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abhorrenttheorizer · 2 years

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I can't believe people still follow my antics somewhat on this platform. I hardly post anymore and when I do it's bullshit. Unfortunately, I am about to do it again 💔

A sincere apology to the people who followed me for anything other than bitching about Sky and Journey specbioposting. I've got a lot of personal issues with original designs and my refusal to accept that the Journey Tumblr fandom is effectively dead has made it so that I've unintentionally become a fandom account. Sorry for my obsessiveness, and hopefully I am able to overcome this art block and make something original for once.

With that being said, I am once again about to Journey 💔💔

CONTENT WARNING for naked birb cat creature with a fupa under the cut 💔💔💔

EXTRA CONTENT WARNING for bright image immediately under the cut. From one photosensitive lad to another, the following image is bright AF turn down your brightness pls

Also long post lol

The feet and toes are a lot thicker than I would've liked. Their feet and legs are much more slender, and the actual foot itself should be longer and thinner (damn canvas space + brush size...) but because I'm a dolt I gave this guy chunky camel feet without meaning to.

This is an adult individual of a mildly pale complexion. To avoid making the image even brighter, there's one detail I have forgotten omitted to paint. The arms gradually become paler from the shoulder to the hand, and the hands themselves are typically lily white and glow very brightly regardless of skin tone. I know in-game Rythulians lack arms, however I do not care. Beefy paw arms = funny.

Also, I have only drawn one individual. Rythulians are simultaneous hermaphrodites, and as a result don't have separate sexes or sexual dimorphism, so this adult pictured here is the only "species representative" needed to be drawn.

Anyway, Rythulians as a species, unlike their ancestors are designed for desert life (no shit). Similarly to ostriches, their lower body and legs are free of hair to induce cooling, however unlike ostriches and most other land animals Rythulians also sweat through their skin, even the skin that is covered in fur. They are also a species that is heavily tied to magic (later post), so there is much to their biology that would not feasibly make sense through Earth's standards.

Generally speaking, they're a pretty tall race. Individuals are generally anywhere between 7 and 10 feet (2.13 to 3.25 metres) tall, with long dainty legs designed for bounding across sand. They're also incredibly lightweight, as "obese" individuals barely tip the scales at 32 lbs (14.5 kg). This is due to the many unique characteristics of their internal body, which I will demonstrate in a later post :,)

The fur they have is fluffy, and somewhat dense. The pure white fur coloration serves to insulate and protect the Rythulian's upper body, cooling the brain somewhat by reflecting sunlight. The only dark hairs they have are on their facial discs. The dark hair on the facial disc serves to reduce glare, especially for their unique glowing eyes.

The strange fleshy orifice at the center of a Rythulian's chest is it's wax gland. More will be explained about this later, but the wax gland is present and almost fully functional at birth, and one of its main purposes is to melt the body's fat deposits into "wax" which is then eaten by other Rythulians, especially babies, elders, sickly individuals, and young ones. Wax production is very similar to nursing, and is essentially a non-mammalian way of producing milk. The other purpose, reserved for adults, is to release a single zygote which will then develop into a baby (after it has been feeding off of dwarf stars for around 9 months, but that's a topic for a later time).

The skin itself is loose, stretchy, and squishy in many places, while it's a bit tigher in other areas, like the legs and feet. Rythulian skin feels a bit like very soft and stretchy plush cloth, a slight nod to their symbiotic relationship to their clothing. Under the arms, they have a short band of folded skin that expands outwards similarly to that of a flying squirrel. However, this band of skin stretches from the middle of the upper arm to the waist, rather than from the wrist to the ankle. I like to think that Rythulians co-evolved and have a symbiotic relationship with their cloaks, so this flap of skin was made to aid the act of flying, gliding and soaring as the loose skin catches the air current alongside the cloak itself, and reduces fatigue to the arm.

So... I know what you're thinking...

What the hell is with that unsightly FUPA???

Well, the fupa is actually a fat and skin deposit similar to the "primordial pouches" found in cats. They serve much of the same purpose too, enabling the Rythulian to jump higher, run faster and stretch more without ripping the skin. In fact, a Rythulian's "primordial pouch" is so efficient than they can be stretched up to 6x their height without being in pain or tearing in half (this is also due to Rythulians not having a spine or cervical bones or really any traditional skeleton either, but that's a post for another time). This pouch was co-evolved as a way for modern Rythulians to deal with Guardian attacks without extreme injury, as Guardians generally attack by crushing the Rythulian and then yanking them upwards as their scarves or cloaks are torn.

Speaking of running fast and jumping high: When Rythulians are not starving to death on pilgrimage, they move very swiftly in their mountain and sandy environments, often bounding across their arid mountain environments at upwards of 10x their height horizontally and 8x their height vertically. They run swiftly as well, up to 87mph (140kmh). Unfortunately, their endurance is poor, only being able to run at top speed for around 3 minutes before complete exhaustion. After which, about an hour of rest is needed before continuing to move.

As for their arms, depending on the circumstances, their arms can be quite powerful, able to punch with enough force to break bone. Pushing, pulling, carrying, and crushing can be done with relative ease, but certain environmental factors may seriously inhibit their stamina. A Rythulian's upper body is significantly stronger than it's lower body, since the muscles required for flight take a lot of energy, and Rythulians are a flying species (provided they have cloth to help them out, which this individual clearly does not).

The feet are covered almost entirely in dense, soft fur to keep the Rythulian from sinking into the sand and also keep sand out of their sheathes.

What do I mean by "sheathes"?

Well, a Rythulian's foot is anatomically somewhere between a camel and a cat. The foot paws function like those of a cat, except the claws sheathed within the paw are blunt hooks used to latch onto mountain rocks. In short, they have retractable "hooves", a reminant of their ancestral form.

Excuse the crude animation, but here is how a "whole foot" flex works. Rythulians have 4 zygodactyl toes for climbing on steep cliffs, the front claw-hooves latching onto the rocks and the rear claw-hooves adding support by catching onto other divets within the mountains. Besides the whole foot flex, Rythulians can protract and retract each toe individually, providing a completely individualized support system based on the surface area of rocks they may stand on.

Another thing that I have mentioned in one of my earlier posts about Rythulian headcanon anatomy, is that their ears are not truly ears. Their real ears are on the sides of the head.

Rythulians have 4 earholes designed for processing different sounds. They are positionally asymmetrical, however the ears themselves are relatively in the same place, like in mammals instead of owls (in which one ear is at the top of the skull, and the other is closer to the jaw bone).

On the left ear: Upper hole for lower frequencies from above, lower hole for higher frequencies from below

On the right ear: Upper hole for higher frequencies from above, lower hole for lower frequencies from below

Because of the earhole asymmetry, Rythulians are able to triangulate like owls do and pinpoint the exact location of a sound. Their hearing is exceptionally sensitive, which was mentioned in this earlier post

The catlike rhinophores atop their heads serve a completely different purpose:

A Rythulian's actual nose is completely useless for smelling. What are their "ears" are actually their rhinophores, of which they use to detect airborne chemicals (poorly) as well as express emotion.

The rhinophores themselves have very coarse hair, much different than the normally soft, silky hair on the rest of their bodies (minus the facial whiskers). Each ear smells independently, however this is inefficient, as rhinophores are typically more effective underwater. To solve this problem, Rythulians will intertwine their rhinophores together, rubbing them vigorously in order to generate a stronger olfactory signal to the brain. This is generally not effective either, as smell is their weakest sense. An "A" for effort regardless.

Here is a head sketch of a yawning individual as an example. The lips have an odd shape, but I will explain that in a later post.

Rythulians have 16 piranha-like teeth, and a small spiny radula in place of a "tongue" (will go into why they have a radula later, it's a doozy). While they will consume plants on the occasion, and they are capable of tasting and enjoy the sweet flavor, Rythulians are obligate carnivores. Their teeth are designed to tear off small chunks of meat, to which the radula rasps into smaller chunks of meat to be swallowed whole. Their preferred prey are aquatic (fish, mollusks, cetaceans, seals, etc), but due to the arid, often barren habitats they're native to, they are not picky and will often catch and eat most things that move. They are not cannibalistic and don't favor eating other humanoid things.

Their second weakest sense is their sense of taste. They can taste all flavors that humans can, but on a much weaker intensity. The short and stubby radula is covered in small, villiform denticles that are used to shear away small chunks of meat. On the outer and rear edges of the radula are small, flatter denticle plates. These are used to shred out meat from shelled creatures such as crustaceans or mollusks. Between and sometimes around these denticles are taste receptors, of which a Rythulian has very few. However, Rythulians have a very sensitive mouth, and salty/spicy/acidic foods are generally not favored by them, as they can quickly become painful.

Denticles start off at the back of the radula, flat, before splitting and pointing upwards into "new" teeth. It's an unusual form of denticle replacements.

Anyway, that's pretty much it for this installment. Next installment, I will go over the hair texture, fur length, skin colors, and body language of my Rythulian headcanons.

Thanks for making it this far! I have no idea how to write or format things so please excuse the rambling and text walls.

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kohanayaki · 3 years

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.:Time And Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 1

Old habits die hard— and so do feelings, apparently. Relive moments high and low from your life with the Marauders and co. as you tell your godson, Harry, about all the mischief you got up to back in your school days. Takes place mainly in the Marauders era but also has content congruent with the Order of the Phoenix timeline, with some cannon divergence, of course~

- Main pairings: Sirius Black x Reader, Severus Snape x Reader, James Potter x Reader, Remus Lupin x Reader, slight Regulus Black x Reader, and a bunch of friendships! Gender neutral pronouns :)

LINKS: CH 1 CH 2 CH 3 CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

____________________________________________________________

Ch 1 .:Memories And First Meetings:.

12 Grimmauld Place was cold.

Not in the temperature sense of the word, especially in the heat of London summer, but something about it felt distant. Perhaps it was the cookie cutter exterior, dreadfully drab, although you knew its true nature was anything but. Despite its grandeur, the interior was as ornate as it was dull and unsaturated, like a black and white photograph in all its monochromatic glory. Maybe it was the fact that you knew what had happened here in the past, or the fact that you knew who was waiting here for you in the present.

You felt the strange sensation of stepping through the thick blanket of protection charms surrounding the house, as if your body were moving through molasses for a fraction of a second. The moment you were fully inside, you began to hear the hushed bits of a conversation echoing through the entrance hall from the dining room whose door was slightly ajar. The words became clearer as you neared the door.

“Harry's not ready! Have you gone completely mad?”

You found yourself grinning at the first voice, Molly Weasley's stern tone unmistakable.

“He's not a child, Molly.”

You froze as you heard the second one; you'd know it anywhere.

A heavy wave of emotion surged through you as you got near enough to the entrance to see the face of Sirius Black through the gap in the door. His time in Azkaban had taken a toll on him, you could tell. Heavy bags hung from his face, his cheeks hollow; although his gray eyes still held that spark in them. His hair was longer, somehow even more wild and unruly than before, but it suited him.

“Well he's not an adult either! He's not James.”

You caught a flash of ginger as Molly crossed the room, using her wand to aggressively clear away the plates on the table as she made her point.

“I know he isn't, but he can handle himself,” Sirius said, “and I'll be there to protect him.”

“How touching, Black. Perhaps the boy will grow up to be a felon just like his godfather.”

Your stomach dropped at the third voice. Shit.

Your presence remained unannounced, but as you peaked your head around the corner of the door frame you were met with Severus' stoic face, an imperceptible crease of distaste in his brow as he regarded Sirius. As your view widened you saw that Lupin sat to his left, a human wall between the two former foes.

You stilled at the door, taking a deep breath in an attempt to settle your irrationally rioting nerves. It's not as if you didn't know they would be there, but it had been so long since you'd seen any of them. So much has changed. . .

“You stay out of this, Snivelus. I don't care what Dumbledore has to say about your supposed reformation, but I know better.”

“Don't you have to go play fetch elsewhere?”

“Oh come on, you two,” Remus sighed.

Well, maybe not much has changed after all.

“Still resorting to playground bickering, are we?”

Several heads snapped in your direction at your words, and you were met with various reactions. Molly's face immediately split into a smile and she rushed around to table to greet you.

“(Y/n), dear! So nice to see you again,” she pulled you into a surprisingly strong hug and you couldn't help but join in her laughter.

“It's good to be back,” you admitted, “Charlie says hello, by the way.”

“Oh, I'm going to give give that boy a talking to,” Molly huffed, “you aren't his owl, dear. The least he could do is write home and say so himself.”

“Romanian mountain ranges keep a wizard busy,” you grinned, “He says he tries to keep in touch.”

“Sending home a bag of petrified dragon scales with a note that says 'look at this!!' is hardly keeping in touch,” she retorted, fussing about with your jacket's collar that had become wrinkled from her embrace.

Even from across the table you could feel Sirius' eyes on you, grateful that you had Molly's whirlwind greeting as a scapegoat for your flushed face.

“(Y/n). . .” he said softly, getting up from his seat.

“Hey,” you smiled, fighting the lump in your throat as he wrapped his arms around you. He was so warm, still wearing that damn leather jacket he'd somehow been reunited with after his imprisonment.

“What are you doing here? They told me you were out working in America,” Sirius said, eyes twinkling as he held you at arm's length.

“Well, I suppose I'm sort of working everywhere these days,” you said. As his words registered in your brain you turned to Molly with narrowed eyes. “You didn't tell him I was coming?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” she said coyly.

You shook your head, turning back to Sirius.

“I'm so sorry, Molly said I could stay here so I thought she already ran it by you—”

“No, no, of course you can stay!” he said enthusiastically, “I'm glad you're here.”

He seemed gentler than he was before, certainly more mellow than in his youth, but that energy that was so quintessentially him remained buzzing beneath his skin, and Merlin, you'd missed it.

After realizing how long the two of you had spent practically holding each other you coughed awkwardly, slowly drifting apart. As you looked around the table your eyes caught Severus' and you thought your heart stopped for a moment. To the untrained eye he probably seemed just as uninterested as ever, but the look of shock in his eyes was so blatantly apparent to you that it threw you off guard. You managed to cast a small smile in his direction, but his expression remained unchanged while yours dropped. You felt your stomach twist up in knots as you thought about what had happened the last time you saw each other.

Lupin looked between the pair of you before getting up from his own seat and coming to your rescue. He extended his arms with a kind smile, and you happily shifted your attention to him.

“It's about time London had its best auror back in town,” he said.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Moony,” you said playfully, hugging him tight, “It's good to see you too.”

“Are you hungry?” Molly asked, pulling a chair out for you.

“Oh no, I had something on the way here,” you said, taking a seat, “thank you, though.”

It felt surreal to be back here, where it all started. The faces were different—some new, some missing—but the same determined feeling remained.

“Now, where were we,” Sirius said, his confidence returning to his shoulders as he addressed the table.

“We were just talking about how Harry isn't ready to be tangled up in all this,” Molly said sternly.

“I think he should decide that for himself,” Sirius said adamantly.

“Well of course the boy would say he wants to fight, he's—”

“Listening in right now,” you pointed out, jutting your head in the direction of the open door where Harry stood, half obscured by the shadow of the stairway.

The boy flushed, backing away slightly as he was caught. But his eyes lit up as they landed on you, and you felt a tug at your heart as you saw your best friend in their bright green hues.

“(Y/n), you're back,” he said in disbelief.

“And here to stay for a bit, apparently,” you said with a smile.

Molly looked between the two of you before letting out a sigh.

“You know what, we should stop for the night anyways,” she said with a wave of her hand, “We've kept the children up long enough with our chatter, and (Y/n) ought to get some rest as well. Off to bed, the lot of you.”

Some of the other adults exchanged some knowing smiles as she shooed them out of the room. People slowly trickled out through the doorway, goodbyes exchanged, and before long it was just you and your godson left.

You had been lucky enough to meet Harry at the end of his third year, and he'd broken the news about Sirius' innocence to you. You so badly wanted to be there for Harry sooner, but between your strained relationship with the Ministry and cleaning up the mess with MACUSA in the States, you always seemed to be called away from the boy. You wanted nothing more than to take him away from that horrid house—you knew how nasty Petunia could be firsthand. Nonetheless, he seemed to be doing well, and you were happy that you'd grown closer over the last few years even if you couldn't be there in person all the time.

“I've got another little souvenir for you, by the way,” you said, having migrated to the living room.

Harry seemed to perk up at that. Since your visits had been so sparse, you began to make it a tradition to bring him back something magical from whatever part of the world you'd been working in.

“You mentioned you were struggling in Potions the last time we spoke,” you said, rummaging through your bag, eventually producing a small, gold-rimmed vial full of a deep maroon liquid. Small black clouds seemed to tumble in a miniature cyclone inside the glass.

“Dragon's breath essence,” you grinned, “nicked it off of Charlie before I left Romania. Put a few drops of this in your salamander blood the next time you brew a Wiggenweld potion and you're set to pass with flying colors.”

“Brilliant!” Harry said, eyes wide, “that's on our O.W.L.S. this year.”

“I know,” you said cheekily, “you didn't hear it from me. Personally, I think an Outstanding in Potions as a requirement to become an auror is utter rubbish. Don't get me wrong, it's important to know your way around a cauldron, but to hold someone back who excels at Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms just because they can't cook up a sleeping draught? I don't know, it doesn't sit right with me. And I've heard Severus is hard enough on you guys as it is.”

Harry seemed surprised at your casual address of his professor but shook it off quickly.

“But you're ace at Potions, and it seems like you really like it,” he said.

“Yeah, well I—” you faltered a bit, “I learned from the best. . .”

“Professor Slughorn, you mean?” Harry questioned.

Your eyes widened at that.

“Yeah,” you lied, recovering fast, “Well, Slughorn was a great teacher but terrible at throwing parties. He had this thing called the Slug Club and the dinners were just awful. Your mother was the first of us to join and she ended up roping me into it, and before we knew it we were all standing around in these ridiculous outfits taking swigs of the firewhiskey your dad snuck in just to get through the night.”

You smiled fondly at the memory, and you could see Harry living vicariously through the emotions on your face. You were grateful for this moment; this was the longest you'd actually gotten to sit down and talk together in a long time.

“Were you always friends?” Harry asked, “with my parents, I mean.”

You had to laugh at that question.

“With your mum, yes. Your father, well, not exactly. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1971 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your body swayed gently with the movement of the Hogwarts Express as you walked up and down the isles, looking for someplace to sit. Most of the carriages were packed tight with large groups made up of upperclassmen not exactly looking to expand their circle.

As you approached the back of the train a mostly empty car caught your eye, occupied only by two children your age, or at least that's what you guessed from their black ties and basic robes that marked them as unsorted first-years like yourself.

One of them was a brooding looking boy with messy, shoulder length black hair and shockingly pale skin, leaning against the wall of the train and halfway through a book that seemed well beyond his years. Sitting across from him was a pretty red-headed girl who was admiring the rapidly passing scenery through the window.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit with you?” you asked, sliding the screen door open.

The boy's brow furrowed, clearly about refuse when the young girl beat him to it.

“Of course not!” she beamed, her smile infectious. You didn't miss the sharp look she shot over to the boy who simply rolled his eyes in response. After you muttered a small 'thanks' she scooted over closer to the window so you could sit next to her.

“My name is Lily,” she said, extending a hand, “Lily Evans.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled, “I'm (Y/n) (L/n).”

The boy quirked a brow at your last name, his expression shifting to something unreadable as he blatantly studied you over the spine of his book. After letting this go on for some time, you glanced over at Lily.

“Does he speak?”

“Perfectly well, thank you,” the boy said coldly.

