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lovetorn · 3 years

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Life Was A Willow [Part 2]

Witch Hunter!Dream x Witch!Fem!Reader

Part 1 Part 3

Summary: It's always been hunters vs. witches, right?

Word Count: 3.6k+

Warnings for Part 2: violence, mentions of death (familial), swearing

A/N: part 2 !!!! thank you so much for the support and feedback from part 1, omg thank you !! well, i hope you enjoy part 2 ahhhhh !!

It’s 9 pm and Y/n still waits for the signal. She looks in the direction of the Castle and swings her feet back and forth from where she sits on the cottage’s roof.

The air is cold and the trees continue to rustle, the same way they do every day, but tonight, she has an eerie feeling about it. Regret slips into her mind sometimes, telling her that she is foolish for even accepting such a vague invitation by someone she doesn’t even know—but it was so intriguing and she trusts them (she doesn’t exactly know why).

Suddenly, a large pop startles Y/n out of her daze. Sparkles dance in the sky as fireworks burst from the land below. She quickly notes that the explosions are coming from the West side of the Castle and takes that as the signal. Very grand indeed.

Y/n jumps from the roof, landing gracefully on the dirt, and takes off running through the forest. She misses tree roots emerging from the earth and ducks under low branches from the undergrowth. The only thing that lights her path is the moonlight and at this moment, Y/n is thriving. The full moon allows her abilities to heighten and she places her full trust in her instincts.

The fireworks continue to explode and Y/n fills with more adrenaline, the sound making her scream out in joy. She’s excited about the meeting, and she doesn’t even know who it is. And maybe that’s what she’s eager for; the unknown.

The entirety of the concept scared her before, but now she’s exhilarated. And as the show comes to a close, Y/n nears the East side of the Castle. It’s completely silent at this end and the eerie feeling she had before creeps back. It’s not a feeling of uncertainty but one of opportunity and her instincts are telling her to take it.

When she reaches the abandoned cottage, Y/n inhales sharply. There’s no light coming from the house and the door remains closed. As she steps onto the stairs in front, the wood creams beneath her and she scolds for giving away herself to the person inside. Instead of sneaking around, Y/n stomps towards the door and swings it open.

She sees a man in the corner and makes her way towards him, her hands out and ready in case this interaction goes south.

“Who are you? And how do you know me?” Y/n calls out. The man jumps slightly and lifts his head. And in the moonlight flooding in through the window, Y/n recognises him as Dream, even with his mask off. He stands in a white button-up and brown pants, his hunter boots on and a newsboy hat sat on his blonde hair.

“Dream?”

“Hi, Y/n. I knew you would recognise me.” Y/n doesn’t want to look away from him. This is the first time she’s seen his face, and despite the darkness, she sees how handsome he is.

“Why—how? Why did you want to meet me in such a creepy way?” Y/n asks in disgust, picking a cobweb out of her hair and then off of her shoulder; they seem to be everywhere. Her expression falls back to one of admiration when she looks back at him. However, the moonlight lacked the light Y/n needed to see him properly.

Dream laughs slowly. “I forgot to bring a lighter for the lamp. Do you think you could, uh—maybe,”

“Glady,” Y/n sighs and flicks her hand towards the candle in the glass encasing. It immediately comes to life and the room becomes brightly lit. Her eyes fall onto Dream again and she finally sees him; his piercing green eyes and the scar that runs from the top of his left temple to the corner of his lip.

“Wow,” Dream mumbles under his breath. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you, and I know that everybody I know would, just, obliterate me for even thinking about doing this, but I needed to talk to you about—“

“You’re rambling.”

“Right, right...”

Y/n squints at the man and then tilts her head. “Whose C?”

Dream’s eyes widen as he nods. “Yeah, uh, that’s me. My name’s Clay.”

The witch doesn’t say anything as she stares at him. “So why do they call you Dream?”

This isn’t where Dream thought the conversation would go, but he’s happy they’re not fighting.

“My mother came up with the nickname when I was born. I nearly didn’t make it and then through some miracle, I did. So, she called me her Dream.” Y/n can tell the story makes him emotional, so she doesn’t push any further.

“That’s really sweet, Dream.” And at the sound of his real name, Dream perks up slightly before he cracks a smile. Y/n grins back at him; a real genuine smile. The pair stand in the low lit room in comfortable silence, until Y/n’s curiosity gets the better of her.

“What did you want to talk about?” She asks. Dream nods once and continues from where he was cut off before.

“I wanted to discuss the possibility of a truce between witches and hunters,” Dream isn’t smiling anymore, instead his lips are screwed up and his hands fidget in front of him. Y/n, however, grins even bigger.

