#i thought of this every time we came upon some runes

[ninawolv3rina]

#i thought of this every time we came upon some runes #and kratos just wordlessly unhooked him #cracks me up #god of war #god of war ragnarok #gow #mimir gow #kratos

[argisthebulwark]

Severed Ties Part One: Why You Left

summary: You've had enough, whatever was once between you may be lost. You're leaving him. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. Part Two: Why You Came Back feat: Brynjolf, Miraak, Erandur, Teldryn, Vilkas, Farkas, Rune, Arnbjorn warnings: bit longer than usual.

There was no way around it - Brynjolf just didn’t have enough time for you. You clung to those fleeting moments you got with him, rushed and infrequent as they were. A hurried kiss or a half eaten dinner forgotten when a recruit brought a shipping manifest were the most you could hope for. Days would pass where you hardly saw one another. Between training, recruiting, scheduling, and handling conflict you became strangers.  After what felt like ages spent missing him you realized that holding on so tightly was only hurting you both. All the guilt over dates cut short and apologies for missing anniversaries were causing too much damage. You had to let go. Maybe a day would come when you settled into your new role and Brynjolf’s hectic schedule afforded him some free time to spend together. Someday there would be less tasks to complete and you could love one another properly.  Under all the arguments you could see his relief, the same one you’d felt as soon as making the decision to let him go. With tears in your eyes you promised to come back to him when the time was right, though you wondered if a time would ever truly exist.  "I'm sorry, love. I've got so many important things to do. Maybe some other time, yeah?"

With each day that passed Miraak drifted further from you. His thirst for power, that never ending climb for more power had edged you entirely out of his thoughts. The whirlwind romance you’d experienced in the beginning faded into fond memories. You often reflected upon those early days as you went about your solitary business. You’d given up so much for one another but forgetting you seemed rather easy for him. You’d begun to feel like one of his books, gathering dust on a shelf he hadn’t revisited in a long while.  He was too absorbed in his latest breakthrough to notice you packing your things. A hasty agreement with Mora was all it took to secure your safe passage back to Nirn, a lifeline to who you’d been before falling in love with him. A hand brushed over his back was your only goodbye to the man you’d sacrificed the world for. As you walked away from him you couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take Miraak to notice your absence. With a heavy heart you admitted to yourself that you had no clue, would he notice? When he did, would he even care? "I don't have time now, My Dragon. If we mean to seize this moment we must be prepared. I just don't have time."

Erandur could not stop himself from idolizing you. In the beginning you thought it would fade, that perhaps as he settled into your relationship he would drop all the honorifics and adoration. Over time it began to wear on you; the reverence in his tone or the way he gazed like you personally hung all the stars in the sky. When he continued seeing you as a figure the pressure only compounded. The longer it dragged on the more you felt like you had a disciple instead of a partner. All of Skyrim saw you as a mythical creature - the Dragonborn, Slayer of Alduin, champion of nearly every daedra you’d happened across. You could withstand that position from random citizens and court members but not your partner. With him you simply wanted to be a person. Babbling your explanation through tears, his unspoken questions were the ones that wounded you the deepest. He merely accepted your words with a solemn nod. You loved Erandur more than you could say but you couldn’t stand the pressure any longer, needing to find somewhere you could merely exist without the titles weighing you down.  "Of course I want you to be happy my beloved. You are my savior, after all. I am willing to do anything for you, all you must do is say the word."

Parting from Teldryn was like trying to tear a limb from your body. Your bones ached with a need for rest while he wanted nothing more than to keep moving, creating a rift between you. He refused to settle anywhere, no breaks lasting longer than a few days before you were in a new hold. You grew tired of tavern meals and stiff beds, the pack weighing you down. You needed a break. Even the slightest mention of going home upset Teldryn. He’d remind you that he was a sellsword not a steward. There was so much out there to see, so many bandit camps to clear out and treasures waiting for the right set of adventurers to find them. It was tough not to be hurt by the harshness of his words - were your years together trekking across continents not enough? Even worse, was his refusal to find a home simply an unwillingness to commit to you?  You left him exactly where you’d found him all those years ago - planted in the same seat in his favorite tavern, drink in hand. You tried to explain yourself but he was hearing none of it, tone bitter when he bid you farewell. "I'll be happy to rejoin you when you realize I'm right. Free of charge, of course. For old times' sake. Don't wait too long, though or I might get a better offer."

Vilkas knew precisely how to get under your skin. He knew the exact buttons to press in an argument - looking down his nose at you, the harshness of his words, and that cool, uncaring tone his voice adopted that made you wonder if he’d ever truly loved you. It seemed that the more your work lives overlapped the more frequent your arguments became until all the love between you was lost. Tears blurred your vision when you glared across the room at him. He was so collected, not a hair out of place while sobs burned at your throat. Your heart ached with a need to get back to how you’d been before the Companions had taken over your life but Vilkas was too set in his ways, too willing to argue and never open to compromise.  Wordlessly, you gathered up each possession he’d left in your quarters. He didn’t comment on the careless way you dumped it back into his empty bedroom but you felt him watching every step you took. You hated his silence. It was the only time you wished he’d raise his voice and push back but he said nothing, content to watch you separate the lives you’d intertwined ages ago. You wanted him to fight, that just this once he would fight for you.  "You must stop giving up so easily, Harbinger. We're all counting on you. Or did Kodlak hand the reigns to the wrong person after all?"

Despite all the fun you had together Farkas didn’t take anything seriously. You fell in love with his laughter and the nonchalant way he viewed the world but after years you wanted more. You wanted a life together, somewhere you could both call home and escape from the troubles of your Guild. As always, he simply brushed it off - why waste all that money buying a house when you had Jorrvaskr? Why bother with a wedding when everyone already knew you were together?  You couldn’t get him to conceive that there was a life you could live together that didn’t revolve around the Companions. You saw the conflict in his eyes and the way his words stumbled over one another when he reminded you that it was all he had ever known.  With a heavy heart you patted his hand, hoping that someday you could find a happy medium. You could no longer spend every day in Jorrvaskr - you loved your fellow Companions but the years passing by had you yearning for peace, something softer for your legacy. Farkas let your fingers slip through his when he let you go.  "Seems like an awful waste, doesn't it? Things don't have to change. We're having fun, aren't we? Why go and mess it up?"

Rune’s interest in his past had always intrigued you. That stone, the mysterious stories, the parents he’d never met. It had all the hallmarks of a protagonist in some old legend. You listened to his theories for nights on end and helped him search through old books of familial records, having fun until you realized how deeply his need for the truth ran. It startled you to realize that he was unable to fathom a future for himself, unwilling to think of anything but the mysteries of his past.  It left you in limbo. You loved him enough to hope for more but acknowledged how stuck in his ways he’d become. Rune was confused when you explained it to him, tears in his eyes when you pleaded with him to come back to you when he found the answers he held above all else.  "What do you mean - you're leaving me? We don't need to think ahead when we have right now. Can't you wait a little longer?"

Arnbjorn’s love for his late wife was admirable, though somewhat intimidating. No one doubted how deeply he’d loved her but they were glad to see the small changes. Months had passed when he stopped wearing his ring, your heart leaping at the minute signs that he was getting closer to moving on. Your little crush on him grew into so much more when he approached you, getting you hooked from the first touch. It felt like Astrid haunted every step you took closer to him. When he kissed you you wondered who he thought of, whose name was on the tip of his tongue when he bit his lip. When your body pressed to his and he slapped a hand over his mouth your stomach soured with the realization that he was not only thinking of you. It was evident in small moments - when he couldn’t meet your gaze or he stopped himself mid sentence. Your blood chilled when you realized he was going to call you her name. You didn't want to blame him but it hurt in a way you'd never experienced. It drove you mad. You retracted from him, wrapped up in insecurity and resentment when you broke off whatever was between you two. You couldn’t keep questioning his intentions for you, refusing to be a replacement for the wife he’d lost.  "You aren't her - I know you aren't her! I don't want you to be her - why won't you just listen to me?"

#skyrim #skyrim fanfic #skyrim x reader #x reader fanfic #writing #brynjolf #miraak #erandur #teldryn sero #vilkas #farkas #rune skyrim #arnbjorn

[theneurodivergentdummy]

The Apprentice

(The hobbit self-insert. Based on the movies. apologies if anyone is ooc. I DO NOT claim to own the hobbit series or any characters, scenes, or lands therein)

PART 1/2

*IM BACK... for now :) enjoy!*

"Hobbit hole...gotta find the right one... uhh... where's the-the uh-the marking? Gandalf said there'd be a marking on one of these doors..." I muttered to myself, scanning the sixth round door I've come across for any such marking. Again, nothing to be found. I rolled my hand in a fist and gently thumped it against my thigh in distress. Why, why is it every time someone gives me directions my anxiety overcomplicates it and makes me forget half of what they told me.

I stepped back from the door to give myself room to calm down. Flipping my hands in an anxious stim as if to rid myself of the cold negativity closing in on my heart. I hate my stupid anxiety.

Alright, next door.

I do have to say, the shire is one of my favorite places I've been in all of Middle Earth. the rolling hills turned dark in the cold of the night, the babbling creek glistening in the distance, and the luscious light smell of the colorful wildflowers that bloomed on every doorstep. It was quite an aspiring place to live, and with each step I found myself thinking how wonderful it would be if one day I too could roam the vast landscape as one of its many inhabitants.

I froze,... what was i looking for again?

The door, that's right gotta find the meeting place.

I continued Walking on the gravel path until I came upon the next rounded door, its green paint tinted blue in the gentle moonlight.

"I swear if this isn't the door I'm going home." I whispered to myself in quiet plea, quickly looking the door over for the hidden mark.

My eyes lit up the moment I found the glowing rune at the foot of the door, releasing a relived sigh from my tensed body. pulling myself from my noisy mind, I noticed I could hear the faint murmur of rowdy banter inside.

"There better be food like he promised." I muttered, pushing the doorbell causing a light jangling of bells to ring out from inside the cozy abode.

As I waited, I straightened myself up, dusting off my large grey cloak. Running my hands through my short hair and tucking my long thin braid behind my ear, wanting to make a good impression.

The door opened to show a disgruntled hobbit, still in his bed robes.

"NO, NO MORE, I CAN'T TAKE IT! THERE ARE FAR TOO MANY DWARVES-" he stopped when Gandalf placed a hand on his shoulder, moving him aside.

"Kaye, my dear, its lovely to see you!" Gandalf said pulling me in for a hug, and effectively ignoring the small hobbits complaints.

"it's wonderful to see you again as well Gandalf! I was rather surprised to receive your letter, especially since you have neglected to visit me in quite some time. " I said, pulling away from the embrace to examine my mentor better. Hes looking as youthful as ever I sarcastically thought.

"I do apologize, I have been quite busy you know."

"No worries, I understand. Any way to more pressing concerns-" I said as Gandalf moved out of the way, motioning for me to come inside. I had to duck to fit into the small archway, I suppose it was not made with a human's height in mind, defiantly a hobbit home.

He closed the door and looked at me curiously waiting for me to continue.

"Where is the food?" I finished.

He let out a soft chuckle as he offered to take my belongings off my hands, complying I removed my cloak, bag, and my bow and passed it to him, opting to keep my bladed staff with me, its blue green gem glistening coldly in the flickering firelight.

I then turned to Bilbo,

"Thank you for letting us into your home, it's quite cozy." I complimented him and bowed in thanks.

He let out a few incomprehensible stutters and seemed to glare disappointedly at the floor before Gandalf guided me to what I could assume where all the commotion was going down. Ducking past a couple more archways and nicely furnished rooms, the noise escalated as we passed a final arch. The room beyond was a small dining room, with a lovely wooden table in the center. surrounding the table was the rowdiest gaggle of dwarves I had ever laid eyes on. Throwing food to one another, drinking copious amounts of ale, and ...WALKING ON THE TABLE?! I stared in disbelief. I knew dwarves didn't have the best table manners but this...they made my poor manners look dignified, and that's saying something.

Once I took a few cautious steppes into the chaotic room, all the dwarves slowly took notice of me.

"Who's the lad?" a dwarf with a half bald head and a black forked beard commented.

I winced. I figured this would happen, I am often mistaken as a man because of my uncommonly short hair and androgenous face. I don't mind it so much, but it does get rather annoying when it happens every time I meet someone.

Maybe I should buy some makeup...

"A-actually I'm-" Gandalf cut me off.

"This is my apprentice, miss Kaphyra. She'll be joining us on our quest." He said, subtlety correcting the dwarf.

Catching the hint, he coughed in embarrassment. everyone seemed to stare at me in disbelief for a while until they glanced down at my chest, recognizing their mistake rather quickly. I crossed my arms in discomfort, trying to cover up a little more. I yearned for the comfort of my large figureless cloak. they quickly looked away moving to snicker at the dwarf's folly, and he glared them down.

"Apologies" he mumbled quietly.

The chatter slowly continued, and Gandalf sat me by him in an empty seat, which was rather small. I was passed a ceramic plate and began to load it with food, roasted golden tomatoes, sliced cucumbers, juicy peaches, warm bread, slices of ham and lamb, all with wonderful drizzles of honey and vinegar.

"Would you like some ale lass?" the dwarf to my left asked.

"Ah, no thank you! is there any tea or water?" I inquired.

"Aye, PASS THE TEA!" the dwarf yelled across the table. in return a dwarf with white hair and intricate braids covering his entire head passed a teapot over in my direction.

I thanked them and poured myself a cup of... what smelled like chamomile tea. Wonderful, I would sleep good tonight.

alright I'm gonna end that here, and I will have more soon! im gonna add a few picrews depicting my looks in the next part.

sorry for my break! I'll try to post more soon.

reblogs are appreciated! thanks for reading!!

#The Hobbit #lotr #hobbit #the hobbit self insert #self insert #fanfic #my writing #gandalf #gandalfs apprentice #the hobbit x reader #lotr self insert #funny #platonic #the hobbit x reader platonic #Gandalf x reader platonic #the hobbit fanfic

[gilbirda]

Never judge a book by its cover (JLxDP crossover)

They had a problem. A big problem. A madman had bonded with an eldritch god from space, it went wrong, and now there was a possessed human rampaging, eating everything it crosses. Constantine and Zatanna had an idea - they found a book about a Ghost King, a being from another dimension so powerful and so dangerous that they only suggested this summoning as a last resort.

What they got was a underfed and sleep deprived kid that knows about: - possession - eldritch gods - space

Can be read on its own.

EDIT: forgot to mention here my lovely beta @avaritia-apotheosis​

From my series, You and me and our best friend makes three

Sequel>>

[Read on AO3][Read on FF.net]

CW:non-graphic violence scenes, implied cannibalism

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Superman side-eyed Constantine as the warlock finished painting the summoning runes using a combination of his blood and pig’s blood. Something about making sure he summoned the correct dimension’s subject.

“Yeah, yeah. Absolutely positive, mate.” The blond said around the cigarette in his mouth, his eyes checking back to the picture on his phone, making sure the symbols were correct.

“So this… spectre will help, yes?”

“For fucks sake, I don’t know!” he stopped drawing the symbols and turned to look at the man of steel, annoyed. Once upon a time, Constantine had been intimidated by the hulkling figure of the Kryptonian, but not anymore since he learned how much of a baby he was about some things. (Like, for example, summoning potentially dangerous creatures from another dimension.) “This is my first time doing this summoning circle  and I don’t want to mess it up, so could you please just-”

“Calm down, John,” Batman stepped in. “I know you are nervous but we trust in your abilities and your knowledge.”

John knew it was a white lie but let it pass. He took a deep breath and tried to stop his trembling hands. He didn’t like feeling so powerless. 

“Bollocks,” he fisted his hands and went for the phone, rechecking every symbol of the complicated circle he was trying to make. 

He didn’t like doing things he hadn’t tried and tested before - in his experience, being ignorant of the nuances of a ritual resulted in dire consequences. He didn’t have to look too far in his past to prove it.

But… So many people had died already and they were desperate. He had already been searching for a solution when the Justice League, with their flashy capes and their deeply rooted pride, came to him and other magic users for solutions. 

The best he could find was this High King of the Ghosts. The title sounded ominous, but the ancient book he found talked about a connection with ancient creatures from ‘beyond’ and described abilities like those of the thing that had been rampaging without control through their part of the world.

It came out of nowhere, really. One day, someone suddenly appeared, declaring they were the host of a powerful eldritch god and that now they had to bow down to him. The person was human, or at least originally human; but after days his appearance morphed into a creature made of shadows and many, many eyes…

Constantine shuddered. 

The worst part? Nothing worked. Brute force, Superman’s heat rays, guns. Nothing Green Lantern made could even make a dent in the monstrous creature. Magic seemed to do a bit more damage, but the weird hybrid of human and eldritch monster regenerated faster than they could throw spells at him. Magical traps didn’t work either. Nothing. Not even John’s most powerful spell bind could stop it.

Cue their desperate measures. Desperate times, am I right? That’s what he thought when he considered this particular summoning. It had a warning note made more recently, maybe another magician that crossed paths with the book, strongly advising against summoning this King of the Ghosts. It said that the creature was more powerful than any earthly magic and that it couldn’t be contained - but it also said that the King could be reasoned with. It gave hope to the League. Maybe they could break some kind of deal with this dangerous being.

“And… done!” John sighed, rechecked all the symbols, and put his phone back to his pocket.

“Now what?” Diana approached them from the other side of the room, not really trusting this decision, but unable to leave her teammates alone with such a threat.

“Now,” Constantine kneeled in front of the circle and put his hands, both palms cut, downwards and touching the paint, “let me do the chant in one go.”

The warlock closed his eyes and ignored the dozen of members of the League watching him from a distance. He knew the words. He didn’t know what they meant, but he knew them. He just hoped he didn’t butcher the pronunciation too much and fail at the summoning.

But it was his first attempt, goddammit!

Fortunately, halfway through the chanting the circle changed colors - from blood red to toxic green, the glow illuminating the inside of the abandoned and secluded warehouse, far from civilization, they had chosen to do the ritual. Just in case. 

As he said the last word, Constantine felt the air get sucked out of his lungs, as if the last word was fed right into the circle, nurturing it, physically closing the circle. John fell back and crawled away from the circle as it transformed, glowing greener and greener, a vortex manifesting inside the symbols.

The vortex started spinning faster and faster, the noise of the currents drowning everyone’s thoughts, putting bizarre images of a far away place with impossible physics and green skies in their minds. It also brought a cold sensation, like darkness becoming tangible, like a night without stars closing on them. Whatever was coming was strong, and powerful.

The circle of pyrotechnics shone brighter for a moment and then stopped, the vortex lazily flowing, the streaks of green dull and darkened. The following silence rang in Constantine’s ears. Had he failed?

“What-” Green Arrow started,  when the symbols started glowing softly. 

A figure started coming through the vortex of green, the ‘waters’ becoming toxic green again as it touched his body. It was mesmerizing.

Or it would be, if what came through the summoning circle wasn't… a kid. A white-haired, bluish-gray skinned, tired looking kid, but a kid nonetheless. He was wearing some kind of suit in black and white, with a stylized letter symbol in his chest and a utility belt around his waist.

The kid was half crouched, legs apart and hands ready into fists, as if he was expecting a fight.

“Who are you and what have you done to me?”

Constantine glanced at Batman, searching for help. This was not what he expected.

The Dark Knight stepped forward and John sneakily crawled as far  away as he could.

“Who are you?” 

“I asked first.” The kid was brave, John had to concede. 

Batman was silent for a second, probably fuming at the disrespect. “We are the Justice League, protectors of this planet.”

“Oh… yeah!” the kid relaxed his stance, recognition shining in his eyes. “You are Batman, right? Tucker is, like, obsessed with superheroes and-”

“Kid, focus.” Batman growled. “Who are you?”

“I’m… wait, but you guys called me with this…” he smudged a symbol with his foot. “Oops, I touched it, sorry. Anyway!” he nervously continued when Batman made a move to get closer. “I’m Danny Phantom?”

“Is that an answer or a question?”

“Answer! That’s my name,” the kid smiled nervously. “Look, there must be a mistake. Who were you trying to summon? I can go back and leave a message for you.” A muscle in his brow twitched, and for a moment John could see how exhausted the kid was.

“We were trying to summon the Ghost King.”

“Actually,” Constantine cleared his throat, jumping to his feet and dusting his coat. He walked up to the kid. If he was a dangerous creature from another dimension, he would have done something already. He chuckled. “It’s called the ‘High King of the Ghosts’, but obviously there must have been some kind of mistake.”

But the kid wasn’t laughing. In fact, he became paler.

“Why?” Danny, as he had introduced himself, became more serious. 

“We need his help.”

“With?”

“Bloody hell, kid, we are losing precious time! Tell the King we need his help with some monster-”

“Monster?” he crossed his arms, guarded. “What kind of monster?”

“I don’t know! Someone’s possessed by some creature! Eldritch, maybe from space! But why do you even care?” 

“What have you tried? Did it say it was a ghost? Is that why you summoned me? To destroy a fellow ghost?” something in his tone was dangerous, and Diana, Batman and Superman tensed. Green Arrow moved one hand carefully towards his quiver. 

“This… creature… is killing people, son,” Danny bristled at the naming, but didn’t do anything. Superman continued, trying to control the worry and urgency in his voice. “It is really important we stop it and if it can be done peacefully, better. That’s why we need the Ghost King.”

Danny seemed to think about it for a moment, looking down at his feet. Batman gave Constantine worried looks, silently asking if he could do something about the situation. John shrugged.

“Okay. I’ll help you.”

“Will you contact the Ghost King?” Superman seemed hopeful.

“No need!” the kid laughed, making a dismissive motion with his hand. “You are already talking with him.”

Before they could ask their questions, the kid was engulfed in toxic green flames, maybe greek fire, and in his place stood another different person. Don’t be confused - it was the same white haired and tired kid; but his stance was wider, shoulders back, head up; and over the superhero costume he now wore some kind of otherworldly armor, with black plating and spiky shoulder pieces, a simple white cape clasped over his chest with two tiny skull charms. 

But the most distracting thing was the flaming crown floating over his head, made of the same black metal as the rest of his armor.

Danny smirked, crossing his arms again, as he watched the Justice League lose their shit in front of a kid.

“Well, this was unexpected.”

The kid turned towards Constantine and chuckled low, his voice layered and echoey, adding to the scary picture he presented.

“I’m a man of many surprises.”

“But you are just a kid,” Diana’s voice was soft. One of her hands rested over her mouth, shocked and worried. 

“But I’m a kid that knows a lot about space,” he uncrossed his arms and lifted a hand, counting with his fingers, “about eldritch creatures, and about possession. I can help you and you know it.”

There was a brief silence no one wanted to break. The kid looked nervously at each of their faces, suddenly losing all the bravado he showed before.

“This is a nice summoning circle, by the way. Who did it?”

Constantine lifted a hand.

“Where did you get the information? I thought all the knowledge about summoning ghosts had been lost to time.”

“A- A book. I found a book,” John blinked, walking around the circle to get said book, showing it to the kid. 

“Where did you get this?” Danny’s voice was angry, one hand reaching for the book, as if he recognized it. The symbols in the circle glowed and the Ghost King jumped back. “A binding spell? In my summoning circle?” 

“It was a necessity, the book explained that the king was dangerous-”

“This pitiful attempt cannot bind me,” his eyes glowed even greener and the circle went up into flames, the paint consumed rapidly in the green fire, erasing the circle and the bindings to ash.

Constantine brushed a bit of the ash with a foot, unable to keep the kid from snatching the book from his hands.

“This shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have this,” Danny's voice turned angrier and angrier as he flipped the pages, checking the contents. “How did you get this?”

“Found it in an auction!” John made a placating gesture with his hands. “I swear I didn’t steal it!” Danny seemed to believe him and calmed down, his eyes going back to read the contents, stopping at the bookmarked page on the summoning spell. John cleared his throat to call his attention. “What… what is it?”

“What is what?” The kid kept his eyes glued to the text.

“The book. I couldn't… I mean, there is some magic on it and I can kind of understand it, but most of it is written in a language I have never seen before.”

“Huh? You understand this?”

“Some parts of it,” the kid barely looked up at him. “What is-”

“A diary,” Danny answered, closing the book. “It’s one of the lost tomes of previous Kings’ diaries. And it’s written in a language not from this universe so kudos to you for understanding it enough to summon me.” He made a gesture towards the ruined circle.

“Thanks?”

“Definitely better than the last ritual I was in.”

“Have you been summoned before?” John was curious. If this was a unique tome, then how could someone else have summoned him?

“No,” shadows passed through the kid’s glowing green eyes. “It was an exorcism. And you are way better at executing it than my parents. Their pronunciation sucked,” he struck his tongue at the memory, but it felt like an act.

His parents tried to exorcize him…?

Constantine looked back at Batman, who seemed to be frozen in place. Everyone seemed to be after the last declaration. How could they not? The kid couldn’t be older than maybe fifteen or sixteen, and to be the freaking Ghost King and on top of that, be exorcised by his parents?

From behind them, Superman cleared his throat.

“Mr. Phantom, if you could please-”

“Phantom is okay,” the kid smiled, walking out of the ash circle to approach the Super. “If I can call you Superman?”

“Of course,” the kryptonian smiled back, trying to shake the shock and go back to his usual hero persona. “Phantom,” the kid’s smile brightened, “if you follow us we can discuss further the details of this creature?”