Lily sent a disappointed look his way and his heart fell slightly, but he didn't need to be friends with anyone else, and he certainly didn't want other people becoming friends with Lily either. An irrational thought, he knew, but it was how his stubborn little brain worked at the time. They didn't need anyone but each other. Wasn't that enough?

In any case, he expected his behavior would be enough to scare you off (it usually worked on other people), but to his complete and utter surprise, you began to laugh. It started off as a light giggle, soon growing into full on laughter. He stared at you in open confusion as you were nearly brought to tears from your fit.

“You're funny,” you stated honestly, managing to speak through your chortles.

The boy was taken completely aback by your candor, actually at a loss for words. Lily joined in the laughter at your simple remark.

“So you do talk, I guess you must have a name too, then,” you said teasingly.

He blinked once. Twice.

“. . . Severus Snape.”

“That's a cool name.”

The heat that crept onto the boy's face surprised no one more than himself, and he buried himself in his book quickly to hide it. Another surprisingly frank statement from you, and not one he'd ever heard before.

If he thought you were full of surprises then, he had no idea what was coming to him.

_____________________________________________________________

The minute the Sorting Hat was placed on your head, it was immediately intrigued.

“Now here's an odd one,” it chuckled, “loyal, compassionate, empathetic, and yet a razor wit. A calculating, ambitious mind, and yet a relentless sense of adventure. All this, and with your bloodline to take into account as well. Your family has quite the history here, (L/n).”

Hushed whispers fell across the Great Hall among the older students and even some of the faculty at the hat's words, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“Though, I sense a different sort of mentality in you,” the hat continued, “you desire to challenge the old ways,” it paused for some time before going on, “do you truly have no preference, child?”

You were surprised at the question. You knew your family's reputation— it had been ingrained in you from a young age— but that didn't sway you, nor did it scare you. When you really thought about what house you wanted to be in, you truly couldn't think of an answer. It wouldn't change who you were, after all. Whether you donned red, yellow, blue, or green, you stood firmly in the knowledge that you would always be (Y/n) (L/n). Having made up your mind, you shook your head at the hat's question, and although its face was obscured from your view, you could almost sense its grin as it knew you were telling the truth.

“Well then,” it chuckled, “It is truly rare that I get an opportunity such as this. Let's make it interesting, then, shall we? Better be. . . Slytherin!”

Snape sat, slack-jawed, as you bounded over to the applauding Slytherin table and plopped down next to him. You rested your chin atop your folded hands, looking largely unbothered, a glint in your (e/c) eyes. He chuckled under his breath despite himself.

Full of surprises indeed.

___________________________________________________________

Your first encounter with James Potter was of a different sort.

It was the very beginning of your third year when you'd first met him properly. You had a few classes together, and Lily would rant about him constantly pestering her; occasionally you'd see the Gryffindor, along with another unfamiliar boy in his house, sprinting through the corridors, Professor McGonagall not far behind and demanding them to stop. But other than that, you'd never really interacted with him.

Ever since you'd met on the train you and Lily started to hang out more and more, with Snape “begrudgingly” tagging along. The Slytherin had been slow to warm up to you, but you were relentlessly kind and infuriatingly persistent, and eventually he found himself enjoying your little quips and comparatively sunny disposition. By the end of your first year, the three of you were nearly inseparable, and your bond only strengthened throughout your second. But third year is when things started changing.

Snape sat in the shade among the thick, overgrown roots of the old oak tree by the Black Lake, nose deep in an advanced Potions textbook he'd swiped from a fifth year as he waited for you and Lily to return from Transfiguration, the only class you didn't have together. This became your usual spot, with Lily sitting in the grass beside him and you on the branch above him, legs swinging as you absentmindedly sketched in your notebook. A comfortable silence would settle between you, something you'd all grown to enjoy; there was no need for constant conversation, it was enough sometimes to just enjoy each others' presence.

The silence he was reveling in alone, however, was promptly interrupted as rowdy laughter reached Snape's ears. Sure enough, a few figures emerged from the curve of the hill, revealing none other than James Potter, flanked by the curly haired boy he'd been seen running around with earlier along with two other Gryffindors: a short-statured boy with dirty blonde hair and another, taller and leaner, with long scars that ran along his face.

Snape didn't pay them much mind until he realized that they were heading straight for the tree— straight for him. Snape had noticed right away how the Potter boy had tried to befriend Lily as soon as she was sorted into Gryffindor, and it was safe to say he was less than fond of him despite having never really spoken to him before.

“You've got to be joking,” James snickered as he walked up to the tree, looking Snape up and down, “This is the guy Evans has been ditching us to see?”

Severus' eyes narrowed. So now he had a reason not to like him.

“Get lost,” he said, turning back to his book.

“What, you think you're too good to talk to us, huh?” James scoffed at him, clearly miffed.

As if on cue, the curly haired boy snatched the book out of Snape's hands, holding it out of his reach as he fumbled to get it back.

“Toss it, Sirius!” James called out. The boy, who he now knew as Sirius, threw the textbook like a frisbee, and Potter caught it easily.

As Snape angrily rose from his seat to get it back, the two boys continued to throw it between themselves so he couldn't grab it. Fed up, the Slytherin drew his wand but was quickly outmatched.

“Expelliarmus!”

Snape's wand flew out of his hands and straight into Sirius', who held it above his head. Just as the black haired boy jumped up for it, another spell flew towards him, this time from James.

“Winguardium Leviosa!”

Snape grit his teeth, staring helplessly at his wand as it hovered higher and higher out of his reach.

“James, come on, I think that's enough,” the taller boy near the back said.

“Don't be a bore, Remus, we're just having some fun.”

“I-I think he's right, guys.”

“Shut up, Peter.”

While his gaze was trained on his wand a harsh shove threw Snape to the ground, tears of frustration welling up in his eyes.

“No way, is he really crying?” James taunted.

“He is,” Sirius goaded on, “just look at him snivel.”

“You're right, maybe we should call him Snivelus, it suits him better.”

“Nice one, James.”

Snape winced as he was harshly pulled to his feet by James who sneered at him.

“Come on then, Snivelous. What are you gonna do?”

“Relashio!”

James' eyes widened as he suddenly felt himself repulsed back by some invisible force, his grip on Snape's robes forced to loosen as he was flung backwards. You stared the shocked Gryffindors down, wand at the ready for another spell as you ran to stand between Severus and them.

“Accio!” another voice called out, Snape's book and wand whizzing past their faces and into Lily's hands.

James staggered to his feet, trying to look unbothered by the fact that he'd just been knocked down, and by a spell that he hadn't even heard of yet.

“Look at that, boys,” he said, feigning confidence, “guess Snivelus needs a couple of girls to come to his rescue. You should ditch this loser, Evans.”

Before Lily could lash back, you stepped between them.

“What's that supposed to mean?” you scoffed.

“I'm sorry, who are you?”

You felt your forehead twitch, itching to smack that smug grin off his face.

It was Sirius who spoke next, recognition filling his gaze.

“Wait, you're the (L/n) kid, aren't you? Well that's just perfect, you two freaks can go study the Unforgivable Curses together.”

That struck a nerve in you.

“You don't know anything,” you said, not lowering your wand, “now get out of here before I knock you down too.”

“Aw, I don't know, Sirius, they're kind of cute all flustered like this,” James smirked.

You felt anger flare up in your chest, and it was Lily's turn to step in for you.

“Leave us alone, James,” she ordered.

When none of them moved you exhaled sharply, taking another step forward.

“Or I can just turn you into a flobberworm instead,” you said, “might be more fitting.”

Sirius laughed off your threat, but you could have sworn you saw a twinge of concern in his eyes as he looked over to the rest of his friends for backup.

“Let's just go, James. Come on,” the one named Remus said, trying to be the voice of reason.

The bespectacled boy frowned, shoving his wand back in his robes.

“Fine,” he said, “they aren't worth it anyways.”

He turned promptly on his heels, Sirius right behind him and Peter scampering after. Remus stayed behind for a moment, regarding you three.

“I'm sorry about them,” he said, “really.”

Your brow creased in suspicion, but you nodded, not quite smiling but offering up a neutral expression at least before he turned to catch up with the rest of his group.

“You were kidding about (L/n) being cute, right?” Sirius said as they headed back to the common room. When he was met with silence instead of a clear 'of course I was' he nearly had a stroke.

“Are you kidding, James?” Sirius said incredulously, “They're a Slytherin! They're just another dark arts dabbler who doesn't care about anything but their blood status.”

James only shrugged.

“Normally I'd agree, but they seem different,” he said. When he turned to see Sirius' unwavering expression he sighed, “I was just saying that to get a rise out of 'em. Don't worry, this won't be the last time we mess with them and Snivelus.”

Meanwhile, you were still out sitting by the tree, brushing the grass out of Severus' hair.

“That was amazing, (Y/n),” Lily said, wide-eyed, “How did you manage to learn that spell? And you already learned the worm-morphing jinx too?”

“Sev isn't the only one who's been learning ahead,” you said, “but that worm thing was a total bluff.”

“I didn't need your help,” Snape muttered.

You blinked down at him, shaking your head and unable to fight the smirk that crept onto your face.

“Sure you didn't,” you huffed, helping him up to his feet despite his protests, “don't be so dramatic, we won't tell anyone if that's what you're so worried about. Now come on, we're gonna be late for dinner. If Wilkes hogs all the Yorkshire puddings I'm blaming you entirely.”

Severus said nothing, only taking his book and wand back from Lily before you three walked back to the castle arm in arm, the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It seems like so long ago,” you said, reminiscing, “Although I suppose it was, but I don't want to think about that too hard— I'll start to feel old, Merlin forbid.”

Harry's eyes were full of disbelief at your story.

“So you, my mum, and. . . Snape were friends?”

“Believe it or not,” you grinned, “unlikely trio as we were, it just sort of worked somehow.”

Until it didn't, you thought grimly, but forced the thought aside. You could tell by how quiet Harry had gotten that something was bothering him.

“My dad really did that?” he asked quietly.

Your gaze softened and you turned to fully face him.

“He was dumb and immature at the time,” you said, “we all were. There's not much else to be when you're thirteen. Each of us made plenty of mistakes, too many to count. And your mum. . . she was good for him. He always told me that she made him want to be a better person. People can change. In my opinion, there are few things someone can do that makes them truly irredeemable, and your father never came close to doing any of those things.”

You thought it better to mention that Snape probably didn't feel the same way.

“In any case, we should be getting to bed,” you said, getting up from the couch, “if you ever want to hear any other stories about your parents, I've got plenty of them.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, smile brightening his whole face, “yeah, definitely. Thank you.”

As Harry walked off to his room you sighed, making your way as quietly as you could up the creaky stairs. Just as you were about to retreat into your own guest room, your eyes snagged on the slightly ajar door at the top of the stairwell.

You stalled in front of it for a moment, wondering if you were out of your mind or not. When you had unapologetically settled on 'yes', you moved to knock on the door when it suddenly swung open. You practically leaped back at the proximity as you were met with Sirius standing in the doorway, stormy eyes wide. He'd shed his leather jacket for the night, leaving him in a dark maroon button up with the top few undone. Your senses were draped with the heady scent of his cologne, and you found yourself grasping at words to say.

When Sirius got over his initial shock he laughed sheepishly, running a hand through his curls out of habit.

“I was about to see if you were awake,” he admitted with a small grin, “Seems we both had the same idea.”

Read chapter 2 here !

#harry potter #the marauders #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #regulus black x reader #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #regulus black #harry potter x reader #marauders era #severus snape #snape x reader #severus snape x reader #multi chapter #harry potter fanfiction #marauders fanfiction

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zodiyack · 3 years

Text

Promises

Requested by anon: Omg hi again may I request a Sherlock Holmes x reader were they get married and have kids! Thank you <3

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female!Reader

Warnings: One smut-indication?, funny angst, fluffity fluff, no proof-reading

Words: 1,953

Summary: (See Request)

Note: I’m making this a continuation of Reminders if that’s ok with you-

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @thewarriorprincessxo, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @missihart23, @beckster07890, @maan24

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

Tears were shed, laughs were scattered, cheers were shouted. Sherlock had made good on his promise and married the lovely beautiful artist. He couldn’t stray his eyes from hers the entire wedding. It was difficult to even form words with how breathtaking the angel in front of him looked. Did they really expect him to say vows with this gift from the heavens standing right before him?!

Although Sherlock found it hard, he managed to spit out the words that caught in his throat. You’d hardly be able to tell he was a nervous wreck; the loving words that should bind them in mere moments came from his lips like poetry.

As soon as they were wed, Sherlock was eager to have his wife to himself. The entire after-party, he sat beside her with his leg bouncing impatiently, and that night he’d made love to her more times than they’d ever done in a week. A new record. He made it known that his promise was good.

What was to come after, though, was surely to be expected.

“Rin, stop moving sweetie.” She begged calmly for what felt like the thousandth time. Her youngest daughter fidgeted in the chair. She looked like a baby-doll propped up in an adults’ chair with how small she was. Painting her children was not uncommon for Y/n. They loved to model for their mother but most of the time her children could just barely stay still.

Their oldest, Eddie, a nickname for Edward, was goofy and had a heart like his aunt’s, both Enola and Eddie more child-like than times would prefer. Second oldest, Will Claud, short for William Claud, was determined, like his father, but had a habit of over doing it. He was the strict and ...well, the nerd brother. Will Claud just wanted to impress his father and mother, but he seemed to listen to his uncle Mycroft too much.

Next born was Alice. She had her mother’s skill in art as well as her father’s skill in mystery. She and Will Claud were born not too long from each other, so it was no surprise that they were constantly wrestling for the spotlight. Alice didn’t try to outwit her brother as much as he did her, but she wasn’t new to winning.

Finally, the twins; Clayton and Catherine. Clayton was mischievous and didn’t hesitate to make it known, but Catherine, sitting in that chair across her mother as her soft skin is replicated by paint onto a canvas of color, was practically an angel.

While the other children would hurdle over each other to get to their father every time he stepped through the front doors, Cathy would wait beside her mother politely before walking to her father slowly. Her siblings would part, forming a walkway in the middle as if she were royalty.

So then the joke was made and the chair painting was currently underway. They had to find the right chair, and they did. It looked so elegant, so royally distinguished. It looked perfect. Fit for a queen.

And that was what the joke was. That Catherine was the “queen”. Not a very funny one without context, Cathy’s siblings later found out, but a good one to tease her with. However, queen Cathy didn’t mind it. In fact, she was quick to drop into character, the smoothest transition known to man-kind.

While, yes, Catherine’s character was rather humorous, it still held some concerns. Would she become the lordly queen her siblings tried to paint her as? Would she ever realize it was all a joke her siblings made up? Growing up was never something she forced on her children, but she didn’t want to have them growing too used to a title like that. Y/n joked to her husband one night in bed as they held the sleeping majesty, whom had crawled into their bed without reason.

“I’m highly aware she’s ‘the queen’ and all, but I really hope she doesn’t decide she’d like to adopt the complete role. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if my baby became my nightmare. The other four are already so much work.” She chuckled as she brushed some of Catherine’s hair behind her ear.

Sherlock looked at his sleeping daughter. She looked so at peace, just as she always did, and he nodded yet noted his disagreement. “I doubt she’d ever become such a hassle. She’s been so patient and kind, I can’t see her actually devolving a bad side. Clayton, sure, but his sister?” Their eyes flicked up to meet each others. A beat later and they were in hushed snickers.

“Mummy?”

“Yes?”

“When will daddy be returning home?” She had relaxed her facial muscles, if only she’d done so with her limbs- make it easier for her mother, and held a casual tone of voice. Another thing with Catherine; she was harder to read than most.

“I’m not sure, my dear. He should be back before supper...” Y/n lifted her head to peak over the easel and watch her three older kids as they played with Clayton. He was a tough kid, but always overestimated how tough he really was. Y/n felt concern fill her gut when he first begged to play with his older siblings, but she let him anyways, Sherlock being the one to thank for that decision.

“Good. I want to sit next to him tonight. And you. I want to sit next to both of you, mummy.” She gave her mother a small smile, which she returned, before adjusting to her original pose.

Y/n paused after she finished the details involving the chair and Cathy. “Catherine, you do realize that I sit next to your father at dinner, right? And Eddie sits on his other side...that is, if Willy loses their fight tonight...I wonder why they don’t just take turns...” She muttered the last few sentences to herself in heavy contemplation.

“Mhm! You can sit next to him too!” The little girl watched her mother process her question with wide eyes of anticipation. She realized Y/n still didn’t quite understand and was quick to explain. “I can sit on your lap, mummy! Like when I was this big!” Catherine held up her hands to show an overexaggerated space between her small hands that supposedly represented her only one or two years ago.

“Well... Daddy and I can talk about it when he gets home. Is that alright with you?”

“Mhm! But I don’t want to crush the new me, so don’t be afraid to tell me no, mummy, okay?!” Her innocence was adorable, but not more than the grin that sat upon her lips.

Clayton rushed in, causing Y/n to instinctively reach for her easel protectively. He chortled to himself before announcing what was on his mind. “It’s not a new you, Cathy, it’s a new me! I’ll bet you on it, I’m shore I have the funs!”

“Clayton Luther Holmes!” Y/n’s eyes doubled in size. “Who taught you about betting?”

Her son ignored her question and continued, “Besides, what if I want to sit on mother’s lap?!”

“We can’t both sit on mummy- what about the baby?”

“Uhh, it can move, no doy?! It can move just like Will Claud tells me to. It doesn’t need to be shell-fish!” Clayton muttered bitterly. “If Will Claud really wants to call someone his funny names, he should call the baby them.” His time with the older kids was undoubtfully the reasoning behind the failed attempts of words he didn’t fully understand.

“Do you mean ‘selfish?’“

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Don’t you agree, mummy? See, she agrees!” Clayton tried to argue with his twin, but his words had no effect on her. Catherine stared at him blankly, confused like her mother.

“Mummy didn’t say anything, Clayton. She said we can talk about it when daddy gets home, so you can wait here with me.” She scooted over a bit in the chair and pat beside her. Clayton shot her a look of distaste and ran back out into the yard.

“That was...odd.” Y/n blinked.

“He did remind me though, mummy... The baby can’t move... maybe I could sit with daddy instead?” Catherine sounded reassuring, her feathery voice calming her mother.

Which she really needed. She could hardly focus on her painting now. Her heart was begging for Sherlock to walk through the front doors already, spare her from another interruption that would throw her off-course for the fifth time that evening.

Like magic, her wish was granted and a knock sounded on the study door. Both Catherine and Y/n’s heads snapped toward Sherlock entering the room. “How’s her-majesty doing?” He smirked at Cathy as he set down his case. “I heard from two little competitive detectives that mummy is creating a masterpiece of her masterpiece! Are the rumors true?”

“That they are, detective. Seems you’ve found out the surprise before it could surprise you.” Catherine giggled as her father lifted her from the soft red chair and spun her around before planting a kiss on her forehead.

“So, my little queen, how are you?”

“Good.” She smiled brightly. “How are you? Did mummy ask you yet?”

Sherlock turned to face Y/n, who looked away as fast as she could- wide eyes and all. “Did mummy ask me what, Rin?”

“If I could sit with you or her during supper? I would sit on mummy’s lap, but I don’t want to hurt the baby, and even if I could, Clay wants to sit on her too. I don’t want to make it unfair!” Catherine frowned. “I told him he could wait with me until you were here to talk about it but he didn’t want to.”

“I’ll tell you what. Since mummy has the baby, you can sit with her and I’ll have Clayton sit with me.”

