#its frustrating and i feel like i was born to be a ginger but no one told my fucking hair

[pr]

"oh well youre not a NATURAL redhead" thats right bitch i am an UNNATURAL redhead, do you know how much more insane that makes me???? to pay thousands of dollars to maintain this identity and i LOVE it????

#for legal reasons this is a joke #i hope that is obvious that i am razzing #i have been a redhead for over a decade and i have lied to so many ppl abt being a natural redhead #bc inevitably they are like oh 😒 so ur fake....ok #LIKE GIRL YOU DIDNT KNOW UNTIL I TOLD YOU??? WHY DOES IT MATTER??? #its frustrating and i feel like i was born to be a ginger but no one told my fucking hair #op #hair

[corroded-hellfire]

A First Second Date - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Feeling bummed about your dating life, you have a middle of the night run in with the cute guy who lives in the apartment across from yours.

Note: Me? Projecting? Never. Also, yes, Butterbean is a real cat who hangs around mine.

Words: 2.1k

The apartment still has the warm pleasant smell from your earlier baking as you walk out of your room, shrugging on an oversized navy hoodie. A little baggie awaits you on the counter and you snatch it up and shove it into your hoodie pocket. The heavenly smelling sugar cookies you’d made look too tempting as you pass them by, forcing you to grab one. Then halt in your tracks, turn around and grab a second one, before continuing your way towards the front door. 

It’s just before two in the morning and it’s quite possibly your favorite time of day. No one asking you to do anything, no one expecting anything of you, time to just be. The whole apartment building seems to have fallen silent—another perk to this time of night. The sound of your feet padding down the thinly carpeted hallway is all that’s heard. 

Coolness kisses your skin as you push outside, making sure not to let the heavy door slam behind you, lest it disturb the peace. Only a few wispy clouds decorate the sky above, most of the frills consisting of the glistening stars and beaming moon. 

Dry grass crunches underfoot as you step across the lawn of your apartment building. There’s a small stone wall up near the sidewalk, with a large oak tree conveniently plotted right behind it to give you something to lean back on when you’re lounging on the parapet. Taking up your usual post as the late night watch woman, you take a generous bite into one of the soft cookies in your hand. The vanilla and buttery notes have you letting out a content sigh as you tuck your legs up underneath you and lay your back against the mighty oak. 

As if your sigh was the cue he was waiting for, your loyal nighttime companion hops up on the wall next to you. The pale ginger cat greets you with an insistent meow before he begins to rub up against your arms, the calming purr radiating throughout his body. 

“Hey, Butterbean,” you say as you reach up to scratch between his ears. The volume of the purring increases as Butterbean moves his head around, letting you know exactly where he wants the scratchies. While he’s in his ecstasy, you finish off the first sugar cookie. As if the sight of your treat reminds him, he looks up at you eagerly, ears high on his tiny head, and his large eyes wide.

“Yes?” you ask.

He lets out another meow and brings his paw up to scratch against the chest of your hoodie. 

“Oh, is that what you want?” you tease the feline. “Of course I’ve got something for you.”

Butterbean’s excitement grows as he watches you take the plastic baggie out of your pocket and sprinkle the cat treats on the stone wall next to you. Your pantry has its own little stash of cat treats ever since you befriended this neighborhood sweetheart. He’s gained weight since you’ve begun giving him the food—which he needed. You don’t know where he was before he came into your life, but you prefer to think that the little nub he has on his rear end instead of a tail is just how he was born. 

“Glad you like ‘em, kid,” you tell the cat as he finishes eating. Next, he decides it’s time for him to bathe himself right there next to you on the wall. 

Closing your eyes, you tilt your head back and take a deep breath. You’ve been trying to keep the thoughts at bay for a while now, but now was the time for them to resurface. 

What did I do wrong? Should I have offered to pay for dinner? Could he not stop staring at this stupid zit on my chin? Did I say something stupid? Oh, I probably did. And why stop at one thing, there were most likely several stupid things I said. 

Letting out a groan of frustration, you run your hands over your face. This was the fourth first date you’d been on in two months. Not a second date to be found. Why was the only one who wanted a second date the one who I wanted to literally run from? You’re about to voice this question out loud to your furry friend, but the sound of footsteps coming up the sidewalk catches your attention. No one’s ever out walking the streets this late at night. It has you on your guard, and you’re ready to sprint for the front door of the apartment if you need to—scooping up Butterbean to bring him to safety as well. But it’s just your across the hall neighbor, Eddie. The one you’ve had a massive crush on since the day you moved in. How could you not when he offered to move the heavier things for you and then gave you that devastating smile? Life would be so much better if you could just date him. But you don’t even let your mind think about that for too long unless you're lying in bed at night with your hand between your legs. Thinking about dating Eddie, about him caring about you, was just asking for more heartbreak than you already have. 

“Hey, stranger,” Eddie says as he strolls over to you. Butterbean raises his head to look at Eddie, who waves at him like it’s a common occurrence. “Hello, Ginger.”

You can’t help but let out a snort of laughter at that. “Ginger?”

“Yeah, I named the cat,” Eddie says defensively, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “So what?”

“No, no,” you say with a shake of your head, still laughing. “I named him, too. Just something a little more creative than the color of his fur.”

“How do you know he’s a boy?” Eddie presses, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because it’s very rare for an orange cat to be a girl,” you inform him. “It has to do with the chromosomes.” Great job, you think to yourself. Give him a science lesson, that’s how to seduce a man. 

“Okay, Miss Smartypants, what did you name the distinguished gentleman?” Eddie asks, with an overdramatic flourish in the cat’s direction.

“Butterbean,” you admit, bashfulness creeping in your voice. 

Eddie throws back his head and lets out a crack of laughter. It’s not at you, though, you can tell. 

“Oh, I love that,” Eddie says. “So much better than mine.”

A chill breeze blows across the yard, making you tuck your legs up closer to your body. A reminder of what time it is and that you should probably get inside soon. What was Eddie doing out this late? Probably coming back from a date. The thought brings a lump to your throat. If he’s coming back this late from the date, it must’ve gone well. Images of Eddie in some other woman’s bed start to invade your mind and you’re pretty sure you’re physically wincing when Eddie’s words break you out of your thoughts.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Hmm?” You look up to see Eddie gesturing to the second sugar cookie in your hand. “Oh. I made these today. Do you want it? I just had one.”

“I will never turn down free food,” Eddie tells you as he plucks the cookie from your hand. As he bites into it, you watch as the crumbs scatter over his lips and the way his tongue pokes out to collect them. It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. “Holy shit. That is amazing.”

“Y-Yeah?” you ask with a nervous chuckle. 

“Hell yeah.” He brushes the sprinkles of sugar off of his hands and gives you a playful smirk. “You’ll make some man a happy husband someday.”

“Ha!” 

You didn’t mean to let that out, but it felt like a reflex to respond to the idea of someone wanting to be with you with a bark of laughter. 

Eddie furrows his eyebrows at you. “Why’s that funny?”

“Nah,” you say, shaking your head. You don’t want to get into this with him, so you try to just play it off. “S’just I don’t see it happening.”

“You don’t want to get married?”

“No, I do.” You’re speaking to your lap now, and Butterbean has curled up by your side for support. “I just don’t think I will.”

“I don’t understand,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. 

“Can’t seem to get past a first date with anyone,” you say with a self-deprecating chuckle. 

“Hey.” Eddie nudges your shoulder, so you look up at him. “Least you’re going on dates, sweetheart. Same can’t be said for everyone.”

The slight downturn of the corners of his mouth makes you frown.

“Wait, you don’t mean you, do you?” The very idea boggles your mind.

“Yep, little ‘ol me.” Now it’s Eddie that seems to look anywhere but at you. 

“You’re not coming back from a date now?” Again, not something you meant to let out. Your filter must stop working at two in the morning. 

“From a date?” Eddie meets your eyes, his eyebrows raised into his frizzy bangs. “No.” He chuckles as he shakes his head. “Covered a shift at the plant my old man works at. He wasn’t feeling great and he’s getting older, so I said I’d fill in.”

“Oh.” The knot in your stomach from picturing him with a woman starts to untie itself. “Well…you should go on dates.” With me, you don’t add.

“Why’s that?” Eddie counters.

“Because…you’re great.” 

“So are you,” Eddie says, jutting his chin in your direction. 

“So, we’re both great,” you say. The words hang in the air, and you wonder who will speak first. You’re not sure if he’ll pick up on the implication that you should go on a date together because, well…it was barely there. But you leave the ball in his court, the silence between the two of you only broken by Butterbean’s soft snores. 

“Okay, uh,” Eddie starts. He clears his throat before continuing. “Say the next guy you go out with isn’t a total asshole. Where would you want him to take you on a second date?”

“Well, you said he’s not an asshole?” You click your tongue and shrug your shoulders. “That means he won’t want a second date. Only the assholes do.”

“Hypothetically here,” he says, throwing you a small smile.

“Second date…” You purse your lips as you ponder the question. “Where did he take me on the first date?”

Eddie squeezes one eye shut as he thinks of a proper date spot. “Lunch date at Benny’s Diner.”

“Not a bad choice,” you concede. “Second date, hmm. Might not be a step up, probably a lateral move…but Waffle House.”

This makes Eddie laugh. His ring-covered hand comes to hold his stomach and he shakes his head in amusement. 

“The Waffle House?”

“Best waffles I ever had,” you tell him. 

“All right,” Eddie says as he scratches the slight stubble covering his chin. “So, what would you say if I asked you to go to the Waffle House?”

The cookie you’d eaten only minutes ago suddenly feels like it sprouted wings and it’s flying uncontrollably all around your stomach. Afraid to scare him away by simply shouting YES at him, you take a moment to think of a calmer response. 

“I’d say that sounds like a second date spot and we haven’t been on a first yet. But I’d make an exception for you.”

The smile that grows on Eddie’s face baffles you. You put that smile there? That stunning, orgasm-inducing smile? All by saying you want to go on a date with him? Seems impossible. 

“I’m honored to be the exception.” Eddie sketches a bow that sends you into a round of giggles. The noise wakes Butterbean up, and he stretches his long paws out in front of him. 

“When should I expect this Waffle House invitation?” you ask.

“Hmm. Perhaps as I escort you back inside? It’s pretty late.”

Conceding to his point, you hop off the wall, Butterbean jumping down after you. After rubbing himself up against your legs a few times, he wanders off, only to be seen again tomorrow night when you have his little baggie of treats. 

Eddie opens the front door of the apartment for you, and you step inside the building that now feels too warm. The two of you walk side by side up the stairs, and after he holds the staircase door open for you, he clears his throat.

“So, would you like to go to the Waffle House sometime? Whenever you’re free?”

“I’d really like that,” you say, excitement bubbling throughout your whole body. “Are you usually up this late? Because I am and the Waffle House is open 24 hours.”

“I could go for some midnight waffles, shit yeah. Tomorrow?”

Trying to keep your beaming smile to a minimum, you nod your head.

“It’s a date.”

“The first of many, hopefully.”

Maybe all guys weren’t so bad after all. 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction

[shadowsinger11]

John Wayne

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Christmas lights and stunning dresses are enough to spark a desire for a winter romance. But could you have possibly gotten the wrong idea?

Word Count: 2.5k

Genre: fluff, angst

A/N: I might've listened too much to Cigarettes After Sex while writing and this is totally not a song inspired fic, born purely as a result of my procrastination with other projects

Tag list: @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hufflexpuff @neovannii @jenniweasley @theweasleysredhair @harrysweasleys @loony-loopy-lupinn @whiz-bangs78 @slytherinsunrise @starlightweasley @ickle-ronniekins @gcdric @vivianweasley @aprilsrant @idont-knowrn @thisismynerdyself @wonderful-writer @feetoffthetablee @minty-malfoy @vogueweasley @elf-punk @oh-for-merlins-sake @heart-of-tempered-steel @spilled-prose @itseatyourdamnapples @aaannabbanana @l0ttadreamz @potter-redheads @pastanest | message me to be added/removed! (if you're in bold, I couldn't tag you)

You were staring at the crowded dance floor.

Beautiful ladies were being spun around by their partners, gorgeous gowns twirling and swooshing with their every elegant move. Everything was perfect about them; from their smile which lit up the Great hall more than the sparkling white Christmas trees, to the way their wrist gracefully twisted around their lover's neck, eyes piercing into theirs. The music was playing, slow and melancholic, exactly as it had been playing for the last few hours, luring lovers and encouraging them to bare their souls in front of each other.

And so they danced, connected by fearful desire, united by hope and bonded by love.

It was a kind of magic no one could truly understand, mysterious and private as though you weren't meant to witness it that night. So when among the sea of couples lips met in a silent oath, your heart began to ache, pleading you to leave.

It should have been you. It should have been you the receiver of those loving glances, of those kisses which made your head dizzy and caused your knees to buckle, but it would've been no problem as you would've had the arms of your lover to keep you secure. Then, as you'd dare to look up through your lashes, gorgeous eyes would be already on you, their obscure flame consoling you and pulling you in. And you'd simply fall, letting the warm, velvety darkness envelope you.

You flinched from the slight chill, rethinking your choice of a sleeveless dress. The enthusiasm with which you had picked it months ago now seemed utterly ridiculous and foolish as you were sitting a good distance away from where you believed you'd have been dancing your heart out. But, as you took one last look at your surroundings, only to spot your lovestruck friends indulging in the presence of their partners, the comfort of your pajamas seemed far more tempting than the unreasonably expensive piece of fabric which didn't even matter to you anymore.

It was pitifully funny how things could change in the blink of an eye, in a single breath; how fast you had gone from blooming with excitement to wondering how you were foolish enough to contribute to your own heartbreak.

"How come I'm just finding out about this?" Fred exclaimed, chasing after you down the stairs of the Astronomy tower. "I bet I wouldn't have known if it wasn't for those Ravenclaws chatting back in class."

"You were gonna know eventually, what's the deal?"

"My point is, why didn't you tell me and I had to hear from someone else?"

A group Hufflepuffs gave you questioning looks as you practically ran past them, nearly tripping over your own feet in the process, "You're making a fuss about nothing, stop acting entitled to every piece of information in my life!"

"McLaggen? That git?" Fred yelled in frustration and disbelief; he didn't at all acknowledge the small crowd which had gathered to observe the scene, nor did he care in the first place. He stopped in his tracks, gripping the wooden railing tight, knuckles turning white and jaw tense. "You cannot be serious."

Shocked faces now turned to you, and you desperately wished you could use reducio on yourself. Instead, opposite to what your consciousness was screaming at you, you dug your feet into the floor and shot Fred a stern look over your shoulder, "We're not discussing this right now. Besides, what's in it for you anyway? You're going with Angelina."

Had you kept walking, you would have missed the way Fred's chest was heaving with shallow, rapid breaths, and his face was more maroon than you had ever seen. And you? You couldn't quite breathe yourself.

A week ago your untamed happiness brightened every room and hallway; classes seemed to fly by, exams were over and the Yule ball was right around the corner. Your heart was ringing with joy as you were so looking forward to forgetting your troubles for just one night. 

In the midst of shining Christmas decorations and beautiful dresses a dreamy, yet pretty bold idea had begun to form in your head, an idea which Ginny and Hermione encouraged with their support and affirmations. Deep down you had started to believe Fred Weasley took an interest in you, harboured feelings for you even, and your ever-present goofy banter which contained far more flirting than what would be acceptable between two best friends, only fed your imagination and raised your hopes up.

You were aware you were the only one on the receiving end of Fred's teasing jokes, cheesy pickup lines and lingering stares which had you staying up an extra hour in your bed at night. Even his siblings shared the same opinion - there was no way on Godric's sword that a person who clearly wanted to be around you as often as possible and got his hands on you every chance he could, wouldn't be at least a little bit interested in you.

That's why you nearly broke down when exactly a week ago in the hallway Ron casually mentioned his older brother had just asked out Angelina.

The ground was pulled beneath your feet, vanishing along with your oblivious hopes. The news stung sharply, leaving a sour taste in your mouth; never had you believed you’d spend the few days before the ball stitching up your heart, and you were willing to do just about anything to forget about your humiliation. So when McLaggen invited you with an obnoxiously flirty note in Charms class, you didn’t hesitate much.

You could feel a wave of tears burning your eyes as you looked up to where Fred was standing. His face and ears were still as red as they could get, and his chest was vibrating with every shaky breath he took. Fury had disappeared from his eyes long ago, replaced with concern, regret and hurt which you couldn't quite place.

He climbed down the few remaining stairs.

"He's obnoxious! And beyond what's good for you!" Fred stated, though his voice now lacked power and slightly trembled, loud enough just for you to hear. "You're setting yourself up for a pretty bad night."

You swallowed down the dry lump in your throat and finally turned around to fully face him, looking him up and down.

"Seems like I have a terrible taste in men then."

A second glass of firewhiskey did nothing to burn down the growing turmoil in your stomach. You tapped the edge of the empty glass with your fingers and smiled at your friends who were visibly exhausted from dancing to upbeat songs for quite awhile now, but enjoying their time far too much to take a break. You admired their spirit - just because you weren't feeling your best, it didn't mean your friends didn't have the right to have fun.

However, the inevitable sense of regret lingered in your bones, and you found it hard to not focus on how the ball had gone wrong for you, in more ways than you had originally thought.