“Ah, yeah, sure!” the book in his hand went up in flames, making the closest to him jump in surprise. “Sorry, but you can’t keep the book, Mr….?”

“Constantine, John Constantine,” the warlock blinked, stunned in place. There goes his precious acquisition. Zatanna was going to be so angry...

***

After guiding the kid towards the temporary headquarters (there was no time and it wasn’t safe to go to the Watchtower) and doing rounds of introductions, Danny was told all the details of the problem, what they have tried, what they have not done in fear of killing the human part of the hybrid…

Danny was shaking his head. “There’s no use. The human’s gone once they’ve reached this level of transformation. If you kill the creature you have to kill the human.”

“Are you sure?” Batman asked, unhappy at the news.

“Yeah. I barely survived-” he stopped himself mid-sentence, as if he was going to say something he shouldn’t. He coughed, maybe trying to hide the mishap. “The thing is, are you ready to kill this human?”

Diana glanced at Batman, knowing the man wanted to pursue this new line of knowledge. She jumped in. “Yes. It’s not something we will be happy about, but if you are sure of this then the cost will be higher if we don’t act now.”

“Maybe if you showed me a recent photo?”

Batman snapped into attention, already opening a panel in his forearm guards and revealing a tiny projector. The image was then projected on the side of the tent they set up. A video showing an attack from that same morning, the camera barely able to capture the many eyes and shadows dancing, the disfigured face of a human in the center of even more mouths, black teeth and poisonous tongues peeking from them.

“Yeah, the dude’s dead.” Phantom leaned back on his chair. He had made his armor disappear in more green flames and now he was only in the suit. He crossed his arms, thinking. “But the good news is I can take care of this.”

Superman took a deep breath. “Are you sure?”

“I need to get closer, but yeah, I think I can.”

Some sighed in relief.

“You think?” Batman wasn’t convinced. Danny stood his glare. “There are no second chances, kid. We’ve seen this thing eat away people in milliseconds.”

“I know I can. And I’m not ‘people’. Have a little faith, dude.”

Green Arrow blinked at the interaction, disguising a chuckle with a cough. Flash would have loved this, but he was on rescue and evacuation duty.

Diana leaned in, interrupting whatever Batman was going to say to the kid. “Do you need anything? Any help? Any weapon?”

“No, not really,” then he had a realization and leaned forward as well. “There’s one little thing, though.”

“What do you need?”

“Do you have food?” his smile was sheepish, and as if on cue, his stomach growled. “I haven’t eaten in weeks and I’ll need the extra energy.”

“Weeks?” Wonderwoman asked.

“Weeks!?” Superman seemed horrified.

“Do ghosts need to eat?” Green Lantern asked from the other side of Batman. Green Arrow shrugged.

“You can’t have not eaten in weeks, you should be dead!” Clark exclaimed, horrified.

As soon as the words came through his mouth he realized he already got his answer. Phantom smiled anyway.

“A bit late for that, huh.”

***

They had to get him food on the go as they travelled to the nearest zeta tube. Danny seemed okay with half a dozen burgers from McDonald’s, and a bucket worth of fries. And if someone had something to comment about the giant cup filled with soda floating close to his head even as he flew at high speed, no one acted like it was weird.

Danny did have something to comment about everything. The kid wouldn’t stop talking, asking questions about the League, about the members, about their powers. He seemed especially interested in how they got them or what motivated them to pursue the hero career at all. 

Batman only observed from Superman’s arms (no, he was not going to comment on this) as the kid ate away his weight in junk food and talked animatedly with Wonderwoman and John, who hitched a ride in her arms. 

“So are you saying that all that Greek mythology is real?”

“Yeah,” Diana always liked talking about her family and customs. “I’m an Amazon, born and raised in Themyscira.”

“Her mom is Hyppolita herself.” John added.

Danny’s eyes seemed to glow brighter. “I mean, I know Pandora and her people in the Ghost Zone, but I assumed it was only a theme or something.”

“Lady Pandora? She’s still alive?”

“Nope, she is the ruler of New Greece,” he chuckled, “back in the Infinite Realms.”

“Infinite Realms?” Constantine seemed interested.

“Is another name my- my people give the Ghost Zone.” Batman caught the hesitation. “How do I put this? It is like a dimension full of dimensions - all things that die go there, since the beginning of time. Different societies and cultures tended to band together and form worlds inside the dimension.”

“And New Greece? Is that where Greeks go when they die? How about the Hades? Do the gods go there as well?” 

Danny was shaking his head. “It doesn’t work like that. Uh… I said dead people go to the Infinite Realms when it is their time, but there are more than dead souls in there. There are… Born ghosts, who were never alive, for example. There are also Undyings there. Beings that exist outside time and that aren’t ghosts but reside there if they want.”

“Gods.”

“Not all of them are gods,” Danny’s voice was low and his eyes became dull. He floated his trash into a bag and stored it into a pouch in his belt, somehow fitting it. Was it a pocket dimension? “Okay! How long until we are there?”

Batman would have liked to insist on the topic (Undead gods from another dimension? He had to investigate in case of a future threat), but they were arriving at the closest zeta tube and the conversation would require more time.

“We need to do a quick jump and then fly a bit more,” he said, checking his computer. “The situation is turning more dire, we must hurry.”

Superman nodded and flew faster, Diana and John close behind, the kid noticing the others hurrying and boosting his speed as well. Clark’s eyes followed the bright form of the teenage-looking superhero before coming back to his teammate in his arms.

“Already investigating,” Batman knew that look. Superman was especially sensitive when children were involved in League missions, and the fact that their ace-in-the-hole was just a kid clashed with everything the man believed in. “Oracle’s been searching since we got out of the warehouse.”

Superman nodded, looking back at the kid doing loops and flying around the League members, asking more questions while he still could.

Batman looked down at his computer, changing to another tab and continued reading the articles Oracle found about this ‘Phantom’ superhero, after making a worrying comment about how tightly secured any and all news about this ‘Amity Park’ were. Pentagon level of security - nothing she couldn’t handle, but that didn’t fit in a small town in Illinois.

The hero was relatively new, had the people’s opinion divided, did some shady stuff and then saved them from a massive ghost invasion. For a while there was a crazy rise of ghost fight sightings until it stopped abruptly.

And then…

[Local hero Phantom new King of the Ghosts? Human liaisons Samantha Manson, Tucker Foley and Daniel Fenton confess association with the ghost since highschool.]

There was a photo attached to the article, of the ghost and two kids, humans, smiling awkwardly at the camera. The girl, Samantha, seemed familiar to him. Manson? The more he thought about it he felt the name familiar. The boy he didn’t know at all.

But there was another name mentioned as human liaison. Daniel Fenton? He felt he should know that name.

A new ping from Oracle alerted him of another of her findings, and he opened without hesitation. It was a science journal article talking about the Fentons and ridiculing their field of investigation - ghost hunting, ectobiology, paranormal technology.

Another ping - a photo of the family. The parents wearing jumpsuits. A girl, maybe the older sister, looking like a normal girl. A boy, a teenager, normal looking. His eyes were a striking blue that looked nervously to the side, even if he was trying to smile at the camera, and his raven hair was carelessly brushed away from his face, probably for the picture. 

Batman went back to the newspaper picture with the two humans and the ghost, noticing Superman start descending as they arrived at the zeta tube. Danny Phantom and the other kids. One human is missing. Batman pulled the family picture. Daniel Fenton trying to make himself look smaller, invisible.

He looked at the King of the Ghosts trying to coax John into confessing how he really got the diary. 

The connection wasn’t difficult to make, but it only raised more and more questions. How did he end up like this? How did a kid from a small town end up as a being summoned by a spell that Constantine was almost too scared to do? 

What had happened to this kid?

***

One teleport and one quick flight later and the kid finally stopped asking questions, more specifically, stopped asking Green Lantern about the Green Lantern Corps. 

“Oh fuck,” he cursed as he saw the destruction and the still rampaging giant creature in the distance.

“Language,” Superman said without thinking. The kid laughed.

“Sorry.”

“FINALLY!” the lightning was a telltale before the Flash appeared before them, “did you summon the kingy thing?”

Danny took a step back, hiding behind Superman’s cape, equally stoked to see the Flash in person but spooked by his sudden appearance. 

“Report.”

“Gee, Batman, everything’s fine around here. So did you meet with the ghost?”

Superman turned his head to check on the ghost kid, trying to be inconspicuous, but Flash saw the movement and found the kid hiding there. Flash frowned a little bit and looked back at the man of steel.

"Adoption on-the-go? I expected something like this from Bats but-"

"No! Nobody adopted anyone," Superman sighed and stepped aside. He cleared his throat. "This is the Ghost King."

Flash blinked. "You are joking, right?"

"He is. Believe me."

"He is right here!” Danny frowned, making Flash laugh. He looked like an angry puppy. “And I-”

In a blink, the kid turned and put up a shield, his armor materializing again in a burst of green flames. He then jumped away from the group, floating up to evade a rush of magic energy blasts, eyes searching for the source of the threat.

“Zatanna!” Constantine was already screaming, waving his arms, in an effort to make her stop trying to decimate their solution to the eldritch problem. “He is alright!”

“Have you gone MAD!” she screamed back, magically floating into the group, her eyes following the kid as he dodged more of her attacks. “That thing is dangerous! And you brought it here!?”

“That’s the King we were trying to summon!”

“What!?” she turned briefly, but that was enough. 

Danny took advantage of the moment and shot his own green ray, hitting the woman in the chest. Everyone rushed to check if she was okay, eyes nervously going back to the ghostly creature floating at a distance.

Zatanna was okay. Her wrists and ankles bound together, and a gag in her mouth so she couldn’t do any more spells. She wasn’t even hurt where the ray collided with her chest. At most, she was annoyed at being on the dirty floor.

“I would appreciate it if people stopped trying to shoot me first and ask questions later.”

Danny floated back to the group, glaring at the bound magician, his armor still in place.

“I’m Danny. I’m the Ghost King. And these people summoned me to help with some kind of situation. I mean no harm and when I’m done I will leave. Okay?”

Zatanna looked regretful and sighed, nodding. She lifted her bound hands and he made the green shackles disappear with a wave of his hand.

“You are just a kid,” was the first thing she said. 

“So I've been told,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “But I’m actually eighteen. Not a kid.”

“You still have the ‘teen’ in the number. Sorry, kid.” 

If looks could kill, Constantine would be underground already. 

“This is cute and everything, but could we focus on the issue at hand?” Flash shifted his weight from one foot to another. He wanted to know more of this kid, but the monster they needed him to defeat was super scary.

“Report?” Batman continued like nothing had happened at all.

“Everyone from this city is safe. So far the creature is wandering and looking for more victims. Shazam and Manhunter are on distraction duty.”

The Bat nodded, turned towards Danny. “What can we do to assist you?”

Flash would never forget the moment he witnessed Batman waiting for orders from a kid.

“I can do this alone. I think it's best if you guys get as far away as possible.”

“But if you fail we need a contingency plan.”

“I won’t,” Danny’s confidence should be reassuring, but it only worried them more. “I just know I can deal with this. Don’t ask why.”

“Why?” 

The teenager growled, and for a moment Batman thought he saw his shadow flicker, but then the ghost breathed deeply and smiled without showing his teeth. “I need my secrets to be mysterious, don’t you think?”

He was deflecting, but this was not the moment to interrogate the kid. An explosion and a loud scream in the background reminded him why.

“Okay, I will go and when it’s safe to come out I’ll tell you.”

“We are going with you.”

“Uh, no??” Danny frowned. “That thing is dangerous.”

“That’s why-”

“No, no. I mean it’s dangerous for mortals. I will be fine…” Batman gave him a look, and Danny groaned. “You are worse than my sister. Fine! I guess. But stay away.”

“Take a communicator, at least,” the bat opened a compartment with the backup devices and instructed the ghost on how to set it on his ear. “You know how to use it?”

Danny nodded. They worked a bit like the Fenton phones. He hoped they didn’t get much distortion from his ghostly presence, like every electronic device not adapted to ectoplasm.

“Any last minute request?” Superman seemed tense, eyeing the sword at the hip of the ghost, which he hadn’t noticed materialize before.

“Yeah. Um…” Danny looked down for a moment. “I really like you guys, so… Whatever happens, whatever you see… I’m still me. And my boyfriend would kill me if I managed to antagonize the whole Justice League,” he rubbed the back of his head, nervous.

The man of steel noticed the sharp teeth peeking from his lips when he smiled trying to mask his fear. Somehow he knew that it was going to get ugly real fast.

He put a hand on his armored shoulder. “It’s okay, son. We believe in you. And if you need us just ask.”

The kid didn’t seem convinced but appreciated the gesture. He didn’t even flinch at the hand contact.

“Let’s go,” Batman shut down the moment and gestured to the ghost to follow him where Manhunter had informed them through the mind link the creature was.

In the back, Flash turned towards Green Arrow. “The Ghost King is gay?”

***

Batman was equally excited and afraid to see this boy in action. His request from before only added a new piece to the puzzle, more questions. What could make them antagonize the ghost after they declared he was an ally? He looked down at the transcription of an old book regarding the Ghost King. Granted it was made by humans and it stated it was a translation from something called ‘ghost speak’ and that was also translated from the language ‘of the gods’ (the book’s words); so Batman preferred to take everything he read with a grain of salt.

Even so, he could gather that the King was maddenly powerful, so much that the last king, Pariah Dark, had to be sealed away by the ‘Ancients’ after going actually mad because no one could defeat him in single combat. 

Then something about a ring and a crown? That the objects weren’t just relics, something about how they were powerful themselves. Batman remembered the crown, but he didn’t see any ring when Danny showed his true form back at the warehouse.

He looked up at Danny as the boy carefully turned around a corner, following Manhunter’s instructions in his mind (the boy freaked out for a second when the alien settled the link, before he apologized for the mental shields he had to lower down for the leaguer). The boy had to defeat this… Pariah Dark, to inherit the title. That’s how these things worked. Right of conquest.

So. There was this human boy, Daniel James Fenton, who somehow gained ghost powers and then defeated the previous Ghost King and… what? Stole the ring and the crown and magically gained the title?

A human acting as Ghost King?

“Uh, that’s nasty,” Danny whistled under his breath.

They had arrived at the place the monster was in, Shazam and Manhunter still flying in circles at a safe distance and trying to keep it in place. Danny took in the horror and the eyes and the shadows with a straight face, all the smiles and the jokes gone from his expression. His eyes showed a deep recognition.

“I barely survived-”

Has he met a creature like this before?

Or… was he implying he bonded with one, too? Maybe that explained Zatanna’s sudden attack, and the nervous looks she sent his way from time to time. Batman saw her and Constantine whispering something at the back of the group, making wide gestures and worried faces. They knew something and they weren’t telling.

But he couldn’t ask now.

“Okay, I’m going in. Wish me luck!” he didn’t wait for a response and kicked the floor, launching himself up to fly towards the hybrid creature.

“Hey ugly!” , he heard the boy scream through the comms. “I heard you liked to eat stuff. Eat this!”

And the boy punched the hybrid in the face, or what was left of it, pushing it back towards the end of the street, giant black mass of a body and all.

“Huh, directly to the point. I like it.” Diana tried to smile, but she was worried as well.

"Bats," he turned, finding the worried faces of the Justice League Dark members. "That kid is not normal."

"I've gathered," he nodded, his eyes following as the kid in question flew confidently towards the creature, which was recovering from the hit and was trying to lash back at the ghost. 

"No, he's not even human." Zatanna was terrified. "He was, once. Not anymore."

"Z says she can sense a creature just like our buddy there."

That interested the man. "Is he dangerous?" He didn't want to have double the problem. "Why didn't you mention any of this before you summoned him?"

"There was nothing about any eldritch god in the book," Constantine was already shaking his head. "We checked - Raven said the book was legit but not evil, even if she didn't recognize the language."

"He seems in control, maybe he's not possessed? Maybe he has access to some of its powers and that's that." Diana leaned in the conversation.

"Or maybe he is a god. Or an alien." Superman pitched in, trying to seem positive and not freak out at the obvious otherness of the kid. It would be a bit hypocritical, too.

Ok, this conversation was not private anymore. Batman sighed, opening his computer and showing the family photo to his colleagues.

"Born human. Daniel James Fenton. One older sister and both parents are human and alive. Almost four years ago he was involved in a lab accident - I assume it gave him some extent of ghost abilities."

"Could be a cover story, something to blend in with humanity." Diana wasn't surprised he had gathered so much information from the boy already, including his human secret identity.

Batman was already shaking his head. "Oracle says it checks out. Either this entity is very skilled at forging a life here or he is human."

"Not anymore, Bats. I mean, I can sense some human-like aura but it is buried under layers and layers of raw power. The bad kind of power. Nothing I've dealt with before," Zatanna insisted.

"I repeat, is he dangerous?"

As if answering him, the boy then plummeted down towards the creature, the collision sending a wave that reached the heroes. An explosion of green fire came next and they heard growls and high pitched screams through the comms.

“I said,'' Danny's voice was distorted, as if he spoke with more than one layer, more than one voice. Batman checked, but there was nothing wrong with the communicators. “Go back to wherever you came from and leave these people alone!”

“We won't let a puny mortal tell us what to do!” The answer came from both the comms and their own ears, as the rumbling voice could be heard from the other side of the street. It was barely human and the words were distorted by the voice obviously not made to sound with human vocal chords.

“Oh yeah, I will- ARGH!” The boy’s scream made some of them cringe from how loud it was against sensitive hearing through the communication device.

The glowing body of the armored kid flew backwards from an attack they didn’t quite see. Superman tensed, ready to jump and catch the kid before his head hit the concrete; but Danny recovered mid air and landed on his own feet, sliding a bit from the momentum of the throw.

Batman watched carefully how the boy growled and his lips curled, showing sharp teeth and unnaturally elongated upper and lower canines. His gray-ish blue skin pulsed with something, the scars in his skin glowing greener and flickering, displaced by the movement of the muscles below. 

But it was not a natural way of muscle stretching, it was almost as if he could control the surface level of skin, like a cat - a smooth ripple coursing through his body.

The glowing green eyes flashed and for a split second, Batman swore he saw the pupil contract into slits. He blinked, and his eyes were back to normal.

“Stand back,” it took a moment to realize that the kid was talking to them. “I need more space.”

Wonderwoman gave the kid a worried glance, but she quickly obeyed, dragging the bat and the man of steel with her, both frozen in place at the sight of the kid transforming in front of their own eyes.

If he was unsettling before, now Danny was giving more and more reason to believe that he was the rightful ruler of the dimension of the dead - his hair waved with an invisible breeze, showing pointed ears they hadn’t noticed before; his hands curled in claws, the nails growing and becoming thicker, real claws; and his eyes…

Danny blinked and his eyes became only sclera. Toxic green flowing, glowing, the corners of his eyes pouring out some kind of green mist, as if the sockets weren’t enough to contain all the green and the power in them.

The boy also straightened his back, becoming suddenly taller, broader, not afraid to show all the muscles bulging in his arms and chest as he tensed, ready to jump.

But that wasn’t all. The ripple he saw before in his skin happened again and again, in sync with some kind of heartbeat he couldn’t hear. With each beat, the skin became darker and more… purple, the glow of the scars diminishing.

Danny jumped in place, as if flinching. He made a sound that came from deep in his chest and the rippling stopped.

He had become a different person altogether, some kind of creature less and less human, and it was now easier to believe Zatanna that this… Daniel Fenton had stopped being human a long time ago. 

When the bat thought the transformation had stopped, it was when it happened.

The lights went out. The streetlights that were lining both sides dimmed until they went out, and the neon signs of the few shops and cafés in the area exploded at the same time. Darkness began creeping from the shadows, tentacles made of absence of light, of existence, a tangible form of darkness that was almost a physical form.

All of the darkness crawled towards Danny, as if he was some kind of black hole, absorbing matter around him. It wasn’t until the dark void tentacles grabbed him from the waist and lifted him up that they didn’t notice how from their position they could almost hear it whisper the kid’s name over and over again.

For a moment Batman feared that the creature had done something to trap their ally, but it went out of the window when the Ghost King himself let a few dark tentacles curl around his hand and lifted them towards his face, nuzzling them like a mother cat.

Their eyes met for a brief moment. The kid’s all green eyes were hard to read, but the bat somehow got the impression that the boy was sad to be seen like this.

Phantom turned, his body carried towards the hulkling figure of the hybrid by the material darkness around him.

“Impossible!” they heard through the comms the growling voice of the creature. “This is not possible!”

“One last chance to surrender,” Daniel’s voice was also changed. A deeper layer also not made to exist in human voice boxes was under the usual echoey voice of the ghost. 

In the silence that followed another voice was almost heard in the background, a whispering nonsense of words. Clark frowned, tilting his head, trying to decipher what they were hearing, mouthing the sounds and waiting to make sense of them.

“Sir, We didn’t know- I mean, I didn’t, we…”

A growl. The deeper voice fought for dominance, and the street became even darker, if that was even possible. 

“I didn’t know this was your turf, sir!” The creature’s voice became a bit high at the end, the layered voice turning into a prolonged whine, like a kicked puppy. The eyes and the tentacles that the hybrid had slithered between the buildings started to retract.

“You knew, you just didn’t care. This place is MINE.”  

“No, sir. Please! Please, sir! No-!” a crunching sound was heard, followed by a layered scream and more of that whine. Some leaguers shivered, happy to not be able to see what was going on. “I’M SORRY SIR. PLEASE HAVE MERCY!”

“Mercy? You should have known before you bothered the people of this planet,” another crunch, followed by wet noises. 

Someone gagged behind Batman. 

“MERCY!” was the last gurgling scream as more and more crunch and wet noises filled the comms, the alarming speed increasing as the seconds ticked, drowning whatever the hybrid was trying to say to plead for its case, until not even the whine could be heard.

Only the chewing.

Batman had to admit. He was used to weird stuff. As a Gothamite through and through, he had to develop an iron stomach to process everything he saw in his career as a vigilante. But this? This made him swallow back bile and shiver uncomfortably.

A few seconds later they heard heavy breathing and Danny whispering something that sounded like “it’s okay, i’m okay, we’re okay” before the bulbs of the streetlights came back on. The air was less heavy, something they hadn’t noticed had changed, as well as their breathing was back to normal.

But things weren’t exactly ‘back to normal’.

Danny appeared soon after, flying carefully towards the group of terrified heroes, his scary form gone and the armor gone and looking like a normal kid. He had some kind of black ooze smudge on his cheek, probably an effort to clean his face after-

The crunching and the deep layered voice was still fresh in their minds. This was not a normal kid. Not even a meta or enhanced kid. Or their usual level of weird and scary. No. There was a reason that this was the Ghost King, and they had witnessed it.

“Heyyyy….” Danny waved his hand, landing without making a sound. “Sorry for the show, ha ha,” he laughed nervously, not really looking anyone in the eye, his hands unable to settle in any position. “I admit it was a bit too much for the usual so… yeah…”

Nobody could really speak.

“Um, the guy’s gone?” he pointed with his thumb towards where the threat had been. Now they were too afraid to check what was left. “So if you don’t need anything else… I can… I mean, I can make my own portals, kinda, a friend is teaching me. Uh, I’m rambling again. I’m going to shut up now.”

Another moment of shocked silence. Danny tried to smile, but it only reminded them of his sharp teeth and fangs. He had to feel all the stares fixed on his mouth and what it did just a few minutes before.

“O…kay…” the kid swallowed, uncomfortable, “It’s been a blast, guys. Call me if you need anything else,” he lifted a hand to make a portal to leave, but a hand stopped him.

“What the actual fuck, kid?” 

“Language,” Superman blinked, coming back to reality at the absurdity of reprimanding Constantine. 

Phantom snorted, realizing the same. The warlock glared at the Super before turning back to the ghost.

“Those were some, um, moves, kid.”

He smiled, his cheeks becoming a little green. “Thanks! But you should see my wife!”

“You are married?” John tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.

“No! I mean, it was supposed to be a joke from that movie… nevermind, - and I do have a girlfriend I plan to marry waaaaay in the future but - uh, you know what? If she was here she would kill me for this.” His face had gone green, and they assumed it was him blushing. The blush was cute, but out of place next to the remaining blood of the creature on his face.

“Is she a ghost, too?” Is she like you? Constantine was trying to ask. Better be warned in case they multiply.

“Nope! Human!”

“A meta, then?” this interested Diana, who had relaxed at the rather normal conversation. 

“Nope again! She’s completely human, but she has a special suit, well, more like an armor… Kinda like Batman! She’s normal but she’s amazing! Not that I don’t think you are amazing, Batman! Aaaaaand maybe I should stop talking again.”

“I thought you were gay?” Barry walked up to ask.

“Bi, actually,” Danny’s shoulders relaxed. He preferred talking about this and completely ignoring what had happened before. “And poly. Sam and Tucker are the best partners I could have asked for.”

He pulled his phone to search for photos to show the interested leaguers, but Batman interrupted him.

“Kid,” he looked up at the man in a dark suit. “We need to talk.”

Danny gulped loudly. “Do we?”

“Yes. Like, for example, how does a human named Daniel James Fenton end up eating an eldritch god like it’s nothing.”

The kid sobered, his fingers frozen over the screen of his phone. When he looked back at the bat, his expression had sobered. “You really are the world’s best detective, huh.” He smiled, but it was weak.

Batman didn’t smile.

“It’s not like it’s a secret, not anymore” Danny shrugged. “I was a kid and I did something stupid, there was an accident with a portal to the ghost dimension, I got some cool ghost powers, defeated the other king, now I’m here.”