“Yeah! He moves around a lot and we want to be extra careful with mummy and mini-baby, right?” Sherlock nodded, Y/n still trying to figure out what her daughter was saying, and sent Cathy off to play with her siblings until Alice finished supper. It wasn’t intended for Y/n’s pregnancy, but it certainly helped. A system in which the kids could claim nights to help out with meals. Alice loved to make dinners while Edward loved to bake. The smell of a delicious homecooked meal was never lacking in the Holmes house.

“Hear that? Mini-baby gets to sit next to the queen tonight.”

“I’m jealous, quite frankly.” Sherlock’s grin never ceased to bring Y/n’s to her face. Though she was exhausted, her husband made her feel calm and peaceful. “So, our five little reminders never cease to remind you, do they?”

“No...and don’t forget the sixth, Mr. Holmes.”

“Believe me, I haven’t, Mrs. Holmes. I’m simply awaiting their arrival. Perhaps a few more before I needn’t anymore reminders?”

“Mayhaps...however- Let’s talk about it when I’m no longer expecting, please. I’m already resisting the urge to collapse.” Sherlock chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he watched his wife struggle to the doors before helping her. His arms scoop her up and carry her to their room. They passed the paintings that hung upon the walls, portraits of Sherlock, portraits of their children, a portrait by her mother in law of their wedding day. The wall was home to their present and past, providing room for their future as well.

They were in their room for only a few minutes before a loud chatter followed them. Both adults closed their eyes and prepared themselves for their little ones who would burst through their doors at any moment. His promise was good, and they had five, almost six, reminders to show for proof.

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live-the-fangirl-life · 3 years

Note

Your fics are so cute. If you have time I would love to see this as a prompt for Rowaelin maybe? (Make it crazy if you want 😘)

“I would love to kiss you right now but my lips are on fire.”

For the Aesthetic

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Answered Prompt

“I would love to kiss you right now but my lips are on fire.”

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

1305 words

***

The party was in full swing by the time Aelin and Rowan arrived. If there was one thing Dorian did better than anyone else—even her, she’d begrudgingly admit—was throw a kick-ass party.

Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, bright purple and orange lights flashed, and dry ice was bubbling up from around the bloodied punchbowl. Aelin caught glimpse of her friends dressed like zombies, sexy cops, celebrities, superheroes, sexy superheroes, and a dozen other obscure costumes.

She smirked as she took in the cheap, generic-looking outfits. If Dorian won at throwing Halloween parties, then Aelin won at attending Halloween parties. She’d scoured the internet and thrift stores for the perfect pieces for her and Rowan’s ensembles. Her costumes were always the best, and she’d made sure that this year she and Rowan had the most amazing couple’s costume.

Rowan knew that Aelin would take reigns for Halloween, so he simply sat back and let her put together their costumes. Even if he tried to help or offer a suggestion, she shushed him and told him that Halloween was hers and that he could be in charge of one of the boring holidays. The insult was sweetened by lots of kisses, so Rowan didn’t put up much of a fight.

This year, she’d decked them out in full pirate costumes. Rowan’s shirt hung open to show off his broad chest, something Aelin had insisted upon with a wicked smirk. Aelin wore an authentic corset, and they both had shining swords hanging from their hips.

She had even found this website that specialized in edible glitter lipsticks. Aelin bought four different colors and was currently wearing the gold shade, making her lips look like shimmering sunlight or golden doubloons...and even more tantalizing than usual given the way Rowan could hardly keep his gaze off them for more than a few moments.

It didn’t matter that her lips had felt tingly ever since she put it on. Or that she felt a slight burn along her tongue after she’d licked her lips, but that was probably from the shot she’d taken before leaving the apartment.

They’d said hello to their friends before Aelin reached for a cup of the spiked punch. Maybe another drink would take her mind off her burning mouth.

Aelin dragged Rowan into the living room where the furniture had been pushed aside to create a make-shift dancefloor. He spun her around once they found an empty space before pulling her back into him, grinning.

Rowan’s hand on her waist tightened as he pulled her closer and moved his hips with hers in time to the music. Aelin let herself get lost in the dancing and the feel of Rowan as he leaned down and trailed kisses along the column of her throat. Aelin didn’t hold back her soft moan as he found the sweet spot right behind her ear, the music drowned out any noise she made, anyway.

When he brought his face up to hers, his eyes were dark and a smirk pulled at his lips as he admired the marks he’d left on her skin. Rowan bent his head to kiss her, but Aelin pressed a firm hand to his chest. He froze, the heat in his face dimming as he gave her a questioning look.

Aelin winced, wanting nothing more than to let him keep going, but she couldn’t.

“I would love to kiss you right now, Buzzard,” she told him, pulling him close so he could hear her over the music, “but my lips are on fire.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Rowan jerked back and his eyes scanned her face, landing on her golden, shimmery lips. His brows furrowed and he focused on her mouth before his eyes shot back to hers.

“Aelin, your lips are swollen.” He told her incredulously, “Did you have any strawberries?” he glanced over towards the food table, “I didn’t see any, but you know you’re allergic, you can’t eat them just because they taste good.”

She winced. Allergic. She must be allergic to the lipstick.

Rowan caught her wince and his concern deepened as he surveyed the food table with unerring scrutiny, searching for a fruit he wouldn’t find. She squeezed his arm, pulling his attention back to her, and told him, “No strawberries.” His shoulders relaxed a fraction, but he was still tense, trying to figure out why she was in pain, “I think it’s the lipstick.”

His eyebrows shot up as he focused on her lips once more. “The lipstick. Damn.”

It was her turn to look confused. “Damn? Why?”

He snorted but was already grabbing her hand to lead her from the dance floor and towards the door. “Because I really liked that lipstick.” He winked at her over his shoulder as he steered them out of the party. “I wanted to see it left on other places.”

Aelin blood turned molten...almost as hot as her lips felt.

She focused on them again and couldn’t contain the sharp inhale as she fully registered the pain she was feeling now that they were out of the suffocating party.

Her lips were on fire, so was the tip of her tongue, and she was positive they were swelling up to the point where she’d be unable to talk soon.

As soon as they got into Rowan’s car, Aelin dug into the glove compartment for her emergency bag to grab a pack of makeup remover wipes. Rowan started the car and got pulled out onto the road while glancing over repeatedly at her to watch as she scrubbed furiously at her lips, desperate to remove the cruel lipstick

It took three makeup wipes, but as soon as her lips were clean, Aelin immediately felt better. They were still swollen and felt like a dozen tiny fire ants were making their home on her face, but it was better than it had been on the dancefloor.

“Did it hurt the whole time you had it on?” Rowan questioned from the driver’s seat, reaching over to thread his fingers through hers.

Sighing, she leaned back and relaxed into the leather seat, “Yeah, but it wasn’t so bad at first. By the time we left it was only an incessant tingle.”

His head whipped towards her, “You felt it before we even left the house, and you still kept it on?” He shook his head trying to understand his girlfriend’s thought process. “You didn’t think maybe it’d be a good idea to get rid of the thing that was irritating you?”

She raised a single brow at him and smirked, refraining from making the obvious joke. He rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what she wanted to say.

Aelin used her free hand to tuck a stay wisp of hair behind her ear and lean closer to him across the center console. “It’s all about the aesthetic, Rowan. The lipstick completed the look,” she scoffed, “I wasn’t going to go to Dorian’s Halloween party with a sub-standard costume.”

Aelin grinned as Rowan loosed a long-suffering sigh and glanced side-longed at her, “And I suppose you have a reputation that not even physical pain would deter you from upholding.” He said drily.

Aelin just squeezed his hand in confirmation and he huffed a laugh before squeezing back.

“I might not be able to wear the lipstick,” Aelin murmured, inching closer to him, “But I do have a part of my costume you haven’t seen yet.”

His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as his eyes flicked back to hers, now wicked with amusement. His gaze roved over her scantily-clad body before saying in a voice an octave lower than normal, “Part that I haven’t seen? Are you wearing it now?”

Her answering smirk had Rowan speeding the rest of the way home.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @bisexual-genderfluid-loki @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @ladygabrielli1997 @moodymelanist @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon

#rowaelin #aelin #rowan #aelin and rowan #rowan and aelin #rowaelin fluff #rowaelin fic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius x rowan whitethorn #halloween #answered prompt #throne of glass #tog

139 notes · View notes

quiet-onset · 3 years

Text

New Suit

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k+

A/N: it’s been forever since I’ve posted, but I have been writing since I was stuck at home with covid 😅 Hopefully I can post something else next week too! ANYWAYS, this fic does not have any TFAWS spoilers and (as usual) does not give a fuck about Endgame, meaning our favorite dysfunctional couple Tony and Steve are alive. Steve simply passed on the mantle. Enjoy!

So Sam was Captain America. And he was proud of that fact.

The day that Steve decided to retire and give him one of his most prized possessions was a day Sam would never forget. A whirlwind of emotions had swelled in his chest. Shock, unworthiness, gratitude. But after talking it over with Steve — and surprisingly enough, with Bucky — Sam agreed to take in the role.

The thing was, no one knew yet. At least, no one outside of the Avengers facility.

Immediately after Thanos, there weren’t really any Avengers level threats. Most threats could be handled by one team member, and it was usually one of the newbies — Peter, Scott, even Wanda. That being so, Sam didn’t have much of a reason to even make public appearances. So he didn’t.

Sometimes, he’d stand in the training room, the red, white, and blue shield strapped to his arm, and just stare in the mirror. Something felt wrong. Out of place. Like the reflection before him was almost right, but he still couldn’t tell what was wrong. Tony had caught him one time as he stepped into the room, a sports bottle full of ice cold water in his hand. “Mid-life crisis?”

Sam jumped at his loud voice and almost scrambled to detach the shield from his arm, like a kid caught with his grubby little hand in the cookie jar. “My bad, I’ll just—“

“No no, keep it on.” Tony waved a hand. “I gave it to Steve, he gave it to you. It’s yours, no give backsies.”

Sam nodded but took the shield off anyway. He decided that he didn’t need to train anymore and headed toward the door. “I’m just gonna go put this back.”

“What is going on with you, Wilson?”

“What do you mean?”

Tony raised a brow, “What do I mean? You staying cooped up in this facility. Barely training with the shield. Opting out of assignments. That’s what I mean.”

“There’s not much of a need.”

“There is. You just don’t see it yet.” Tony walked toward him. “Look, I know being the new Cap has you freaked out—“

“I’m not freaked out.”

“Sure. But Steve chose you and that should be good enough.”

“It is.” Sam huffed as he turned the shield in his hands. “I don’t know, man. I just… It’s just hard to believe. Hard to put in action, I guess.”

“Well, seeing is believing.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Head to room 626 when you get a chance.”

“What’s in room 626?”

“You’ll see.”

—

Sam exited the elevator on the sixth floor to loud muffled music. Looking around, he realized he’d never even been to that part of the facility before. The white walls and obscure art seemed strange and misplaced in a building full of superhumans. Too clean, too elegant.

Each of the rooms seemed that way too. Sam paused in the hallway, glancing through some of the glass doors with people’s names painted neatly at the top. Hardwood floors and marble countertops in each room. So impeccably clean that even dust bunnies wouldn’t dare step foot inside.

Yet, when Sam approached room 626, he realized this was where the loud music was coming from. Different from the other rooms, this one was messy and colorful. He slid the glass door open, flinching at loud volume.

He recognized the track — his father used to listen to it all the time when he was growing up. He could almost hear his dad’s deep voice teasing him: “You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this, son. This was before your time.” Of course Sam knew the song. His dad was the one who put him on. Still, Sam’s dad always got a kick out the playful fight he put up.

The long, seemingly endless hallway was painted a blinding white. He could make out a peculiar smell as he walked toward the end of the hall. Wet paint or fumes, he wasn’t really sure. He just pulled his shirt over his nose and kept looking for… well only God really knew.

Finally, he arrived in the main room and saw you and your controlled chaos. You had ten or twenty different fabrics pinned to one wall and sketches of different outfits pinned to the opposing one. Against the back wall were mannequins wearing your works in progress. And just in front of Sam on a large wooden desk were schematics and what looked like engineering tools. Soldering iron, wires, circuit boards, and the like.

Everything seemed like a tornado of colors, clothes, and fabric. But you? You were as cool as a cucumber with your expensive looking spray painting mask strapped on as you sprayed the back of a jean jacket with bright pink paint. Sam chuckled when he heard your muffled voice sing along to the song, not noticing his presence. “Sherry bay-yay-by. Sherry, wontcha come out tonight.”

Sam pulled his shirt back down with a small grin on his lips, debating whether he should disturb you. In the end, he decided to save you the embarrassment, but by then, you’d already moved on to the next verse. You dropped your voice down low in an attempt to sound just like Nick Massi, singing, “Why don’t you come on.”

Sam let out a loud laugh, only covering it with his hand as you jumped, finally realizing someone else was in the room. “Sorry.” Sam chuckled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your concert.”

You pulled the mask over your head, revealing a nervous smile. You jogged to the desk and grabbed the remote to switch off the stereo. “Concert’s a flattering choice of words.”

“Well you were really nailing that Massi.”

You raised a brow as you set down the can of spray paint. “You listen to Four Seasons?”

“Growing up, it was a staple in the Wilson household.” He offered his hand. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Y/N.” You shook it, an impressed smile on your face. “So what can I do for you, Sam?”

“I’m actually not sure. Tony just kinda sent me up here.” He raised a brow when you gasped, amused with your excitement. He smiled as the cute squeal that pushed past your lips. “I assume you know what that means.”

“I’ve been asking him forever if I could design your new suit!”

“New suit?”

“I mean, if you’re okay with it.” You added.

“I just don’t see why I need a new suit is all.” Sam shrugged as he looked around at all your work. He knew, way deep down in the rational part of his consciousness, that he needed a new suit. There wasn’t anything wrong with his Falcon suit, but wearing a new suit seemed too definite. If he put on a new combat suit, it meant that he was fully stepping into this new role. That he would be Captain America in more than just name. People would look at him, at his suit, and recognize that he was the Captain America.

“How about this?” You stepped toward him, prepared to bargain. “Let me make you a suit. If you don’t like it, I’ll just give your Falcon suit an upgrade. Deal?”

He let out a nervous chuckle at your offer. He had nothing to lose, really. Either way, he got upgrades. Still, he looked over at you and decided he couldn’t be the one to snuff the ambitious look in your dark eyes. He shook your hand, smiling softly at the triumphant grin that broke across your face. “Deal.”

“Great!” You were bouncing on your toes when he agreed. You practically raced back to your desk and started shuffling through your sketches and until you found the folder you were searching for. You handed them to Sam, “You can come back tomorrow morning so I can take your measurements. Till then, look through these sketches and tell me what you like.”

“So you’ve been working on this for awhile?” Sam asked, briefly flipping through the many colorful sketches.

“Ever since Tony told me about you.”

He let out a breath of amusement through his nose. Of course it was Tony, trying to set things in motion before Sam was even sure of what he wanted. Still, he knew Tony was trying to help. Sam gestured with the folder. “I’ll take a look.”

“Cool. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

—

When Same woke up the next day, he found himself immediately thinking about meeting with you later. He felt weird. Nervous, even. Whether it was due to the idea of a new suit — of being Captain America — or seeing you, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he felt like a swarm of butterflies had flown from his stomach to his throat and decided to make a home there.

After stepping out of the shower, which took twenty more minutes than usual, he fumbled around for something to wear. What was he supposed to wear to fitting anyway? Sweats? Jeans? As his mind wandered, he thought of you. Rather, he thought of how you would see him. Maybe I should wear the green shirt, he thought. Girls always seem to like the green shirt.

He paused. Why was he thinking that?

He’d just met you. He knew a total of two facts about you: your name was Y/N and you listened to Four Seasons. That was hardly enough for Sam to be worried about how he looked for you. Yet, there he was, slipping on the dark green shirt that seemed to stretch ever so slightly across his broad chest. He settled on a pair of dark jeans before heading down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

As he stepped into the communal kitchen, Bucky was already sitting at the island, back facing Sam. He had just returned from his daily run, still in his sweatpants and white T-shirt with a cup of coffee in front of him. “There’s still fresh coffee in the pot.” Bucky mumbled into his cup as he flipped to the next page of the newspaper.

“Thanks.” Sam walked past him, slapping the newspaper into Bucky’s face as he walked by. “Why are you reading a newspaper?”

“To keep up with the news. Like a normal person.”

“There are these great new things called cell phones. Most people read the news on those now.”

“Well, I’m not most people, am I?” Bucky lowered the newspaper and furrowed his brow at the sight of Sam. “What girl are you trying to impress?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Green shirt.”

“What about it?”

“That’s your ‘I want a girl to like me’ shirt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam scoffed as he poured a second cup of coffee. “This is just a shirt.”

“The shirt.”

“I’m not having this argument with you.”

“Not much of an argument when you know I’m right.” Bucky smirked. “Who’s the second cup for?”

Sam paused as he realized he’d been caught, but quickly recovered with an eye roll. “For me. So I don’t have to come back and hear your annoying ass voice.”

“Mhm. Tell the girl I said hi.”

“Screw you.” Sam left the kitchen to the sound Bucky’s chuckles, reluctant to admit that he was right. Moments later, he was waiting for the elevator, tapping his shoe to distract himself from the butterflies that were starting to flutter around again. When the doors slid open, Tony briefly greeted Sam before stopping and pulling off his glasses. “Green shirt?”

Sam stepped past him. “Shut up.”

Every step closer to your workspace had him jittery. Not only was he forced to deal with these unfamiliar feelings for you — if that’s what they were — but he was finally being confronted with his new position. One step closer to replacing Steve. To being Captain America. Yet, he couldn’t deny, he could envision himself in some of the suits you had sketched for him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

When he entered 626, there was loud music playing once again. Another old song he recognized, Van Morrison. He smiled at the thought of you dancing around your space again, singing along to Brown Eyed Girl. It wasn’t so much about him catching you in the act. It was nice, a privilege really, to see the natural you. Eyes closed, arms up, hips swaying. Seeing how you act when you believed no one was watching was like strangely endearing.

And there you were, almost matching his wandering thoughts to a tee. You were setting up for work, once again not noticing Sam’s arrival. You danced across the room as you moved things from place to place. You began to sing out the words as you prepared to lift your tri-fold mirror. Sam broke from the trance and called out your name. You jumped and placed a hand over your heart, laughing quietly when you saw it was only him. “Caught me again.”

“To be fair, you seem pretty easy to catch with the way you get lost in music.” Sam smiled, placing the coffee cups on your desk, far from any of your papers. “Let me get that for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“It’s no problem. Just tell where you want it.”

You stepped away from the mirror, tossing a stray braid over your shoulder with a smile. “Just over there, in front of that pedestal. Thanks.” When he went to lift it, your eyes were drawn to his arms, watching his biceps flex. You caught yourself before you could begin to stare, heat rising to your cheeks as you went to look for your measuring tape.

“Oh, by the way, I brought you a cup of coffee.” Sam mentioned as he set the mirror down. “You know, if you drink it? I didn’t know what you put in it, if anything, so it’s black. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfect, actually.” You sighed happily. “I’ve been trying to replace coffee with loud music in the mornings, hence the dancing.”

“Of course.” He chuckled in response.

“And while I love to blast Morrison at nine in the morning, it’s not the same without a hot cup of coffee.” You took the cup he offered with a smile. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

Sam couldn’t help how his heart skipped a beat. “Don’t mention it.”

You took a sip, “So, you ready to get measured for your new suit?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Great, just step onto the pedestal for me, and relax.”

