#this was an early idea but then it faded in favor of the time travel one

[bookshelf-in-progress]

A Christmas Alone: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

For the Christmas Challenge at @inklings-challenge, I've written a Christmas story that ties to my "Beauty and the Beast" retelling, "A Day Late." This takes place before that story, which makes it technically a prequel, but both are meant to stand alone.

Without further ado, here's:

A Christmas Alone

The dining table held a feast fit for royalty, but Beatrice had no eyes for the food. As she pushed a few limp vegetables around her plate, her gaze wandered to the birds and angels painted on the ceiling and toward the rose gardens outside the vast windows. Her mind wandered even further, past the limits of the gardens to an outside world she hadn’t seen for months, where a little cottage would be covered in snow and filled with the hustle and bustle of Christmas preparations. Her sisters would be baking up a storm today. Her brothers would be hunting for Christmas venison. If she were there, she would be decorating the house in every bit of greenery she could find.

In the distance somewhere, a voice said, “Beatrice.”

What would her father be doing today? Would he be out hunting for the Christmas tree alone? Did he miss her company? Did he mourn her, trapped for so many months in a castle with a beast?

“Beatrice.”

Who would be setting up the stage for the Christmas theatricals? Had she told anyone where she’d stashed the curtains and old clothes they used for costumes? She had hoped to convince everyone to put on a comedy this year, but now that she wasn’t there, Ophelia would probably badger everyone into performing one of her silly sentimental melodramas.

“Beatrice.”

The voice, now raised to almost a shout, snapped her out of her reverie. The dining room—and the massive Beast sitting across the table—came into focus. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

Beast’s striped, dog-like face showed concern. It was strange how well she could read the expressions of a dog-tiger-monkey man. His eyes and brows were very expressive. “You seem distracted,” he said in his deep tones. “Is something troubling you?”

It felt impossible to speak of it. That rundown, cozy little cottage was worlds away from this elegant palace full of gold and mirrors and portraits. The Beast did not belong with her family.

And yet...the Beast she’d come to know these last eight months was nothing like the fearsome monster her father had described when he’d come home with the rose. He was gentle. Kind. Patient. A bit moody and dramatic, but reasonable. It was just possible he’d grant this request.

“I was thinking,” she said, keeping her voice far more casual than she felt. “Christmas is in two days.”

Beast' s brow furrowed. “Christmas?” He looked at the gardens outside the windows. “It can’t be. It’s summer.”

“It’s always summer here,” Beatrice said. “That doesn’t mean it’s not Christmas. I’ve been here 226 days, which makes it December 23rd.”

Beast shook his head as if trying to clear away fog. “I suppose it is,” he said at last. “Time rather runs together here.”

That was another reason she needed a holiday. She blurted, “Could you send me home for Christmas? Just for a day or two?”

Beast’s face grew solemn. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Why not? You let Father come home with the rose.”

“To settle the debt by sending you to take his place. Now that you have come, it is not in my power to release you.”

“It wouldn’t be release. It would be...an outing. For good behavior. I promise I’d come back.”

“I believe you would,” Beast said, “but I have not found a way to safely allow even your temporary release. The rules of this place…”

“Oh, the rules!” Beatrice threw a napkin, but an invisible servant caught it before it could fly very far. “It always comes back to those stupid rules!”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I think you make up half of those rules.”

“I wish I were.” Beast leaned forward, his strangely human eyes full of sincerity. “Believe me, Beatrice. If I could safely send you home, even for a visit, I would, but I won’t risk your life by sending you too soon.”

Beatrice sighed. Her visions of a cozy Christmas faded. “So I have no choice,” she said. “I have to spend Christmas here with you.”

“Is that so terrible?” Beast asked.

Beatrice thought about the cottage--her brothers and sisters gathered around the table, the candles, the meal, the stories, the jokes, the songs, the laughter. It was rustic and chaotic compared to the luxury here, but Christmas in this vast, silent, elegant palace couldn’t compare.

“It really is,” she said.

Beast bowed his head. “I am sorry to cause you distress.”

He rose from his seat and turned toward the far doors, which opened beneath invisible hands.

“Beast? Where are you going?” Beatrice suddenly heard her own last words in her memory and cringed. She half-rose from her seat. “Beast! Come back here! I didn’t mean…”

An eight-foot tall beast could cross a room quickly. Before she could say more, the dining room doors closed behind him.

#

Beatrice peered into the library. The shelves, stuffed to the brim with leather-bound books, towered up to the ceiling, every book still in its proper place. Against the far wall, Beast sat in a wing-backed chair next to a fireplace half the size of the attic she shared with her sisters at home. Even in this warm climate, the evenings could get chilly. Flickering firelight cast light and shadows that tangled with Beast’s tiger stripes.

A book lay in Beast’s lap, untouched while he gazed into the fire. Beatrice approached cautiously and peered over his shoulder. She couldn’t read the language, but the pictures suggested it was a scientific text.

At least he wasn’t reading poetry. If he’d gotten into the melancholy ballads, there would have been no talking to him.

She stepped around the chair to face him. “Beast?” she said softly.

Beast looked up. The tips of his pointed ears drooped, his tangled teeth jutted from his jaw, his long tail hung limply over the arm of the chair, but his eyes were so human.

Her carefully composed apology fled her brain. She babbled, “I want to apologize. About before. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not being with you that’s terrible, it’s...not being with them.”

Beast’s face eased, but he didn’t meet her eyes. “I understand,” he said. “It is natural to wish for your family at Christmas.”

“I just keep thinking about...everything,” she said. “The food and the carols and all of them. I’m missing out on it all.”

Beast nodded, “The first Christmas alone is the most difficult.”

Beatrice sat in in the chair facing him. “You have no idea.” A light sparked in her mind, bringing up a new thought. “Wait. Do you?” She perched at the edge of her seat. “Do you have a family, Beast?”

Beast appeared uncomfortable. He looked down and stroked his tail where it lay over the arm of the chair. “Most people do.”

Beatrice’s mind boggled at the notion of an entire clan of dog-tiger-monkey men. “What are they like? Are there a lot of you? Do you resemble your parents?”

Beast twisted the end of his tail in one hand. “There are...many of us. None of them look like me. I am the only one with such...animal features.”

“Is that why you’re here, then? Locked away like the minotaur?”

Beast grimaced. “My family is not responsible for my current situation.”

Yet he would never say what was. She’d narrow it down eventually, but for now, she had more important questions.

“How do you stand it? Being away from them?”

“I’ve become accustomed to the loneliness.”

And she was trying to leave him. She hadn’t thought of it from his perspective before—Christmas after Christmas alone in this silent palace, with no one except servants that he couldn’t see.

“How long have you been here?” she asked softly.

“Long enough to become accustomed to lonely holidays. I would not subject you to it if I had any other choice.”

Here she was, moping over one Christmas with Beast for company, while he’d suffered who-knew-how-many alone without complaint. Yet she still wished she could leave him. What kind of monster was she?

If only she could have it both ways. “I wish we could both see my family for Christmas. Despite how the two of you met, my father would like you if he could know you. My siblings would torment you, but they’d like you, too.”

Beast’s lip pulled up in his version of a smile. “It’s a lovely picture. I wish I could give it to you.”

How stupid wishes were. Both of them wasting time wanting things they couldn’t have.

Beast suddenly stood up, all eight feet of him stretching toward the ceiling. The book clattered to the floor.

“Be careful!” Beatrice scolded. Just because he had a million books in a huge palace did not mean he could throw them around.

Beast picked up the fallen tome. “My apologies." He strode toward the library doors. "I’ve just remembered.”

As he walked away, Beatrice knelt on her seat, looking over the back of her chair, and called out, “Remembered what?”

Beast turned back with a light in his eyes. “We have much to prepare before Christmas."

#

Christmas morning. Beatrice examined herself in her dressing room mirrors. She wore deep green—a full-skirted silk dress she’d never seen before in her massive wardrobe. With her red curls—delicately arranged by the servants—she looked like a Christmas doll. Like the presents she and her sisters got as children in their days of prosperity in the city.

She smiled at the invisible servants. “You’ve almost made me look pretty.”

She had never been the pretty one back home. She had too much of a mouth for that. Here, she always felt beautiful, without sisters to outshine her. But she would far rather be with them in their attic bedroom this morning. She could almost hear the bustle of their usual morning routine—rustling fabric, creaking floorboards.

Then she realized she could hear something, just outside her door.

She stepped toward the dressing room door. “Is someone in my sitting room?”

She reached for the doorknob, but an invisible hand wrapped around her wrist. Beatrice slapped it and yanked her hand free. “Stop that!”

Another hand grabbed her other wrist. Beatrice tried to step forward, but a strong grip on her shoulders held her back.

“What are you doing?” Beatrice shouted. “Let me go!”

She wriggled out from beneath the hands and managed to grab a hair brush from her vanity, which she smacked against the fingers holding her wrist. A minute later, the hands were back, holding her more securely than ever.

Beatrice struggled against them. “How many of you are in here? Is this a conspiracy? Have you all decided to rebel?” If the invisible servants had started a Christmas morning mutiny, she and Beast didn’t stand a chance.

While she looked for other means of escape, the door to the sitting room swung open, and the servants released her so suddenly that Beatrice fell to the floor. She rose, straightened her crumpled skirts, and scowled at the room, hoping her expression was directed toward at least a few of the servants.

“What was that?” she demanded.

The only response she received was a gentle nudge on the shoulder urging her toward the open door.

She had half a mind to stay right here, just to spite them. But she was curious.

She edged through the doorway and found Beast standing in her sitting room, resplendent in a suit of royal blue that dripped with gold and silver embroidery. He bowed to her. “Merry Christmas, Beatrice.”

“Merry...Christmas,” Beatrice said, bemused. “What are you doing in my sitting room?”

Beast gestured to the wall opposite the windows. “I was overseeing the delivery of your present.” A large, rectangular something was mounted on the wall and draped with a white sheet. In deference to the season, a gold bow had been placed in the center.

She hadn’t even thought of presents. It hadn’t occurred to her, trapped in a palace where Beast already owned everything.

“Did you wrap it yourself?” Beatrice teased, to hide her embarrassment. She stepped toward the wall and picked up one corner of the sheet. “May I?”

Beast’s eyes shone. “Whenever you like.”

Beatrice pulled off the sheet with a flourish. A heavy, carved wooden frame, as thick as her hand, as tall as Beast and nearly as wide, surrounded a painting. An interior Christmas scene, with a family gathered around a table in a room bedecked with ribbons and greenery. Yet something about the scenery looked familiar, something about the people tugged at her memory—

With a gasp, Beatrice saw that the family wasn’t just any family—it was hers. Every face was unmistakable. There was Viola’s dark hair, Rosalind’s freckles, Ophelia’s bright green eyes, Henry’s scar from where Edmund had pushed him out of a tree. And there, at the head of the table, his face mostly turned away, but unmistakable...

“Papa,” Beatrice breathed.

She ran a hand over the painting, the brushstrokes rough beneath her palm, as she touched every face in turn. “How did you do this?” she asked Beast. “You’ve met my father, but all the rest…”

“A gift from my godmother,” Beast said, “long ago. It shows us those who are far from us. It won’t show my family, but with a bit of rule-bending, I convinced it to portray yours.”

Yet another wonder of this place. Beatrice marveled at it. A masterwork of a painting. Every brushstroke precise. The colors vivid. The shadows and light as real as life. She felt as though she could walk inside the frame and be with them all.

She turned away, overwhelmed, with tears pricking her eyelids. “It’s lovely, Beast. I can’t thank you enough.”

A lump in her throat choked her. It was a lovely, thoughtful gift, and yet—it was almost worse to see them like that, memorialized in a single still image, like people long dead.

She was being ridiculous. She turned back to the painting.

Her jaw fell. Papa, who had been turned away, now faced directly toward her with a smile on his face.

“What?” Beatrice stepped toward the painting and scrutinized it. “I’m sure he was facing the other way before.”

“Was he?” Beast asked wryly. “This is a painting that must be watched closely.”

Beatrice examined the painting. It wasn’t just Papa. She was sure Viola’s arm was more outstretched than before. Henry’s eyes had opened wider.

A moment later, there were more changes. Papa’s mouth was open in a smile now. Viola held a pot of tea.

The image changed again, again, again, tiny movements every time, and soon it was changing so fast that Beatrice couldn’t see the changes. Everything in the picture moved in perfect fluid motion, as if the people inside were alive. She watched her family laugh and chatter as they shared a breakfast of tea and Christmas bread. There was no sound, no scent, but her memory filled in the gaps. She could hear the same old Christmas morning jests, hear the birds outside the window, smell the pine of the wreaths, feel the warmth and closeness of being with her family on Christmas morning.

Tears ran down Beatrice’s face, and she didn’t even try to stop them. “Thank you, Beast,” she said. She wiped her face in her silken sleeve—she had hundreds of dresses, but she couldn’t waste a moment of this miracle hunting down a handkerchief. “This is the Christmas I wanted.”

Beast bowed and backed away. “I shall leave you to enjoy it.”

Beatrice leapt toward him and seized his arm. “Don’t you dare!” Though she barely came up to his chest, she dragged him toward a sofa that had been turned to face the wall. “You are staying here. Sit.”

Beast, seeming lost and bewildered, meekly obeyed.

Beatrice spoke to any invisible servants that might be in the room. “Do we have any Christmas bread available? Something like what’s in the painting?”

A single knock on the wall. Yes.

“Bring some to us,” Beatrice says, “and a pot of tea. We’re sharing Christmas morning with my family.”

In moments, the food arrived, and she and Beast shared it in a picnic on the floor while she explained everything that was happening in the painting. Though she talked almost without stopping for breath, Beast listened to everything attentively, as if he was as hungry for company as he was for breakfast.

This was different, but it was good. A Christmas she could never have imagined, but one she would never have wanted to miss, here with her strange, hulking, melancholic, thoughtful Beast.

She had so much she wanted to say, to let Beast know what this meant to her, and no words to express it—she didn’t do well with sentiment, and some things were too deep for speech.

At last, on impulse, she threw her arms around Beast’s neck. “Thank you,” she said.

Beast, stunned, was frozen beneath her, but after a moment, he relaxed and returned the embrace.

Catching herself as she realized what this might look like to a beast who had proposed to her every day she'd lived here, she hurriedly pulled away and said, "I'm still not marrying you!"

For once, the refusal didn't leave Beast looking forlorn. He merely chuckled, his eyes sparkling. "I don't mind. Right now, this is more than enough."

She settled back to her seat, relieved he understood. It was. More than enough.

"Merry Christmas, Beast," she said.

He placed one of his hands over hers. "Merry Christmas, Beatrice."

#the bookshelf progresses #inklingschallenge #inklingschristmaschallenge #imagery: gift #fairy tale retellings #beauty and the beast #i tried very much to make this a comedy but i couldn't make it work so i settled for sentiment #i hope i managed to keep in some bits that read as humor #also please appreciate the effort i went through to finish this story with a migraine #for some reason these stories in particular take me much longer than i think they should #i know how things should happen but the exact order of details eludes me #this one was much worse than a day late #i had three substantial versions #one of which was nearly finished before i completely overhauled the whole thing #also the time travel story i talked about is still in the works #this was an early idea but then it faded in favor of the time travel one #then when i sat down for serious work on the time travel one beatrice came forward and decided she wanted her story told after all

[thee-morrigan]

in any universe

The Wayhaven Chronicles Ava du Mortain/Dinah Batra/Nate Sewell 6.5k words rated G (for 'good god I didn't expect this to get so long???') content warnings: snowstorms, mysterious cabins, a rogue time-traveler, and gratuitous descriptions of Ava's eyes read it on AO3

I had the absolute pleasure of writing for @evilbunnyking as part of the @wayhavensecretsanta this month. (Did I spend the past several weeks fully giggling, twirling my hair, kicking my feet, glitter-gel-pen writing in my diary about Dinah, Nate, and Ava? Maybe! 💖) Thank you for letting me have a playdate with Dinah! I had a blast with this, and hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it 💖🥰

— It’s barely past noon, but already the watery winter sun is fading, rays of diluted daylight trickling slowly past the stark, spiky tree limbs that jutted at irregular angles into the blue-grey sky. What little of it filters onto the ground — hard and hoary with frost and the dusting of snow from the spindrift of flurries early this morning — is weaker still, the scant brush of the sun’s warmth against Dinah’s face barely registering, its light trailing off like unfinished sentences, thin tendrils curling into nothing but air, like the smoke of a snuffed candle.

“We should have taken the SUV,” Ava says, and Dinah looks up at the woman walking alongside her, the spectral tendrils of sunlight gilding the edges of her face — the slope of her nose, the wisps of pale hair that the wind has tugged free of her usual low bun — turning the other woman’s profile as silvery as the frosted path beneath their booted feet. For her part, Ava does not look at Dinah as they walk, hawk-sharp eyes sweeping along the path ahead, across the surrounding wood, as if the trees standing sentry are liable to go from resembling a watchful assemblage to becoming one entire, long bare limbs poised to come alive as soon as she looks away.

“It’s not far,” Dinah replies, turning her gaze back to the path ahead as well, the winding, snow-flecked bridleway looping its way through the forest just as the fissures in the bark of the surrounding trees spiraled up and around their vast trunks.

Sweet chestnut trees, she thinks, though she can’t remember when or why she came by this knowledge, at what point she learned to associate the thick, purple-grey trees with that identity.

“It is an unexpectedly lovely day for a walk,” Nate adds from her other side, throwing Dinah a gentle smile. “I’d thought we were due a heavier snowfall than this morning’s flurries turned out to be.”

“We are,” Ava says, turning her head to look at both Dinah and Nate as they traipse further through the woods. “The radar this morning indicated we can expect winter storm conditions this afternoon, and perhaps into tomorrow as well.”

“We’ll be safely back at the warehouse before the worst of it hits, Ava,” Dinah soothes, though she can’t keep the corners of her mouth from curving upwards in mild amusement at the idea of Ava monitoring the weather radar map. “And Nate’s right: at least for now, it’s a nice day.”

Ava sighs and turns her gaze back to the path ahead, though not, Dinah notices, before her expression softens a bit, her mouth relaxing, green eyes glimmering with something approaching a look of fondness towards them both.

##

Dinah is right about the cabin not being much further, situated only a few miles away from the warehouse, and so it isn’t much longer before they reach the place. Despite its relative closeness, however, and perhaps because of its being nestled just that much deeper into the forest surrounding Wayhaven, there is a certain air of isolation about the little house, as though they’ve somehow managed to travel much further than could ever be possible in the time they’d been walking.

She thinks this air about the old cabin, this shimmer of eerie uncertainty surrounding the property, is partly why Tina had begged the favor of her, to check in on the house after a few reports from the owner about things seeming just the slightest bit out of sorts recently — windows that should have been locked being cracked open, bedside lamps left switched on when they oughtn’t have been, and that sort of thing. Tina had been inclined to chalk it up to the particular quiet of the surrounding wood and simple human forgetfulness on the owner’s part, given that he mostly kept the cabin as a source of supplemental income these days, letting it as a vacation rental property. The only reason he’d known to report anything amiss in the first place had been thanks to the cleaning crew he paid to check in on the property once a month, give or take when the cabin was occupied by guests, whose presence could explain any or all of the unexpected occurrences the owner had reported to the station.

Still, Tina had said when she relayed all of this information to Dinah a few days ago, I know it’s probably nothing, but, if I’m being honest, that place has always kind of given me the creeps.