“I’ve already gathered as much, kid. But that,” the man gestured towards where the horror happened, “that is not ‘some cool ghost powers’.”

“I may… have skipped a few things.”

“Yes, you did.” He crossed his arms.

“Hey, Bats, I don’t think-” Supes frowned, feeling the kid start to close on himself, his glow diminishing.

“What do you want to know?” Danny pocketed his phone and straightened his back, trying to put on the mask of the King. “And why?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I want to know if we should worry about another hybrid problem soon.”

Phantom’s lips stretched in a joyless smile. “I should have known you figured it out. Not like I was hiding anything.” He shrugged.

“So it’s true?”

“Yeah, I’m the host of another god.” He didn’t move, not even when Diana stepped back quietly. “But mine was a more… successful ceremony.”

“Why? What did you expect to gain? More power?” Zatanna approached him.

“No.” He said quickly, not wanting to elaborate further. Batman glared harder. Danny sighed. “Before I say more I would like to ask for your absolute discretion. This information is classified even in the Ghost Zone and only some of the Council are allowed to know.”

They nodded.

“Also I would like to preface this by saying that I did what I had to do.”

“We understand.” Zatanna wanted to put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, but when she moved he only curled more into himself, looking down at his gloved hands.

He suddenly seemed to age before them. The tired and underfed kid they had summoned was back, gone was the high and proud King of the Ghosts, but his eyes were hardened around the edges. Batman had only seen that look a few times in his life.

“I became… something else. With the union, I mean. ‘Union’, ha, it makes it sound like it’s a marriage,” he scoffed. “I’m the host, but my role is more like a buffer between the Whisper and the ghosts in my dimension. If there’s not a King bonded with it, the Whisper will eat it all. And if the Infinite Realms go down, the human world goes too. They are like two sides of the same coin.”

“Power? I guess I gained more power,” he continued, shrugging, “but the cost is too high. You saw what it can do to a weaker human mind. It could have been me, if the Whisper didn’t like me.”

“But you were not human to begin with.” the Bat not-asked.

“No. I died in the accident, but came back as something in between. A halfa. Half human and half ghost.”

There was a brief moment of silence.

“So you are saying,” Flash swallowed the knot in his throat, “that you died, defeated the previous king and volunteered to get possessed by an eldritch god because if you didn’t do it then the world would end? At only eighteen?”

“Fourteen. I was fourteen.” The corners of his mouth curved up, knowing how it sounded out loud. “The coronation part was a few months ago, but, the rest… yeah.”

***

Back at the Watchtower, the Justice League was having an impromptu emergency meeting. 

It was pure mayhem - half of them couldn’t sit still and were pacing around, talking out loud, maybe hoping that bouncing ideas would somehow solve anything. The other half sat frozen at the table, an air of defeat and astonishment over them. Superman was straight up crying, no longer trying to keep it in now that they were safe at the Watchtower and the kid went back to his realm.

“This is fucked up. This is so fucked up.”

“Why did the League never hear of this?”

“He’s just a kid! Our nuke option is barely out of high school!”

“Bats, there must be something we can do, right?” Superman said, more calm now that he cried it out. Diana was patting him on the back, also looking expectantly at the Bat.

The Dark Knight was sitting with his head in his hands. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He had never encountered anything like this before. A kid that slipped between the cracks like this, becoming a willing host to an eldritch horror, unguided, alone.

How could this happen? They should have been alerted as soon as the ghost attacks started in Amity Park, as Danny had confirmed his hometown was called. They should have been there, assisting the young hero, training him better…

And now it was too late for them. A kid had almost died (he refused to believe he died all the way) and took upon himself to save them all, not only not asking for anything in return, but sacrificing himself to an eternity on the edge of becoming what they were asking him to stop.

Danny explained all of this with a calm and serenity that could only exist from a deep acceptance of what he had become. He tried to brush it away and simply move on, cracking jokes that didn’t quite land (he reminded Batman so much of his sons) and nervously laughing and resuming his light questioning of the League members.

Shortly before he left, he asked them if they could keep it touch. He said he was trying to form a Council and wasn’t sure how to create a functional one, especially when ghosts were not exactly the teamwork type of creature. And so, he wanted some advice.

So they exchanged contact information, the boy giddy as he typed in the phone numbers of those that allowed it; ecstatic when even Batman shared his number as well (for emergencies ONLY) once Oracle deemed his device totally secure. 

Danny’s phone had an anime background and a few games that Shazam recognized, starting an enthusiastic conversation about gaming strategies.

He was just a kid. An eldritch god that could eat an entire dimension full of dimensions, destroying everything they knew in the process, lived inside this kid. 

They were supposed to protect everyone on this planet from evil. The whole point of the Justice League was that. But they had failed.

Batman suddenly had the urge to go back to Gotham, hug his children and never let them out of his sight.

BACK TO THE ARCHIVE

Sequel>>

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny phantom fics #sam manson #tucker foley #danny fenton #everlasting trio #ghost king danny #ghost king au #polyamory #samxdannyxtucker #fanfic #fanfiction #writeblr #gil writes #JUSTICE LEAGUE #justice league crossover #dc comics #dc #dcu

[shootingstarwritings]

Keepin’ it in the Family

Manfred—Freddy for short—was a young man that spent his life in the shadow of his uncle’s side of the family. Meek, shy, unassuming, and more of an indoors type. “I’m more of a type B kind of fellow,” he would answer whenever someone asked him what kind of person he was. Meanwhile, Daniel Crawford and his son, Alex, were the exact opposite. Tall, strong, and always willing to get down and sweaty in an activity. They often dominated every family gathering and gleefully hogged the spotlight shined on them.

“Did you know Alex got a football scholarship… Daniel bought a second house… oh my gawd, li’l Danny got so buff last year, can’t believe he used to be my younger bro…!” On and on Freddy would hear until he got sick of it.

“Why dontcha join a team or somethin’, squirt?” his cousin Alex teased him while roughly messing up his hair. Although Freddy couldn’t deny his cousin was annoying and far too energetic, he couldn’t bring himself to hate him. There was always an authenticity behind his invites to play football with his friends. He was brutish but kind. That was all.

Freddy’s uncle Daniel was a different story.

On a certain day during a family gathering, Daniel concerned Freddy in a hallway. “Perhaps if you applied yourself more," he once told Freddy, the disdain clear in his voice, "you'd get as far as my boy does in life." The rest of the family was just a few rooms away, but their cheerful voices were worlds away. “But until you do that, I want you to stop spending any time with Alex. Honestly don’t know why he wastes his precious youth on someone like you.”

Freddy didn't respond but nodded while glaring defiantly at the floor. He jumped back as his uncle grabbed him by the throat and forcefully tilted his head upwards. Freddy let out a sharp hiss of pain but prevented himself from screaming.

With a low voice, his uncle Daniel said, “Look at me while I’m speaking, you little shit. Don’t want your mediocrity holding my golden son back. Stay away from him or else.” He punctuated his last words by shoving Freddy to the wall. “Can’t believe you and your father are related to us. Well, guess we know who got the better genes in the family.”

Freddy glared at him as he walked away. It was painful, but he could endure. As long as he lived, he would not let this abuse break him. The day would come when he would prove him wrong.

However, it all came to a head about a week ago, when Freddy announced his plans for a graduation party. Most of the replies in the texts he sent out for his family were some variation of, “Oh, I’m sorry Freddy, but your uncle Danny is planning to celebrate his promotion at work that day. Perhaps you can reschedule.” As always, Freddy remained overshadowed.

“Bastards,” Freddy’s father, a rotund and balding man by the name of Benny, exclaimed as he saw the texts. “Can’t even spare a day for you. It’s always those two pricks.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Freddy muttered, glaring down at the texts on his phone. How often had his family ignored him in favor of those two? How often did his uncle mistreat him to guarantee that his ‘golden child’ Alex would remain as successful as he was? The questions kept echoing in his mind until, finally, he decided to cut this cycle.

“If you want,” his father tried again, “we can spend that weekend just the two of us, son. We can travel and celebrate our way."

“It’s all right, dad. I know exactly what I’m gonna do,” said Freddy as he marched off to his room. He would have to draw up the runes and memorize the incantations before long. By being efficient, he would have the spell all set by dawn’s early light.

However, his father stopped him by placing a firm hand on his shoulder—a rarity. “Hold on son," Benny said in a tender voice. "I understand what you're going through, believe me, I know. I was never the golden child of the family either. Danny made sure of that." There was disdain in Benny's voice that Freddy had never heard from before, but he had little time to dwell on it as his father continued. "But, to me, you'll always be the golden child, Freddy. I just want you to know that." Then, Benny pulled his son in for a hug.

Freddy eagerly returned in, shoving his thoughts of revenge to the back of his mind for the moment. Now, he just wanted to spend time with his father. Dusk came and went, and the two bid each other good night as they settled into their rooms on different floors. With nothing to interrupt Freddy, he set off to work.

It began when he found a book of occult rituals and spells in his father's study. Never had Benny spoken about this to Freddy, and Freddy lacked the courage to confront his father about it. Instead, he took photos of the various pages of spells and tried them out for himself—another reason why he did not want his father to know that he knew. By doing this magic in secret, Freddy could indulge in his fantasies that were now just a spell away. Coaches, classmates, and neighbors all fell to his charms and rituals; fulfilling deviant actions according to his whims.

My father can never know, Freddy thought bitterly to himself as he drew the sigils on his rug with chalk, he’ll never know so he’ll always be proud of me, his pure and hard-working son.

Tonight would be the first time Freddy would attempt the possession spell as well as the first time he broke a rule he had set for himself when he first began to use magic: never involve a family member. Now, he read through the procedure on his phone and prepared to sink into an even deeper level of deviancy. A bit of the text at the bottom of the page was faded, but the instructions were all written out. It’s most likely flavor text, Freddy thought.

This spell would allow the invoker to project his soul towards an unassuming target. From then on, a battle of wills would begin, and the dominant soul would take over the body. The invoker is not guaranteed to be successful. Caution must be exercised, and a strong will is heavily recommended.

It was a frightening thought, but Freddy did not allow that to slow him down. His hands trembled with excitement and his heart raced with pure adrenaline as he pictured his uncle’s sexy yet punchable face.

In the heat of the moment, Freddy cast the spell alongside the rising sun. Once those accursed words left his lips, a sharp and painful sensation spread throughout his body. It was as if his soul was being stretched and twisted, like a rubber band. However, he just gritted his teeth and endured it as he always did. The suffering of a spell or his uncle’s harassment was all the same—nothing he couldn’t handle. However, when the pain continued to grow in magnitude, Freddy was afraid this spell was going to rip his soul in half.

Then came the release—the catharsis. The spell catapulted Freddy’s soul at a speed rivaling that of a bullet train’s. Freddy screamed both in terror and sheer jubilation as his soul traveled through the dawn-dyed sky. Everything, even the sun, was a blurry mess until he arrived at his uncle’s expensive house, where he finally stopped. He was back in control.

Slowly, Freddy glided through the halls of a home that alienated him for most of his life. While searching for his uncle’s room, he stumbled upon his cousin Alex sleeping on top of the covers, clad in just a pair of boxer briefs. Though Freddy intended to keep moving, he remained still and watched his cousin’s chest slowly rise and fall as he slept peacefully.

“You deserve a better father,” Freddy whispered, caressing his cousin’s cheek with his ghostly hand. His voice and touch were nothing more than a chilly breeze on Alex’s bare skin. When Freddy noticed the goosebumps that spread down his cousin’s arms, he drew back and excused himself from the room. His target still needed to be punished.

A few hallways later, Freddy found himself floating above his uncle. Daniel, just like his son, slept above his covers and nearly in the nude to deal with the brutal summer heat. Even so, beads of sweat still glistened in his half-naked, furry body. His breathing was just as peaceful and gentle as Alex's as it passed through his heart-shaped lips. "If only you were as kind as you look while sleeping," Freddy said as he glared down at Daniel. Hatred and lust pushed him forward, and he gleefully enacted his plan.

Having spent quite a long time manipulating the wills of men, Freddy knew that the best way to overwhelm them was to do so post-coitus. “You’ll be my ticket to happiness,” he whispered to his uncle, “you piece of shit asshole.” He began by running his tongue down his uncle’s bare chest, giving the nipple a lick.

The effect was immediate. Daniel’s eyes shot open as he shivered at the paranormal touch. He looked around, perplexed. “What the fuck?” he said.

Freddy snickered at his uncle’s confusion. He pushed his uncle back onto the bed, one hand twirling and playing with his nipples while another teased the bulge hidden by the briefs. “W-Woah, oh shit!” said Daniel, trying to kick his invisible assaulter away to no avail. When the sensation didn’t stop, Daniel attempted to rise only for Freddy to roughly shove him back onto the bed again.

“I’m not done with you!” Freddy roared to his uncle’s terror. The rush of power was intoxicating, and Freddy greedily drank in every pathetic whimper and moan from his uncle. He pulled his underwear off, revealing his uncle’s large hard-on, and threw it to the side. “God, you’re thick,” Freddy moaned as he took his uncle’s cock in his hand. “C’mon, cum for me, old man,” he said as his lips played with the pecs. He continued to mercilessly play with his uncle, humping his body to elicit more of his moans.

“N-No—aahh, mmm! Pl-Please stoooAAAAHH—stop!” said Daniel as he felt his core tighten. Freddy noticed it too and quickly released his uncle from his sexual grasp. “AH! Oh fuck, I’m—ngh!” said Daniel as his abused dick begged for release.

“Not yet, that's gonna be my climax, uncle," Freddy said. To reward his uncle was far more than what the bastard deserved. Instead, Freddy would steal his climax, his body, and his dignity. “You’re mine!” he said, caution be damned as he dove into his uncle’s body.

“F-Fred—OOF!” The sheer force of Freddy’s dive caused his uncle to bounce on the mattress. “Oh FUCK!” Daniel cried out as he felt impossibly full. Two souls occupied the same space, and much like the shifting plates of the ever-changing earth, stress was born of this conflict. Daniel gritted his teeth, even more sweat coating his convulsing body as he attempted to hold onto his consciousness. However, Freddy’s essence continued to spread.

The possession spell operated on a similar concept as ink falling upon a cup of pure water. Slowly, the water would darken as it took on the shade of the ink until it was almost completely indistinguishable from the original ink that tinted—or tainted—it.

Just as the ink colored the water, so too did Freddy’s soul spill and tint his uncle’s very essence—mind, body, and spirit. Daniel, of course, continued to push his nephew’s soul out of him. He kicked at his bed and gripped his sheets so tightly his veins were visible in his arms. Until the very last second, he tried to will his body back under his control. However, he eventually collapsed onto his bed, eyes rolling into the back of his head, and blacked out. His body convulsed for a few more minutes as it took on the last remains of Freddy's essence, before finally quieting down.

Freddy opened his new eyes and immediately put his attention back on his uncle's dick. "Oh god, uncle, you're so sensitive!" he said as he continued stroking himself. “I-I’m CUMMING!” he bellowed as he shot load after load in his new form, seeing white as he fell back onto the sweat-covered sheets. “Oh my god, Danny-boy, I can’t wait to wreck you today.” Freddy would seize the day, and by nightfall, he would make his uncle a shame upon his family.

A few hallways away, Alex had his own visitor.

“S-Stop, uncle!” Alex screamed as the much larger soul of Benny finished entering his younger body. “Y-You can’t—AH! AAAHHH!” He whimpered and moaned just as his father did before collapsing into a mess of convulsing limbs.

Alex blacked out, and his uncle Benny awoke. “God, that felt good,” he said, stretching his new, muscular body. It was pleasurably sore after the workout he gave his unwilling nephew. “Ya got a good lookin’ bod, kid,” he said, grinning as he rubbed his hands down his new form. “But it’s my turn to be the golden child, if only for a day,” he finished, excited to have his hole filled in a day filled with debauchery.

Unbeknownst to father and son, there was more to the spell lost as the ink faded from the page. It read as follows:

Just as the water becomes nearly inseparable from the ink, the souls also become unable to be torn apart. There is no hope for the water to become pure and no hope for the ink to be whole. They are bound together for eternity, as are the souls tainted by the invoker. The invoker’s body will perish upon the spell’s completion, and the invoker will remain in their new body until the possession spell is used again, thus killing the old target.

#male possession #dilf possession #jock possession #possession #male body possession

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Eivor x Fem!Reader - Ink Me Up

Oh, what to do when the Norwegian woman tattooing your thigh is insanely attractive, clearly gay, with a criminally good bedside manner?

Warning: about tattooing and obviously needles.

Word count: 4363

Can be found on AO3 here.

Heavily inspired by this post here. The tattoo itself is purely self-indulgent. Eivor is stupidly attractive and it's not fair. (Y/N) replacer safe.

After months of saving and deliberation, the time had come. For the longest time you had dreamed of getting something big, bold and beautiful permanently inked into your skin. Something meaningful. And you wanted someone talented to tattoo it.

Thus, you found yourself scouring the web for reputable tattoo shops, hours upon hours poured into searching artists’ portfolios, hoping that someone was skilled enough at black-and-grey realism within a relatively close radius. If you were going to pay a hefty sum for a tattoo, you wanted it to be perfect. Your desktop was flooded with reference images of sword lilies ��� the subject of your desired ink – and about a dozen different parlours, tabs whittling down one by one during your search.

The final tab was the website for a slightly pricier shop, but one of the artist’s Instagrams utterly captivated you. Their artwork was extraordinary, the details in their pieces stunning and intricate; you decided investing a little extra cash would be worth it. Eivor Varinsdóttir, handle @wolfkissed_ink. Grinning, you emailed the artist, requesting a consultation.

You explained to the artist during that consultation that you wanted a composition of black-and-grey realistic gladioli on your left thigh. Sword lilies represented strength, after all, and you wanted to commemorate overcoming a difficult part of your life with something gorgeous and symbolic. That and, well, flowers were pretty. Within the week they had responded with a sketch that was beyond what you could have possibly thought up yourself: two stunning, bloomed sprigs of the flower with petals floating either side, lifelike as a monochrome photograph. Smiling ear-to-ear, you booked up your first appointment.

Unbridled excitement led to the time before your appointment soaring by, with you opening up the file of the sketch almost every day. Bringing us to the present: you stood anxiously outside the parlour door, 12:50pm, ten minutes before your scheduled appointment. Sucking in a shaky breath, nerves both good and bad, you stepped inside.

The tattoo shop was sleek, modern and decked wall-to-wall with flash sheets, the small designs varying in style, colour and detail. Everything was spotless, as one would expect, with shining awards dotted about. Just seeing the various trophies did well to quell some of your anxieties, knowing you were in good hands, that you’d end up with a lovely piece on your thigh. A stout man covered neck to foot in swirling Japanese designs manned the front desk, smiling warmly at you, obliterating any stigmas you had heard from older relatives about tattoo culture.

Biting your lip, you made your way to the desk, mustering a nervous smile. As thrilled as you were about getting the tattoo, the whole pain aspect was still rather daunting. “Hey, one o’clock appointment for (Y/N) (L/N)?” You fidgeted with the hem of your shorts while the gentleman checked his desktop.

“With Eivor, right?” he verified. You nodded.

“Sorry I’m a little early—”

“No, not at all! Rather you be early than late,” he chuckled, clearly sensing your worries. His eyes flickered across a clipboard. “She’s not with a client at the moment, so I’ll send you through now, if that’s alright.”

“Sounds good, thank you,” you bade, pulse quickening. Come on, you’ve wanted this for so long, you can’t pussy out now.

The guy asked you to wait by the desk as he ventured down a long corridor, the black paint giving off an ominous vibe that did nothing for your nerves. A few seconds later, he returned, cocking his head for you to follow. Your knuckles were white from gripping the strap of your purse so tightly.

He led you to the room at the end of the hall, holding the glossy black door open for you. “Go easy on her, Eivor, it’s clearly her first,” he called out, flashing you a wink, before letting the door close behind you.

Holy shit.

She was hot.

Eivor was nothing short of a modern day viking. Tall, rippling with muscle, late twenties to early thirties, blond hair strewn into an unruly braid with a strip on the right shaved clean to the flesh, revealing a fucking skull tattoo of a bird…a raven? Her face was stupidly handsome, eyes blue and icy but warm with greeting, a long and gnarly scar cutting into the flesh of her left cheek with a smaller nick protruding from her upper lip. Hell, the nape of her neck was marred with an even more vicious looking scar. She wore a tight black t-shirt that strained around her deliciously grizzled arms, which were adorned with Norse-looking runes and text curving into circles, ink that carried on to her hands and neck. The smile she offered you made you weak in the knees.

“(Y/N), right? I’m Eivor, a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted, voice deep and gravelly, decorated with a rasp that to you sounded like butter. Fuck me, she’s a tall, tall glass of water.

You shook her hand when she extended it to you, marvelling at the patterns and blacked-out bands on her long, thick fingers. Her nails were cut extremely short, confirming the strong lesbian vibe she gave off. “Likewise,” you squeaked, cursing yourself for acting like some bloody schoolgirl.

She sauntered over to her setup, weight carried in her shoulders, consolidating her already intimidatingly attractive butch energy, sanitised her hands and pulled on a clean pair of gloves. “Come on over,” she said, grabbing a disposable razor from a box. “I’ll just need to make sure the area is shaven, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” you replied, joining her by the leather chair, covered by a sheet of cellophane. It was a relief to see all the hygiene precautions taken in the shop. Eivor picked up a disinfectant wipe.

“Left thigh, if I remember correctly?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

She dropped to one knee – wasn’t that a fucking sight – and wiped down the expanse of your thigh before gliding the razor over the flesh.

Hesitantly, you asked her what the general procedure was, desperately trying to divert your thoughts from the sapphic spiral they were travelling down.

“Alright, after I’ve finished here I’ll apply the stencil. You’ll get to check if you like the placement, and if you don’t I’ll keep going until you’re happy with it. It’s a big piece, so we’ll have to split this up into two sessions, as we discussed alongside payment.” She brushed away the loose hairs and peach fuzz. “I’ll do the linework this session, and the shading next time.” With one final pass of the razor she pulled back, tossing it into a bin.

Eivor then picked up a sheet of thin paper with the sketch printed on it. She plucked a purple pen from her table. “Give me a few minutes to trace the stencil, then we’ll apply it and see how you like it.” You nodded, trying to focus on your breathing.

While she traced over each line of the sketch, she kindly attempted to soothe your fears with small talk. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of a ‘gladiolus’ before our consultation. Any reason why you chose it?”

You smiled. “They represent strength. I finally got through a rough spell and wanted something to celebrate with,” you explained, heart skipping a beat at the soft expression on the artist’s face.

“All the more reason to get this perfect then,” she said with a grin. The way the scar on her upper lip quirked was positively adorable. A couple minutes passed and she re-capped the pen. “Stand up straight for me, darling.” Oh.

Cheeks burning with bashfulness, you complied. Eivor took a second to angle the stencil before smoothing it over your thigh, leaving a purple outline once she removed the paper. “Just have a look in that mirror over there and tell me if you’re happy, okay?”

You walked over to the mirror and stared at your thigh. The tattoo was large – which you expected, with the amount of detail in it – and perfectly central, the loose petals appearing to float down the length of your thigh. “Perfect,” you breathed out, giving the woman a thumbs-up.

Eivor switched over her gloves and gestured for you to take a seat on the chair. “Get comfy, then. Do you have water?” Nodding, you took out your water bottle from your handbag. “Brilliant. Still want to do this?”

“Hell yeah.” Weirdly, the nerves about the pain (not about the sexy artist) had almost wholly subsided, leaving you brimming with anticipation.

She poured some jet black ink into small caps, no larger than the tip of your thumb. “Remember to breathe through it and hold still, yeah? You picked a smart place for your first tattoo, not too close to the bone.”

“I’ll try.” Eivor opened a sealed packet containing a new, sterilised needle, inserting it into her tattoo machine. She switched it on, the buzz of the machine’s piston filling the room with a gentle hum. Looking up at you, she cocked her brow – if only your gay thoughts could bugger off for two minutes – as if to ask, ready? Affirmatively, you beamed at her.

Dipping the needle into the ink, she pulled the skin of your thigh taut. Immediately, you noted the warmth of her hand on your leg, fighting off a shudder. Then came a mildly painful scratching sensation as she brought the machine to your thigh.

Honestly? It wasn’t bad. Irritating, like an itchy eye, but not drastically unpleasant. You followed Eivor’s advice, keeping your breathing steady, averting your attention to the artwork on the walls, some of which you had seen on her Instagram portfolio. Portraits, flowers, animals, realistic-looking jewellery…the woman had mastered black-and-grey. You knew you picked the right artist. The frown of concentration on her face spoke volumes about her dedication to the art, steeled and intently focused on the lines she was pulling.

When she wiped the area and reached for more ink, she glanced up at your face. “All good?” she asked.

“Yeah, no issues here.”

“Wonderful.” She set back to work, positioning her needle over the flower’s curved stem, dragging it downwards in a slow arc. “Your skin takes ink like butter, by the way.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you breathed out. Her hand suddenly felt a little warmer. Tell me this woman does audiobooks, you thought.

After a few more lines, you tried to pepper in some small talk without breaking her concentration. Fortunately, her bedside manner was immaculate, and she entertained your questions without any grudges.

“Your voice is really soothing. Where abouts are you from?”

“Oh, thank you. I’m from Norway, moved here a few years back.” She grinned at the compliment. “It’s funny, people usually say the opposite about my voice.” You wondered if they were deaf.

