had been nearly unbearable.

She tried to get out the words but they became incomprehensible, instead turning into gruntled sobs, her breath labored and face becoming an unflattering shade of red. She expected Niall to get up and leave, because how could he possibly stay when all she had done was lie to him for the past 4 months. But instead she feels the warmth of his arm as it wraps around her shoulder, then ever so gently bringing her head to his chest.

"Hey, it's okay," Niall said softly, rubbing gently circles on Krystal's back as she cried into his shoulder. He's well aware that they have become the lunch hour entertainment, but he ignored it. He could imagine how hard this must be for Krystal, to have harbored that secret for so long.

"I'm so sorry," Krystal whimpered.

"It's okay," Niall whispered back, Krystal's head still pressed against the side of his neck.

Niall wanted to be angry at Krystal, because his life over the past few months would have a been a lot simpler if she had just told the truth from the beginning. Kelsey wouldn't have hated his guts. Kelsey wouldn't have doubted their relationship when they finally found each other again. Niall wouldn't have worried what fatherhood would do to his career.

But he can't be angry with her. He knows how hard this has been on her. Losing her mother's support, her heart being broken by a man she thought could be something more, possibly losing the acting career she was working so hard to achieve.

Krystal pulled back from his embrace, using the back of her hand to wipe her now running nose. "I wish I would have told you from the beginning that it could have been Eric's. Honest to god, Niall, I do. But then you were so good about it. So attentive and caring and I knew that you would be such a good father. I was afraid of what would happen if it wasn't yours," Krystal's bottom lip quivered. "And then you went to Vegas, and you saw Kelsey again and I knew I should get the test. And even when I held that flimsy piece of paper in my hand ready to look at the results I prayed to God that it would be yours. Because I didn't think I could do that alone. And when it wasn't, well... I didn't know how to tell you."

"You can tell me you hate me," Krystal said quietly, she grabbed the white cloth napkin from the tabletop bringing it up to wipe away the remnants of mascara clinging to her cheeks.

"I don't hate you Krystal," Niall replied.

"How could you not? You almost lost the love of your life because I was afraid of being alone!"

"Listen, Krystal," Niall grabbed Krystal's hands as he knelt beside her chair. "Just because I'm not the father, doesn't mean I'm not going to be there for you, if you need it. I'd like to think after all of this we are friends. So let me be your friend. No one should have to do this alone, mistakes made or not."

"You're a good man, Niall Horan," Krystal smiled softly. "And I really hope things work out for you two," Krystal said. "You deserve it. You deserve to be happy."

"So do you," Niall responded. "You and this little munchkin in here," he set his hands on Krystal's belly and grinned when he felt a little kick. "Uncle Niall has a nice ring to it."

"It does," Krystal laughed softly, and Niall was grateful to see a small smile on her face again. "Now what did you need to talk to me about?"

"Doesn't matter now," Niall shook his head, retreating to his seat. "Let's eat some lunch."

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

Niall had barely reached his car door when he dialed Kelsey's number. Surprisingly, she answered on the first ring.

"Kelsey?" Niall said softly, half afraid that she would hang up on him before he had the chance to share the news.

"Yes, Niall," Kelsey replied. She didn't understand why he was calling her. Especially not after she explicitly told him that she needed space. But then again, she didn't exactly wonder why she'd answered without hesitation when his name flashed across her screen.

"You were right."

"About what?" Kelsey asked with confusion.

"The baby. Krystal got a paternity test. It's not mine. It's her ex's."

Kelsey stayed quiet for a moment and Niall wondered what this reaction meant. Was she relieved? Was she angry that he hadn't found out earlier?

"Wow." Those were the only words that Kelsey could think to say. What she really wanted to do was scream for joy. Go out in celebration. She wouldn't be the evil stepmother. She wouldn't have to share Niall with Krystal. She and Niall could maybe, finally, be happy.

"Aren't you going to tell me 'I told you so'?" Niall asked expectantly, picturing Kelsey on the other end of the phone with a smug grin plastered onto her face.

She wanted to. But she doesn't, instead she whispered "Are you okay?".

"Ya, 'course," Niall said, scratching his chin. "I don't know what to feel right now to be honest."