“Got it.”

It was quiet as you brought the tape measure under his arms and around his chest. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Sam was sure his nerves had to be radiating out of him. The butterflies were beating against his ribcage as you pulled just tight enough on the tape measure. You took note of the number and bent over to write it down on your notepad. Being so close to you, Sam felt himself tense up as you measured around his waist. You chuckled and looked up at him. “You gotta relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“If you don’t loosen up, your new suit is gonna be super tight in all the wrong places.” You joked. “Talking usually helps.”

“About what?”

“Anything.” You shrugged. “Like why are you so opposed to a new suit?”

Almost as if it was a reflex, Sam tensed up again with a nervous and playful chuckle. “Way to get me to relax.”

“I’m just saying.” You laughed, adjusting the tape once again. “It’s not like you’re not qualified. I mean, Steve chose you.”

“Yeah, he did. I wish it were that simple in my mind.” He admitted.

“What’s your mind saying?”

“What isn’t it saying?” Sam rolled his eyes at himself. “It’s just… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t want to put that on you. That’s not your job.”

“It’s not.” You agreed with a chuckle. “But that’s not why I asked. You can tell me.”

Again, with a wave of confusion, he felt the tension melt away. He didn’t know why he felt this way, like he could tell you anything and everything. There was a familiarity about you, like you were someone he’d known his entire life despite only meeting twenty hours ago. His father probably would’ve called you an old soul. Maybe in some other lifetime, in another universe, you knew each other. Or maybe, this was just fate coming to pass. Destiny finding, not two halves, but two wholes — putting them together like some sort of experiment to see what would come of it.

“It’s just… how am I supposed to follow after Steve?” He asked. “He has such a huge story, this legacy just hanging over my head. He’s been saving people since before either of us were born. And now here I am, some dude from the Air Force that met Steve completely by accident, about to take up his shield. It just seems unbelievable. Literally.”

You nodded as you measured around his left thigh. “First, let me say that your feelings are completely valid.”

“Why do I feel like you’re about to decimate everything I just said?”

“Not decimate!” You laughed. “Just gently prove wrong.”

“Oh, in that case.” He smiled down at you.

“Shut up.” You snapped him with the tape measure before measuring his other thigh. “Steve is not the only one with a story. I mean, Sam Wilson, the guy who grew up in Harlem, lost his parents and his best friend, and still managed to not give up? The guy Steve Rogers trusted with his life almost immediately after meeting him? The same dude who stole a top secret government project and used it to become a superhero? I think that’s pretty badass.”

Sam considered your words with a small smile. Sure, he may have seemed normal — maybe even mundane — to himself, but the fact is that he had also been through a lot. Just like Steve, Sam realized that his life was no walk in the park. Not many people couldn’t have lived Sam’s life and come out the other side not just okay but strong. He wasn’t Steve Rogers, but that didn’t matter. He was Sam Wilson, and maybe that was okay.

“You’re good at that.” He commented quietly, looking down at you. He just about caught himself staring at you. The bright smile across your ruby shaded lips, the almost childlike excitement in your eyes. And your eyes — jesus. They were the same color as his, a dark brown. Yet, he couldn’t help but find yours so much more interesting.

“At what?”

“Talking to people.”

“Not everyone. Just...” You shook your head as you stood up straight. There was something indecipherable in his eyes — or maybe you wanted to believe it was. Still, it was there. Admiration, confusion, gratefulness? You weren’t sure. But the intensity of his stare made heat spread across your cheeks one more, and you ducked your head, moving to the side to measure the length of his arm. “Just people like you.”

Minutes later, you finished his measurement and moved on to the designs. You and Sam went through each and every one, noting his likes and dislikes. As time went on, it became very apparent that he was ready to be Captain America. Even if he wasn’t sure yet, you were. Much too soon, every detail of his new suit was planned out, and it was time for Sam to go.

“If I make this my top priority, I can have your new suit finished in two weeks, tops.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Sam said bashfully. “I’m sure you have other work to do.”

“None as exciting or as important.”

“Now you’re just stroking my ego.” He joked.

You scoffed painfully, “Like you need me to do that.”

You walked beside him, down the hall and to the elevator. He couldn’t help but wish he had some sort of excuse to stay, but leading the Avengers meant a mountain of responsibilities. Still, he wanted to see you again. Not for work and not for designing a new suit. He wanted to get to know you away from the fabric and tape measures. He wanted to find out how someone as sweet and breathtaking as you could even exist in a world filled with such evil left and right. So, he rocked back and forth for a moment before turning to you.

“And um, Y/N?”

“Yes?”

Sam fully intended to ask you out just then. But he felt like he couldn’t move. A feeling of nervousness he hadn’t gotten since he was a teenager, he was frozen. Staring at you like a deer in headlights, his brain screamed at him: Just ask her, you dumbass! Then, the elevator announced its arrival with a ding and broke his concentration. He cleared his throat and smiled nervously. “Thank you again. You’ve been a huge help.”

You blinked in confusion but stammered out, “Glad to be of service.”

It wasn’t until a few days later that Sam had gained the courage to do what he should’ve done in that moment.

The city was in danger — some high-level Hydra threat — and the Avengers were needed. Everyone rushed off to suit up, including Sam. That’s when he saw it. You had just finished his suit, and it was more than Sam could’ve ever imagined. A shiny white breastplate with red decals on the torso, blue pants lined with bulletproof material, and to top it off, his signature red wings. That was something he wanted to keep. They reminded him of his humble beginnings, of what made him the man that Steve chose to be Captain America.

And Captain America he was.

Sam was aware of all the stares he got as he fought the Hydra agents and ended the crisis with the rest of the team. He knew it would take some getting used to. But he was pretty sure — no, extremely sure that he could do this. He could be the symbol that the public needed.

He strolled back into the Avengers Complex, handing a handcuffed Hydra agent off to be questioned, when he saw you. You were usually there waiting, ready for feedback on your new toys and inventions. But what Sam said surprised you.

“Hey Sam,” You started. “Did your new suit fare well? I was already thinking of some modifications based on —“

“Would you like to go out with me this Saturday?”

You blinked, lowering your clipboard in shock. “What?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me on Saturday?” He smiled wide and unabashedly. Then, with no hesitation, you smacked him on the arm with your clipboard, making him bark out a laugh.

“Took you long enough.”

#sam wilson x reader #cap!sam wilson x reader #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #sam wilson x black!reader #cap!sam wilson x black!reader #marvel x black!reader #sam wilson fanfiction #cap!sam wilson fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x black!reader

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studioxlii · 3 years

Note

18 and Junhee pls!! Xx

"to be fully seen by somebody, then, be loved anyhow is a human offering that can border on miraculous."

proof read: kinda

warnings: none

note(s): the format might be garbage, im mobile.

Love is a weird thing but so are the conditions that come with it; the limits that people decide need to be in place. You understood boundaries or not wanting to take too many steps before you knew the relationship would hold but some things never sat right with you. It took a few years but it wasn't until you overheard some of your project group talking that it finally hit you; most people you knew didn't want to date their best friends for two reasons.

1. It could ruin their friendship. This reason was obvious and of course you understood.

2. They'd seen way too much.

You remember hearing those words and your head lifting, confused and wondering what that could even mean. When you were in a relationship that would eventually progress, weren't they just going to see those things anyway? You never could let that thought go, not once you decided that would only make it better; it would make a relationship stronger. Well, in your eyes.

Dating was something that seemed to come easier to you before those thoughts started polluting your mind; no one seemed to understand or see you in a way you really wanted. The ideal person for you was someone who saw everything; the bad days, the good days and the maybe okay but not so great days. It was really starting to mess with you. By not wanting to date certain friends, were you restricting yourself from the relationship you really wanted?

Only one person, one friend, knew you better than you knew yourself, you were positive of that. Your best friend of nine years, Junhee, had probably been through almost every bad thing possible in life with you. You began recalling all the situations you'd been in with each other that were memorable; the things you wouldn't have faced with anyone else because you didn't want anyone else to see.

'Do you remember when you got your belly button pierced?'

And that's when it began.

The question came out of nowhere, breaking the silence of your apartment and leaving Junhee to look up from his book confused and blinking. 'Uh.. yes?' His response came out slow, hesitant like he was missing some weird in-between the lines meaning of the question.

Your head tilted, finally looking over at him. 'Do you remember the way you squeezed my hand to the point it was purple because it hurt so bad you nearly passed out?'

His features flushed at the ridiculous memory being forced back into his head. 'You mean the same day you had to cling to me, crying because your first tattoo felt like your leg was being seared off?'

You hated crying in front of people for any reason but you couldn't go alone; you'd never go alone for something like that. You just nodded in response before returning to your own book, continuing to read like you hadn't brought the subject up at all.

Your first date after you began recalling things and getting far too deep in what could only be sentimental thoughts went okay. A friend of your friend's, Sehyoon, who was an art major and knew of you but didn't know you; he'd never really integrated himself into the small friend circle on campus but Byeongkwan spoke highly of him.

He was sweet; a gentleman. Pretty much anything you could really ask for but you noticed little things; minute things that didn't even matter. You felt like you were being unreasonable or judgmental despite only picking out things that didn't match. Didn't match what, exactly?

He wasn't Junhee.

The realization had you suddenly shooting up from your seat, interrupting the poor male's answer to your question about his major and spilling out several apologies as you even fought to put money down for your own food. It took quite a few more 'I'm really sorry's before you were speeding out of the small restaurant; you'd make sure to call him later.

You found yourself in the only place that made sense: banging hard on the door of the RA for your building, hardly caring if you disturbed anyone else.

'What?' was the greeting you received from a very frustrated Donghun, wanting nothing more than to be left alone again. And yes, you called each other your friend.

'We have a really, really big problem.'

Being a mutual friend and despite not wanting to get involved in anyone's "drama", he spent two hours talking you out of it, down from it and against it, reminding you just why your newfound feelings for your best friend were a problem. He even reminded you of your comment, three years ago, about how you could never possibly like Junhee; how he remembered that and you didn't, you didn't care to ask.

You returned home a wreck, tired and wanting to burn your own emotions. Were you really uncovering some unconsciously buried feelings or did you just like the fact that he /saw/ you? He'd seen you nearly on your deathbed sick.

He'd seen you living in a depression nest for two weeks, barely able to get out a bed and eating nothing but honey buns and cereal.

He'd seen you grieve family members and pets; seen you walk into the rain and scream at the top of your lungs because of how lost in despair you'd been.

He'd seen you drunk and stupid; he'd seen you the night after a one night stand and hungover to the point you wanted to fight the sun.

He'd sat by you absolutely throwing your guts up.

He had seen every single side of you and you'd seen the same from him but it only started to stack further and further.

You knew his favorite songs because God forbid he only have one. You knew his favorite color, favorite food and his weird retirement plan that involved a tiny petting zoo of his own that he refused to just call a farm. Your pins for everything were each other's birthdates and he was the only other name on your bank account. Why?

Staring down at the menu you'd seen over a hundred times, you were sure, you couldn't decide on just what sounded good and part of you just wanted everything. Those moments staring at words that started to blur, you noticed Junhee hadn't touched his menu and kept shifting around, visibly uncomfortable for reasons you couldn't possible figure out.

'It's unlike you to not be going off about the food here.. or already having ordered your favorite drink that, I recall, you said you'd die without if you didn't have it every time you came here,' you began, closing the menu and setting it down with narrowed eyes, 'what's going on?'

'It's stupid. Just.. order and get some food, I'll probably just eat later. I'm not really hungry.'

That was a bold faced lie and you knew it, the concern growing. 'And, what's the oh-so-stupid reason, exactly?'

It took him a minute, shifting more and acting like a child who had gotten in trouble. 'I, uh.. I can't really..' he gestured around, lips pursed and growing even more upset by the second, you could tell by the way he was trying to stop himself from frowning. 'Can't really afford it.' You were college students, it wasn't the world's biggest secret if you couldn't afford something.

'Do you really think I'm just going to eat in front of you?' You snorted, avoiding any comment that would further his being upset over the situation, 'Don't worry about it and order, okay?'

Financial struggles were no quiet matter between the two of you and never had been since you started school. Junhee lived off campus in an apartment with two shitty roommates, a terrible part time job and parents that pretty much didn't care if he perished on the side of the street somewhere. You, on the other hand, which you didn't like bringing up, were doing fine but only because your parents dropped something of an 'allowance' into your account for foods and necessities.

You ignored his attempt to argue and told him if he didn't order something, you were going to do it for him; he shut up.

The next day, you took a trip to the bank.

You could feel eyes on you as you splayed across the couch, staring at the ceiling and contemplating life and all of it's annoyances. No question left you but even if you wanted to say something, you were cut off.

'So, are you going to tell me what's going on? For the past.. three weeks? You've been asking me all sorts of weird stuff,' Junhee inquired, frowning thoughtfully, 'Are you testing me or something? Trust me, yes, I remember every single second I've spent with you. I remember every word you've said, the names of every guy you've been with and the ones I'd like to fight. I remember every birthday and gift I've given you and the ones you've given me. Yes, I remember your favorite things and everything so, what's the deal?'

It sounded sentimental at first but then you noticed that all too familiar waiver in his voice and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed his hands fiddling with the chain bracelet that had adorned his wrist for five years; he wanted to cry. A crying Junhee was something no one ever wanted on your hands and you briefly recalled a phone call from a very panicked Byeongkwan because of just that but you were letting your thoughts get off topic.

'I think I'm in love with you.'

'If you don't want to be fri-'

You were both cut off as your head turned to finally look at him, soaking in the unreadable expression on his features when someone busted through the door; 'Look!'

Both of you looked towards your two friends that invited themselves into your door, one holding a new cat and the other looking just as pleased with the announcement but it gradually dropped. 'Shit, did we interrupt something?' Of course, you always knew when you finally and truly confessed to someone that it would be Byeongkwan who ruined the whole thing; you used it as an escape, though, reminding yourself of what the confession could do to your friendship.

'New minion, I see,' you chimed, sitting up and ignoring the question, both of them, as you rose to greet Donghun's new pet. You were ignorant to the looks shared between the three boys and you were happy about that.

Now, you just had to avoid it ever coming up again until it was forgotten.

Junhee, however, didn't want that to happen.

After about an hour of chitchatting and ignoring the gaze of your best friend, you excused yourself under the excuse of having a meetup for a class, despite it being your dorm, and managed to weasel your way out. There was really nowhere to go, no one to talk to and you surely didn't have any plans for the next week; you ended up at the café on campus. It was quiet and filled mostly with a few students doing work and the two members of staff behind the counter, one eventually joining you at the table. He didn't say anything, waited for you to stop your dramatic Disney scene and acknowledge him.

'Would you date me, Yu?'

Taken a bit off guard, he ended up snorting. 'I can't tell if this is a trap or you want the genuine answer,' he replied, crossing his arms atop the table, 'but, on the hand that it's serious.. probably. I mean, I definitely wouldn't turn you down. We've known each other for a few years, hang out on a regular basis.. get along and have a lot of similar interests. So, yeah.'

The answer made your lips draw into a deep frown and you tapped your fingers against the cup, soaking up every word. 'Even though we're friends? What if we broke up?'

A soft 'ah' came from him as he realized what was really going on and he shrugged, thinking it over for a minute or two. 'We're both adults and I don't believe either of us would do something so that the breakup would be something that could ruin our friendship. I understand it would be like.. friends then it being intimate then back to friends, but I think both of us are mature enough to deal with that and not let it bother us too much.' He spoke like he'd been through it several times and in reality, it had only been once, a small fling with a mutual friend but they still seemed pretty okay. 'Is this about Jun?'

'Does everyone know?' You groaned out, releasing the cup to lean back and rub your hands over your face in defeat, 'I.. I told him I think I love him then Kwan and Donghun showed up and I bailed because now I don't actually want to face him or admit to ever actually saying it. I do! I do love him! I don't.. I don't want to lose him, you know?'

You could see the way the latter looked at you, sympathetic and calculating what words wouldn't just stress you out further. 'Look.. I know you don't want to hear it from me or anyone else for that matter because you want to keep saying it'll ruin your friendship when in reality, you don't like the idea that you could hurt each other, I was the same way with Donghun, so I understand.. but, you should really see all this from an outsider's point of view. Junhee looks at you like you hung the moon and you look at him like he painted the stars; yes, it's been like that since I've met you and a reminder, it's been years. I don't know what took you so long to realize it or if you've just avoided it this whole time but anyone would have to be blind not to see it. Now,' he sighed deeply as he finished and straightened, 'I think you should probably go and talk to him about it considering you just confessed then ditched but it's your choice. I don't think you have anything to worry about.. for either of you. You're the most loyal person I know, so I have no doubt you'd ever hurt him in a way that would ruin you guys and he can barely swat at a fly or sit still through hearing thunder, you think he's going to do something? Regardless.. one of these days, soon, you'll have to face it and I really hope you don't go into it with the cliché reason of your friendship being ruined.'

The words sank in slow and you wanted nothing but to cry your eyes out because he was right; he always was and you hated it. It took a while for you to speak and he seemed okay with that, briefly leaving you to fill a couple orders before returning. 'I know you're leaving for break tomorrow.. tell him before then.' Those were his last words before he bid you good luck and a good night, heading back to his own dorm, most likely to call Donghun now that he'd projected just a little bit.

Irrationality was a word that would be in your character description box and the word stupid could very well be right next to it because when you got home, you packed your bag and decided to leave early, not bothering to let any of your friends know. You needed time and you were being selfish, so selfish to the point you thought maybe he'd just hate you when you got back.

Oh boy were you wrong.

Two days into being back home and confiding in your mother who promptly smacked you upside the back of the head, you found yourself sitting on the porch and moping, split between what to do. You suspected the boys were a bit angry with you when you noticed the ample amount of texts, voicemails, social messages and phone calls that had gone ignored; you caught a glimpse of the absolute book Yuchan took the time to send you, leaving you kind of scared to even open it. It didn't take long for the guilt to set in but you chose to wait until you were back on campus to deal with it.

Or at least, that was your plan.

'So, I know you've never been a fan of confrontation but.. you've never been the type to run away.'

The sudden voice startled you as you hadn't even noticed anyone pull up and of course, upon looking up, you were met with the face you were trying to avoid the most. Junhee stood at the end of the sidewalk looking pitiful and shifting his weight in a nervous manner. You didn't bother trying to speak, not knowing what to say but you did wait for the rant, the berating that you deserved; that wasn't who he was though.

He even stayed quiet for a minute or two, making his way closer to sit on the steps, looking up towards your figure. 'Did you mean it?'

You could have answered right away, poured your heart out and let out the tears you'd been holding in since the moment you left. Instead, you stayed quiet and pulled your knees closer to your chest, not trusting your own voice. He didn't relent though, reaching out to lightly nudge your knee.

'That's all I need to know.. did you mean it? If.. if you didn't I can just leave and we don't have to bother with it again.'

'And, if I did..?' Finally finding your voice, you looked over to him, chewing hard on your lower tier, nervous and kind of wanting to throw up.

You could see him thinking it over before a faint smile showed up. 'I'd most likely cry.. but I'm going to cry either way,' he began, shrugging his shoulders while moving up to sit next to you, 'I'd also tell you that I love you, too and I've been trying to tell you that for years now.'

The confession made your heart flutter, your skin burn and the butterflies being kept back burst in delight in your gut. 'Even.. after everything we've been through? Everything you've seen..?'

Junhee nodded. 'Mhm. I'd go through it all again and what do you mean? I've seen nothing but you.'