Even without Fred as your date, there was still a chance you'd have a good time. McLaggen could undoubtedly make it awkward to be around, and with the fact that your heart had recently been sliced open, you weren't sure how much of his ridiculous antics you could take. But at least he was trying; if you put aside his overbearing ego, you could see genuine effort into creating something romantic for both of you. It was going to be okay. Not necessarily what you desired, but somehow okay.

And that last bit of hope vanished the second you caught your former date snogging your crush's date in an empty classroom merely an hour ago.

You didn't know whether to cry or laugh at the universe's bitter joke, but the tears on your face as you ran down the hallway in your beautiful dress were eloquent.

A bitter, bitter joke.

You couldn't take it anymore. The charming smiles, sultry glances and stolen kisses you had been observing for the past hour were too much. And when another slow song made an appearance, you rose to your feet and headed towards the tall doors of the exit. Perhaps sleep would be a decent ending to your horrendous night.

You had barely made it out of the Great hall when loud footsteps echoed on your right.

"Bloody hell, I've been looking for you!" Fred said through heavy breaths, having run all the way to you as it seemed. His ginger hair had escaped its slicked look long ago, now too messy to fix despite his numerous attempts to smooth it back. His suit was no better, slightly wrinkled and shirt open to the third button.

"Why have you?" you asked and folded your arms, feeling a bit chilly in the hallway.

"McLaggen. About him," Fred sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry for having to say it, but I just saw him-"

"I know."

Fred frowned in confusion.

"You do?"

It was your turn to let out an exasperated sigh as you looked down at your feet, "Yes. A while ago."

Fred's features softened.

"I'm sorry."

You barely found it in you to respond with a weak smile, "It's alright. I guess I was right. I do have a terrible taste in men." Then you gave Fred a sympathetic look, "I'm sorry for Angelina too, it's horrible she did this to you."

Your friend allowed the ghost of a smirk to appear on his lips and he shoved hands into his pockets, "I'm not really affected by it in all honesty," he shrugged. "I'm rather angry about the fact that the prat thought he could pull off something like this and get away with it."

Fred's heart ached at the sight of your slumped figure and glossy eyes; he hated himself for having contributed to the failure of the event you were expecting with so much hope. He tilted his head to the side, attempting to meet your gaze.

"I'd gladly prank the crap outta the git until he doesn't even dare to show up to classes… But for now is there a way for me to make your night any less terrible, love?"

You couldn't help but giggle at the thought of McLaggen skipping classes out of sheer fear of Fred. But then your thoughts wandered to the way Angelina was practically straddling his lap, and you wondered if Fred had been doing the same all this time unbeknownst to you; if right after a flirty joke sent your way he'd go to an empty classroom and kiss Angelina with the passion you had just witnessed.

The image of Angelina's lips on Fred's caused you to become nauseous and you attempted to swallow down that lump again.

"No," you replied. "But please, tell me one thing. What was that entire tantrum for?"

Fred didn't really seem taken aback by your question, realizing you'd eventually bring it up. He furrowed a brow, carefully thinking of an answer, and wettened his lips.

“Perhaps it would be inappropriate of me to say it- selfish even, but the mere thought of you being in the embrace of someone, especially with that someone being a foul git, caused me to get unreasonably angry.” Guilt was seeping into his every word and he bitterly chuckled to himself. “Ironic, isn’t it? Attempting to spare you heartbreak by being the reason for it.”

He gently took your hand and looked into your eyes, remorse swimming in his own, "I had no right to treat you the way I did. I'm terribly sorry for being controlling and you absolutely do not have to forgive me. Just know that I truly regret my actions; I never intended to hurt you."

His words were a feather-light caress to your wounded heart and you shuddered. You couldn't stay mad at him. Reciprocated feelings or not, he was still your best friend and you wouldn't let that go.

"Apology accepted," you gave his hand a light squeeze and Fred beamed, the entire hallway lighting up with him. Dread released your chest of its merciless grasp and you could finally breathe. However, one question never ceased to haunt you. "But I just need to know…” you began, absentmindedly playing with his fingers, “...why were you so upset to begin with?"

Fred's shoulders immediately stiffened and he averted his gaze from you in an attempt to come up with a reasonable reply. His jaw was clenched, and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "I didn't want you to go with him." He stated simply. "Not when you could've easily gone with me instead."

You froze.

"What do you mean?” you asked timidly, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “What about Angelina?"

Fred only shook his head, fighting back a grin.

"Darling, Angelina was never the catch."

The air was knocked out of your lungs.

You could only stare at Fred wide-eyed, and though his expression was unreadable, maroon had begun to crawl its way up to his ears and cheeks again.

"I'm sorry for putting you through all this," Fred spoke softly as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles, a kiss that awakened the butterflies within you. "I was really too much of a wuss to confess to you and settled for this instead."

"I guess that makes us two," you smiled sincerely, perhaps for the first time that night. Fred returned your smile with a grin, and asked.

"How can I make up to you for this oh-so-awful mess?"

"Dance with me," you said without skipping a beat. "That's what you owe me at least. Let's finally do what we both wanted."

Fred's expression became serious as he intertwined his fingers with yours, and led you into the direction of the Great hall, from which music could still faintly be heard.

"With the greatest of pleasure, my love."

Most people had already gone to bed, leaving just a few couples and you to drench in enchanted serenity. Fred's arms around you felt like home as you both swayed to the soft rhythm of the song, one of the many to follow, but his racing heartbeat under your palm caused your own pulse to speed up as well. 

You looked up at your lover through your lashes, gorgeous eyes already on you, their obscure flame consoling you and pulling you in. There was an odd, enigmatic allure that Fred possessed, and even after years of knowing this man, it only caused you to fall further into the velvety hell you didn't wish to escape from. 

And when his lips collided with yours, they tasted sweeter than the forbidden fruit.

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader fluff #fred weasley x reader angst #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagines #james phelps #fred and george weasley

[comfortwriting]

Privacy - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Prompt 48: He pressed his lips against yours, you kissed back and your hands tugged at the bottom of his t-shirt. 

Prompt 50: “shhh...” he whispered “be quiet, you don’t want your parents finding us”

Requested/About: The reader invites her boyfriend of over a year, Fred, to come over for dinner and to spend the night at her parents house as they are eager to meet him. Throughout his stay under her parents roof, Y/N and Fred become sexually frustrated due to their lack of intimacy; causing Fred to take matters into his own hands. 

Warnings: 18+! detailed smut, swearing, vulgar language, fingering, oral female receiving, penetrative sex, mention of food and eating. 

Y/D/N = your dads name, Y/M/N = your mums name (if like me, you have no parents, include whoever is your guardian or any names you like!)

Your dad finished up helping your mum cook dinner in the hazy kitchen, popping the trays into the oven and slamming the door shut before more air could escape into the already scorching room, you could tear the two of them giggling, chatting amongst themselves and dancing along to the radio.

Biting your lip and staring at your reflection in the mirror, you raised your tartan skirt, rolling it up so your upper thigh would get more notice, even if you were wearing sheer black tights underneath.

Dating Fred Weasley for over a year definitely has its perks - his family became your family, the burrow became your second home where you were welcome to stop by and stay over whenever you liked, Fred’s skiving Snack boxes helped you get out of things you didn’t want to do at work, and around the house, Fred is incredibly romantic, taking you out on the most fun dates around Diagon Alley, and your sex life... well, it’s nothing short of steamy or adventurous.

You could feel your heart flutter, the hairs standing up on the back of your neck, pacing around your bedroom you hurried over to your bed and straightened out the covers and brushing over the tiniest creases. You straightened your picture frames, you and Fred in fits of laughter in your hand-me-down robes and darted around the room doublechecking for the tiniest specks of dust.

“Y/N!” your mum called up, now standing at the bottom of the stairs “he’s walking up the driveway!”

Almost jumping out of your skin, you went back to the mirror and quickly fixed your hair one last time, checking how minty your breath was from the mouthwash and sprinted down the stairs, almost sliding down the last few steps.

Your dad walked out of the hazy kitchen and into the hallway, wrapping his arm around your mum's waist, chuckling at you going red in the face.

“Roll that skirt down!” Your dad called out, pointing at your tartan skirt.

“Oh leave her alone!” your mother defended you “she isn’t a kid anymore”

“you’d think she’s off to a concert dressed like that!”

“Please don’t embarrass me” you warned them quietly under your breath, your back facing the door, slowly and grudgingly pulling your skirt down by the smallest inch.

Y/D/N raised his eyebrows “You know we wouldn’t, but the rifle is under the stairs-”

Y/M/N slapped him playfully and tutted, scolding him “behave, will you!”

“Dad!”

Fred’s footsteps crumbled as he walked over the stones, standing in front of the door, and knocking three times.

You stood there and glared at your dad who kept nodding his head towards where he kept his rifle.

“Don’t you dare!” You hissed at him, starting to regret taking up your parents offer for this evening.

“Answer the bloody door then!”

You sighed and turned around, facing the large wooden front door, taking a deep breath, you opened it, coming face to face with the man of your dreams.

His windswept ginger hair made him look like he had fought against the wind whilst walking up the worlds steepest hill and his beautiful brown eyes twinkled as they poured into yours. His tartan jumper matching your skirt.

“Hello, love,” he said softly, pulling you into a tight hug.

You rested your arms on his shoulders and brought them around the back of his neck, nuzzling your face into his warmth, the scent of fresh-baked bread and cinnamon engulfing you - making you wish you could apparate to the burrow without worrying your muggle parents.

“So you must be Fred Weasley” your father called out, letting go of your mother and walking towards Fred.

You and Fred pulled away from each other, you stood by his side, taking his bag and hanging it up on the peg beside the door next to your coat.

“Yes, sir” Fred replied, swallowing hard whilst trying to smile, holding out his hand.

Your father smiled and shook his hand “well, it’s lovely to meet you, Fred, I’m Y/D/N” he gestured over to your mother “and this is my wife, Y/M/N.”

After the slightly awkward, but better than expected introduction, Fred helped your father set the table and explaining the products he created and sells at his joke shop whilst you helped your mum plate up the food.

“He seems absolutely lovely!” your mum beamed, tipping more broccoli, carrots, and cauliflower onto the plates.

You smiled, picking up your plate and Fred’s “yeah, he’s amazing” you blushed “I love him.”

Following your mother into the dining room, you set Fred’s plate down on the placemat and then the same with yours next to him, your mother set the other two plates down and went back into the kitchen to fetch out the gravy and seasonings.

“If you allowed me to do magic the table would have been set within seconds” you huffed, as Fred pulled out your chair.

“When you live in your own house” your father started, sitting down “you can do what you like, but under this roof, you’ll be a - what's the word?” your father looked over at Fred.

“Uh, Muggle,” Fred replied, staring at your arse.

You sat down, Fred pushing in your chair before getting sat down, your mother finally placing everything on the table and opening a bottle of wine, pouring a glass for herself and her husband.

“ah, yes, but under this roof you’ll be a muggle like me and your mother” Your father lifted up his wine glass, thanking his wife and took a sip.

“I’m muggle-born” you sighed, picking up your knife and fork.

“Let’s not dive into this topic yet again!” your mother interrupted cheerfully, pouring gravy over her chicken.

Your father put down his glass of wine, licking the residue away that sat his lips “Fred” he lifted up the wine bottle “would you like a glass?”

Fred shook his head, cutting into the chicken and stabbing it with his fork “no thank you, I’m fine with my water” he smiled, taking a bite of his food.

Dinner went well, and again, better than expected. Fred laughed at your fathers terrible and cringe jokes whilst you and your mother pulled sour faces and reminded him about table manners, but Fred encouraged him even more, winning his approval.

Whilst your parents got caught up in their own discussions when resting, or with empty plates, you and Fred exchanged cheeky glances, his eyes travelling up your skirt which you made sure to roll back up before sitting down. Your hand sneakily rested on Fred’s thigh, slowly moving closer and closer to his crotch, making him almost choke on his sweetcorn and bash his knee under the table as he jolted.

“You’re a bloody tease” Fred muttered under his breath, helping you wash up “doing that to me and giving me a semi under the table.”

You smirked and placed the last plate on the drying rack, turning around to face him as you leaned against the kitchen worktops, the tiny puddles of soapy water that jumped out of the almost-overflowing sink seeped into the back of your skirt.

“I was only saying hello” you grinned, as Fred dried his hands and stood in front of you, placing his hands at either side of you, trapping you underneath him.

“Fancy giving me a speech?” he smirked back, his voice low.

You bit your lip and blushed, Fred leaned down to kiss you, his tongue dragging over your lips for entrance, making you both feel excited. Granting him access, your tongue and Fred’s fought for dominance, one of his hands now running up your inner thigh.

“Do you two need a hand?” Your mum called out, walking over to the kitchen door and opening it.

You quickly pushed Fred away from you and pulled the soapy, gravy cup off the drying wrack, scooping up water from the sink and throwing it over Fred, drenching him before he had a moment to realise what was happening.

The kitchen door swung open, warm, soapy water covered the kitchen floor and Fred’s jumper, your mother stood in the doorway, her mouth hanging open. Fred stood against the fridge, rubbing his eyes, you were stood sharing glances with both your mum and Fred whilst you gripped onto the gravy cup.

“Y/N! What have you done to the floor?! and look at Fred, he’s drenched!”

“We got carried away” Fred covered for you “I’m sorry Y/M/N, we’ll get it cleaned up.”

Y/M/N smiled and your boyfriend, calming down, “Oh don’t be silly! you don’t need to clean this mess” she replied sweetly “get that jumper off, I’ll pop it on the maiden to dry.”

Fred pulled off his wet tartan jumper, the butterflies inside of you fluttering around at the sight of his muscles busting through his short-sleeved t-shirt, you clamped your legs together at the knee.

Fred passed his jumper to your mum “thank you” he said softly.

“Get this cleaned up” your mother ordered “come into the living room with us Fred, a really good film is meant to be coming on at any minute now.” she walked out of the kitchen.

Fred followed behind slowly, piercing you with his eyes, “you’re in for it” he whispered, shutting the kitchen door behind him.

Biting your lip and sighing, you could feel the butterflies in your crotch, making you squeeze your legs together even tighter, swearing under your breath you grabbed the cloths and started to clean up.

Sitting between your dad and Fred, your eyes were glued to your boyfriend’s veiny arms and hands, he kept tensing and bunching his hands into fists on purpose, knowing you were watching and couldn’t do a thing about it. All the while, Fred continued to risk glances up your tartan skirt, getting a peek of your lace red thong.

Fred could feel his cock harden in his trousers, he shifted on the sofa and blocked his hard-on from view with his hands, noticing Fred hiding away, you also shuffled on the sofa which pulled back your skirt, exposing more of your inner thighs and your thong.

His eyes travelled up your legs with desperation and his breathing went got heavier, his cock getting even harder, his large length becoming harder to hide and painful to ignore, you smirked at him and focused on the television, not understanding the movie your parents were so hooked on.

“I think I’m going to call it a night” Fred announced quickly, almost stumbling over his words, standing up and retrieving his no longer wet but now damp jumper, which he used to cover up his hard-on.

“Yeah, me too” you forced a yawn, stretching out before standing up next to Fred and linking arms with him.

“Are you sure?” your dad protested “the film is nearly over”

Fred could feel his cock pulsate, he squeezed onto his jumper in frustration “I’m sure, too much telly can make us Wizards feel a bit dizzy” he lied, walking over to the door.

“Oh gosh!” your mum panicked, trying to get out of her seat, almost knocking over her wine glass “will you be alright-”

“I’ll look after him, he’ll be fine” you replied, pushing Fred through the door and out into the hallway “goodnight!”

Unlinking arms with Fred, you giggled and bolted up the stairs, Fred chasing after you and breaking into your bedroom. Shutting the door behind him, Fred threw his jumper onto your bed and leant against the door, his eyes staring you down as he walked over to you, backing you up against your study desk.

“I told you, you’re in for it” he growled.

Lifting you up and sitting you down on the desk, Fred spread your legs open with his hands, the veins in them bulging as he stood between them. He pressed his lips against yours, you kissed back and your hands tugged at the bottom of his t-shirt. Fred smirked against your lips and pulled off his t-shirt, giving you an eyeful of his muscles, his big, hard cock poking through his trousers.

Breaking away from the kiss, leaving your lips red and coated in his saliva, Fred started to undo his trousers and dropped them to the floor, standing out of them he kicked them across the floor, leaving him in his boxers and you still fully dressed. Fred sucked on his index and middle finger, spitting down them as he approached your wet cunt, his two wet fingers now sliding underneath your thong and brushing against your sensitive and swollen clit.

You gasped out and let a little airy moan spill from your lips, causing Fred to smirk and bite his lip, hooking your thong with his fingers as he dragged them down your legs and throwing them beside his trousers. Fred’s two fingers lined up against your tight hole and pushed inside of you, your cunt engulfing him in warmth and your walls tightening around his fingers.

His long fingers pumped inside and out of you, slow at first and then picking up in speed as you got used to him, you pulled off your top and dropped it on the floor, your breasts desperate to be let free from your matching lace, red bra. Your quiet moans and facial expressions encouraged Fred to pull down his boxers with his free hand and take hold of his hard cock at the base of his shaft, as he started to pump his cock, the built-up precum spilling out onto the head.