"This is good Niall." Kelsey paused. "For you. For us."

"I know it's just..."

"You got excited to be a dad." Kelsey finished his sentence for him.

"Am I crazy for thinking that?" Niall exclaimed. He felt he had this all wrong. Because he should be celebrating that he would get to keep his freedom for a few more years of his life. He had been waived of additional responsibility for the time being, but a part of him feels...disappointed.

"No," Kelsey replied softly. "You'll be a great dad one day Niall. But today is not that day."

Now it is Niall's turn to stay quiet on the other end of the line. He has so much he wants to say to Kelsey, but he's not even sure where to start.

"I'm sorry I'm not there right now," Kelsey said.

"It's okay. I'm sorry I didn't ask Krystal sooner. She got a paternity test over a month ago. And before you start on her," Niall began, just as Kelsey was about to ask how she could keep that a secret for so long. "She feels awful. She was scared." Niall took a deep breath. "I know you needed some time to think, and maybe this seems like the solution to all our problems, but I want you to know Kelsey, I told Krystal I'd still be there for her if she needs me. I'm not going to abandon her."

Kelsey twirled a pen sitting on the desk in front of her. "I understand Niall." She didn't want to act like this had suddenly made her mind up for her, but hadn't it? Niall becoming a father was the biggest insecurity Kelsey had in their relationship and now it was solved.

Niall was a good man. A kind-hearted soul that maybe she didn't deserve. This Krystal situation had only proved that. And Kelsey was still scared, scared that this would end in disaster and heartbreak once again. But she was also tired. Tired of making excuses for herself to not be happy. Tired of worrying what would go wrong this time. Tired of being scared to accept the love that was clearly in front of her. It was time for her to be happy, for both of them to be happy. "Let's do this. All in."

"You're sure?" Niall asked, wondering if this time Kelsey really meant it.

"Positive."

Niall smiled. "Capitol Records isn't going to know what hit them."

Tag List: @awomanindeniall​​ , @ihearthemcallingforyou​ , @niall-is-my-dream​​​ ,​  @stylishmuser​​​​ , @thicksniall 

#i think many of you have been waiting for this for a while #writingby1dfangirls35 #voir dire #niall horan #niallff #nh #niall x ofc #fake dating #secret relationship #one direction #1dff

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING ch 22

She awoke to the sound of bird song and the pleasant warmth of the sun shining through the glass of the window. Beneath the blankets and her dress, her ribs only vaguely hurt as she took in a big breath. Her sick bed had been set onto a window sill overlooking one of the gardens at her request. Though Yaesha would move her back closer to the fire at night as he worried the cold would slow her healing.

A little over a week of recovery had dulled the pain greatly and her bruises had all but healed. Most of the wyvern attack was a blur to her and she could only recall the day’s events vaguely. She did remember the smoke man, however. Despite her dread of it, he had since failed to materialized, though she spent many sleepless nights wondering if she had wholly imagined him. Having been told that she had hit her head pretty hard, jumbled thoughts, recall difficulties, and false memories were to be expected. At least that was so according to Yaesha, the royal physician, and Sawyer, a human healer to whom he was guardian. Sawyer was tall for a woman and kept her hair cropped short and wore trousers and tunics rather than dresses or skirts. In fact, had she not been in possession of a distinctly feminine voice, Nenani might have mistaken her for a man entirely.

“You try sewing up a giant’s wound in a petticoat and bodice,” the human woman replied when Nenani had asked about her choice of wardrobe. “Better yet, try to wash it afterwards. Unlike Yaesha, I actually do my own laundry. Much easier to clean blood from black shirts and leather tunics and trousers. I’m a healer, gal, not a homemaker.”

Her answer felt well practiced, but her tone was amiable and blasé about the frank nature of her work. Yaesha was treating the twenty something giants who had sustained various forms of injury, including Bart. His arms had wickedly painful looking scraps where the wyvern’s claws had caught him as well as a bruised cheek. Gjerk was there was well with a black eye and torn ear that needed sewing back up. Both were discharged mere hours after coming in and none of them were permitted to see here, much to their frustration.