“It’s a nice rasp,” you chuckled. Buzzing stopped, more ink.

“I was bitten by a wolf when I was nine,” she explained. Buzzing recommenced, scratching returned. “My larynx never properly healed from it, so I’ve sounded like some chain-smoker since before I hit double-digits, despite never touching a cigarette in my life.”

“You don’t sound like a chain-smoker, though. I mean it.”

Her grin widened. “That actually means a lot.”

An hour passed by, most of it spent in comfortable silence, with Eivor checking in on you occasionally to see how you were coping. Certain patches of nerves stung a little more than others, but none of it was unbearable. That was until her machine passed over a particularly rough area. It fucking killed, the burn of the needle seemingly deeper than anywhere else, the sting infinitely more intense than before. You hissed, gritting your teeth together.

“Ow,” you winced, clutching onto your water bottle in an attempt to relieve the pain, to no avail.

Eivor continued pulling her line, her rasp coming out in a low mantra. “Just breathe through it, nice and slow…” You tried to follow, attempting in vain to relax your shoulders. “Keep holding still for me…” Your breaths came shallow but steadily so, the stinging slowly becoming more endurable. The machine reached the end of the line. “Good girl,” she muttered, blissfully of absent mind.

Good girl.

Oh fuck.

Just when your clearly gay tattoo artist couldn’t get any hotter, she comes out with some hot-girl bullshit like that. And fuck, you didn’t think you had a praise kink before, but now this certainly awakened something. Why, why did it have to sound so good in her husky voice? No, you were absolutely not going to fantasise about your artist, not when her hands were on your skin, on your thigh of all fucking places. God, this stupidly attractive Norwegian butch was making you uncomfortably hot.

When she finally pulled away, sweet bloody reprieve, you took a sip of your water. “That wasn’t fun,” you remarked.

“Took it like a champion, though,” she beamed proudly, clearly unaware of the affect her words had just had on you. “Need a break?”

“Just a minute or two, thank you,” you sighed with relief. Eivor wiped you down and analysed her work.

“We’re just over halfway there,” she commented. Only halfway? Fuck. You allowed your eyes to wander over the black lines, all perfectly smooth from practiced precision. Yeah, this woman was talented.

“I mean, that killed, and that was my thigh…” you trailed off, making her laugh. “What was the most painful tattoo you’ve gotten?”

Eivor answered without hesitation. “My head, without a doubt. Packing solid black into that thing was agony. My fingers killed, too, but all completely worth it.” You couldn’t help but agree with that last part. Her hands looked extremely good, both with and without those gloves.

“I’m guessing places with more nerve endings and by the bone are the worst, then?”

“Definitely. The palm of the hand is the most sensitive, and it’s tough to get right. Ink bleeds, skin bleeds…and if you don’t do it well it’ll just fade. All that pain for nought.”

You gulped down some more water. Ouch. “Duly noted.”

After ninety odd more minutes, Eivor switched off her machine for good, the linework finished and utterly flawless. “All done for this session,” she announced, changing gloves once more to clean and wrap the area. There was minimal irritation around each line, and the wipe felt wonderfully cool against the reddening flesh.

Once she finished placing various equipment in a tub labelled ‘autoclave’, she escorted you to the front desk. You paid half the decided fee of the tattoo and booked your second session for three weeks’ time. Eivor gave you an aftercare kit, explaining in detail how to keep the tattoo clean, how to prevent infection, and to avoid direct exposure to sunlight as much as you could. Eagerly, you listened, trying to drink in as much of her voice as possible before departing.

“I’ll see you in three weeks, then. Take care, (Y/N),” she grinned. From the moment you stepped out of the shop, you knew that grin would be engraved into your mind for the weeks to come.

  The second appointment couldn’t have come quickly enough.

You spent an embarrassing quantity of time thinking about your dreamy tattoo artist, right up until the day you walked back into the shop, this time free of any concerns pertaining to the tattoo. The gentleman from before recognised you and asked how the tattoo was holding up, if you’d had any issues keeping it clean, to which you replied all was good. Only this time, Eivor came to greet you by the front desk.

“How’s it going?” she asked, welcoming as before.

“Really good. I just hope I’ve been doing everything right,” you chuckled, anxiously glancing down at your thigh. The redness had completely disappeared a few days after your first appointment, the black ink proudly meandering over your skin.

Eivor smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, you’d know if you haven’t. From here it looks like you’ve done a fantastic job of keeping it clean, anyway.” You followed her to her studio, mentally noting how she was wearing an even tighter black t-shirt than last time, the fabric clinging to the defined contours of her muscled back, biceps, abs… Needless to say, the gay thoughts had returned at full-force.

As before, she shaved and disinfected your thigh, but instead of a stencil she had the full greyscale reference images for the design printed and taped to a metal beam above her table. She took careful time in diluting various caps of black ink into a plethora of greys, experience shining through as she added precise amounts of diluter to each cap. There was something addictive about watching the woman work, with how methodical she was, how delicately she handled the bottles of ink.

When she unpacked a needle, you noted the shape was different to before. “Now, some parts are gonna be only a little rougher than before. Others will suck, I’ll warn you now,” she mentioned as you positioned yourself on the chair.

“Mama didn’t raise a bitch,” you joked. Eivor laughed.

“You handled it like a trooper before. I have zero doubts you’ll do the same today.”

And so she began, making multiple passes with the machine unlike before, packing in the different shades of grey in front of her, scratching into the already broken skin. It wasn’t massively painful, but Eivor was right – last time was a breeze in comparison. You rested your eyes and bore the pain, focusing on the faint music playing from the shop’s reception.

As previously, she was ever considerate, checking up on you as she worked – albeit not as frequently, now that you were accustomed to the needles – and encouraging you through the nastier patches. You tried your hardest to not look at your thigh, wanting the final result to be a surprise, but over time it grew increasingly difficult not to sneak a glance at her hands. Merely the thought of them flustered you (pathetic, you knew) and nothing would be more embarrassing than drifting off into a less than appropriate fantasy about the woman when she was simply being professional.

Time blurred together amongst your inner dilemma – to look or not to look – until Eivor’s signature rasp caught your attention. “Time for your least favourite part,” she said, giving you a knowing look, positioning her needle in one of the petals over the area that hurt like a bitch previously.

“Oh god, I forgot about that area.”

“Just own the pain and keep still, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

Eivor smirked: a wicked thing that could have killed every sapphic in a mile radius. “Squirm and I’ll pin you down. I’ve had to do it before, and I’ll do it again.”

That, under different circumstances, would be an appealing notion.

Closing your eyes once more, you tried to decipher the song lyrics resonating through the shop’s hall, grimacing when the needle penetrated the skin. Just focus on Rihanna, focus on Rihanna…

“That’s…not so bad, actually,” you mutter, not entirely self-assured of the words leaving your lips, hoping some placebo affect would take place.

Eivor chuckled, dipping into another shade. “You sound convincing,” she drawled.

“I’m – ow – serious… Okay fuck, that’s way worse.”

“Shh, it’ll be over soon. Find something to focus on.”

So you did, on what happened to be the first thing in your immediate line of sight when you re-opened your eyes: Eivor’s bicep. God, her shirt strained around the muscle, black fabric against tanned skin and the deep green runes littering her arm. Perhaps the ink had something to do with her ancestry, given that the woman said she was Norwegian – that or she was just a mythology nerd. Your eyes trailed over the spirals of script, the perfectly concentric circles. Mind wandering, the idea that she may have tattoos on her back and front piqued your interest. Then came the delightful image of Eivor without a shirt. Pinning you down. Fuck.

Before long the pain subsided, leaving a dull ache where the needle had worked at your skin. “All done, darling,” Eivor murmured, wiping the patch. Darling. You knew it was simply her bedside manner, trying to keep you as relaxed as possible, but damn was it having the polar opposite effect. Cheeks feeling impossibly hot, you unscrewed the cap of your bottle and took a sizeable gulp of water. She gave you a moment to breathe, now that the most difficult part was out of the way. Still flustered, you drained half your bottle.

Concern plastered on her face, Eivor leaned closer, inspecting your face intently. “Are you feeling faint?” she asked, evidently worried. “It’s important you tell me if you are—”

“No, no, I’m fine, really.” You were stuttering, annoyed with yourself that you made her worry. “Just being weird. I promise.”

“You do?” Her eyebrows were still upturned, not entirely believing you.

You nodded frantically. “Yeah, really. Please don’t worry.”

Taking a slow breath, she restarted the machine, relief flashing across her features. She gestured for permission to continue tattooing, which you granted, and set back to work.

Cursing internally, you let your eyes flutter shut, thoughts full of nothing but ‘good girls’ and ‘darlings’ in a husky Norwegian accent. Numbing yourself to the needles, you drifted off into slumber.

  “Hey, (Y/N)?”

A gentle pressure squeezed at your hand, slowly stirring you, bringing you back to the world of the living. Yawning, you opened your eyes, gaze brought to a gloved hand atop your own.

“Good evening,” Eivor said, retracting her hand and watching as you gasped and scanned the studio for a clock in a panic. Evening?

“Kidding,” she laughed. “I finished up ten minutes ago.” You shot her a half-hearted glare through sleepy eyelids.

“That was mean,” you pouted. She grinned.

“I do stab people for a living.”

Snorting, you swung your legs over the side of the chair, stretching them to regain a semblance of sensation. Chest pounding with excitement, you looked to the mirror at the side of the room, then at Eivor, silently asking permission to peak at the finished tattoo. She held out her hand in gesticulation.

Giddy with anticipation, you walked over and… Holy shit.

It was beautiful.

Each shade of grey blended into one another in a perfect harmony, so seamlessly that the black outline from before was barely visible. The shadows underneath each leaf, each petal looked real. Every speckle and wrinkle on the petals shone through, love and attention going into every marking. The falling petals were akin to a photograph, with the light grey background wash tying them to the main flowers, each little shadow appearing to give them different depths. It was beyond anything you imagined. All that pain, mental and physical, turned into a lifetime of beauty.

You didn’t realise you were crying until the salt of tears rolled into your awe-parted mouth.

“I’m, well… Wow.” Beaming, you turned to face your artist, who looked at her artwork with pride. “Thank you, Eivor. Thank you so much.”

She shook her head and offered you a box of tissues, from which you took one gladly. “I’m just honoured to have helped you lay that chapter of your life to rest. May the sword-lilies battle any shreds of it that remain.”

Stunned by her poetic inclination, you dried your eyes in silence, lips curved into a joyous smile. Meanwhile, she removed her gloves.

“You have tissues at the ready. I’m guessing people cry a lot here?” you asked, finally prying your eyes away from the masterpiece on your thigh.

“Mostly from the pain,” she remarked.

“You know, you could just lie to me so I don’t feel like such a fucking sap.”

The sound that left Eivor’s mouth in response was nothing if not angelic. She practically howled in hearty laughter, echoing through her studio, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t think it possible for your grin to widen further still, but her outburst was contagious in the best way.

“I’m glad you’re happy with it. Truly,” she breathed out, chest stilling from her fit.

“It’s beautiful. Happy is an understatement.”

Eivor made her way over to the desk in the corner of the studio, where a graphics tablet lay alongside a stylus. “Now, before I dress it, I’m legally required to ask you if I have permission to photograph the tattoo for advertisement purposes. I appreciate it’s a personal subject matter and completely understand if—”

“Go for it,” you shrugged.

“Are you certain?” You nodded.

“Of course. It’s a work of art.” The smile she gave you was genuine.

“This’ll only take a minute. Thank you, really.”

She knelt down and snapped a picture with the tablet, checking the quality. “All done.” Eivor then proceeded to sanitise her hands and slip on one last pair of gloves, grabbing the wipes and plastic wrap from her station. “The photo will be uploaded to the shop’s website and my professional Instagram, if that’s alright with you. Completely anonymous, of course.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Although, it’ll be weird seeing my leg on my feed.” She chuckled.

“Feel free to email or DM if you have any concerns with the healing.” Patting your leg, she stood up to her full height, placing her gloves in a biohazard ziplock. “Well, I’m honoured to have given you your first tattoo.”

“Honoured to be your…canvas?”

And just like that, your time with the artist was up. You watched wistfully as she put together an aftercare pack at the front desk, your previously overjoyed expression drifting into a sad one. After paying, you thanked her one final time.

“Take care, søta,” she said with a wink.

The very moment you arrived back home, you whipped out a Norwegian-to-English translator and immediately tried to replicate her pronunciation of the word she called you, blushing profusely when discovering it meant ‘cutie’. And upon opening your cleaning pack, you found an addition that wasn’t present in your previous bundle:

A small slip of paper. On one side, a mobile number. On the other, in beautifully neat cursive,

I’d love to take you to dinner. Text me if you’re interested?

Yours, Eivor

#eivor #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #female eivor #tattoo parlor au #modern au #ac valhalla

[frostfireft]

Can we have more Bickslow headcannons? And maybe Evergreen, Freed, and Lexus too?

Fuck yeah you can! I’m gonna start with a lot of angst and then move into their dynamics as a team. (this got REALLY long but I’m not sorry)

-I gave you all my HC for Freed’s backstory in my last post and mentioned that Freed is the reason that Bickslow and Evergreen joined the guild, so have both their backstories too! 

-Bickslow grew up in a travelling circus with several other child performers. It wasn’t exactly a nice environment. There were lots of issues and safety hazards and abuse going on behind the scenes, but they were forced to keep smiling and performing through it all. 

-Bickslow was especially targeted by the ringmaster because of his magic allowing him to look into people’s souls. The ringmaster is the one who forced him to wear a helmet when he wasn’t using his ability on the crowd for money. 

-Because of that, he only had five friends back then, all children younger than he was, who looked up to him both for his tricks and the fact that no matter how upset he was, he had a smile for them.

-one day the tent caught fire during a practice. Bickslow was the only one to make it out alive. 

-but considering all the traumatic events they went through, most of the children kept there weren’t able to move on, and their spirits lingered in the area... Except for the five kids who were most fond of Bickslow. They stayed near him and talked to him all the time, especially once they realized he could see them. You still have a soul as a spirit after all. 

-the town he was in began to think he was crazy because he was “talking to the air” all the time, and they would continuously call child services to try and take him to an orphanage. The five spirits however, would warn him before they could, and Bickslow used his years of acrobatics skills to stay away from anyone who tried to move him away from where the circus burned down. It may have been a place of trauma, but there were good memories too, and it’s all he had. 

-So the town tried one last gamble. Who better to adopt a child with mysterious magic that Fairy Tail? 

-And Makarov, in an attempt to get Laxus to be more social, decided to send him and Freed. 

-It went about as well as you’d expect. Laxus tried to fight him while Freed did research on the area and what happened to him. 

-Laxus didn’t have as much control over his magic as he thought he did at that age, and Bickslow was kicking his ass before Freed showed up and trapped him so they could talk.

-Freed shared his story with him and offered the same thing Laxus once offered him: a home. 

-Bickslow cracked soon after that, and told them everything after Freed started asking questions about the town thinking he’s crazy while they were on the train back to magnolia. 

-While many members of Fairy Tail were unnerved by him, those around their age did their best to make him feel at home. Natsu listened to all his stories about the circus and about the five ghosts who followed him, and Bickslow listened to his stories about the dragons. 

-Freed used this time to research Seith magic extensively, and he eventually came across the idea of putting the souls into objects. He and Bickslow worked for weeks to figure out how to do it, and the five spirits became his five main “dolls.” 

-He of course, asked them if they were okay with being alongside him before putting them inside the tiki dolls, and if he cried when they said there was nowhere else they’d rather be? Well Freed and Laxus weren’t going to tell anyone about it. 

-Evergreen was both harder and easier to get back to Fairy Tail. 

-Like Freed, She was once a part of the noble class, but under a name she never wants to use again. 

-When she gained her eye magic, she accidentally turned her mother to stone, and it was all downhill from there. Her father tried to keep her locked in a room, and it worked for a long time. 

-Eventually though, she had decided she’d had enough, and snuck out and ran as far away as she could. She kept a ribbon tied around her eyes any time she had to go into town, and learned how to walk while completely blind. This did some damage to her eyesight after several years of doing it. 

-it felt like it was too good to be true. She was free and she did odd little jobs in a town far from her original home to earn money for food. it was all she needed..... Until a child tore the ribbon from her face. 

-the second she made eye contact, the little boy turned to stone. There was nothing she could do about it except cover her face up again and run. 

-her father, however, had notified several guilds about her disappearance and claimed she was dangerous if left alone, so when stories spread about a homeless child turning a boy to stone, it became their first lead in months. 

-there was a lull in fighting missions at the time, and something about her magic intrigued Freed. It was an eye magic like his and Bickslow’s first magics, and they aren’t exactly common. Freed, Laxus, and Bickslow took it upon themselves to take the mission to bring her home.

-She very quickly figured out how to hide herself in the woods and away from people. Freed had to trap the entire area and make it so that eye magics don’t work within his barriers before they could even get close to her. It took almost a month. 

-And much to their surprise, she was nothing like what they were expecting. After all, they were supposed to be hunting down a nobleman’s son, not a daughter.

-Bickslow almost immediately asks her about why she ran away, and Ever looks up at him- then panics as she slams her eyes shut- but he doesn’t turn to stone because of Freed’s runes, and he explains as such. 

-They have a long conversation about why she ran away, and she tells them everything her father did to her, from being locked in her room to being terrified to tell him she’s his daughter and not his son because of his anger issues.

-They realize then and there they can’t give her back to him, and Freed comes up with the plan to tell him that they didn’t find his son, but rather a random girl with a similar magic, and she can join Fairy Tail instead of staying on the run. 

-The only reason she doesn’t agree immediatly is because of her eye magic. She couldn’t control it, and the idea of turning someone to stone again scared her.

-Freed sent Laxus to buy a pair of glasses without a prescription and a nice dress for her to wear, and he etches runes into the glasses to block her eye magic when they’re on.

-She’s sold from that moment on, and the raijinshuu’s friendship is sealed with that secret. 

-Laxus helps her chose her name before they get onto the train, and they solidify the story before then too  

-Makarov Accepts the story without question, even though they have a sneaking suspicion he knows. 

-They become a tight knit group in no time. 

-Then they learn about Ivan and all he did to Laxus, and they start to jokingly refer to themselves as the Laxus protection squad. It’s a lot less of a joke when Ivan’s actually around though, and the guild definitely notices. Makarov even starts to officially call them that in some reports. 

-No one remembers who suggested the name “raijinshuu,” but they all privately agree it’s dumb. Especially since  it insinuates that Laxus is the team leader. Freed’s the captain of their team for a reason.

-Dispite the fact that Bickslow is the tallest of them, both Laxus and Freed are both physically stronger than him. That’s not to say he isn’t strong, but Laxus can carry freakish amounts of weight due to his slayer biology, and Freed does the same due to his demon biology. 

-Freed can carry all of them at once. No one knows how. 

-Freed puts new runes on Ever’s glasses every time she gets new frames or a new prescription. He knows she doesn’t need it anymore, but she’s always grateful for the option. 

-if they share a bed, Freed and Ever cannot sleep next to each other. Their hair tangles together and they’ve only had to make that mistake once. 

-Ever and Bickslow are not under any circumstances allowed to cook, Freed can make fancy meals, and Laxus makes homemade stuff that would make your mouth water. He also stress bakes in secret at four am. 

-That’s how they always know he’s stressed when he doesn’t tell them. It’s kind of hard to miss 6 batches of cookies that spontaneously appeared overnight

-Freed has an unsharpened rapier that feels like getting hit with a slap bracelet at full speed. Naturally, this is the sword he chases Bickslow with when he pisses him off. 

-Laxus likes to pretend he’s one of the smartest members of the guild, but the raijinshuu knows he’s actually kind of a himbo. 

-Bickslow is really close friends with Loke, and when he noticed the man was dying slowly, the others comforted him despite not knowing what was going on.

-Bickslow often helps ghosts pass on from the mortal plane. 

-Evergreen keeps up with all the latest fashion, but she still considers Freed to be more fashionable. Because of this she always double checks her outfits with him. 

-Evergreen’s always the first to sass someone when they’re being rude to her team. It’s earned her her reputation as a “bitch” but she’s far too proud of it to be offended.

-One Laxus was open about his dragon slayer magic, they pushed him to talk to the other slayers to learn about himself and his magic. Freed and Bickslow pushed the hardest though, since they’re friends with Natsu and knew that he would be all too willing to drag Laxus into his little family of dragon slayers.

-Laxus was much happier oncce he accepted that he was more dragon that human anyways, and the more he learned, the happier he was. 

-In case it wasn’t clear: mtf Trans!Ever (she/her exclusively), he/they Freed, and  wtf is gender, is it a food?” Laxus and Bickslow (any pronouns). 

#fairy tail #fairy tail headcanons #bickslow #evergreen fairy tail #Laxus Dreyar #freed justine #the raijinshuu #trans evergreen #enby Freed #Gender ? Laxus #Gender ? Bickslow #it's kinda angsty #but there's som esoft headcanons at the bottom! #I'll do more soft headcanons if anyone wants them #<3 #frost speaks

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Thackery Binx

(My alright gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(I wasn’t entirely sure how I would work this one out but I think I came up with a pretty cute concept)

- When you first met Thackery, you certainly weren’t thinking of him as a future boyfriend. You’d just moved to Salem, something you; a baby witch, were particularly excited about.

- It was a night like any other, but you’d decided that tonight would be the night that you’d perform your first ritual. So you went down to the Sanderson house late at night, sneaking inside though it wasn’t like anyone really cared what happened to the place.

- Thackery took immediate notice of you, watching from behind a few corners as you walked around and examined the place. He figured you were just a stupid teenager; albeit a very pretty one, and would leave any moment. That was when you settled down on the floor and opened your bag, lighting a few candles before getting all your things situated.

- You closed your eyes, beginning your chant as you held your hands out. The room around you was dead silent as you focused on what you were doing, willing your ritual to work. That was when you nearly had a heart attack as Thackery lunged onto your back.

- You scrambled to stand, gasping for breath and nearly knocking over the flames you’d lit as you searched the area, laughing breathlessly once you saw the black cat a little ways away from you. You cursed at him half heartedly, pressing a hand to your beating heart as you crouched down to his level.

“Are you my familiar? Huh?” You whispered sweetly. He watched you intently but didn’t move, letting you reach out slowly and scratch behind his ears.

- You looked around the room, sighing softly as you leaned over and blew out your candles, gathering your things to leave. So much for tonight being the night.

- Perhaps nothing happened that night but you would try again. You kept returning to the place, sometimes bringing your things, sometimes just bringing food for the cat that was always there. After a while, the mangy feline began to follow you around even outside of the house, always showing up as you went outside or arriving at your window mewling to be let in.

- It was a few weeks after you first encountered the cat that you’d come to realize just who you’d encountered. You’d had a rough day and just wanted to get away for a while, so you’d went back to the Sanderson house, knowing no one else would bother you there. Well, no one but your furry friend.

“So we meet again.” you smiled, watching as the familiar feline stalked towards you and nuzzles into your outstretched hand.

“I should give you a name, shouldn’t I? I can’t just keep calling you kitty. If you’re my familiar then you need a sophisticated name. Are you my familiar? ...Or are you Thackery Binx.” You’d joked, remembering the tale of the boy and the witches.

“So glad you’ve finally realized.” Your mouth nearly dropped to the floor.

- Well now that the secret was out, Thackery explained everything and enlisted your help in trying to turn him back into a human, and potentially to get rid of the Sanderson sisters for good. And so, you began your search for the solution to his century old problem.

- It took a while but you thought that you finallly figured it out, so you brought him into your room, set everything up, and began the process. The candles were lit, the herbs were placed down, the runes were written, and... nothing happened.

- You were dissapointed upon opening your eyes and seeing nothing but the usual black cat sitting before you. But then, the candles blew out and you were plunged into darkness.

- You gasped, looking around wildly as though you’d be able to see anything in the dark. You were just about to get up and turn on the light when all of a sudden, the candles were lit once more. You blinked a couple times as your eyes adjusted to the light ...and there he was.

Okay, so why the fuck is he hot. “Wow. You’re like handsome. I mean you’re a boy and you’re like seventeen. I mean you’re not old, you’re ...you’re you...again.

- The boy smiled, glancing down at his hands and then the rest of his body in awe before he surged forward and wrapped his arms around you, bringing you into a tight hug.

“You’re brilliant, y/n! Absolutely brilliant!”

- Well, time would reveal that you weren’t as brilliant as you or him thought. Yes, technically you did turn him human again, but only in certain places and only while you were alone.

- For instance: your property; where he was turned human again, the Sanderson house; where he was turned into a cat, and the graveyard; where he should have been all this time. Anywhere else and he was just a wittle puddytat.

- But Thackery was more than grateful. He’d been a cat for so long that being human for any length of time felt like a miracle. And now that he was partially human, he felt that he could finally try to do something about his growing feelings for you.

- Over time, the two of you grew closer and your will they, won’t they relationship began. He came so close to confessing to you; more than once, but you were always somehow interrupted or you said something that threw him off.

- Then, after nearly half a year of him falling more and more in love with you everyday; he finally confessed his feelings to you.

- You arrived home one day, only to find a piece of paper folded neatly on your pillow. You opened it and found a long letter detailing everything he loved about you and telling you exactly how he felt. Believe me, you’ll never read anything more romantic in your life.