And so Dinah had agreed to the favor. One last thankless detective’s task for old time’s sake, she supposes.

“Just a quick look around and we can go,” she promises Nate and Ava as they approach the cabin now, raising her voice slightly over the wind, which has begun to pick up in the past few minutes, accompanied by a fresh flurry of fat, wet snowflakes.

Despite Tina’s apparent discomfort with it, the cabin appears, if anything, like something you’d find in a winter painting or emblazoned on a postcard, nestled in a clearing surrounded by towering ancient cedar trees and the elegant sweeping cradle of silver birches, long-limbed and half-frozen. The snow-dusted roof glitters in the white-gold wash of afternoon sun, contrasting against the darkened timber walls of the cabin. It emanates a certain charm, as if it holds secrets within its sturdy frame.

Nate, his gloved hands tucked into his coat pockets, gazes at the cabin with a sense of wonderment. "It's like something out of a fairy tale," he murmurs.

“I wonder why Tina said it gave her the creeps,” Dinah muses as they step onto the wide, weathered planks of the porch, pulling her phone out of her coat pocket and scrolling through her last texts with her erstwhile colleague until she sees the code to the lockbox fastened next to the front door.

She punches the code into the keypad with gloved fingers, a bright, staccato chirrup sounding as the electronic latch clicked open, allowing Dinah to retrieve a small leather keychain bearing two keys, one silver and one a dull bronze. It’s the silver one that must be the cabin key, she thinks. The bronze one is smaller, with fewer teeth than its companion. It almost resembled a mailbox key, but she’s not sure it’s quite large enough for a standard post-office box.

She puts it out of her mind, though, as her assumption about the silver key being the one needed to enter the cabin proves correct. As she inserts the key into the lock, a gust of wind howls through the treetops, causing the branches to sway and creak. The sound is mournful, as though the forest itself is warning them of something unseen.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, Dinah steps inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the frost-laced windows. The cabin is unexpectedly warm, despite its emptiness and the cold of the world just beyond its wooden walls. The wind and promised winter storm conditions have begun to pick up in earnest now and, while the interior warmth is a welcome surprise, she hopes they can report everything in order quickly and begin the trek back towards town and the warehouse before it gets any colder.

Dinah steps further into the cabin, letting the warmth envelop her. She glances around, taking in the worn wooden furnishings and old-fashioned charm of the place. The thick wooden planks that make up the walls are dark and weathered with age, each knot and grain clear as day, like a tapestry of nature itself. The scent of pine and wood smoke fills her nose, mixing with the musty odor of dampness and age, lingering beneath the sharper tang of citrus — oranges, she thinks, rather than lemons — particular to furniture polish and oil soap. Lingering from the cleaners, she presumes.

Before or after they’d phoned the owner? She wonders. Before or after they noticed whatever it was they’d noticed to create the impression that all was not as it ought to have been?

Nate follows behind her, pausing only to scrape the frost and forest debris off his boots and onto the coarse fibers of the doormat. "Seems normal so far," he remarks, though his voice holds the barest tinge of unease.

She thinks she understands it, this shade of uncertainty coloring his voice; perhaps it is only the way in which her brain has primed itself for something, anything, to be unusual. Perhaps it is how preternaturally lovely the cabin had been as they approached it outside, the glittering winter panorama that had made Nate think of fairytales.

Perhaps it is the slight, burnt-sugar taste on her tongue, the roof of her mouth, whose flavor she associates with campfire-scorched marshmallows and, more recently (more pertinently), with magic.

Ava is close behind, the door creaking slightly as she pulls it shut, leaving them in near darkness until she finds a light switch. Dinah’s eyes have swept from Nate’s face to Ava’s, as if seeking a second confirmation of something, but Ava’s gaze is narrowed on the large stone fireplace in the center of the living room.

“How long did you say it has been since this cabin has been occupied?” She asks.

"Quite a few months, if I remember correctly," Dinah replies, her gaze following Ava's to the fireplace. The hearth is immaculately clean, not a trace of ash or soot to be seen. Stranger still, the scent of freshly burned wood hangs in the air; evident beneath the pine and citrus scent. “Well, aside from the cleaners, I suppose. They would have been here last week, I think? Or the start of this week.”

“It seems unlikely that they would have built a fire,” Nate muses, his expression thoughtful as he watches Ava, her gaze still fixed on the rough fieldstone fireplace. “Though the room certainly smells of one.”

"Indeed," Ava replies, her voice low and thoughtful. She steps further into the room, striding past Dinah and Nate to kneel before the fireplace, stretching one hand out toward the cold hearth. Her fingers hover for a long moment over the scrubbed, smooth grate before she pulls her hand back, straightening and turning back to face the others.

“It does not seem to be any warmer than it ought,” she concedes, the beginnings of a frown creasing her brows. “But it smells as though someone lit a fire. Recently.”

“Maybe they burned a candle?” Dinah suggests with a shrug, though her hazel eyes are pensive flick between Nate and Ava, watching whatever unspoken conversation they’re having.

“Perhaps.” Ava does not sound convinced.

“You’re probably right,” Nate says gamely, giving Dinah a smile that almost successfully wipes the earlier glimmer of uncertainty from his face. “What else did you need to check before we head back?”

##

Their sweep of the other rooms, thankfully, doesn’t seem to spark any additional sense of lingering disorder, although it does take a bit longer than Dinah had anticipated because of the cabin's surprising size. Closets, bedrooms, and a surprisingly well-stocked kitchen are methodically examined by the trio. Finally satisfied that she's done her due diligence and can report back to Tina that everything seems more or less normal, Dinah checks her watch, squinting at the dimly lit dial.

"I think that's it," she says as they finish their search of the cabin. A soft sigh of relief escapes from between her lips as if expressing a quiet gratitude to the labyrinthine cabin for not exposing them to any other irregularities.

Nate, who had stopped to scrutinize an antique grandfather clock situated against a wall just past the entryway, looks up at Dinah's voice, his own lips parting as if to respond. It is Ava, however, who speaks next, calling to them from the far side of the living room, where she's taken up what Dinah can only consider her typical position before a window, this one overlooking the front porch and, beyond, the path they had taken to reach the cabin earlier this afternoon.

"It would appear we have run into a problem," Ava says grimly, her beryl eyes narrowed at whatever she's spotted outside the cabin.

"What is it?" Nate asks, stepping away from the old clock and towards the living room.

Dinah answers as he ducks through the open doorway, having twitched aside the curtain of another window nearer to her. "Winter storm conditions,” she sighs.

##

They decide to make the best of it — because what else can they do, really?   They will spend the dwindling daylight hours and the coming night in the cabin and reassess in the morning. By then, they reason — they hope — the worst of the snowstorm will have passed.

Once more, the trio split up, this time in search of necessary supplies for the coming evening rather than the presumed vandals or squatters they’d been sent to suss out earlier. Ava elects to venture outside and to the small shed behind the cabin in search of firewood, before the snow completely blankets the forest and renders visibility difficult for even supernaturally keen eyesight. Nate and Dinah will stay inside, sorting through the numerous closets and cupboards for candles, blankets, and foodstuffs. 

The cabin resonates with a strange sense of harmony, each of them engaged in their own tasks; Nate humming slightly as he sifts through kitchen cabinets, the rhythm of Dinah's steps echoing through the rooms as she ascends and descends the staircase, rifling through bedroom closets.

Ava returns, though after how long, neither Dinah nor Nate are entirely sure. Time has seemed…looser, since entering the cabin, perhaps since entering the surrounding wood altogether. Slowing and speeding at intervals irregular to their own cadence, each moment stretching on indefinitely but also second by second – ticking away as marked by the steady rhythm of the grandfather clock. 

Nonetheless, she returns, indeterminate time notwithstanding, arms laden with chopped wood, cheeks flushed against the biting cold, her form in the doorway a specter-like silhouette against the backdrop of mounting snowfall. She shakes loose a flurry of snowflakes caught in the folds of her scarf, the collar of her coat, shuffling wet clumps of snow off of her boots and onto the wide, wooden planks of the front porch before stepping past the threshold and into the cabin proper.

Nate emerges from the kitchen as she deposits her findings in a precise stack next to the fireplace, the logs clattering and thudding methodically alongside one another.

“It seems we were wise not to have attempted the walk back,” he says by way of greeting, crossing the living room to pull the front door shut where Ava, arms otherwise occupied, had left it half ajar. The heavy door slides shut with a muted thud, the worn, smooth metal of the brass handle icy beneath his palm as he gives it one more firm, brief tug before releasing it, satisfied that the torrent of snow falling in wet, heavy swirls outside wouldn’t make it into the dry warmth of the old cabin.

Ava gives a murmur of agreement, on her knees before the hearth, hands busied with the work of starting a fire with the wood she’s procured and the ceramic urn perched on the mantle, which is full of matchbooks, taken over a period of years, no doubt, from restaurants and bars and hotels. The logs are slick with the meltwater of snow and ice, although some thoughtful previous cabin guest has left a small stack of newspaper pages on the hearth, tucked behind the spindly wrought iron stand holding a small assortment of fireplace tools, presumably to be used as tinder.

With deft fingers, Ava strips off her gloves, laying them neatly on the stone of the fireplace, and reaches for a sheaf of newsprint, crumpling the pages into loose wads. She arranges them with a few of the driest twigs, striking a match against the strip on its book cover and holding the tiny flame to the newspaper until it catches and begins to consume itself in a bright orange glow. The first crackling embers in the grate send out a thin spiral of fragrant smoke, wrapping itself around Ava as she fans the flames into life. She pauses, straightening a bit to unwind her still-snow-speckled scarf, the wool of it damp in spots where the warmth of the cabin and her fledgling fire have begun to melt the lingering frost, and watches as her handiwork takes hold and steadily grows. The warmth now emanating from the fireplace is welcome, cutting through the chill that had started to settle in her bones.

��Thank you, by the way,” Nate says, coming to stand next to where she’s still knelt before the fire, a pleased hum of a sigh accompanying the words of gratitude. “For the fire, and for venturing into—” he sweeps a hand toward the front windows “—that to gather firewood.”

“And for not reminding either of you that I advised against walking here in the first place?” She leans back on her shins and tilts her face up to look at him, the tops of her booted feet pressed flush against the floor, her palms resting flat against the tops of her thighs. Ava’s voice is dry as bone, but there’s an unmistakeable shimmer of amusement in her eyes, the bright green of them turned aventurescent in the flickering glow of the firelight.

Nate laughs, and the warmth of it, resonant and radiant, sears through any lingering coldness in her that had gone unreached by the heat of the fire now burning steadily in the grate. Warms her to her marrow, as his laughter (his voice, his existence) has done for over three hundred years, now.

“That too, I suppose,” he amends, still smiling as he offers his hand to her, although they both know it is an unnecessary politeness — she does not need assistance to unfold herself from her position before the fire, to rise to her feet. She accepts it anyway, pale, calloused fingers grasping his dark, fine-boned hand as she rises to stand beside him.

Deeper into the cabin, footsteps sound, light and quick, as Dinah emerges from the dark of the corridor behind Ava, a bundle of fabric and a cardboard box cradled in her arms. She smiles, glancing at the fire as she steps further into the room and towards the two vampires standing in front of it.

Something about it — everything about it, she amends, for it is everything, really, about their current situation — strikes her with an odd feeling, a warm swell of something like familiarity or nostalgia or sentiment that takes her a moment to place. The crackling blaze of the fire, warm as bathwater against her face as she draws nearer, warmer still where its glow reflects off of her companions, its light painting their faces and hands in shades of rose and gold and ochre. How the light and heat contrast with the mercurial silver of the afternoon outside, the cloud-smothered sky already grown too dark for the hour, even for winter, its icy fingers pressing and dragging against the windows. The way Ava and Nate always seem to look at her, and even more so how they always — have always, at least as long as she’s known them, in each, century-spanning context — look at each other.

When she places the odd, slip-sliding sensation, she can’t quell the soft laugh that bubbles out of her. Nate gives her a quizzical smile as he steps towards her, reaching to pull the box from her arms. He sets it on one of the two chintzy, overstuffed armchairs in the middle of the room, the one nearest to the fireplace, lifting one of the flaps to peer at its contents.

“Is something amusing you, agent?” Ava asks, one dark blonde brow arched as she unbuttons her woollen peacoat before moving to hang it next to Dinah’s on the wooden coat rack by the front door.

“Just experiencing deja vu, I think,” she answers, unfolding the bundle of cloth still draped across her arm — a cable-knit sweater, it turns out, large and cream-colored and heavy looking, which Dinah slips on over her own thinner sweater, warm enough under her coat for the weather earlier in their day, but somewhat lacking in the current snowstorm. The garment hangs loose on her, the hem landing halfway down her thighs, and she has to roll the sleeves twice to free her hands, but it’s gloriously warm, and she almost laughs again at the memory of another borrowed sweater, in another lifetime.

“Deja vu?” Nate asks, still sorting through the box Dinah had unearthed. Her search of the bedrooms had been a fruitful one, it seems: the box is full of useful paraphernalia for anyone unexpectedly snowbound, including, among other things, at least a dozen long, white candles, a couple of camping lanterns, one heavy flashlight, and packages of batteries for each. Ava has crossed back over to them now, too, and slips a hand into the box alongside Nate’s to help him sort through its contents.

“Thinking of the last time we were…unexpectedly ensconced in a remote location like this. Lauterbrunnen.”

“Ah,” Nate says, and she knows before even looking at him that he’s smiling at the memory she’s called up, can hear it in that one syllable alone.

“The selection of reading materials pales in comparison to the chalet, of course,” she allows, failing entirely to contain her grin at Ava’s quiet, whip-quick rejoinder: “The volume of materials, as well.”

“But,” Dinah continues, that irrepressible grin seeping into her voice, “we do have electricity and running water here, so.” She shrugs. “Maybe that almost evens out, all things considered.”

And, of course, of fucking course, it is at that moment that the power flickers — dims — and peters out entirely.

##

The kitchen, bathed in a blend of candlelight and lantern glow, becomes their sanctuary as the world beyond the frost-coated windows plunges into the inky cold. The kitchen turned out to have an old-fashioned wood-burning stove, so Ava has built them another fire, its comforting warmth and scent filling the air, coupled with the aroma of the soup Nate had found in the pantry (although he’d seemed truly distressed at having only canned food to offer Dinah, with no fresh produce to supplement it, and it had been an effort not to laugh at the consternation on his face).

Canned though it may be, the soup is hot and filling, and Dinah sips at it happily enough, warming her fingers against the large, earthenware mug as she does. In addition to the lighting supplies they’d quickly put to good use, she’d found a jigsaw puzzle in a hall closet, and so, for lack of much else to do, they’re now sat together at the long kitchen table across from the wood stove, puzzle pieces strewn across the width of the table, tiny cardboard islands in a sea of dark mahogany.

Even as they collectively bend towards their task, their breaths intermingling in a rhythm of shared concentration, Dinah’s mind remains centered elsewhere. She finds herself watching her companions more than working on the puzzle, studying their focused faces under the flickering candlelight. There is a certain harmony to their movements, the result, she knows, of years and years and years of working all manner of tasks alongside one another, and Dinah can't help but feel a pang of affection for them both.

“You know you can’t win a jigsaw puzzle, Ava,” Dinah remarks, a teasing grin tugging insistently at one corner of her mouth.

Her comment is rewarded by a soft huff of laughter from Nate and a pointed silence from Ava — although perhaps the latter is less due to Ava choosing to ignore her and more the result of the commanding agent’s intense focus on the scattering of puzzle pieces arranged before her.

She’s not surprised, of course, that Ava takes jigsaw puzzles as a kind of tactical challenge, that she faces them as something to be outwitted through strategic brilliance and logical prowess. It’s part of why she likes her, really: a shared thread of fiery determination that runs through them both, this impulse — this compulsion — to rise to any occasion, meet it head-on and straight-backed, no matter how un-momentous the occasion may be. After all, hadn’t Dinah once taken the task of choosing a wine that Ava might enjoy as a challenge to be faced? Heracles and his Labours; Dinah and her (unboxed) wine.

Ava and her jigsaw puzzle.

Still, scouring hundreds of puzzle pieces in the dim light of the lanterns and candles, coupled with the growing lateness of the hour, is beginning to wear on Dinah and her human eyes, so she leans back in her chair, stretching languidly as she does. Propping one elbow on the back of the chair, she twists in her seat, casting her eyes about the room if only for a brief change in focal distance. Through the open doorway of the kitchen, she can see into the living room, the light of the still-crackling fire a rippling glow, illuminating the overstuffed armchair set closest to the fireplace.

Illuminating the object resting thereupon, which Dinah is quite sure had not been there earlier in the evening. There, lying open and facedown along one of the chair’s puffy arms, is a book.

It’s a squatty paperback, small and thick, its pages, as best she can tell through the dimness and the distance, gone slightly yellowed with age, corners slightly rounded and curling, dulled with the thumbing of untold hands over unknown years of use.

“Nate,” she asks, cutting off whatever conversation had been happening, whatever idle, puzzle-side chatter she’s fully relinquished the thread of now, her focus grasping instead for the unexpected snag of this book in the living room. “Did you leave that there? That book, in the living room?”

She tilts her head, chin jerking slightly in the direction of the doorway, not taking her eyes off the book as she speaks, because she already knows what his answer will be, already knows that, even if he had found a book to peruse while she’d been rummaging through bedrooms and closets upstairs, he would not have left it thus, splayed carelessly as if forgotten in the wake of something more captivating. Knows that, whomever it was who had last touched this book and then left it, discarded and haphazard, on the arm of the chair, it would not have been Nate, whose elegant hands are gentle and careful with almost everything they touch, and always so with books.

Well. Give or take a scant few exceptions, she remembers, although when she thinks of the circumstances in which he might be — in which he has been — so driven to distraction as to be truly careless in setting aside a book, she is reasonably confident that they do not apply to this particular scenario.

Nate looks up from the scattering of puzzle pieces through which he’d been sorting, eyes moving first to Dinah, half-twisted in her chair across from him, to the open doorway through which her gaze is still focused, finally alighting on the book in question. His brow furrows slightly as he glances from the discarded paperback to Ava, who has wrested her own focus from the jigsaw puzzle to the two of them, something in the tone of Dinah’s voice tugging her away from her consideration of optimal puzzle completion strategies.

“No,” he says finally, and can see his own confusion mirrored in Ava’s expression as those cool, emerald eyes slide to meet his, a mélange of question and calculation flickering there as he answers.

Green eyes and brown shift once again towards Dinah as she twists back around to face them, her own dark eyes lingering over her shoulder and into the living room for a too-long moment, as though not trusting the room behind her to remain static once she turns her back on it.

She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and looks between the two vampires, her mouth stretching in a grim almost-smile. “I didn’t think so,” she murmurs ruefully as she meets Nate’s puzzled gaze. “Although I was really, really hoping to be wrong.”

She stands abruptly, the chair skidding back on the wooden floor with a harsh rasp that echoes in the silence that has settled over the three of them. Dinah meets Ava’s eyes first, holding her gaze for a moment longer than necessary before shifting her attention to Nate. There's a sense of urgency crackling around her as she strides towards the living room, her fingers tightly curled in anticipation.

She moves deliberately towards the forgotten book, each footfall echoing in the stillness of the room. She hesitates for a moment, then reaches out and picks up the novel, the rough edges of the worn pages making her fingers prickle with an odd sense of unease.