Fred licked his soft lips and dived down in between your legs and under your skirt, continuing to finger fuck you, Fred stuck out his tongue and swirled it around your clit in circular motions, sucking on it every now and then before licking in a different direction - this time slowly dragging his tongue up and down as you came undone.

The feeling of his fingers stretching you out as he added a third finger and his tongue exploring you sent waves of pleasure down your spine and expanded throughout your insides, your moans continued to spill from your delicate, kiss hungry lips, louder and louder.

Fred groaned against your pussy, the vibrations from his voice pushing you closer to the edge.

“Freddie!” You yelped out in pleasure, lolling your head back and scrunching your eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of his long fingers and wet tongue.

Fred pulled away and stopped eating your cunt, causing you to open your eyes and look down at his head and eyes peeking up from under your tartan skirt which you wanted nothing more than to rip off.

“Shhh...” he whispered “be quiet, you don’t want your parents finding us”

“mph” you moaned softly “but I want you so bad, Freddie, we can put a silencing charm on the-”

Fred withdrew his fingers, making you feel empty and sucked your juices off his fingers, he stood up and lifted you in his arms, walking you over to the bed, laying you down gently, climbing on top of you.

“You know we’re not allowed to do magic under this roof, sweetheart” Fred reminded you, his voice low and deep, his soft lips peppering your neck with kisses whilst his hands sneaked around your back, unclipping your bra.

“I promise I’ll be quiet” you whispered, looking over to the door as Fred pulled off your bra, your hands now pulling down your skirt, Fred dragging it down your legs and tossing it on the floor.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep” Fred smirked, continuing to touch himself over the sight of your wet cunt.

You pulled out a condom you hid under your pillow earlier in the day, handing it to Fred so he could put it on as you grabbed the lube. Fred rolled the condom over his large length, squeezing away the bubble at the tip of his cock.

You squeezed out the lube into the palm of your hand and across your four fingers, spreading it all over Fred’s length as you took him in your hand, toying with him gently before you pulled your hand away and spread the excess lube across your entrance, fingering yourself teasingly, watching your boyfriend thirst for you.

Fred got on his knees and beckoned you over to him with his two fingers, you crawled over to him as he held onto your waist as you sat down slowly on his large length, your mouth forming an O shape, moans escaping your lips and his. Fred spread his knees apart and slowly placed both of your legs on his shoulders, so the back of your thighs were against his chest, his hard cock pushing deeper inside of you - his hands holding you over your ribs just above your waist.

“I’m so fucking deep inside you” he groaned, his cock brushing against your G-Spot.

You nodded and moaned out as he started to buck his hips and bounce up and down on your bed, “I can feel you in my tummy, Freddie.”

“Good, that’s my baby girl.” he grunted.

Continuing to bounce and buck his hips, Fred’s cock slid deeper and deeper inside of you, hitting your G-Spot over and over, your quiet moans flowing from your mouth like water from the kitchen tap. Your ample breasts bouncing up and down, your hair tousled like Fred’s, the veins in his body looking like bolts of lightning.

The very sight of him edged you closer and closer to reaching the beginning of your climax, your walls continuing to tighten around Fred’s pulsating cock, squeezing him whilst he stretched you out, your lower abdomen starting to tense up.

“The sight of you makes me want to cum” Fred grunted again, beads of sweat across his forehead and chest glistened in the moonlight that pierced through your bedroom window.

Your cheeks were red and hot, your legs rattling on his shoulders, your toes curling, your head lolling back, exposing your soft neck.

“I’m getting close” you breathed out softly, biting down on your lip to restrict your moans from becoming too loud, hearing footsteps pass outside your door.

Fred stopped for a moment, waiting for your parent's footsteps to die down as they went to bed, you whined at your orgasm slowly drift away from you, until as soon as your parent’s bedroom door closed, Fred, started to pound you, fast, deep, and hard.

“Fucking cum for me, Y/N” Fred panted “I can feel myself getting close too.”

The sound of Fred slamming into you filled your bedroom, his groans and your moans pushing one another closer and closer to the edge, your walls clamping around Fred’s cock so unbelievably tight causing him to twitch inside of you - his fingernails digging into your sides whilst you left scratches down his strong arms.

The pressure building up and suddenly bursting, Fred’s name escaping your mouth quite loudly as your cum gushed down his length, Fred’s sperm shot into the tip of the condom as he thrust himself deep inside of you, his cum pooling slowly into a puddle.

Both of your chests elevating and deflating with mismatched panting and gasping for breath, Fred slowly helped you get your legs off his shoulders and slowly pulled out, laying you down against the cool bedsheets before taking off and binning his filled condom.

Laying down next to you, both of you drenched in sweat, feeling as if you had completed a marathon, he reached out for your shaky hand, holding it in his as he planted a kiss against it.

“I think it’s funny that” Fred spoke out slowly, catching his breath “it’s easier for us to have sex at mine when the home is full of family, and friends”

You broke out into a light laugh and shook your head “yeah” you replied, breathless, “muggle parents are cock blocks”

Tag list: @amourtentiaa @horrorxweasley @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @lucymfer @freddiemylovelg @xmalfoyweasleyx @escapingrealitybyreading 

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley oneshot #george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #George Weasley one shot #Weasley #weasley twins #ron weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic

[gryffindors-weasley]

Finding A Light

Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ron was left broken in the aftermath of the wizarding war. In an attempt to build a better life, he feels he may have unknowingly met someone who could put those pieces back together.

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, grieving, fluff

A/N: Remus is very much alive in this series! This will be more than one part, I hope you enjoy!

Ron Weasley was a man of few words when presented the daunting task of expressing his emotions, preferring to stuff them down and deal with the consequences later. He never outright says what he’s feeling unless it’s pried from him, and in those times it’s usually expressed through anger. He isn’t great with his words either, so it didn’t come as a surprise to Harry and Hermione to see him so closed off after the war had concluded its disastrous rampage.

It was a battle that anyone and everyone involved was more than likely to never forget, the losses and hardships engraved in their minds as a permanent reminder should their memory allow it as they age. Some had come out on the other side more fortunate than others. Some had handled it far better than others. Ron was not one of those people.

His long awaited ambitions on becoming an Auror were rapidly diminished and pushed to the very back of his mind for a good while. He had wanted absolutely nothing to do with magic beyond that very day, thought that maybe if he hadn’t used it, it wouldn’t remind him of his tragedies. That maybe that part of his life would be forgotten in time if he tried hard enough. So, his wand, his robes, his Hogwarts letters and what was left of his sentimental wizarding memorabilia were hastily shoved into a cardboard box, taped shut and stuffed away to collect dust. Out of sight out of mind was his reasoning, though it didn’t quite work out that way.

The loss of his childhood home paired with the devastating loss of one of his older brothers had been a weight too heavy to bear, pressing down on his chest with each day that passed. He nearly lost two of his closest friends amidst the chaos the Dark Lord left in his wake. Such a lifetime of pain and loss was something he never anticipated to experience all by the young age of eighteen, and it left him feeling like a mere shell of the person he once used to be. As if the years of extraordinary magical endeavors prior to that day were completely erased and replaced with utter heartache.

It took him four years to bring himself out of the pit he found himself stuck in and find some semblance of strength, if only for his mother, and he wanted to build a better life for himself. One without so much sorrow written into his story. He wasn’t entirely sure how to go about doing so, knowing a return to a normal life simply wouldn’t be feasible. Not that his life had ever been considered normal per say.

The emotional scars were something that would never go away, he understood that, but he didn’t think he could go another day having the same mundane routine night and day. He felt ready for more.

Now, at the age of twenty-two coming up on twenty-three, he found himself returning to Hogwarts with hopes to become a professor. His heart nearly beat out of his chest when he arrived, sick to his stomach with nerves as he stopped and stood in the middle of the newly constructed stone bridge. His letter crinkled under the pressure of his tightly clenched hand, luggage in the other, eager students curving their stride to avoid running into him. The castle was more grand than he’d remembered it to be, perhaps they’d made it bigger to house more young witches and wizards, perhaps it wasn’t. Either way, against his instincts, he forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat and continue forward before he convinced himself to turn around and apparate home.

He quickly found that things had been kept fairly the same as he roamed the grand halls in curiosity, as similar to the school he’d grown up in as it could be. The wondrous ceiling of enchanted candles in the Great Hall was a detail that briefly gave him watery eyes; the varying hues of reds, oranges and yellows coloring the Gryffindor common room, down to the house flags pridefully ornamenting the new quidditch pitch. He found himself turning to express his awe to Harry or Hermione on more than one occasion, but was only met with the unfamiliar faces of new students. His shoulders would slump as he exhaled a deep sigh.

It had taken him nearly two months to fully adjust to his newfound routine, to come to terms with the memories that flashed in his mind of their own volition. Whether they be good or bad, they had a habit of making themselves known at the worst of times. Over the course of that time period crumpled pieces of parchment had accumulated around the desk in his room, unsent letters to his mother of his wishes to return home. All of which were written hastily in either frustration or tears, or a mixture of the two. And of the ones he had sent, they were promptly returned with enchanted letters vocally telling him with the utmost of love and sternness that he will be staying, he needs this. Those letters kept him going on those days.

Amongst those days and nights it was strange not having his two best friends there, loneliness still having its hold on him.

Remus Lupin had made his return all the more welcome though, himself and McGonagall being two of the only familiar faces that he’d truly connected with. He felt it was an honor to be taken under his wing and trained, he always had been Ron’s favorite instructor of Defense Against The Dark Arts. He’d even go so far as to say he’s the best if he was being honest.

Regardless, despite his own personal conflicts, he was beginning to feel more comfortable residing there than he had ever thought he would. It was as if the nagging rain cloud dumping over his head was starting to dissipate for the time being.

“You did very good today, Ron,” Lupin says once his final class of the day has left, “the teaching of boggarts is never easy I’ll say, and if I recall correctly it wasn’t your favorite lesson.”

Ron chuckles at the thought, pushing his chair in when he stood. “Not particularly. I still have a nightmare or two about that bloody spider.”

Lupin laughs, nodding at the pleasant memory. Things fall quiet for a few moments as Ron moves to sling his bag over his shoulder. “Off you go, Mr. Weasley, enjoy your weekend,” he urges, grabbing Ron’s attention again before he gets too far. “Here’s your weekly report. You’re becoming a fine up and coming professor I’d say. I have no doubt that I will be leaving my classroom in the best possible care.”

Ron nods with a soft laugh, cheeks flushing a pale crimson at the reassurance as he takes the parchment from him, tucking it into his bag to be read later. “Thank you, Professor Lupin, really. It means a lot to hear.”

He smiles appreciatively before making his way across the long classroom, stopping in his tracks. He takes a breath to gather his thoughts before spinning on his heel to face him again, returning to the desk he sat at. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I suppose.”

He offers Ron a smile upon seeing the clear hesitancy written all over his face. Ron gulps, fumbling with the strap of his bag that rested on his shoulder. He could practically see the gears turning in the ginger boy’s head if such a thing existed. “Was it…was it hard coming back here? After the war, I mean.”

Lupin huffs out a soft laugh at the sudden ask of such a deep question, though he can’t say he was surprised. “I was waiting for this question to arise,” he says, lifting a hand to stop Ron from apologizing. “To give a short answer, yes. It took great thought. To give a long answer, one you may not like but I’m sure you already know, there will always be bad days after experiencing such trauma. It is not easy being born into a life where magic is real and not just a trick of the eye. While it can be wonderful it also brings with it a great deal of damage.”

Ron nods as he listens to his words, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Despite all of it, Hogwarts is a place that can be good just as much as it can be bad. You just have to take it in your stride. You’re stronger than you think, Ron. If you really want to be here, I believe it is worth it to try.”

Ron exhales deeply, taking a moment to process his insightful words, a certain wisdom he appreciated. It left him feeling considerably lighter than he had before, like he was a bit more hopeful of a better experience here. “Thank you.”

That’s all he can manage to say.

The blue eyed man in front of him nods. “Go on now, you’ve had a long day, Weasley.”

—

Ron found himself to be rather excited for this weekend. It would be his first time making a trip to Hogsmeade in nearly five years, though he’d been putting it off because the experience wasn’t quite the same when doing it alone. Third years buzzed around him with the excitement of their newfound privileges and independence, bouncing from shop to shop to fully take in all that it had to offer.

He, however, walked at a leisurely pace amongst the students bustling around him, taking a moment to fully appreciate everything he hadn’t seen for so long. Catching details that otherwise went unnoticed like the chipping pink paint on the curved windowsills of Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, and the happy young couples residing inside. The vibrant green moss that formed inbetween the crumbling cracks of the old cobblestone walkways. However, the sight of Zonko’s Joke Shop made his heart lurch in his chest the moment he saw it.

He averted his gaze immediately, swallowing thickly as he tugged at his shirt collar that suddenly felt a little too constricting. It had been Fred and George’s favorite shop to frequent, always buying new things to add to their inventory of pranks. But now that one half of the pair was missing it wasn’t such a fond memory anymore, moreso a taunting one.

The sound of a couple students joyously greeting with a chorus of ‘Hi Mr. Weasley!’ pulled him from his thoughts and he was quick to smile, giving them a half wave as they had already begun to walk away. He let his hand fall back to his side, huffing out a sigh as he continued to walk along the path towards the one place he looked forward to the most, Honeydukes.

The little bell overhead alerted his entrance as he opened the door, the air noticeably sweeter than outside. He found himself smiling as his gaze bounced around the near unchanged shop, any candy you could possibly think of lining almost every brightly painted wall. Though not every single one is a desireable find, he learned that one the hard way. He almost didn’t know where to begin, much like how he felt the first time he ever entered the place, and every time after that for that matter. So he perused the shop, something he’s never done by himself.

His eyes landed on familiar chocolates, and he was quick to grab a box for Hermione because he knows they’re her favorite. Despite such knowledge she still adamantly denies having a sweet tooth to this day. To go along with that, he snags one of the last chocolate frogs for Harry.

It was a fond memory when he thought of it, a tradition they’d had as young students. He’s still got the cards he’d collected from each frog, they were tucked away in that box filled with other things. Maybe when he returned home he’d have the courage to reopen it.

He continues to look around for a bit more, finding himself wishing he had the same sense of enjoyment and innocence as some of the younger students held. For they were fortunate enough to narrowly miss being involved with such negative events. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t looming over his head anymore, to let himself enjoy this very moment. So, he tried his best to clear his mind and bring himself back to his current situation in the middle of an aisle filled with hard candies.

When he had turned the corner of said aisle he collided with something, someone to be more specific, the box clutched in his hands opening on impact and sending the assortment of sweets clattering to the ground with the addition of others. The chocolate frog had fell from its decorative box and hopped out of sight before he could process it.

“I’m so sorry!” A soft voice sounds in front of him, a warm hand enveloping his wrist.

“It’s okay…” Ron trails off when he matches the voice to its owner, blinking slowly as his mouth hangs slightly agape. He found himself staring at the girl, he was quite sure he’d never seen someone so alluring, so captivating. He didn’t know if he could manage to stop gawking. “I-it’s okay.”

His cheeks redden when he realized he’s repeated himself, the fiery heat of embarrassment burning from the very tips of his ears down to his neck, leaving his pale skin flushed. You too came to the realization that you were still gripping his arm, quickly dropping it as you laughed softly to stave off any awkward silence. He averts his eyes momentarily, needing a moment to regain his composure and not make a complete fool of himself in front of the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Though he’s quite sure he already has.

“I told Mr. Flume it shouldn’t be quite so cramped in here, but he never seems to listen,” you laugh, looking at the smattering of sweets scattered around the two of them. Ron was focused less on the mishap and more on the way you smiled brightly at him, knowing his cheeks were undoubtedly the same shade as his hair. “Give me just one moment, please!”

He nods just a little too late as you rush off around another corner and out of sight, leaving him to stand there awkwardly as students in the vicinity stared at the mess sprawled at his feet. Shortly, you indeed did come back, a new box of chocolates and what was now the last chocolate frog in your hands. You thrusted them in his direction with a warm smile, one that made his heart flip in his chest. “Take these, it’s on the house.”

“Oh I couldn’t do that,” Ron rushes.

“Please, it was my mistake. I insist.”

He laughs softly, nodding after a moment. “At least let me help you clean up?”

You nod up at him with a laugh of your own, “deal.”

He tries not to think about the way your fingers brush over his as they pick up chocolates from the checkered floor, tossing them into the nearby trash bin. And he tried not to think about the way you’d had his stomach twisting in knots as if he was a thirteen year old again experiencing his first crush.

“I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He scrambled to think of a response, seemingly forgetting his own name momentarily. It hadn’t gotten any better when you looked up at him politely as if waiting for a response. “I’m Ron…Ron Weasley.”

He could’ve kicked himself for being so awkward, knowing him stumbling over his words couldn’t possibly give off any sort of appeal. He brushed his hands off with a sigh as he stood to his feet. Though you didn’t seem to mind his nerves as you brushed your hands off on your jeans.

“Nice to meet you, Ron. I only wished it were on better circumstances.” The pale blush on your face deepened a shade.

“That’s quite alright,” he says with an airy laugh, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “It was nice meeting you too.”