#fairieswritings #a.c.e #junhee #clicheprompts #a.c.e scenarios #a.c.e reactions #a.c.e x reader #a.c.e imagines #a.c.e drabbles #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop drabbles #kpop reactions #kpop imagines

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myfearless-love · 3 years

Text

The Wildest Place You Run (5/?) - Not Far Now

I'm sorry for the delay: traveling and vacation made it impossible to post, but in turn, you'll get two chapters this week (including this). This one is a bit shorter, but you'll see why in the next chapter (spoiler alert: too many action).

As always, a huge thank you to my beta and artist @thejollyroger-writer for correcting my mistakes and making kick-ass art for chapters 5 and 6! Check it out above!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 5/? - Not Far Now

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~2k

Previous parts:

Ch 1 II Ch 2 II Ch 3 II Ch 4

The next morning she woke up on the couch, curled up, leaning her head on the armrest. Someone, probably August, had covered her with a blanket and left her there. She was used to it, he often disappeared without a word, and he was the only one she couldn't hold it against.

She sat up slowly, and it took her half a minute to discover she was alone.

Again.

She scrambled out from under the quilt and slipped out into the kitchen. Her neck was throbbing, she was cold, and she still felt exhausted despite the few hours of sleep she'd gotten. Her day had started out shitty.

Again.

(There were many recurring things in her life that she would've preferred to avoid.)

As she glanced at the clock to see it was ten in the morning, her eyes caught a yellow note on the fridge, adorned with David's almost illegible scrawl.

I'll be home late. Take care of yourself!

Sighing, she crumpled the paper in her palm and tossed it straight into the bin beside the kitchen counter. She opened the refrigerator and was disappointed to find it contained only a few cans of beer and a slice of moldy cheese.

Furious, she slammed the door and marched up the stairs to change and grab some money. She had to go shopping.

She was already shuddering in apprehension.

Going back outside and among strangers… Great.

She tugged on her black jeans and pulled on a thick, hooded black sweater. Before Neal, she'd never worn flashy or bright colors and after his death, she'd relegated almost all of her more colorful clothes to the back of her closet.

She didn't have much money, being unemployed at the moment. David was supporting her now, which she simply hated. She had been looking for vacancies for a long time, but with her limited experience and lack of a college degree, not to mention the impending apocalypse looming over their heads, her chances of finding something were pretty low. And David was against it anyway; she had no idea why, though, and he never told her the reason. So she had to make do with her limited savings, which was becoming increasingly annoying as David had completely forgotten about the household in the last two months.

She put a small amount of money in her back pocket and her keys in the pockets of her sweater, along with her phone. She put her hair in a ponytail, her curls bouncing with each step she took. She fixed her eyelashes with a swipe of mascara.

She tucked her gun into the waistband of her jeans; after all, one could never know what might happen. She concealed it with her sweater, making it invisible to anyone.

Fog was spreading through the gray streets, the sky covered in black clouds, an ideal time for a short walk through the city center. There were hardly any people on the streets. On weekday mornings, everyone was either at school or at work, with only a few retirees strolling the cobblestone sidewalk.

Emma stuck her hands in the front pockets of her jeans and sketched out her tasks for the day in her head, but the list was pretty short. Shopping was her only agenda today, so she began to think feverishly about what to do with the long hours ahead of her.

She arrived at the tiny little corner store without any plans. She could get everything she needed here. She hated supermarkets.

When she was done shopping, she didn't head home, but to the nearby library. Inspiration came to her somewhere between choosing which can of food to buy. She needed some good books and a quiet place among normal people. Among relatively normal people.

It wasn't five minutes before she was wandering among the bookshelves in the pleasantly heated room, browsing the selection.

No one disturbed her, and at that moment, it felt very good. She continued to hunt for books peacefully, and after a while, she returned to the cashier with a small stack. The young woman behind the counter treated her kindly like she did anyone else, and that was a really strange feeling. Strange, but heartwarming. Maybe she should go out more often and fill out some more job applications. Then she could even live a relatively normal life.

She was already halfway home when her phone started ringing. She rolled her eyes in annoyance and dropped her packed bags on one of the nearby benches. She dug out her phone and looked at the caller ID.

David.

"I'm almost home, I just went shop-"

"Where are you exactly?" he gasped into the phone.

"Near the park on the avenue. Why?" she asked suspiciously. "What is it again?"

Before answering, he repeated her location to someone, then she heard the sound of a door slamming shut. "Elves," came the curt reply. "Dark Elves."

"David, stop talking in riddles!" The icy fingers of fear zigzagged through her spine. She had already had the opportunity to meet with one Dark Elf and she had no desire to repeat the encounter.

"Over the past few months, the Vampires and Werewolves have been plotting against us. They have realized that they cannot defeat us with brute force alone. They've been lurking in the shadows for the last few months, looking for a few allies, and they've found the Dark Elves. Some are already in the city and…" he took a deep breath. "The point is, don't move from where you are now, Emma. Killian will pick you up shortly."

Before she could ask anything, David ended the call. She stared furiously at her phone for a while, then pocketed the device just as it started beeping incessantly. She groaned and fished it out of her pocket again. It seemed she would have to replace it soon, the battery was almost dead, despite it being half full mere moments ago.

But that wasn't the only problem with the device. The signal dropped dangerously, then the thing just shut off altogether. Sultry magic swept through the city. Emma looked up in confusion. Around her, several elderly people pointed to the sky and shook their heads in incomprehension.

Emma looked up as well.

There were almost entirely black clouds floating in the sky, shrouding the entire city in shadows.

So the Elves were really here.

She picked up her bags, slipped her right hand under her sweater, and reached for the handle of her gun. She wouldn't be able to do much against Elves with it, but at least it made her feel a little better. Nervously, she scanned the deserted street. She had never longed this hard for Killian's arrival. Correction, she had never longed for him, period… Until now.

When she thought about it more carefully, she'd never talked to him for more than five minutes. Truth to be told, she hadn't even had the chance. Killian just came and went. He showed up in the most unexpected places, at the most stressful times, and disappeared just as quickly.

Barely a minute later, a black Porsche Panamera stopped in front of her, leaving dark skid marks on the asphalt. She jerked back, startled, and managed to land on her ass in a not very graceful way.

The car door swung open and Killian stared at her, impatiently at first, then noticed her sprawled figure on the ground. A strange smile slid across his face, but she couldn't place why it felt so different. "It's more comfortable in here, lass," he said, patting the seat beside him.

Emma staggered to her feet with an annoyed huff. She considered staining the seat cover with her muddy jeans in retaliation, but she didn't want to be childish. She was about to dust off her clothes as best she could with a tissue when something grabbed her waist and yanked her into the car. The door slammed shut on its own, and Killian stepped on the gas.

"Was that you?" she growled when she finally managed to get herself into a more decent position. At that moment, the seatbelt flew through the air in front of her and snapped into place on the edge of her seat.

"And that too," Killian nodded grimly, focusing on the road.

"Don't you dare do that again! Or at least, warn me next time!"

She really wasn't used to someone practicing magic on her. It wasn't exactly painful or uncomfortable; in fact, the touch of Killian's magic was lukewarm and pleasantly eerie, but it still scared the shit out of her.

"Apologies…"

Finally, she raised her eyes to him, and only now realizing why his previous smile seemed so strange. His face looked completely different. There was not a drop of eyeliner on him, and his stubble was completely gone. He looked so young that way, but she had to admit, she liked his bad boy look better.

Either way, he was a pretty good-looking guy.

And she really needed to stop thinking now.

"What the hell happened?"

"To my face?" he smiled compulsively. "I had to shave because they couldn't stitch up the wound," he replied lightly, as if it was just a usual Thursday for him.

"Wound? Stitch up? But shouldn't you be supposed to heal…?"

Before she could finish her question, Killian turned his face fully toward her. There was a fresh, red scar starting at his temple and extending to the line of his lips.

"Jesus…" she gasped.

The sight of his handsome face disfigured by the scar shocked her greatly.

"Wounds inflicted by Elves don't heal on their own or fast like any other," he shrugged and looked at the road again, but she could see the bitterness in his eyes that she just couldn't place.

She sank as low as she could into the seat, peering at him timidly, then glanced out the window. The city was dark as if it was already night, and she knew for a fact that this was the work of Elves. This way, the vampires could walk around the city without fearing the sunlight.

It was comfortably warm in the car, yet she huddled as a shiver ran through her. She watched the city pass by silently and then she realized…

"Killian, we left the—" she began in alarm, but he seemed perfectly calm.

"We're not going to your house," he replied nonchalantly, not taking his eyes off the road, for which she was very grateful because they were going much faster than allowed.

"Then where?" her eyes widened in shock.

"To the Guild. It's safer there."

"And David? What about him? Where is he now?"

"Calm down, Swan, he'll be there too," he assured her, then gave her an uneasy sideways glance. "It's going to be alright."

Calm down.

It was easy to say but much harder to do. Especially for her, who could get upset over any little thing, no matter how ridiculous.

Despite the low roar of the engine, she could hear the wind outside blowing louder and louder, tearing cruelly at the scrawny branches of the weak trees on the side of the road. Lightning zigzagged through the sky, and the car shook in another gust of wind.

She shuddered in her seat and made herself as small as she could. Only now did she realize what the presence of the Elves meant, and she was scared to death, if she was honest. There had been no example of them interfering in battles on this earth for hundreds of years.

"It's not far now, love, we'll be there soon," Killian encouraged, and she looked up at him again, expressionless, feeling unspeakably miserable.

His face was practically split in two, and he was the one comforting her? She scoffed at herself.

"Okay." She couldn't say anything else, just slumped in her seat and crossed her arms in front of her chest. A shiver ran down her spine, causing goosebumps on her skin, and she felt like her head was being held in a vice. She knew what that meant. She had just enough time to cling to the edge of the seat, and the vision came unstoppable…

#cs ff #captain swan #cssns21 #cssns 2021 #cs fic #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #ouat #once upon a time #ouat ff #killian x emma #captain swan supernatural #my fic #thejollyroger writer #TWPYR #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fanfic

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nevervalentines · 3 years

Text

in which dani and jamie sit in the dark kitchen of their vermont rental at 3 a.m. and flirt and bump bare feet under the table

On the nights she can’t sleep, Dani finds her way to the kitchen.

They’ve only been in the rental for a few months, but she already knows the shape of it in the dark. The nightmares rouse her from her sleep about two or three times a week, and with Jamie beside her, it gets harder and harder to drag herself out of bed.

But if she stays, she’s liable to slip back into the dreams – the waking terrors that make shapes out of the shadow of the doorframe, that coax faces from the scritch of branches against the window pane. She swears, one night, that she sees the Lady at the foot of her bed and doesn’t sleep right for days.

Dani makes it through the hallway without casualty, but jolts her hip on the mid-century modern sideboard in the foyer with a muffled curse. The rental is a tiny, one-story cottage outside of Montpelier, with a postage stamp backyard and screened in front porch that Jamie is already over-filling with potted plants and flower boxes.

Dani keeps reminding her not to get settled, that they might leave soon, might not be there for long, and Jamie gives her that fond, squinted look she often does, ducks in for a kiss rather than reply.

The former tenant of the cottage leaned hard into late-70s interior design, with garish wooden paneling and plush, sepia-toned rugs. Dani mutes the art-deco color blocks of linoleum in the kitchen with only the watery light above the stove, and puts the kettle on in the half-dark.

Already, staring hard at the red flare of the burner, she can’t remember the dream that woke her. Just the muddled shape of it, the discomfort and anxiety steeping in her chest, a dark rot that threatens to blacken her from the inside out.

She preps the tea in a ceramic pot on the stove, the loose-leaf blend that Jamie prefers, then milk, sugar, enough that she can feel the ghost of Jamie’s wince from three rooms away.

Slumping over the tiny table in the kitchenette, the mug warms her palms, soothing away the late-fall chill, sweatpants settling low on her hips.

She doesn’t hear Jamie until she is already behind her, the shush of her footsteps, a warm hand on the back of her neck.

“Okay, sweetheart?”

Startling, Dani turns into her touch, soothed to find Jamie looking grumpy and bed-rumpled, dark curls a mess, sleeves of an overlong flannel slipping down her wrists.

Sweetheart is the sleepiest of Jamie’s affections, with Poppins reserved for daylight and teasing, and baby for when Dani is sad, for wiping tears off her chin or tucking her against her shoulder. Most times, there are no pet name at all, just a brusque tone and a hand on her cheek.

Sometimes, to take the piss, Jamie calls her Danielle and mimics her American accent, words flattened and elongated enough to make Dani scowl. But sweetheart is for the kitchen, for kettle warmed fingers and cold tiles.

“You didn’t have to get up,” Dani says. She reaches for Jamie’s hand, brings it to her mouth and brushes a kiss over her knuckles. “I’m fine.”

“Couldn’t sleep anyway,” Jamie says. A lie, but the harmless kind. The things she says to put Dani at ease. “Bed was too still without all your tossing and turning.”

“There’s tea,” Dani says, “If you want some.”

Jamie approaches the stove wearily, and Dani gets up to follow, fetches a mug from the shelf over the spice rack.

“I don’t think,” Jamie says carefully, “that you would ever intentionally hurt me.” She squints skeptically at the pot. “But mistakes do happen.”

“Baby,” Dani says, stuck between laughter and a pouting, little-kid-petulance, “it isn’t going to kill you.”

She steps closer until their hips bump, taking Jamie’s sleeve between a thumb and two fingers and ducking in.

“Aren’t I getting better? I feel like all the practice we’ve been doing,” she lingers on the words, noses at Jamie’s cheek, talks like this might not be about tea, after all, “I think I’m really learning a lot.”

Tucking her lips into her mouth, Jamie disguises a smile, eyes hooded. “It has been a very educational few months, I’ll give you that.”

Dani buries her face in Jamie’s neck to hide a blush and camps out there for a while, just because.

Blanket-warm and sleepy, Jamie still smells like the sheets on their bed, like detergent and soft cotton, the milky skin under her jaw holds a trace of perfume. Dani purses her lips in a quiet just-because kiss against her throat, then another, open mouth, humid breath.

Jamie worms in closer, hips butting, reaching around Dani to take the ceramic mug from her hands and rest it on the stovetop.

“Careful, there,” she says. “You’re going to wake me up for good if you keep that up.”

Dani nods into her neck, accepts an arm around her waist, curls her fingers in the front of Jamie’s flannel. “I’m not going back to sleep, anyway.”

A hum of concern. “Bad dreams again?”

“Always.” This mumbled, grumpily, and Jamie pulls back to pet her fringe out of her eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Dani leans harder into the touch, proffers her cheek for a kiss. Jamie obediently obliges, before pushing her away to continue preparing her tea, nudging Dani back toward the bench seat of the table.

Closing her eyes, the clink of the spoon against the lip of the mug is familiar. So is the sound of Jamie turning off the stove, the hiss-spit as the gas clicks off. Jamie settles at the bench across from her, sets her chin in her palm.

“Think I’m going to pick up groceries in the morning, if you want to come,” Jamie says.

Dani opens her eyes, watches Jamie watch her, and realizes, all at once, how perfectly settled she feels. Grounded, for the first time in years, maybe ever. With a flicker of embarrassment, she realizes that the thought of going to the shop with Jamie does actually excite her – hands knocking between them as Jamie stands for far too long in front of the water-misted produce, a kiss stolen in the narrow aisles of canned goods, cold-cut sandwiches picked up from the deli window next to the butcher.

It’s sickeningly domestic, and perfect, and awful. Jamie looks at her steadily, and Dani looks back.

“I really, really like you,” Dani says, a little woozy. Sleep deprived, and drowsy, the stove still radiating a steady heat, and Jamie looking at her like that – all soft eyes, cupped chin, bare feet knocking under the kitchen table.

Jamie smiles, a little flushed, pleased. “Is that a yes to groceries, then?”

“Definitely a yes.” Dani reaches for her, and Jamie takes her hand, plays a thumb across her palm, stroking gentle over her love line.

Dani wants to say: I didn’t think I could ever have this.

Wants to say: I never thought sitting across from someone at 3 a.m. watching them drink the shitty tea that I made in a pair of shorts I’m pretty sure are mine could make my entire body feel like melted butter, that I could feel pleasure just from the way you touch me, that I would stand in an endless line at a crowded supermarket every Sunday morning if you were in front of me in high-waisted blue jeans picking out a chocolate bar for us to share on the ride home.

Instead she says: “If we have time, we could go to the farmer’s market after? Get those apples you like?”

Jamie answers her with a kiss. Leans across the table and catches her mouth messily, jarring Dani’s mug of tea and sending the lukewarm liquid sloshing. She pulls away laughing, rubs at her own mouth like she’s embarrassed.

“Yeah, Poppins, I figure we can fit that in.”

***

After the store and the market and a meandering drive home – one where Dani spends too long groping at Jamie’s thigh at every stop sign until she gets batted away – they find an autumnal patch of sunlight on the porch and drag the wicker chairs to meet it. Every hour, as the sunlight shifts, Jamie makes a show of moving the chairs a few inches to the left, often with Dani still in hers, giggling as Jamie groans the whole time.

There is a paper bag of apples at their feet, Honeycrisp and McIntosh, more than they could ever readily eat, though Dani promises, absently, to make a pie. Jamie will swear Dani was conned into it by the pretty girl at the apple stand, and Dani laughs, genuine and loud, like she could have eyes for anyone but her.

“Yeah, but we all know pretty girls have always been your weakness,” Jamie says. She inspects the apples for bruises and chooses one carefully, like the decision could determine the entire fate of their afternoon. “I mean –” she gestures at herself, buffs the apple on her knit sweater, “look at me.”

“Oh, modest,” Dani laughs, inching her chair closer to pinch at her arm. “I wasn’t even—”

“You were most certainly flirting.” She reaches for a paring knife resting on the window sill beside them and peels away a long stripe of the apple’s skin, mottled red and green, tossing it into a separate pile for composting. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you, all ‘oh, yes whatever you say, miss, I mean you are the expert, and so good with your hands, too.’”

At this she drops into an awful approximation of Dani’s midwestern accent, seeming to derive great pleasure in doing so, payback for Dani’s even worse British one, hardly making it through the sentence before she starts to laugh.

“I absolutely did not say that,” Dani says, fully affronted now. “And I definitely don’t sound like that.”

Jamie swivels in her seat to face her, grinning, all-together too pleased with herself, speaking around a mouthful of muffled laughter and a slice of apple.

“I took some creative liberties,” Jamie says. “I have every right to, anyhow. I mean you did travel across the ocean with the first pretty girl you saw.”

“Not the first. And can you blame me?” Dani asks, a little quieter, tilting her head to meet Jamie’s eyes full-on. Her words are more weighted than she means them to be, because that’s the thing isn’t it – that it isn’t just any girl, that it’s Jamie, her Jamie, and – “I’d do it again. Travel across oceans, I mean. For you.”

Two points of color rise in Jamie’s cheeks, and she ducks her chin into the lip of her sweater, hiding from Dani’s eyes for a second.

“Christ, Dani,” she says, emerging. “Didn’t have to go full romantic on me.”

“I wasn’t flirting with the apple girl, anyhow,” Dani says, biting hard at her lip. “I just know you like the apples, so.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, eyes dropping somewhere low on Dani’s face. “They’re my favorite.”

Taking the knife to the fruit, she carves away a bite of tender, white flesh, holds it out for Dani to take. Dani opens her mouth, and Jamie’s eyes narrow, lips parting. She feeds it to her slowly, Dani’s teeth scraping against her fingers, a hint of tongue.