“I’m all for that, honestly. I’m tired of being on edge every day and being scared for my life. If we can find a way to create peace, even for a little bit, I’m on board.” Y/n keeps it short for now, not wanting to scare him off by how passionate she feels about the situation.

Dream’s eyes light up at the sound of her agreeing. “Really?” Y/n nods and becomes surprised when she feels Dream’s arms wrap around her. “Thank you, thank you.”

“No, Dream, thank you! I’ve been trying to convince people of this for years. I’m really glad that you feel the same way.” The pair pull apart and Dream flicks his eyes down to Y/n’s lips for a split second.

“You’re so pretty,” Y/n nearly chokes at his comment. Dream feels his cheeks burn when the words tumble out and soon they’re both flustered. “Sorry! Oh my, I’m sorry, that didn't mean to slip out—”

“Dream, it’s fine. I think you’re pretty too; especially without the mask.”

The hunter swats the witch’s shoulder playfully. “Stop~” The pair laugh together, and then proceed to stand in another comfortable silence. The wind howls and whistles outside and makes the cottage creak, adding to the eerie aura that surrounds it.

“What’s with the hat? It’s nighttime.”

Dream plucks the accessory off of his head and runs his opposite hand through his hair, the soft locks falling back into place when his hand returns to his side. “Part of the disguise, duh.”

Y/n squints at him, her expression morphing into one of mischief. “Isn’t the mask a disguise in itself, though? Also, put the hat back on, you look handsome with it.” It’s time for Dream to blush now. He covers his face with his hat and scoffs softly. “Y/n!”

The girl slaps her hand over her mouth to muffle her embarrassed laughs. “It’s true!”

The man rolls his eyes before placing the hat back on his head. “Happy?”

Y/n nods before telling him to answer about the mask.

“Well, no, nobody at the Castle actually knows what I look like—except for my best friends, Sapnap and George.”

“George? As in Prince George?” Y/n is shocked, to say the least. She now understands why Dream is so passionate about the peace between the Hunters and Witches. Prince George is known for his differing morals and ideas from his family, which makes him stand out from the other Royals. Y/n admires his bravery and courage to do so.

“Yeah, we’ve been friends since we were young. I’m jealous that he can be so open with his opinions in that Castle—Lord knows if I was, I'd be executed,” This makes Y/n’s stomach drop. “But, it’s okay, with your help, hopefully, we can convince humans and magical-kind alike, that there can be peace. A—And we can live together in harmony, without being consumed by the overbearing thought of death every moment of our lives.”

Dream stops his tangent, his face flushed and his eyes pleading. Y/n feels like crying; she has waited years for someone to be as passionate as her about this topic. “I’ll help you, Dream, no matter what; because I wholeheartedly believe we can do this. I trust you.”

Y/n shocks herself with this statement; she’s never trusted a human before.

“And I trust you Y/n.” The pair stare at each other, smiles spread across their cheeks as the night outside slips away, and then it’s just them; standing in the main area of a small, abandoned cottage that sits East of the Castle, lit up with a lantern that casts a warm glow over the pair. Y/n can almost say it looks and feels magical.

“Ok, enough flirting, let’s get planning on the truce. Sounds like a plan, doll?” Dream gives her a lopsided smile and Y/n feels her heart rate increase at the sight of him.

“Where were you?” Wilbur says. His voice is deeper than usual and fits in perfectly with the way he’s sitting ominously in the dark. Y/n stops tiptoeing towards her room and turns to face him; defeated that she got caught. However, she still remains giddy and her heart beats faster for other reasons.

“I was meeting with Schlatt—I need more toadstools for a potion I’m making.”

Wilbur squints at her, his lips curling into a frown. “I know you’re lying, and so does Niki.”

Y/n sighs and starts walking towards him. “I’m sorry—“ She pauses when she sees Wilbur shake his head.

“Don’t.”

Y/n screws her lips together and nods once. Her once excited demeanour fading away when she sees Wilbur’s look of disappointment. “I was meeting one of the new hunters, Dream.”

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows, “What? Why?”

“We’re formulating a truce amongst witches and hunters.”

He raises his eyebrows in both surprise and suspicion. “Okay? And why are you doing this? We don’t need peace.”

“Uh, so we’re not in danger every living second?” Y/n’s nerves grow into anger. “Why are you so against the chance of maybe, finally getting this?”

Wilbur shakes his head and stands up, the chair screeching against the wood floors as he moves. “Haven’t you heard what becomes of curious minds?”

Y/n is at a loss for words while the tall man rolls his eyes and leaves, avoiding her as he circles around her to walk down the hallway.

His abrupt exit confuses Y/n. Why is Wilbur so against peace with the Hunters?