- Like a rational person who was just told how much their crush likes them in the most beautiful way possible, you ran off to find him. You had a good idea as to where he was hiding out: the Sanderson house.

- Once you got there, you burst through the doors, prompting him to stand up nervously, awaiting your reaction. He was just about to try and say something before you strode over to him and pulled him into a kiss. After he got over the initial shock, he smiled and kissed back, pulling you closer as his hands found your waist.

- Alright, so maybe he’s just an ...indoor boyfriend, but you love him all the same and he loves you with all his heart.

- Pda? He’s a cat in public so it’s a bit hard to do, but you can pet him, hold him in your arms or kiss his fuzzy little head; people will just think he’s your pet.

- Nose kisses. They’re perfect for cat Thackery and normal Thackery, and for you at any given time.

- Soft, gentle kisses.

- Innocent and sweet touches. Sometimes he just touches you for the sake of touching you, there’s no real reason behind it besides the fact that he never wants you forget how nice you feel.

- He was a Puritan so; while he definitely has a bit more modern ideas from living through the years, he most likely has a few prudish beliefs that you may need to pull out of him.

- Like making out: something you had to persuade him into trying but something he is very glad that you showed him.

- Playfully chasing each other in your backyard or around the house. It’s very fun to tease him and then run off as he happily gives chase.

- He likes to pick you up at random; spinning around with you in his arms and swinging you softly.

- He tends to just use your name rather than nicknames or pet names, but when he does use them they’re old fashioned. Things like: dearest, beloved, and darling.

- Cheek kisses.

- Handholding, Hand kisses, playing with your hands, anything having to do with hands just please let him touch your hands like the repressed Puritan that he is.

- He’s touch starved and you can pry that from my cold dead hands. He’s been alone for centuries, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s forgotten how good it feels to be touched.

- Any kind of cuddling is fine by him, as long as he can wrap his arms tight around you. Most of the time, you wind up laying on top of him, head on his chest with his hands tangling through your hair. He’s very good at putting you to sleep like that.

- Waking up to soft kisses or him jolting awake in a cold sweat, calling your name and squeezing you tightly once he sees that you’re still there.

- Comforting him when he thinks about his sister and the life he had to leave behind.

- Getting to hear stories about the world throughout the years. Ever wondered what it was like in the 1800s? Well he’s lived through them, just ask him.

- He’s completely adamant about taking care of you when you get sick. He rushes over to you the instant you seem slightly under the weather, forcing a hand onto your forehead, and asking you a million questions. He’ll refuse to leave your side until you’re completely well again.

- He cannot stand seeing you cry; it tears him apart every time you get misty eyed. He’d do anything to make you feel better, asking if this or that would help or trying to get to the bottom of what's making you so upset.

- Compliments said in such a sincere and serious tone that they make you flustered and unsure of what to say. So, the best kinds of compliments. 

- Buying him some new and different clothes. 

- Want to give him a bath, you temptress? You want to see him in the nude, you meddling seductress? Hmmm? Perhaps he’ll allow it, just this once. 

- God, do you know how flustered he’d get when you have to get changed in front of him? He’d be trying his best to look away and give you privacy yet fighting the urge to peek at you, red in the face and stiff in his place. 

- He really wishes that he could help you with your homework and things of that nature but …what the fuck is calculus and what monster created it. 

- If you place a hand on his face or rub his shoulders, he’ll close his eyes and literally purr in delight. 

- Playing with his hair. He used to let Emily braid and/or tie it for him so it always gives him this melancholic feeling of joy whenever you do it.

- Can you please feed him something. Please, just give him a sandwich. He’s been eating mice all these years; he deserves some good food.

- Your family is definitely going to wonder why the cat is so attached to you. They’ll probably make jokes every time he hops on (only) your lap or completely walks past them to get to you.

- He’s slightly clingy; there’s only so much time when he can be human and hold you like a real man so he never wants to waste a moment when you’re together.

- Ever just want to be greeted with complete enthusiasm when you get home? As and you shall receive! He’ll lunge at you the instant you get step inside; if you have to leave him at home, or pull you into a kiss the moment the door shuts behind the two of you.   

- He loves when you sit on his lap but in that innocent old fashioned lovers sort of way. He usually pulls you onto his thigh whenever you’re sitting and talking, resting his chin on your shoulder while he listens intently. 

- Most of your dates are going to take place inside your house. You can’t exactly go many places besides your home, unless you want to go on a date with a cat. 

- Dates usually consist of just sitting together and talking, watching movies, reading books; things like that. 

- Candlelit hang outs at the Sanderson house. You’re never disturb and don’t have to worry about your parents or anyone else hearing you talk to him. 

- He’s determined to improve his storytelling skills just because you look so adorable hanging on the edge of your seat while listening to the folktales and old town gossip that he knows. 

- You’re definitely going to be roped into the Halloween adventure. He’ll literally just show up on your doorstep with Max, Dani and Allison, and you’ll just think to yourself “dammit new kid”. 

- Sarcasm and passive aggressive comments. They never actually hurt your feelings but they may make you send him a dirty look.

- You get back at him by calling him an adorable little kitty cat and just overall treating him like a pet. It’s very satisfying to see him get all broody as you ruffle his hair and babytalk him. 

- Having to lay down the law. 

“Thackery, you just killed a mouse like thirty minutes ago. I’m not kissing you.”

- He’s incredibly protective of you. After losing Emily and facing the Sanderson sisters, how couldn’t he be?

- Jealousy? He’s had to watch guys hit on you while being in the form of a cat; unable to deter them or prevent them from even approaching you in the first place. Of course he’s gotten jealous before. He does make sure to get his revenge on/chase people away though, jumping on or swiping at people on more than a few occasions.

- He’s definitely tried to get the scoop on your virginity and ex boyfriends by talking about the candle. Like “well maybe you could light the candle and we can just defeat them. Unless~”

- He can get a bit snappy at times so you’ve certainly had some arguments though he rarely stays mad for very long. Usually, he’ll apologize right after and try to use his words instead of just getting upset with you, like he’ll say snap and then say “I’m sorry but x”. 

- He’s a bit paranoid about not saying he loves you enough so he tries to say it as much as he can. He doesn’t want you to ever think that he doesn’t, especially if something happens to either of you.

- The future is certainly not set in stone but you’re hoping to stay by each other’s sides for a long time. Either way, he promises to always be with you. 

#thackery binx imagine #thackery binx headcanons #thackery binx headcanon #hocus pocus imagine #hocus pocus headcanons #hocus pocus headcanon #90s movie imagine #90s movie headcanons #90s movie headcanon

[has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong]

Learning how to use the runes with Caster Cu (FGO)

I spent 6 hrs writing the most shamelessly self-indulgent headcanons ever Here, Caster will teach the FGO master the basics of the runes. Follow the master as they learn a bit about their origins, face rigorous testing, make their own set of runes; and use them for the very first time!

*Disclaimer: These headcanons will focus on the use of the Elder Futhark runes. (In fgo, they use both elder and younger futhark) As I’ve only been researching the Nordic runes for around 9 months, please take these headcanons with a pinch of salt! (also, fgo master will be gender neutral! Please enjoy.)

As soon as you broach the topic to him, Caster Cu’s face pales considerably; as images of Odin hanging upside down on the world tree for 9 days permeate his mind. Hopefully you weren’t asking him if you could do that... you weren't, right?

‘Shit...I knew this day would come.’ Awkwardly lowering his hood over his face (so then he can avoid looking at your expectant expression); Caster sighs. “Ah, yeah...Rune magic. Sure, I’ll teach you later...yeah, later.”

Hoping that his bluff is successful, he tries to dematerialize away as fast as possible. However, once you latch onto his pale blue coat to ask what you should do first, he finally caves in; knowing that there’s no way for him to worm his way out of this perilous situation.

“You know, you could try asking Skadi. Or how about Shishou? There’s a hell of a lot of other servants who know bits and pieces about the runes as well. How about you give ‘em a try first?”

When you admit that you want to learn from him, due to your deep appreciation for his extremely flashy use of the runes; Caster stifles a laugh. Yep, there really was no room for escape now.

“Well, I can’t fault you for that; I do look pretty damn cool in action!” Twirling his staff, Caster strikes a pose. “But I don’t get it. You’re already training in other arts. Why would you wanna load rune magic on top of that? You like drowning yourself in work or something??”

As you excitedly flapped your arms around, explaining how you liked watching him trace sparkling runes with his hands; and wanted to take his tree branch summoning skills for yourself, his eyes widen with surprise. He wasn’t expecting you to be this observant.

“Ah, you mean the Berkana/Berkano (ᛒ) rune? Yeah, that one represents the birch tree, so I can summon it. It also commonly symbolizes new beginnings and fertility...” Caster trails off as your braincells physically implode at his explanation.

Berkana? Birch trees? Fertility?! You had no idea what he was talking about right now. As a dour silence weighs heavily upon the two of you, a lightbulb of inspiration strikes Caster right in the head.

“Oi, master. Read up a little on the runes, and remember at least some of their names first. As your new teacher, that’ll be your first assignment. See ya!” And with that, he was gone, vanishing into thin air. Realizing that he had just agreed to teach you, your face sparkles with glee. Clenching your fists with all of your might, you march towards the library. Time would wait for no man!!!!

Exchanging friendly greetings with Murasaki, as you trundle through an entire emporium of books; it takes hours for you to find a book on the runes. Many of the books were in a language that you couldn’t read, however this one looked rather easy on the eyes.

Titled ‘Easy Rune Magic for Modern Mages’, you flick through a rather simplistic guide that provides you with the names and a single definition for each rune; but it provides you with little to no information on how to truly understand their meaning. With subheadings such as ‘How to use the Fehu (ᚠ) rune to generate wealth to pay for your magecraft PHD at the Clock Tower’ and ‘Is Thurisaz (ᚦ) more effective to use as a defensive spell or curse spell?’ you were officially BAMBOOZLED. Tired, you decide to throw in the towel for today.

However, on your way back to your room, a stroke of excellent luck manifests itself before you. Situated upon a sturdy pine table are none other than Sigurd and Byrnhildr, who are reading together. Although you find this scene to be rather adorable (seeing as they were both entirely intact, with no stabbing wounds to be seen); you decided to interrupt their date anyway.

“O-oh, master...” Byrnhildr blushes, as Sigurd waves politely. “What brings you here today?” Slamming your hands on the table, you passionately declare that you wish to learn more about the runes, but can’t understand them without gaining some insight into their history first. As Brynhildr’s eyes glimmer with a sense of appreciation at your open display of interest of their culture, Sigurd haphazardly pulls out the chair next to them.

“I’m glad to see you profess such a profound interest in the runes, master. Please sit down and join us.” Glasses sparkling ominously, Sigurd explains a little bit more about how the elder futhark runes work. He not only explains how Odin discovered their wisdom after hanging from the world tree Yggdrasil; but also tells you about how Odin shared their power with humankind, making him none other than the ‘Allfather’ of the runes.

At the mention of his name, Byrnhild’s expression sours somewhat; making you realize that the two most likely share personal ties with him.

“They’re a special alphabet that we can use to invoke the power and wisdom of the Norse gods, so be careful with them.”

Sigurd then goes on to explain how all 24 runes are separated into three Aetts- which are basically a means of dividing the runic characters into different categories.

“Each rune comes with a short poem. That way, you’ll be able to understand them and their context a little more.”

Once you thank him for the information, he replies with a “I hope I was of use. I’m very proud of you for asking us for help.”; as Byrnhildr returns with an entire truckload of books tucked within her arms!!!

“These books will be helpful! This one’s about the myths associated with the runes, and this one is a practical guide that’ll help cultivate understanding. As for this one, it explains their etymology.”

Byrnhildr chuckles at your gobsmacked expression, as the two of them heap the books into your own arms. “You don’t need to know everything about them, but it’ll be handy for you to develop a little bit of historical and lexical knowledge as well.”

‘I thought I only had to know their names and descriptions...!!’ Tears pooling within your eyes at the mountain of books, you thank them for their help and leave, as they wish you all the best with your studies (and prayed that one day you’d wish to speak to them in the language as well. They couldn’t wait for that opportunity!)

Sighing all the way back to your room, you gasp in surprise as you bump into none other than Skadi.

“Oh, good timing.” Passing you a bundle of golden-trimmed strips of ancient paper, Skadi smiles vigorously. “You can use these as flash cards for your rune training, as well. I’m surprised that you didn’t ask for my guidance, but that may have been for the best. I would’ve trained you thoroughly in the arts.”

A chill jolts through your spine at that. Who knows just how hard she would’ve trained you? Part of Skadi was Scathach, after all. Thanking her for her assistance, the two of you split paths.

‘I seem to be bumping into a lot of people today...’

Was this a mere coincidence, or perhaps something more?

A busy month full of book reading and writing notes onto your flash cards passes within a blur.

Mash had also shown great interest in your studies, and would help test you with your flashcards every day! However, you were still pretty confused about how long this stage of research would last for.

Whilst reading up on how runes could also be used to predict the future and provide advice for one’s dilemmas; and how the Nornir (3 deities of fate) determined this form of divination, you groan.

All of the people within the books had their own sets of runes, which they would use to communicate with the gods.

In other words, they could be used for divination as well as magic.

‘Why can’t I do that yet?’ You pout indignantly; snapping the book shut.

If Caster wouldn’t teach you rune magic, he could at least teach you about divination! Patience running thin, you decide to leap back into action.

It was time to confront your teacher, once and for all.

However, as soon as you exit your room; you are greeted by none other than Caster himself.

Almost tripping onto the floor with surprise, you gawp in shock at his appearance. With his staff and a mouth-watering cup of Darjeeling tea he had brought from one of Marie’s posthumous tea parties in his hands, Caster smirks. “Yo, master. Looks like I came just on time.”

As the two of you settle in the canteen for class (?), after a bit of small talk; you declare that you want to learn how to use the runes for divination. “If you won’t teach me magic, then I would like to learn how to communicate with the runes first, please!”

At this, he lets out an unusually loud guffaw of laughter. “Ahaha, so you finally worked it out, huh? Before you can use their magic; you gotta understand and communicate with the runes, as well. You’re a faster learner than I thought you’d be.”

Unsure whether this was a compliment or not, you enquire as to what he means by that. “It’s pretty simple: you can’t cast these bad boys without building a relationship with them first. On that note, let’s see how much you’ve learnt from your studies.”

His test is a nightmare.

As he barks the name of each rune from the First Aett (the first eight runes), you are forced to draw each and every one. If you get a rune wrong, he repeats it consistently until you draw the right alphabet for each one.

Afterwards, he takes you through a hellish journey as he asks you to provide at least one definition for each rune.

By the time you are done, night has already swept its veil over Chaldea; the halls devoid of any signs of life.

In other words, the two of you had been at this for the entire evening, which had definitely garnered you both the attention and pity of many staff and servants.

Stomach rumbling, you beg Caster to finish class for today.

“Yeah, sure. Whoops, looks like I got a bit carried away right there.” He has definitely inherited his deadly teaching style from Scathach.

When you ask him if you’re ready for the next bout of training; he frowns. “Nope, that was only the First Aett. You’ll only move to the next stage when you’ve memorized all THREE. In other words, get to learning all 24 runes!!” As you cry in despair, Caster shoots you a mischievous wink as he helps himself to the bar.

The dreaded tests continue on a weekly basis.

Not only do you have to deal with the challenges of the saving the world, helping out your allies and maintaining your own health; you also have to leap into the hellish jaws of rune testing with Caster Cu.

Albeit suffering greatly from the challenge, your spirit was also greatly roused. Learning about the runes was fun!

So much fun, that you’d often dream about them, and see their shapes in the food that you ate; and would even accidentally use their names in conversation sometimes, like saying: “Oh, I’m sure the energy of this rune would help with your headaches,” to a very bewildered Mash; or comparing the sunrise to the runes (which confused Shakespeare and Hans greatly. Actually, they are now worried about your health).

All in all, your studies were starting to take effect!!

It was finally time.

As Caster more or less yelled the name of each rune at you, your response was astounding. Not only were you able to draw the shape of every rune in a matter of seconds, you could also provide multiple readings for all 24 of them.

Eyebrows quirked with surprise, Caster sighs with relief. ‘Phew. Looks like class will be shorter than usual today.’

“Holy shit. You’ve done a damn great job, master. You got them all right!” As you roared with joy, pumping your fists into the air with glee; Caster almost fell off his chair- clutching his sides as he tried (yet failed) not to laugh. “Alright, buckle up. We’re gonna get you a set of runes now.”

A set of runes?! Your eyes sparkled at the prospect of finally being able to have runes of your own. It was about time, as well. You had grown sick of using your flash cards, you wanted the real thing!

However, you were confused about the concept of needing your own set. If Skadi and Caster Cu could manifest them just by using their hands, and magical devices; why would a person need to have a set of them? As you expressed your concern, Caster nods his head in understanding.

“I see your point. But even I have a set of runes, you know? It’s every bit as useful a method.” Unleashing a small, worn-out felt pouch; glimmering gems -whose rune inscriptions were engraved upon them in gold- splashed across the dining table. They were beautiful. “’Sides, there’s something exciting about making your own set.”

Your mind swims with excitement, as he describes the different materials that runes can be made from: bones, metal, gemstones, pebbles, glass, clay...there were endless options.

However, when you asked him if you could use your collection of Evil Bones to make a rune set, he chokes on his coffee- pure horror drenched across his features.

“No way in hell! You trying to get yourself killed? Never invoke the power of the runes on cursed items, master.” 

Then how about using QP or Mana Prisms as a base to inscribe the runes instead? Once you suggested this, his face paled somewhat. “Yeah, about that...don’t even think about it. You need those materials, you know.”

Grumpily threading his hands through blue locks of hair, he sighs. “Look, I’ll help you find some materials. Guess we could rayshift the next time I’m free or something...” As you cheer exuberantly, he can’t help but crack a small smile.

Being a teacher was a lot more amusing than he originally anticipated it to be. There was something fun about departing his knowledge. Besides, he had dedicated himself to becoming the guiding light of Chaldea anyway. ‘A little teaching hurts no-one.’

Using the light of the Soliwo (ᛊ) rune to guide the way, the two of you traverse through a forest heaving with verdant green trees and wildlife.

No matter how many pretty trees and tumbled pebbles you found by the riverside; you weren’t sure if they were the right material for you.

Just when you were about to give up, a powerful jolt of electricity beckons you; almost as if it’s calling your name. As soon as you alert Caster of your instinctual powers, he looks rather flummoxed at first; but is somewhat awed once his Soliwo rune’s light begins to shine in exactly the same direction as the one you’re pointing in!

‘Huh, that sure is weird.’

Things only get weirder, once you both come upon a ginormous slab of Labradorite. Situated neatly upon a bed of leaves. Placed carefully within the middle of the forest.

This timing was too good to be true.

As the electricity coursing through your veins triples in intensity, Caster has to hold you back before you cut loose. “Oi, wait up. Let me test this stone for safety first.”

Placing an Algiz (ᛉ) runestone in your hands to guarantee your protection, he saunters towards the massive hunk of Labradorite.

Chanting an incantation beneath his breath, the forest glows in an eerie blue light; as a pale magic circle glimmers beneath the stone. “Yeah, it’s safe. Pretty strange for it to be out here, though.”

As he sketches Thurisaz (ᚦ) (which not only symbolizes thorns, defense and danger, but can also be used as a means to channel a power akin to Thor’s hammer, mlonjir) onto his staff, he smashes it against the mass of Labradorite; splitting what was once an enormous rock into 24 neatly divided; brilliant blue gems.

Gathering them up, he thrusts them before you. “Here you go. That was a pretty lucky find, if I do say so myself.”

You thank him for your help- making sure to also pay homage to the awesome power of your intuition at the same time, which tickles Caster right in the funny bone.

As soon as the stones drop into your hand; they crackle with an immensely powerful energy, as if these gems were waiting for you!!

As you turn them onto the side; you are gobsmacked to see rune inscriptions already engraved onto each and every stone, as if they were reacting to the mana flowing within your body.

You ask Caster to take a look at this strange phenomenon for you.

“Whoa, are you kidding me? That’s pretty awesome. Let me take a look, too.” As you gently stretch your palms towards Caster- trying to keep the runestones steady in your hands- he gently takes your palms, leaning towards them.

As he catches sight of the engravings lying upon them, his crimson eyes widen with bewilderment. “Holy shit...I think the gods just made you an offering. You’re secretly packing a shitload of power in there, ain’t you? Great job!”

Ruffling your hair, Caster grins. “Think you’ve got time for more teaching?”

As you nod your head, anticipation clear on your features; he plonks onto the ground, handing you a felt pouch. “Put them in there. Try doing your first reading, see what rune speaks to you first!”

Eagerly plonking all 24 runes into the sparkly pouch, you close your eyes and concentrate; beseeching the contact of the gods. Imagining yourself encountering the Nonrnir, as you visualize dropping into the center of the world; you place a hand within your pouch.

Rummaging around the bag, a single rune sends energy rippling through your fingers. That was the one! Pulling it out of the bag, you grin excitedly...only to see that it was none other than...

Nauthiz (ᚾ).

‘Aw shite...’ Disappointed by the rune, you sigh. You wished that your rune could’ve been a more positive one! However, Caster’s reaction was rather different to yours.

“Hey, it’s not as bad as it looks.” Figure illuminated by the sun, he looked much more chill than usual. “Nauthiz is all about your needs, you know? With all the singularities popping up recently, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re pushing yourself too far.”

“But this rune is basically saying ‘lol you’re suffering’...It’s frustrating.” You counter him.

You knew all too well about the massive strains your body was going through, the transformations you were forced to undergo. Sometimes, it was just too painful for you to bear. Seeing this rune only served as a reminder of that fact.

“How about you look at it from a different perspective? Even though things are way outta wack for you, a small fire still burns. Doesn’t Nauthiz look a bit like two twigs that you’d see in a fire?” Now that was a funny observation. As you smiled at that, he continued. “It just means that no matter how hard things become; all you gotta do is balance your needs and continue to fight. Nauthiz is also screaming ‘oi, damnit! Don’t give up here, you can survive and make it out the other side sparkling like brand new, you hear me??’”

You were very grateful to hear that. Now you realized that even the most ominous of runes also came with signs of fortune and peace.

In other words, they would be there to support you all the way. Thanking him for his great insight, he replies with a simple “Well, I’m the wise one you know? Anyway, you know the saying. Even the coldest of ice thaws someday.”

As you correctly link his adage to the runes, he claps with pride. “Nice, nice. Well, that’ll be all for my teaching. Soon you’ll be able to do readings with nine or more runes!”

But once you yell to him about how you want to use runes such as Kenaz (ᚲ) to fulfil your long-standing desire to set shit on fire; his expression hardens.

“I ain’t teaching you rune magic until you learn how to master rune divination. Don’t push your luck too far~ Come visit me again once you learn how to read the past, present and future with them!” As you indigently complain about how you still want to summon birch trees, and about how difficult it was to learn about the runes; he bursts into rancorous laughter. “That’s not my problem! C’mon, lay off a little...”

Frustrated, you finally give up, asking for one last request. “Caster. What rune will you get if you do a single reading? I would like to see.”

Begrudgingly adhering to your request, he unearths none other than the Ansuz (ᚨ) rune.

“Ah, my favorite. Well, that’s it for today. Let’s go back.” As he turns away, a frightening wind blows through the trees, as a dark shadow drifts over his figure.

In that very moment, he becomes a dark specter within a bountiful forest filled with brilliant light; as his form briefly flickers and shifts, melding into an entire kaleidoscope of distinct beings.

But all it took was a single blink for his form to return back to normal again.

How strange...Was that none other than an illusion? Were your eyes playing tricks with you? Silently trailing behind, you contemplated the meaning behind the rune he had drawn.

Ansuz...It commonly symbolized communication, breath, and chiefly of all...it was the rune that represented none other than Odin himself.

In addition to that, you saw how the rune landed on its side when Caster drew it, and the mysterious glint in his eyes.

Was Caster hiding something? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

‘Just who is Caster Cu really?’ Such a thought weighed dangerously heavy within your mind as the two of you took the steep path back home.

By learning more about the runes, you may have unlocked the door to an endless chasm of mysteries; one that had ties directly linking to the deeper truths lying behind Chaldea...

THE END

Omg this was only meant to be like 1,000 words. But I got extremely invested within this concept and was burning with great excitement, which lead to this becoming SUPER LONG XD Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this ;; Also dw learning runes in real life isn’t as hardcore as this, I promise you!

#fgo #fate series #caster cu #cu chulainn #sigurd #byrnhild #gilgablog #my writing #AAAAAH THIS TOOK 6 HRS IT WAS FUN VERY FUN BUT I ALSO WAS LOOKING AT ALL ME BOOKS ... but im like if dw wont do it then i will! so i did.