She flips it over to see the cover — the title, Time's Shadow, is embossed in gold letters above a dramatic illustration of a branching tree, its roots plunging into a shadowy abyss while its leafy arms reach towards a clock face trapped in a twilight sky, although its hands point to a minute shy of twelve o'clock.

Puzzle abandoned, Nate and Ava have followed her into the living room, though neither of them seems to have any more idea than she as to how this book came to be here, or from whence it came.

Dinah flicks through the pages, her gaze quickly scanning the taut lines of text. The scent of old paper and ink wafts up, mingling with the room's musty air. There is nothing else remarkable about the book. No annotations, no dog-eared pages, no forgotten bookmarks or slips of paper. Just an ordinary book left in an extraordinary circumstance.

Nate steps forward, a mix of caution and curiosity on his face. "May I?" he asks, extending a hand towards Dinah.

Wordlessly, she hands it to him, watching him as he studies the book. He traces the edge of one golden letter before opening the paperback carefully, his long fingers leafing through the worn pages with a careful reverence, dark eyes skimming across the pages, though nothing seems to catch his attention.

The silence of the room is broken, suddenly, by a soft voice. "I hope you were kind enough to mark my place before you turned the page."

The trio whirls around, startled by the unexpected voice that had so disrupted the stillness of the room, a stone thrown into a tranquil pond. Seated comfortably on the weathered armchair against the far wall is a man who wasn't there moments ago, hands folded neatly in his lap, a thin smile etched across his face.

The man is nondescript in most ways — medium height, mid-forties perhaps, with salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed back from a high forehead. His eyes, as calm and deep as a placid lake, meet theirs with an amused glint.

Dinah straightens her spine and takes a step forward, her gaze hardening to steel on this stranger. "And you are?" She manages to ask, forcing her voice to remain steady, courteous, even, tempering the whirlwind of questions threatening to break loose.

Ava has moved to lean against the threshold that divides the two rooms, her fingers curling around the edge of the wall as she studies the interloper. Her green eyes hide nothing of her suspicion as they flicker over him, assessing and analyzing with a calculated precision.

The stranger chuckles, the sound warm and non-threatening. "My name is Cyrus," he says, his voice as soft and smooth as worn leather. "And I mean no harm."

Nate, still holding the book, steps closer to Dinah, his face unreadable. There is a moment when their gazes meet; an unspoken understanding passing between them. When his gaze flicks to the stranger, though, there is nothing but polite interest on his face, as open and friendly as it had been the day Dinah had met him. "And why are you here, Cyrus?"

The stranger — Cyrus — merely chuckles, a low, pleasant sound that echoes through the silent room. He leans forward slightly in his chair, steepling his fingers together. "There are many answers to that question," he says finally. "Some requiring less explanation than others."

He glances at the worn paperback still clasped in Nate's hand. "I suppose you could say I'm here for my book." He gives another light laugh, then shifts, leaning back a bit in his chair before unfolding his hands and gesturing towards the other armchair, the couch. "Please, take a seat," he says, an air of welcoming familiarity settling around him. "There's much to talk about."

Nate and Dinah share a glance, a silent question passing between them. Ava's gaze is fixed on Cyrus, her posture rigid but curious. Finally, Dinah steps forward, her footsteps echoing in the quiet room as she takes the offer. She sits, her back straight and her mind whirling with a thousand questions.

Nate follows suit, handing the book back to Cyrus as he does so. The man accepts it with a warm smile, tucking it next to him on the chair.

"Now then," he says. "I, along with my book, am here, in part, because this is my house."

An indignant, disbelieving noise escapes Dinah before she can stop it. "No, it isn't. Micah Langley owns this cabin."

The stranger's smile, while not fading exactly, has morphed into something cut through with sorrow. "Micah Langley is my husband. Or, well." He pauses, as if considering. "I suppose it may be more correct to say he was my husband. What year is it, please? It is possible that I may have already died. It's so difficult to keep track of which year it is, let alone which timeline one has stumbled into."

The statement hangs in the room, a tangible thing that seems to ripple and flex with tension.

“I am,” Cyrus continues calmly, voice as placid as if he is discussing the weather on any given Thursday, “come unstuck from time.”

They gape at him, for a long stretch of moments.

Nate breaks the silence first. "I beg your pardon?”

"Unstuck," he repeats with a nonchalant shrug. "One minute I am somewhere, the next... here. I do not control it. It just... happens. Just as you might walk through a door. Exit one room — one time — and enter another."

He asks again: What year is this?

When Ava answers, he sighs and gives a small nod. "As I suspected. In this timeline -- in this universe -- I am unfortunately no longer among the living."

The group's silence stretches on for a few moments longer, the only sound being an occasional crackle from the fire in the grate behind them.

And then they begin to ask questions.

Where had he come from? What year had he left? How did he cope with the constant displacement? Did he have any control over it?

While in this timeline — in this universe — he is dead, he confirms, in answer to Dinah’s slightly incredulous protestations that he hasn’t been alive as she’d known him — known of him — for almost a decade. However, in other universes, other timelines, he is very much alive. Oh, he’s dead in some of them still, he acknowledges. But in others he lives on, lives well, lives differently.

In every universe, though, the one constant: his beloved.

The man who owns the cabin still, though has barely stepped inside it since the death of his husband — this breathing, dime-store-noir-novel-reading, dead-not-dead man sat on an armchair before them.

Somehow, in every timeline, Cyrus finds Micah, or Micah finds Cyrus, or they find each other.

Across any world, each forking decision path splitting into a crystalline myriad of mirrors, a tapestry of threads, tangling and intersecting and weaving together in infinite ways. In every universe, they are bound to meet, or to have met. A microcosm of their own making, each of them the reference frame for the other -- the special relativity of two human bodies, the nature of their time and space impacted by the other's gravitational pull.

The night passes and they are insatiable, the three accidental guests of this man’s former home, asking him question after question. What does he mean, unstuck from time? How does it work? How can he know how else he lives in other realms of time? Of space? Are they each of them truly him? How did he first learn this? What does this mean, practically speaking? How, how, how?

To his apparently eternal credit, he answers all of them, or at least all of them as best he can, with the same unflappable serenity of demeanor with which he’d introduced himself and his…situation.

At some point, the power clicks back on, lamps humming back to life, the radiator clanking as it begins the process of re-warming itself and the cabin. The sudden noise and light — low though it is — cracks through the spell of the evening — no, somehow now nearly morning — and the four of them blink at one another as reality creeps back in.

Cyrus stands and stretches, stifling a yawn. "I do believe, my friends," he declares, his voice resonating with the soft weariness of the late hour, "It is time I took my leave."

"But," Dinah protests, her sleep-deprived mind still struggling to grasp the enormity of their conversation, "where will you go?"

He tilts his head towards Dinah and smiles, a sad but understanding gleam in his eyes. "Once more into the fray, I suppose. Another timeline, another universe."

He walks to the entrance and looks back at them, his features softened by the diffused light from the lamps. "Do not worry for me. In each world, I am home."

##

(Later, as they are straightening up and finally, finally preparing to leave the cabin and return to their own homes, their own reality, they will discover that he has once again left his book, forgotten once more on the armchair nearest the fire. None of them are certain whether the dog-eared page — the sight of which once again sends a streak of dismay across Nate’s face — marks the same spot as the book had been opened to before. But whether it is or it isn’t, the page that’s been saved now includes a note, of sorts, in the form of a single highlighted sentence: Space by itself, and time by itself, are doomed to fade away into mere shadows, and only a kind of union of the two will preserve an independent reality*.)

*this is, in fact, an actual quote from the physicist Hermann Minkowski, in an address to the 80th Assembly of German Natural Scientists and Physicians, 1908. Physics: secretly the most hopeless romantic coded science since 1908!

#yall i went into a full fugue state and emerged 6.5k words later #wayhavensecretsanta #twc #katie writes things

[daisybianca]

hey, could you do a friends to lovers w/ charles!

WAG VIBES

pairing: charles leclerc x femalereader

summary: charles had been your friend since you could remember yourself. after a few years of not being able to meet, he promised you that a package would be at your door in a matter of hours. little did you know that the mysterious package was the man himself and that things would get a little bit complicated between the two of you.

warnings: slight swearing, tiny mentions of sex

NOT CONSTRUCTING AN incredibly powerful bond when in the early ages of your lives, wasn't an available option when it came to you and Charles Leclerc, the admired and favored F1 driver.

Your mothers had formed an appreciable friendship since high school and that seemed to be just enough for their children to inherit that habit as well.

Due to his strenuous and consuming profession, his job required nonstop traveling to different mainlands and constant practicing. Because of this, there had been numerous months you two hadn't succeed to meet.

You had considered the lacking variety of options to spend time with your childhood friend, but none of them really appeared to be the precise solution. The idea of attending an f1 race slipped by your thoughts for a second, but you rejected it almost immediately. The events took place far away from your home country and the responsibility for your job and your limited time were the main reasons holding you back.

However, you two had figured out a way to communicate with each other by texting almost every night to talk about your day and in the morning, before heading to work. Face-timing was also an extremely pleasant remedy to cure your friend's sadness and rage after a rough or even a poor performance at a Grand Prix. Video chatting also seemed to be useful when you lost track of time at work and returned home late at night. Even if you were in your car, Charles insisted that he was willing to keep an eye on you, despite the fact that time zones were undoubtedly a challenging thing.

So generally, you always somehow found your way to each other. One way or another, you both created methods to achieve that.

Charles texted you this morning. Just at 10am. He was fully aware of the reality that you never were an early riser and knew better than to ruin that.

The fact is, though, that you wouldn't really mind as long as it was him interrupting your soothing time in bed.

It was bizarre that he texted you a good morning text. He never surely did, preferring the Face-Time choice to view your sleepy and drowsy reactions.

Your concern about his unusual message faded out by the time a second one showed up, brightening up the screen in the unilluminated room.

Harry Pottah from Walmart: Good Morning, Sunshine.

You read the very first message, which was accompanied by a bright sun emoji.

You let yourself shape a tiny smile. There had been a few days since you last heard him form those words. You adored him calling you that, but it would be so much better hearing it face to face.

You transferred your eyes to glance the second text.

Harry Pottah from Walmart: There'll be a package on your door at 7pm ASAP. Open the door and receive it. I hope you don't need a tutorial for that too, otherwise don't you dare ask me, there's something called freaking internet to help you out. I'm not a Wikipedia machine.

Your smile vanished and for a couple of seconds you felt remorseful for allowing him to know how obsessed you once used to be with Youtube tutorials.

A third, smaller text appeared on the screen, catching you off guard.

Harry Pottah from Walmart: P.S. be kind to the delivery man or I'm calling your mom.

Taking a loud, extended breath, you typed the response to his messages with almost-wobbly hands.

Me: Mrs. Pascale wouldn't be proud of his son talking to a lady like that.

You sent the sentence, mentioning his own mother to tease him a little, while including an emoji that was supposed to portray a sad face at the end of it.

You chortled at his amusing answer and placed your phone on the nightstand to charge it.

Getting up from your bed to endure your monotonous day, all your mind could revolve around was the package Charles referred to previously.

You had a great instinct for that and your heart was fierce and deafening in your chest, only at the thought of him gifting something to you after a very long time. You didn't permit yourself to build sizeable expectations because the outcome could be also disappointing, though.

But you couldn't care less if the content of the package was pretty or cheap or pricey as long as it was from him.

You exhaled and sniffled the odor of the coffee you made and felt the warmth of it enfolding your hands.

Just a couple of hours to figure out.

You could wait with the sensation of anticipation filling every inch of your body.

It wasn't like he could possibly show up at your door. He couldn't do that, he had a race in Russia in a couple of days.

It was just a package.

Nothing more and nothing less.

Yet, your mind denied doggedly to remain at a distance from it.

The hours passed surprisingly briefly and the clock above the kitchen table of your duplex apartment read 6:58 pm.

As you glanced over at the door, the flashings of the booming bolts of lightning outside the window made you observe the violent rainfall which turned the night sky quite gloomy.

Who would have thought that something so colorless as water could make clouds that dark and shadowy?

Approaching one of the wide windows, you tried to scrub condensed water droplets so that you could obtain a clearer view of the busy street ahead. There were plenty of people holding umbrellas and walking down the moist pavement, but no one actually headed to the entry of your home.

You were pressing your lips together in worry when the bell suddenly rang, gaining your attention solely.

You walked to the door with brave and patient small steps, opening it without minding asking who was behind it. If you got kidnapped or robbed, it'd be Charles' fault for instructing you to open the door at 7pm sharp.

The person that came into sight caused a considerably powerful freezing to your entire body, soul, brain, and most importantly, to the red organ vibrating inside of you.

Charles' eyes lit up and changed from narrow to wide when his gaze fell upon you. ''Sorry, the delivery man turned into a wet cat. Jesus, I'm soaked.'' Your head dropped back. Your laugh was a weapon of mass seduction and he had always remained its biggest target.

So he just stood there staring and beaming as he allowed the sound of your chucklesome laugh to imprint on his mind.

He hadn't heard that while facing each other in forever and a day. Only through a lifeless and wireless device, which only produced image and sound but failed to extract the small details of your face while forming the act. Of your petite nose wrinkling when you laughed. Of your dainty features that brightened up the whole room when you were in it and blessed the observer with a unique smile.

You almost rushed to him, falling into his moist embrace. He seemed to be quite hesitant about hugging you back because of his sopping clothes but finally, he gave in and wrapped his hands gently around you. Charles caressed your back and you could sense the watered fabric stick to your flesh, yet you didn't even mind. Not for a single moment.

His sweet glare reminded you of a golden retreiver.

''How long have you been in the country?'' You gestured for him to enter the house and he did, after removing his waterlogged shoes.

''Since this morning. I texted you the moment I got off the plane.'' His gaze found you and there was a glimpse in those colorful eyes of his that made butterflies take flight in your stomach.

That made sense. That was the reason why he selected chatting instead of video chatting.

He was here. With you. You couldn't believe it.

You needed to shoot a question but his penetrating gaze incapacitated you. ''Don't you have a race in like three days from now?'' Curiosity finally won as you blurted the words out.

''You mean the Russian Grand Prix? It was canceled so I have a few days to rest.'' Charles blinked twice. How the hell didn't you read somewhere about the race being called off? ''Oh, um--I bought you this.'' The man handed you a plastic bag with a heavy, brown box with a red, decorative strip in a heart shape on top of it. It looked like a product from a pastry shop.

You grinned and accepted the bag, placing it on the table that was located a few feet ahead. ''What's that?''

''I played the role of the delivery man, so I suppose that's for the package I promised.'' Charles explained and approached you from behind, eventually his posture hardening a few inches away from you.

You nearly gasped at the sight of the content of the box.

It was a remarkably enormous cake. A chocolate one, to be accurate, which made your mouth water momentarily. With dissimilar-hued sprinkles patterning small hearts and covering the surface of the dessert. Additionally, a smiley face was laying in the heart of the cake, two white cookies forming the eyes, while the mouth was nicely done with matching truffles.

''Charles, did you forget the date of my birthday?'' You giggled.

''Of course I remember when your birthday is, (y/n)!'' Your childhood friend's orotund voice sounded rather... offended?!

''Why would you buy me a cake then, Charles?'' You tittered, turning around to face the man standing with his arms crossed firmly and his eyes traveling around.

He kind of seemed taller. But he obviously wasn't because you had last seen him a few months ago, not in puberty.

''I just--I recalled how much you love cakes.'' Charles' tone emerged as gruff and hoarse. ''I never forgot, to be honest.''

A sense of pride hit you, considering he never failed to commit to memory small, inconsequential details about you.

''I have a few clothes kept in the closet for you. You should probably get changed before devouring the smiley face with me, Mrs. Leclerc.'' His eyes dropped down to you and then, he shook his head unapprovingly and smiled.

You placed your palms softly on his drenched and strong chest, expecting the warmth of him to have kind of hidden behind the frostiness of the fabric.

But there it was. Covering every inch of his flawless-crafted upper body.

''Nah,'' He pronounced the word confidently and loudly. Charles' lips curved into a seductive smile that made your knees feely unsteady for a little while. Reaching out, he grabbed your hands from his chest and delicately applied carefully small kisses to them. ''I'm not sharing that cake with you. It's all yours, Sunshine.''

Your stomach did a betraying little flip that somewhat terrified you.

''If you don't eat, I don't eat either.''

Charles released a shuddery breath, uncapturing your hands from his grip as you immediately missed the feeling of his flesh touching yours.

You looked up to find his gaze already fixed on you.

''Fine.'' Smacking slightly the back of your neck, he started running upstairs in a hurry. ''But you're not playing fair!'' He yelled as you sprinted behind him.

Entering the commodious guest room, you spotted Charles almost buried in the broad closet.

''I don't know which one might look better on me.'' He extended his hands, swirling two different-shaded hoodies in the air. ''What do you think?''

You blinked at the two pieces of clothing. The one to your left was deep green while the other was a Spongebob hoodie your mother had gifted Charles for his 22nd birthday.

''Since when do you care about being fashionable?'' You joked, raising an eyebrow. ''Last time I checked fashion was a completely foreign word to you.'' Moving nearer to him, you examined the two options in his hands.

''I feel rather offended.'' Charles laughed, turning into ice as your forehead was a few inches away from his mouth. The desire to nudge forward and collide his lips with your forehead ignited like a scorching blaze inside him.

''I think I prefer this one.'' Your eyes connected with his as you patted the greenish hoodie. ''Don't tell my mom I didn't choose the one she bought you, but the green one matches your eyes better.''

Charles swayed his head. ''Your secret is safe with me.''

Dropping the Spongebob hoodie on the bed behind you, he pulled his phone, a wallet, and his keys out of the pockets of his jeans. Your friend handed them to you instead of dropping them on the bed with the yellow fabric.

Charles forced his wet hoodie off his head, unveiling the abs, arms and chest beneath it.

You suddenly sensed a slight flushing on your face. Charles noticed that.

''Are you blushing?'' His question caused a tickle to your heart.

You turned around, not allowing yourself to view the almost naked Charles anymore.

''No, I am not.'' You denied the painful truth, biting your bottom lip to prevent any unethical words from escaping. ''Next time racing don't choke on water. Try utilizing it to clean your eyesight, because you're clearly fairly blind.''

Charles fleed a husky growling that was supposed to sound like a laugh.

Gosh, you were so fucked.

''I don't remember you having such an attitude, sweatheart.'' His tone was smoky and flat.

You ignored his statement and could identify the sound of his jeans being unzipped.

You froze and tried desperately to locate something to distract you from what was occurring just behind you.

Abandoning his wallet and the keys on the closer furniture, which happened to be a forgotten desktop, you turned his phone on in rapid movements and headed to the camera app, while posing to take a few funny photos of yourself.

At the sight of the photo that covered his phone screen, your thoughts emptied.

''Am I your lockscreen?'' You blurted out as you re-viewed the woman on Charles' screen to double-check it was certifiably you.

''Shit, you weren't supposed to see that!'' The man grabbed the device and you spun to find him changed in his favorite cozy, grey sweatpants and the hoodie you had selected just moments ago.

The image that seemed to be his lockscreen was a moment he had captured two Christmases ago. In the photo, you hugged tightly a snowman that leaned like the tower of Pisa as you two laughed uncontrollably at it falling apart in your embrace.

It was the last Christmas you two had managed to spend together and it was nearly painful recalling those unforgettably beautiful moments that had stamped your mind.