—

Dream manages to sneak into the Hunter’s Wing before they lock the front doors for the night. He sits silently on the bench in the training room and slips his boots off, making sure to place them on the floor as quiet as possible. He takes his hat off of his head and holds it in his palms, smiling stupidly at the inanimate object. The flame in the lantern next to him is fizzling out and it's hard to see 4 feet in front of him.

“Dream?” Even in his daze, Dream can sense the anger and fear in Sapnap’s voice.

“Sapnap? Why are you awake?” The younger boy walks out from the hallway and towards him.

“Me? Where were you? It’s midnight.”

Dream sighs and rests the hat on the bench next to him. “I was out.”

“Out? You mean meeting with the witch?”

Dream’s eyes widen. “How do you know that?”

“Fireworks don’t just go off for no reason, Dream. And I found the note in your room.” Sapnap says, ripping the letter from his pyjama bottoms pocket.

“Just say you have a crush on her, Dream!” Sapnap yells, throwing his arms up in defeat.

“I don't—I promise, Sapnap.”

“Fine, if you don’t like the witch, then kill her.” Dream’s dumbfounded. He stares at his best friend with such bewilderment that even Sapnap feels a twinge of guilt. Dream sighs, carding his hand through his hair in frustration and confusion.

He doesn’t reply, even when George arrives in a hurry, still in the process of wrapping a dressing gown around his body.

“What’s happened? I heard yelling.” The pair remain frozen, refusing to meet the Prince’s glare as they avoid eye contact.

George shakes his head, “Has this got to do with Dream meeting with the witch?”

“George! How do you know, too?”

George huffs. “I know everything that happens in and outside of my Castle. But, fireworks? Really?”

Dream throws his hands down in frustration. “Yes, fireworks! It was a good distraction and it was a signal for her anyway.”

George eyes the blonde before he crosses his arms over his chest. “As much as you hate to admit it, it's obvious that you’re fond of her, Dream. And no matter what happens, I’ll be by your side, okay? You know that.”

“What the fuck?” Sapnap spits. “You have his back? George, I can tolerate your ideals about the magical kind, but this is the witch who killed half of the hunter population.”

Dream stills. “What?”

“You’ve gone and done it now, Sapnap!”

“Y/n killed people?”

“Dream—“ George goes to speak, but he’s cut off by Sapnap.

“Yes! That’s why I’ve been trying to warn you! Why do you think we got this job so easily?” Dream stares at the concrete floor, his heart dropping into his stomach. He can’t believe it, he refuses to.

“Sapnap!” George snaps. The younger boy cowers away slightly, his once confronted facade crumbling at the sound of the Prince's tone. “Stop it, right now. You are in no place to tell him this, okay? You may be my best friend but that doesn’t excuse you from doing this.”

Dream chews on his bottom lip quietly as he watches Sapnap turn around and stomp out of the training room, but not before he scrunches up the letter and throws it on the floor. “Thanks.”

George’s gaze remains on the door. “Don’t thank me. He should know better anyway, considering his last relationship.”

The blonde nods once, reminding himself of the youngest boy’s past relationship with a fairy from the kingdom next door. Dream lets out a laugh at the thought.

For the next few days, Y/n hears nothing from Dream. She worries for him, has he been caught?

She stands on the porch of her cottage, hoping, begging for a sign that he is okay. Clouds plague the blue skies above and Y/n knows the bad omens swirling around the kingdom are the cause—and the inside of Niki’s crystal ball had burst with black and dark red clouds which had only confirmed her suspicions.

The wind howls through the trees and calls to her, speaking words of concern under its tongue. Y/n rolls her eyes and sighs, she knows to be careful, especially with the humans inching closer to their world.

However, a faint voice draws Y/n’s attention away from the wind and to the well in the corner of the garden. The sound confuses her at first, and then the wind’s guidance is forgotten as she makes her way towards it. The short fence around the area is still broken from the fight with the hunters weeks ago, and nobody has had a chance to repair it yet, so Y/n takes it upon herself to fix it.

The whispers from the well become a string of mumbles and are impossible to decipher as Y/n kneels with her back towards the forest—and for the first time, she is anxious about what lies within it.

But, before she can even begin picking up the pieces of wood, the sound of someone approaching her at a fast pace alerts Y/n immediately. She spins around with her hands out and is shocked when she sees Dream with his sword raised. The ground moves beneath her feet as she uses the earth’s power to aid her in meeting his strength.

“Dream?” She screams, her body struggling to resist the force of his weapon. Sparkles fall from her fingertips as she pushes back.

“You killed an entire army of people, Y/n!” Dream’s tone is low and angry and Y/n knows he would have found out eventually.

“Dream, I didn’t do that!” Y/n exclaims and Dream swings his sword backwards.

“How can I trust you? Hm? After all, you’ve killed people!” Y/n could cry at his utter naivety. She drops her arms by her sides as Dream glares at her in pure disgust.