As Yaesha went about his work treating the injured Vhassalans, Sawyer was beset upon Nenani at the behest of many anxious giants. Lolly among them as she was the one who had fetched her from Maevis.

“Not a clue why he thought he knew how to treat a human,” Sawyer said as she wiped blood from Nenani’s face with a damp cloth where her bottom lip had split. “He must be in shock. Poor guy looked like he was gonna faint. Barnaby must be in pieces. They always get that way when one or the other is stressed or hurt. Them two are precious when they get that way, but really. Maevis knows there is an order ‘round here. Should have brought you straight to me.”

Nenani was not much well in the way to carry the conversation, but tried to add in when she could.  

“They’re friends,” she added, trying to quell the dizziness she was feeling. The room would not stop spinning. “It’s good to have someone who cares...”

Sawyer laughed, dipping the cloth back into a bucket of water. “I’ll second that. Don’t know what I’d be without Yaesha. Aside from dead. He was the one who found me y’know. Saved my ass, brought me back here and let me heal up and offered to let me be his tag along since I was a trained healer.”

“What happened?” Nenani asked, wincing when the wet cloth was brought over to her shoulder to wipe away dirt from a nasty gash in her shoulder.

“Got careless,” Sawyer replied, carefully cleaning Nenani’s many scrapes clean of grime. “Got caught. Almost ended up as someone’s dinner. Yaesha was being his nosey self and stopped ‘em from gutting me like a lipper. He traded them a remedy for piles in exchange for me. Now, no more talking. I need to clean all this blood and muck off and see what I’m working with...”

Sawyer was not like any woman that Nenani had ever known and she had a strange ability to distract those being treated with stories so they were not even aware of her treating their wounds. So when she had to perform a movement that would be particularly painful, the patient would be too enraptured by the story to notice until the pain hit. Not being able to anticipate the pain made the whole ordeal that much more tolerable.

As her injuries were serious enough to warrant prolonged observation, she was only able to receive visitors after the first three days. Yaesha wanted to make sure she had pulled through the worst of it. But apparently, three days was far too long for many.  

“Farris is beyond cross with me,” he said to Sawyer as she changed the bandages on Nenani’s leg. It was only the second day and Nenani was still suffering from a horrendous headache and barely aware of anything yet thanks to the medicines she had been given which had sedative properties. Though they were peaking softly, their voices felt like claws inside her brain. “He’s tried to barge in here three times today. I don’t know how many other ways there are to phrase ‘She has a concussion. She needs rest. Go away!’ Besides, he should be resting that damn leg!”

“He’s scared for her,” Sawyer answered as she tucked Nenani’s bandaged leg back under the covers. “She looked like death when they brought her in. Mumbling about shadows or some such thing...”

Yaesha first had her bed set up in his private office so he could keep an eye on her. Sawyer assured him, that she was capable of doing it on her own, but Yaesha insisted. “I do not doubt your skill in the least. I am merely being cautious.”

“You’re being nosy,” she countered.  

Yaesha’s office in many ways reminded Nenani of the spice pantry. Tall shelves filled with incomprehensible knick knacks and books and jars. So many jars. Some were filled with innocuous items like river stones or dried leaves. Others were filled with persevered animals, suspended in discolored fluid. Hanging from the ceiling, suspended from ropes tie to the rafters, was a full skeleton of a whale. The main room of the infirmary was a long hall filled with cots and at its center was a long hearth, not too dissimilar from that in the kitchen. A young maid tended the fire most of the day and assisted Yaesha with the more menial tasks such as cleaning and tending to the daily needs of the injured. Most who had sustain injuries from the attack had been released and allowed to either return to their duties or allowed to recuperate in their own rooms. Those who remained, including Nenani, had sustained some form of head trauma and required careful and close observation for a time.

Though she had been happy when Sawyer assured her that no one from kitchen was present among the worse hurt, she could not help the anxious need to see for herself.

“Scrapes and scratches,” Sawyer told her. “They’re all walking around fine.”

It was the morning of her third day that Farris was finally allowed to see Nenani and she could hear Yaesha instructing the kitchen master he only had a few minutes and to not tire her out. Her anxiety leaped when Farris walked into the room. Or rather, as he limped into the room. His right hand was bandaged as was his right leg and he clearly favored it.  