[feyredarlinq]

“azriel feels entitled to elain / azriel only wants elain because she’s the third archeron sister” (don’t even get me started on the whole “he only wants her for s3x”, i’ve already discussed it here) as if azriel stared to care for her, understand her, have feelings for her, fall in love with her towards the end of a court of silver flames - because this is when both feysand and nessian are official together, and that makes elain the third/last/spare sister or whatever - but that’s not what happened at all, unless you want to ignore everything that happened before acosf (*coughs* four books* coughs*) i mean, just to make a few examples: 

azriel / elriel in acomaf

a faint smile bloomed upon azriel’s mouth as he noticed elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork, but he kept silent (chapter 24)

elain said, “it’s all very disorienting.” “i can imagine,” azriel said. cassian flashed him a glare. but azriel’s attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. her shoulders loosened a bit. (chapter 24)

rhys chuckled, cassian’s wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and elain, noticing azriel’s ease as proof that things weren’t indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well. (chapter 24)

“and i think elain—elain would like it, too. though she’d probably cling to azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” i smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together. if the warrior ever stopped quietly loving mor. (chapter 49)

azriel / elriel in acowar 

azriel smiled faintly. “would you like me to show you the garden?” she seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. the wings peeking over them. but elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded—just once. azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. i couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “beautiful.” color bloomed high on azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them. (chapter 24)

“why not make them mates?” i mused. “why lucien?” (chapter 24)

“what if”—i jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden— “that is what she needs? is there no free will? what if lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?” (chapter 24)

the two illyrians paused their inspection of me long enough to note my sisters finishing up breakfast, nesta in a pale gray gown that brought out the steel in her eyes, elain in dusty pink. both males went a bit still. (chapter 30)

i dragged a hand over my face before going to elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “can i set you up in the garden? the herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” “i can help her,” said azriel, stepping to the table as elain silently rose. no shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand. nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as elain took his hand, and out they went. (chapter 30)

lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on elain, “should we—does she need …?” “she doesn’t need anything,” azriel answered without so much as looking at lucien. elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “we’re the ones who need …” azriel trailed off. “a seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “the cauldron made you a seer.” (chapter 32)

it made sense, i supposed, that azriel alone had listened to her. the male who heard things others could not … perhaps he, too, had suffered as elain had before he understood what gift he possessed. (chapter 33)

from the shadows near the entrance to the tent, azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “i’m getting her back.” nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. nesta said, “then you will die.” azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “i’m getting her back.” (chapter 64)

azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. “are you hurt?” she shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. “you came for me.” (chapter 65)

azriel still cradling elain to his chest. he dripped blood behind him the entire time—a trickle compared to the torrent that should be leaking out.” (...) rhys lunged for azriel, taking elain from him and gently setting my sister down. azriel rasped, swaying on his feet, “we need helion to get these chains off her.” (...) yet elain didn’t seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger’s cheek. (chapter 65)

elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in azriel’s scarred hand. the runes on the dark scabbard. “it has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” he gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “it will serve you well.” (...) “never,” rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. “i have never once seen azriel let another person touch that knife.” (chapter 69)

azriel / elriel in acofas

i don’t make a point of looking after his movements. “why?” not a flicker of emotion. “he is elain’s mate.” i waited. “it would be an invasion of her privacy to track him. to know when and if lucien sought her out. what they did together. “you sure about that?” i asked quietly. azriel’s siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. (chapter 7)

“do you think he can handle being around graysen?” az’s expressionless face was precisely the reason he’d never lost to us at cards. “why should I be the judge of that?” “you mean to tell me that you weren’t bluffing when you said you didn’t track lucien’s every movement?” nothing. absolutely nothing on that face, on his scent. the shadows, whatever the hell they were, hid too well. too much. (...) azriel only said coldly, “if lucien kills graysen, then good riddance.” (chapter 7)

azriel an a hand through his dark hair. “are we …” unusual for him to stumble with words. “are we supposed to get the sisters presents?” “no,” I said, and meant it. azriel eemed to loose a sigh of relief. seemed to, since all but a breath of air passed from his lips.” (chapter 7)

azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants. i felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. her throat bobbed. (chapter 12)

“pick on someone your own size,” cassian said to amren, shoveling roast chicken into his mouth. “i’d feel bad for the mice,” azriel muttered. mor and cassian howled, earning a blush from azriel and a grateful smile from elain—and no shortage of scowling from amren. but something in me eased at that laughter, at the light that returned to elain’s eyes. (chapter 12)

azriel strode to the lone window at the end of the room and peered into the garden below. “i’ve never stayed in this room.” his midnight voice filled the space (chapter 16)

“i had madja make it for me,” (...) elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “it’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. since you rub your temples so often.” silence again. then azriel tipped his head back and laughed. i’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous. (chapter 20)

elain smiled again, ducking her head. azriel mastered himself enough to say, “thank you.” i’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “this will be invaluable.” (chapter 20)

azriel and elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. whether he cared about such things, i had no idea, but i sent him a silent prayer of thanks for his kindness before rhys and i slipped upstairs. (chapter 22)

#as sjm said: I THOUGHT IT WAS OBVIOUS #elriel #pro elriel #azriel #elain archeron #elain x azriel #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #mp

[demig00ddess]

To the last breath

Pairing: Bill Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bill Weasley are former classmates, and now fiancé and fiancée, and brilliant Curse-Breakers working in tandem. The future promises to be great for both of you, but the last work assignment turns into a tragedy.

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood, injuries, death

Word Count: 1350

A/N: Forgot to post it yesterday. Sometimes, I get too hung up on the little things of the characters, but I'm interested in coming up with their own stories for these things. My first angst, don't judge strictly.

"These are the most boring dungeons in my life," your voice echoed off the stone walls. "At Hogwarts, at least, there was Snape in the dungeons. And what's here?"

"The skeleton tried to strangle me," Bill said, rubbing his neck. "This is not enough for you, love?"

"It was in the morning," you answered cheerfully, raising your wand higher to light the way, and twined your fingers together.

You have worked your way through the ruins of the ancient catacombs, in search of another lost goblin treasure. Your last assignment before your wedding and honeymoon. And your thoughts were absorbed by the worries of the upcoming celebration.

"Oh no!" you gasped. Bill twitched, shielding you from possible danger, holding out his wand in front of him. You put your hand gently on his shoulder, soothing him. "It's all right, dear. Sorry, I was just thinking. I promised to choose napkins for the banquet yesterday and completely forgot. Mrs Weasley will kill me!"

Bill let out a sigh of relief and lowered his wand, smiling.

"What kind of wedding would it be, then, without a bride? And mom asked to call her simply by the name. In a week, you will also become Mrs Weasley and there will be a terrible confusion," Bill laughed at the way you blushed, and hugged you from the back, kissing you softly on the temple. "We'll reach the vault soon."

You checked the map and continued on your way. Bill was not mistaken, after a couple of forks, you found yourself in a spacious round treasury resembling a well. Gold coins, jewellery, and weapons were piled up in it. Your trained eye of the Curse-Breaker immediately noticed several particularly valuable goblin-made items for which you will be awarded at Gringotts.

You and Bill cast a Protego charm and split up by going around the room from different sides. You stepped over a human skeleton, heading for the treasure. One of your work duties was to check the safety of everything you found, so you decided to do just that.

A few minutes later you put aside another absolutely ordinary goblet, which has dried blood or wine. Your attention was attracted by a large wooden box decorated with carvings with figures of wild animals. You lifted the lid and held up your wand, examining the contents. The box was full of different-sized bones, you winced, there could have been human ones among them. Taking from there a small, beautiful white fang, you closed the box and returned it to its place. Not cursed — not interesting. But you admired the fang. It belonged to a wolf or a werewolf, or some unknown creature.

"Look, it's so beautiful," you tossed fang to your fiance. "You can make a pendant or a cool earring. Can you imagine yourself with this, huh?"

"I don't have as much fantasy as you, honey," Bill laughed and threw it back at you. "Do you wanna pocket it?"

"Nobody needs this stuff anyway, the goblins are only interested in irons," you replied, knowing full well that he was only reproaching you in jest. Both of you are back to work. You were studying the treasure so that you wouldn't stumble upon some cursed thing. And Bill was examining the treasury itself, he was very interested in the magical writings on the walls.

Some shine on the floor attracted you. Only now you noticed magic circles inscribed in several places with small magic crystals in the middle under the layer of dust and sand. One of the crystals glowed brighter the closer Bill got to it, fascinated by the exploring of the wall.

"These're not runes, I've never seen this before," Bill ran his fingers along the wall. Distracted by his voice, you didn't notice him take another step forward. You looked down in horror when you saw that he had stepped on the edge of the circle.

"Bill!" your Protego charm dissipated when you flung Bill aside with a wave of your wand. A purple bolt of lightning shot out of the crystal, striking the spot where Bill had been standing a moment earlier. He flew off a couple of meters, hitting the wall with his back, but immediately got up.

"Great shot, love," Bill said, taking a couple of weak steps toward you.

"Oh, Merlin!" The curse barely hit him, leaving only a small cut on his arm. You laughed with relief and took a step toward him. "It was so clo— "

A scarlet beam of an identical magic crystal directly above your head hit your chest. You felt as if a thousand blades were simultaneously slashed through your skin and insides. Instead of a cry, a gurgling wheeze came from the throat and your mouth filled with blood. You took a step forward and collapsed into Bill's arms.

"No, Y/N!"

Your shirt instantly became damp and warm, and scarlet spots spread all over it. You were a limp doll lying on Bill's lap, unable to move. Blood mixed with your tears was flooding your face. It seemed like every cell in your body was torn apart. Red and black spots were flickering before your eyes.

"No no no!" Bill pulled a bottle of Essence of Dittany from his bag. He poured half of the potion into your mouth and tried to heal your wounds. But even a whole bath of essence could hardly help you. You felt it. You felt that nothing could stop it. You felt you were dying.

"We need to apparate to the hospital, hold on to me," Bill tried to lift you up, but lowered you in fright, hearing a painful moan.

"Don't," you whispered. He looked into your eyes with excruciating pain and slowly shook his head. He was powerless to do anything while you were dying in his arms.

"No, please." Bill put his palms around your face, warm and wet with your blood, and burst into tears. "Please, get up."

"It's okay," you smiled out of the corner of your mouth, his sight was tearing your heart hundreds of times stronger than a cutting spell.

"Don't leave me," Bill whispered. "Please, Y/N, don't leave me. I love you. I love you so much!"

You tried to smile again, but your face cramped. You wanted to tell him "I love you too." Merlin, how much you wanted to tell him! But each breath was more difficult, you were gasping, feeling your lungs filling with blood instead of air. Your legs went numb right away, and now you couldn't even feel your arms. The pain was gone. The picture in front of your eyes was floating and gradually disappearing as if someone was taking apart a solved puzzle. You opened your eyes wider, trying to see Bill's face once more, but it was all in vain. Darkness has closed around you.

× × × × × × × × × ×

Bill was sitting on the stone floor in a pool of blood, clutching your cooling body to him, and howling softly, choking on his tears. He couldn't tell how much time had passed when he finally put you down to the ground. His fingers, blood dried on them, trembled, closing your eyes with a glazed gaze. Bill kissed your cold forehead and leaned his forehead against it, shedding tears on your face.

He took off his jacket, and tore the unspotted side of his shirt into rags, which he used to gently wipe your face, and then the remaining wounds. Last of all, he straightened the engagement ring that glittered on your finger. A small thing fell out of your hand and rolled on the floor. Bill, almost not realizing what he was doing, picked it up to examine. It was the same fang that caught your attention. "A fang for his cool earring." Bill turned it over in his hands and put it in his pocket. Then he picked your body up bridal style, and, swaying slightly, went to the exit from the dungeon, leaving behind red, like rose petals, drops of blood.

#bill weasley #bill weasley x reader #harry potter #angst

[tenspontaneite]

Pigment

Callum discovers the wonders of elven pigments.

(The first of two pieces written for @falling-for-you-a-rayllum-zine, which is now having leftover sales!) ('Future' chapter; takes place post-s3, naturally not canon to TTM. Oneshot. 4k. Ao3 link)

---

The first time Callum was introduced to the concept of elvish pigment was, ostensibly, by Rayla’s skin. He’d noted the marks under her eyes in the same hurried, panicked glance that picked out the horns, the ears, the alarming points of the weapons in her hands…

He wondered about them, of course, but in the first frantic two weeks of their acquaintance, there really wasn’t a lot of time to ask about it. Not until the Storm Spire, when he sat mulling over the flight-runes on Ibis’ wings, and how they might have come to be there.

“…So, I’ve been wondering,” he said to Rayla, apropos of nothing, while she was tending to her equipment. She looked up as he began to speak, the armour momentarily forgotten. “Those…markings you have, the ones on your face—and the ones a lot of other elves seem to have—what are they?”

She blinked, and for a moment, her fingers rose to her face, as though only just remembering the marks were there. “They’re pigment?” She offered, squinting at him a little. “…Is that a trick question, or…?”

“No, really, I have no idea what they are.” He assured her. “I was never sure if they were tattoos, or…weird elf birthmarks, or something. But—pigment? Does that mean it’s like…ink? How do you get them on?” Tattoos, as he understood them, involved needles. He hoped elven pigment didn’t involve needles.

For a moment, Rayla stared at him, looking decidedly nonplussed. “You…paint them on?” She offered, still thrown. “With a brush? And then they stay there for a while. Half a year, maybe. Depends on how good your pigment is.”

“Huh.” Callum mused. For a moment, he was tempted to press further, to ask about the intricacies of various pigments and the application thereof…but he’d been asking for a reason, after all, and his attention remained there.

If they were painted on...then that boded well. That meant that it was something that he could do, if only for the presence of the pigment and a brush.

It wasn’t much later that, after a guilty rummage through Ibis’ things, Callum stood at the pinnacle of the Storm Spire and painted flight-runes onto his skin. That was his first true introduction to the pigments of elves. As an artist, he couldn’t help but marvel at it. The pigment was white, yet it entirely obscured the darker colour of his skin with only a single, easy stroke. Only one layer, and it was solidly opaque. It glowed a little—then settled utterly dry, clean, and steadfast upon his arms.

For a moment, he spared a thought to wish that his paints could be like that. He’d dabbled in every form of art medium he could get his hands on over the years, and he’d never worked with any pigment like this one. It would be gorgeous to paint with.

But then he was too distracted trying to fly to think about art any longer, and that was the last mind he paid to pigment for a while.

*

After the battle of the Storm Spire, he prevailed upon the use of a finer, neater brush, and filled in the edges of his flight-runes until the shape of each was perfect and immaculate. Ibis watched him with a critical eye, and nodded.

“The spell will come easier if the runes are tidy.” He said, approvingly. “You’ll need to re-apply the pigment every three months. Any longer than that and it will begin to fade—which isn’t so great an issue when the marks are merely aesthetic, but with runes…”

“I can see how you wouldn’t want these fading, no.” Callum said ruefully, and accepted the little bottle of white pigment with a murmur of gratitude. He tucked it into his things for the next time he and Rayla went travelling, and she smiled at him.

“Packing your pigment for the journey, Callum?” She remarked, a little teasing. “Think we’ll be gone that long, do you?”

He laughed, and shrugged, glancing down at one of his arms. “I guess it’s just in case, really. I shouldn’t need to touch them up again for months, but…you never know. Wouldn’t want to end up flightless for some reason.”

“I suppose you are a tad obsessed with flying, now.” She agreed, as if she wasn’t always finding excuses for him to sweep her up into the sky for another flight. She reached out, absentminded, and trailed a fingertip around the curve of one rune with the trace of a smile on her lips. “Still, if it came down to it, you could always borrow mine.”

He glanced up at her, startled. “Your pigment?” He checked, eyes settling on the marks beneath her eyes. “I didn’t know you had any with you.”

“I don’t. Need to pick some up from Ethari, when we visit.” She said, succinctly, and he supposed that was another reason for their stopping at Silvergrove on the way to Katolis. How long had it been, since she last refreshed her pigment? Did she need to do it again soon, or was she just planning for the future?

He stared at her for a moment, contemplating her, feeling his heart flutter with a familiar warmth. If her markings had faded at all since he met her, it wasn’t immediately obvious to him. They looked as clear and lovely as ever; a natural part of her face. It was strange to think of what she might look like without them.

Rayla eyed him, when he’d stared a little too long and smiled a little too softly, and huffed at him. Her cheeks pinked a little, the colour darkening her markings. “What are you looking at?” She muttered to him, a touch self-conscious. Rather than look away, he smiled at her all the wider, and captured the hand she had on his arm to plant a kiss on its fingers.

“You.” He said, very contentedly, and watched with pleasure as her face coloured and her fingers twitched beneath his touch.

“Dumb prince.” She sighed, a smile spreading unbidden and affectionate across her lips. It was beautiful, so of course he kissed that too. He felt the widening of that smile against his mouth, and lingered there for as long as she’d let him before she prodded him away to finish packing.

She gave his arms a strange look, though, when he next bared them. Appraising, almost, with a narrow-eyed sort of consideration. “…What?” He asked, when she’d been staring long enough to warrant the question.

“Your runes are…neat.” She said, tone as considering as her eyes. “Tidy.” She shook her head then. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, with all the art you do. Of course you’d be good at painting skin-pigment.” He eyed her, because there was clearly more to this observation than just surprise that he’d managed some tidy brushwork, but all she said when he asked was “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t believe her, obviously. Not with the way she kept shooting half-considering looks at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. But he didn’t press her, and she didn’t mention whatever was on her mind. In time, he forgot about it.

Until they were back in the Silvergrove.

*

Rayla asked Ethari, and within the minute he was pressing a small dark bottle and a fine brush into her hands. “I did wonder if you needed any.” He said, as she turned the glass over and the indigo liquid swirled around within. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” She agreed, pocketing the vial and the brush both. “It’ll start fading soon. So…thanks.”

He nodded at her, all warmth and familial affection. “Not a problem. Did you want me to help with that while you’re here?”

She hesitated, then, and for a moment…for a moment, her eyes slid to Callum, who’d been watching them idly over the top of his sketchbook. “…I’m good.” She settled on, eventually, and if there was anything particularly knowing about Ethari’s smile then, Callum didn’t notice it.

He kept drawing, content in that she was content, and happy to be in her home under happier circumstances than the first.

But then, later: “I wanted to ask you something.” Rayla said, abruptly, when it was just the two of them in what was ostensibly her childhood room. It had been adapted over the years for a growing teenager, but still maintained hints of the past lingering within its walls. He spotted a child’s doodle of a shadowpaw etched into the grain of the dresser, and suppressed a smile.

He turned to her, eyes crinkling a little at the thought of a tiny rambunctious Rayla who scrawled over the walls and furniture. “Yeah?” He responded, a little distracted, as he wondered if there were perhaps any baby or childhood portraits in residence somewhere. He should ask Ethari. If there were any to be found, surely he’d know.

That distraction fled the instant she spoke. “Will you paint my pigment for me?” She asked, directly, and his eyes shot to her at once. At his expression, she added, “You don’t have to. But it needs doing soon, or it’ll start fading faster.” She paused, looking a little more tentative as she said, “If you don’t want to, Ethari can—”

“No,” he blurted, clumsy, then scrambled to say “I mean, yes, I mean—I mean I’d like that. To help. To, er. Paint your pigment on.” He felt his face heat, in part from how he’d stumbled over the words, and in part because…well. He might not know a lot about elven pigment and elven markings, but he was fairly sure that they were…personal. That painting someone’s markings for them was personal.

His reply settled her, and she huffed, lips twitching with familiar fondness. “…Good.” She said, in the end, and surprised him by leaving the room without further word. He blinked after her, uncertain whether he was supposed to follow, but then she returned a bare few moments later with a towel and a wet cloth that she was already wiping her face with.

“Er,” he offered, perplexed, as she dried her face off and set the towel and cloth both down. He didn’t understand until she plucked the bottle of pigment from her dresser and pressed it into his fingers. “Now?” His voice was something of a squeak, and she rolled her eyes.

“When else?” She asked, procuring a brush and giving him that too. “We’re setting off tomorrow. Now’s best.” She paused. “…That okay?”

Her voice had gone tentative again, and his chin jerked up, fingers tightening around brush and bottle as if worried she’d take them away. “No, yeah, it’s okay,” he assured her, and then laughed, a little nervously. “I just…wasn’t expecting it.” He cleared his throat, and took a closer look at the brush. It was like the one he’d filled his own runes in with, fine and delicate and short enough that it didn’t seem liable to flick off in weird directions. “…So I just…paint this onto your face?” He asked, after a moment, feeling his cheeks heat for reasons he couldn’t quite put to words. It felt special, in a way that was hard to describe.

“That is how it works.” Rayla answered, dryly, and then tugged him by the rune-adorned arm until they were both sitting on the floor, towel and cloth at close remove. He supposed those were there in case of spillages, though considering how quickly elvish pigment took hold, he wasn’t sure how much good a towel would do. He wondered if there was some sort of solvent, magical or otherwise, that was up to the task of dissolving pigment like this.

“What happens if I make a mistake when I’m putting your pigment on?” He wondered aloud, only half directing it at her. “Do you just have to walk around with it on your face for months?”

She snorted, and shook her head. “Nah. There’s pigment-remover for that.”

A little tension eased from his shoulders. “Oh, good,” he sighed, relieved. “That’s much less pressure, then.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Just paint my face, Callum.”

He chuckled at her, a little nervously, and uncapped the bottle. The liquid inside was so much darker than the pigment he used, and bizarrely true in its colour. Usually, inks tended to look much darker than their actual colour when they were in the bottle. It was only when you painted them onto a page that you could see how light and bright they were. This, though…it was just solid, liquid indigo, as if someone had distilled the concept of the colour of Rayla’s markings and spilled it into a bottle. “This would be amazing to paint with.” He murmured, somewhat distractedly, watching the pigment shimmer in the low light.

Rayla didn’t answer that, which was unusual enough that his eyes darted to hers, and found her looking strangely thoughtful. She shook her head, though, as if to dispel some thought, and started giving the pigment bottle and the brush some very meaningful looks. He laughed, softly, and obeyed the unspoken command; he dipped the brush in, drained off the excess, and then lifted it. It was dyed the same solid, true indigo—a colour that he was about to put onto her skin.

It hit him then, or at least started to; he looked between the brush and her face and felt his breath catch at—at something. It felt a little like panic, a little like wonder, a little like the breathless infatuation she always managed to inspire in him. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do with it, and just…stared at her, heart beating wildly at—at the trust, and the honour, that he couldn’t help but feel she’d given him.

She was looking impatient by the time he finally moved, and likely would have spoken if not for how he shuffled closer, until their knees were touching. Her mouth closed, watching him, eyes settling on his own as he reached towards her. His fingers brushed the edge of her jaw, feather-light, as tentative as he always was when he remembered that someone as amazing as her had deigned to be with someone like him. His breath caught in his throat as he lifted his hand, thumb tracing tenderly along a cheek that warmed beneath his touch.

He cupped her face in his hand, then, unable to resist the impulse, and she leaned into it without even thinking. Her eyes fell half-lidded for a moment, the smallest smile twitching at the edges of her lips, and he wanted to kiss her. That wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing, but—but he wanted to, and she was smiling at him, and her eyes were soft and warm in the quiet and low light of the room—

So, he kissed her, and she huffed an amused breath against his lips, lifting a hand to trail affectionate fingers along the side of his neck. “This doesn’t feel like face-painting to me.” She murmured to him, fond and teasing at once, and he wouldn’t have been surprised for a moment if his heart stopped beating for the strength of how much he loved her. “Weren’t you supposed to be doing something?”

He laughed, a little breathless, and the warmth of it spilled between them. “Yeah.” He agreed, helplessly, drawing back with her fingers still warm on his neck and his hand still cupped to her cheek, and paused for a moment to treasure the sight of her looking at him like that. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was that she loved him. He didn’t think he’d ever believe it. “I’ll just…get on that.”

She withdrew her hand, and watched him. Waiting.

His fingers shifted on Rayla’s face, moving to press his thumb gently to the side of the marking under her left eye. Pulling at the skin, ever-so-slightly, to allow for painting it more evenly. Another urge struck him, but this time he suppressed it. He could kiss her cheek-markings later. For now, he was supposed to be painting them. And so…

With an almost reverent care, he lifted the tip of the brush to her face, hovering just above her skin with a heady mixture of breathless wonder and breathless trepidation. He exhaled, softly, and felt her eyes upon him. Watching, warm and fond and expectant.

Finally, with the utmost care, he touched the brush to her skin.

She flinched a little at the touch so close beneath her eye, but he’d expected that. He held the brush steady and traced a slow, perfect line down her cheek, along the edge of the extant marking, like a dark border to the fading colour. And it was fading; he could see that now. It wasn’t noticeable on its own, but with the contrast of the fresh pigment beside it, it was fully obvious that the old colour had begun waning.

With the brush to her skin, Callum’s hushed awe fell in step with the breadth of his skill and practice. He’d never put brush to someone else’s skin before, but that did nothing to diminish his skill. He knew brushwork, and he knew the delicacy needed for fine detail, and…and, in the end, this was easy. Just tracing around an existing marking, and filling it in. There could be nothing easier.

He drew the pigment across her skin in smooth, effortless lines. He traced the borders of her marking and then filled it in, up until when the brush began to run empty, and he had to go for the bottle again. The colour settled fast, immediate, and perfect upon her face, with that gorgeous fidelity he’d never seen in any other pigment or paint or ink in all his life. It was a pleasure to use it, and all the more that he was using it for this.

Callum fell half into an artist’s trance for the remaining minutes it took to finish. He filled the left marking in, stark and perfect, then shifted his fingers tenderly to her other cheek, and repeated the process. When he was done, there was nothing but perfect lines and perfect colour upon a face that he loved.

He smiled, small and satisfied, and set the brush aside. “Done.” He murmured, and leaned forward to press his forehead to hers, cradling her face in both hands. It felt strange, to risk touching her skin when he’d only just painted it. But that was the wonder of elvish pigment; it dried the moment it was applied, and permitted no possibility of smearing whatsoever. He stroked his thumbs beneath her eyes and felt more happy, more tender, more loving than he’d ever known. “Perfect.” He murmured, reverential, the words meant for more than the pigment.