“Instead of fighting, can we talk about this?” Y/n pleas. Her feet move swiftly beneath her, maneuvering her body away from Dream’s sword.

Suddenly, Dream brings the sword down to slice into Y/n’s arm, but a force pushes it back towards him, making the blade fly high into the air before it clatters onto the ground.

Y/n stands with her hands out, remnants of glitter falling around her fingers. “I told you! I’d never do that, and I have proof.”

“Proof?” Dream still stares at his sword, unable to meet Y/n’s eye.

“Proof. Now, how about we calm down and I’ll show it to you. Okay? Sounds like a plan?” Dream nods slowly, turning his head to face her. Finally, his green eyes soften and the raging fire that burns within them fizzles out.

“Okay.”

Y/n sighs before she begins. “When a witch kills an innocent; a human, they gain a marking on the back of their neck to signify the betrayal of the harmony between the two. However, since King James, that peace has been terminated; hence his need for hunters, like yourself.

“But, anyway, everybody in this damn kingdom thinks I killed those hunters, but I don’t have the mark,” Y/n turns around, her hand going to lift up her hair from her neck. The skin is clear, with no markings, nothing.

Dream nods, furrowing his eyebrows. “How do I know you didn’t just cast a spell to make it disappear?”

Y/n rolls her eyes. “There’s no way to cover up the marking; it’ll just shine through whatever you put over it. It’s permanent and very obvious.”

“I told you, Dream, I didn’t kill them. I’d never kill an innocent.”

“Why didn’t you show them, then? You've had proof this entire time and never thought to actually show anyone?” Dream is bewildered. Y/n nods slowly, understanding his argument.

“I don't need to prove myself to your kind.” Is all she says. Dream waits for her to continue but soon realises she's not going to. “Fair point.”

“So, why did you come at me swinging? Did you really believe I would do that?” She whispers and Dream feels his heart sink. He is speechless for a few moments—did he really think that? Or was he feeding into Sapnap’s ideology of witches?

“S—Sapnap convinced me of things. I didn’t believe it at first, but the more he went on—I guess he got into my head.”

Y/n cocks her eyebrow and scoffs out a laugh. “Yeah, he did. You could’ve easily killed me with the amount of anger you had.”

This makes Dream’s breath catch in his throat. “I—I’m so sorry, Y/n. That was never my intention—”

The witch shakes her head and holds her hand up. “It’s okay, Dream. You didn’t offend me. I’m still here, with you, right? Isn’t that enough to tell you that I’m not angry?”

“Yes! Yes, sorry—”

“Stop saying sorry, it’s annoying.” Y/n giggles, holding her hand out to grasp Dream’s.

“So—”

“Dream!”

The cottage is quiet, too quiet, and Y/n walks into the small kitchen, hoping to bake a cake to cure her boredom. But, Wilbur sits at the round dining table, his beanie and a sewing needle in his hands.

“Wil, I wanted to talk to you,” Y/n mumbles, pulling out a chair. Wilbur doesn’t meet her eye as she does so, continuing to patch up his beanie that got ripped on a tree last week.

“Why are you against harmony with humans?”

Wilbur sighs softly. He places the beanie on the table and turns to face Y/n. “Y/n, when I was young, I lived amongst the humans in a town not far from here. We tried as hard as we could to mix in and not draw attention to ourselves.”

The girl listens intently, both curious and scared for his answer. She can tell the story makes him anxious so she reaches for his hand that lays on the wooden table. “Go on, Wil. I’m here.”

Wilbur nods, his eyes already full of tears as he continues.

“However, one day, my family decided to move to a more secluded area within the town, so my father could teach me more about magic without the risk of being caught. When we entered our new cottage in the forest, we were ambushed and they killed my entire family, leaving me, the only child, alone. I was left there, with my parents' bodies for weeks. I was made to fend for myself until I found Niki in a cave several years later. I was only 7, Y/n.”

Tears cascade down both of their cheeks. Wilbur takes in a shaky breath before he collapses onto the table out of grief. Y/n immediately leaps into action, wrapping her arms around the older man and letting him use her for support. His broken sobs and heart-wrenching cries stab Y/n all over, and she immediately regrets asking him about it.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Wilbur,” She didn’t push anymore, and that was all Wilbur needed.