That same silence took up the absence in conversation again as Ron tried desperately to think of something to say, not quite ready for the interaction to be over. You beat him to it.

“I hope to see you around here again, maybe without the mess,” you say with a soft smile, “and don’t forget your chocolates.”

He was confused for a moment, too caught up in the way your eyes sparkled as they looked at him, or the way your hair fell around your face before following where you’d been pointing. “Oh! Y-yeah…thank you,” He grabbed his sweets in his shaky hands, feeling rather bold suddenly, “I’ll see you around then, Y/n.”

He was sure your words were only friendly, something you probably said often as a kind gesture. Probably not because you actually wanted to see him again. But he let himself think otherwise if only for a moment.

You simply nod, your grin widening a fraction, “bye Ron.”

—

Ron’s lifted spirits did not go unnoticed, not by Mrs. McGonagall who made it a point to bring it up at dinner later that evening. He could tell she picked up on it, could tell by the very way she’d glanced at him frequently. Though he wasn’t sure he was hiding it very well. He pretended not to notice, focusing his gaze on the rows of tables occupied by dozens upon dozens of students seated at them, the hardwood adorned with some of the best food he’s ever eaten. Second only to his mother.

“Is there a particular reason you’re so cheery, Mr. Weasley?” She finally asks, and he sighs at the question.

“Not particularly,” he responds using her wording, glancing at her as a smile pulls at the left corner of his mouth. He watches as she raises a skeptical brow; he knows what’s coming.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that in a number of years, Ronald. I know when you’re lying,” she says with a soft laugh, though she doesn’t pry.

Ron chuckles down at his plate as he shakes his head, pushing his food around as he thought about her. The way she smiled at him, so brightly the corners of her eyes crinkled. It still felt as though those butterflies were still fluttering around in his stomach. He quickly found himself wanting to hear your voice again, or hear your laughter—

“I’ve met a wonderful person today, that’s all,” he blurts, looking to his side.

She gave him a fond yet knowing smile, nodding her head. “I know the look of young love when I see it.”

“I’m not in love, Mrs. McGonagall,” he urges almost immediately, cheeks reddening once more at her preposterous conclusion, “I’ve only just met her today.”

“If you insist, my dear.”

“I do insist.” He tries to be sure of himself despite his inability to get you off his mind, but he hides his smile behind his goblet as he takes a sip.

Later that night he went to bed with something other than sorrow clouding his thoughts, instead feeling rather optimistic about the week ahead. Or maybe it was the plans he’d had at the end of it that had him so eager, time feeling agonizingly slow. It was definitely that. He couldn’t wait to see you next Saturday.

—

#ron weasley #ron weasley x you #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley angst #ron weasley fluff #ron weasley fic #ron weasly imagine #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley one shot #harry potter fic

[teatitty]

*rolls up sleeves* As you wish! This is a long one though, so buckle up! ☆

So, in Lostbelt 6 we finally got Beryl's backstory. And it was every bit as awful as a lot of people had been surmising, if not worse. He did horrible things to Mash, and the worst part of all is it was justified in his mind through his "love" for her. But the crowning jewel of it all was it being confirmed that when Roman booted Beryl from Mash's room during the infamous "sneaking in incident" itself, he didn't do it kindly. It was also implied pretty strongly that not only was he not calm about throwing Beryl out, but that it was a miracle that Beryl walked away from the experience at all. This fits nicely with the "Romani is super protective of the people he cares about, almost to a fault, and can be absolutely vicious about it if pushed hard enough" vibe, which is cool. Very validating to see the doc getting to be more three-dimensional as a character. But we also know Roman is suuuper hard on himself, and tends to earnestly gather the opinions of others to assess who he is as a person. So I'd imagine he'd be a little out of sorts following such a huge event, especially since there's part of him that knows if he still had his clairvoyance, he could have prevented the entire thing from happening at all. But he's still a bit green as a normal human, and so not very good at hiding his emotions, and the turbulence he's feeling towards Beryl and himself and everything else is written aaalll over his face. And between the blaze in his eyes and the rumors spreading around Chaldea like wildfire, a lot of people start to... steer clear of him. Cautionary whispers start to circulate that it's best not to anger the Director's favorite doctor, that he's secretly a loose canon just waiting to unload on the next unfortunate soul to give him a chance. No one could be that sincere anyway, they reason, so it makes sense that Roman's bubbly facade was hiding something nasty beneath it. And Roman's seen this behavior before. The whispering, the distance, all of it. Being the King of Mages illicited similar reactions, after all, and he was no stranger to being, well, a stranger. So he settles in to the notion of a second life of isolation, and draws back from the people around him. It was only a matter of time before the jig was up anyway.

At least, that's what he was thinking before he was startled halfway back to the Throne by the resounding clink of a coffee cup being set down beside him. The clang was loud enough that the whole cafeteria came to a halt, the spotlight suddenly placed securely on the secluded little corner Romani had been brooding in, and truthfully he was half-afraid to look for fear that the empty cup of his own he'd been ignoring had shattered on its own. That was honestly the last thing he needed right now, more evidence that he was frothing at the mouth, right? But then a laugh like bells reached his ears, and he turned to see Leo standing there with the warmest, softest look he'd ever seen her wear. She looked angelic, absolutely ethereal, and the slight crease at her eyes seemed to say "it's all going to be okay now." Naturally, he blinked and it was gone, and with perfect timing Leonardo had slid into one of the seats opposed to him with a flourish, loudly proclaiming to the shock of the onlookers that it was near criminal to mope in the presence of a genius, especially one who'd brought coffee to share. Beside himself, Romani could only gawk, blinking owlishly at the Heroic Spirit who, up until this point, seemed to only regard him with frustration and mild annoyance at best. But if Da Vinci recollected such experiences, she didn't show it, her gaze instead regarding him as if they were the oldest of friends before sweeping around challengingly across her audience, daring them to speak against her judgement. And though it was a bit awkward at first, it was... nice to have someone to talk to, Roman thought. (Even someone who liked coffee with not nearly enough sugar in it).

Of course, that was hardly the end of it. And when the rumors spread to Leo, hissed in secret by concerned staff, suddenly people find that green wasn't quite so scary a color as blue. She listens to the stir with a smile sharp as the talons drumming idly on the table in front of her, and the look in her dazzling doe eyes threatens them to give her every last detail they know. The picture of poise, her champagne tone is so thick with murder you could paint with it, and yet crafted so artfully it leaves the gossipers wondering if they've hallucinated the malicious aura around them or not. But a genius knows the value of patience when weaving a trap, and so she waits, and she waits, and she waits. She provides polite insight, little nods that she was paying attention, and little else, little more. Just a friendly conversation.... until the gossipers have so thoroughly locked themselves in with lies it's almost too easy to obliterate them in their tracks.

You see, what nobody knew was that Leo was there when Roman through Beryl out, her instincts as a high ranking Heroic Spirit tipping her off to the sudden tidal wave of of mana coming from Mash's quarters in the medbay. She saw it all, from start to bloody finish, her presence missed among the commotion, and where others had found something to fear, Leo had felt the stir of an emotion far more ginger. How many times in her natural life had she wished for someone to protect her from the evils of the world like that? How many times had she wished in her cell for someone to sweep in and decimate the people who'd wronged her like that? Broader still, how many times had she borne witness to someone shaking their head sadly, or lamenting because yet another little girl had fallen prey to a predator who wielded too much power to ever be stopped? And yet here was this strange little pushover of a man, completely obliterating one of the Director's prized A-Team members to protect a little girl many had considered a pet project at most. She couldn't be sure about a lot of what she saw— mainly the mana where there should be none, or the strange, golden glint to Roman's eyes. But she knew she had witnessed something done in pure altruism, and that there was one less innocent who went undefended because of it. Leo was also quite used to being ostracized to various degrees herself, not that she took it personally of course! (aha...) Being such an eccentric, beautiful, charismatic, talented genius was a tough existence, after all! Not many could keep up with her, and insecure people get so mean sometimes. (Not to mention that it was even tougher when she was still back in Italy, and often twice as lonely.) So, seeing as she is also so very compassionate and wise, she simply could not allow the same fate to happen to Roman! Especially not over something like this! It was only right to rescue him from infinite exile. Anyone with a conscience would have done the same!

(But oh, if only she'd known how he'd rescue her too, and how preciously love could bloom, even in the arctic, even at the end of the world.)

GRIPS YOU TIGHTLY

ANON WE ARE ON THE SAME WAVELENGTH WITH THESE TWO, YOU UNDERSTAND WHY ME AND LYRE WERE ROMAVINCI STANS THE FIRST TIME WE SAW THEM TOGETHER, THEY ARE M A R R I E D BUT EVEN OUTSIDE OF THAT YES YES YES TO ALL OF THIS BEAUTIFUL META ON THEIR CHARACTERS AND HOW THEY INTERACT WITH PEOPLE AND ALSO FUCK BERYL LIVES ACTUALLY LMAOOO

#fgo spoilers #long post #romavinci nerd #romavinci #added the tag u suggested too since u wanted it uwu #amen to asks having longer word limits now btw #I wish i had better words to share #but i am instead flailing and squealing with delight #Anonymous #asks

[m00nycore]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 . 𝒐𝒏𝒆 . 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚 .

ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒?

[𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡]

𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑐

𝑡/𝑤 : 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑠, 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑢𝑚𝑎

𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ;; @dreaming-about-fanfictions @thesweethufflepuff

“he looks so like james! i mean, remus, can you believe it?! his eyes are exactly the same, just like lily’s! you talked to him on the train, you saved him—what is he like?”

and remus smiled at her, shaking his head. he hadn’t seen lucy this happy in years—and it was as if they were young again, as if the horror had never happened.

she had fiercely loved harry since he was born. all she had wanted since lily and james passed was to be able to take him in. harry gave her hope.

“exactly as you would expect him to be, and that was only at the first impression,” he was leaned against the desk in his new office, and lucy had insisted on helping him unpack.

remus had almost forgotten she had dimples.

“i will never forgive albus for not letting me take him in, moony—“ she cut herself off, quickly, very quickly, almost as if she were scared.

and lucy potter was scared.

she never used their old names. not until dumbledore dubbed her professor vulpes—and that wasn’t her, it wasn’t. she was playing a part.

but remus lupin smiled and it just about broke her heart.

“vulpes,” he said it warmly, as if greeting an old friend. in some ways, he reckoned, he was.

“moony,” she repeated. lucy potter was reminded about what it felt like to be young.

to new beginnings, he thought to himself, as he sipped his hot chocolate.

it was the first day of term, the first time that the third year students filed in the room—and lucy potter was almost scared to see him. harry potter: the only other potter in the school—the only other potter left.

the first few lessons went smoothly, and remus was, amazing, she thought. absolutely amazing.

harry walked in, looking skeptical, accompanied by a ginger-haired boy—a weasley, she knew it.

the potters loved their gingers, didn’t they?

harry’s eyes scanned the room and stopped at his aunt, who smiled.

she wanted nothing more than to run up, to hug him tightly, to cry. she wanted to apologize for not being able to take him in, she needed to know if he could ever forgive her.

harry deserved to know everything about his parents. harry deserved to know remus, to know her, as well.

sometimes lucy liked to think that she deserved to know him, too.

the wardrobe that she and remus had pulled out began to shake, and she saw a few of the students step back, eyes wide, some faces paling.

rising from her place, she walked forward, giving a little wave as she stood beside remus.

“welcome,” remus began, nodding at the crowd. “i am professor lupin—it is very nice to meet you all.”

“i’m professor vulpes,” she added. the name still sounded foreign on her tongue. “lovely to meet you!”

the cabinet shook once more.

“ah, i suppose that’s our cue to begin the lesson, yes?” remus asked, rhetorically. “intriguing, isn’t it?” he paused. “would anyone like to venture to guess as to what is inside?”

“that’s a boggart, that is.”

“very good, mr. thomas,” remus praised. “now, does anybody know what a boggart looks like?”

“nobody knows,” a girl’s voice spoke, and lucy realized it was hermione granger, the student using a time turner to take as many classes as she could. admirable.

“when’d she get here?!” ron weasley demanded. harry seemed to have good friends—apparently, the three of them were an infamous trio.

“boggarts are shape shifters,” she continued, ignoring ron. “they take shape of whatever a particular person fears most. that’s what makes them so—“

“—so terrifying,” remus finished, smiling. “yes, yes, yes.”

the students were soon practicing the riddikulus charm, wandless, and still flinching when the wardrobe shook.

neville longbottom was called forward by remus—another reminder of the past that made lucy want to cry.

it was marleen who had managed to find the mead—and dorcas’ idea to mix it with juice.

the girls were all laughing, gossiping, talking about their love lives. lucy was laying across lily’s lap, looking up at alice.

“frank?” alice questioned, again, with lily nodding at her. “i’ll have babies with him, mark my words.”

remus encouraging him made her smile. she was unable to keep that adoration out of her face—remus was infallibly kind.

alice and frank would have been so proud.

but her blood boiled, it absolutely boiled, when neville admitted his biggest fear was snape.

“frightens all,” remus remarked, among the laughter of neville’s peers.

“truly,” she added, winking at neville. she never approved of her brother and... his best friend... bullying severus—but he was cruel.

thus, lucy laughed the loudest when she saw him in mrs. longbottom’s clothing, and beamed at the smile that neville wore. he looked like alice.

the children formed a line as remus put a record on the phonograph. remus loved jazz—and she had grown fonder of it as well. she couldn’t listen to a lot of the music she used to.

“now, i want everyone to picture the thing they fear the very most, and turn it into something funny. ron!”

snape instantaneously transformed into a giant spider, and ron looked absolutely petrified, hesitating a few seconds longer than he should have.

“you’ve got it, ron!” lucy exclaimed, nodding at him. “think of something funny, come on!”

“riddikulus!” the spider suddenly had skates on each of its eight legs, making it slide around the floor. ron high-fived harry as he made his way to the back of the line.

pavarti patil feared snakes, seamus finnegan feared banshees, and dean thomas’s boggart took the form of a disembodied, living hand.

she tensed when harry stepped up—and remus caught her eye.

as the boggart shifted, fear began to fill harry’s eyes, as well—and it increased when the boggart took the form of a dementor.

without thinking, lucy bolted from her seat to stand in front of him—and her boggart took form.

a black dog.

“riddikulus!” she shouted, forcing her voice to sound calm and willing her body not to shake.

padfo—the dog turned into a plush toy, and remus came to her shoulder to send the boggart into the wardrobe and lock it with the flick of his wrist.

“alright, well, sorry about that! that’s enough for today, why don’t you all collect your books from the back of the class? that’s the end of the lesson, thank you!”

the students groaned, and remus began lecturing on how you shouldn’t have too much of a good thing.

lucy turned, facing harry, and patted his shoulder. he looked a bit put out, and she was suddenly worried her protectiveness had embarrassed him.

“it’s alright, harry,” she assured him, a maternal smile on her face. her first time speaking to her nephew in more than a decade, and it was impossible not to feel shaken. “at least your boggart wasn’t a dog.”

remus wasn’t like the others.

james would have been the one to ask if she wanted to talk about it.

peter would have beat around the bush trying to decide if he should ask her.

remus just offered for her to not sit in for the next few lessons. she refused. he smiled, and hugged her.

and he... if he were there, he would have just demanded to know. and she would have told him. she always told him.

lucy refused to even think his name—and when she did, it felt like hell. then there were the memories—the memories, oh god, they burned.

a wolf, a stag, a rat, a fox, and... a dog.

five people trying to fit under the same cloak. the black lake during sunset. running from the source of the noise. sleepovers in the wrong dorm, and late night trips to the kitchens.

the mandrake leaves james stole that they had to keep in their mouths for an entire month, and her crying from frustration if she failed. the silvery glow of the full moon while they stared out onto the grounds until morning, waiting for when they could run to the hospital wing.

the precious time spent with lily. study sessions turned to giggles and long conversations. the two of them were thick as thieves, and lucy never pushed her to james. in fact, she smacked her in the back of the head when she admitted her feelings for him. lily evans loved kate bush and the grease soundtrack. she showed her the muggle way of life—which lucy adored.

she found sisters within alice, marlene, and dorcas. alice was bold behind her sweet face and gave the best advice. marlene had everyone wrapped around her finger in the best possible way. dorcas had a quiet charm, similar to remus’, and she was unspeakably in love with marlene... who in turn was unspeakably in love with dorcas.

her brother flirting with lily. lucy would race him through the halls, from filch, and whoever was caught would take the fall. their strange twin code of conduct, their togetherness and alliance to each other—only broken by trying to push each other off of brooms at quidditch practice. he was protective, but never smothered her. she remembered them crying from happiness when they finally were able to transform into their animagi forms. they had a very similar laugh. james was her ride-or-die.

convincing peter to let her pierce his ear. scrawled notes being passed through class—he was a great confidant, and she would hold his secrets just as well. she had punched snape in the face, she had lost her control, just because he had brought peter’s name up. he was great at charms, great at giving advice.

laying on remus’ shoulder after the full moon, reading the same book with him, even if he had to pause while she finished the page. sharing snacks, genuine, true laughter and happiness, and giving him innocent, feather-light kisses on his facial scars to make him smile. rambling conversations, messy notes hidden between pages of books and under pillows. his ability to separate her from the trouble they found.

and...

muggle rock music. cigarettes. making his family’s lives hell. barked laughter and stupid dares. he always insisted she was his favorite potter—unless she worked with the other boys against him. the promise of forming a band. when he grabbed her wrists and shushed her—she’d ruin their cover, they were supposed to be hiding from filch. the cold hands in hers while they ran from the scene of the crime.

crime.

and she was back in reality, sitting in remus’ office with him while he planned lessons.