''You're the one blushing now, Sir.'' Charles frowned at the last word you added to your ironic statement.

''Don't fucking call me that.'' He passed by you furiously and you giggled.

He was mad for some reason now. But everything would be just fine in a few minutes. That's how your friendship worked since you could remember yourselves being each other's dearest company.

As your hands scratched the wet surface of the dishes, Charles' ethereal voice echoed, approaching from behind. ''You sure you don't need any help with those?'' He asked for the second time, referring to the dirty dishes on the sink with dregs of chocolate on them.

''No, I'm almost done.''

Looking at you, he bit his upper lip, tasting the flavor of the chocolate from moments earlier.

He had one slice while you almost ate half of the cake.

Indeed you adored chocolate cakes. You had almost forgotten how much you loved them.

But Charles hadn't.

Charles breathed and let his gaze wander on you. He couldn't fathom how this earth and the sun and the moon and the sky could exist and be perceived as enteral sources of happiness, yet... yet the woman standing right in front of him could bring so much warmth and comfort to him with just a single glance or a small smile.

He moved closer to you. You could sense the heat of his body right next to you. However, you didn't permit yourself to move or talk or even breathe...

Charles' arm found its way around your neck and froze there. At first, you thought it was one of his platonic gestures where he would jokingly wrap his hand around you, preventing you from moving, and would tickle the shit out of you until you burst into mixed tears and laughs.

But when his lips collided with your forehead softly, you realized it wasn't one of those moments.

Charles planted a smooch on your skin, depositing his wet mark there.

''I've been waiting to do that for quite a while. And more.'' Your eyes extended as Charles pulled you into a warm embrace. It felt so good and you realized your friend enjoyed it as well when a small groan escaped from him. You wished you could stay like that forever. ''I kind of missed you, Sunshine.''

''Kind of?''

Charles smiled before correcting. ''A lot.'' You smiled too as he amended his words. ''Oh, and I-um, I have an announcement to make.'' He whispered, pulling back to view your reaction as he spoke the words loud and clear. ''I'm sleeping in your bed tonight. With you. Like those old days when we could fit into a single bed, remember?''

You tried to hide your excitement. You would have tried to suggest this to him, but you were a little scared of any possible rejection of your plan. ''My bed is king-sized, so I'll guess that would be pretty cool.''

If the sound of the rain didn't completely fill the room, you could have possibly heard the roaring of his heart in his chest when you accepted his idea. Besides, your head was just a few inches away from his torso. It wouldn't be too difficult for the organ to be noticed.

The rest of the afteroon progressed rapidly, forming into a rainy night. You two watched an SCI-FI movie, which Charles insisted he had seen before, although it was eventually proven that he hadn't, because of the fact that he had predicted an extremely different ending.

You laughed at Charles' hilarious stories of the F1 races, rolling in the aisles, and he took advantage of that, capturing the moment with his phone camera.

You danced and pursued Charles to join you. The frown drawn on his face at that moment was something truly worth-laughing at.

By the time the clock had declared that it was nearly 2am, Charles approached you on the floor and you didn't protest as he wrapped an arm around you, taking the brunt of your weight. He didn't think as he hauled you over his shoulder, bringing your ass to his eye level.

''I think my feet need to be amputated.'' You flinched, completely losing your footing as he carried you upstairs. The dancing was genuinely exhausting but the overall experience was certainly worth it.

''Problem solved, Sunshine.''

''Charles!'' You shouted, facing his back. You could swear that the cake you previously devoured was by far the most satisfying thing you had ever smelled, but the aroma extracting from Charles' body was always so outstanding and incredibly... alluring. ''What are you doing?'' You rammed your small fists into his spine and he grunted.

''Being a gentleman.''

''More like a caveman! Put me down right now! This is so embarassing.''

''No one is here to see you, (y/n).'' Charles mentioned as he slowly walked up the stairs, heading to your room.

Your head lifted. ''What time is it?''

''Almost two.''

You gasped. ''Gosh, I lost track of time.'' Charles blinked. Twice. He tried so hard not to transfer his eyes to your ass. He even moved his rough hands lower on your thighs, so that he wouldn't have any physical touch with that exact lovely part of your body.

''No worries, we'll make it to your room before you turn into a pumpkin, princess.''

''That's not even how the story goes, Charles!'' Your laugh was muffled by his hoodie as he carried you to the door.

''Close enough.''

''God, you can be so annoying sometimes.'' If you two held eye contact right now, you would be receiving a very alarming death stare from him.

But that was not his response presently.

Instead, Charles smacked your ass for that comment.

''Did you j-just spank me?!'' You choked at the sound of his hand colliding with your ass.

He just touched you.

There.

Charles' hand burnt to do it again if only to hear that little gasp you made when his palm slammed your flesh.

Returning the favor, you smack his ass hard.

He almost dropped you from the shock of it all, but he finally recovered with a loud laugh.

''Ugh! You weren't supposed to like that!''

Charles took a breath to collect himself.

''I hate you so mu--.'' Your sentence was cut by Charles dropping you on the soft surface of the bed.

The corners of his mouth lifted at the sight of you like that.

''I do find your wicked statements entertaining.'' Leaving you alone to make yourself comfortable, he went in the opposite direction of the bed and pulled the blankets to make enough room for his body.

When you turned around, you saw him already drowned in the mattress while facing you.

''I still need those deep conversations before sleeping.'' You said and his pupils were swollen.

''What do you want to talk about, Sunshine?'' Charles questioned and his dimples were charmingly placed on his reddened cheeks. You extended your hand to reach for the light switch and turned it off.

Sharing beds as kids never grew to something more than a platonic activity both of you really enjoyed. It had to be kept that way. You two couldn't ruin your unique friendship. He knew that too, even though the look in his eyes declared something... something entirely different.

''You look beautiful even in the dark, (y/n).'' His voice was husky, he blood immediately frozing in you.

''Charles, are you flirting with me?'' His eyes moved to your lips for a brief moment and he hoped, he really hoped, you didn't notice it, but you did. And things initiated to complicate in your mind.

''You finally noticed?'' He murmured as if he didn't want anybody else to hear his thoughts. ''You're pretty much the only reason I turn on my phone in the morning, hoping for a message or a call, (y/n).''

''Charles, I can't, we are--I--''

''Shh--'' He silenced you by bringing his hand gently to cover a part of your lips. ''(y/n), I think I have fallen in love with you.''

Your mind stopped working. ''Then k-kiss me.'' Your response was somehow hesitant.

''The problem is,'' He said as he leaned in. ''If I kiss you, I don't think I'll be able to stop.''

''Who says I'd want you to stop?'' His gaze was penetrating, as if he tried to read your soul, your thoughts, the feelings you kept well-hidden...

He leaned in more, so carefully, hearts beating between you two. He was so close, so close and you weren't able to feel your wobbly legs anymore. You couldn't feel your fingers or the cold or the rain outside because all you could feel was him.

Charles connected his lips with yours. His hands found their way around your cheeks and moved closer just to sense you press against his chest.

He tasted like sugary chocolate and the sweetness made your heart explode.

Your hands were instantly in his hair, pulling him even closer, filling the gap to expore his mouth with your tongue as the raindrops echoed on the windows. Charles groaned between your lips.

He pulled away to whisper. ''I've been waiting so many years to do this, (y/n).'' Charles' eyes glistened and he thought about all those times he let himself picture you two like this to ease his mood. ''Come with me to Monaco. Please, (y/n), you're all I need.'' Charles pleaded and you could understand how much he meant his words. He craved you there. With him. In every race. He was not willing to make memories without you by his side anymore.

You smiled. ''As long as you let me re-decorate your house there. Damn, it looked terrible from the photos.''

His voice was so low. He was going to be the death of you. ''Our house, baby.'' Charles corrected you and placed a kiss on your forehead. ''Our house.''

Leaning forward, he touched his lips to yours. He kissed you and forgot to breathe. It didn't seem significant to him at the time.

You were all he ever needed. All he would ever want. And you were his now. Solely, exclusively his.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #f1 drivers #f1 ferrari #f1 #daniel ricciardo #carlos sainz jr #f1 memes #lando norris #lewis hamilton #max verstappen #charles leclerc edit #charles leclerc #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader

[17wishbones]

Here is the FINAL part (3) of Chapter VII: War’s End! So glad that you made it all to the end. A rather bittersweet sort of sensation but, it was fun writing this to the very end. I so wanted a happy ending, but I still sort of followed Rengoku’s path and cried my eyes out again but it was worth it. Again, this one I know I could write better so I’m going to work on it. Thank you all for reading through this and sticking with me. This was just so fun to do!

- - - - - - - -

                                      Chapter VII: War’s End

“Everyone ready to go?” Tanjiro asked his ‘lively’ crew.

Zenitsu was sitting with Nezuko who was comfortably set in her box. “Yep, yep! Me and Nezuko-chan are as ready as we’ll ever be.”

“Finally! I can get out and stretch my legs!” Inosuke shouted with glee as he grabbed his two blades.

“Hope you have room for one more.”

“Oh, sure, we do-- _____, is that. . . is that really you?”

“In the flesh.” You stepped through the doorway in just the uniform. Over the weeks, you garnered a leveled bob cut of your locs, an eyepatch over your left eye, and scars littering your arms and around your face. “I’ve missed you all so much.”

“COOOOOOK!!!” Inosuke bum-rushed you into a hug, sniffling loudly beneath his boar’s head. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!?”

Zenitsu joined him, well, more like pushed him out of the way as he hugged you next. “____, WE WERE WORRIED SICK ABOUT YOU!! WE THOUGHT YOU WERE A GONER!!”

“I’m so sorry for up and leaving just like that. There was a lot to process after the Mugen Train incident, and I didn’t want to muddle your healthy minds with my emotions. I wanted to be mentally strong for you guys.” 

‘Her scent is still sad. Of course, she has a reason to be. She lost Rengoku-san, and has had to cope with that loss on her own. I know how tough that can be, but I have Nezuko with me still. She doesn’t have any kin or home to return to. Demon slaying is all she has. . . and us.’ Tanjiro’s eyes lit up. “That’s right! You have us.”

“Hmm? What was that, Tanjiro?” You asked.

“We’re a family, isn’t that right, _____?”

His words surprised you, and it made your heart jump with joy. You looked at all four of them as a part of your family. There wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for them. “You’re absolutely right. That’s why I want to come with you. Besides, as a Hashira, it is but my civic duty to protect Kyōjurō’s juniors.” Tears formed in the corner of your eyes as you spoke fondly of him. “He was so ecstatic to have more apprentices under his belt. Therefore, I must follow in his footsteps and watch over you.”

“YEEEESS!! Having Cook with us will make traveling even better.”

Zenitsu frowned at him. ‘As if traveling with you has been anything pleasant.’

“Now, before we go. I want to see Senjuro. Did you relay the message to him already, Tanjiro?”

“Mhm. As soon as we got back, and when I was able to move. Do you want us to come with you? We’re heading through that direction anyway.”

“Perfect! Let’s be off then.”

You all travelled down to the Rengoku Estate, seeing Senjuro sweeping out of his home. He was caught off guard when you embraced him.

For a moment, there was silence as he held you back tightly, his eyes swelling with tears. Seeing him reminded you of all the times you spent together. The three of you were a team when you and Rengoku were training for the Final Selection. Senjuro, sweet and kind, had a quiet fire burning in him. He was going to be something amazing, just like his brother.

“Senjuro, how have you been? Are you alright?” You inspected him from his ember-tipped hair down to his sandals.

“I’m better now, after seeing you. You left in such a hurry, I was worried that you weren’t going to come back.”

“You’re stronger than I, Senjuro, and I wanted to be that for you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, _____. Are you leaving with Tanjiro and the others now?”

“Yes. I want to follow in your brother’s footsteps and protect those that I love and those that can’t protect themselves.” You knelt down, looking into his big, soft eyes. “I really wanted us to be together.” You said this, not knowing when death would knock at your doorstep. “I love you, Senjuro. I know you’ll be a great man in the future.”

“Mmm, I think I will be, too.” He hugged you one more time. “I love you, too, _____!”

You returned the favor before you both let go. You reached for your belt, pulling out a small box of goodies. “For you. Hope you like them. Take care, Senjuro.”

Your days, though filled with amazing memories, came to a close as you fell protecting the children. More than anything, you wanted them to succeed. Sacrificing yourself was the only way to win. It was a swift pain, a slow burn, and then darkness bled into your vision as your soul lifted towards the light and your warm, wavering aura vanished from your body.

You were sorry that you couldn’t stay as you walked halfway across the red bridge, spotting flame-tipped hair just over yonder. He peered over his shoulder, a proud smile spread on his handsome features as he held his hand out to you.

Over the red bridge did you both cross, fading into the distance.                                                          

                                       ( B O N U S - E N D I N G)

Summer had come and college was out! Most couldn’t wait to spend it goofing off on a beach, traveling across the States, or going right back into school a couple weeks later for summer courses. Many people had many things to look forward to, but you? You had woken up at the ass crack of dawn, taking in the morning air as you raced down the steps with your suitcase fully packed.

“Mom! Dad! Come on! We have to get the airport now! I can’t be late.” Your parents were so slow sometimes and that made you anxious. You could leave them here and catch a ride there or make it on your own but they were not having any of that.

“We’re coming, _____, we’re coming!” Your dad said with a mouthful of foaming toothpaste.

“You usually don’t wake up this early with this much energy.” Your mom added. 

“It’s not everyday you get to study abroad in the land of the Rising Sun! I have a day’s worth of traveling to do so I can always sleep later.” Yeah, you didn’t get any kind of sleep last night as you’d be spending most of it in the air.

You hurried them up and sped to the busy airport to meet with the group of classmates you were leaving with. You said your goodbyes to your parents, boarded the plane, and wished for a safe trip. 

As soon as service was offered, you grabbed a couple drinks, ate whatever they served in the trays, and knocked out until landing - save for the few bathroom trips -. 

Your horizon suddenly expanded the moment you walked out of Japan’s airport, looking around you in amazement. You had to keep murmuring to yourself, “Do not weeb out. I repeat, do not weeb out.” You loved anime, you loved Japanese culture, and you loved their idea of cuisine. Japan felt like the place for you.

“Okay everyone, please come together,” spoke your sweet, endearing Japanese princess of a teacher, Mayamoto-sensei. “We’ll be heading two hours out by bus to Kimetsu Daigaku (Kimetsu University). Rest up and be ready for a little surprise set up by a few students who were interested in meeting you guys soon after arrival.”

You internally squealed with glee. You weren’t dressed up for the occasion but who was going to tell you that you couldn’t wear a pair of sweats on the ride there. With your short locs retwisted and your good outfits packed, you were set to go!

So set that you were the first off the bus and getting your things out. “This is going to be a great experience, I know it!” 

“Nn! I agree!” 

“Oh my god!” You jumped, scared by the booming voice beside you. “Oh… oh my god.” You had laid eyes on one of the most unique men you had ever had the pleasure of gazing upon. He was different, what with his flame highlighted tips, dazzling eyes, and charming smile. 

“Yes. . .?” He slowly stood, his eyes never leaving yours once locked. This man, a vocal and expressive man, was left speechless. He ogled you for much longer than he’s ever done, going over your brown skin, your brown eyes, your short locs, everything! He immediately bowed before you, introducing himself. “Konnichiwa! Rengoku Kyōjurō to moushimasu! Yoroshiku onegai-shimasu!” (Formal: (Hello!) I’m called Rengoku Kyōjurō! Nice to meet you!)

Your eyes bugged out of your face. ‘Shit! Wasn’t he speaking English a minute ago? Okay, okay, what did he say?’ You looked back to see your sensei and the students watching the two of you interact. This was not how you kept yourself out of weeb trouble. Hell, you were still trying to figure out what his fine ass said so fast.

“Onamae wa, nan desu ka?” (Polite: What’s your name?)

You sighed, being able to understand that. “Watashi no namae wa… _____ _____ desu. Doozo yoroshiku.” (Casual: My name is _____. Nice to meet you.)

‘_____?’ He eyed you for a second longer before he placed his hands on his hips, smiling wide from ear to ear. “Very good, _____! I’m Rengoku Kyōjurō, and I am with a few classmates to meet you all. Welcome to Kimetsu University!”

“Woooow, his English is so good.” You thought. Aloud.

“Thank you! I have been learning since elementary! Your pronunciation is good, but your flow is slow. However, I am sure you will improve after being here for a month!” 

‘Oh, thanks for putting me out there!’ You smiled nervously. This handsome, wild man was nothing like you had expected. “That’s what I’m hoping for as I’d like to work, live, and travel here in the future.”

“Is that so?” He faced you with his arms crossed over his chest. “Be my student!” Your mouth, along with the others, dropped at his proposal. You looked to your sensei for help, and she encouraged it with an approving nod and smile. “Great, then it’s settled! You’ll be fluent in Japanese in no time!” He looked off to the distance, laughing loud as you smiled in confusion.

(Modern AU Sequel coming SOON!) - - - - - - - - - Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII (Part 1) / (Part 2) / (Part 3)

#rengoku kyojuro x reader #rengoku x reader #rengoku x you #rengoku kyōjurō #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic

[samstree]

Four times Geralt wakes up his bard with kisses + one time the favor is returned (3/5)

[1] [2]

(geraskier, kaer morhen, neck kisses, 790 words, cw: injuries and past torture)

3.

Roach’s gait is slow yet steady, the cadence calming Geralt’s wandering mind as they trudge up the Blue Mountains.

Jaskier is sitting in front of Geralt on the mare’s back, his solid weight leaning back on Geralt’s chest. His head burrows into the Witcher’s neck, the soft brown hair occasionally tickling his chin. The bard remains asleep, just like he has been for the past hour, his breathing even but slightly labored, with soft snores here and there.

The late autumn wind picks up again, taking the last of the faded leaves from their branches and up towards the sky. It’s weeks until winter yet. The trek to Kaer Morhen stays wide open with no risk of them being kept out by early snow, but the coldness is relentless.

Geralt adjusts the thick woolen coat around Jaskier, making sure he’s bundled up enough to not let the frigid air creep in. His right arm tightens around Jaskier’s waist protectively so the bard’s wounds are not jostled further by riding on horseback.

At the back of his mind, Geralt wonders again if it’s a good idea, returning early to Kaer Morhen and let Jaskier heal his injuries in the keep.

He is still not fit for travel after all, with barely closed gashes all over his torso and the cracked ribs, giving him trouble whenever he moves. Even now Geralt can hear his breath hitch in pain whenever Roach steps on uneven ground.

Staying in one place until Jaskier fully recovers would have been ideal if not for Nilfgaard following at their heels. It was a judgment call to go straight up the Kaedwen Mountains, to find safety first and leave everything else to later.

The past couple of days have been rough on Jaskier. Walking is near impossible for the bard because of his ribs, but even riding on Roach leaves him exhausted and in pain. Every day when Geralt changes the bandages he can see the wounds not heal properly and stitches pulled. Something as mundane as camping on the forest floor has become an ordeal. Jaskier remains restless until dawn because the cold ground digs into his bruised side, making him more tired the next day.

The worst of it is that Jaskier doesn’t complain anymore.

He hasn’t since Geralt rescued him from the tortures of Nilfgaard. His typical rant about minor discomfort on the road is replaced by complete silence. He tries to grit his teeth through cramps and bouts of pain, but Geralt’s senses are too sharp to miss how miserable he is. The smell of hurt and exhaustion permeates the air around him, but when asked, Jaskier only unfurls his brows and reassures Geralt with a tight smile.