#life was a willow fic #lwaw #dream x reader #dream imagine #dream imagines #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken imagines #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt imagines #dream smp x reader #dream smp imagines #dream smp imagine #dream x fem!reader #dream x female reader #dreamwastaken

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ezrasarm · 4 years

Note

I'm kinda new here, but I wanted to tell you that I really enjoy your writing. Thanks for bringing all of his characters to life! 💕 If you're still looking for blurbs/HC rqsts, I'd love to know how all The Boys would react if they came upon reader while she's playing some fun music and dancing like no one is watching. Would he start dancing? Could he be coaxed into dancing? Would he roll his eyes and leave the room? P.S. This is my first ever ask. It's probably silly. 😬

Dancing

Warnings: Fluff!!! the boys being too sweet to handle and a lack of proofreading because I was excited... I think that just about covers it 😂

A/n: Not silly at all and thank you for reading and welcome to our little corner of this hell site!!! I had a great time writing these and I hope they were sort of what you had in mind! I’m a nerd and wound up linking the songs that came to mind as I wrote each of them but of course you’re welcome to interpret them as any song you would like! I may or may not have taken some liberties with the request because I didn’t want to get repetitive so I hope you’ll forgive me 😬

[ masterlist ]

Javier

Hate Street Dialogue - Rodriguez

Javier had just had a very long and exhausting day at work. His patience had been running thin since his meeting that morning and now it was 7:30 and he finally got to do the one thing he had been wanting to do all day. Go home. He was in the hallway when he heard the music, it wasn’t uncommon for you to blast it if you were the designated chef that night. With a headache coming on he really thought he wasn’t in the mood for all that energy tonight. All he wanted was some food in his stomach, maybe a drink in his hand and to curl up on the couch with you and make fun of whichever soap opera had decided to possess your TV screen that night. What he hadn’t been expecting was to wonder into the kitchen to see you absolutely gunning it on what you had now designated as the dance floor. With your back to him and the music so loud it wasn’t until you spun around on your heels to pick something up from the island that you saw him and just about jumped out of your skin. At this point he had a smile from ear to ear and he realized what he had been yearning for all day wasn’t to go home, it was you. You would look at him, a little bashful about him catching you in the act before he would pull you into a toothy kiss and tell you how much he needed that today.

Din

I Know What I Am - Band Of Skulls (how do you choose a song for Din???)

Things get boring when you’re stuck on the Crest alone for hours on end. So yeah, maybe you came across an old transmitter that just so happened to have a data card packed with music on it on your last supply run, and maybe you snuck it onto the Crest, and maybe you listen to it whenever Din’s off doing bounty hunter things so you can keep your mind busy while you tinker around the ship and try to keep the kid entertained. Maybe, every once in a while you just get carried away and start dancing along in a very uncoordinated fashion, but who cares? Because you like it and it makes you feel good and no one is there to judge you except maybe the baby, who just so happens to think you have some sick moves. This had become your routine for quite some time now. Din would leave, you’d put some tunes on and just let loose for a bit. It kept the kid happy and let him have some fun and who were you to refuse him that? You had gotten used to predicting when the mandalorian would come back so you would shut it off and get back to work like nothing happened... except this time. He must have come back early or you had gotten carried away and lost track of time, either way, one second you were alone dancing to your hearts content and the next there was a mandalorian standing in the doorway and you had stopped in your tracks.

“What are you doing?” He would ask with a slight tilt to his helmet as you let your gaze wander the cabin, settling on anything but him. What you couldn’t see was the entertained smile toying at his lips behind the mask.

“...nothing.” You shrugged, leaning over to turn the music off and feeling your heart drop in your chest at the way the child’s ears drooped.

“You don’t have to stop.” Din said and for a moment you thought you had misheard him.

“What?”

“I said you don’t have to stop on my account.” He shrugged, pushing the button on the transmitter as he passed to climb up the ladder and into the cockpit. Well that, you were not expecting.

Ezra

We’re Only People - Father John Misty

Ezra had noticed your glum mood today. He could understand that spending your days digging for gems you weren’t exactly sure you would find wasn’t always the most exciting existence but, once settled into your usual places for the evening he caught sight of the slight tapping of your toe as you listened to music through your headphones and an idea popped into his mind.

“Care to share?” He asked, gesturing to the music playing device in your hand and unplugging the headphones. For a moment you were confused but when you caught sight of the look in his eye you knew he was up to something and it made you curious to find out what.

He extended his hand towards you, a slight bow to you in a silent question before you took it and let him guide you up, leading you into a spin before pulling you close and giving you a toothy grin. It was a little awkward in the cramped tent, with only a few feet of space to accommodate your movements you found yourself being forced closer together but you weren’t one to complain when you had an excuse to press yourself as close to him as possible. You could already feel your worries from the day washing away as he dragged you through a few elaborate dips and swings just to get a giggle out of you.

“Thank you,” You whispered to him quietly, pressing a kiss to his cheek and pulling him into a hug as the song came to an end, your bodies still swaying to the rhythm despite the fact that the music was long gone as you took one another in.