Her eyes blinked across from his own, and he loved them. Loved her. She brought her arms up and drew him closer, one hand splayed on the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ll have you do me some new markings, someday.” She murmured to him, in the end, a small and secret smile at the edges of her lips. He stared at her, spellbound, for the three beats of his heart that lingered between her smile and her movement. She leaned in and closed the meagre distance between them, the kiss soft and sweet and all the more perfect for how dearly he adored her.

He imagined, for a second, drawing that ink-brush again along her skin. Imagined it between her fingers, along her arms, casting indigo whorls about her shoulders. He thought of new pigment, new markings, and the sheer delight of being the one who got to put them there. His heart fluttered. “I’d like that.” He said, against her lips, and she kissed him again.

“Good.” When she drew back, the markings were still stark and beautiful beneath her eyes, where he’d painted them. The sight of them left him a little breathless, even now, unable to shake the sense that he’d been afforded an enormous privilege, a gift of worth beyond measure.

Someday, he hoped, she’d afford him that gift again.

*

Callum saw the fruits of Rayla’s thoughtful consideration and furtive glances a while later, when July came around and he was startled from thinking about her birthday by the arrival of his own. She cornered him with palpable satisfaction, and gave him a parcel that she very clearly expected him to be delighted with.

She wasn’t wrong.

He unveiled an array of small bottles; thirty-six hues of true and perfect elvish pigment, distilled for the purpose of painting. He beheld them all with a nearly breathless joy, finding the little parcel of pigment-brushes, the bottle of solvent, the masking-fluid….

“You like it?” Rayla asked, with a broad and decidedly smug smile on her face. She clearly already knew the answer.

“I love it.” He pronounced, and set at once to trying them out.

The very first thing he painted was her. She watched him, and huffed as she saw the familiar lines of her own face taking form on the page, pleased and exasperated all at once. She never did seem to understand why he drew her so often, but that was okay. And, with these pigments…

The colours were spectacular, brighter and more intensely pigmented than anything he’d ever seen. He found himself utterly swept away in the delight of using them, and hours later, emerged from his artist’s trance to the completed work: Rayla in the early evening of the Silvergrove, her hair and eyes gleaming softly with the gentle illumination of the lights and moon-moths around her. It was one of the finest works he’d ever produced, and at the sight of it, he concluded the process of falling helplessly in love with Elvish pigment.

Rayla, for all her embarrassment at being painted, seemed to approve of it too. “You picked that up quickly.” She noted, handling the edges of the thick paper with the delicate care it deserved.

“These pigments are my new favourite thing.” He declared, arranging the bottles a little more tidily beside him. His eyes rested, a little consideringly, over another wide sheet of paper. He stared at it for a long while, growing quiet and solemn, and eventually reached out to take it.

He had his birthday traditions to observe, after all.

The second thing he painted with the elven pigments was his family portrait, atrophied and truncated by tragedy. There was no Sarai there, and hadn’t been for years. No Harrow, and that was a new pain. He felt the ghosts of their absence in the lines he didn’t draw, in the colours that never fell upon the page, in the voids of grief that they left in his life.

But there were new faces now, too.

With quiet, exquisite care, he drew himself. He drew Ezran, older now, wearing a mantle that had come for him too soon. He drew Bait in his brother’s arms. He drew Aunt Amaya. And, tenderly: he drew Azymondias and Rayla. The outlines took form, and as the hours passed, elvish pigment filled them in.

In the end, he had his family portrait again. Changed, and echoing with its empty spaces, but…

Quiet, from her place beside him, Rayla slipped her hand into his own.

“Come on,” She said, with the small but tender smile that he loved. “Zym has a present for you too. He’ll be disappointed if he can’t give it to you today.”

Callum exhaled, and let her fingers tighten around his, pulling him up to his feet beside her. His own smile slipped onto his lips. “Then we’d better go find him.” He said, casting a last glance at the portrait on the table. He didn’t resist it when she tugged on his fingers, pulling him away.

With a strange, quiet serenity, he followed her out into the light.

---

end.

This is word-for-word what was published in the Rayllum zine 'Falling For You'; I have made no changes. It’s the shorter and less impressive of my two pieces, but I hope you liked it anyway.

I’ll potentially be making some minor edits to the second piece before posting, given I intend to continue it - in fact, I’ve already got like three extra chapters of it written, though small ones. I’m considerably more excited about that one, so stay tuned!

#rayllum #rayllumzine #tdp fic #tdp callum #tdp rayla #seriously though the soulmate au piece is good times #looking forward to everyone being able to read it #had to do word count negotiations to get a piece that long into the zine lol #the mods kindly granted me a couple extra ks #and then I decided to reduce my word limit for this first piece by 1k so I could shift that to the more exciting piece too #it deserved every word I could give it #this one is nice don't get me wrong #i'm just not made for short decisive pieces #and the soulmate AU's ending is VERY MUCH open-ended #and inviting follow-up #which I then wrote and shared with my closest cohorts #awaiting the day it could be published #looking forward to seeing the comments on my baby

[mortalfaerie]

To Fake an Engagement (M.F.)

part 3/?

mathew fairchild x (fem) reader

wordcount: 3k

synopsis: part 3 of this series. reader and mathew are reunited at the london intstitute’s famous christmas party, and spend some impromptu alone time in the games room, where those 3 little words make an appearance. flirty, but no smut (yet). no coi spoilers.

You couldn’t help but feel something had shifted for the better after Anna’s party. Winter had descended now, covering London in a constant white cover, but you still wrote letters regularly to Matthew on the days you didn’t see him, and he wrote you back enthusiastically. 

As Christmastime approached, Will and Tessa sent invites to the annual Christmas Ball at the Institute to members of the Enclave, and you diligently ticked off the days on your calendar to December 25th. Shadowhunters didn’t typically exchange gifts or celebrate in the way of many mundanes, but as it aligned with the time that the greater demon, Lilith, was banished to Edom, it warranted note and minor celebration among the nephilim. 

But, for the young and carefree members of the Enclave, it was a party, and that was enough. 

Your dress for the event had been a gift from your parents, and was far more extravagant than the practical day dresses you normally favored. All the same, you felt a sense of private vanity as you regarded yourself in your bedroom mirror, dressed and styled for the occasion. The dress was a lovely green velvet, ideal for the colder weather, with wide, slashed sleeves and lace trim. Your maid had drawn your hair up in the popular “Gibson Girl” style, with stray curls framing your face and a decorative sprig of winterberries tucked into a hairpin. You felt, seeing yourself, like you were viewing a rare exotic animal, far from what you displayed on a day to day basis.

With a knock on your bedroom door, your maid alerted you that your family was gathering in the foyer to depart soon, and you gethered your skirts and hurried downstairs. You shrugged on your coat and allowed your mother to fuss over you a moment before shooing you into the carriage. Your father nodded in that sort of patriarchal approval most moderately wealthy fathers did, and asked if you had your weapon on you- you turned out your pocket to show the hilt of your dagger, sheathed over your petticoat. He nodded again, satisfied, and you were on your way.

The Institute at Christmastime never failed to amaze you. Tessa had an admirable eye for design, and always the ballroom and foyer were transformed with berries, bobbles, garlands, and sprigs of pine. There was even a felled tree decorated in the entrance, which had carved wood rune ornaments adorning it. As your parents greeted the heads of the Institute, Tessa tapped you on the shoulder to whisper, “They’re gathered in the games room, if you’d like to join them.”

There was no need to clarify “them,” it was only ever your closest friends, the merry thieves, Lucie, and now Cordelia too. You nodded and excused yourself, gathering your skirts and hurrying down the corridor to the closed doors of the games room, where you took a deep breath and pushed through.

When you entered, you found James and Christopher engaged in animated conversation, while Matthew, Cordelia, Thomas, and Lucie surrounded the billiards table as Lucie lined up a shot. Just as she cracked the balls on the carpeted table, the doors clicked shut behind you and all turned to look. A soft silence fell across them for a few seconds as they looked at you, and then Lucie broke it by throwing down the billiards stick and exclaiming, “Oh, good! Y/N, you’re here at last.” and enveloped you in a hug. 

You laughed at her enthusiasm, and went to greet the others. Having not seen eachother in some time now due to the weather, hugs were exchanged when normally they were not upon greeting, and Thomas patted the berry garland in your hair, commenting that you had not gotten taller in the past weeks, to which you stuck out your tongue.

The room resumed its activities before you had arrived, and you took a spot against the wall behind the billiards table, where it was now Cordelia’s turn. Matthew drifted back from the table to lean against the wall beside you. Matthew, unlike the others, had not hugged you in greeting, but smiled warmly and kissed your gloved hand.

“Hello again.” He murmured as he took his place beside you.

“Hello yourself.” you replied, bumping him with your hip.

“Is it too soon to ask for your first dance tonight?” he asked, his voice still a whisper. You turned to regard him, but saw he was serious.

“Well, Mr. Fairchild,” you said with mock formality, “my affections are not otherwise engaged.” 

He smiled and replied, “Most capital. I should look forward to meeting you on the dance floor, Miss. Y/L/N.”

After that, the comfortable silence slipped over you again, as it had at Anna’s party. Your hands were close enough at your sides that your fingers brushed his, and you noticed him looking down thoughtfully as they did. 

Before long, Will appeared at the door to tell you the enough guests had arrived that you all should make your way to the ballroom, and Lucie came to link her arm in yours, just as James took Cordelia’s hand, and the remaining 3 walked side by side. You thought to yourself, watching James and Cordelia warmly proceed ahead of you, that their fake marriage seemed to be faring better than you anticipated. Perhaps, not all sentiment they displayed for the public was fake.

In the ballroom, guests were finding their places at seats arranged along the walls, and you let Lucie guide you to a table in the corner, where often the 7 of you congregated during balls. As the piano turned out a german waltz, Will and Tessa took to the floor, as the hosts always have the first dance together. As they did, the young members of the enclave began to talk amongst themselves, finding partners for the next dance. Matthew found his way to your side just as the waltz ended, and the piano began into a joyful portland tune. 

“Shall we?” he asked, a gleam in his eyes.

You grinned in return. “I believe we shall.” 

He led you onto the dancefloor, where you took your place alongside other pairs, and began in with the lively, gliding steps of the portland polka. You laughed intermittently throughout it- the polka was a fast, fun dance, leaving little time for conversation. It was a dance to have with an experienced partner, one whose company you were comfortable in. Over the past 3 months, Matthew had proved to be all of those things, and you couldn’t help but smile as he spun you about.

At the end of the set, you bowed to each other, as was custom, and he asked, “Join me to procure refreshments?” 

You held out your hand for him to take, which he did eagerly. “Lead the way.”

He offered you a sherry as you passed the refreshments, and he told you all the gossip he had gleaned from his parent’s conversations over the past few weeks as you leisurely walked a circuit around the ballroom. You smiled and laughed at his comments, but secretly you were anxious that he would drink too much as the night went on. You didn’t mind him drinking a bit, you thought, and it was fun sometimes to drink with Matthew, but you detested being truly drunk yourself, and you had waited weeks to see Matthew again in person, you wanted to savor this Matthew, uninhibited, as best you could.

You sipped your drink until you emptied it, at which point he suggested you dance again. You knew that to dance with the same man multiple times was to declare your interest, but it was well known you two were friends, so it shouldn’t seem so odd. You let him lead you in a country dance, and then turned you to Thomas, then Christopher, and even James, who was as he always was, the picture of propriety. When came a partner dance, you even danced with Cordelia, who was remarkably graceful, and then Lucie for a more jaunty circle dance that you both tripped and giggled through. 

After an hour of dancing, you had slipped back to the wall near the table when you felt a tap on your shoulder. It was Matthew, who said, “Blast. I seem to have lost something in the games room. Would you come with me to look? I could use another pair of eyes.” 

You smirked. “A button, perhaps? You do have so very many on your frock coat today. But, yes I shall help you, Matthew.”

He linked his arm through yours, and led you to the games room, making cordial conversation the way there. When you reached it, you slipped in and found it empty. Still, not wanting to make a loud noise, you gently pushed the doors shut behind you and leaned against them. Matthew, several feet away, regarded you.

“I didn’t lose anything here, Y/N.” he said, his voice low.

You cocked an eyebrow in confusion. “Then why did you-” but he cut you off short.

“I missed you.” he said, quiet, as through confiding a secret. Your heart swelled, but you worked to steady it. 

“I am here. You have been with me all night.” you breathed. “How can you miss me?”

He walked closer to you, standing only about a foot away. “I have been missing you every moment I am not alone with you.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, your blush creeping up your neck. “Do not play with my heart, Matthew.” you warned, quiet as a mouse.

He placed his hand with the ring- your family ring- over his heart and said, “I am not playing with anything, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched and you clicked closed the lock of the door. The sound of it sliding into place reverberated through the room. You stared into his emerald eyes, searching for the sign of a lie or a joke, but found none. 

Finally, your heart in your throat, you said just loud enough for him to hear, “Then kiss me, Matthew Fairchild.”

He obliged, his ring-clad hands coming to cup your face, leaning down to close the distance between you, and you gasped and rose onto your toes to meet him. Your arms came around him, one on his chest and another on his back, holding him to you. You could feel his pulse, wildly fast, under his shirt and vest, and he pressed his lips to yours in a movement that was both patient and frantic, practiced and entirely unready. 

You knew Matthew had kissed people before. You had seen it, actually, at parties and at The Devil’s Tavern. Even still, his hands shook as he cupped your face, and you moved to cover them with your own, to assure him that you wanted this too. 

Instinct taking over, your lips parted as he moved against them, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. You made a small noise of surprise but didn’t pull away, instead pressing yourself further against him. A sort of need burned inside you, a need to be as close as you possibly could. Your hands moved to knot in his golden hair, feeling the softness of it, and he made a noise akin to a moan against your lips when you closed your fingers around a tuft of his hair firmly. Startled, you pulled back to look at him, and he returned your look of surprise.

His face was flushed, lips pink from the pressure of kissing, and his green eyes were glazed with want. “Sorry.” he murmured somewhat sheepishly. Now, that was a moment to remember, a sheepish Matthew. “I… liked the feeling of it. I didn’t think.”

You playfully bumped his head in response. “Don’t be. I was just surprised.” 

This was the Matthew you loved. Unguarded, smiling in earnest, he looked like he had when you had first met him, the look of childlike wonder restored in his eyes. You moved your hand to his cheek and he leaned into it, looking at you with an expression that was so warm and full of awe. 

“Wait a second.” you said, and moved to pull off your gloves. On your hand, catching the witchlight, was the Fairchild ring, hidden under your dress gloves but worn as a private reminder, as a hopeful prayer. He smiled seeing it glint as you placed your gloves on the bookshelf beside the door. Then, you turned to him again and said very matter of factly,

“I want you to kiss me again.” 

This time, you were ready. More confidently, you let your hands travel up his back, savoring the smoothness of his silk vest. He cradled your head like you were all that was precious in the world, and the kiss became faster, more eager, until you parted again, panting. 

“Can I pick you up?” he asked.

 You furrowed your eyebrows, but nodded. In response, he swept you up in his arms, leaving you to wrap your arms around his neck. You didn’t look away from him as he carried you to the billiard table and sat you on it, making your height level. Your legs dangled off the edge, and you kicked off your shoes mindlessly and you grabbed hold of his tie and loosened it. With your hand still around the knot of it, you pulled, bringing him back to you as his hands went to steady himself on either side of you on the table surface.

“Y/N…” he murmured against your lips. It was like a question, a warning, and a plea all at once. 

“Please.” you murmured in response, and he moved to devour your lips again. 

Suddenly, you heard someone try the handle of the door. At once, you were thankful both that you hadn’t lit any more lights than the usual witchlight, and that you locked the door behind you. Likely, it was another young couple looking to steal away somewhere, and they moved along the hallway in search of some other place. Matthew dropped his head into the crook of your shoulder and cursed, as you threaded your fingers idly in his hair. 

When you were certain they had passed, he pulled back and looked at you. “What are we doing?” he asked, a little breathy.

“I- well, you were kissing me.” you supplied, missing the warmth of his body.

“No, I mean, what are we doing? What is this?” he asked, gesturing to the space between you.

You removed your hands from his hair and wrung them in your lap. “Well, I... I enjoyed my evening very much so far, please don’t think that I haven’t.”

He placed a hand over yours to stop you from worrying at them. “But are we doing this because of the deal? Because it’s convenient?” 

Your heart fractured at the suggestion. Haughtily, you scooted off the table and paced, shoeless, away from him.

“Y/N?” he asked to your back.

“Do not speak about convenience to me.” you said, more sternly than you intended.

“What does that mean?” he asked, an edge of exasperation in his voice.

You whirled. “It means, Matthew,” you pointed an accusatory finger at him, “that I have loved you since I was 14 years old, so do not think to speak to me about convenience!” you hissed, still aware that you had to keep your voice down.

Matthew laughed humorlessly and raked a hand through his hair. 

You simmered in your building rage. “You said you would not play with my heart.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he replied, “And I am not.”

“Then why would you suggest that you have brought me to an empty room and kissed me because of convenience?” you demanded.

“I suppose I thought because you would lose so little in this deal, that it might just be convenient excitement for you!” he exclaimed in a harsh whisper.

Your face burned. “I had thought better of your opinion of me.” you moved to go grab your shoes, but he caught your arm.

“I had no idea that you loved me!” he said, trying to halt you in your path. 

“Why else would I agree to this?” you demanded. “Why else would I hope that at the end of a year, you might love me? Why keep the ring?” you flashed your hand to him. “Why entertain ideas of marriage, Matthew? Why suggest I marry you if you didn’t think I loved you?”

“Because I didn’t want to think I would have to be alone!” he admitted. His eyes were sparkling with the suggestion of tears in the dim witchlight, but none spilled over.

You couldn’t take it. You might have been red with frustration and deeply annoyed with him, but you never could stomach Matthew to think so desperately low of himself. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his chest in a hug, and he froze, then enveloped you. 

“Matthew, you would never be alone. You have a parabatai, friends, and you would have found love regardless.” you assured him, but you felt the tremble of his body and accepted his nonresponse as him trying not cry. You hugged him closer, and listened to his heart rate as it began to finally slow, and his breaths became more even. 

“I don’t deserve you.” he said quietly.

“That is not for you to decide.” you countered, not releasing your hold on him. “I am happy when I am with you.”

He rested his chin on your head as he spoke, “But would you be happy if you married me?”

“Not for you to decide.” you repeated. “A marriage is a partnership. Its success would be as much my work as yours.”

He was quiet for a moment, before taking your face and turning it to him. “If you would marry me,” he began, “I would be forever thankful to you. I would spend each day in service of your happiness.” 

You kissed him again, sweetly this time, savoring his taste. When you pulled away, you said, “We should return to the ball before there’s much suspicion. Oh, and fix your tie and hair.” 

Matthew’s hand went indignantly to his hair, which was thoroughly mussed by your hands.

You smiled as you put your shoes back on and gloves, then peeking out of the door to be sure no one was there. You slipped out, Matthew’s arm cordially laced in yours, as you cut through to the kitchen to grab a piece of cake. While slipping through the adjoining sitting room with your spoils, you found your friends already there, having stolen some of the cake as well. 

“There you are!” Cordelia exclaimed, and gestured for you to join them, hiding out from the ball. 

James snickered, however, and added, “But first, look up.”

Confused, you looked first to Matthew, and then up to the archway above you, where a sprig of mistletoe was hung, probably by Bridget, with her folk traditions. 

You flushed immediately, and began saying, “Oh, really-” but before you could finish, Matthew snaked an arm around your waist and pressed a sweet, soft kiss to your mouth. You broke away, still blushed a deep red and regarded your friends who wore expressions of laughter, surprise, and suspicion. Lucie regarded you with a look that said you’d be explaining yourself later. For now, though, you went to join your friends eating pilfered Christmas cake as the night went on.

#matthew fairchild #matthew fairchild x reader #the mortal instruments #the last hours #the infernal devices #the dark artifices #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare

[prongsies]

Erised • James Potter

PAIRING: James Potter x Black!Reader REQUEST:  James Potter falling in love with Sirius Black's younger sister whose in Slytherin house? She could be in-between Sirius and Regulus or younger than the both of them. - @victoriawayne-todd​​ WARNINGS: Mild language, bit sexually suggestive A/N: I’m just going through the requests now omg I’m sorry it took so long!

When James Potter fell in love with Lily- well, more of when he found himself deeply infatuated with her, it had been quick, like a sudden snap of a finger. He saw her at the Great Hall then, at aged 11, and he had never seen anyone as beautiful as her in his life. But that’s as far as it goes, he realizes now that he’s 16, his admiration for her stops at her physicalities, Sure, she’s got on hell of a personality as well, but they just don’t click the way he wanted to.

When he fell in love with (y/n) Black, however, he had managed to feel everything in slow motion. You see, while Lily’s was a snap of a finger, with (y/n) it was the slow flickering of a flame back to life- the drizzle of rain before the actual storm. 

It started off simple really, how James just ends up noticing small things about her like the way her bottom lip would stick out in a pout when she’s deep in thought, or how her tongue would show when she grins. They were just adorable quirks then, something James would notice out of the blue.

In the middle of that year was when he started feeling things, the rush in his system when her hand would brush his, the butterflies in his stomach when they’d meet each others eyes and she’d give him that lopsided grin, the breathlessness he’d feel whenever she’d wrap her arms around him. It was getting worse for James, his feelings were overwhelming.

It didn’t help when she spent the summer with some of her friends, because as much as James wanted a break from his feelings, he found himself missing her.

So in his seventh year, when they finally meet again in Platform Nine 9 3/4 for James final year and (y/n)’s sixth, he couldn’t help but pull her into the tightest hug that he can, taking her scent in, and not missing the way her fingers twirled the hair in the nape of his neck, sending goosebumps down his arms. It was quite embarrassing when she noticed it, smiling up at him as she reached over to rub his arms to calm it, which only made it worse because now the soft palm of her hands were rubbing against her skin.

“You alright, Prongs?” Sirius had asked once they settled into a compartment. (y/n) had left moments ago to join her friends, promising them she’d join them in the Great Hall for the feast.

“I’m alright” James replied. But he was far from it, especially since the thought of his best friend’s younger sister wouldn’t leave his mind. 

James had been made Head Boy that year, working alongside Lily Evans, the Head Girl. Younger him would’ve been ecstatic at the thought of spending more time with her, but now? not really. (y/n) had been made the sixth year Slytherin Prefect as well, Sirius told him, after the student who assumed the role dropped out of Hogwarts this year.

James thought as Head Boy she’d be the one approaching him for the assignation of duties or maybe to ask for some advice, but she usually came to Remus, which made James feel... weird.

They were in the courtyard one Saturday afternoon when she came bounding down towards them with a big smile on her face. James found himself staring at her as she propped herself onto the space between Remus and Sirius, stretching her legs outward, mimicking their positions.

“Hey Rem, can we do rounds together tonight? I wanna show you something in the seventh floor hallway I think you’d like” She said as she swung her legs over Remus’s lap, a habit of hers she only does to people she’d comfortable with.

“I’m afraid I’m not the one assigned to make that decision, love” Remus replied, James watching the way the mousy haired boy’s hand patted her knee as she chuckled. His eyes snapped up in surprise when Remus’ finger directed up towards him, pointing, “How about you ask James?”

(y/n)’s head turned towards him, the grin still prominent on her face, “James?”

“Well...” James started off teasingly, wanting to see her reaction. “I don’t think that’s a good idea...” He tapped a finger to his chin.

“C’mon James!” She was quick to her feet, tackling him onto the ground earning a loud mix of a groan and a laugh from the bespectacled boy as his back hit the . She was on his stomach now, straddling him as she let out a loud laugh. James was praying she wouldn’t notice how rapidly his heart was beating against his chest (and the thing going on... down there) - a dead giveaway of his feelings for her.

With one last laugh, she got off of him, proceeding to widen her grey eyes towards him in a pleading look while her bottom lip jutted out in a pout. She looked far too gorgeous that James would give anything in the world even if she wouldn’t say it, and so without much thought he mumbled a “Sure”

“Thank you!” She was gone before James knew it, returning back to her to the castle without so much as another word to the three of them. ___

“Maybe I’ll take you two there too” came (y/n)’s voice as James and Sirius walked her to her next class. Usually, James wouldn’t come along whenever she and her older brother would spend time between classes, but since he had dropped some of his subjects that year, he figured he could join them from time to time.

“What did Moony say?” Sirius asked softly. 

“How about I’ll tell you later? when we’re... alone”

“I can leave if you wish” James piped in, pausing his steps to look at the siblings. It seemed they had private matters to talk to, and James didn’t want to intrude just because he’s harboring feelings for the girl.

“Oh, don’t fuzz, Jamesy. I’m near my class anyway” She grinned at him. “I guess I’ll see you two later then”

With that, she reached over to land a peck on Sirius’ cheek - which the older boy wiped off in mock-disgust, before doing the same to James, who had instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist as she did so.

James didn’t know if it was just him, but did her lips manage to linger on his cheek longer? Her cheeks were tinted pink when she pulled away, her lips fighting off a smile. With a wave of her hands, she turned to walk away, her footsteps far quicker than usual.

“Mate, you alright?” Sirius asked once again, staring at James this time. He watched as the bespectacled boy’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, and that is when it clicked. “James, do you like my sister?”