A million years ago Geralt would have appreciated the lack of complaints and whines. Blessed silence, that’s what he asked for when they first met. But now it leaves him hollow and wrong-footed. At least Jaskier can get some rest like this, cocooned between Geralt’s arms. It seems to be the only place where he feels safe enough to relax and catch up on the lost sleep at night.

Deep in thoughts, Geralt suddenly notices the keep looming in the distance, the greyish hue almost blending in with the foggy sky. The Witcher turns his attention back to the bard, his body warm and pliant, his expression peaceful as if in a good dream.

Geralt almost doesn’t have the heart to wake him, but Vesemir likely has already seen them coming down the road, and the sooner he can get Jaskier in front of a fire the better.

He nuzzles into Jaskier’s neck, inhaling the scent there, before pressing a gentle kiss on the soft skin behind his ear.

“We are here, Jask.” Geralt murmurs while tucking back the bard’s hair and places his lips wherever he can reach. Jaskier leans into the contact with a groan, and wakes with a start. His gaze immediately fixes on the silhouette of Kaer Morhen, wonder replaces the daze from sleep.

“Wow,” he whispers.

Geralt buries his nose in the tousled brown hair and presses one last kiss there. “Alright?”

Jaskier shifts his weight to turn, and baby blue meets Geralt, flowing with warmth. He takes Geralt’s hand on his thigh and continues to rub circles into the Witcher’s palm.

“I am fine, dearest, now that we’ve found home.” he presses both their hands over his heart and squeezes tightly. A tiny smile appears at the corner of his mouth, reassuring and trusting.

Geralt cannot help but smile back at him. Hope rises in his chest, settling the worries that plagued him for days.

I did find home, Geralt thinks as he looks into Jaskier’s eyes, his fingers squeezing in return.

Right here.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #jaskier whump #geralt x jaskier #hurt jaskier #cw: torture #soft geralt #the witcher #geraskier fic #witcher fic

[robininthelabyrinth]

Sooo I know I’m abusing the power you gave me (let me send prompts) but I’ve a very good reason, I promise (I’ve Nie brothers feelings and I love your writing) and I need to ask for this “5 times everyone realises that actually NMJ is the pushover in the Nie brothers relationship bc let’s be honest NMJ let’s NHS get away with everything and every time NMJ tries to get NHS to do something he has to bribe him with fans or resign himself to never get that done” and I find that hilarious :p

1

“Your sons have quite a good relationship, Sect Leader Nie,” Jiang Fengmian remarked, but the man didn’t look especially impressed by the compliment.

“Especially given that they’re half-brothers,” Jin Guangshan added, and Jiang Fengmian sighed internally: the addition made the original statement into a taunt, which hadn’t been what he meant at all. “Rare to see such a good relationship in such cases.”

“Would you know?” Wen Ruohan asked, smiling poisonously. “And here I thought you had only one.”

“I’ve tasted pork; I don’t need to know how to butcher a pig. Look at how the older one lets the younger one around follow him around everywhere – certainly I wouldn’t have tolerated such a thing for one so much younger than me.”

“I always liked playing with others,” Jiang Fengmian said mildly. “The bigger the family, the better, in my view…it’s nice to help and be helped.”

“I don’t think the infant being carried around is doing that much helping,” Lan Qiren observed.

“And yet he’s clearly the one calling the shots,” Wen Ruohan mused, his eyes settling on the field where the two were playing – or rather, the toddler was demanding a ride and his older brother complying. “Given how stiff-necked the Nie family is, traditionally, it must be very reassuring to you, Sect Leader Nie, to see your son so – compliant.”

Sect Leader Nie abruptly changed the subject.

Later, he came to Jiang Fengmian, an expression of fury on his face. “It’s not any of my business, so I don’t care what’s going on with your search for that servant of yours and his family,” he said icily. “But I’ll thank you to focus on rearing your own children, and stop drawing unwanted attention to mine.”

Jiang Fengmian felt rather unjustly accused. It was true, he’d been thinking of Wei Changze’s son – of how well he’d get along with his own A-Cheng, if only Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren could be convinced to stop traveling around and come home for a little – but there was no reason for old Nie to be so snippy. There had only been the five great sect leaders around; what was he so worried about?

2

“You can’t be serious,” Lan Xichen said, pressing his lips together to try to restrain his laughter and altogether incapable of restraining his smile.

His smile only grew when Nie Mingjue’s shoulders rose up somewhere around his ears in embarrassment.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” he replied stiffly, and then he actually bought the – product.

Lan Xichen managed to hold himself back as they continued down the shopping street, and finally when they were back on the unoccupied path back to the Unclean Realm he let out a peal of laughter.

Nie Mingjue shot him a sidelong glare.

“Little Huaisang has you completely under his thumb,” Lan Xichen laughed. “You’re always buying him things, every time I see you – if it’s not new fans to add to his collections, it’s another animal for his little menagerie –”

“It’s not a menagerie.”

“He has a half-dozen birds, a mated pair of pangolins, and that – that beast you got for him –”

“The boar?” Nie Mingjue asked. “I didn’t buy that, I found it, and anyway the plan is to release it back onto the mountain once it gets a little larger.”

Lan Xichen waved his hand, dismissing Nie Mingjue’s little technicalities. “All that’s fair enough,” he says, laughter still in his voice and his eyes still curved up into crescents. “I would buy Wangji anything he liked, if only he had more hobbies. But even I would draw the line at purchasing my little brother erotic art.”

“He likes it,” Nie Mingjue said defensively.

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Lan Xichen said, trying to move his eyebrows suggestively like he’d seen someone do once. Judging from Nie Mingjue’s mildly horrified expression, he wasn’t successful. “Still, don’t you think you’re sending him mixed messages? On one hand, you’re always yelling at him about not practicing his saber enough, and on the other you’re spoiling him rotten –”

“He hasn’t formed a golden core yet,” Nie Mingjue said abruptly, and Lan Xichen’s smiled faded. “Yes, still. It’s late, no matter what standard you hold him to – forget the Great Sects, forget regular sects, even by the children of rogue cultivators usually have the basics of a core by now.”

Lan Xichen didn’t know what to say. Lan Wangji had formed his core very early, earliest out of all his generation in fact – he had never had to worry about his brother’s cultivation, not once.

He wanted to tell his friend not to worry, that it would come in time, that Nie Huaisang would catch up…but he was right, it was late. In another year, they would be sending out invitations for select people to come study at the Cloud Recesses, where Nie Huaisang had been a few times before, but this time would be the first time all the sect heirs were in a single place.

If he didn’t have his core by then, there was a chance he’d never get it. That he’d live only the short life of a common person, shorter even than the shortened life of a Nie cultivator –

That Nie Mingjue would have to watch his baby brother grow old and send him off first.

“So I buy him things,” Nie Mingjue concluded with shrug that was anything but casual. “More things than he needs. If he finally forms a core, there’ll be time enough then to teach him discipline – and if he doesn’t, well. At least he’ll be happy for the few years he’ll have.”

3

“The answer is still no,” Nie Mingjue said, just he had said the first few times, and without paying the slightest attention to the table Jiang Cheng had just overturned.

“Why not?” Jiang Cheng snarled, incensed. “If we join forces together and win, we’ll strike a blow against the Wens that will be felt across the land –”

“And if we lose, the damage will be incalculable,” Nie Mingjue said, unmoved. He didn’t look up from the correspondence he was reviewing. “We didn’t come here expecting to find a Wen stronghold; neither of us brought enough people. No.”

Jiang Cheng sneered. “We didn’t bring enough people, no, but there are enough at hand if there weren’t exceptions being made.”

Nie Mingjue paused and finally put down the letter, turning to look at Jiang Cheng. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“Nie Huaisang isn’t that far away, with plenty of cultivators acting as guards at his side,” Jiang Cheng said, crossing his arms. “If you summoned them, we’d have enough to tip the scales in our favor. But you don’t, just because he doesn’t feel like fighting – why do you let him walk all over you?!”

Nie Mingjue looked at him for a long moment, his gaze dark and angry.

Jiang Cheng began to feel as if he’d made a mistake, but it was too late to retract his harsh words.

“Very well,” Nie Mingjue said, and Jiang Cheng began to brighten. “I’ll write to Meishan while I’m at it; your sister can come bring along the ones who are guarding her, too.”

Jiang Cheng blanched. “You can’t! Jiejie can’t –”

“Why not? Her cultivation is mediocre, but no more so than my brother’s,” Nie Mingjue said, and he was very angry. “Or are you going to say that she’s the only one left in your family but you? That you don’t want the Wens to have a chance to take even more of your family away? Isn’t all that just as true for me?!”

Jiang Cheng hung his head.

“We’re fighting this war to win it,” Nie Mingjue said. “There’s no point in winning if we lose everything on the way. Get out and talk a walk; I don’t want to see you until you’ve beaten some sense into that thick head of yours.”

4

“Da-ge, you know you can’t keep the secret of the saber spirits from Huaisang forever,” Jin Guangyao said, and his voice was reasonable as it always was – calm and even and to the point, just the way that Nie Mingjue had liked so much when he’d been his deputy.

The tone mostly just irritated Nie Mingjue now – but then, most things did, these days.

“I’m aware of that,” Nie Mingjue said, scowling. His fingers were pressing at his temples – another headache, it seemed. They were happening more and more these days, and that didn’t help the quality of his temper one bit. “He doesn’t need to know all the details yet. He’ll have to bear the burden eventually, but – not yet.”

Jin Guangyao chuckled. “You always let what he wants make decisions for you, da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue ignored him. That was normal, too.

“Let me play for you again, da-ge,” Jin Guangyao said, and his smile broadened. “It might help your headache.”

5

Wei Wuxian was of the opinion that disturbing the unquiet corpses that had been sealed in the Guanyin Temple in Yunping City was a terrible idea, but sometimes you had to make sacrifices when politics became an issue. The once-more-ascendant-Nie-sect-is-asking-only-somewhat-politely sort of politics.

Every once in a while, Wei Wuxian cursed Nie Mingjue in the back of his mind. Surely, if he hadn’t spoiled Nie Huaisang so much, he wouldn’t have become so demanding – so insistent!

(So incredibly good at finding just the right weak spot to press on…!)

“Your brother is still going to be a fierce corpse when we open that thing,” he said. “You know that, right? He didn’t recognize you then, he won’t recognize you now – he’s an extremely powerful fierce corpse, which is going to make it very hard to control him right away. There’s a great deal of danger involved in being here.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “I appreciate the warning, Wei-xiong.”

“In light of that,” Wei Wuxian continued. “Don’t you think you should watch from further away?”

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Wei Wuxian sighed and lifted Chenqing to his lips, nodding at Lan Wangji, and together they set about unsealing the tomb.

Nie Mingjue’s corpse was just as overwhelming as he remembered, bursting out of the tomb a few moments before they expected it, and the backlash was enough to make Wei Wuxian, with his weak golden core in this life, cough up blood, which in turn made Lan Wangji stop everything to look at him, which meant that there was nothing between Nie Mingjue’s outstretched fingers, curled into claws, and Nie Huaisang, standing there with nothing but a fan in hand.

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to – he didn’t know what, to try something to save someone who really had once been his friend, however he’d ended up and whatever he’d done, and who he still rather liked and who’d had pretty good reasons for things and who at any rate he didn’t want to see dead at the hands of his own brother –

Nie Mingjue’s clawed fingers stopped only a hair’s breadth away from Nie Huaisang’s head.

Wei Wuxian’s breath caught in his throat.

A moment passed, and then another – and then the direction of Nie Mingjue’s hand shifted, and he ran his fingers through Nie Huaisang’s hair with a delicacy that Wei Wuxian, an expert on all things resentful energy, had never thought a white-eyed fierce corpse was capable of.

Nie Huaisang smiled, content. “Da-ge has always let me get away with everything.”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #jiang fengmian #jin guangshan #wen ruohan #lan xichen #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #your prompt was very fluffy but the end result turned out not to be #sorry #timetomakeanewwish

[vegalocity]

So bc everyone's really enjoying that Protag Swap AU with Red Son I've been thinking about it myself quite a bit and so now here i am

Here's a scene from The Beach Car

--

The cat's pod was... minimally challenging to fix. no more complex than his Inferno truck. He knew there was a heavy enough chance that the cat was lying about having connections to the conductor, but if her only payment was fixing up her travel pod for her and a lightning protection charm, then it was worth taking the chance. (Though she had tried to have him sell OneOne to her, it seemed like legitimate magic was far more interesting for her. And it made sense to have a lightning charm, who knew when her pod would malfunction again and electrocute her)

“Tomcat, tell me something-” The cat poked her head into his line of sight and Red Son raised a brow.

“Don't call me that.”

“Why did your parents choose such a... literal... name for you?” The Cat continued as though he hadn't spoken. “out of all the names in the world, why did they look upon their child and say 'ah yes, 'Red Son' will be perfect for our red haired son? Why not something less descriptive? Isn't it also a naming custom to affiliate your child with what you hope of them? Though I admit I wouldn't know.” The cat primly began to groom herself. “Never had any kittens of my own.”

“None of your business.”

“Red Son!” OneOne chimed in rolling up to his work area “How tall are you?”

“172 centimeters, why-”

“What is your hair? Is it fire? Is it hair?” “Is it a reflection of your inner turmoil bubbling to the surface?”

He felt his hair spark to life at the surprisingly pointed commentary. “That's none of your-!”

“Why DID your parents name you after your hair color?” OneOne interrupted again.

“Ugh! Why does that matter?”

“The orb is rather talkative Tomcat, you sure you don't want me to take him off your hands for you?”

“OneOne isn't for sale fleabag.” The cat gasped in mock affront.

“how rude! I was only trying to take such an irritating thing off your hands!” She was enjoying this. He could see the amused glint in her eye as her tail swished back and forth.

A wire darted across his hand and with a prick of pain he was now bleeding. Red Son let out a shout of frustration and rolled out from beneath the pod. He had some small bandages he could use to patch up his hand but he was flustered and it was making his hands shake.

“Fine. You both want a story so bad?”

“Frankly I could care less, Tomcat.”

“Story!” OneOne scurried up and made themself at home in Red Son's lap.

“Well it's not much of one-...” then again father did love to tell it when he was young, every year on his birthday, the exact time right down to the minute. And whenever allies would come over and make some idle comment about his strength, his father would launch into the story with the premise of 'My son has been a fighter from the moment he was born'

He wondered if father would tell it any differently now that Red Son was a disappointment.

“Technically they named me Red Boy, I changed it to Red Son myself when I became of age and thus was no longer a boy. But as my father tells the story, I came out... Early. Very early.”

His hands had stopped shaking, so he began to apply the bandages to the sluggishly bleeding wound. “Back then a premature birth was gravely dangerous for mother, but a death sentence for me. Healers had long since known there was no point in working in favor of the child if it wouldn't last a week let alone the customary month, So they prioritized mother's life instead. Which s it turned out, didn't matter because I was born anyway. And I didn't die. When I'd first come out my hair was black like mothers, though I didn't have much of it. I was alive, but I wouldn't stir. I wouldn't open my eyes or cry or een give the smallest twitch on my own. The healers informed my parents I wouldn't live to see the sun rise.

“Father couldn't stand the idea of any offspring of his perishing without a fight, so he ordered the servants to make the fire in the room burn as hot as they could possibly get it, as he thought I would fight harder if my surroundings better resembled the womb I left too soon. But I don't think he truly believed I would survive, he just wanted me to last longer than the healers predicted. It was a somber affair, So I've been told, the two of them waiting for the end. Mother recovering from her injuries in a sweltering room and my life slowly fading, father the only one in the room whole and hale enough to be acutely aware of the fact that one or both of us would perish."

“Oh my!” “Did you die?”

“No OneOne, I didn't die.”

“Sure enough the sun rose, and I was still breathing. Mother was resting still, and Father was feeling restless. He felt as though he had to stay awake to ensure that should I slip away I would do so with one or both of them there to send me off. And in a state of restlessness took to tending the fire himself.

“At the time even when he was shrunk to the smallest size he was comfortable with I was still small enough to fit in a single hand. Or so he told me.

“So he had me in one hand and tended to the fire with the other. Then the wood gave an unexpected crack, loud as a catapult he told me; cinders and embers went everywhere, and a few landed on me. But when father went to check me for wounds, he saw me do something I had lacked the strength for previously. I stirred. And for just a moment, I'd opened my eyes. “Immediately he shouted for mother to awaken and barked orders to the servants to throw the bassinet into the hearth, Mother thought he'd been thrown into a fit of rage and wanted all of the things they'd set up for me to be destroyed and began to insist that such an action was a waste of furniture, but the bassinet was already burning by the time she did so, and father placed me inside.

“The fire was all around me, and so the story goes, I stirred in the heat, opened my eyes to the warm glow, I breathed in the smoke-” he lit his fist aflame, careful to keep it far enough from OneOne that he wouldn't damage the little guy. “And I screamed. Father considers that the moment I truly was born.” He remembers waking before the sun in his childhood eager to begin his days, and just as the sun began to raise over the horizon on a certain day his father would pull him aside and begin on the story. “They uh- they left me in there chucking more and more bassinets into the fire until they were sure I'd grown strong enough to survive without it. And by the time that had happened a few months later, my hair had turned red like black coal turning to red embers. So they called me Red Boy.”

“That's a mighty ability tomcat.” The cat chimed in, striding forward and leaning as close to the flame as she was willing to risk. “You say your father realized that ability was yours simply on the fact that you weren't burned by the fire?”

“You were a very brave baby. You already knew what you needed to live but since you were a baby nobody listened to you” OneOne chimed, their cheerful voice surprisngly somber, before the dour voice came in “I can relate, Nobody listens to me either.”

“I didn't know what I needed OneOne, I was a baby. I didn't know anything.”

“I bet you were cuuuutteeee” OneOne chimed again, far closer to their normal tone. Red Son felt his hair spark to life again, his face burning in turn. The cat chuckled.

“Settle down Tomcat, don't want you burning my pod up much like your numerous bassinets before you can fix it.”

#lmk Red Son #Samantha the cat #IT OneOne #Lego Monkie kid #Infinity train #protag Swap #the perennial boy #crossovers are neat

[wannaholdhandswithfictionalmen]

Can I send a request for a fic with venti and a gender neutral mc? It's not really meant to be romantic or anything along those lines. I've just been constantly thinking about how the mc was stripped of everything, including their wings when they lost their fight against the unknown god, and how the gliders might have brought them a bit of comfort when trying to get accustomed to Mondstadt.

Something more heartfelt, maybe the mc just talking to venti after a late night out, or just waking up in the middle of the night to take a stroll in peace away from paimon, amber and the rest of the Chaotic knights of favonious.

This is more of a prompt if anything- I dont usually send requests so I dont know how to format them- sorry about that :'0

A/n: first time writing Venti. Oof. Hopes it's alright and anon I hope this is close to what you wanted.

Genre: Angst. Some fluff. (The power of friendship.)

Warning: It gets a bit angsty before it get softer.

Summary: The reality of your circumstances of the trapped traveler get you and Venti offers you some advice and comfort as your friend.