Frankie

Easy Rider - Eddie Berman

Frankie woke to the muffled sound of music playing from the kitchen. Sunlight was streaming in through the window and casting the room in a bright warm glow as he padded out of the bedroom. His hair sticking up in every which direction and his eyes still bleary from sleep when they fell on the sight of you, an energetic bounce to your step, hips swaying and head rocking to the music when you caught sight of him. The smile on your face widened when you bounded over to him. “How are you so awake this early?” He asked, an entertained grin tugging at his lips when you kept swinging your limbs around in no particularly coordinated fashion.

“Dance with me and maybe you’ll find out.” You beam up at him, giving his hips a slight jostle.

“Too early,” He groaned back facetiously as you dragged him into the kitchen and hopped around on the spot.

“C’mon, no coffee until you dance with me!” You exclaim and he shakes his head despite the smile betraying him.

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” He asked and you purse your lips, feigning contemplation of his proposal before that devious smile flashes across your features and you give him a quick shake of your head. Eventually he breaks down when you grab his hands and drag him into a twist. You were right, it did wake him up faster than his usual slow mornings with a coffee and the news.

Marcus

Your Moon - Rosie Carney

It was more of a gentle sway at this point, your playlist had gotten shuffled around and instead of the usual upbeat and energetic music you would normally listen to when you were cleaning, you had fallen into a gentler rhythm as you swayed around, dusting the living room. You let out a slight squeak when a strong pair of arms wrapped around your middle and a solid chest pressed against your back.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.” Marcus would mumble against your shoulder before placing a trail of kisses up your neck, jaw, cheek and to the corner of your mouth. “Watcha listening to?” He would hum against your temple, loosening his grip only to allow you twist around in his embrace and sling your arms over his shoulders before handing him an earbud, the thin cord connecting you to one another as he fell into the same subtle sway that had over taken you.

His forehead would drop to press against yours as your fingers played with the overgrown hairs at the nape of his neck and his nose would brush against your own slightly when he nuzzles into your touch. Theres a tired, blissed out smile on his face as his eyes fall shut, his grip on your waist tugging you a little closer, the world seeming to fade from around you when he presses a kiss to your lips and murmurs a quiet “I like this song.”

[ masterlist ]

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Pedro Boys Taglist: @theravenreads @mrschiltoncat @seasonschange-butpeopledont @deafspaceperson

#javier peña x reader #marcus pike x reader #javier peña x you #marcus pike x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie morales x reader #din djarin x reader #ezra x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #din djarin x you #ezra (prospect) x you #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales x you

83 notes · View notes

ink-splotch · 7 years

Note

Okay, so, I'd love to read a little something by you set in a world where Lavender made it out of the Battle of Hogwarts. Maybe not okay, but alive?

Once upon a time, Lavender had wanted everyone to look at her. She had been the kind of kid who put on dramatic plays for her stuffed animals, for any visitors to the house, and for any neighbor or passersby she could snag from the front yard.

Dating Ron in sixth year had been fun, most of all because everyone had kept sneaking glances at her. She had heard her name in curious whispers and she had grinned and giggled into Parvati’s shoulder.

Everyone was looking now, or pretending not to. She heard the whispers– oh it’s that poor Brown girl. Can you imagine, if it was your daughter, if it was you? Oh and she was so pretty before, too–what a pity–almost makes it worse, doesn’t it?

–

“You know Professor Lupin was a werewolf?” Hermione said, ten minutes into a very awkward lunch she had asked for in an equally awkward letter.

Lavender pushed a sauteed carrot through a little puddle of pasta sauce. “I think everyone heard about that one. Someone told the papers, or something, right?”

“Er, yes,” said Hermione. “Snape did. Which is what I– I mean, it’s related. Oh, I wish you’d gotten to talk to Remus about this. He was a lovely man.”

“Not as lovely as Lockhart,” Lavender said and she and Hermione spent a moment in wistful remembrance. “God, I feel old,” Lavender said.

“Anyway, Snape,” said Hermione. “Snape and Lupin. When Lupin was at school, Snape would make him a potion that would… tame him, on full moons. He could just curl up in his office and sleep by the fire. If you’re interested, I’m trying to learn how to brew it myself.”

Lavender shook her head. “We’re not friends,” she said. “Never have been. So why are you doing all this?”

Hermione looked like she was trying to say “we’re friends,” but she couldn’t get it out. “I was there, once, when Lupin turned without the potion. I was so scared. I thought we were going to die.”

“Afraid I’ll sniff you out on a dark night?” Lavender said, face twisting as she sank back into her wicker chair.