It’s ripe, tart, pared perfectly with the sawdust-sunlight clinging to the porch, to Jamie’s fingers lingering on her lips, to the rest of the afternoon stretching ahead of them, and maybe a few more after that.

“You didn’t sleep too well last night, did you?” Jamie asks, clearing her throat.

Confused, Dani wrinkles her forehead. “No, but, I mean, you knew that.”

“Right, well.” A shrug. “I just figured you must be tired, we could get a head start on it, then. Head to bed now, maybe. If you wanted.”

“Oh.” Eyebrows jumping, Dani feels the thrill of it, down to her fingertips, tilts her head to check the kitchen clock through the open doorway. “It’s 3 p.m., how ever will we fill the time?”

“I can think of a few things.” Already, Jamie is moving to her feet, reaching out a hand for Dani to take. Her fingers are sticky with juice from the apple, her cheeks still a little flushed, hair falling wild out of its haphazard ponytail.

Dani thinks about taking the fingers to her mouth, again, thinks about all the things that can fill a Sunday afternoon when you have nowhere else to be. Leaving the bag of apples behind them, it’s Dani who leads the way inside.

Laughing, Jamie hurries to catch up.

#the haunting of bly manor #jamie x dani #my writing #shout out to that anon two weeks ago who asked if i would ever write fic #its not 15k words but i literally cant stop thinking about them #also shoutout to a friend who made me want to take a closer look at a snapshot of the two of them sitting together and drinking tea while #looking way too enamored with each other

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athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit · 3 years

Text

Getting back at writing, is, well, hard. My grammar and vocabulary and basically everything is messed up so I apologize in advance for that. It's been, almost a year ever since my last written fic. That time I was still crazy with Kimetsu no Yaiba and the KyoTan ship. I'll post it some other time ^^.

Anyways, I present to you my attempt in making a plotted work from a random thought that came over me this morning.

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)

Warnings: Basically none. Except for some curse words.

UD 01/10/21: Cleaned and revised some parts! Tried my best, hope it was enough.

•

Of Ice and Blood

Part 1

Quick backstory and some details I left out in the main work.

It was in summer, 28th of July, when Pearl Blackbell turned 19. She left her home and moved closer to the university she’ll be going to. She rented an apartment about five blocks from the school. Albeit small, it was cozy and proper, having what she needed: a kitchen, a decent-sized bedroom, a small living area with a worn but comfy couch, and a bathroom.

When she was younger, her parents started training her in martial arts and the use self-defense weapons. They needed to make sure she knew how to protect herself against assaulters and dangerous people, she was after all, their only child and baby girl . They want their daughter to be strong, both inside and outside, by the time she sets out on her own and leaves home.

Her favorite self-defense weapon was brass knuckles, despite her parents’ protests. She enjoys punching nasty people and feel the crunch of their bones beneath her fists, especially racists, sexists, bullies, and the lot. The main reason why she got into detention multiple times.

Painting it with a ruddy color, she keeps it in her person, no matter where she goes. She has two, one is for extreme situations, while the other has only two knuckles. It stills maximizes the damage dealt but it is relatively less dangerous than the full dusters. The second one is usually a spare, though she rarely uses it.

She also occasionally carries a pair of retractable nunchucks, which she designed to be hidden within her regular baggy clothes. Her father had trained her vigorously with them and she even bested him in a match before she left for the city.

Selkoth, the city of marvels.

Distant sounds of buzzing cars reached my ears as I opened my eyes and blinked away the sleepiness, the light shining from the spaces in my curtains rather helping, together with the warmth it brought to my chilled tawny skin.

[Start of the actual work]

I fully woke up as I registered the sound of my phone alarm, shortly getting up to prepare when I realized what day it was.

Monday, the first day of my college life.

I stepped into the bathroom and took a quick shower, knowing I bathed thoroughly last night to save some time today.

Time management is key.

I dried myself down, turned to my closet and started putting on the outfit I picked out the night before.

Prioritizing comfortability over appearance, I wore my favorite orange cotton shirt, my blackish-blue hoodie (that had been stained with blood some time ago, but don’t worry, I know how to clean out blood. Mama raised no fool.) over it, together with a pair of black skinny jeans. And of course, tight black sports bra and boxers, even mentioning my underwear yes?

I looked over to my mirror and it was—

Simple. And I loved it. The more simple it is the better.

'“Keep a low profile over there, sweetie. Don’t get into fights when you can help it okay??? We already taught you and prepared you to the best of our abilities. Promise to us that you’ll stay safe, and healthy. Okay? And don’t forget to call sometime.”' I sighed, remembering my mother’s words.

"Yes mama, I will.”

With a smile, I did my hair and went for a tight Dutch braid, it going down between my shoulder blades and ending a little above my waist. I ran to my kitchen to eat breakfast, satisfied with my look.

I eat fast okay

Backpack, check. White sneakers, check. Phone and keys, check. Airpods on, playlist shuffled, I bolted out of my apartment and jogged all 50 blocks to school.

Exercise is always important, and what other way to utilize time for exercising than to do it while heading to your destination, right?

I snickered.

As I made my way to the university, I saw bizarre creatures and monsters of different sizes, coexisting, and interacting with humans. Even so, I noticed other people’s disdain and bitterness towards them when I passed by. My nose is awfully sensitive to scents that sometimes the ones their body releases tells me what they feel at the moment. It’s all science, I guess. I was made extra susceptible to these, so I wear a mask everywhere and every time I go out just to partly block most of the smells.

My first day at a university open to everyone across the country gets my blood pumping with excitement. To think that I’m going to study at Ernestine State University, the Ernestine State University!

I first heard about the uni back when I was a child. News broke out about Victor Ernestine, committing suicide by driving his car off a cliff because he couldn’t accept that his daughter was one of the major leaders who made the unity of all people, of all races, possible.

Dramatic.

Months after Mr. Ernestine died, all his properties and riches were passed down to her daughter, who took over as the new founder of the university and rebuilt it to accommodate everyone, no matter the size and shape.

The strictly all-human school, renovated, reshaped, and repurposed, was now the first university to open its gates to everyone in the country of Yundomia.

I’ve always yearned to get to know other species in this world. I didn’t get the chance previously because my parents sent me to an all-human, local high school. Which sucks. I hated how everyone had a certain hatred for the other races, especially orcs. They keep talking about how they are wild beasts and savages that aren’t meant to be in society.

They treated them like animals that are void of emotions and intelligence.

Come to think of it, I mostly fought with humans who were either racist, bullies, bastards trying to hit on me, or a mix of all of them together.

I chuckled, remembering how many times I got counseled on not punching people in the face.

High school was pure torture, being a human-exclusive campus making it worse, considering how everybody smells so horrible and the principal was an egoistic dumbass I was a hair away from gutting him. My poor nose.

But now I’m done with that! I’m starting anew in this school, in this city. Perhaps make some friends along the way.

Which is kinda problematic.

I’m not the social type. I tend to keep things to myself and hardly open up to anybody. I wanna make at least one friend that isn’t human! Or just, one good friend. I didn’t have or made any friends in the past since people tend to shun me out just because I can tell how they are feeling and find it creepy.

Or they’re afraid to get punched in the face.

Entering the campus gates was like stepping into another world. I was met with the sight of humans and monsters walking together and conversing! It was nice, and I don’t get to see this much often.

I walked around and took in the landscape of the campus. It was huge! And beautifully designed to have a great number of trees and plants, while also having space more than enough to accommodate every student going to their respective classrooms.

I was minding my own business and it was all serene, until some bastards pushed past through me and knocking me to the side. I stumbled but didn’t fall. I was gonna say something, but I shut my mouth. I didn’t want to cause any trouble on the first day for goodness’ sake. So I brushed it off and went straight to the gym for the orientation.

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

The orientation was, intriguing. The dean seems nice, though I couldn't smell him from where I sat. There's also a student council made up of both humans and monsters which is a good sign. The student council president was a Minotaur with a dark brown coat and horns curving front and pointing up. The vice-president was a male student who looked decent enough. The secretary was an elf. The treasurer, a dwarf. And the rest were humans. I couldn't scent any of them to tell me what they were feeling at the moment, but the Minotaur looked uncomfortable, his hands behind his back, body going stiff when they were introduced to the freshmen. There was a larger numbr of humans than monsters, which was expected. I also noticed how both were grouped, a white line in the middle of the gym separating us from them.

Maybe to avoid any misunderstandings?

We were informed that today will be for introductions to your classmates and subject teachers so there will be no lessons at all. Hooray!

I was walking to my first classroom when a damned familiar smell attacked my nose. I stopped to stand for a moment and adjusted my mask. I looked around to spot the one emitting it and of course, saw a human. He looked, well, the typical playboy cool boy who used too much body spray on himself.

Not wanting to stand there like an idiot and prolong my suffering, I speed walk to my classroom and planned to sit at the back hoping no one would notice or ask why I’m wearing a mask.

That's always what they ask first. Not my name or how I was doing.

I expected to find no one inside since it was still early, but I was startled to see a massive orc sitting at the back looking out at the window. He was wearing a dark gray knitted sweater that was hugging his hulking frame very…well. Along with what looked like thick cargo pants and black boots.

He turned to look at me when I let out a small yelp, greeting me with his piercing, blue eyes.

Beautiful.

The orc had long, braided, jet-black locks. Two of them had distinct beads that trailed down from the side of his face and down to his chest, the rest of his hair behind him braided with intricacy and tied and ended halfway down his back.

I was pushed out of my trance when a person entered and crashed into me, swearing under my breath that it was intentional, nearly making me plant face-first on the trash bins if I hadn’t changed my footing at the last moment.

“Watch it, bitch, you’re gonna ruin my make-up,” she snapped.

Wow. She dared to call me that and not apologize like I’m the one who shoved her. Just wow. Usually at this point, I would have planted her face on the floor, but I stopped myself.

Low profile! Low profile Pearl! You’re in college now! You definitely don’t want to get suspended on the first fucking day of class now do you?? Keep it together.

Straightening up, I walked towards the back and sat beside the orc. Whose gaze fell on me, curious, when I wasn’t looking.

I made myself settled in my seat before the professor came in.

There were other races in my class. A blue tiefling sat three rows in front, wearing a casual outfit. A black-haired elf who looked and dressed clever, a row away. A cute pink pixie on my far right. A satyr wearing glasses, two seats in front of me, and a female lizardfolk a seat from of the pixie.

"Are you...alright?"

I almost jumped from my seat when the orc beside me spoke. I couldn’t help but admire how deep his voice was. I tried not to appear flustered, my mask helped with that.

“Uh…yes?”

The orc regarded me for a second before continuing.

“You were pushed earlier.”

Oh. He saw that?

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay.” I smiled at him. Then I remembered he can’t see my face. But I hoped the crinkling of my eyes gave it away.

“I’m Pearl, by the way.” I reached out my hand to him, socializing not my best suit but at least I tried.

He paused for a second before taking it into his bigger one, engulfing mine and shook it slowly. I was again, surprised by how gentle he was.

“Tai'chi.”

Interesting.

“Nice to meet you, Tai'chi.”

He lets go of my hand when the professor started talking up front.

“Nice to meet you too, Pearl."

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

Thoughts? I am wide open for constructive criticism :D

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

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obae-me · 4 years

Note

Hiii! May I please request headcanons of the brothers with a MC who has hydrophobia? Thanks sweetie 💖

I wanted to do a little bit of research into it before I even posted it, and I really hope I’m not getting Aquaphobia and Hydrophobia confused. This was something new for me so I’m sorry if it’s not the best. I hope this has enough of what you want, thank you so so much for submitting! 💜

Lucifer

He already knew this about MC, so he’d try to keep them away from large bodies of water as much as he could. Luckily in the Devildom there weren’t many. Not around RAD anyway. He knows about the large lake beside Diavolo’s castle, but there’s not too many times MC would be there.

The time did come eventually. Lucifer and MC had been invited to his castle to talk more about the program. Diavolo had taken them both outside since it seemed much more pleasant than his ‘stuffy castle’. Of course he had taken them both right near that open body of water.

This would be the first time Lucifer got to see how serious this was. It was one thing to know about and another to see it in action. He was aware of MC right beside him, starting to tremble, their hands fidgeting. Their skin has lost some of its color.

MC had never looked like this in front of him before, not even when any of him or his brothers were in demon form. They had always been too brave for their own good, a trait he had both found annoying yet endearing. He put a supportive hand on their shoulder, and as soon as the conversation was over, he led them away from the lake.

“MC, MC, breathe. You’re right here with me.”

He covered their shoulders with his coat and stayed with them until MC caught their breath. Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. He’d have to take extra precautions to make sure they never looked like that again.

He’d ask MC to join him in his study when they got home so they could talk about it. He couldn’t make another careless mistake like this again, for their sake.

Mammon

He is as clueless as always, but he never ever means to hurt MC intentionally. He just thought it would be fun to take them to the RAD swimming pool after hours. After all he had taken a dare earlier that day, and if he got away with it, he’d earn some serious cash.

He read their body language as “I’m nervous to be here after hours, what if Lucifer find out” instead of “I’m terrified to be by this huge demon-sized pool” so he tries shoving them in for fun.

MC absolutely shrieked. They grabbed onto him with a death grip, shaking like a leaf about to be blown off a tree due to violent winds. So, in shorter words, intensely.

Mammon was stunned for the longest time, trying to come up with all sorts of answers in his head to why they screamed like that? Was it something he did? Did MC see something? Did they not know how to swim or something?

“Hey, hey, human it was just a joke, huh, I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

He held them close and led them outside, leaving his fun plans and money behind to take them home. He won’t soon be forgetting the piercing sound of the scream they made.

Once MC calmed down back in the House of Lamentation, they explained the ins and outs of their phobia to Mammon. Of all the things...he didn’t really think of the possibility that humans could be afraid of water.

“Dummy, why didn't you say that before?! Man now I do feel kinda like a scumbag.”

Will become very protective now anytime too much water is involved, sticking by MC’s side constantly. Not like he doesn’t already do this already.

Levi

He first noticed MC acting strange the first time they were in his room, and took strange steps to be as far away from his gigantic fish tank at all times. If they stayed in his room, they would make fervent glances over at it, looking more timid than usual.

He didn’t think much of it, since MC was new and he knew nothing about normal demons much less normal humans. He noted it as quirky and forgot about it...till he tried taking MC to the beach. Their reaction was much more severe, not even getting anywhere near close to the water’s edge, almost being even to afraid to look at the vastness of it.

When MC finally confided in him, he couldn’t help but feel as if this was somehow part of his fault.

“Was it the gigantic sea monster I released?”

“It has nothing to do with you, Levi, I’ve had this fear for a long time.”

Levi loves water, he feels most home at it, he even sleeps in a bathtub for Diavolo’s sake. He’s always secretly waited to share that love with MC. If they’re scared though...he won’t force them.

He’ll compare this to a scenario in a video game, just like MC has not been coded to swim. There will be some sort of barrier for them around water. This helps him understand this a bit easier.

If MC is too uncomfortable to be around his fish tank, whenever he feels like it, he’ll bring his whole setup into their room.

Satan

He made an educated guess that MC had this fear. He may or may not have been able to see some information about them by breaking into Lucifer’s study. Since it wasn’t often that MC came across too much water in the Devildom, he didn’t chalk it up to too big of an issue.

He did however, reread one of his books containing all sorts of different phobias and fears, so he could at least try to be knowledgeable about it.

One particular day, MC came home much too late. Apparently, they had made a point to take a much longer route home, just so they wouldn’t have to come across the dark and deep foreboding pond that was settled on one of the paths home.

He admitted he may have underestimated how much of a problem this actually was.

He’ll give MC all sorts of different routes to take, ones that would do well to avoid any ponds or rivers. It was probably for the best anyway, this was the Devildom after all, and rarely were the waters free of anything that could potentially harm MC.

He doesn’t really like water either, he’s not afraid of it like MC is, but he’ll stay away when he can. He feels more of a connection to MC because of this and will make sure he has a list of activities they both can enjoy together away on dry land.

If he feels like it’s impeding their life, he’ll try to help them overcome it.

Asmo

He was completely unaware until he got invited to a special After-RAD beach party. With MC as his plus-one, he dragged them out to mingle.

MC doesn’t bother wearing a swimsuit, for obvious reasons, but he takes that clue in an entirely different direction. “Oh are you going to swim au-natural? So bold~”

He’s very in tune the body so he knows how it looks when it’s pleased, and how it looks when it’s distressed.

So at the party he notices that MC’s chest is rising and falling much more than normal. Social jitters? He keeps a careful eye on them while he goes to town on the flirting. When he comes back around to MC, he sees more symptoms, the sweaty palms, the fluttering eyes, and their breathing is much more shallow now.

Once he finds out he doesn’t stop smothering MC with attention. “Why didn’t you tell me dear? It’s okay, we don’t need the beach to have fun, we’ll leave right away, there will plenty of other parties. All the people here are lame anyway.”

He’ll take MC back home to treat them to a spa night, something much more relaxing than that awful party. He’ll massage their shoulders, telling MC how tense they were after being there. “Poor sweet darling.”

MC can have a spa day with Asmo whenever they want, it’s so much more fun than parties, if they were the one he was working on at least.

Don’t worry because MC can be afraid of water all they want, but there are still plenty of ways to get wet~

Beel

He was told much later than he would’ve preferred. Having a phobia like this seemed like something MC would’ve shared with him almost immediately. He only figured it out after they shared it with him after he asked MC to watch him work out.

He wanted to change up his routine a bit, and decided to swim that day in the gym swimming pool. With MC there, he would be able to push himself further under their support.

However, because he was so immersed in his workout, he didn’t realize MC was in the middle of a panic attack. He looked up from the water just in time to watch MC sprint out of the pool area obviously flustered. He followed them immediately, worried it was something he did.

When he found them, they were gasping for air, tears streaking down their face. Beel wasted no time embracing them in a hug, petting their head and telling them to breathe in and out, to focus on his voice.

Once MC could speak, they apologized, briefly explaining their fear to him. Had he known, Beel wouldn’t have even gotten them anywhere near the pool.

He’ll fully support them, whether anyone says that their phobia is rational or not, it’s still something that terrifies them, and he doesn’t want them to feel like that ever, if he can help it.

Belphie

He still doesn’t know a lot about MC, since...you know. He doesn’t expect MC to tell him anything either because...well...

Found it out firsthand when he invited MC out to one of his favorite napping spots. A nice little place apart from the Devildom danger. Under a lovely weeping tree right near a wide river. This spot was perfect since the rapids rushing by canceled out the normal sounds of everyday demon life. Except it didn’t drown out MC’s fear.

He had fallen asleep as soon as they got to their destination, meaning that he left MC alone to their panic. They felt alone, ridiculous, and by the time Belphie opened his eyes to check on them, they were already in a ball, shivering.

The Demon of Sloth had hardly moved so fast to get to their side, giving them his special pillow to squeeze. When MC told him about it in choppy words, he let out a long sigh. He felt dumb.

“Let’s get you home then, you look exhausted.” Those were the only words he said, but he made up for it in his actions. He never once let go of them on their walk back to the House of Lamentation. He let them sleep in his bed since it was state of the art, he claimed.

MC never did discover that after they fell asleep, Belphie headed straight to Lucifer to chew him out for not telling him. Lucifer knew practically everything about MC, save for what Diavolo wouldn’t share. After he had said his piece, he went back to his shared bedroom to cuddle with them, making sure they were okay before he fell asleep this time.