“You are hurt...” she said with concern. She could not help but feel as though Sawyer had lied.  

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yer sittin’ there looking like a mauled rabbit and worryin’ ‘bout me?” Farris grinned, his good humor inflated by his very palpable relief to see her sitting up and most certainly not dead. Her head, arms, and legs had all been bandaged and her right cheek was heavily bruised. He took a chair and eased into it, wincing only a little as he lowered himself into it. “Ya really are one lucky lil’ buggar, Dumplin’.”

“Is anyone else is hurt?” she asked, voice hoarse. She was very thirsty, but was under orders not to drink anything unless under Sawyer’s observation. They were still concerned about possible internal bleeding and the best she had been given was a damp piece of cloth to chew on so her mouth would not dry out.

“Nothin’ to fret over. A’course ya wouldn’t know it by their bellyachin’” he said her. “Cuts and a few bite marks. A torn ear. The kitchens are a right mess, though. They’re still surveyin’ the damage.”

“What happened to the monster?” she asked, forgetting the name for the enormous winged lizard.

“Maevis bunt it t’cinders,” he replied with a vindictive satisfaction in his words. “Nothing left of the fucker but charred bones.”

Memories and fragments of the passed few days flickered in her head, but she was unable to piece anything together and it hurt to try.

“Maevis,” she mumbled. She could hear his voice in her head, chanting something and apologizing to her and he was...crying? “Is he…?”

“Yer magician’s just fine, lass. Got a nice bite mark on an arm fer all ‘is trouble, but he’ll live,” Farris told her. He raised his hand as though to reach out to her, but stopped and settled for placing his hand at the end of her bed. “He saved ya from that thing, lil’un. Came out of fuckin’ no where and grabbed ya up from it before it could gets its teeth around ya.”

“I don’t remember...” she said weakly, putting a hand her head.

“Don’t tire yerself out none, lass,” He said softly. He eyes were tired and she could see he had not been sleeping well. “Sawyer’s gonna take good care of ya fer me, alright? Get some rest.”

She nodded, feeling the weight of sleep beginning to drag at her mind and by the time Farris was at the door, she was asleep.

………………………………………………...

“It’ll leave a scar,” Sawyer was saying, wrapping the spent bandages around her hand and surveying Nenani’s shoulder. Her smock was pulled down to reveal a six inch long gash starting from the top of her shoulder and traveling down towards her heart. Black thread stitched the wound closed and for as alarming of a sight it was, it was healed. Yaesha loomed over his companion, squinting into his spectacles to study the wound for himself. “Hm. Yes, I have to agree. But your clothes will hide it nicely, so don’t fret.”

Sawyer pulled out a small pair of sheers from her bag and then from her front pocket, a small bottle of amber liquid.  

“What’s that?” Nenani asked of the small bottle.

“Whiskey,” Sawyer grinned. “Keral’s whiskey to be precise.”

She looked at Sawyer in surprise and seeming to read her thoughts, the healer laughed loudly. “No, it’s not for drinking!”

To show her, Sawyer pulled the stop from the little bottle and poured the fluid onto the sheers, allowing the access to drip onto a wad of cloth. The smell was unpleasant and made Nenani scrunch her nose in disgust. She had never liked the smell of alcohol, but this was nothing like the yeasty smelling ale that they drank in the kitchens. This was pungent and smokey and medicinal.

“I clean all my tools like this,” Sawyer explained. “Or I boil them. Helps keep away infections.”

“It just doesn’t smell very pleasant,” Yaesha added, observing her with a disapproving eye. “I wish you would use something else...”

“But it works!” Sawyer grinned, bringing the little bottle to her lips and swallowing the small bit remaining. She grimaced as it hit her throat. “Ugh. I like it better watered down a bit. Hoo-boy! It’s strong.”  

She wiped the excess whiskey from the sheers and then wiped the dampened cloth across the area on and around Nenani’s wound. Above them, Yaesha sighed.