“No, I–” Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, and all the hesitation was making Lavender more and more uncomfortable. Even at eleven, Hermione had bulldozed through things. She didn’t waver. “I was so scared, but I think it was even worse for him. It hurt, but he looked so scared, too, I–”

“I know how it feels,” said Lavender, very quietly, and Hermione snapped her mouth shut. Lavender took a big sip from her tea. It was still steaming– it had not taken long to exhaust small talk, between the two of them.

Hermione cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying to make amends. I’m trying to– make things better. Do you want this?”

Lavender put her mug back down, shaking out scalded fingers, and said, “Yes.” Then, because her mother had raised her right, she said, “Thank you.”

“That sounds like a weird conversation,” said Parvati, whose door Lavender went and knocked on after she and Hermione had split the bill with the precise-to-the-Knut math of the vaguely acquainted and recently employed.

Lavender kicked through the fall of autumn leaves that had collected in front of the porch swing. “She was trying to be nice, I think.”

“She’s not very good at it,” said Parvati.

Her father wept. He tried not to but he was a crier, always had been.

“You were so brave,” said Lavender’s mother, cupping her cheeks in her warm hands and not even flinching at the scar tissue under her palms. “We are so proud.”

Lavender’s mother was a Muggleborn, daughter of a math teacher and a door-to-door salesman (“now there is a profession that requires some magic,” her grandfather used to tell her).

Her father was a wizard and he was trying hard not to cry, bending down to pet the dogs weaving between all their ankles. Lavender bent down, too, scratching behind Fiddlestick’s floppy ears while Mopsy cleaned her cheek forcefully. “Hey,” she said, and her father looked up, trying to firm his wobbly chin.

“You know I’m proud of you, too,” he said, trying not to tremble on it. “I just…” He reached out to squeeze her knee gently. “You did everything right. You did everything good. I’m so proud of you, chickadee.”

“I know,” she said, and she did. He was a Gryffindor, too.

It took Hermione more than a month to figure out the potion sufficiently well enough that she’d let Lavender try it. She was founding a non-profit for nonhuman rights, too, after all, as well as doing a fair few local speaking gigs, petitioning the Wizenagamot on a half dozen issues, getting an advanced degree, and supposedly, at some point, sleeping.

It took more than a month, so Lavender spent another night locked in her parents’ newly fortified cellar. She didn’t remember much, but she woke up with her throat sore and her nails ragged. The door was gouged from the inside. She wondered if she had been screaming. She wondered if that’s what the howls were. She felt like screaming, maybe, a little.

The door cracked open the moment the moon had dropped down below the horizon, outside. Her mother came in with a tray of her favorite breakfast foods– danishes and boiled eggs, steaming hot cocoa with the barest splash of bitter coffee in it.

Parvati came stomping down the stairs after her. “Graceful,” said Lavender. She winced at the roughness of her voice.

“Look who’s talking,” said Parvati. “Up, c'mon, eat your breakfast. We’re doing midnight manicures. Your dad says he’ll let us doll up his nails, too.”

The next full moon night, Lavender locked herself in the cellar again. “It should be safe,” Hermione had said. “It should. I mean, I’ve done all the tests. I followed all the instructions. It should work.”

Lavender didn’t remember, because she never remembered– she didn’t recall the cellar door unlocking and opening after ten minutes of post-moonrise silence. She didn’t recall Parvati Wingardium Leviosa-ing a comfy chair down the stairs, or her sitting down and pulling out a stack of Witch Weeklys, nor did she remember curling up on Parvati’s fuzzy button slippers and going to sleep.

But she did remember waking up in the morning, her cheek pressed into a soft pillow. She was tattered under a thick blanket, but she was human and looking upward at Parvati’s slack, sleeping face. Her dark plaits tumbled, curling, over the soft pink polka dots of her pajamas.

Lavender pulled herself up to sitting, stole the open Witch Weekly, and waited for Parvati to wake up.

“You’re going to be alright,” Professor Trelawney said and she wasn’t even looking at Lavender’s palm, just holding her hand tight in her cold fingers. “You’re going to be happy. You’re going to be fine. People are going to love you and stand by you and we will be there.”

The tower room was just the same as Lavender remembered it, down to the spicy-sweet tea and Trelawney’s big blinking eyes. Lavender squeezed her hands back. “I love you, too, professor.”

“You know, I think you can call me Sybil. It seems the time for it.”

–

Dean and Seamas’s housewarming for their ugly little first flat was a crowded mess, but the afterparty wasn’t. Lavender and Parvati came by with paint swatches, opinions, and hangover remedies. They ate greasy Chinese food on the floor, because it was about as comfortable as the couch.

They came back the next week, and the next. Parvati conjured a crackling fire in a big fruit bowl Dean’s mother had given him and they all sat around it like they were back at Gryffindor Tower’s hearths, procrastinating on homework.