Word count: 1,420

In The Days To Come (How Much Will I Miss You?);

It was a series of perfect events, little coincidences, Paimon got distracted a while back by the smell of food, fluttering off with 'Delicious. Tasty food! Paimon will be back' before vanishing from your side. The knight of Favonius had no urgent problems to ask for your aid with now that the Dvalin has been saved and Mondstadt and its people can rest easy. You finally had time to yourself, time to feel and think of your new reality. 

It was the gentlest tug, pull of melancholy it crept up slowly, slowly, slowly all day nipping at your heels until you felt it from your toes to your head. Numbness, so empty at first then came sadness buried deep, ignored for days for the sake of saving others, making sure others were happy, living in their home, with their family-- while you were still missing yours. It felt unfair. Resentment and anger reared their ugly heads, howling like starving, ravenous beats. 

What an overwhelming torrent of emotion, waves after wave, lapping at your chin, your mouth, your nose. Sinking. Sinking. Sinking. No. Drowning. 

Until there was nothing but a muffled, muted haze of the world around you. 

If you nodded and 'hm', 'yes', 'sure', 'okay' your way through passing conversations no one noticed. Oh, how kind, brave and stoic the traveler was! Our hero! Maybe you didn't want to be a hero. You just wanted your sibling back. 

Gliding from the highest building in Mondstadt in the dead of night, you could close your eyes, imagine it, see it, your wings, the wind through your hair, the laughter of your best friend, your constant companion, your sibling-- 'I am absolutely certain, I can beat you!', 'Ha! How hilarious. You just try to keep up!' 

Then your feet hit the cobblestone of Mondstadt, your eyes snap open and that dream, that wish, all of it shatters into the most fragile fragments, fading away, slipping out of your mind, no matter how hard you try to grasp onto it, hold it close. Gone. 

You just want to cry. 

Figures it would be Venti who just so happens to find you. In the late hours of the night, every minute passes towards that too late but also too early threshold of time. 

He is whistling, then humming a gentle, soft song. Lyrics and melody unknown to you, deft, nimble fingers strum quiet, easy notes from his lyre. 

Quiet footsteps approaching your seating form, nearly hunched over a ledge outlooking most of Mondstadt from this peak near the cathedral and the statue of your friend, it was still a little odd to think of Venti, the whimsical, chaotic bard as a god but easier to wrap your mind around given the fact you had traveled to many different realms and worlds in the past. 

"How lucky I am to find a lone traveler, perhaps I could provide you with some company?" Venti interrupts his little performance to sit down beside you, cradling his lyre in his hands, you don't really have the energy to even answer or protest his presence even if you wanted. 

"Did you catch a bit of my new tune? I must work on something that will blow away even Master Diluc! Perhaps enough for a night of free drinks in the tavern in exchange for the request of my music!" Venti exclaims rather determinedly as always, especially when it came to getting the best wine possible, for free as well. The lengths he'd be willing to go is almost admirable in a way. 

Your answering silence, no laugh, huff or even a scoff at his expense nor a head shake, roll eyes. Nothing. 

"Ah poor traveler, your gloom could bring down even the brightest flowers bloom, what has doubled your trouble?" Even his joking yet sincere rhyming can't bring much of a reaction to your face and that eats away at Venti. Never one to want his friends to suffer, not if he is there to help in whatever way he can. 

Venti loses his playful, mischievous nature for the moment in favor of being serious. It's then he is more Anemo Archon then Venti the bard. 

"What is wrong, friend?" 

One tear is followed by many others, everything rushes to the surface, you shake, tremble, break under the weight of your own sorrow. Sobbing out to the blinking stars far, far away. 

"What if my sibling is gone forever? What if I never find any clues, signs? What if I spend the rest of my life trapped here, searching and searching?" You sound half hysterical with grief and worry, rambling out every doubt, insecurity you have kept so tightly hidden away. Because everyone else had their own problems and all the problems they wanted you to solve. 

"Years side by side, through every trouble, every battle, every adventure, journey, they were always with me. Now? I am alone. My power, my wings, my sibling taken from me." You sniff and cough, squeezing your eyes shut as the world around your blurs and become a mess of colors. 

"I am tired. I am scared. Why do I always have to be brave? Strong? My whole life has been turned upside down and I have barely had time to adjust! To take all of this in, it feels like every person I meet needs my help for something unrelated to finding my only family!" You can't help the way your words turn exhausted and bitter. 

Venti waits and listens to your venting without interruption. It's only once he is sure you have let it all out that he speaks. 

"There is no shame in your sorrow, your pain. You have been thrown into a situation unfamiliar and unless anything you have experienced before and you are being forced to endure this without your closest friend, your sibling." Venti's tone is slow, decisive as if he is giving every single word meticulous thought. 

"You are incorrect to assume that means you are alone. You have new friends here, people who care about you, your journey and your goal. Paimon, Me, Jean, Lisa, Diluc, Kaeya, Amber, we all care for you. And you will have our support whenever you need it. Without question." The finality and firmness of his statement leaves no room for argument. 

You realize and recognize the truth in his words and Venti stays by your side, in the quiet night as you cry and cry, relieving the tangled knot of everything you had let grow, fester and linger for so long, even before you found Paimon. 

Venti plays a soothing harmony, a mellow, delicate dance of the strings of his lyre and his soft voice, singing; something just for you, for the moment of trust and sharing between two friends. It is a lovely, comforting song as your tears begin to dry and the burden on you is lessened for now. 

It's easy to smile and hum along with Venti as if you've heard this a dozen times.

You have no idea what is awaiting you on the journey, what struggles you will face, what obstacles and hardships that will cause you to stumble and fall but you do have friends who will be there to pick you back up again and again.

"Paimon just enjoyed a juicy, sweet, savory meal! (Name) you should have join- wait a minute!" Paimon takes one look at you and her cheeks puff out in anger, it's too cute to be truly scary but the glares she shoots at Venti is fiercely defensive. 

"What did you do tone-deaf bard?!" 

You laugh, reaching out to take hold of Paimon, you hug her gentle. Paimon squeaks out in surprise but you feel her tiny arms gently squeeze your neck. 

"I have done nothing wrong, this time." Venti had paused his private little song, ensuring it was something meant to be shared between you two just like this night would be a shared memory to look back on. 

Paimon wiggles away from you, floating before you, you watch her stick her tongue out at Venti, blowing and making a hilarious show of her disbelief. "Paimon doesn't believe you! Apologize to them now!" 

In the ensuing 'fight' between Venti and Paimon, you watch Venti reach forward and pinch her cheek and the small girl lunged at him in a failed attempt to choke him, you are sure, Venti holds her back with a hand over her face. 

You laugh. 

Yeah, you had friends and you weren't alone. 

#genshin impact #genshin impact one shots #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact reader insert #genshin impact venti

[kaminobiwan]

in sickness and health

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader

summary: Confined to a day in bed, Obi-Wan is enlisted to keep you company. Featuring mild spoonfeeding I make no apologies

a/n: First off, THANK YOU FOR 300 FOLLOWERS! WOW oh my goodness that happened so fast. I’m still working through the prompts from my 175/200 follower celebration (of which this is a part of), and I can’t wait to figure out a way to celebrate this milestone as well! I’m so grateful to all of the support and love I’ve gotten so far; your kindness and readership means the world to me, and I’m so glad to share my stories with you :-) Without any further ado, here is the return of Padawan!Obi....and if you’d like to join his fanclub, might I direct you to my co-president @highlycommendable lovely dove

Before I forget, taglist masterlist all that shite. Enjoy my bubs

On his way back to the dormitories after an early morning meditation session, Obi-Wan hears arguing.

Though it’s not uncommon to hear discord in the wing of the temple where the Padawans make their residence, it isn’t the usual ruckus of Quin and Kit wrestling, or Shaak Ti demanding to know who had taken her Akul-tooth headdress again.

This time, it’s the voice of a Master filling the halls, berating his student with fond persistence.

“Padawan, my word is final.” Obi-Wan turns the corner as Plo Koon raises a talon at a figure huddled in blankets in the doorway. “You are too ill to travel.”

“But I’m almost better! And Shaak’s told me so much about the Togruta, and I want to see how big of an Akul she’s killed!” He recognizes the protests coming from your distinct yet muddled voice, and his vision confirms his guess as you come into sight, fabric draping across your body like a spirit. “I promise I’m fine, Master, please!”

Despite his mouth being completely covered by his breathing mask, Obi-Wan can almost detect the makings of a smile across the Jedi’s features. “The healers were adamant, my student. You’re to rest one more day. Perhaps, instead of stories of Akul, you can detail our sightings of the neebray mantas to your peers. I assure you, they are much bigger than any Akul you hope to see.” Abruptly, he turns to Obi-Wan in a way that makes him think the Master had sensed his presence long before he’d approached. “Padawan Kenobi, if you’re not terribly occupied, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Obi-Wan comes to a stop in front of the pair of you, your eyes dragging to his frame after shooting a disgruntled glance at your Master. “Master Koon?”

“I’m set to depart for Shili within the hour, and unfortunately, this one,” he gestures a robe-covered hand towards you, “is recovering from a mild case of Balmorra Flu and will be unable to accompany me. I would appreciate it immensely if you’d monitor my student to ensure that she does, in fact, fulfill her last day of bed rest.” Obi-Wan notices as you bristle at the notion of being babysat like a child, but says nothing as Plo continues. “The healers have been kind enough to deliver medicine and food. You’d need only to stay within the room.” Before Obi-Wan can reply that he’d have to seek the approval of his own Master, Koon finishes for him. “I’d be happy to request an excuse from the rest of your duties, but if I’m being quite honest, I’m aware that most of your training for the day has already been completed.”

Obi-Wan schools his own features in haste from revealing how impressed he is. Though, he really shouldn’t be surprised. Plo Koon was legendary amongst the younger generations for both his intuition and skill with a lightsaber. Still, he pauses.

“There’s no cause for worry, young one, she’s not contagious any longer. The sickness is in its last stages.” The Kel Dor assures him, somewhat humorously, but that’s not why Obi-Wan is hesitating.

He’s nervous — he’s never spent much time alone with you. It’s not that you’re unlikable, or intimidating — okay, maybe you are a little — but actually, you’re quite popular with the rest of his crèchemates. He’s only had the opportunity to spend time with you in the midst of his other friends, and the times you have had conversations by yourselves, he gets an uncomfortable twist in his stomach that he’s not sure he likes.

But Obi-Wan is a good Padawan. Trying to be, at least. And Master Koon is close friends with Qui-Gon.

“Certainly, Master.” He gives a slight bow at the middle of his waist. “I would gladly be of service.”

The Jedi nods at him gracefully, and bids a soft farewell to you as he departs the conversation and the dormitory wing. You mutter a goodbye of your own moments after, followed by what Obi-Wan thinks is a variation of be safe. Then, you turn haughtily into your bedroom, retreating with your nose high in the air. He follows with a smirk of amusement.

“Sorry you’ve been sidelined.” He offers, as you face plant dramatically onto the bed. You bounce head-first into the pillows, and he can feel the irritation radiating off of you. “I know it that goes.”

You lift your body enough to place your chin in your hands, and regard him with a softening quirk. “It’s okay. I was just excited to get out on a mission again after my last one got cut short. This wretched flu.”

You flop onto your back, but Obi-Wan can sense your resentment quickly fading as you pull up the sheets to your chest. He notes that you already seem to be complying with your Master’s orders, grateful at the thought of not having to force you into bed. Another thought passes through his head, reminding him of the specific name Plo Koon had mentioned earlier.

“Balmorra flu? Weren’t you on Dantooine?”

“We were. Unfortunately, the illness is not limited to the planet for which it is named. But how it made its way to Dantooine, the middle of nowhere, I’ve no idea.” You sniff harshly. “It’s a shame, too. I wanted to take some time to admire the grasslands, but Master Koon wanted to get us back to the temple before I got worse.” The pout on your face morphs into a far-off look, and while you’re daydreaming, he takes the time to admire you. “It was majestic, Obi-Wan, the rolling plains, the rivers — you’d have loved it, I think.”

To himself, he smiles warmly. Here you are, sinuses stuffed to the brim and wallowing in the discomfort of sickness, yet you still found it within yourself to think of him. He can see why you’d been spoken so highly of by the others before he’d had the courage to befriend you.

You had a good heart.

“I know what you mean.” He presents you with a new tissue as you toss a used one into the wastebasket by your bed, and you watch him speak intently. “Once, on a mission to Alderaan, my Master told me he’d save time to hike one of the mountains if we finished early. A meditation retreat, of sorts. We did, but just as we were prepared to go, I came down with nerf-pox. A youngling sneezed on me in the middle of the assignment.” Disdain paints his appearance, and you cough out a laugh at him behind your fist as you reach for something off your bedside table, where a steaming bowl and cup of water sits.

“To the experiences that disease took from us,” you raise the cup in the air as if you’re making a toast, and although he’s not holding one of his own, he mimes the action with a grin. “Here’s to hoping we’ll get to do them someday.”

As you raise the drink to your mouth, Obi-Wan can’t help but notice the way it trembles in your hand. Eyes narrowing, he takes in the slight shake of your arm. “You’re quite weak,” he moves closer to take the cup from you and set it back on the table. “I think I should feed you.”

Your eyebrows knit in defiance, but he’s already holding the bowl of soup, stirring the spoon in its depths. Immediately, his nose wrinkles in distaste.

“This smells horrible.”

You sigh in agreement, leaning your head back against the pillows. “Rootleaf stew. Master Yoda’s personal recipe.” As he lifts the utensil to your still-moving mouth, you add, “Thankfully, it doesn’t taste as bad as it stinks.”

He snickers quietly as you drink the liquid down with a small noise of disgust. Your face seems to relax after a minute, however, and he hopes the warm broth is soothing your throat. He offers you a bit more, but this time, you stare straight at him as your lips close around the spoon, and his wrist falters when you peer at him from beneath your lashes.

Soup dribbles down your chin and neck as you squeal in surprise, the heat of it making you jerk back. Obi-Wan drops the bowl onto the table as he frantically snatches up tissues to offer you between panicked apologies, not trusting himself to dab the droplets on your skin away himself.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry, I —” he stammers as you clean up what you can, blinking at him in amused surprise. You don’t look angry at him, but stars, does he feel bad. “Ah, I didn’t mean to. So much for helping you.” From the shoulders up, he burns bright with remorse, but you shake your head amusedly with bright eyes.

“It’s okay. I probably would have done the same to myself. You were right, I am too weak to carry anything.”

Sheepishly, Obi-Wan picks up the stew again, but places it in his lap for a moment as he waits for his body to stop freaking out, for lack of a better term. It’s good timing, too, because you promptly break into a hacking fit, coughing violently as he winces in his seat. After you blow your nose loudly, you seem to notice his expression, because you suddenly turn self-consciously away from him.

“I’m sorry, too. I can’t imagine I’m a pretty sight to see as of right now.”

He disagrees. Surprisingly, your physical state hasn’t been too affected. And even in spite of your slightly ruffled exterior, you’re still exuding the same liveliness that he can’t help but find attractive. In his mindlessness, Obi-Wan’s mouth acts before his brain as he responds. “I think you’re always pretty.”

You both freeze, eyes meeting in shocked gazes as he attempts to backtrack. “I — I mean, you’re a pretty sight to see —” Nope, that’s worse, kill me, Maker, kill me now —

“Obi — it’s okay,” you cut him off from embarrassing himself further, though your own voice is shrill. “I appreciate the compliment.”

His face flushes again, this time at the nickname more than his stupidity. He stares resolutely into the swirling broth as he fiddles with the spoon, and deafening silence fills the air between you as you both look anywhere but each other. Soon enough, though, you’re brave enough to break the quiet. With an even braver comment of your own.

“You know, you’re not too bad-looking either,” he peers at you cautiously, and your eyes are kind, offering comfort. He breathes out a long sigh, but manages a weak smile in return.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and you nod at him easily. He’s jealous of the way you’re expressive, yet so effortlessly at ease in any scenario — someday, he swears, he’ll nail down his composure. He’ll be in complete control of his every emotion and have the coolest demeanor of all the Jedi.

Just, not today.

Obi-Wan forces himself to steel the muscles in his arms as he brings another spoonful of soup to your waiting mouth, and exhales in relief when he successfully avoids causing another mess. Unfortunately, it seems that you’re intent on making one, because as soon as you swallow, you’ve got another remark that you deliver all too casually for Obi-Wan’s liking.

“In fact, I’d say you’re the prettiest Padawan in the Order.”

He spills the entire bowl across your sheets.

#AND HE MAKES HIS RETURN! #rini writes #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan x reader #PADAWAN!OBI NATION RISE UPPP #sweet boy he is so cute #here is fluff for you guys before I release a really sad piece tomorrow #but until then ENJOY #rini reaches 175! #THANKS AGAIN FOR 300 I'LL HAVE A CELEBRATION SOON

[inawickedlittletown]

Baked With Love (Destiel fic) - 3/5

Summary: Dean never met Lisa’s neighbor, but he knew one thing: whoever it was, they could bake. After breaking up with Lisa, the one thing Dean misses is her neighbor’s pie. After finally meeting him, Cas’ pie is not the only thing Dean likes.

On Ao3

Part one

Part two

-

Dean ran into Lisa the very next day when he was getting out of the Impala in front of Castiel’s house. 

“I see you finally called Cas,” she said. “He made you pie, didn’t he?” 

“He did,” Dean said. “Just as delicious as I remembered it.”

“Oh. I figured you were here to pick it up,” Lisa said with a frown. “You can’t bully him into being your personal baker. I know he’s a nice guy, but don’t take advantage of my neighbor.” 

“No, I’m kinda paying him back. Doing him a favor. He has a few loose steps in his backyard. I noticed them yesterday when I was here and I offered to fix them.” 

Lisa’s smile returned. “He wouldn’t take your money.” 

“No. He wouldn’t,” Dean said and left it at that. 

It was better than to admit that Dean would have wanted to do this for Cas even if Cas had taken payment for the pie. 

Lisa excused herself as Dean got into his trunk to grab his tools. He was hoping that the planks wouldn’t need to be replaced entirely, but wouldn’t know yet until he got a closer look. When he was sure he had everything he walked up to Castiel’s house. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said when he opened the door. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. 

Castiel kept him company out in the yard. He busied himself with the garden, but wandered over to see how Dean was doing every once in a while, offering to get Dean anything he might need. It was nice. 

Cas hummed and he talked to his plants. He spent a long time checking on all of his plants, attentive in a way that Dean had never known anyone to be with plants. 

The wood planks were not in a horrible state. Dean figured that eventually they would need to be replaced, but they weren’t there yet. So, instead he made work of getting all of Cas’ steps to have better attachments to the supports. It was quick work, but he kept getting distracted by watching Cas. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean called over when he was on the last step. 

“Yes, Dean?”

“Want to get lunch after this?”

Castiel nodded with a big smile. “That’d be great.”

—

“Let me get this straight,” Sam said. “Well, I guess not straight.”

“Sammy.” 

“You befriended Lisa’s baker neighbor because you missed his pies and then somehow you’re fixing up things around this guy’s house and you’re taking him out to look at possible locations for a bakery this weekend.”

Dean should have known better than to tell Sam about Castiel, but he was just so used to telling Sam everything that it had spilled out. He could feel Sam’s judgement. 

“Sam, we’re friends now. Cas is a cool guy. You’d like him.” 

Sam gave him the kind of knowing look that Dean was practiced at ignoring.

“Dean, you just broke up with Lisa a couple of months ago and this guy lives right next door to her. Isn’t it a little—”

“We’re friends, Sam,” Dean said. 