“My dear,” Yaesha pleaded, rubbing his temple. “Please refrain from your indulgences until after you’ve removed the sutures.”

“Yes, mother,” Sawyer replied failing to suppress her gleeful smile. Seeing Nenani’s bewildered expression, Sawyer winked. “Let’s get you unwrapped and back to the kitchen, huh? Those boys have been biting at the bit waitin’ for you to be released.”

Nenani smiled gratefully and nodded. In no time, her stitched were gone as well as her bandages. Her less serious scrapes and cuts had scabbed over and the bruise on her cheek was fading, though it still hurt for her to put any pressure on it. They began gathering some medicines for her to take with her to ease the remaining pains.

“This will help if you start to feel dizzy,” Yaesha said, using a dropper to fill a small bottle with a faint greenish liquid. He held the tiny glass container delicately between two bony fingers, squinting hard to make sure to deposit the correct amount. “Farris is familiar with this recipe so he will be able to brew more should you deplete this ration, but if the dizziness persists, he is to bring you straight to me. Fair warning, he does not brew his with honey, so it will be much less palatable.”

Yaesha was an older Vhasshalan, but his long hair was still a dark black with only a few strands of gray near his temples. He may have even been tall for a giant, but it was near impossible to really tell as he stooped over so much. He wore robes much like Maevis, but instead of maroon, Yaesha’s robes were a deep purple. He possessed a long hawkish nose and small, dull gray eyes.  

“Sawyer is preparing some tonic of Valerian blossoms for you as well,” he said, glancing at her meaningfully. “To help you sleep more peacefully.”

“Will it really help?” she asked, recalling the nightmare she had just that morning.

“It will make you sleep deeper,” the physician replied. “Which will keep you from dreaming, but should also keep you from experiencing nightmares. It is potent, so use only a drop just before sleep.”

Her memory was slowly piecing itself back together and she had a much clearer picture of what had happened that day. But with it also came the nightmares. Most nights of her recovery, she saw him. The smoke fillings her vision, tendrils of black curling around her, and red eyes staring at her from the skull of a stag. A flash of a sword…

The sound of someone knocking interrupted her thoughts and both her and Yaesha turned to look at the office door.

“Enter,” Yaesha said and the door creaked open and a blue coated ranger stepped inside. “Oh! Keral, what brings you in? I’m just finishing up here if you’d like…”

“It’s the squeaker there I’m lookin’ fer, actually,” Keral said, stepping inside. His clothes were clean and his hair and beard combed, looking very different from the last time they had met.

“Oh? I was under the impression Yale was coming to fetch her,” Yaesha replied, bemused and a little suspicious.  

“Oh, he very well may be. I just have some questions to ask the lil’un first. Just some lose ends to tie up. Won’t take long.”

“Oh. Oh, well...I suppose that is alright.”

“Alone. If you don’t mind.”

Yaesha eyed the ranger. “Alone?”

Keral’s careful composure faltered and he stared at the physician, incredulous. “What? I ain’t gonna do anythin’. Yer lookin’ at me like I’m gonna eat her!”

Yaesha hummed to himself and then nodded. He seemed satisfied enough. “Very well. I’ll see to my other patients then.”

The older Vhasshalan left, closing the door behind him. Keral stared at the door and shook his head, muttering under his breath. With a sigh, he turned to Nenani. “How’s ya noggin’, sweetling?”

“Hurts,” she answered honestly.  

“Aye,” Keral replied with a faint grin. “Suppose ya got a good crack from that lizard, eh?”

The ranger grabbed the chair that Yaesha had been sitting in and fell into it with a lazy crash. He looked fatigued. Leaning back, he set his hands on his lap and regarded Nenani with a serious expression. “So, remember when we had the tea party in the library a bit ago? Maevis was helpin’ me look fer somethin’...”

She nodded.

“Well, understand me here, lass. I’ve got all these puzzle pieces I’m tryin’ to put together and I’ve been feelin’ like I’ve been chasing shadows for months lookin’ fer this thing. And until that little party, I didn’t know what – or who – I might be lookin’ fer.” He paused, sitting up in the chair and leaning forward to rent his elbow on his knees. “And then Maevis got a good look at that big ol’ lizard up close. He said there was somethin’ off about it that he didn’t much care fer. Gave ‘im the willies. Not sure what it was, but he says he felt somethin’ that mornin’ before it showed up too. Some sort of magic and it wasn’t ‘cause ‘a no wyvern.”