Gee, he hates how MC keeps him restless.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 3 years

Text

BTS DRABBLE-Hoseok

Listen. You’ve never been one to believe in love at first sight-but when Jung Hoseok walks into the club looking like that-yeah, you can see how even a cynic like yourself might believe in the notion. However, this thing you’ve been nurturing for years for Jung Hoseok is far from first sight, and far from love. Right?

Tags: BTS, Bangtan, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boyscouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS Drabble, Jung Hoseok, J-Hope, Hobi, Hoseok x you, Hoseok x reader, Jackson Wang.

Genre: Fluff

Jung Hoseok x Reader ft. Gay BFF Jackson Wang

Soundtrack: Pretty Please by Jackson Wang

Title: Pretty Please

“Jung Hoseok is looking like quite the snacc tonight, don’t you think so (Y/N)?” Jackson appears at your elbow, brightly colored martini held in delicate fingers, as he shoots you a knowing smirk and raises his eyebrow in the direction of said man.

You choke on the drink you have just taken, and coughing slightly, you reach for a napkin, as you shoot your best friend a glare, doing your best not to look at the man currently in question.

“And how would you know what a girl does or doesn’t find appealing, Jackson Wang?” You jibe back lightly, forcing yourself to take another drink, the alcohol burning its way to your stomach, as you force yourself not to glance at Jung Hoseok-grinning and laughing with a group of friends down at the other end of the bar.

You do have to admit-he is looking deliciously irresistible tonight.

“Oh please.” Jackson waves a hand dismissively at you-the mock offence in his voice almost overwhelming-as he takes a sip of his drink. “Have you seen my boyfriend, darling?”

You follow his gaze to where a begrudging and moody Jinyoung sits in a corner both, listening to an animated and overly chatty Youngjae. He meets your gazes, and clearly shoots the two of you a glare that says get me out of here in the next five minutes or I’ll kill you both.

You laugh, and raise your glass to Jackson in a salute. “Touche.”

“Anyway.” Jackson leans up against the bar beside you-chin in his hands-and sneaks another look past you to Hoseok. “When are you gonna tell him about your little secret crush?”

“It’s not a crush!” You protest loudly, your cheeks heating up, as several people at the bar next to you glance in your direction. Lowering your tone, you hiss out between your teeth, “It’s not a crush.”

“Oh. Right.” Jackson rolls his eyes, and purses his lips at you, the sparkle of his lip gloss significantly less than when the night had started. He sticks his tongue out at you, green from his martini. “It’s not a crush, you’re right. You’re madly in love with him.”

“Jackson!” You hiss out once more, dragging him away from the bar by the edge of his leather jacket, glancing left and right, before you pull him into a darkened corner and say hurriedly, “It’s no big deal. Stop acting like this every time we see him.”

“Okay, okay!” He holds his hands up in a motion of surrender, and when you release him, he straightens his jacket with a loud huff. “This is Gucci you know.” He glances over your shoulder, back to the bar, and you’re sure he’s looking at Hoseok once more, before he turns his attention back to you, and his dark eyes are serious, as he says quietly, “Listen, girl. I get it. I’m a pro at playing hard to get, I excel at the art of teasing. But-” He reaches out to wipe a smudge of makeup off your cheek. “Just don’t tease him too long, or he’ll lose interest. And I personally think seven years is enough.”

Jackson winks at you and heads off in the direction of the booth where Jinyoung is now visibly having to restrain himself from banging his head on the edge of the table.

You stand, frozen for a moment-as the bar goers dance around you-and consider his words.

Seven years is enough.

Had it really been that long?

Your mind drifts back, unbidden, in the middle of the club, to when you had first discovered Jung Hoseok.

It was freshman year of college, and you had been late to class-panicked and rushed and holding a half drunken coffee in your hand-when you swept through the door on that bitter Autumn afternoon.

You had quietly gone straight to the back of the already full classroom, the teacher shooting you a warning look over his glasses, as he continued to lecture at the front of the room.

Ducking your head, cheeks reddening, you had slid into the first and nearest seat, completely humiliated and out of breath and feeling like you were about to cry.

You had pulled your notebook and pencils from your backpack, fighting back the tears, and then, a hand had appeared in your tunnel vision.

“You dropped this.”

Glancing up at the hushed words, startled, you had come nose to nose with your desk mate.

And dammit all, if your breath didn’t catch right there and then as you met his caramel irises.

The side of his mouth had pulled up into the beginnings of a grin, and he waved the pen in front of you, as you continued to stare. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, Yes, sorry.” Your cheeks bloomed with heat again, and you snatched the pencil from his fingers-long, slender, soft, you noted in the back of your brain-and ducked your head once more, trying to catch up to what the teacher was saying.

“You know.” The guy next to you spoke again, and you glanced at him in surprise, wondering why he was still talking to you. Most guys hardly acknowledged your existence. He grinned fully at you this time, and it was if sunshine was spilling from the gaps between his teeth, and your eyes were drawn to the way his lips formed a heart shape around the expression. “You’re quite the tease.”

Your mouth dropped open at his bold words, and instinctively, you reached to pull your jacket closed around yourself, as you gasped out, “Excuse me?”

He suddenly looked embarrassed-seeing your reaction, and the smile dropped from his face, as he waved his hands frantically, and this time, a blush covered his cheeks. “Oh. No! No.” He smiled awkwardly, a lopsided expression, and motioned to the array of pens and pencils you had neatly lined up beside your still empty notebook. “Your pencils. They’re arranged in color order.” His fingers hovered and ticked off the pencils. “Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet.”

You looked at him curiously, not sure what he was getting at.

“I just meant-” He stumbled over his words, looking to explain his obviously incoherent joke. He chuckled slightly, and reached up to scratch at the back of his neck, as he bit his lip-the cutest gesture you had seen in awhile. “I’m a sucker for organization. That’s all.”

You hid a smile and nodded, turning back to the professor, but all through the lesson, your eyes kept wandering over to the organized pencils, and another smile would warm your lips.

And then you had run into him in other classes-sitting beside him in coincidence-and you slowly learned.

You learned that his name was Jung Hoseok and he was majoring in dance. You learned that outside of class, he never went anywhere without his six best friends, and you learned-though he didn’t teach you this-that you desperately and hopelessly had a crush on Jung Hoseok.

“(Y/N)?”

You startle from your memories, and suddenly, the loud music of the club is back, pounding in your ears, and the shadowy figure of none other than Jung Hoseok is standing in front of you in the lone corner of the bar, hands in his suit jacket pockets, hair swept effortlessly back from his forehead, his features so handsome that you forget how to breathe for a moment.

“Hoseok! I didn’t know you were here too!” A lie.

“Yeah.” He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck with a shy smile, and your heart pounds in your chest as he sucks his bottom lip between white teeth. He motions toward the bar with his head. “You here alone?”

“Oh, no!” You stutter out, waving toward Jackson at the nearby booth. You force an awkward laugh.”What, do you think I’m a loser or something?”

“No, I don’t think you’re a loser.” He replies back, dark eyes warm, and offers you the hint of his full grin, lips pulling up in the way that makes your knees weak.

“Good, because I’m not.” Another lie. I can’t even tell you how I feel about you.

“Anyway.” Hoseok starts out haltingly, his hand once again returning to the back of his neck. “Just thought I’d say hi. Good to see you, (Y/N).” He waves, and makes to turn back to his waiting group of friends, still sequestered at the end of the bar.

“Hoseok. Wait.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them-and as he turns to face you once more, tilting his head curiously-you feel the bile rise in your stomach.

You hadn’t thought this through.

Seven years is long enough.

Biting down your fear, you open your mouth, but nothing comes out, the pounding of your heart blocking the words on their way up your throat.

“Everything okay?” Hoseok asks carefully, taking a step closer to you, so close that you can smell his cologne over the other scents of the bustling club.

You swallow hard, and manage to nod. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just-” Your words stutter once more to a halt, and you drop your gaze from his, fingers twisting into the hem of your sweater, as you work up your nerve. “I just-” You start again, but cannot continue.

Hoseok is staring at you, and you don’t dare meet his gaze head on, and then one of his friends-Jimin?-is calling and waving to him back over at the bar, and Hoseok is offering you an apologetic look, as he says softly, “If there’s nothing else, I should get back-”

“You’re quite the tease, Jung Hoseok!” You blurt out, and immediately your hands are going up to cover your lips, as your wide eyes meet his own-the look of surprise clear on his incredibly handsome features.

“What?” He asks in disbelief, and his caramel irises are locking with yours, and you’re both frozen in place for several, breathless, unspeakable moments.

“I just mean-” You start once more, for the third time, and manage to force your words out through numb lips, your voice drowned out under the bass of the pumping music. “We’ve known each other a long time. Why have you never asked me out?”

“What-you-” Hoseok stumbles over his words this time, and he steps toward you once more, ignoring his friends now, as he looks at you with wide eyes, lips held open in a soundless gasp. “You wanted me to ask you out?”

“Yes!” You exclaim, a disbelieving laugh leaving your lips. It feels good to finally get everything off your chest. “Ever since that day in economics. And then, everywhere I go-” You wave your hands at the club, the released hidden words now pouring from your lips like a waterfall. “You show up, looking like that-” You push your finger into his chest, noting briefly how soft the material of his dress shirt is. “And expect my feelings not to resurface again? You’re the ultimate tease, Jung Hoseok.”

You feel breathless, light, jubilant.

Hoseok’s mouth has dropped open, and you wonder if you’ve stunned him into silence, but then he replies, astonishment tinging his words, “You wanted me to ask you out? You like me?”

“Yes!” You repeat, more forcefully this time, and then you swallow, because it is in that moment, that you realize how close the two of you had drifted during your conversation, noses practically brushing. You drop your gaze to the line of buttons down his chest to avoid his gaze. “I’ve always liked you, Hoseok.”

“(Y/N).” His long fingers go beneath your chin and tilt your head to look up at him, and the seriousness on his features makes your heart drop into your stomach.

Here it comes. The rejection.

Suddenly, his lips part to reveal his teeth, and the large grin makes you feel as if the club has been lit up from the inside by the sun itself.

“I was trying to flirt with you that day in economics. You know that right?” He quirks a brow at you, and you have to stop yourself from reaching up to push a dark lock of fallen hair back from his forehead.

“No!” You gasp, remembering your awkward first encounter. “I thought you were just making an incredibly awkward and unsavory joke!”

Hoseok laughs, and the sound makes your heart pound in your chest, and you’re sure he can feel your racing heart beneath his fingers. “No, seriously. I was flirting with you. And every time I saw you after that, I was trying to get your attention.” He cocks his head, still smiling, and meets your gaze. “I was desperate, but I thought you didn’t see me like that, so I decided to back off and give you space.”

“Holy shit.” You giggle, suddenly very aware that you’re still incredibly close, and his fingers are still gripping your chin. You feel dizzy. “We’re idiots.”

“Indeed.” He nods, and the grin slowly drops from his lips, as his eyes dart down to your own mouth, tongue slipping out to wet the pink skin of his own, and you can tell, he’s going to kiss you.

But just as he leans in, before your lips can touch, before you can satisfy the ache for him, his lips quirk upward once more into the hint of a smile, and he murmurs softly, “No more teasing then?”

“No more teasing.” You confirm, before you cover the smile that has traced his lips into a heart with your mouth.

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yamisnuffles · 4 years

Text

Dig Down

Part 9 of Too Much of a Good Thing

Hell comes to congratulate Crowley on the Spanish Inquisition. When Crowley's curiosity gets the better of him, he ends of shaken to the core.

Read on Ao3

“You, my friend, are a terrible model.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow at Leonardo. “What? How can anyone be a terrible model? All I have to do is sit about. Maybe you’re just a terrible artist.”

“Maybe so.” Leonardo laughed and set his sketch aside. “But I would hardly call what you do sitting.”

Crowley had one foot tucked underneath him and the other thrown over the arm of the chair. He was reasonably certain he hadn’t started in this position. He’d done his best to channel Aziraphale, back straight and hands folded neatly on his lap, when first Leonardo had started his drawing. He flung both of his legs out and used the momentum to stand. His floor length braid swung pendulously behind him.

“Can’t help it,” he said with an easy shrug. “Sitting around that long is unnatural.”

Leonardo gave him an appraising look. “What’s unnatural is the way you walk.”

Crowley stilled instantly. “What’s wrong with the way I walk?”

“I didn’t say it was wrong. Really, it’s quite pleasant to watch but it does make me long to see the muscle and bone beneath. There is certainly something intriguing going on there.”

Aziraphale had commented a few times on the way he walked. Then again, Aziraphale had also commented on his hands, his nose, his hair, his eye, his freckles, his knees, his teeth, and everything else about him. To hear it from another, he worried he didn’t look as convincingly human as he hoped. It made him conscious of every step to a degree that very nearly caused him to trip. He saved himself by leaning against the table where Leonardo’s sketch had been cast aside.

He plucked the red chalk drawing up between long, spindly, ostensibly human fingers and examined it with eyes he knew were not a color found amongst mortal men. The face was cleverly rendered but everything from the shoulders down was decidedly more gestural.

“Mind if I take this?”

Leonardo dismissed the image with a wave. “Go right ahead. I can hardly use it for anything, though perhaps you can repay me by sitting for a portrait. Your face makes for a good study, even if the rest of you refuses to behave. You’d make an interesting angel, I think.” When Crowley sputtered incoherently in response, Leonardo laughed again. “A piece I was commissioned for,” he explained. “Or, part of one, anyway. For now, I have other work to do and I’m sure you’re eager to get back to your angel.”

Crowley felt his cheeks burn. Rather than try for a reply he knew would only come out as a garbled mess, he carefully rolled up the drawing and bobbed his head in thanks. “Well, whenever you want to get that portrait done, you know where to find me,” he said as he hastily made his exit from the studio. He could only take so much embarrassment in one day and he was sure Aziraphale had stored some up for him back at their villa.

Once he was out of the busy streets of Milan, he snapped his fingers. A note appeared, tucked into the drawing. A gift from our mutual friend, it read, to help you anticipate my return home. A grin and another snap sent it ahead. He could have gone with it but he enjoyed walking the Italian countryside. It put him in mind of breathless, startled confessions of love and kisses under the stars that added a spring to his step. He couldn’t bring himself to worry if that walk was passably human or not. He was all but skipping down the sun baked road when the smell of something putrid wafted through the summer air. He skidded to a halt just in time to avoid tripping over Hastur as he rose up through the hard packed dirt.

Crowley scowled. He should have miracled himself home and saved himself the trouble. He could very well still leave but if Hastur was bothering him, it was for a reason. It always was. It was also always something miserable that he didn’t want Aziraphale dragged into. He’d had a few hundred year’s peace after their initial meeting and, while Hastur hadn’t come around with any more job offers, he usually bore information. Wretched, gut wriggling stuff that Crowley was probably better off not knowing but could never seem to resist.

He had enough time to collect himself, to cross his arms and pretend at calm. Annoyance. He knew he could fight if he needed but he really preferred not to. Luckily it had been some time since a demon had forced him to it. Chances were today would be no different. All the same, he’d keep himself wound and ready, should it come to it.

Hastur emerged fully with a sneer already on his face. Crowley resisted the urge to push him right back down into the earth and instead asked, “What do you want? You’re sort of ruining my attempt to enjoy the fresh air.”

The corners of Hastur’s mouth widened slow and sloppily as the filth he reeked of until it formed a too wide smile. “Just came to congratulate you, Crowley. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

Crowley merely blinked. He couldn’t think of anything of note that he’d done in the past couple of centuries. Really, he’d been remarkably good, even by his own sometimes nebulous standards. He’d helped inspire a saint or two, been a patron of the arts, and had handed out the occasional blessing. Mostly he whiled away the time with Aziraphale, wherever they found themselves living as Aziraphale did jobs for Heaven. He’d even taken on a few of Aziraphale’s jobs, first as a way to let Aziraphale chase his own pursuits and then simply because he’d wanted to. Aside from helping a fellow angel skip work, he’d practically been a model angel.

“Hit your head on the way up from Hell, did you? I haven’t done anything.”

“Don’t be so modest. Weaponizing questions, really. Everyone Downstairs is impressed with this one. I’m almost jealous.”

Crowley felt a prickling down his spine. Something about this put his teeth on edge. Other than the obvious, that it was Hastur speaking to him, he didn’t know what it was about this that made him so uneasy. He wanted urgently to be home with Aziraphale. It wasn’t just the usual desire to be with his husband but something deeper than his bones. Deep as his very essence. This was the sort of warning urge that had sent him deep into the stars, once upon a time, a warning that things would shift irreparably if he did not act.

He shook the stiffness from his limbs. No need to be tense. No need to run. It was just Hastur and whatever he was babbling about. He hadn’t done anything- he really hadn’t- and nothing the demon said would change that. He took a step to walk around the demon. “If you’re done��”

Hastur angled himself to stop Crowley. He would have grabbed him if Crowley hadn’t already been on the defensive and ready to slip away. “Tell me how you did it? How’d you talk the humans into this Inquisition in Spain?”

- - - -

Crowley wasn’t sure what day it was. He wasn’t sure where he was but the near empty bottle in his hand implied a tavern or something of the sort. Usually drinks were poured into cups, though, so there was a chance he’d grabbed a bottle and taken it somewhere. That, or someone had let him simply drink from the bottle. Either way, probably not any sort of fine establishment. He wasn’t sure if he felt good or bad, either, but that was by design— don’t feel anything, don’t think. Seemed to be working fantastically judging by the fact that he could neither see, sit, nor think straight.

“There you are.”

That voice was familiar. Made something warm settle into the sloshing sea of alcohol in his system. “Here I am,” he agreed.

“Perhaps you should stop drinking a moment and look at me.”

Crowley sank down to embrace the bottle. The glass was cool against the side of his face. It felt nice. “Nah. Think I’ll just stay like this,” he said. Or, tried to say, judging by the slurred garble that slipped out of his mouth.

There was a long sigh. “Crowley.”

The bottle was carefully pried from his grip. He tried to resist, muttered a few choice curses, but was easily left slumped against his own folded arms. A gentle hand landed on his right elbow and when he turned to look at it, a face came into view. It took a moment for him to focus well enough to bring any of the features clarity but it could have stayed a bright, blessed blur and he would have known that face anywhere.

He picked up his head and beamed. “Ziraphale, s’good to see you.”

“I’m surprised you can see anything, judging by the state of you. Why don’t we get you home?”

Crowley shook his head. He abruptly stopped when the whole world seemed to shake with it. “Nope. Too drunk. Would probably discorpra- discapor- die if I tried a miracle.”

“Well then, why don’t you sober up?”

Aziraphale’s voice was low, sharp, and even. It was the sort of voice that in any other situation would have had Crowley worried but he’d done too good a job of getting rid of silly things like worries at least half a dozen bottles ago. Maybe more. He’d lost track after the first five or fifteen.

“Told you,” he said, resting his chin in the palm of one hand, “no miracles. B’sides, I don’t wanna.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “You don’t want to?”

“Nope.”

Crowley popped the ‘p’ and then repeated the sound until he fell into a fit of giggles.

“Then allow me—”

Everything was too murky for Crowley to remember why exactly the idea of sobering up sent his heart pounding and his stomach plummeting but he instantly snatched Aziraphale’s wrist to stop it from happening.

“No.”

“If you really feel so strongly about it, I won’t. Can you at least tell me why?”

Crowley opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head. Every time he reached toward the source of that feeling, something fractured and threatened to fall away completely.

He heard another long sigh. An arm wrapped around his back and another under his legs. Suddenly he was being carried. The lift into the air made him dizzy. He buried his face in Aziraphale’s chest. His shirt smelled nice. Like… flowers or something. Something pretty and nice. Like Aziraphale.