“do you remember the mandrake leaves?” she had asked, in a very small voice, as if he wouldn’t remember, though she knew it was impossible for him to forget.

remus ran a hand over his face.

“i remember well, lucy,” he sighed. “you were too hard on yourself.”

swallowing, and willing her voice not to shake, she stared at him before speaking.

“we all were... but he was harder on himself, remember? he would get mad, start kicking things and trying not to cry.”

remus lupin’s eyes were far away.

it hurt him too.

eventually, they walked to the great hall for dinner.

harry potter wanted to put together the pieces.

a black dog. the black dog.

he had seen that dog, he had gotten the grim, and it was their new professor’s greatest fear?

he knew the expression on her face—it was the one he, himself, wore when he was scared.

harry wanted to believe in coincidences, but doing that when he was harry potter wasn’t the best idea.

“professor vulpes,” ron began, from his seat on the couch. “she’s kind of fit, isn’t she?”

hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. “honestly, ronald, of all the things... i’m confused as to why she’s even here.”

harry raised an eyebrow at her.

“well,” hermione began, sounding very slightly unsure. “i’m sure if dumbledore thinks it’s smart for her to be here, it must be alright... but we’ve never needed two professors for one class.”

“i mean, he said she’s helping lupin, isn’t he?” harry added. “i like professor lupin, i feel like he’ll be the best teacher we’ve had. and vulpes... she seems nice, too.”

“i agree,” hermione told him, hastily. “it’s just that it seems a bit weird, is all...”

“she seemed to know lupin pretty well,” ron commented. harry and hermione looked over.

“well, it just seems like they’re familiar with each other. they’re in perfect step with each other, almost, did you notice? they watch each other. and why did she run in front of harry like that?”

“i dunno,” harry grumbled. “maybe trying to save me from embarrassment?”

hermione rolled her eyes. “or, she could be trying to help you?”

“i don’t know,” harry still had a twinge of bitterness in his tone. “she seems familiar to me, though.”

“hmm.”

#the only one left #harry potter #harry potter angst #harry potter fic #harry potter smut #remus fluff #remus fic #remus angst #remus lupin #professor lupin #sirius black angst #sirius angst #sirius fic #sirius x you #sirius black #sirius imagine #sirius x reader #lupin x reader #lupin x you #remus x you #remus x oc

[izlaria]

Someone you like (part 1)

This work is inspired by the animatic called Someone you like by honestlyprettychill. I don’t know if I’ll have the energy to do all of the povs showcased in the video, but I just really loved the idea that Lance would eventually come to like Pidge, a romance born from  years of friendship. Friends to lovers is my jam.

I’m posting this on tumblr in case I never finish it, because I just wanted to share what I’ve written so far. I might upload the whole thing to AO3 later.

I made some changes to the video’s initial idea, because I wanted to follow canon ages and I didn’t want a 14-year-old to fall for a 12-year-old. At that time, it’s a pretty big difference in development. So I wanted to establish the basis for Lance to eventually romanticize their first encounter, despite not having been attracted to young Katie.

Spanish to English translations at the end.

14 years old

The truth was that Lance went to Space Camp because Veronica could be a little pest. She knew their parents wouldn’t let her go alone and so had enticed her younger brother with the promise of travel and foreign girls and no parental supervision.

Veronica had obviously left out the fact that they were essentially going to school on steroids for a month, smack in the middle of their summer break. Cool as Miami might seem, Lance wasn’t exactly excited for all the extra work the camp would entail.

“No es un acampamiento,” his sister repeated for what felt like the thousandth time. He wasn’t listening anymore. “Tú sabes que el campo de explotación espacial no está muy desenvuelto en Cuba. Si realmente quieres trabajar con eso, entonces simplemente cállate y no insultes a nadie.”

“¿Cuando he insultado a alguien?” he shot back, defensive. Veronica didn’t dignify that with an answer.

As much as Lance might like to think himself very smooth, there were still times when he stumbled over his words, especially in English. More than once he’d meant to pay someone a compliment and had accidentally started an argument of some kind.

Veronica looked impatiently at her watch. “Mira, tengo una reunión con mi orientador. Y tú tienes por lo menos dos artículos para leer para las clases de mañana, ¿por qué no vas a la biblioteca para trabajar un poco? Prometo comprarte una hamburguesa después.”

Lance pouted at her, arms crossed over his chest. “Me debes más que una hamburguesa y lo sabes, Ronie.”

His sister snickered, but it was as much of an acknowledgement as he was going to get. Veronica pressed a quick kiss to his hair, already turning to go into the main building.

“¡Gracias, hermanito! ¡No te arrepentirás!”

In all honesty, Lance wasn’t as irritated as he made Veronica believe. He knew that a summer program in Miami was a really good opportunity, especially if he wanted to get into the Garrison in the following years. It was just difficult.

He was diligent and studious, but not as naturally gifted as some of the other kids. Besides, he hadn’t been to the US in a couple years, since his parents had mostly settled down in the family farm, which meant he still had to fall back into his English, a task made even more frustrating by the xenophobic comments from one of the boys in his AP geometry class.

The teacher had put an end to it right away, but the words stuck with Lance, for some reason.

With how much humanity had progressed in terms of technology, one would think they would be able to get past petty rivalry between nationalities and usually that was true, but the influx of foreigners following the establishment of the Galaxy Garrison in the US desert still annoyed some people, despite its existence as a multinational center for space exploration. It irritated Lance to no end, especially when so many of these scientific advances came from international collaboration.

If only he could shrug off the inadequacy that now grew in his chest.

Straight ahead, there was a path that led to a green area in the middle of the campus. The other students had taken to calling it the Woods, though it was more of a middle-sized park, with benches and picnic tables where anyone from the Institute could go to relax. That’s where Lance went, mind too full to really focus on homework.

He wondered if people would react that same way if he ever made it into the Garrison. He didn’t know how Veronica dealt with it all, especially when she was alone in Arizona most of the time. Barely a week had passed and Lance already missed his parents, the tenderness of home-cooked food and well-intended lectures.

No, he had to believe that Billy Underwood was an exception. The other kids hadn’t joined in on his taunts, even if no one had moved to defend Lance. It was still too early to make conclusions on his colleagues, especially when everyone had seemed so charmed by him before then.

Lance was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize he had been standing in front of one of the benches until a new voice broke through the peace of the park.

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

The words were somewhat harsh, but when Lance lowered his eyes to their source the girl winced, grimacing. She seemed to have spoken impulsively.

“Hmm, yeah.” Lance blinked at her for a moment, before finally sitting down on the bench. He made sure to leave space between him and the girl, not wanting to make the situation even more awkward.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” the girl said after a moment of silence. She looked at him sideways and her brown eyes seemed almost golden in the sunlight. There were freckles spread across the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks, and the green ribbon in her hair swayed in the wind. It was a soft sight, a contrast to the steeliness of her posture and gaze.

“It’s fine,” Lance hurried to assure her. She looked young, but so did he, and talking to complete strangers never failed to make him nervous. “Nothing like a little girl yelling at me to bring me back to earth.”

He gave her his best grin, the one reserved for first impressions and fancy parties. It was supposed to project confidence and kindness, even though Luis said he ended up looking a bit smug.

“I didn’t yell,” the girl pointed out with a light frown. Then her eyes shifted into a more calculating look. “You’re a bit of a goofball, aren’t you?”

“I prefer the term good-humored,” he replied jokingly.

She continued to stare. Lance got the feeling that the girl did this a lot. She had an untamed intelligence to her that Lance couldn’t completely understand. It was the sort of air that teachers sometimes carried, as if they could see something deeper in you if they looked long enough.

“It didn’t seem like you were feeling all that good-humored just now.” She tilted her head to the side, letting the words hang between them.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” Lance found himself saying.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” She looked so doubtful that it almost made Lance laugh. The feeling, however, was overcome by the relief of finally having someone who would listen.

He had spent the week trying and failing to explain to Veronica what was truly making him feel down. She was too busy or too happy for Lance to tell her the truth, especially when it left him so vulnerable. After all, Veronica had taken to her work on the Institute like a fish to water. Lance was supposed to be more adaptable than this.

With the rest of his family away in Cuba, he felt unbearably lonely.

“Yes! Thank you!” Lance shifted in the bench to face the girl. She was taken aback by his enthusiasm, but didn’t move away. “There’s this cabrón in my class, who thought it was a good idea to mess with me, just ‘cause I said fábrica instead of factory in our first day here. He hasn’t really left me alone since…” he whined. “I speak two languages but somehow I’m the uneducated ass here!”

The girl nodded, eyes downcast. “I know what you mean.”

“You do?” He eyed the fairness of her skin and the almost ginger of her hair. “Sorry, but you look white.”

Lance’s comment must have taken her by surprise, because she actually laughed.

“I am white. I’m also Italian.” She rolled her eyes, but there was amusement in the tug of her lips. “I can be both.”

“That’s true.” Lance grinned sheepishly. It was good that she wasn’t offended by his lack of filter. “You don’t have much of an accent, though.”

“Neither do you,” the girl bit back, no real animosity in her tone.

He shrugged. “My family spent a lot of time in the US when I was younger. It used to be second nature to me. Now, I keep feeling like I have to hold back the instinct to roll my R’s.”

“I get that. My parents moved here right after I was born, but we used to speak Italian in the house.” There was a pause here, something that she couldn’t bring herself to say. “I think it’s cool that you can speak Spanish. It’s useful.”

“Yeah?” Lance sat up straight, feeling suddenly boastful.

“Sure!” she continued, encouraged by his interest. “The Bouman Aeronautics Research Institute really values multiculturalism! It is a hob of different nationalities and perspectives, created to foster new minds from around the world! Or that’s what my brother says, at least, and he is rarely wrong.” She gave him a smirk that quickly shifted into a grimace. “Don’t tell him I said that or he will never let me forget it.”

“Older brother?” At her nod, Lance smiled. “I got older siblings too. Sort of the reason I’m here in the first place, actually. One of them was accepted as a researcher and she tricked me into applying too.”

“Same, actually.” She seemed startled for a moment, pulling out her cellphone. “Freak, I have to go! I completely lost track of time while reading.” She got up to go, collecting the book she’d apparently put down to talk to him. It was a thick volume with numbers on the cover, but it didn’t look like math.

Another green ribbon fluttered to the ground, having escaped the pages of the book. Lance bent down to pick it up.

“Here.” He stretched it out to the girl. “Wouldn’t want to lose its pair,” he said with a wink.

“Thanks for reminding me!” She grabbed the ribbon hurriedly, then paused, turning back to Lance. “And for the conversation, I guess.”

Lance grinned at her. She was a little awkward but in an endearing way, like she wasn’t used to having the attention of others on her. Given she empathized with his circumstances in the Institute, it wasn’t that big of a leap to assume that she had trouble making friends.

“Bye bye, Italian girl.” He waved, glad that he could spend these few minutes with her.

“Farewell, Spanish boy.”

Lance meant to correct her about his nationality, but she took out running, clearly late for something. He laughed at the way she stumbled across the uneven ground, careless like a little kid. It was a strange juxtaposition: the thoughtfulness of her earlier words and the childishness of her smile now.

He settled back into the bench, feeling much more content than he’d been earlier. It was nice to talk to people outside of class, for a change.

And, well, Italian girl was pretty. A bit young-looking for him, but he thought guys her age should be tripping over their feet for a chance to talk to her.

“Hey, you’re Lance, right?” A boy had approached while Lance observed the girl disappear from sight. He was tall and robust, with shortly cropped hair, but his expression was friendly. “You’re in my Analytics class.”

It took Lance a second to place him. Analytics was one of the classes Lance struggled with the most, so he hadn’t had as much opportunity to joke around there.

“And you’re Hunk!” Lance snapped his fingers, smiling. “Sit down, man! What can I do for ya?”

Translations:

“No es un acampamiento.Tú sabes que el campo de explotación espacial no está muy desenvuelto en Cuba. Si realmente quieres trabajar con eso, entonces simplemente cállate y no insultes a nadie.” - “It’s not a camp. You know that the field of space exploration is not very well developped in Cuba. If you really do want to work in this area, then simply shut up and don’t insult anyone.”

“¿Cuando he insultado a alguien?” - “When have I insulted anyone?”

“Mira, tengo una reunión con mi orientador. Y tú tienes por lo menos dos artículos para leer para las clases de mañana, ¿por qué no vas a la biblioteca para trabajar un poco? Prometo comprarte una hamburguesa después.” - “Look, I have a meeting with my coordinator. And you have at least two articles to read for tomorrow’s classes. Why don’t you go work for a bit in the library? I promise to buy you a burger later.”

“Me debes más que una hamburguesa y lo sabes, Ronie.” - “You owe me more than a burger and you know it, Ronie.”

“¡Gracias, hermanito! ¡No te arrepentirás!” - “Thank you, little brother! You won’t regret it!”

Cabrón - Bastard

#plance #flirtyrobot #Pidgance #Lidge #Cyance #voltron #vld #vld lance #pidge gunderson #katie holt #voltron legendary defender #vld fanfiction #lance mcclain #vld syl verse

[mirismuffins-ovo]

Plant Palace pt 9.1 🌿

⚠️[cussing and suggestive wording](theres two parts to this part due to it being a short moment)

[john has been staying with Eddie for around 2 weeks now]

John had stayed there for a few days,he was eating and just sleeping for the most part. He'd taken notice of an orange flower on Eddie's night stand and had realized that the room and house were set up for if John had come back. John had just finished taking a shower,and was drying off,his body looked more fit than before. He wasn’t as thin looking and his body was a slightly toned framed now. He finished getting dressed buttoning his pants as he walked out of the bathroom,seeing Eddie looking through the Polaroid pictures of the babies that had fallen out of his jacket.

“Oh..hey Eds” John shifted his weight slightly,just before he sat down on the opposite side of the bed. He didn’t know what to say about the girls to Eddie. “They’ve gotten so big hm?” He missed them but he didn’t want to leave just yet,he wanted Eddie to come with him at least.

“They sure have. They are still so beautiful just as the day they were born.” Eddie smiled, setting the photos aside.

Looking over at the cleaner, better recovered man, he looked him up and down. As much as Eddie would love to tear him apart, the concern about the girls worried him more. He wasn’t sure how long John had been away from them and like any parent, never wanted to be far away from their kids.

“How are the girls?”

“They’re alright...everyone around camp helps me take care of them,and there are other kids they play with. My mom and Henry have been taking care of them” He sighed and looked away “I miss them..but I try to talk to them often” John glanced at Eddie as he fixed some buttons on his shirt,Bitty was lying comfortably in a cat bed with her little brother Leaf.

“Mom had to teach me how to style their hair,and those girls are sure wild”

He laughed softly longing for his kids but his want for more was strong,it was selfish of him but he couldn’t keep himself away from Eddie.

He wondered if he would be able to help teach the girls how to be human so they could be integrated into human society.

"John… I think you should go back. Go see the girls."

He could see the shock fall on John's face.

“Eddie..I will soon,but..I want be with you”

He felt horrible for being selfish but he had sacrificed everything to keep his kids safe. John wanted his happiness,and he couldn’t fight the loneliness he felt without his lover. He’d waited for years just to see him.

“I don’t want to leave yet.”

"John. I'm in the middle of writing an album. When I finish I promise I'll come find you and the girls. But right now you need to be with them. They're probably worried about you."

He hoped John could go back. He was being serious.

“Eddie...I want more than this,we had dreams together. I still want that and I get you're writing your albums and that stuff is important. I know I came back out of nowhere but..I want more than what I have now” John knew Eddie was serious about this stuff,but so was John.

“I get that right now is temporary..and I will go back to them but..not right now”

Eddie was not happy with the answer. "You don't get to choose what you want anymore. You're a parent, a father, and you should know that your kids come first."

He groaned as he stood up, ruffling his hair. "You know I love you, John, but we are still living our own lives. We have been the past 2 years. We can't just get back together with a snap of our fingers. Things are still rough right now for Abbies and I'd rather you go protect them than worry about me!"

He pointed to the door, silently telling John he needs to go.

“I get it…but you need to understand being a single parent for two years and ignoring my own needs has taken its toll” He stood up and pinched the bridge of his nose frustrated “I’m not worried about the kids..my kids are safe with my mother.” He sighed and took a few steps away from the bed towards the door,but then paused. “how do you know I’ll come back next time..” John glanced back with an eyebrow raised.

“I love you,but like you said we’ve lived our separate lives,and if we don’t rekindle our relationship now i don't think we ever will” John knew he wouldn’t ever wanna leave Eddie but this was something he had to recognize. “Am I better off moving on…am I just still just fantasizing about what we used to be.”

Eddie grit his teeth, clicking his tongue. “Not a day goes by when I think about how you’ll come back to me. But never like this. I always thought we’d never would,or we’d run into each other while getting coffee. Or hell, I go do a concert and you’d be in the crowd!”

He could feel emotion build.