Unease settle in her belly like a lead rock.  

“Magic?” she asked. “Like...the smoke mage Barnaby mentioned?”

He nodded, the edge of his mouth quirking into a smirk.  

“Barnaby gave me a piece to m’ puzzle that day. Meeves gave me another this morning,” Keral lifted a gloved hand and pointed at her. “And I’m bettin’ ye might just have one fer me too, sweetling.”

“Me?” she asked. He didn’t say anything, merely watched her expectantly and the weight of that stare was enormous. The smell of the hearth in the other room brought the memories back easily now. Smoke filled her lungs and the stag skull mask flashed in her mind. Red eyes looking down at her as a dark blade rose…

For her time in recovery she had managed to cling to the idea that they were all manifestations of her nightmares. But she knew it wasn’t true. And more so, she understood that to remain silent was not the path to take. This was not a pile off some dusty bones of a long dead person chanting nonsense at her. That man had been real and corporeal and dangerous. And yet, their words had been the same...

The river runs uphill to the dying songs of the fall of fools and Kings that tear flesh from bone and the crown from the mountain. Water runs red with fire and shall rise when the old blood runs new. The flesh taken will be paid in blood and the dead walls will rise with gold...

“Nenani,” Keral’s voice broke her from her thoughts. “Maevis said you were covered in that magic he sensed. It was all over ya like mud. Now, I know ya saw somethin’ none of us did. I need ya to tell me. Tell me true, lass. Was he here?”

“I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret,” she told him. “I wasn’t even sure if it had happened for real or if hitting my head so hard messed my brain up...”

Keral did not say anything and merely watched her with interest.

“I... I saw it...him. The smoke mage...”

Keral’s expression did not change, but somehow his eyes looked that much more intense. “Ye did?”

Nenani nodded, alarmed at how her hands were trembling. “He was in the kitchens when the...the way..wavey..”

“Wyvern.”

“Wyvern,” she echoed looking at her hands. “He came out of the hearth and...there was smoke. And he was made of smoke. And then he wasn’t...”

He seemed to be staring beyond her, focusing on something far off as though mentally putting his puzzle pieces together. He seemed dissatisfied. “Did he say anythin’ to ya? Anythin’ at all?”

“He did,” she replied uneasily. “...kind of.”

“Tell me,” Keral said, his voice more gentle that the predatory look in his eyes would suggest. “Anything ye can recall. I need ya t’ tell me.”

“He was saying that prophecy,” Nenani said, wringing her hands. “About the Gold King. But he didn’t say anything else. Just that. And then he...he tried to...”

“...kill you?” She looked up and Keral was a lot closer than he had been. He was standing, looming over her and she was surprised to find herself suddenly afraid of him. There was a dangerous look to his eyes and she shrank back on instinct. She nodded, eyes blurred with sudden tears. Her throat hurt and her chest heaved.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry for not saying anything before...”

“Ya haven’t seen ‘im since?”

“No.”

Keral drew in a long breath, setting himself back into the seat and crossing his arms. For several long moments, he did not say anything as he became engrossed with his own thought processes. When his eyes focused on Nenani once more, his steely eyes softened and he chuckled.

“Ah, now. Don’t be givin’ me that look. Yer in no trouble, sweetling,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare ya none. Just frustrated is all.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?” she asked him.

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” he replied and seeing the mounting horror on Nenani’s face, he waved a palliative hand. “Now, now. Don’t start that up. I’m sure ya have nothin’ to be frettin’ over.”

She balked at him. “Keral, he tried to kill me! With a sword!”

He nodded, conceding the point. “Aye, but I don’t think ya were ‘is true target.”

“You...you don’t?” she asked, a fluttering in her chest.

He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t. S’why I’m sure he’ll be back and my intentions are t’be ready when he does.”

“Why would he attack me then?”