“What?! No- like your sister, that’s hilarious, Pads”

“So you think it’s hilarious someone would like my sister” Sirius crossed his arms over his chest with a questioning look. The smirk on his face had gone unnoticed by James, who had tried his hardest to deny his obvious feelings for the girl with the grey eyes and the dark hair.

“No, it’s not that-”

“It’s a yes or no question, Prongs. All you have to do it to pick one”

“YES, ALRIGHT!” James had screamed in his flustered state, earning looks from the students passing by them. In a flash, Sirius’ smirk turned into a grin, before ultimately becoming loud laughter. 

“That’s good to know”

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ll find out eventually” Sirius shrugged before walking ahead, but not before turning to look at James with a smirk. ___

“Hey (y/n), wait up!” James exclaimed, running after the dark-haired girl who had just left her Potions class. There was an unreadable expression on her face, but she was quick enough to send a smile towards him, pausing to allow James to catch up to her.

“So what are your plans for the rest of the day?” James asked, nerves building in his stomach. He wanted to tell her how he felt about her today, as soon as he can before he ultimately chickens out.

“Nothing really” She shrugged, “Although I was planning to visit the seventh floor again. If you want you can come with me? I do recall telling you I wanted to take you and Siri there, but we can wait til he’s free if you want”

“We can go now” James replied with a smile, “Besides, I’ve got something to tell you”

“Of course” She grinned before looping her arms around James’. With every floor they ascended into, James couldn’t help but feel more and more nervous. They’re alone. In an abandoned corridor. Where James would finally tell the girl he loves how much she meant to him.

His breath hitched when they finally made it to the seventh floor, his eyes scanning the room for anything peculiar that might’ve caught (y/n)’s eyes to have her returning here every chance she gets. However, they walked deeper into the halls of the castle, into a room James had never been to before.

“Promise me you wouldn’t tell anyone about this okay?” She told James as she pulled him in front of a curtain-covered... something, pulling the cover off to reveal a large mirror. 

There were runes carved on it arched wooden frame, something James couldn’t decipher, which made the antique mirror even more glorious and mysterious. Without much thought, he stepped in front of it, expecting to see himself, only for another visual to appear.

It’s him, he recognized, a couple of years older, but him. Only, he wasn’t alone. Beside him stood a woman with grey eyes and dark hair, their arms were wrapped in each other’s waists gently, while her free hand rests on top of his chest.

James’ chest clenched at the vision of what they could be, how happy they could make each other. Especially upon seeing the wedding band glistening on their older-selves fingers. It’s something he didn’t know he wanted before, but now that he’s seen it, he doesn’t have a doubt in his mind that is where he wanted his life to lead to.

“It’s called the Mirror of Erised” (y/n)’s voice cut through his thoughts, their older selves disappearing from the mirror, replaced by their actual reflections. “Apparently it shows you your deepest desires” She smiled at James through the mirror, “What did you see, James?”

“You” He replied breathlessly, seeing no point in lying now, “You and me together... a bit older”

Her smile turned into a grin as she grabbed James’ hand, watching how perfectly they fit together as their fingers intertwined. “We were married, right?”

“You saw it too?” James asked incredulously, turning away from the mirror to look at the girl beside him. Her eyes were glistening with tears as she nodded her head in disbelief that they had both seen the same thing.

James’ hand twitched in his side, and before he knew it, he had both her cheeks in his hands, pulling her towards him in a gentle but passionate kiss. She released a moan in delight as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“I can’t believe it” She mumbled into the kiss before they pulled away, both grinning like mad men as they stared into each other’s eyes. James’ heart was beating against his chest rapidly again, willing himself to wake up if this is some kind of dream, and thanking the heavens above when it proved this was all real.

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life” James admitted before he was pulled into another kiss by the younger Black, his hands sliding towards the back of her thighs which he had used to hoist her up.

She squealed in laughter, wrapping her legs around his waist as she pulled away, only to bury her face into his neck as they melted into the embrace. They stayed that way for a moment, both too wrapped up in each other to realize someone had already walked in.

“You know, just because I gave you my blessing doesn’t mean I want to see you both shagging in empty hallways”

(y/n) was quick to detach herself from James, her cheeks flushing red as she faced her older brother, whose hands were holding that of Remus’. James, although embarrassed having been caught by his best friend, was more surprised to see the two together.

“Finally!” She exclaimed at the two, smiling, “Took you long enough!”

“Could say the same to you” Remus retorted, raising an eyebrow in their direction as James found himself instinctively wrapping an arm around (y/n)’s waist. ___

“I can’t believe Dumbledore allowed us back in here” (y/n) giggled as James pulled her back towards the seventh floor, shushing her as they turned into the far too familiar corridor. It’s been 2 years since James left Hogwarts, and a year since (y/n) had. From then, they’ve moved into their own cottage just a few minutes away from Sirius and Remus’, their relationship growing stronger by the day.

Now, two years into their relationship, it’s evident they’re still as in love as before, if not more.

“You’ve already got me, honey. There’s no need to look into the mirror” (y/n) teased as James detached himself for a moment, pecking her forehead as he turned to pull off the cover of the all-too-familiar mirror. 

He smiled as he saw himself once again. The vision remained the same, the two of them in each other’s arms, but this time there was a little boy joining them - who had (y/n)’s grey eyes and James’ tousled hair.

He watched as (y/n) turned to look at the mirror with a smile, a hundred percent sure she was seeing the same thing as she reached over to touch the mirror with her fingertips. With her distracted, James got down on one knee, tugging at the hem of of her dress to catch her attention. 

An audible gasp left her lips at the sight of him, tears pooling in her eyes as she stared at James. 

“(y/n), when I asked your older brother for permission to marry you, I swear he wanted to bash me in the head with a beater’s bat” His grin widened at the sound of her giggle. “Hush, darling. Give me a minute”

“Of course, love” She replied, wiping a few tears away, biting her bottom lip to stop herself.

“Here it goes,” James mumbled more to himself, “(y/n), you are not the most perfect girl in the world.. which ironically makes you the most perfect one in mine. Every day, I live in fear that you’d think I’m not the one for you, that you’d find someone else you know is more worthy of your time and your effort. But my doubts are washed away the moment I open my eyes each morning to see you sleeping so contently beside me. You are the light of my life, and I love you with all my heart. And it would mean the absolute world to me if you agree to take me as your husband for the rest of our lives”

“James,” She breathed out, joining him on the floor as she knelt in front of him as well, cupping his cheeks as she wiped away the tears he didn’t know were already falling from his eyes, “Yes, yes of course!” 

She wrapped her arms around him in an embrace, burying her face in his chest as her tears continued flowing from her eyes.

“Wait” James breathed out through sniffles, chuckling slightly at the sight of his fiance red-nosed - although he knew he was in the same state, “Let me slip your ring on, love”

“Right” (y/n) giggled as she held out her hand. 

James pulled out the ring from the velvet box, slipping it into her finger where it rested snugly against her skin - a perfect fit.

“I love you” He couldn’t help but whisper as he helped her up back to her feet, pulling her against him as he captured her lips in his in a sealing kiss.

“I love you too”

#james potter #james potter imagine #james potter x reader #james potter imagines #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagines #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagines #remus lupin imagine #wolfstar #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines #marauders #marauders imagine #marauders x reader

[salazarslytherin]

player, heartbreaker (wolfstar)

requested: nope! written for @acosmis-t ’s writing challenge! send in your own request here

summary: in which sirius breaks remus’ heart- not for the first time, but definitely the last.

prompts: 6. “i love you.”, “no you don’t” 8. “how was i such an idiot, to believe that you, out of all people, could ever love me?” 13. “maybe they were right. you never did change.”

cw/tw: angst, cheating, just tears, and a whole lot of em

word count: 2.4k

🃛 masterlist!

a/n: if you enjoyed this oneshot please consider reblogging and/or dropping me a follow! it’ll help me out a lot :)

I love you.

Those three words meant so much to Remus. Shunned by so many throughout his life, coming to Hogwarts and feeling the warm embrace of friendship and the overwhelming amounts of love that came with it made him lightheaded, feeling as if he were floating on air.

Those three words had made Remus excuse so much. Times he’d gotten in trouble with McGonagall because of a stupid prank Sirius had pulled and blamed on him.

“She’ll pull me out of quidditch for this! You’re the perfect student, she’ll let you off the hook! I love you Moony!”

Remus wasn’t let off the hook, but he never held it against Sirius.

Dangerous and idiotic pranks were forgiven- like the Full Moon Incident with Snape in fifth year. The Black heir had grovelled and apologised, spending many nights on his knees, begging for Remus’ forgiveness.

“Moony I’m so sorry, I was just, infuriated by the sheer audacity of Snivellus. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I love you, and I would do anything to prove to you that I can make it up to you.”

It took another full moon for Remus to forgive him, but he never forgot the heartbreak and betrayal that the incident had brought him.

Yet, he didn’t hold it against him. Because it was Sirius Black.

The first boy to show him friendship, the first boy to show him affection, the first boy to show him love.

⚔︎.

Not long after the Incident, the love between the two had blossomed- growing from a platonic, brotherly love to one that was more complicated.

One was the Prince of Gryffindor; the biggest player and heartbreaker that Hogwarts had seen in decades. Flirting and fucking girls and boys alike, Sirius Black left behind him a trail of tears and heartbreak. Yet he was never resented for it, because that’s just who he was.

Sirius Black, the serial heartbreaker.

The other was quiet. The most unassuming member of the Marauders- studious and always willing to help others regardless of house and year. A Werewolf littered with scars, but the gentlest person you could ever meet. Remus Lupin was the kindest soul you could find, but vicious when you needed him to be. Although quiet, he was charming and outgoing, the kind of person you could have a beer with, but also come to for your troubles.

Remus Lupin, the kindest boy at Hogwarts.

The two were best friends, but perhaps there was always a little bit more.

Sirius was openly bisexual, flamboyant and flaunting of his sexuality, he flirted with anyone and everyone.

Rumour has it he tried to flirt Filch out of detention once.

Remus was gay, but only told others when asked. He didn’t think his sexuality was anyone’s business, perhaps except his and his partner’s only.

As a result of these two polar opposites that were too similar for their own good, there was always an underlying sense of attraction. Remus would watch Sirius from behind a book, smiling at his jokes, laughing at his antics.

Sirius always admired Remus’ scars, equating them with bravery and beauty.

One day, the attraction had just clicked, and the words “I love you Moony” became “I’m in love with you, Moony.”

The stolen glances turned into shared, lingering looks in classes after a make-out session in an alcove- Remus turning red when he realised he was wearing Sirius’ shirt instead of his own, one that was just a tad bit too small for the Werewolf, then vermillion when someone pointed out a hickey Sirius had left on his neck.

Nights were no longer lonely– neither of the two was plagued with nightmares anymore as, much like the year before, many nights were spent with Sirius on his knees- albeit under very, very different circumstances.

⚔︎.

Not long after they had gotten together, Gryffindor won yet another quidditch match against Slytherin, and a Marauders party had exploded in the Common Room. Students from every house, save for Slytherin, partied the night away with bottles of firewhiskey and cake from the house elves, which ended up more on people’s faces than in their mouths.

Remus, not one to “party hard” like Sirius or James, found himself sitting on the window seat, chatting with passersby, sipping on a cup of firewhiskey while watching his friends on the dance floor.

“Hey there Lupin. Not out there with the rest of your marauders?”

Lily sat herself down next to Remus, clutching her own firewhiskey as she watched her boyfriend dance with Remus’, Peter bouncing awkwardly between the two.

“Not really feeling up for it. Why aren’t you out there yourself? Thought you’d be out dancing with James, you two seem awfully close these days.”

A blush graced Lily’s face, coughing slightly to cover her embarrassment as she turned to face her fellow prefect.

“Well, you and Black seem awfully close yourselves. Are you actually dating him?”

From anyone else, Remus would’ve thought the question rude and blunt, intrusive, even. But over the years, he began counting Lily Evans a friend almost as close as the Marauders, so he shrugged, and let it slide.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

The redhead shrugged, looking out onto the dance floor where a Ravenclaw had grabbed onto Sirius, grinding onto his front as the Gryffindor seemed to welcome him, holding his hips close to his own, the pair lost in the music.

“I just worry about you, Remus. I know you two are best friends, and you should always trust the people you’re with, but, we all know what Black’s like. I don’t want to see you become one of the ones he leaves behind.”

Remus clenched his jaw at the sight of Nathan Sulzer grinding on his boyfriend, his heart clenching slightly as Sirius did nothing to stop him.

“I’ll be fine Lily.”

James wandered towards the two of them, pressing a kiss to Lily’s lips as he shoved Remus lightly on the shoulder.

“Alright, Moony?”

Remus felt his heart break slightly as Nathan peppered kisses on Sirius’ neck, the same spots he had kissed that very morning before the quidditch match. James followed the werewolf’s gaze as he failed to reply, his own fist clenching in response.

“Merlin Moony, I’m so sorry. I swear I thought he would’ve changed for you. I love that man but I swear he can be so thick somedays.”

Remus shook his head, feeling tears well up that he willed away, putting down the cup and pushing himself off the seat.

“It’s fine. I’m going to head upstairs first. G’night you two.”

“I love you Moony.”

“Love you too Prongs. Night Lil.”

⚔︎.

That was not the night Sirius Black broke Remus Lupin’s heart for the last time. Later that night, the beater had come up, small hickeys staining his neck and collar overturned as he begged Remus for his forgiveness.

“I was so drunk baby I didn’t even realise what he was doing. Just celebrating, I didn’t even know who I was dancing with! I love you so much Re I’m so sorry. It will never happen again.”

Remus forgave him. He always did.

After all, this was Sirius Black he was faced with.

And if we know anything, it’s that Remus Lupin always forgave Sirius Black.

Later that week, when Nathan Sulzer came to Remus to ask for help with a transfiguration essay, he merely turned and walked away, causing Nathan to wonder what he’d done to earn the ire of the kindest boy in Hogwarts.

⚔︎.

It was the last day of exams in sixth year. Remus and Peter, being the only ones in the Marauders to take NEWT level Ancient Runes, were the last to finish their exams. Excitedly discussing what was to come in the summer as well as the final weeks of school, the two made their way back to Gryffindor tower.

“So what are you doing over the summer Wormy? Have your parents settled on a vacation spot yet, or are you going to finally stay around for once?”

Peter smiled softly, shrugging as he clutched his books to his chest.

“I’m not really sure, but I think we should be around for the last few weeks. You’re staying with Prongs and Padfoot for a while, right? I think I’ll probably be able to join you if you’re still there by the time I get-”

The pair’s conversation was cut short as they ascended the stairs to their dorm, hearing a piercing feminine moan coming from their room.

“Merlin, never pegged Lily for the vocal type.”

Peter frowned, uncomfortable.

“Clearly you’ve not been around the Potter household when she stays with Prongs during Christmas. ”

Shuddering, their soft laughter was cut short as footsteps thundered up the stairs behind them, muscular arms landing on the two Marauders’ shoulders.

“Alright, lads! Finally finished with your exams?”

James Fleamont Potter stood behind his two fellow Marauders in all his glory, making the boys freeze in their actions.

“I- you-”

Remus’ mind was moving a mile a minute, the reality clocking in but he refused to admit it. This had to be some sort of a sick prank.

“If you’re out here, then who’s that in there having sex with Lily?!”

Peter pointed at the door, the confusion and adrenaline running through the three boys making them miss the soft moan of ‘Sirius’ coming from behind the doors.

“What?! Nobody better be having sex with my Lily!”

The heavy wooden doors flew open as James kicked it with all his might, revealing Emmeline Vance naked and on top of the one and only, Sirius Black.

“Padfoot?!” emerged out of Peter’s mouth at the same time as the words “That’s not Lily!” came from James’, before reality dawned upon the two, turning to face the werewolf.

“Get out.”

“Moony I-”

For the first time in a long time, Remus felt a fire rise in his stomach, his temper snapping as he threw his books on the ground.

“All of you, get out!”

The werewolf’s head snapped up at the naked boy on the bed, who was stealing fearful glances at the girl quickly redressing next to him.

“Except you, Black.”

⚔︎.

Sirius had awkwardly finished putting on his clothes as Remus stood beside his own bed, feeling nothing, his previous anger had sizzled out and left him hollow.

“Moony I-”

“I don’t want to hear you speak. I don’t, I just,”

A memory flashed by Remus’ mind, that party after Gryffindor’s first win of the year. Lily’s words echoing in his mind: we all know what Black’s like.

“Maybe they were right. You never did change.”

A cold laugh emerged from the prefect’s lips, looking up at the ceiling he’d become so familiar with over the past year. The one he’d studied night after night with Sirius in his arms, the one he’d memorised when he wondered whether he did anything wrong when Sirius apologised to him for this thing or that, breaking his heart bit by bit, day by day.

“How was I such an idiot, to believe that you, of all people, could ever love me? Sirius Black, prince of Gryffindor. The biggest player Hogwarts has ever seen, the biggest heartbreaker there’s ever been!”

Remus continued laughing his emotionless laugh, one that made Sirius wince and shudder. It was so unlike him, so hollow, so cruel.

Nothing like his Remus.

“Of course I love you Moony. I love you.”

Sirius made his way over to Remus, his calloused hands reaching out towards Remus’ scarred ones.

“No you don’t.”

Remus’ hand was enveloped for a mere second, the familiar warmth begging him to stay before his sinking heart reminded him of the hurt he was pushed under by those same hands, and ripped himself away.

“If you loved me, you would never have done this. If you loved me, you’d never have made me doubt whether you really wanted to be with me. If you’d loved me,”

Remus looked at Sirius for the first time since James and Peter left the room. As their eyes met, Remus felt the tears welling in the grey eyes he loved so dearly pulling at his heartstrings, clenching his jaw before continuing, willing his own tears not to fall.

“We wouldn’t be here. I was in love with you, but you were in love with the idea of me. The chase, the excitement of a relationship you couldn’t flaunt all across the halls.”

Muted ‘no’s and soundless protests were made as Sirius fell to his knees in front of Remus for the umpteenth time that year, but this time out of desperation, an attempt to salvage something that couldn’t be salvaged.

“But you got tired, and you found the excitement in sneaking around with others. Pushing the boundaries to see how far you could get without being caught.”

Tears fell freely from Sirius’ eyes now, clutching onto Remus’ trousers as he cried out.

“That’s not it. Please Re, I love you, I love you so much. You’re everything for me, my home, my only. Please don’t do this.”

Remus’ own eyes flew shut, but he continued, tears escaping as rapidly as the words did.

“And now you’ve gotten caught. I hope it was worth it, because I’m done forgiving you. I’m just so, so done. I’m tired of not being good enough for you, I’m tired of second guessing myself and wondering why you end up in other people’s arms.”

Sirius shook his head fervently, incoherent words and sobs wracked from his throat as he hugged Remus’ legs with more strength than he knew he had, shaking his head at the werewolf’s words.

“You know, I would’ve done anything for you. I forgave you each and every time you crawled back to me. No matter how many times you broke my heart, I turned to putty in your hands every time you told me ‘I love you’.”

Remus’ hands landed on the boy’s shoulders for the last time, a motion so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time, pulling him away. He took Sirius’ chin into his hand, tilting his head up to meet his tearfully hopeful eyes.

“I love you Remus.”

Desperation dripped from the animagus' voice, his eyes searching Remus' face for one last bit of mercy, one last "I love you".

“I love you Sirius. But I don’t want to love you any longer.”

#writing #mine #wolfstar #marauders #harry potter #wolfstar angst #angst #hp angst #hp imagine #wolfstar imagine #wolfstar oneshot #harry potter angst #harry potter imagine #harry potter fic #hp fic #wolfstar fic

[peach-the-owl]

59+72 with Fearne where reader is also a druid and Fearne is their mentor in a sense and while the crew is out and about the nameless ones jump them and hurt the kid pretty badly but it ends in fluff! Tyy

I love Fearne, she can be so soft yet so threatening all at once and I love it. Hope you like this 😁

Dangerous Curiosity

Fearne & Child!Reader

59- You shouldn’t have gone by yourself, 72- Just keep breathing.

You, like Fearne, came from the Feywild, and you’ve been traveling and learning from her since you both came through to the material plane. Now Fearne herself still had plenty to learn but she had more years and experience compared to you so she still taught you all that she knew. Here you now were in Emon, with a group of friends and a strange gap in your memories, trying to place together the missing pieces of time and being careful with each step as a group known as the Nameless Ones was now after you. You all were currently in search of the famous Gilmore’s Glorious Goods, in hopes of finding the famed Runechild and helping to decipher the strange rune from the lovingly named Ash-hole. While the others were either working on a distraction or gaining information you were looking around the marketplace, taking in the busy street life and shops when something catches your eye. A flash of light shines across your vision and trails off down a side street, no one else seemed to pay mind or care about it but you were curious, it looked magical so you thought it could be helpful. With Fearne and the others occupied you didn't want to bother them and wonder off on your own after the mystery light, one little fire elemental did watch as you wander away and takes it upon himself to follow.

You follow after the light like a moth to a flame your curiosity to this thing being your drive forward, unknowingly leading you farther from the crowds until it disappears all together and you look up to realize your mistake. A cloaked figure stood before you, similar to the ones you'd encountered from the warehouse and unexpectedly on the streets not too long after. They start towards you and immediately you turn to retreat only to see a second one step out and block your path, essentially sandwiching you between them.

"Don’t worry kid, if you cooperate we won’t hurt ya." One of the figures say, something in your gut told you they were lying to you and you cower away, you weren’t the most equipped for battle but you had to do something. They were closing in on you so you quickly cast Entangle and make a break for it in the direction you’d first come from, not bothering to look and just hoping they were caught in your spell. Unfortunately you don’t make it very far before you’re yanked back and dangling in both individuals grip, you struggle but both Nameless Ones hold firm. Now in a panic you cast Produce Flame and grab hold of them, letting the fire around your hands burn them. They cry in pain and loosen their grip but not enough to free you completely, only further angering them as a searing pain enters your side followed by another harsh stab and you collapse to the ground, giving a yelp of pain and clutching your injury. Blood trickled out of your wound, covering your cloths and hands as you held onto it, a puddle quickly started to form around you. You really regret not having learned any healing spells now as the world spun around you and every attempt at movement lead to more pain, there’s a sudden feeling of gentle hands placing themselves on you, making you flinch slightly.

"Oh (y/n), you shouldn’t have gone by yourself. Why didn’t you say anything?" You hear Fearne's voice, filled with concern. Your ears flatten against you as you curl into yourself more and let out a small whimper. Her hands brush back your hair, the flow of some healing magic working through you to help ease the pain away before you hear her speak again. "It’ll be okay, just keep breathing, I’ll take care of this."

Fearne stands and turns to the two Nameless Ones. "I don’t like what did." She says in a calm even voice as she steps in front of you.

"You have something we want, and we’re not leaving without it."

"Oh no, you misunderstand. You’ve hurt my kid, very badly. I’m not negotiating, I’m going to kill you now." Her voice, still as sweet as ever somehow made her threat even more unsettling. You see fire ignite in her hands a she continues to step forward, Mister hops off her shoulder and let’s out a screech as he too ignites. You close your eyes and look away, focusing on your breathing like Fearne had told you to, drawing in deep breaths through your nose and exhaling through your mouth. Your ears pick up the sound of more footsteps joining the fight and another soothing dose of healing magic courses through you, and when you peek your eyes open you see Dariax looking down at you with a smile.

"Sup kid, you feel all good now?" He asks, his spunky attitude hide traces of concern but you give him a smile and a nod, in return he gives you a thumbs up and jumps into the fray of battle to help finish the job on the two Nameless Ones. Pushing yourself up into a sitting position you look over at everyone, seeing the battle had been won. Fearne trots over to you and picks you up into her arms, Mister also coming up and cuddling you a bit making you smile and hug the fire monkey.

"Are you okay?" Fearne looks at you with worry, her ears drooping a little.

"I think I’m okay now, Dariax helped me feel better." You say with a nod.

"Okay," she perks up just a little. "Why would you go off by yourself though?"

"I was curious and you were having a lot of fun playing music, I didn’t want to ruin that." You explain. "How did you know where I was?" You tilt your head at her in wondering.

"Little Mister came running to me distressed, I knew something was wrong and when I couldn’t see you I was even more worried something bad happened, he lead me to you." It was Fearne's turn to explain to you, you look over at Mister who had perched himself back onto Fearne's shoulder.

"Thank you Mister." You give him a smile and he gives you a happy screech. Fearne finally sets you down, letting you stand on your own two feet again and you both walk back over to the others.

"Oh yay, (y/n)'s all better!" Opal happily exclaims. "Now we can go to Gilmore’s shop, right Nancy?" She says looking over at Orym who gives her a blank stare but nods regardless.

"You’re defiantly going to need a new outfit." Dorian points out to your still blood soaked cloths. With that you all turn and start making your way towards the shop, you stop for a second and tug Fearne’s dress to gain her attention. She looks down at you curiously and you motion with your hands for her to kneel down, when she does you give her a hug and place your forehead against hers.

"Thank you for being an awesome teacher and saving me." You say with sincerity. She smiles and returns your gesture, using Druidcraft to place a few flowers into your hair.

"You’re welcome my little sweet pea." She says with just as much sincerity.

#critical role #critical role & reader #exandria unlimited #exandria unlimited & reader #fearne calloway #fearne & reader #nothing romantic here