“But I’m not ready for us yet. I spent so long being depressed and hung up on you. I’ve tortured myself by releasing that album. I’ve had to ignore it for 2 years but whenever I had to play that one song I felt empty every time. That song was meant for you. That whole album was meant for you! It showed everything I felt about you but I never got an answer. That was my call to you, and I got nothing. Year after year after year and you just expect me to come back to you? Or you walk into my life begging for me to join you?

“John, we need to work on this. We still need to work on ourselves, what we really really want and what the consequences of that will be. We might be ready for the world, but the world might not be ready for us.”

John snapped his voice ringing out in frustration.“Do you think I give a fuck about what the world wants anymore Eddie!? After what I’ve done and what I’ve been through?!” He had whipped around to face the singer,aggressively motioning with his hands.“I’m done with worrying about the world Eddie,I get if you do now cause your famous” He crossed his arms and sighed, shaking his head “I’ve listened to the album almost everyday since it came out,our daughters know that their father sings that song. I listen to it to torture myself,to remind myself that I had to leave the fucking love of my life with OUR kids to live in the middle of nowhere...without you.” His tone was somber but he rubbed his face and regained his voice.

Eddie looked like he was about to speak but John

rose a hand to stop him.

“How did you expect me to answer you,hm!? What was I supposed to do while taking care of three little toddlers and trying to keep camp from getting captured by the government?” He squinted irritated “you know how they knew I was abnormal when I went to the hospital,even though I tried my damndest to control myself? I was listed as a fugitive from when I was a teenager,but I’m not anymore. I am not dangerous ” John sighed

“I’ll leave alright,I just wanted you to come with me...we could’ve had our little family..” he shrugged and his eyes flicked up to meet Eddies without waivering.

Eddie was enraged.

“Look if you’re just here to take me back and fuck, then do it.” Eddie glared.

His heart was racing, he had been eyeing the man since he started to make home. He was sure even the sight of his boyfriend still getting dressed was soon to make him hard. Wait..boyfriend? Sure why not.

“To tell you the truth, I’ve been trying to hold back the past few days.” Eddie had been eyeing John for the past two weeks,dying to rekindle their fire.“ But I was putting the girls first, no one wants to grow up without their parent.”

He walked up to John towering above him, running his fingers through the freshly washed hair, sliding them down John's face before taking hold of his chin, staring deeply into the shorter man’s eyes as he tilted his head up to face him.

“take me back to see our daughters,but let me have you”

Johns eyes widened and he looked up to see Eddies lustful eyes. The large man leaning interlocking his mouth with Johns,unexpectedly shoving his tongue into his mouth. John huffed and only paused to catch his breath,Eddie had pinned John against the wall,the more experienced man taking him by surprise.John's body knew what it was doing though,and just a look from Eddie had John longing for his touch. Eddie had picked John up by his thighs allowing John to wrap his legs around Eddie's waist before taking him to bed. Passionately ripping the clothes off of eachother. Eddie snickering at the ginger virgin who looked taken by surprise but seemed to be enjoying himself.

You can guess what happened next.

#mpreg story #tw: mpreg

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @paperandsong​

Feast Your Eyes

Gifted to @shinyfire-0​

Happy Christmas everyone!

     Christine rose from her bed long before sunrise and padded sleepily into the kitchen. She lit the oven and pulled down an old recipe book from a shelf. She cracked it open to a page marked with a red ribbon; recipes for Luciamorgon, written by the hand of Maman Valerius’ own mother, and brought from the old country long ago. Its tattered pages were heavy with the nostalgia of mornings past and the expectation that such traditions will go on forever. 

     She did not need the book; these were recipes written across her own heart. But she liked to trace the handwriting with her fingers, smudged with ancient butter and flour, and to stir up her own memories. She liked to think that her late mother had also woken up early on December thirteenths to pull out the same ingredients and to follow the same steps. The echo of this ritual was a comfort to her.

     She yawned as she set the kettle on the stove and pulled out the sugar, the butter, the flour, the yeast, the eggs, the milk. She reached far into the back of the pantry for a little bottle of saffron threads, neglected all year long until this dark morning. A sprinkle of cinnamon, a crush of cardamom. For the lussekatter buns, she steeped the saffron in milk, she kneaded the yellow dough, and shaped it into buttery swirled S shapes, pinned with currants on either end. She pressed an angel-shaped metal cutter over the thinly rolled pepparkakor dough, inhaling the ginger and clove with deep satisfaction. As the buns and biscuits baked in the oven she went back to her room to dress. 

     She struggled to pull her arms through the tight sleeves of the same white dress she had been made to wear since she was a just a girl. She had grown considerably in her bust and hips since it had first been made for her; she did not bother to try to button up the back. It was impossible. Maman Valerius knew it was impossible. But it so delighted her to see Christine wear that same dress, year after year, that she wouldn’t dream of complaining. She dutifully tied the red sash around her waist. The white of innocence, the red of martyrdom. 

     Just moments before dawn, Christine arranged the cat-eyed lussekatter and angel-shaped pepparkakor on a tray along with two cups of coffee with milk, and a small lit candle. She lit another four white candles and carefully set them in the wreath of evergreen she had woven the day before. She settled the glowing crown into her halo of loose and unruly hair. She delicately lifted the tray, careful not to tip her flaming head too far forward. She glided across the floor as lightly as a snowdrift, making her way to Maman’s room. She stood outside the door and sang, 

 Natten går tunga fjät rund gård och stuva; 

Night walks with a heavy step round yard and hearth;

      She nudged the door open with her elbow. The dim room filled with candlelight as she entered. There was Maman, sitting up in her bed, her long white braid hanging over her shoulder. She was waiting eagerly for this blazing vision of Christine. 

 Kring jord, som sol förlät, skuggorna ruva;

Around the earth, forlorn by the sun, shadows are brooding;

      The old woman clasped her hands together, her eyes glistening with tears. 

“Oh, Christine! You are an angel - truly, an angel shining on me from heaven!”

     Christine continued to sing, her voice high and sweet, as she used to sing when she was only a girl,

 Då i vårt mörka hus, stiger med tända ljus, Sankta Lucia, Sankta Lucia!

But there in our dark house, arising with her burning candles, Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!

      She slowly walked towards the bed, allowing Maman to take in the holy sight of her. With each dazzling step she drove all darkness from the room. Truly, Christine was the daughter Maman had never had. And she had played this role of Lucia bride far longer than any other daughter would have tolerated. Perhaps somewhere in her heart, Christine knew this would be the last year. 

     She set the tray carefully on the bed. Maman pushed back the blankets and patted the place beside her. Christine first took off the candle crown and set it on the small table near the window. They had a laugh remembering the time several years ago when Christine’s hair had caught fire after wearing the wreath for too long. It took days to scratch out the melted wax from her scalp.

“Thank you, my child,” Maman said, nibbling on a lussekatter. “You are so good to me.” “It is you that are good to me,” Christine responded, kissing the old woman on the cheek. Tears rolled slowly down her wrinkled skin. “Maman! Don’t cry.”

“It is just - I can almost feel them with us. My dear husband, your dearest father.” “I know. I can feel them too.”

     Maman rubbed her eyes and shook her head with a sigh.

“It is almost seven-thirty! Shouldn’t you be leaving for the Opera soon? Won’t you miss your voice lesson? Won’t your teacher scold you?” She said ‘teacher’ with a knowing glance that made Christine's heart tighten in her chest. They both knew he was no mere teacher.     Christine blushed.

“I told him that I would miss my lesson today. You have me for the whole morning.” 

“Oh, I am sure he was not pleased to hear it!” “Why, Maman, he was very understanding. He finds it good and proper that a daughter should tend to her mother on this, the Feast of Saint Lucia.”

“It is a good and a proper thing, my child. The Angel of Music knows these things. Shall I read from my book? Hand it to me, if you will.”

     Christine went and found the ornately illustrated book of the lives of the saints, also brought over from the old country. Maman turned to the story of Saint Lucia and read aloud, as she did every year. Christine took a mouthful of pepparkakor and nestled deeper into her place in the bed. She tried to keep her eyes away from the brightly colored image of Lucia carrying her own eyes on a silver platter. 

      During the Diocletian persecution of the good Christians, there was a maiden of Syracuse by the name of Lucia. Even as a young girl, the light of Christ shined brightly within her. 

     As Lucia’s father had perished years before, the two women were alone and vulnerable in the world. Despite her faith, Eutychia arranged for Lucia to marry into a wealthy pagan family. Lucia wept with grief. No, mother, she cried. Let my dowry be distributed among the poor. I shall never marry here on earth for I am the bride of Christ and my husband awaits me there. Reluctantly, Eutychia agreed, for she could see the light that shined within her daughter. She gave Lucia her dowry, a host of riches and jewels. The maiden took to visiting the prison in the dark, to bring food and comfort to the men that languished there. She wore a crown of candles upon her head so that she might see through the darkness and keep her hands free to fill with alms.

     But gossip reached the ears of her jilted betrothed. He was told that Lucia had broken their engagement because she had found an even more wealthy patron of far nobler birth. In his jealousy, he denounced Lucia as a secret Christian to the Roman magistrate, Paschasis . Paschasis ordered Lucia to burn a sacrifice to an idol of the Emperor. To which Lucia replied, I would rather burn myself than to burn a sacrifice to a false idol. In his anger, Paschasis ordered the defiant maiden defiled in a brothel. To which Lucia replied, You could lift my hand and rub it against your idol and still I would be guiltless in the eyes of the Lord, who knows me and knows that you can defile my body but you can never defile my heart. 

     When the Roman guards came to take Lucia away, to have her maidenhead defiled, they found that she was immovable. Even when they tied a team of oxen to her waist by a rope, even then, they could not move her from her mother’s home. When they could not take her to the brothel, they decided to burn her. They built a pyre around her feet, but it would not light. In frustration, they gouged out her eyes - those eyes that burned with the light of Christ inside! They slit her throat, that throat as pure as that of any spring lamb. And so the virgin Lucia died a martyr for our Lord. The angels sang as she entered heaven and the good Lord restored her eyes, more beautiful than those she had possessed here on earth. For she was truly the light of his own eyes. 

      Christine hated the story. 

“It isn’t fair that she had to die,” she said bitterly, though her mouth was full of sugar.

“No. There is nothing fair about the lives of the saints. They have all suffered unjustly in one way or another. It is a great burden to be born a saint.” “I do not remember any male saints dying because someone forced them to marry some pagan princess.” “I am sure there is at least one.”

“But there are countless maiden martyrs. Do it please him, then? For us to suffer on his behalf?” “No, Christine. Our Lord suffers along with us. The tears we shed were his to shed first.” The old woman had become very serious. “No one is asking the Lucia bride to be a martyr. Only to carry light in the darkness.”

     Christine was chastened. She had not meant to antagonize. 

“I believe I am much like Lucia.” “Indeed you are, my child. The light of Christ shines brightly from within you.” “No, I meant only that I shall never marry.”

“Oh! You cannot mean that. Surely, you will find yourself a good husband. One who will love you as much as I do. For one day, I will no longer be here with you. No, no. Do not say that, Christine. You must find someone to look after you. What of the Vicomte de Chagny? Don’t you ever see him at the Opera anymore?” “Oh, I see him up there in his brother’s box. But he never looks at me. I do not believe he remembers me at all. But I could never marry him. I could never marry anyone. Then I would never hear the Angel again.” “Is that what the Angel has told you?” “Yes. He has told me that if I should ever marry, he would have to return to heaven and I would never hear his beautiful voice again,” she said sadly. 

     The old woman grew very quiet.

“Perhaps Our Lord has a greater calling for you, Christine, than to be a wife. Perhaps he intends for you to devote your life to music, and music alone. To be a bride to no earthly man, but the bride of music itself.”

“Do you think so, Maman?” Christine asked wistfully. She was excited by the idea that her destiny might be great and divinely written. 

“I think you should listen to your Angel. He will know what is best for you.”

          Christine changed out of her Lucia gown and went to the Opera later that morning so that she would not be late for rehearsals. A part of her wished that the Angel would come to her, despite that she had missed her lesson. When she stood in his invisible presence, he blessed her with a warmth she found nowhere else. She regretted even one hour lost. But he did not make himself known to her that day. 

     In the evening, Christine served mulled wine with dinner. Maman drank too much and retired early, but Christine took her warm and fragrant cup out onto their narrow balcony to watch the people walking along the street below. It was quite cold and she pulled her coat tight around her body as she leaned slightly over the railing. 

     Thoughts of Lucia and her bloodied eye sockets had haunted her all day. Christine wondered now how the saint’s story might have been different had Lucia agreed to marry the pagan bridegroom. Could they not have become friends, like Saints Cecilia and Valerian? Could she not have taught him the love of Christ better as his wife than as a martyr? They could have learned to love each other somehow. There had to be some way for Lucia to survive her own story. 

     Christine shook her head angrily. But why should any woman lose her maidenhead to a man on the mere hope that her love might be enough to save him? Why should she have to save him?

      Her ears pricked up at a sad sound in the distance. Music, from directly above, but far away, as if from the clouds. Or maybe only as far as the rooftop. She turned and looked up towards the sky overhead. The streetlamps dimmed the light of the stars, but she could just make out the westerly motion of Freya’s cat-drawn chariot. A violin whined a melody so faint it could not be named. Had her Angel come to say goodnight? Her pulse quickened in her ears. If she could have no earthly husband, might she really be wed to the music itself? She listened for a while and then the cold began to bite at her fingertips and the music faded away and it was time to go to bed. She looked into her empty cup and smiled. 

     Inside, she placed the last lussekatter and a fresh cup of hot glögg onto a small tray and took it out onto the balcony. She kneeled to place the tray on the floorboards and stayed there a moment to whisper a little prayer,

“Oh Angel of Music, sent from my father in Heaven, I do not know that angels take offerings in the way of the saints. An angel is not a saint. But I offer you these in thanks for your music. And for your lessons. And for your arrival into my life. I thank my Lord every day that you have finally come to me. Please, tell my father I love him.” 

     Christine tossed about in her bed that night, straining to hear movement on the roof or on the floorboards of the balcony. In the morning, she found the tray quite empty. The cup was dry. She turned her face to the sun and threw a small laugh of delight up to heaven.

#PotO Advent Calendar #PotO #Phantom of the Opera #Door 13

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Twenty 

Ron had side alonged tons of times with both his Dad, Mum, Bill, and Charlie. Sure the first time he got sick all over his fathers shoes, but by the second time he was just violently dizzy. Now it’s like nothing, uncomfortable in the moment, but not long lasting. So why did he feel so sick all of the sudden? 

A pit of dread was building in his stomach. He physically keeled over, clutching at his knees and heaving a little onto the grass, hoping to hack something up. 

A hand found his back and rubbed it for a moment, the touch startled him until he met Bill’s blue eyes. “What’s wrong Ronnie? You haven’t had that sort of reaction to apparition in years.” His oldest brother pointed out. 

Ron ignores his words, not able to find a viable excuse at the moment. Harry however, seems to catch on from his place on Bill’s left. 

“I don’t think it’s because of the apparition.” The chosen one frowned at his best friend's brother. 

Bill gulped, suddenly feeling a little guilty for not realizing sooner, but supplied a soft nod. 

“Ron if you don’t think you can do this I’d understand. No ones gonna hold it against you.” His brother whispered, bending down to meet his hunched over form. 

Soon, the ginger recovers as he shakes his head viciously and stands tall. “I have to do this. Not even just for myself but you know...” the words ‘for her’ are unspoken. 

“Okay, let’s all just take a minute.” Bill suggests noticing Harry’s pale face. 

They all stand for a little bit. Bill’s eyes seemingly searching for any threats, Harry toeing some leaves, and Ron closing his eyes to focus his breathing. 

“I’ve never been here before.” Harry comments quietly, causing Ron to open his blue eyes and meet his green ones. “I mean...” he starts. 

“Neither have I.” His friends soon clarifies, “it’s never been me who came out, always Dad, Bill, Lupin.” He lists, “feels wrong.” 

The dark haired boy nods slowly, “yeah it does.” He agrees, scratching his head awkwardly. 

Bill felt like an intruder on a private moment between the pair, but didn’t have anywhere else to go. Instead, he stood silently, not wanting to rush them. 

“I reckon we can’t stand out here forever.” Ron breaks tensely after another minute of staring at the brick house. 

“Come on.” Bill led them down the path first. 

When the trio reached the door, it was the oldest Weasley who had the courage to finally knock. 

After a small scuffle heard behind the door, Hugo Granger threw it open with. His face went from that of confusion to a beaming smile. 

It made Ron’s stomach clench. 

“Bill! What a pleasure! Oh Harry and Ron, nice to see you!” He says happily. 

Ron had met Mister Granger on a few occasions at Kings Cross and in Diagon Alley. He was always kind to Ron and his family, more than happy to entertain his father on all things Muggles.

“Is my little girl here? Jean and I told her to stay put.” He frowned a little. 

Ron really felt ill now. 

“We’re really sorry to disturb you,” Bill began cryptically, “may we come inside?” 

Hugo eyed him skeptically, it wasn’t that he wasn’t comfortable with Bill in his home, but this visit was puzzling. 

“Of course.” He opened the door to them, “Jean!” He called out as they stepped in. 