On nights like that they sometimes talked about Hogwarts, but most of the time they didn’t. Dean had started drawing again and he walked them through his notebooks– his sisters, caricatures of the customers he dealt with in Ollivander’s wand shop, the snarky little comics he’d always scrawled in the edges of his notes. Parvati told them about the Auror trainees’ antics, going ut on their first field missions with their mentors. “All bravado and caffeine,” she said. “Bunch of show-offs.”

“So you fit in well, then?” Dean said.

“Nah, that’s Lav,” Parvati said. Dean and Seamas glanced warily at Lavender, but she just giggled and reached for another potsticker.

Seamas was considering going back to school. “Hermione’s been badgering me about it,” he said. “Says I have a talent for pyrotechnics, and there’s a whole major for fire magics at Brinxley.”

“What about you, Lav?” said Dean. “You still thinking about vet school?”

“What?”

“Oh, uh, that’s the Muggle word. Veterinarian– a medimagizoologist?”

“The schools aren’t too interested in a werewolf as a student,” Lavender said, shrugging.

“Not that that stops Hermione from showing up on the doorstep with half-penned anti-discrimination lawsuits she wants Lav to star in,” Parvati said.

“When does she sleep?” said Dean.

–

Little children asked about it in the street sometimes. “Mum, why’s her face like that?” “How come she’s walking all funny?”

Sometimes their parents turned to Lavender with eager bright eyes in the grocery store line, expecting her to answer. (“I got hurt, but I’m okay now.”) Sometimes they shushed their kids and gave her little apologetic half-smiles, glancing away from the raised lines of scar tissue. Sometimes they pulled their children closer to them and crossed to the other side of the street.

Harry Potter had a godson. Teddy Lupin was four the first time Lavender met him, just outside Gringotts. Teddy clung to Harry’s pants leg, peeking past his godfather’s hanging robe. “Why’d her face do that?” he said and Harry dropped a hand down into Teddy’s hair, which was bright green.

“She’s just like your dad,” said Harry.

“Puppy,” Teddy whispered, eyes wide with joy, and his skin shifted until scars stood out stark on his smiling chubby cheeks.

Lavender bit her lip and sank down to her knees in the street, holding out a hand. “Why aren’t you handsome, chickadee. What’s your name?”

–

Once, Lavender had wanted everyone to look at her.

She hated stories that told you to be careful what you wished for. Were you not supposed to want things? Was that the answer? She was nearly twenty two and she could make things fly with a few whispered words. She had lived through her seventh year at Hogwarts, had stepped out into that battle with her wand out and her eyes open. She had woken up–hurting, wounds tended, poison in her veins–to Parvati sleeping on Sybil’s shoulder at her bedside.

She had cried when they told her about the lycanthropy. She had cried over her bunny because a fox had gotten to it. Both times it had been with her face buried in Parvati’s shoulder and Parvati’s hands stroking her hair. She wished and she wanted– animals that never left you, bodies that never betrayed you.

Once, Lavender had wished that everyone would look at her, and now they were. Everyone was looking– so Lavender held Parvati’s hand in the grocery store at midnight, because they had both been craving green apples. Everyone was looking– so Lavender curled her hair and pinned it up, wore tank tops and little skirts on any day hot enough that she could get away with it, laughed aloud in public spaces. Everyone was looking– so Lavender knocked on Hermione Granger’s door one evening and asked, “What would it take to get me into magical vet school?”

Hermione had her bushy hair all tied back and a quill behind each ear. “A lot. There’s some statutes we’ve got to fight, and even if we can handle that you’ll still be under intense scrutiny for years.”

“I can work with that,” said Lavender, and Hermione grinned.

–

When Teddy marched down the aisle with the rings, his hair was a shimmering swirl of pink and purple to match the flowers woven into Parvati’s braids and Lavender’s curls.

The honeymoon would be short–a week in magical Paris in the townhouse of a Beauxbaton girl they’d befriended fourth year. Lavender had more medical textbooks packed into her luggage than anything else. Parvati’s bags were lined with half-finished reports that she’d owl to Auror headquarters from a rumpled Parisian morning, getting croissant crumbs in the bedsheets.

But for now the hall was filled with pink and purple blooms, white candles, familiar faces. Hermione stood in a violet bridesmaid’s dress, and Dean and Seamus in matching ties at Parvati and Lavender’s respective backs. Padma was luminescent with joy over Parvati’s shoulder. She had taken Lavender aside that morning for a short quiet walk in the mist and told her, “I know tonight’s what makes it official, but I’ve thought of you as my sister for years.”

When Lavender leaned forward and kissed her wife, her father burst into proud tears in the front row. He was a crier, always had been. Lavender buried her face in Parvati’s shoulder, smiling so hard she thought she might come apart. Her scars creased and puckered in her dimples, and she was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

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