Not that Dean wouldn’t have minded if it turned into more, but for the moment he and Castiel were just friends. 

“How’s work?” Dean asked. 

“You’re changing the subject, but fine. Work is great,” Sam said. 

At the end of the night Sam shouted: “have fun tomorrow with your new boyfriend!” 

Dean turned. “Not my boyfriend.” 

“But you want him to be,” Sam said. 

Dean didn’t respond. He did kinda hope that his friendship with Cas would develop into more, but it was something he was keeping close to the chest for the moment even if to his brother he would always be obvious. 

—

Dean had fully expected the first hurdle to be getting the financials in place. But Cas already had the money. It made everything easier. 

Apparently, Castiel’s grandfather had been very well off. So well off that when he died, he left a sizable amount of money to his favorite grandchild. 

“He was a writer,” Castiel told Dean. “You’ve probably heard of him, actually. Carver Edlund.”

Dean absolutely did know Carver Edlund. So, his silence at the reveal made Castiel chuckle. 

“You’re a fan, then?” 

“Yeah, Cas. I’m a fan.” 

Dean hadn’t been a reader like Sam was a reader, but that didn’t mean that Dean hadn’t read anything and Carver Edlund had written books in many different genres — it was what had made him so popular — but he’d also written a series of books about two brothers who travelled the world hunting ghosts and other supernatural beings and Dean had been obsessed with them for a long time. 

“Well, my grandfather did well for himself and when he passed and he left me all that money, I knew what I would do with it,” Castiel said. “And when it didn’t work out when Balt and I were — well, I just never touched it.”

The money had been sitting in the bank for years. It gave Cas options. 

So, a week after meeting Castiel for the first time, Dean was once more back at his house, but this time instead of getting out of the car and knocking on his door, it was Cas that gave his car a gentle rap. Dean unlocked the door at once and Cas got in. 

“Hi, Dean,” Cas said, all smiles. “I brought something for you.” 

It was a honey crumb muffin and it looked delicious.

“Cas, you didn’t have to,” Dean said at once. 

“I know. I wanted to.” 

Dean imagined that looking for a place to open a bakery shouldn’t have been fun. Somehow, it was. They looked at places up for rent and a few that were for sale. Cas didn’t like most of them and Dean found issues with others. There was not one that either of them actually liked. 

“What if we can’t find a place,” Cas said after a while. 

“Then we keep looking,” Dean said. “Where did you originally have in mind the first time around?”

“That place where someone opened that hardware store,” Cas said. 

Dean could admit that it definitely would have made for a good location. 

It did take them a few trips before they found the right place. Dean didn’t tell Cas right away that Singer Auto was only a few blocks away, but he was glad for the fact. It was on a corner and only a couple of blocks away from Singer Auto. It had been formerly a dog grooming place, and before that a pizza restaurant, and before that a dry cleaner, but none of those businesses had taken off. 

“And why do you even think mine will?” Cas had asked. 

“Because the grooming place was by appointment only and expensive as all hell. Because the owners of the pizza place were laundering money and serving what amounted to baked frozen pizza. Because the dry cleaner wasn’t very good. Trust me, Cas, one taste of anything you bake and you’ll have customers for life.” 

Castiel put an offer in through a realtor the next day. It had been a month since Dean had met Cas, but it felt like he’d known him far longer. Sam pointed out that that was probably because Dean spent most of his free time with Castiel and Dean couldn’t actually deny that. 

Dean was actually over at Cas’ house on a Friday afternoon when Cas got the call that his offer had been accepted. Dean insisted on getting a bottle of champagne to celebrate even though it meant that he had to drive to the nearest liquor store to pick it up first because Cas just didn’t have any on hand. Castiel’s smile didn’t fade from his lips for the rest of the night. He told Dean all of his ideas. How he wanted to set up the kitchen and the display counters and the kind of mixers and ovens that he’d been researching. 

“It’s really happening,” Cas said eventually, looking at Dean with wide surprised eyes. 

“I told you it would,” Dean said and nudged his shoulder. 

Cas turned so that he was facing Dean, the space between them practically nonexistent. “This is only happening because of you,” Cas informed him before wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders. 

Dean hugged him back at once, his arms wrapping around Cas to rest at his back and he never wanted to let go. Castiel had an earthy smell to him, but something flowery too in his hair. He felt amazing in Dean’s arms and they stayed that way in that hug for longer than was socially normal. 

When they pulled away, Cas’ cheeks were pink, but his smile still hadn’t left his lips. 

“Thank you, Dean.” 

“Does that thank you include another pie?” Dean asked. 

Castiel chuckled. “Sure. I will bake you anything anytime anywhere.” 

“Will you marry me?” Dean asked. It was a joke and yet as the words hung in the air between them, Dean knew with certainty that he had never before felt about anything, that one day he would ask that same question without any irony at all. 

—

The thing about Castiel was that for all the time that Dean spent with him, he couldn’t figure out if Cas did want their friendship to be more. Sometimes, it felt like he did. Other times, it felt like Cas saw him as a friend and nothing more and Dean didn’t want to push it. So, he tried to flirt a little and he spent so much time with Castiel, that Sam began to feel a bit neglected, and yet Castiel never indicated that he felt anything more for Dean outside of how his cheeks would get pink whenever Dean flirted with him. 

Somehow, Dean had begun spending every single Friday with Cas. Watching him bake, and helping him clean up all the meanwhile discussing Castiel’s plans for the bakery. He even started driving Cas to drop off baked goods at the shelters and soup kitchens on Saturdays and then they would go out to get brunch. Early on, those Saturdays had also involved Dean fixing things in Cas’ house for him. Once the remodel at the bakery started, Dean joined him there where he could to see how the work was coming along and after a few weeks, Dean started to see Cas’ vision. The large work space in the back with gleaming countertops, the huge industrial ovens, and the giant mixers. 

The front came together slower, but just a few months after the remodel started it was all complete. The last thing to go up was the sign outside that read Angel Bakes complete with a halo floating over the A. 

“Why Angel Bakes?” Dean asked after the sign was up and he and Cas stood outside looking up at it. 

“My name,” Cas said simply. “My mom named me after the Angel of Thursday.”

“Was she very religious?” Dean asked.

Castiel laughed. “No, actually. But I was born on a Thursday and throughout the pregnancy she was sure I’d be a girl and that she would name me Wednesday.”

“Like the Adam’s Family?” Dean asked. 

“I have no idea. Maybe,” Castiel said with the confused tilt of his head that meant he didn’t understand what Dean was talking about. 

Cas, as Dean had come to learn, was brilliant if a bit behind on pop culture. There were few movies that Cas had actually seen and fewer tv shows. Things went over his head all the time and Dean had started — albeit slowly — giving Castiel a sort of education. He’d all but demanded that Cas have a movie night with him a few weeks earlier entirely so that Dean could put on A New Hope and transform Castiel into a Star Wars fan. He was pleased when Cas actually did enjoy the movie. 

“Anyway, I thwarted her plans by being a boy and being born on a Thursday. Dad always said it was the meds that made her loopy.” 

“I don’t know if that’s better or worse than being named after my grandmother,” Dean said with a grin. 

They stood side by side and looked at the sign and Dean couldn’t help the feeling of pride that filled him because he had known Cas for a few months and yet even from the first night, it had been easy to tell that Castiel didn’t feel confident enough to go for it. But a few nudges had been enough to make him decide that yes, he could do it.

-

Part Four

#destiel #destiel fic #deancas fic #deancas #supernatural fic #my fic #baked with love fic

[tact-and-impulse]

Shinkane Week 2021 Day 1

For this prompt of ‘roommates’, it’s a sequel to Propriety! Let’s see where Miss Tsunemori and her faithful former chauffeur have ended up, now that they’re on the run…

Runaways

“I’m so sorry, but we only have one room available.”

He clenched his jaw. Gino would have his hide if he found out, but it seemed there was no other choice. “We’ll take it.”

Beside him, Miss Tsunemori was feigning interest in the worn floorboards. The innkeeper handed over the key and directed them to the room. It was terribly cramped, with only one futon. Extra blankets would be brought for the other to make do.

As soon as the innkeeper left, he insisted. “You can take the bed. I’m used to sleeping on the floor.”

“But you must be tired too. You drove the entire time.”

He did, because it was the middle of the night and she didn’t know the roads. He wasn’t even entirely confident they were safe yet. He had driven until the fuel ran out, and then decided to ditch their vehicle on the side of the road. It had been a harrowing twenty-four hours, and her entire life had been pulled out from underneath her. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, I’m the servant.”

“Not anymore.”

That was true and he abruptly turned away. “Get some sleep. We’ll think better if we sleep.”

His blankets were then delivered, and afterwards, neither of them spoke. As he attempted to find a comfortable position, he couldn’t help hearing her light breathing and knew she was just as restless.

***

“I’d like to see the ocean.” She had said, when he asked for a destination.

So, here they were, in a harbor town. They had watched the sun rise over the glittering water, and Miss Tsunemori had darted to the shoreline. He followed her prints, hiding them under his, and joined her at the breaking surf. She was standing just shy of the approaching foam.

“See any monsters?”

“Kougami-san!” She admonished but laughed. She could laugh when they were alone, without worry that someone would overhear and realize that it wasn’t two young men staying in the last room. “No, I haven’t.” She bent down, untying her shoes and removing her socks. After placing them on higher ground, she dipped her toes in. Just as she did, she made a startled sound and retreated. 

He took her arm, steadying her. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I didn’t expect it would still be cold.” She pressed her feet into the darkened sand. “I suppose that makes sense, it’s early.”

Letting go, he copied her, tossing his boots closer to her belongings. He stepped into a wave, the ocean surging around his ankles. “It’s actually not bad. Once you’re in it, you’ll warm up.”

She splashed towards him. “If you say so…”

For a few minutes, they didn’t move. He crossed his arms, breathing deeply of the salty air. “So…where to?”

“I’m not sure.” A frown had settled upon her face. The reality was kicking in, that there was no plan other than running as fast and far as they could.

“We need to decide. Every minute we stall, we risk getting caught.”

“You’d be arrested for kidnapping me.” She had already reached that conclusion, and despite that bleak possibility, he felt a twinge of pride. “And I don’t want that to happen.”

“Maybe, you’d see me again when I’d leave jail in twelve years.”

“Please don’t joke about something like that.”

He glanced at her forlorn expression, her downturned lips. “Sorry.”

A breeze swept through, and she held on to her hat. “If I can keep up this disguise, I wonder if I can study law.” She mused.

“Maybe.” He conceded. His skin itching with the need to move, he walked away from the ocean and grabbed his boots. She followed suit, and they slowly crossed the beach.

“Kougami-san?”

“Yes?”

“How do we get rid of the sand?”

***

Her question also brought up the issue of hygiene, so they concocted an excuse that “Akio” had a skin condition and couldn’t go to the public bathhouses, unlike “Satoru”. The story bought them a large basin of water and coarse soap. Miss Tsunemori was eager to use them, and to secure her privacy in this small room, he made a suggestion in case the innkeeper knocked.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go ahead. Don’t worry, I won’t peek.” He held up the sheet, turning his head to the side. “Let me know when you’re done.”

“Alright, thank you.” There was rustling, as she removed her clothes. He tried to ignore the soft sounds and the liquid sloshing as she dipped below the surface.

He clenched the cotton, searching for a topic of conversation. “We can keep to the coastline, and there’s the option of leaving Japan.”

“I’m not sure if I want to, or even if you do.”

“Why not? There’s jungle out there, hidden temples.”

“Hmm. But you wanted to go to the mountains.” So, she remembered.

“Yeah. I had a teacher once, who said he wanted to live in the shadow of Mount Fuji. To us kids who only knew the rowhouses, his idea of a peaceful life was something we couldn’t really imagine.”

He could hear her smile in her reply. “But you liked it.”

That phrase, accompanied with the fact that she was naked in a tub just below him, caused him to waver. He renewed his grip on the sheet, his reply harsher than intended. “Well, runaways never have peace. Do you want to go home?”

Long moments passed, before she quietly replied. “I think we’re past that point.”

It wasn’t a denial. Before he could say as much, she announced that she was finished. He lifted the cover higher, while she dressed. It didn’t take long before she popped up on the other side, her face flushed.

“Thank you so much.” Her smaller fingers reached up, pulling the cloth barrier down. This close, he could smell the soap, and underneath, the lingering traces of sweet citrus that hadn’t been entirely removed. “Your arms must be sore. Do you want me to rub them?”

They did ache, but her offer was far too tempting for his fraying self-control. “That won’t be necessary. I’m going to the public baths. Keep the pistol, you know how to use it.” He was about to take the basin with him, but she protested.

“I can empty it, don’t worry.”

“…Thanks.” He couldn’t resist ruffling her short damp hair. His hand tingling, he hurried out of the building and down the road.

He was one of the few patrons at the time, and he was grateful. As he quickly scrubbed off the grime, he had an intrusive thought that she would be gone when he returned to the inn. It wouldn’t be surprising; being a runaway wasn’t nearly so glamorous, now that the initial adrenaline had faded.

However, when he knocked on the door, her lowered voice answered. Upon his entry, she sat up in her futon, clearly relieved. “Welcome back.”

And he smiled. “I’m back.”

***

They kept moving, never staying in a town longer than a few days. Kougami maintained a close eye on their surroundings, but he didn’t spot anyone tailing them. If Tougane was still persistent, he might have lost their trail. They traveled inland, running errands for money; he usually did manual labor, while she was a good scribe.

In one of the larger markets, there was a stall selling books. Her interest couldn’t be concealed, and he encouraged her to peruse, while he bought the remainder of their supplies. She had found one in particular and her gaze was bright as she skimmed through the book.

“Is it about law?” He asked over her shoulder.

“History, actually. But it’s well-written.”

He approached the vendor. “How much?” They spent a minute bargaining, but he was going to pay regardless.

As they headed to their lodgings, she humbly said. “Kougami-san, you didn’t have to.”

“Hey, it’s a gift. That’s what roommates do.” He smacked the spot between her shoulder blades, and she startled. For a moment, he wondered if that was too forward, but she didn’t mention it.

“Well, then I need to return the favor. Let me know if you really want anything.”

There was, but it wasn’t the time, place, or situation to ask for it. He didn’t speak again, trying not to think of a sweltering night that seemed like years ago.

In the evenings, he pored over their maps, marking the places they had left. It was still warm, and he left the window open. The sound of cicadas also distracted him from the fact that he was really itching for a smoke.

Then, there was a slight tap against his upper arm. Miss Tsunemori had set her book aside, holding out an open box of rolled papers, pungent and familiar.

“Here. I bought you a new pack, since you ran out.”

“You noticed.” It was the same brand he liked too. Touched, he accepted the cigarettes. He picked one, lighting it. Noticing that she was watching, he asked. “Want to try one?”

“No, thank you. I’ve gotten used to the smell though. Now, it reminds me of you.”

“Does it?” He regarded her, the smoke weaving around them. She blushed but didn’t look away.

At that moment, a cicada flew into the room. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stop from screaming, and he bit off a curse as he extinguished the cigarette in the ash tray, before grabbing his boot to kill the invader. A few good hits, and he tossed the body out before she closed the window. Damn bugs.

Shocked laughter bubbled from her lips. “That was…scary.”

“I wasn’t expecting that.” But he began to laugh too. It was the first time, since they’d driven away from Tokyo.

After recovering, it was quiet again. Even the cicadas must have tired out. For a second, they stared at each other.

“Well…it’s late.” She slowly said, wrapping up in her blankets. “Good night.”

In every room, they’d been sleeping on opposite ends, but this one was the smallest so far. If he could, he could roll over and close that distance. But he only answered. “Night.”

***

The final summer days gave way to autumn, and the mountains were abundant with color. Unfortunately, the scenery was the only enjoyable thing. Influenza was spreading, from beyond the borders. The numbers of infected and dead were rising fast. It was recommended to cover their faces with muslin layers, and the masks also served in laying low. However, it wasn’t enough, because he fell asleep one night with a dry throat and woke to feeling cold under his blankets.

She took over, ignoring his attempts to convince her that he should be left behind. She kept their brazier lit, measured his medicine, and even wiped him above the waist. He felt terrible and weak, but he had to rely on her. From morning to night, she looked after him, her brows drawn together in perpetual concern. He wasn’t getting better, not as quickly as he thought, and he knew it.

One morning, she wasn’t there when he opened his eyes, and he made an effort to sit up. The room spinning, he swayed, and his hand landed on the note she had left. She was buying more tea for him, but she would be back soon. And just like that, he was reassured. He didn’t stir again until he sensed her presence.

“I’m back. I’ve brought someone who said he could help. Can you hear me, Kougami-san?” She squeezed his fingers.

“Mm.” He grasped back, comforted by her touch.

“Kougami? Is that you?” The voice was familiar, and he thought he was dreaming as he looked up into the surprised, bespectacled eyes of the man who held weekly lessons for the rowhouse children.

“Saiga-sensei…please help.” Then, he spiraled into delirium.

***

“Young lady, what is he to you?”

“He’s-”

***

Just as he was beginning to crest over the worst, her temperature spiked. He blamed himself. Staying in one room together this whole time, breathing the same air. She deteriorated fast, struggling with each inhale. Her skin was burning, despite the growing chilliness.

He didn’t leave her bedside, giving her water and broth and the little medicine he was able to buy. Saiga said he had seen other young women survive this, but his expression was serious. Kougami was afraid. Afraid that she was going to die, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

In her fever dreams, she called for her parents. Her grandmother. Her friends. And for him. “Kougami-san! Don’t go!” For whatever reason he was, it brought her to tears, because they spilled down her face, onto her sweat-soaked pillow.

“I’m here.” He hushed her, pressing his hand to her forehead. “I’m here, Akane. I won’t leave you.”

He wouldn’t, because she believed in him. In the silent spaces between her coughing, her words haunted him.

He’s the person I trust most with my life.

***

“So, you ran away together?” Saiga summarized, as the two of them sat on the back steps of his house. “I admit, I’m not sure what to make of your decision. You must have had your difficulties.”

“It wasn’t easy, but it had its kinder moments.” Footprints in the sand, pages in the candlelight. A sheet between them.

His old teacher smiled. “That’s how life is. It was lucky that I was passing through. I was sick earlier this year, so I’ve been helping out. Kougami, don’t underestimate this flu.”

“It’s going to get worse, isn’t it? Winter isn’t even here yet.”

“You assume correctly. But at the very least, you’re both alive. I’m glad.” Miss Tsunemori’s fever had finally broken, though she was still weak. Kougami was better, but not by much. He still couldn’t bring himself to light a cigarette yet.

“Me too.”

“Whatever you decide next will be crucial. Snowy roads are harder to traverse, and with the infection rates, I’d be surprised if any small town will welcome outsiders. As long as you hold on to logic and clarity, you’ll find a solution.”

“I won’t forget. Thank you.”

With that, his teacher excused himself to obtain groceries, and Kougami went inside. She was reading the newspaper, looking lost.

“Miss Tsunemori?”

“Oh, Kougami-san. Um, sorry.” She hastily wiped at her eyes. “All the news of cases and deaths made me think of Obaa-chan. If we were this ill, then what about her? Masaoka-san too, and everyone else.”

“I know. Even Gino is only human. But if we go back…”

“We’re immune though. We can offer to nurse the sick, in exchange for clemency. We can negotiate.”

“And Tougane?”

“I can always use the pandemic as an excuse for delaying a wedding.”