“Who was it at the door?” The woman’s voice came as she walked into the foyer, smiling at the sight of the boys. “Oh! This is so unexpected. It’s lovely to see you all! Come in, come in.” Jean ushered them over to the sitting room. 

“Wait here while I get some tea, I have some made.” She tells, scurrying to the kitchen, causing Bill’s protest to die on his lips. 

Soon his older brother and Hermione’s father fell into small talk. Harry supplying a few nods here and there in acknowledgement. 

Ron however, was too busy surveying the house. 

Everything was clean and white. The dark wood floors seemed freshly polished and the pillows looked recently fluffed. On the mantle were photos of Hermione. Unmoving, but just as sentimental. 

Ones of her swaddled in a towel, her as a small baby, her in France with bushy brown hair, and many more. The one that caught his eye was her at King’s Cross from her first year, smiling widely as she sat on her new trunk. 

He had to look away. The memories of happier times becoming too painful as of late. The whole thought of her now miserable made it too much. 

Missus Granger soon returned with a tray of tea and biscuits, but no one made a move to grab anything. Not even Ron, which shocked Harry and Bill alike. 

He noticed now Hermione’s mother nervously wringing her hands together. “This is about Hermione isn’t it? I knew she’d take my mother’s death badly, but I didn’t think it would warrant a home visit. I’d assume she’d dive into her work. It’s not exactly a healthy alternative but she’s-“ the woman ranted. 

“She doesn’t know.” Ron interrupted huskily before he could help himself. 

“She doesn’t?” Hugo asked, shocked, “well we sent an owl. The white one, I think she’s yours Harry.” He pointed out. 

The chosen one nodded slowly, “we got the owl but Hermione she,” he cleared his throat, “she never saw your letter.” 

The couple eyed each other for a moment before Hugo spoke, “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” 

Bill glanced at his brother and his best friend, both were averting their eyes from the adults in front of them. 

“Hermione, she’s gone.” He says sadly, not even having a moment to elaborate before the Granger’s jumped in. 

“Oh Hugo! I knew this would happen! We told her not to come home.” She said painfully clutching her husband's hand. 

He grabbed it and gave it a squeeze before turning back to Bill, “do you know where she is? How long ago did she leave?” He asked quickly. 

Bill shook his head again, surprised to find tears stinging the backs of his eyes. Ron’s head soon found its place between his hands as Harry plucked his hoodie's zipper. 

“She didn’t leave,” he gulped, “she was taken.” The eldest Weasley said shakily. 

“Taken!” Jean exclaimed aghast. 

“I don’t understand.” Hugo said, voice quivering as silent tears began to stream his wife’s face. 

“I knew we shouldn’t have sent her off to that school. I knew it.” Her mother cried. 

This seemed to peeve Ron off, Harry too. 

“It’s not because of Hogwarts, it's because of me.” Harry informed quickly and sadly. 

“You?” Jean spat rather angrily. 

“Not Harry, me.” Ron corrected, sure of it. 

“You?” Her voice had leveled out to confusion rather than anger. 

As Ron nodded, Harry shook his head. 

“Well what is it? What’s happened?” Hugo asked anxiously, trying to keep his calm whilst his wife fell into his arms. 

Harry took a staggering breath, “my godfather, he,” he sighed sadly, “last year he was killed.” 

“Killed?” Jean squeaked nervously, worried for Hermione’s fate. 

“Yeah, you see-” The chosen one started. 

“Harry, third year, start there. Pettigrew.” Ron moaned the name painfully. He knew Hermione had stopped being honest with her parents around then. After being petrified. 

“Right...”

And so it began. The Granger’s barely had time to shed tears over Hermione, as they’d been too focused on the stories being told. Those of that night in the Shrieking Shack, of Barty Crouch Junior, Cedric Diggory, and Dolores Umbridge. Even the events of the Department of Mysteries (Missus Granger let out a terrible cry at learning Hermione had been cursed) and presently their Christmas holiday. 

“It was just over a week ago when it all happened.” Harry started nervously, palms running roughly over his denim clad legs. 

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” he began before Hugo interrupted. 

“The woman at the Ministry? The one who killed your godfather?” He asked voice so soft it made Harry’s heart break. Here these people were not knowing if their daughter was alright, yet felt for him after losing Sirius. 

Harry nodded, “yeah, her, well she arrived at the Burrow with Fenrir Greyback.” 

“The man who hurt you Bill.” Jean said to herself, mentally keeping tabs of all the players     

A little awkwardly, the oldest of the three nodded. 

“She came. Said some nasty things then went to leave. I-“ he began shamefully, “I followed her.��

“So did Hermione. So did I.” Ron was quick to defend. 

“You only followed because I ran in first. If I hadn’t-“ he began frustrated, hot angry tears forming in his eyes. 

“If there’s one thing I know about my daughter, it’s that she would do anything to protect you two boys. Please don’t blame yourself Harry.” Jean said with wet eyes, placing a soft hand on Harry’s clenched fist. 

“If I just-“ he started again. 

“If you had known this would happen to Hermione would you still have ran after her?” The woman asked, voice riddled with sadness. 

“No, of course not!” He cried out indignantly. 

“Exactly.” She soothed, retracting her hand to find her husband again, “continue.” Jean requested. 

Though painful, Ron knew this was his part to tell, “Bellatrix, she said she wanted to kill me.” He decided to leave out the part of Hermione in the witch's clutches, wanting to spare some pain. 

“Why?” Hugo gasped. 

Bill noticed Ron begin to tremble and he could at least fill this part in. “Us Weasley’s were dubbed as ‘blood-traitors’, purebloods who support Muggles and Muggle borns alike. We’re also not few and far between. To someone like Bellatrix Lestrange, if she kills one of us there’s still over half a dozen more.” 

Hesitantly, Hugo nodded in acknowledgment and understanding, but not agreement. 

“She didn’t want to kill Hermione.” Ron’s voice broke suddenly hoarse, “or Harry.” 

“But isn’t him, uh, You-Know-Who, isn’t he after you Harry?” Jean questioned. 

“Yeah, he is, it’s peculiar they didn’t try it with me.” 

“And Hermione? Why her?” 

Again, Ron and Harry squirmed uncomfortably, “your daughter is one of the brightest witches Hogwarts has ever seen. You-Know-Who, well, we reckon he needed her brilliant mind. That she may know something that could hurt him.” Bill advised regretfully. 

For now, questions from the Granger’s halted, it all was too much to take in. 

“So Hermione, she-she saved herself for me,” Ron choked, “she hid me to keep me safe and gave herself up so they wouldn’t kill me and they took her. And I couldn’t do anything. Not a thing.” Ron broke down becoming hysterical. 

Tears filled the room. Missus Granger’s sobs rivaled Ron’s as Mister Granger held her, silent tears of his own streaming his reddened cheeks. Harry had slumped over, breathing heavily, while Bill placed a soft hand on his shoulder. 

Ron stood suddenly, halting all the tears for a moment, “Loo. I need the loo.” He said, sounding almost panicked. 

“Ron, maybe you should just-“ Bill began to suggest. 

“Upstairs, second door on your right.” Hugo said with a groggy voice. 

The ginger nodded and took off, not noticing Jean throw her husband a funny look at the instructions. Instead, he just heard Bill’s soft voice floating through the room as he told the Granger’s of the measures the order had been taking. 

Ron climbed the steps two at time before being met by a long hallway with identical white doors. Spotting the second door to his right, he frantically pushed it open, ready to collapse atop the toilet lid. 

But instead he was met by a different sight. 

Blue walls. A large bookshelf tucked in the corner. Parchment stacked neatly atop a desk. Next to it was a Muggle chessboard. Pictures stuffed and tacked onto a board. And the smell. 

Roses. Lemon. Ink. 

The same thing he smelt in the Amortentia earlier in the year. 

It was all so Hermione. It was consuming his senses too much, too fast. And without even realizing what he was doing, he doubled onto her bed, silently crying. 

“I thought you might need this more than the loo.” A voice sounded from the door. 

Immediately Ron jumped to his feet, feeling like he'd done something wrong. 

“Relax Ron, I sent you here for a reason.” Mister Granger eased, moving to sit in the chair at Hermione’s desk, motioning for the boy to sit back down. 

“I’m so sorry Mister Granger, this is all my fault,” he started shaking his head. 

“I don’t believe that Ron.” He said strongly. 

The ginger shook his head fiercely, “you should. You don’t understand how much I’ve hurt her,” too many things come to mind. Lavender. The Yule Ball. Crookshanks. Scabbers. Trolls. “I could’ve done better.” He wiped at his eyes with the backs of his wrists. 

“You think I don’t blame myself for this too?” He asked a little harshly, “I get it,” he began softer, “you loved my daughter didn’t you?” He asks knowingly. 

“No.” Ron’s voice was so strong, it even startled him. “I love her.” He clarified, “Don’t talk about her like she’s gone. Like she’ll never know.” 

Hugo nodded slowly, but said nothing for a few minutes, letting Ron take in Hermione’s room with blurry eyes instead. 

“I want to understand Ron.” His voice broke the air, “I wish my daughter hadn’t lied to me. Jean and I suspected something but didn’t push it. But I need to know if there’s even something that can help. Please Ron.” He begged. 

Ron, Harry, and Bill had skimmed the surface of the chaos that has been their last six years at Hogwarts. And Ron knew more details on Hermione specifically then the other two, Mister Granger sensed as much. 

And Ron sensed the desperation in his eyes, the same look he’s been wearing for weeks. Even before Hermione was gone. When his biggest problem was chucking Lavender Brown cause he had missed her so much. 

Thoughtfully, his blue eyes found the untouched chess set. He pushed down the warmth in his chest at the thought of Hermione practicing just so she could match him. He didn’t have time to harp on it. 

“Mister Granger, have you ever played chess?” He asked, a brilliant idea forming in his head.

...

Hugo Granger pondered over the chess board carefully, studying the pieces as he placed them on the respective squares. 

“So my daughter is your queen?” He asked as Ron used tape to secure the parchment onto the white queen. 

Ron momentarily stopped what he was doing and opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air, “Er, what? I don’t know.” He fumbled. 

“The chess piece Ron, Hermione she’s the queen, is she not?” He asked, a little amused. 

“Oh,” he said, relieved , then suddenly realized he didn’t answer the question, “oh yeah, well I reckon it fits.” He says a little nervously. 

Ron was playing white and Mister Granger was black. 

You-Know-Who and Harry were the kings respectively. Hermione was the queen, while Bellatrix Lestrange was on her side. Ron made himself the knight, the protector, he felt a bit awkward about it, but he figured it would be worse if he had just written himself off. Then Hermione’s dad was sure to think he’s useless. In turn, Greyback was the knight, he debated over Malfoy, but settled on making him bishop. 

He also debated putting Draco’s name down as well, but settled for just the last name representing him and his father. Draco wasn’t guilty of anything but being a poncy pureblood prat. Well for now. 

Dumbledore was the other bishop, both ready to take over if their kings fell. The rook’s were just labeled ‘Death Eaters’ and ‘The Order’, being both were to represent the Kingdoms walls per say. 

As for the pawns it included those who either lost their lives or were simple puppets. Sirius, Cedric, Quirinius Quirrell, Peter Pettigrew, Mad Eye, even Ginny due to second year. 

Anyone else important would just have to be mentioned along the way. 

“And this woman,” Hugo began lifting up his black queen, “she’s the one who took Hermione?” 

Ron simply gulped and supplied a weak nod. Like the younger man, talks of Hermione’s captor seemed to evoke pure sadness from Hugo Granger. 

Suddenly, guilt bubbled within Ron yet again, “we don’t have to do this.” He vaguely gestured to the chess board. 

“I want to,” he insisted, “but if it’s too much for you...”

The ginger repressed the urge to groan. This man really should not be giving him the benefit of the doubt. Not after all he’s done to his daughter. Even before this. 

“Look there’s something you should know.” Ron’s eyes quickly averted her fathers. 

Hugo’s eyes pierced his, silently encouraging him to continue. 

“Before Hermione,” he choked a little, “before she was taken, her and I, we weren’t speaking.” He admitted in a whisper, ashamed. 

“Why?” He asked. 

“Well, I think,” he didn’t know how to phrase it, he didn’t want to, “I know I hurt her. My sister says I broke her heart.” He trailed quietly. 

And then for the first time since he arrived here, Mister Granger’s face was painted with red hot fury. Fists clenched so hard they turned white. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He told the man quickly. 

“Did my Hermione know that? That you’re sorry?” Hugo all but grunted. 

“No, I never got the chance to tell her.” It took almost everything out of Weasley not to cry. 

A few moments passed, but to Ron it felt like a lifetime. Eventually, Mister Granger seemed to lessen his rage and took a deep breath. 

“I don’t blame you Ron.” He began honestly, “I don’t blame you that those people took Hermione. I may not have known everything about my daughter, but I do know her and I know how much she cares about you.” Hermione’s father pauses, “and I know you know as much too, so I just want to ask you why?” 

And Ron knew what the ‘why?’ was for. Why would he hurt her knowing how much she cared. And for that, he doesn’t really have an answer, not a good one anyway. Nothing he can even justify to himself. 

The only thing that resonates is something he told Harry before all this, before Hermione was gone. 

“How can you love someone so much and hurt them so bad?” 

And he doesn’t know. Now more than ever. His mind is just constantly consumed with guilt, sadness, and anger. All directed at him or occasionally, Bellatrix and the rest of You-Know-Who’s followers. 

“I can’t answer that.” Ron tells him, “there’s no reason that could make it right. If I had known what would-“ a bile rose in his throat. 

“I know that Ron.” The man says softly, “I know that she knew too.” 

“Knows.” He blurted out before he could help it. 

Awkwardly, Hugo clears his throat, choosing not to acknowledge the outburst, “of course she knows.” He subtly corrects, “and I want to hear about what happened this year, but maybe we should start from the beginning?” He suggested pointing weakly to the board. 

Nodding slowly, Ron cleared his throat and thought for a moment before picking up the piece representing Harry. 

“I reckon a lot of this starts around Halloween first year. Do you know anything about Mountain Trolls...”

#ron x hermione #ron weasley #ron and hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #hermione granger #romione fanfic #romione #hp fanfic #hp #sixth year

[eternallyyoungjustice]

Wherever the Winds Take You: Chapter 13

A/N: Okay, not gonna lie, didn’t really edit this one much. It’s super duper short, sticks pretty close to the episode, and it’s just been a week. So I apologize for any spelling errors or awkward phrasing. But otherwise, I hope you all like it! Thank you so much for your continued support of my shameless guilty pleasure.

Santa Prisca July 22 21:10

The tunnel remained dark and cold for a few minutes, the only sounds being the ragged breaths of six young heroes and the shuffle of feet against stone. All members collectively could hear their own heartbeat in their ears, and felt the adrenaline pumping through their veins.

Finally, a loud crack broke the silence and an eerie red glow emitted from the glowstick that Aqualad held and promptly tossed to the ground. Every member of the team stood there; Kid Flash and Zephyr showing the most wear, as the non-humans held good composure and Robin stood silently, staring at the barricade of rock and debris that separated the team from the way they came.

After a moment, however, Robin finally broke the silence.

“How could my first mission as leader go so wrong?”

“You do have the most experience, but perhaps that is exactly what has left you unprepared.” Aqualad spoke. “Fighting alongside Batman, your roles are defined. You two do not need to talk. But this team is new, and a leader must be clear, explicit. He cannot vanish and expect others to play parts in an unknown plan.”

Robin whirled around, snarled and poison-tongued. “Oh, so I’m supposed to hold everyone’s hands?!” The boy let out a growl of frustration and glared down at the ground. But then, after a moment, the tension in his shoulders released and his form slumped slightly. “Oh, who am I kidding? You should lead us, Kaldur. You’re the only one who can.”

“Please! I can run circles-” Kid Flash’s outburst was cut off by Robin’s now much calmer tone. “Wally, come on. You know he’s the one.” The young boy’s eyes lifted to meet his elder’s. “We all do.”

“Hello, Megan! It’s so obvious!” M’gann chirped.

“Could’a told you.” Superboy shrugged.

Kaldur’s eyes met Lina’s knowing gaze. “You know you have my vote.”

Everyone turned to Wally, who stood awkwardly for a moment before sighing in resignation. “Okay!”

“Then I accept the burden,” Kaldur nodded, stepping towards Robin and placing a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, “until you are ready to lift it from my shoulders. You were born to lead this team, maybe not now, but soon.” Robin nodded, his normal smile returning to his face.

Kaldur turned back to speak to the team as a whole. “Alright, our first priority is preventing that shipment from leaving this island.”

“Funny,” Robin smirked, “I had the same thought.”

As the group began to dash down the tunnel’s length, they began to compare notes.

“Robin and I discovered data about the new shipments on a computer in the warehouse.” Kid Flash spoke up. “It looks like Kobra has combined Venom and the Blockbuster formula from Cadmus, making Venom three times as strong and permanent.”  

“So obviously Kobra attacked Bane’s Satna Prisca to have an unlimited supply of the Venom formula, making it able to create the new superformula.” Robin explained. “Which explains how normal supply chains have been cut off if--it’s for a whole new product. But it doesn’t explain how Kobra got his hands on Dr. Desmond’s formula.”

“We discovered that the supplier arriving today was the villain, Sportsmaster.” Aqualad nodded.