“You smell nice.”

“I’m glad,” Aziraphale replied flatly. “Do you have a room?”

“Dunno.”

“You don’t— where have you been staying all this time?”

“Dunno. Has it been a long time?”

Yet another sigh. Crowley felt like he should start taking count.

“It’s been over a week since I expected you back.” They started moving and Crowley had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop feeling dizzy. “Well then, if you don’t have a room and you won’t let me sober you up, what do you say to me bringing us both back home?”

Home. For much of his existence that had been a moving target with Aziraphale as a constant center. It didn’t need to be a physical place, the heart of it would always exist someplace beyond, but at the moment it was. More importantly, it was somewhere away from here. Whether he could articulate why he didn’t want to be here any longer, he knew how happy he was at the thought of leaving, particularly in Aziraphale’s arms.

Crowley hummed appreciatively and pressed in as close as he was able. There would always be a part of him that worried he would forget this form if he shifted back into his serpentine one but he missed the simplicity of it. He could never feel quite so much as a snake and he could instead rest easier, coiled around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Maybe he still would, when he sobered. He knew that Aziraphale would love him no matter his shape. It might not be better but it would be easier and, at the moment, that sounded very tempting.

There was a feeling of compression and then expansion as a miracle sent them both home. Instantly Crowley was inundated by the rich smell of oak from Aziraphale’s heavy wooden desk with a whiff on top of ink and parchment. He remembered the sound of wind rustling through the olive trees and the scratch of a quill as Aziraphale passed the nights writing while Crowley slept. Or tried to, anyhow. Oftentimes he would lay with one eye open and watch Aziraphale work by candlelight.

He thought of those nights as Aziraphale laid him on a bed that was far more comfortable than it had any right to be. Aziraphale took a seat on the edge of the mattress. Apparently neither of them was willing to break the silence that had fallen between them. Instead, Aziraphale quietly ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. Or tried, as he got caught in hair that had managed to tangle despite being braided.

“When was the last time you brushed your hair?” Aziraphale asked as he drew his hand back to himself. “Or bathed? Or did anything to care for yourself?”

“You said I’ve been gone over a week? Then, uh, yeah. Probably something like that. S’not like we need to bathe or anything. Not like humans do.”

“You do if you’re going to soak yourself in alcohol and drunken humans.”

Crowley groaned and buried his face in a pillow. As it happened, an angel’s metabolism didn’t allow for passing out drunk, or that had been his experience over the last however many days of attempting to reach blissful oblivion. Maybe he could sleep, though. That might be alright.

He forgot why he’d been avoiding sleep until it overcame him. He’d gotten complacent since his marriage to Aziraphale. Even in the worst of times, life with his Principality had been a waking dream and the sleeping world had shaped itself accordingly. But the world wasn’t painted in only soft shades of cream and powdery blue, sometimes it was the harsh, steely grey of cruel human ingenuity or the slick scarlet shine of blood. The blood wouldn’t wash from his hands no matter how ferociously he scrubbed. It gathered under his nails, stained his skin, and blemished the band of gold around his finger.

Then there were the screams. They were never ending. If he pressed his palms tight as he could over his ears, they still rattled through his bones. He suspected he would continue hearing them even if he banished his ears altogether with a miracle. He just wanted them to stop. He screamed for them to stop. He begged and pleaded like he had for little else in his long existence.

Silence returned with two words. “Wake up.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open. He breathed in gulps through a raw and ragged throat. He looked impulsively at his hands but they were clean. The screams had been his own, the blood imagined, and yet he couldn’t seem to free himself of the sensation of either. He rubbed senselessly at his forearms until a pair of arms encircled him like a vice and forced him to stop.

“It’s alright, dearest. You’re alright.”

“It’s alright? I’m alright?” he repeated, each statement transforming into a question in the mouth of a non-believer.

“Yes. I’m here. You’re safe.”

This time there was no doubt. There never would be, not in Aziraphale. He relaxed into Aziraphale’s arms. “Yes.”

“How about a bath?” A snap and the scent of lavender filled the suddenly humid air. “I’ll take care of it. All you’ll have to do is relax.”

Crowley let out a hollow puff of laughter. “Is that all?”

Aziraphale gripped him by the shoulders and sat him up so that they were face to face. There were tears obscuring his storm grey eyes. “Then you don’t need to do even that. Simply let me take care of you as best I can, alright?”

Crowley nodded when his throat tightened too much to make a reply. He loathed seeing Aziraphale cry.

Aziraphale helped him to his feet and out of his clothes. Each article of clothing was removed with more care than it deserved, stiff and smelling as it all did of a week’s worth of drinking in whatever establishment would have him. If he thought too closely on that he was liable to consider once more what had driven him to drink in the first place and, for Aziraphale’s sake, he was determined to at least try to relax.

He set his eyes on their bath. It was a lovely thing made of delicate white marble. Carved on the outside were scenes of angels dancing and drinking and generally having a lot more fun than real ones did. Bathing came and went in vogue with humans, but Aziraphale had developed a special fondness for it in Rome and so they’d kept a private bath wherever they settled since. Such, he supposed, was the luxury of not worrying whether the locals had plumbing anymore or not. One quick miracle and they had a full tub with steam that rolled in easy clouds off the surface.

“Come now,” Azirphale said as he took one of Crowley’s hands, “let’s see if this helps you any.”

Crowley let Aziraphale lead him to the bathtub and then climbed in without letting go of Aziraphale’s hand until he’d lowered himself most of the way down. Aziraphale carefully undid the braided hair that trailed after Crowley like a train. Once done, he gathered it up into a careful coil and deposited it in the water with Crowley. The water rose to the edge but didn’t spill over. It was just enough for Crowley and not a drop more.

Crowley let out a long, trembling breath as the hot water worked its wonders on him. He wasn’t quite as fond of bathing as Aziraphale but he did very much enjoy the act of being bathed. It was a bit like sleeping, without the danger of nightmares. Instead it was the very best sort of dream, shaped by the one he loved the most. Strong, calloused hands worked at the tense muscles in his shoulders and scented water poured over his head from a glittering copper vessel. The ritual of it was a comfort bordering on the sacred.

Aziraphale rubbed a small dab of scented oil on Crowley’s temples. “I got Leonardo’s sketch,” he said.

“I should hope so,” Crowley replied, “or I would have to worry my miracles are starting to go awry.”

Aziraphale nudged Crowley into a seated position so that he could better comb out water loosened tangles. “It was quite lovely. I do hope that you told him that and that you thanked him for his patience. I could tell you were as restless as ever at your sitting.”

“Er—” Had he thanked Leonardo? He couldn’t remember. “Oh! He asked me to come back for a proper portrait. Said I’d make a good angel.”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “At least someone thinks so.” The comb hit a snag and was replaced for a moment by careful fingers. “I don’t know how you managed this.”

“Dunno.”

“You do have a talent for finding trouble.”

When one segment was finished, Aziraphale moved to the next and the next in meticulous fashion. Crowley’s eyes fell closed as he sank into the comfortable rhythm of it. He felt like a bit of flotsam tossing gently in the waves without a care in the world.

“I suppose this hair is what put Leonardo in mind of angels,” Aziraphale continued. “I don’t think you’ve had it this long since Eden.”

Crowley opened his eyes again as he pulled himself from his quiet reverie. “I mean, I was a snake for quite a while after that, so hair was sort of off the metaphorical table.”

“Indeed. But… it’s nice. I like it quite a bit when it’s this long. Of course you know how I love it no matter the length—” Crowley ignored the burn in his cheeks and Aziraphale continued to comb. “—but it’s nice to remember simpler times.”

“For the, what, handful of minutes we had them?”

“Even so.”

Simpler times. Crowley hardly remembered them. Yes, he’d forever recall his first sight of the delightfully soft Principality, high on the eastern wall of Eden, when he’d been nothing more than an out of place Seraph with perhaps a few too many questions on his lips. But any memory of that time was overshadowed by what came after. And then what came after that. And after that. And on and on and on despite all the good mixed in.

Crowley pulled his knees up and hugged them close. “Hey, so, uh, with my rude awakening earlier, I think I’ve sobered up enough to, er…” He ran his tongue over his teeth and pressed extra hard on his left incisor, which had always run a bit sharper. He didn’t want to talk about it but it was a dark and hungry secret that he worried would devour him from the inside out if he didn’t. “I remember everything, if you wanna hear about it.”

Aziraphale stilled for a moment and then continued combing Crowley’s hair. “Only if you want. You can take whatever time you need.”

“No, I should— I want to now. Maybe then I can start to forget without an ocean of alcohol to help me along.”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut but when he did, he could see that faces of humans contorted beyond recognition by unfathomable pain. It was no wonder Hell was impressed. The humans were up here serving up the sort of punishments even demons might not have dreamed of. He looked instead at his hands beneath the surface of the water and reminded himself that they were not stained in blood. He tried to remind himself also that they were clean of any guilt in this, but he was less successful on that count.

“So,” he continued when Aziraphale didn’t make any response, “ran into Hastur on the way home.”

“What did that wretched demon do this time? If he’s the one that caused all this, I’ll… I’ll… well, let me think on it but it will be suitably ghastly, I assure you.”

“No, it’s not— he didn’t do anything. Well, guess he did but not like that. Not that I’m against the idea of you laying down some holy wrath on him, if you’re so inclined. But I’m—” Water splashed as he gestured broadly at himself. “Because, well, how much have you heard about the Spanish Inquisition?” He only waited half a heartbeat before charging on. “Hell thinks I cooked it up, since it’s all being done in Her name and with the whole, you know, inquisitive nature of it. Aziraphale, it’s awful.” He emptied his lungs into that word and still it didn’t seem to be enough. “Monstrous. Wretched. Abominable. Really, really… bad. I’d say hellish but apparently they hadn’t even thought up half the things these humans have. Got the impression they’re taking notes.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s voice sounded so small behind him. “Oh, Crowley. Why did you go look?”

“Had to, didn’t I? If everyone thinks I did it, I should at least know what I’m getting my name on.”

Aziraphale’s hands fell away from Crowley’s hair as he rushed around to the side of the bath. “But you didn’t have anything to do with it! You know you didn’t, my dear, so why torment yourself over what a pitiable bunch of damned creatures think?”

“Well, it’s not like they’re completely out of bounds thinking I’d gone and corrupted the humans again, are they?”

“It’s not— Crowley, how many times are we going to have to have this argument? You can’t take all of humanity’s sins on your shoulders.”

“I can try.”

“You certainly can and I know that you do, but I wish you wouldn’t. The humans will do whatever they will do, for good or ill. You know that. Not even the Almighty can stop that.”

“Why the blazes not?”

Aziraphale froze except for a sudden fluttering of his lashes. “What?”

“Why can’t She put a stop to this? They’re committing atrocities in Her name. She’s fucking well put a foot down in the past, drowning a whole load of people and—”

“Stop!” The walls of the villa shook at the command and for a moment Aziraphale seemed much larger. He shrank back down as he grabbed either side of Crowley’s face. “Stop, please. Not another word like that.”

Aziraphale crushed their lips together in a fierce kiss. He kept kissing until Crowley no longer had the mind or breath to argue further.

“Please,” Aziraphale said once more. “Not this. If there’s one thing in the entirety of existence you don’t question, let it be this. For me.”

Crowley could feel the drip of tears onto bath wet skin as their foreheads pressed together. He wanted for all the world to agree to that. Even being able to lie about it felt like it would be a weight off his shoulders. His life— their lives— would be so much easier if he could. If he could just trust in whatever damned plan there was, he might not have spent the last week drunk out of his mind.

He pulled back enough to look Aziraphale in the eyes and frowned at what he saw. “I made you cry again.” He bent forward and kissed the tear tracks off round, ruddy cheeks. “I’m sorry, angel. I won’t say anything like that again. Not to you.”

Aziraphale’s brows lowered over watery eyes. “Not to anyone.”

“Right. Not to anyone.” Crowley sank into the bath and deeper into himself with a hunch of his shoulders. “I promise I’ll try not to even think on it, not ever again. I just want to be with you and to be happy with that.”

Aziraphale laced their left hands together so that their rings pressed together. “You have me and you always will.”

#good omens #good omens au #go au: tmgt #crowley #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #angel!crowley #my writing #fic

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a-long-walk-in-the-forest · 3 years

Text

Sasuke’s mars degree exploration

Now that I’m having another look at his chart he could have a grand cross. Building on this assumption, His pluto is also likely to be farther into aquarius than I had initially thought (though it’s probably before 24 degrees). Anyways since I already did this for his moon and mercury I decided to just make this into a series and do some of his other planets as well. this post will be about his mars.

This one was a bit harder since non of them really worked as well as I would have liked them to but out of all of them 12-13 seems better than the rest.

12-13

It shows one of a powerful and independent nature, relying on his own counsel and capable of standing alone. A degree of taciturnity and reserve will add to the general inscrutability of the mind of this person, and dispose him to command the respect and regard of others. His position will be elevated, his success in life will be assured by his own innate strength, and his fortunes will remain untouched by the hand of change. It is a degree of’ STADILITY.

Whether the native is high-born or a self-made man coming of an obscure family, fate certainly has earmarked him to occupy an eminent, independent position and to hold sway over others, owing to his inborn inexhaustible force. To obey him is a matter of course, nearly of necessity. An untiring, hard worker, he is fully confident in himself, and his firmness of purpose borders on stubbornness. Laconic, or even silent, he can scan and pierce everything around himself at a glance without betraying any of his feelings. Close but long-sighted, strong but on his defensive, cunning yet intelligent, he has fortune on his side and all the good or evil qualities needed to assert oneself and achieve success, his main asset being an iron will, unshakeable and undaunted; his main defect, a selfish, despotic, scheming ambition. When other aspects point to a liking for the career of arms, this degree will bestow the gift of strategy. Should the stars point to agriculture instead, the native would be a great organizer and manager of farms.

Denotes one who is ever on selfish ends; he makes a good strategist.

Business: degree of attraction and repulsion; electricians; independent and self-reliant; stability; magnetic healing; dignity; artistic sensibilities; inclined to poetry; may be either mystical or unfeeling;

Denotes one whose work is destined to live and influence men long after he has left the earth, one of an intensely psychic nature, sensitive, and mediumistic. He will have many earthly struggles and will find many sharp rocks in the way of his progress. He suffers more from his absolute lack of sympathy with earth matters as they are at present. His wanderings in the summer lands, however, bring him infinite peace and joy in the midst of pain. It is a symbol of Reveries.

Defensiveness is very marked in this degree. However, for the most part it is well controlled. If he loses his balance defensiveness will be the result. However, it is not likely that this highly competent being will be put in this position. He, for some reason, seems to attract many people difficult to deal with. He seems to be adequate to these challenges and perhaps even thrives on having to cope with difficulties of this nature. He has a measure of compassion and understanding but his righteous indignation is potent and lasting when there has not been sufficient cause for him to relent. He has ample resources to defend himself. Although when he is sufficiently occupied in dealing with deceitful and malicious people and situations he is subject to mental distortions. These experiences may tend to color his general outlook on life. It is very difficult to remain cheerful and optimistic when most of the energy and skill that you have is taken up with such dealings. There is another not much emphasized quality here having to do with the power inherent in polarity of positive and negative charges. He seems to have some quality which enhances his ability to work with electricity and also some ability to do healing by use of the hands.

This area of Taurus, Scorpio sometimes called degrees of attraction and repulsion, often found in charts of electricians. Independent and self-reliant.

15-16 (it’s probably not this but I’ll still include it)

It is the index of a kind and benevolent nature; a generous and humane disposition; ever eager to befriend and comfort those who may be in distress of body or mind. The grandeur and spiritual loftiness of this soul will attract many friends, and the work of charity and benevolence will increase continually, gathering volume as it goes, till it reaches the ocean of human life, and enfolds all mankind. It is a degree of HUMANENESS.

Whatever the moral height of the native, foreign is the country where he is called to act, his outward appearance is nimble and ‘attractive, his wedding princely. Should other components allow, he would belong either to a secret sect or to the militant Church.

Denotes a person possessed with ardent desires; an enthusiast to the cause he espouses; a true friend and an open enemy.

May be an art collector or a person who works hard at some branch of art with little remuneration; business; associated with explosions (of nuclear plants) and bombings; the center of regeneration; the Eagle point; carefulness or (under affliction) carelessness; not a powerful degree; hardly typical of Scorpio

Denotes one who is mixed up in life’s battles and fights for every advantage. Gifted with endurance and a penetrative mind, he wins his way through obstacles only to meet more obstacles later on. But he knows, for all this, that the Power sustaining him is faithful, and he prays for peace in the midst of war. It is a symbol of Contrition.

This degree represents the most undeveloped of the Scorpio qualities. There is the dead weight philosophy of fatalism coupled with a masochistic drive to suffer. He may throw himself blindly into some kind of work but for some reason seems not to reap any reasonable benefit from his efforts. He is most likely to miss coming to grips with life in any way to produce an awareness of either the good or the bad of the action going on around him. He somehow remains detached from all meaningful contact. Of course, this is never the only degree to be stimulated in a chart. The course may be charted more clearly elsewhere and perhaps the real nature of this degree has not yet been seen in its true light. It will, however, add to the load rather than lighten it.

Not a powerful degree, and like 17-18, the natives are hardly typical of Scorpio. May be an art collector or a person who works hard at some branch of art, with little remuneration.

17-18

It is the index of a watchful, brave, but suspicious and jealous nature. Such an one will brave many dangers for the sake of mastery over the passions of others, and will be active in the attainment of the arts of conquest. Nevertheless it is probable that eventually the life will be endangered thereby, and, beyond the loss of power where it is most to be desired, the danger of a poisoned love, or a yet more sinister folly, will threaten to crush and obliterate this person. It is a degree of JEALOUSY.

A strict sense of justice, a liking for aimless leisure, unlucky love affairs thwarted by jealousy and mistrust (whether the native or the other partner is jealous, the whole of the horoscope must tell), an absolute lack of autonomy, a life weighed down by an excess of sloth. The native seems to lay little store by his own word, as he thinks little of entering an engagement and even less of subsequently breaking his pledge. Courage to act openly is conspicuous by its absence, and there is just enough courage to bear the consequences of one’s flippant fickleness or follies and to accept any sacrifice. Love for art, especially music, is deep-rooted. But one who has no character is unlikely to succeed unsupported in such a field, and there is no trace of any moral force here.

A just person, but prone to become too severe.

A musical degree; often a tall person (if afflicted; a dwarf); often works in connection with electricity or painting (artistic or other);

Denotes one for whom pleasure hides danger. His passions are high and not easy to control, and his appetites tend to follow his desires. There is a love of grace in art, movement, and sound which impels him to excitement and sensation. He attempts to influence and control, but is liable to be deceived himself in the end. Let him be warned. It is a symbol of Inflaming.

Mercury’s S Node is on this degree. It shows moral cowardice. Strangely, it does not seem to show the usual courage and wisdom of the sign. Perhaps Mercury’s S Node here rips away the mental logic of violence but without incorporating a solution by an awareness of other ways to solve problems leading to violence. There is a suggestion of an ability to work with color and vibration. Often there is sex appeal of a very surface quality. is associated with colitis, cancer, and appendicitis, w also indicates much frustration from buried resentments. Much of his action seems to indicate an attempt to escape. With Mercury’s S Node here the avenues of escape greatly narrowed.

Often work in connection with electricity or painting.

#sasuke #sasuke uchiha #sasuke astrology #degree exploration #n-astro

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