“Simple. Ye were a witness. He probably thought the wyvern would be a nice distraction while he got inside castle grounds all sneaky like. Most certainly wasn’t expected a wee squeaker to give him away so quickly. Mages get like that, y’know. All hubris and overconfidence. Almost always their downfall. That and they’re usually right cowards when their magic fails ‘em.” He paused, considering. “An’ ya said he was chantin’ the Gold Prophecy?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like a right pompous twit,” She could almost see the proverbial ball bounce around Keral’s mind and he grinned smugly, an excited and nearly predatory glee in his face. “He won’t be gettin’ another chance like that, I can promise ye. Now that Maevis’s got a good feel fer the bastard’s magic, I’ll be able to track ‘im better and this trekkin’ all over creation can fuckin’ end.” He paused to nod at her. “So don’t ye be worryin’ none about ‘im, eh? He won’t be gettin’ anywhere near this castle now that I’ve got ‘is scent. And best know Farris’d have my arse fer curtains if somethin’ were to happen to ya when I could’a done something ‘bout it.”

He reached out to her and lightly pinched at her arm, teasing. “Ye just gave me the last piece ‘a the puzzle, lass. I thank ya.”

“I did?” she asked.

Kera stood with a renewed sense of purpose and direction. He snorted as he strode towards the door, glancing over his shoulder at her. “I think Maevis was right about old bumblin’ Bertol’s prophecies, after all. Those words are dangerous when lunatics start belivin’ they’re all about them.”

#Dumpling #G/t story #g/t fantasy story #fantasy #Nenani #Yaesha #Sawyer #Farris #Keral

[xumos-hoe]

How would victor and lucien if MC had a nervous breakdown due to work and stress? Cuz I'm having a hard time and I recently had one :'(

Aww I’m sorry babe :( I hope it gets better anon! In the meantime, hope you enjoy♥️