Robin pulled up his holo-computer. “Okay, so that must mean Sportsmaster is the supplier and buyer...but it still doesn’t track. He’s a gun for hire, he doesn’t have the power to acquire the blockbuster formula or to get Kobra to do his dirty work.”

“And neither of them have the chops to bond blockbuster with venom. That took some major nerdage.” Kid Flash chimed in.

“I believe the expression is…” As the team arrived at the mouth of the entrance, they were met with the sight of Bane standing there, finishing pumping himself with his normal venom serum which connected from a tube from his arm to the base of his skull, and seemed to enhance his muscle to an inhuman amount. With a sigh of relief, the masked villain dropped the vial formerly containing venom and gazed down at the team of young heroes with a crazed look in his eyes. “‘tip of the iceberg’.”

“Halt, ninos.” Bane growled and revealed a handheld trigger in his grasp. “I’m feeling...explosive.” Simultaneous beeping alerted the team to gaze up, revealing a large number of charged explosives around the mouth of the tunnel.

“You betrayed us, why?” Aqualad spoke, in a tone that-to anyone that knew him-sounded very fake. Bane, however, didn’t seem to notice the falseness. While Bane was distracted, the Atlantean reached out via the telepathic link. “Kid, you’ll need a running start.”

“I want my factory back!” Bane began to monologue. “So I forced you into a situation where you would either take down my enemies for me, or die trying. If the latter, the Justice League would certainly have come to avenge their sidekicks. And when the smoke cleared, Santa Prisca would be mine once more...blowing the tunnel with you inside, should have the same effects.”

Caught in his own monologue, Bane didn’t see the dark blue that flew by him.

“With what?” Kid Flash suddenly asked, now suddenly behind the hulking man and holding the hand-held trigger that had just been in Bane’s grasp. “This trigger thingy?”

Bane let out a loud growl and pulled back to land a strong punch to the speedster, but promptly found himself being lifted off his feet by an invisible force. Being slowly turned around, Bane saw a smiling Miss Martain standing under him, lifting him telekinetically with a raised hand.

“Finally,” Superboy smirked as he stepped forward, and cracked his knuckles. “Drop him.”

Santa Prisca July 22 21:31

Back outside the warehouse, at its helipad, we watched patiently until Sportsmaster and Kobra bid goodbye to one another. Sportsmaster was a tall, hulking man that was essentially all muscle, who wore a signature goalie mask over his face, but otherwise had no notable physical traits. Kobra, on the other hand, has an almost just as tall figure with an equally as strong build, although his muscles were not nearly as hulking as his compatriots’ and hid his figure under a dark crimson cloak. His pale skin was almost anemic and seemed to glow under the light of the moon, but somehow didn’t make him look sickly. Overall, the aura around him made Zephyr’s spine tingle uncomfortably.

“This Kobra man…” Zephyr whispered from her spot in the shadows next to Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad. “I do not like his vibe.”

Robin snickered quietly. “Have you liked any villains’ ‘vibe’ before?”

The young girl thought for a moment. “Poison Ivy.” She whispered, thinking deeply. “She is, uh, qu'est-ce que...fine as hell, tres tres bonne. Robin, why are most of your famous villains so good-looking, hm? Seems very unfair.”

This made both Robin and Kid Flash snort with laughter to the point where they had to muffle themselves.

“Do you want to trade cities Zeph’?” Robin asked, eyebrows cocked in amusement.

The young women paled, recalling the patrol she and Aqualad had done the other night. “Fair enough! No thank you!”

This made Robin chuckle a little more.

Sportsmaster began to make his way towards the helicopter, causing Aqualad to give Kid Flash his signal, and the young ginger ran off at lightning speed, knocking down cultists and pulling gunfire in his wake.

“Protect the shipment!” A cult member exclaimed. Just in time for Superboy to jump and land in front of Mammoth, who stood next to Kobra.

“Go again?” The clone yelled at the hulking beast, causing it to roar and attack. However, it was promptly forced off-course by a sudden continuous force of water, controlled by Aqualad, sending him right into nearby trees. “Sorry, not the plan.”

As Mammoth roared fiercely and began to fight back against being sprayed, Zephyr flew over him, moving her arms and collecting as many of the coldest Winds she could find. The girl reached high up into the atmosphere to find the ones to complete her task and sent them crashing down onto the blast of water and onto Mammoth, freezing the water around him until slowly but eventually, he was encased in thick, frigid, ice.

At being controlled so forcefully, the Winds carrying Zephyr faltered and the girl landed on the ground in a crouching stance. “I am going to be honest with you,” She called to her new team leader as she dodged a cultist’s fire. “I did not know if that would work!” She managed to grab hold of the cultist’s gun and bashed him in the head with it, before chucking it at another cultist’s head, successfully rendering both unconscious.

“Be thankful it did then!” Aqualad yelled back as he fought his own share of cultists.

Not a moment later, the helicopter filled with products began to take off with Sportsmaster inside. Zephyr turned and prepared her Winds to go after it, just in case, but was relieved when it exploded into flames mid-air, causing it to plummet down towards the factory. Off in the distance, the figure of Sportsmaster leaping out and deploying a parachute could be seen.

As the burning helicopter dropped into the factory, it only took a moment before a deep, rumbling ‘boom’ seemed to shake the island as a whole, and flames erected from the giant metal structures. As the fire began to swallow up the entirety of the warehouses, the cultists-those who remained conscious enough to stand-began to flee from the helipad and into the forest, causing the team to turn its attention to Kobra, who stood (no longer wearing his cloak) over Robin, with a single foot pinning the boy to the ground. The cult leader seemed to scan the six teenagers carefully as if weighing his chances of success, but ultimately began to move away, removing his foot from Robin’s chest and slinking away into the shadows of the trees with a low, grumbling “another time then…”

Robin stood, and immediately darted into where Kobra had disappeared, but alas, he was gone without a trace. Slowly walking back to his team, Robin gazed up at the sizzling remains of the factory and watched the flames like at the metal for a moment, before looking back down at his comrades.

“We picked the right guy to lead.” Robin nodded with a smile at Aqualad. “...automatically making you the right guy to explain this mess to Batman!” Robin walked away, laughing, and Kaldur’s face seemed to immediately drain of any blood as fear entered his eyes.

“Don’t worry Aqualad.” M’gann piped up, floating close to her leader. “We won’t let Batman chew you out too much! Besides, I was technically the one who made the helicopter explode.”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it too much.” Wally smiled. “We’re a team now, which means we’re all gonna be killed by Bats equally!” This earned him looks from all the remaining members.

“Your bedside manner definitely could use some improvements, my friend.” Lina shook her head, but she quickly offered a supportive smile to her best friend-now leader.

Mount Justice July 23 10:01

“A simple recon mission! Observe and report!” Batman growled loudly, his tone so uniquely terrifying that it could possibly strike fear into every living creature on the planet. Or at least that’s what it felt like. “You will each receive a written evaluation detailing your many mistakes. But until then…”

The main open room of the cave seemed to ring with anticipated breath as the co-leader of the Justice League paused.

“Good job.”

This shocked every member of the team with surprise, causing them to all whirl their heads to look at Batman with bewildered looks.

“No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy. How you adjust to the unforeseen is what determines success. And how you choose who leads determines character.” Batman turned and began walking away. “You’re all dismissed.”

“Did…” Wally spoke, a small smile itching at his lips. “Did we just get verbally patted on the back by the Batman? For blowing up a factory?”

“I...I think we did!” Robin chuckled, running a stunned hand through his spiky black hair.

“We just finished our first actual mission together, right?” M’gann perked up. “I believe that’s cause for celebration! What do you guys think?” All the members of the team looked to one another, and then looked to Kaldur.

“Well...leader gives the orders.” Robin smirked.

Kaldur smiled and nodded. “Celebration is well-deserved, I think.”

The team all cheered, or in Superboy’s case silently smiled, and began making their way towards the exit to the cave.

“I’m thinking...pizza, Chinese food, snacks and a movie marathon...with possibly dessert provided by the lovely M’gann?” Wally asked, shooting finger guns at the martian herself.

“You...want me to make dessert? After my batch of cookies went so wrong?” M’gann asked, seemingly delighted and flattered.

“I will give you some help in the kitchen M’gann, don’t worry,” Lina said, locking her arm with the younger girl’s. “We’re going to need two sets of hands in the kitchen if we need to feed Kid Mouth and everyone else anyway.”

“Oh, this is going to be sweet!!” Wally exclaimed.

As the gang began to loudly plan their big party, Lina leaned away from the conversation slightly, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her jean jacket. Unlocking the device, she quickly found her and Roy’s texting conversation. Smiling to herself, she quickly types out her message.

Call me when you get home from patrol tonight! You’re going to want to hear about our first mission! Guess who our new leader is…. :D -L

#Young Justice #young justice fanfiction #young justice fanfic #fanfiction #oc fanfiction #young justice oc #original character #aqualad x oc #Kaldur'ahm #kaldur #miss martian #Megan Morse #M'gann M'orzz #mgann morzz #artemis #artemis crock #tigress #Kid Flash #Wally West #nightwing #robin #aqualad #dick grayson #superboy #conner kent #red tornado #john smith #DC comics #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction

[ajokeformur-ray]

Baby, you’re fucking gorgeous// Joker x Reader//

Okay, so this one wasn’t requested but I have to get it out of my system. Every time I look at Joker, I blush like crazy and I just know that smug bastard would enjoy the attention. And so, this little imagine was born. Hopefully it’s as good as the Arthur Fleck ones I’ve written, because I haven’t written for Joker before. Let me know what you think!

Summary: You’re still unused to Joker… his mannerisms, his physical appearance, and you. Can’t. Stop. STARING. He notices, of course he does, but he subtly teases you until finally, oh, finally, you just can’t take it anymore. Are you in for a long night? Oh, most definitely.

TW; swearing, smoking (Joker), err… soft smut, teasing Joker. Mentions of Arthur’s malnutrition in real terms; if it upsets you or may potentially trigger you, then please skip the asterisked (*) paragraph. The asterisks are placed immediately before and after the paragraph. No critical plot info. is in that paragraph! I will signal its finish with another asterisk at the end. 

word count: 1,560

Arthur Fleck/Joker:  @writings-of-a-gen-z @x-avantgarde-x @mapreza1 @insomniabird @mavalenovaninagavi @itwasrealenough @morrisonmercurymalek  @rand0ms-fand0ms @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing @rebs-doom @vivft @help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection @taintednihilist @vladtoly @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92 @that-s-life​ @dopey-girl-blogs​

 Wanna be added to the taglist? Let me know in a DM or ask, please - comments can be hard to track

Oh, help you. 

Arthur Fleck, your beloved significant other, had only just recently, in the last few days, completed his gradual but inevitable transition into Joker. You had come home one night expecting to see a bare faced, very weary and tired Arthur greet you at the door, but instead you had opened the door and before you had even shut it behind you, hands had grabbed your face and pulled you into a huge messy kiss; traces of greasepaint all over your face. 

You had stepped back to see an exuberant Arthur. “Hey, Arthur!” 

 Arthur had smiled softly at you, his eyes so kind and gentle, but he had shaken his head patiently. He had known that you wouldn’t know who he was, and that it would take time before you could tell his personas apart. “When I’m like this, call me Joker, darling.” Then he had burst into laughter, the sound loud and bouncing off the walls; it was freer and more genuine than you had ever heard him before. You had accepted this new persona without question, only wanting him to be happy, and that was that. Some days you didn’t know who would greet you at the door. It didn’t matter, though, so long as you saw your enigmatic love at each day’s end. 

Despite your bravado in front of Joker, you still weren’t acclimatised to him. You had seen glimpses of him over the months, flashes of his confidence had shone through Arthur and you had found yourself malfunctioning, blushing too badly to be able to look Arthur in the eye. It had excited you, though a deeper and easier to hide part of you had worried for the future of Arthur Fleck… would you still be a part of it? Would he still love you as this new person came into light? 

As such, you had a problem. Only days before had you met Joker, and now with you sat on the sofa watching Joker dancing without music, his own eerie but liberating rhythm playing on a seeming loop in his complex and twisted mind, you were mesmerised. You were caught like a fly in a web. You hadn’t been able to look away from him all day. Arthur was devastatingly beautiful but Joker… oh, Joker was ethereal. You loved him. To love Arthur was to love Joker, he was the same man, and you had been conflicted about loving Joker initially but, like all other potentially bad decisions in your life, you had chucked yourself down the rabbit hole head first. You could only hope that Joker would catch you, just as Arthur had.

As Joker turned with stilted movements, he spotted you staring. He raised an eyebrow, winked at you and then carried on dancing like nothing had happened. You quickly grabbed the nearest cushion, burying your face in it to muffle the strange noise that left your throat, but also the blush that spread like wild fire across your face. He was fucking gorgeous.

You squeezed the pillow just a bit harder on your face, biting your lip to further muffle the second squeak that left you. Arthur had been able to make you blush with just a straight face but Joker… Joker knew what he did to you without even trying, and it seemed as though he had already figured out that this new persona, his truest and freest self, was your greatest weakness.

You inhaled the scent of cigarettes and your love as you released the cushion and stood, intent on going to the kitchen to get some food for yourself and Joker. Even now, he took very poor care of himself, but he lavished you with everything. It was frustrating, but you supposed that you could take care of the two of you. Joker already worked so hard to support you as a small family, so the least you could do was to do your share.

*

You turned to the barely stocked fridge, thinking of what kind of meal you could make with what was in there. You had the ingredients for a basic pasta bake, so that was what you set your mind to. Arthur couldn’t eat much of anything at all, his body so used to starvation and malnourished from such a young age that even slightly rich foods could make him sick; his body unable to digest it, and you had quickly had to adapt to his body’s needs.

*

You turned to the oven, your mind still fixated on the haunting images of Joker dancing to music that was in his very soul, and began to make dinner. A soft, low humming had replaced the silence in the apartment, and you found your body reaction to Joker’s music. Your hips wanted to sway, your head wanted to tilt up towards the ceiling so you could listen better, and as you set the pan down for the pasta bake, large hands seized your shoulders; spinning you around into a dance.

You were too preoccupied with the way that Joker’s eyes stared into your own to notice what he was doing with your body; turning it this way and that, spinning you, and dancing with you like Fred and Ginger. 

“Like what you see?”

You blushed as Joker winked, and he laughed. There was a tinge of hysteria to his laughter, but you didn’t mind. Laughter was better than sorrow, and you had long since learned the different emotions behind every laugh that Arthur had.

Two could play at the confidence game… Arthur and now Joker were able to read your body language with a single glance in your direction, so intuitive was he. If he could tease you, knowing exactly what he was doing but being less suppressible than Arthur so he could enjoy what he did to you, then you could use a little bravado of your own. You made yourself, with the low stirrings of lust mixing with love and affection in your gut, look Joker full in the face. You allowed the blush to rise, resisted the urge to cover your face with your hands, and let Joker see.

 You even squeaked again, much to your mortification and Joker’s amusement. You cleared your throat, drew some more strength from that familiar touch you swore you could feel even in your dreams, and said, “Baby, you’re fucking gorgeous!” 

“Have you started dinner yet, kitten?“ 

You shook your head. "No. Just about to st -" 

"Save it. I know what I’m hungry for and it’s not pasta.” Joker gave you that look and you made a mental note to clear tomorrow’s schedule. You’d be walking and sitting funny for the rest of the week, if memory served you well. Last time he had looked at you in that way, with such blatant want and fire in his eyes, you had had sex multiple times in one night… every time you had started to drift off, he had woken you up with a demanding kiss and praises whispered in your ear.

“Hey, uh, J-joker?” You stuttered over his name, your eyes still on his, and he winked at you, his smirk widening. The cocky bastard was not helping you at all and he fucking knew it. 

“Yes, dearest?”

“Do you even know how beautiful you are?”

Joker’s smirk widened to almost ear to ear (though his makeup made that illusion even stronger) and one arm slipped around your waist, pulling you tightly into him. His other arm gracefully came up and over his head, his fingers dangling loosely in the air. and he slowly lowered you into a dip. Where had this strength came from? Hovering above you, Joker’s eyes softened and he almost looked like Arthur again. It was a close enough resemblance that it made you want to cry. Where was your sweet man? Where had he gone? Did he still love you? You would never stop loving Arthur, no matter who he turned into, but you couldn’t confidently say the same about Joker. 

You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him badly. Joker must have read it on your face, for his eyes flickered down to your lips and his smirk faded as he just stared at you. 

“Joker?” He was starting to make you nervous, and you got up to move, to leave, but his fingers dug almost painfully into your hips and his lips descended upon yours messily. His kiss was greedy, his tongue pushing its way past your lips. He kissed you like it was the last time he’d ever get to kiss you, and it was with a surprising show of strength that he murmured, “Jump”, against your lips, and lifted you so that your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist. 

Without breaking the kiss, Joker somehow managed to carry you seamlessly through the flat, unfaltering in his step despite how your body obscured his vision. It was with great faith in his muscle memory that he navigated the two of you to the bedroom. He roughly shoved you off him and you landed on the bed. Your body didn’t cease bouncing before he was on you like a lion pouncing on his prey, and his lips seized yours again, his face paint smearing all over yours.

You were in for a long night.

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