Victor & Lucien react to MC having a nervous breakdown due to work and stress

~~~~~~~~

Victor

You had to force yourself to get up and deliver this report to LFG.

You were in Victor’s office when it happened. With everything weighing so heavily on your mind, you had even pressed the wrong floor in the elevator twice.

When you walked in, Victor was wrapping up a few documents for the day.

“Late as usual, MC.” He smirked, taking the proposal from you.

He was referring to the fact you had delivered it almost half an hour late. It was only meant as a joke, of course you knew that, but coming from his mouth— it triggered something deep inside.

Instead of your usual comeback, Victor was taken aback when the words to come out of your mouth instead were words of apology. You muttered a quiet ‘sorry’ before turning to leave, but Victor stopped you.

When you turned to look back, he was sitting upright, arms crossed over his chest as he studied you.

“You’re not like yourself today.”

nothing got past this asshole

Instead, you shrugged and tried to play it off cool, but the telltale tremors and your uneasy gaze said otherwise.

“Um no—nothing is wrong. Why?”

Victor was silent for a few more moments, too focused on studying you before he spoke again.

“Come here.”

“...Victor I really have to get going—”

“I said come. Here.”

His tone was stern and made absolutely no room for protests.

Defeated, you walked to him.

Victor was on his feet as soon as you were both face-to-face. He reached out and cupped your cheeks, obvious concern in his eyes that he didn’t bother trying to hide. He felt the tremors on your body and the way your heartbeat accelerated when he came closer.

But suddenly, something dripped onto his fingers.

water?

When he looked back, your eyes were undeniably red, watching him through heavy tears that had seemed to have come from out of the blue.

He stood there, speechless as you brokenly sobbed, looking down and burying your face in your palms. Your shoulders shook as another cry filled the silence. This seemed to have confirmed all his concerns from earlier.

“MC? Why are you—?”

He tried to lay a hand on your head, but you staggered back, nearly tripping as you did.

He’s was at a complete loss for what he should be doing to comfort you right now. Your crying only became worse, face beet-red and shiny with tears as you finally crumbled to your knees.

He followed you to the ground, crouching close as you began to ramble incomprehensibly, pulling at your hair as even more tears flowed out.

Within moments, he had you in his arms, tightly and securely, guiding from the ground to a couch on the other side of the room. You opened your mouth in protest but hardly anything beside a small squeak came through.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped out, but he only held you closer, listening intently as you rambled some more into his chest.

When he managed to make out “stress” and “overworked”, all the pieces began to fall into place: all the time you’ve spent holed up in that studio, shutting him out, and distancing yourself for months finally made complete sense.

“MC,” he interrupted, quieting you down immediately as you looked up to meet his gaze. “You’ve been overworking yourself this entire time?”

There’s a short pause, but he felt you nod slowly against him. His voice sounded angrier as he pressed you closer to calm the trembling.

“...You should’ve told me.“

He loosened his grip to face you once more. Every tear sent a pang straight to his heart. He reached out to wipe them away from your cheeks, but you shook your head quickly and drew away.

“You’re already so tied up with work and I don’t want to add anymore pressure—!” You confess, even more tears beginning to surface before Victor pulls you towards him, planting a firm kiss against your lips.

It wasn’t by any means romantic, but it was comforting as he held you close, drawing away for a breath before he turning to look into your eyes.

“Your worries are my worries—as long as I’m with you, we share these things together.” He whispered, tilting your chin and planting another sound kiss against your lips. You sniffed before smiling.

And you did so from then on.

Lucien

The clock read 12:08 a.m when you turned to check the time.

You’d been sitting here for seven hours straight—facing the computer in the office to wrap up this project but absolutely nothing was happening.

You supposed this would mark the fourth all-nighter this week alone.

A gentle rap at the door broke you from your panic, whipping around to find an all-too familiar face waiting there.

“What’re you still doing here?” Lucien asked, waking through in one quick stride.

You blinked and buried your face in your palms before responding. “I should be asking you the same thing.”

“We just wrapped up another episode of Miracle Finder and someone said I could probably find you holed up in here.” He chuckled at that last part, walking over and slipping an arm around your shoulders.

You forgot tapings could run well into the night.

“Now it’s your turn to answer me.” He murmured close to your ears.

There was a pause before responding—your head was pounding horribly, your eyes threatened to shut any second, and your fingers were awfully sore for typing at that damn keyboard all day.

You laughed nervously, rubbing your face harder when you’d only meant to answer his small question.

Not to completely break down where you sat.

It took Lucien a few seconds before realizing the shaking from your shoulders wasn’t because of laughter, it was from violent sobbing that had you completely broken in front of him.

“MC?”

His voice was laced with concern and confusion as he crouched down, swiveling the chair to face him, but you still wouldn’t remove your hands from your face.

Your crying became heavier, turning the shaking into complete tremors. A broken gasp slipped from your mouth, as he rose and pulled you from the chair and into his arms.

He held you tighter as your tears soaked his shirt, buying his face in your hair and letting you shake in his arms.

An apology slipped from between your cries as he rubbed circles against your back.

“Shh...Don’t apologize...”

You’re rambling incoherently into his chest, apologizing for your sudden break down and he manages to catch a few phrases about being unable to finish some projects that immediately clear up everything.

“You’re...stressed?” He asked quietly before sighing as you forced a nod.

He turns and cups your face, kissing away every tear that slips out. Your sobbing quiets significantly, but when he faces you completely, your tear-streaked face is enough to tense him up.

“...It’s all been too much...And I didn’t want to bother you about it,” you whisper, trying to look away but he strokes his thumbs against your cheeks and keeps your gaze locked with his.

“You need to tell me this kind of thing.” He murmurs, voice stemming with sincerity as his eyes narrow. “How many times do I need to remind you that I like being your burden. I want to feel needed by you, but that can’t happen unless you tell me what’s troubling you.”

You bite your lips and avert your gaze, bubbling with shame, but before you know it, he’s kissing away every worry from your mind.

You leave the office together, hand-in-hand, and head to his apartment for time to clear your head—as long as you promised to share your issues with him from now on.

#mlqc #love and producer #mr love: queen's choice #mlqc fanfic #mlqc headcanons #mlqc victor #mlqc lucien #mr love victor #mr love lucien #elex games #otome games #love and producer xumo #love and producer li zeyen #lucien x mc #victor x mc #mlqc mc #mr love mc #mr love headcanons #mr love fanfic