“I don’t like the idea of you marrying him.” Saying that aloud felt like drawing to the edge of a precipice, that he knew he couldn’t turn back from.

‘I don’t either. But I’ll find another way.” Of course, she would say that. And he had faith in her.

He smiled bitterly. “Alright. Let’s return to Tokyo.”

#shinkaneweek #shinkane #psycho pass #i hit a block and then thought 'i wonder what else happened in 1918' #*googles* #oh #uhhhhh #that's appropriate

[its-sixxers]

A Night to Remember, I

A night drinking at the New Gnisis Cornerclub leaves Tandreth awaking somewhere far away, raising questions not only about his newfound predicament, but his feelings toward his traveling companion.

(Writing prompt given by @radbeetle and @ineed-to-sleep, based on the quest of the same name. Gonna be a multi parter as I get a chance to write. :3)

Tandreth woke to the sound of rushing water. 

It was enough to get his eyes to snap open. There was no rushing water in Windhelm, and Windhelm was where he last remembered being conscious. Opening his eyes too quickly fast proved to be a mistake, however, for the sun was in precisely the right position in the sky to nearly blind him. 

“Fetcher.” he swore, throwing his arm over his eyes and feeling a headache fast approaching. He was hungover - but he wasn’t bound. That was good. He’d woken up worse from nights of heavy drinking (so much worse he didn’t want to remember). The next time he opened his eyes he barely cracked them open, squinting out at the world around him.

To his disbelief, he was in Markarth. 

Markarth was across Skyrim from Windhelm.

Tandreth dragged himself upright, his body sore from sleeping on stone. He’d passed out in one of Markarth’s many alleyways, and by some miracle hadn’t been robbed or worse. A small waterfall cascaded down the rocks next to him, spraying mist onto his face now that he sat upright.

What had happened?

The last thing he could recall was drinking in the New Gnisis Cornerclub - he was short on coin, so when a stranger offered an enchanted staff as the wager to a friendly drinking contest he was all too happy to oblige. The man wanted no wager from Tandreth besides Idunn’s participation, and -

“Idunn.” Tandreth choked out, scrambling to his feet. Idunn was nowhere to be seen, and dread pooled in his gut - doing no favors for his nausea. The world moved beneath him like the deck of a ship in stormy seas, and he nearly stumbled off the stone path and down the cliff beside him. Markarth was a bad place to be in any state of inebriation, and Tandreth was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t still a little bit drunk.

He stumbled down the path, unsure of where to even go - he made it six steps before he was forced to bend over and vomit, aiming for a hardy patch of bush next to the path.

“Ugh.” Came a female voice from nearby, and after wiping his mouth Tandreth looked up to see a young priestess of Dibella emptying a pot of dirty water over the path’s edge. When her eyes settled on his face an expression of sudden nervousness crossed over her features, and she started to hurry back up the steps to the temple.

She’d recognized him. “Wait!” Tandreth shouted after the priestess, stumbling after her in a manner that was far too graceless for his liking. Even so, he was still able to climb the steps faster than she, and managed to catch up to her at the temple door.

The priestess whirled around with the vase raised, clearly ready to smash it into his head if the need arose. “Don’t! You didn’t get in last night, and you won’t get in today.”

“Last night?” Tandreth slurred in confusion. While he’d made use of the services of Dibella’s acolytes more than once, for the first time he’d found himself at a point in his life where he didn’t desire them. But if he’d drunkenly lost track of the Dragonborn, or worse, driven her away…

“Divines, you’re still drunk, aren’t you?” The priestess said, her nose wrinkling in a mix of displeasure and pity. “Yes. Last night. You were chasing a crying woman - drunk as you were - and she sought sanctuary from us. You didn’t like that.”

“Idunn.” he breathed. “Was she tall - hair like fire, cow-eyed, great big warhammer?”

The priestess looked like she regretted saying anything. “I’ll call the guard. She has sanctuary.”

“That’s fine.” Tandreth replied, shoulders sagging. “Listen, if it’s her - tell her I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did, but…” She was crying. Running from him. He’d no idea what he’d done, but the consequences made him feel even sicker to his stomach. At least he knew where she was - at least the hundred worst case scenarios that ran through his mind on waking proved to be untrue.

“Oh.” The priestess lowered her jug. While she still looked at him with suspicion, much of the venom faded from her gaze. “I’ll tell her if she asks, but it’s best you-”

Suddenly the door to the temple flew open, and a large red-headed woman nearly ran over the priestess in her haste to escape. An older priestess followed the woman, who’d just shouted “TANDRETH?” loud enough to make him want to cover his ears.

Idunn.

“I’m here!” he shouted back, trying to hide his smile at seeing how perplexed both of the priestesses were. 

Idunn spun around to face him, relief clear on her features. It was contagious, prompting the same in him. She didn’t hate him, whatever had passed by. The motion made her wince, and she placed a hand to her temple.

“You’re hungover too, then.” Tandreth observed, watching her approach him with a greater degree of clumsiness than usual.

“I don’t care about that.” she replied. “How in Oblivion did we get to Markarth? What day is it?”

“The fifth of Second Seed, if you’d only listen.” The older priestess scolded, catching her breath. “Dibella’s grace, you two are a handful. Calm yourself, Daphne - last night was emotion run high by drink. This woman has no need of our protection.”

“I can see that.” The young priestess - Daphne - huffed. 

The fifth of Second Seed. It was the night of the fourth when they were drinking in Windhelm. Which meant either a night had passed - or a year.

“What year?” Tandreth added, causing the older priestess’ eyes to widen.

“202, of the Fourth Era.” she answered neatly. “You didn’t bump your head, did you, dear?”

Only a night. They’d crossed Skyrim in only a night. It was much better than a year passing, but it suggested powerful magic on someone’s part. Selfishly, he had a more important question to ask. “What did I do last night?” He wasn’t quite certain if he wanted to hear the answer - but the older priestess’ remark had him hopeful it wasn’t anything terrible.

“You said my horse had a stupid name.” Idunn replied, flushing at the confession. “I suppose I was drunk enough to try and defend her honor, and we both know you can’t let a jape lie.”

Tandreth had to give his drunk self some credit, for he wasn’t wrong. Cabbage was a stupid name for a horse - but endearingly so. He guessed he didn’t phrase it quite so gracefully the night previous. “Oh. Well, my apologies, madam.” With a great and theatrical bow, he flourished his hand and held it aloft to her. 

With a grumble, she placed her hand in his, and in an over the top display of chivalry he kissed her fingers like he would a king’s. To Tandreth’s surprise, Idunn had a ring worthy of one on her finger.

Her ring finger.

The thing was gold and diamond, and Tandreth knew his valuables well enough to know it was genuine at a glance. Idunn realized it was there the moment he did, and snatched her hand back to investigate as he snapped upright.

“You mentioned something about being newlywed.” The older priestess piped up, while Daphne took her chance to slip into the temple and escape the nonsense.

Immediately Tandreth looked down at his own hands - and found his fingers bare. Somehow that was less encouraging than finding a matching ring. Somehow, between Windhelm and Markarth, Idunn had gotten married. 

She didn’t seem as bothered about it as he expected, staring down at the magnificent creation on her finger. The diamond caught the light in such a way that it was reflected in a rainbow within, the gold pale like winter sunlight. “It’s beautiful. Too beautiful for me.” she murmured. “Especially drunk me. Who do you think gave it?”

“Let me think.” Tandreth replied. It was difficult, with the ringing in his head. The last thing he could remember was a drinking contest with a man who wanted only Idunn’s participation as a wager.

Fury ignited within him, and it must have shown on his face for Idunn’s dazed smile faded immediately. “What?”

“Sam Guevenne.” Tandreth answered. “I’ll kill him - he must have wanted us inebriated, maybe he wanted me dead. My head feels like it. He wanted you involved. It must have been him.”

Idunn scrunched her face up with the effort of trying to dredge through her own memory, but soon understanding dawned on her face. Her mouth settled into a stony line of grim resignation. “We have to find him.”

“How?” he asked in exasperation. “I can’t remember a thing.”

The older priestess was listening to the two of them with growing concern. “Well, you did an awful lot of talking about Rorikstead.” She pointed at Tandreth. “Something about you stealing a goat. She wasn’t happy about it.”

Idunn levelled a look his way that suggested she still wasn’t happy about it, now that she was reminded.

“Rorikstead’s days away.” Tandreth sighed - his nervousness growing knowing that they’d made stops on their nightlong journey across Skyrim. That meant that whoever had put them in their predicament had been with them the entire time - and that retracing their tracks was the best idea.

“Then it’s a good thing it’s early.” Idunn replied, shifting her pack on her shoulders. “Thank you, priestess. We have somewhere to start.”

The priestess bowed her head. “You were quite polite, given the circumstances. I’m glad to help. Him, not so much. Dibella’s grace upon you.”

Tandreth’s eyes settled on the ring on Idunn’s finger. She’d said it was too beautiful for her. 

He didn’t think it was beautiful enough.

#fanfic #skyrim #oc: idunn / dragonborn #oc: tandreth #fluff and silliness incoming #alcohol mention #and eventual snippets into idunn's heritage #because sanguine :V

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.6}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

"Why again do you have to get up this early on a bloody Saturday?" Jorien groaned quietly from her spot hidden under the covers in her bed, while Cas was still sleeping soundly as ever in her own. It wasn't even dawning yet, still hours until breakfast, but Robin had been up for a while already and was just now returning from getting ready in the bathroom.

"I told you, I'm going on a field trip for my research." Robin whispered back, while she got dressed in some slim fitting black jeans that were comfortable enough to move in and sturdy enough to suit the occasion. "We need to get going before the sun is up."

"You're crazy." Jorien groaned again and dug her head into her pillow, face down. "Hwow gih juh gweh hwiwh gu gwu gwif whih juh?"

"What?" Robin hissed back with a questioning frown, while she layered her favorite jumper over a long sleeved shirt and then went to put her hair up into a ponytail that ended up more messy than neat.

Jorien turned her head back to the side with a sigh. "How did you get him to do this with you?" She repeated her question tiredly, but with a spark of sincere curiosity nonetheless. "Snape, I mean."

"I didn't get him to do anything." Robin shrugged in return and sat down on her bed to lace up her boots. "I did a lot of research over the summer and I showed it to him last week. He made me show it to Dumbledore and that settled the issue."

"So it's just you and him today, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I would say poor you, but I get the impression that you are rather happy about it."

"I am. He is the only one who understands what we're dealing with; it would be a true nuisance to have to explain it all to someone else." Robin replied easily as she finally went to put on her rain jacket instead of her robes for once. The highlands were no place for a cloud of fabric that would soak through in under a minute. Then she hid her wand up her sleeve as always, and finally grabbed her backpack from the end of her bed. All set to go. "Wish me luck!"

"What do you need luck for?" Jorien yawned and hugged her pillow under her head. "I thought you guys know what you're doing."

"Obviously we know that we're going." Robin rolled her eyes with a smile. "But we're doing this entire thing to prove a theory, which means that there is a chance that I was wrong and we won't find what we're looking for."

"Alright… good luck then." The girl yawned again, and closed her eyes with a sigh. "Am glad that Snape is there to bring you back in one piece. McGonagall says you're a magnet for trouble and the obscure."

"Does she now?" Robin's lips quirked into a smirk, but she could tell that Jorien was already falling back asleep. She didn't want to seize any more of her sleep though, and thus she finally made for the door, leaving a few minutes earlier than planned. Oh well... One didn't leave adventure waiting.

… … …

Robin met Snape at the bottom of the spiral staircase that led out of the dungeons. He was wearing different robes than usual, warmer ones, and Robin found herself glad that she wasn't the only one who had planned for a long day out in the cold. They greeted each other with a silent gaze that said enough, then made their way through the empty hallways and out into the courtyard.

The very second Robin stepped out into the open, she realized that it had been a good idea to wear her jacket and not the robes. It wasn't raining yet, but the air smelled of water, soil and electricity in a way that went beyond the morning dew, and the grey sky waiting for the break of dawn was an envoy no less of the impending storm. She breathed in deeply, and had to smile. This was the best birthday present ever.

They had to leave the school grounds in order to apparate to their first destination of the day, and thus they didn't waste any time to make their way down the path to wander beyond the gates. Still, neither spoke a word, and neither did they have to. The serenity of the morning was too calm, too peaceful to disturb with any words spoken in redundancy. They would have all day to chat if they fancied to; why waste words when the silence was enough for now?

It had all been discussed in advance anyway; both Thursday and Friday night, they had sat over Robin's documentations and discussed their options for which plant they should try to find, and thus which theory to prove. They obviously had been limited to the British isles for reasons of time and distance, and also to the acquisition of a plant on Dumbledore's wish. That, and some ambition on Robin's part, had led to their current target and thus their plan of action: they would try to find wraiths' moss today. And ambitious that was indeed, but Robin felt like she had something to prove; to Snape, to Dumbledore and mostly to herself.

It didn't take them long to get away from the castle, to a place beyond the gates where they finally stopped in their track. There was no need to haste, they still had enough time before sunrise. But as they had discovered on multiple occasions, they both preferred being too early over being too late in situations that actually mattered.

This time when Snape held his hand out to Robin, she didn't hesitate to take it. She might be old enough to legally apparate by herself now, but she still had to wait until after the Christmas break to take the twelve week class to get her license to do so, to officially learn to do so. Until then, she would gladly enjoy the privilege of holding his hand for the fleeting moment of traveling. However, even now, she had to painfully remind herself to refrain from lacing their fingers together, a gesture way too intimate to be anywhere near appropriate, and yet one that most of her being was trying to urge her into anyway. But she did hold on tightly, for safety reasons, and was barely able to catch the not-smirk on his lips before the world was torn into a swirling storm of colors and strange sensations.

When Robin's eyes went into focus again, she found herself overlooking the vast sea, and to her great luck a whipping wind blew away most of her nausea after a few seconds of struggling to stay standing upright. She let out a groan as she closed her eyes for a moment, willing away the churning of her stomach while she focused on taking deep breaths. Then she looked back ahead.

They were standing high up on the edge of a cliff, over three hundred meters above the furious black waters that were relentlessly crashing against the solid rock below. The vastly desolate grassland behind their backs was but an illusion of peace in contrast to the ragged and riven stone wall that dropped in a straight vertical a mere two steps ahead. The Scottish east coast; their first destination.

As soon as the dizziness was gone to the point where she didn't feel like she would break down any second, Robin let go of Snape's hand with a silent sigh. The few seconds of having his skin touching hers had once again sufficed to leave her entire self consumed by ridiculous rushes of energy and tingles, but she pushed it to the back of her mind for now in order to do her work. That's what they were here for, after all, to gather the petals of a Haramith flower.

Haramith itself was a plant rather useless for potion making, and thus generally not something anyone would have in stock, but it was essential for Robin's theory on how to find the wraiths' moss. Getting the petals was only step one of many on the road Robin had built in theory to acquire one of the rarest mosses in this part of the world, and now with every step they followed through with successfully, they paved a bit more of that theoretical road into reality.

The good thing about Haramith was that it grew in many places, wildy sprawling on even the poorest soil, and thus it generally wasn't too hard to find. The bad thing however, and the very reason why Snape and Robin had come to a desolate cliff on the eastern shore of the country before sunrise, was that Haramith only blossomed for one single minute of the day. It grew its petals when the sun rose over the horizon, no matter if a single ray of sunshine even graced the earth that day or not, only to lose the petals again after exactly one minute. And when the petals died, they faded into dust within seconds. Which, precisely, was what made it nigh impossible to gather them if one didn't come prepared, which in this case meant knowing exactly when the sun would peek over the horizon. And where better to be precise about that than on the shore?

Robin moved along the very edge of the cliff, looking down the stone wall in search for any specimen of the desired plant she would be able to reach when the sun would rise in approximately two minutes. Due to their sun oriented nature, Haramith flowers were prone to grow on walls like this that were open to the east; at least that's what Robin had read. Indeed, it didn't take her long to find a small patch of green between the ragged stone, but it was further down the wall than she was able to reach. However luck was on her side for once.

"There's a ledge a bit further down the wall." Robin said, looking back over her shoulder at Snape while she took off her backpack and set it down at a good distance to the edge. "We don't have much time left, and there's plenty of Haramith down there. I'm going."

For a moment Snape looked like he wanted to protest, a deep frown settling on his face, but then he moved to stand next to Robin instead of voicing a complaint and glanced down the wall for a second before his eyes were back on her. "Be careful, yes?"

Robin nodded with a small smile, then sat down with her legs dangling over the edge and finally pushed herself over entirely. It really wasn't a far drop, she landed on her feet without any effort and crouched down immediately to keep her weight close to the wall and her body's centre of gravity as low as possible. She wasn't an expert in rock climbing, but she had read about it at some point and she usually remembered what she had read. That really came in handy at times.

Just in the moment she reached out to touch the Haramith, the small flowers beneath her fingertips started to stir. Her eyes widened immediately, and she couldn't help the small smile that fell onto her lips when tiny beads of bright ultramarine started to blossom out of the greyish green stems. It was a beautiful sight, watching them grow and gain in size while never losing their delicacy. After but a moment they were at their final but oh so fleeting state, and Robin almost felt sad to pluck out the petals. But they would grow new ones tomorrow morning, and every day after that as well, so it was more gain to her than loss to them.

Carefully, she placed the fragile objects in a vial she pulled out of her pocket, gathering quite as many petals as she could before all too soon, the remaining ones turned into dust right beneath her fingertips. The ones she had collected however remained perfectly intact, their bright ultramarine piercing her eyes in contrast to her ashen skin as she closed the vial at last and put it back into her pocket. Good… now she just needed to get back up the cliff somehow.

An idea entered her mind, a stupid idea, and she pulled her wand out of her sleeve before she could think better of it, pointed it upwards and closed her eyes for a second in a silent prayer to whoever was listening. Then a wordless ascendio sent her upwards, lifting her over the edge of the cliff and unfortunately even higher, which made the landing quite unpleasant, as she came crashing down onto the grass with a dull thud.

"Bloody hell, I've always hated that charm…" She grumbled to herself, sitting up on the ground with a quiet groan as she rubbed her hurting limbs.

"You could have asked me to help you, you know…" Snape quirked an eyebrow at her, mildly amused by the sight in front of him.

"And you would have done so without mocking me for the next few hours? Doubt it." Robin replied with a small snort, and still let him help her up to her feet the next moment. "I've got the petals, plenty of them even."

"Good." He mused with a not-smirk, observing how Robin dusted off her jeans. "Shall we proceed to the next destination then?"

"Yeah, just… give me a second to breathe between jumping down a cliffside, flying through the air and crashing down on the ground, before apparating again." She sighed, then went to pick up her backpack to throw it back over her shoulders. "Next time, you can do all that and I'll stand up here and watch."

"Professor's privilege. I get to let others do the… unpleasant work." He shrugged with a real smirk now. "However it isn't nearly as entertaining to watch the dunderheads as it is to observe you."

"I don't know if I should feel offended or flattered by that." Robin laughed and shook her head to herself, biting her bottom lip as she had to grin at her own thought. "It certainly is more flattering than what Alexander said to me on Thursday."

"You are aware that I could push you off this cliff in an instant for comparing me to that imbecile, yes?"

"And you're aware that you would be terribly bored without me." Robin quirked an eyebrow at him with a smirk. "Besides, there are four people at least who would most likely come at you if you pushed me off that cliff."

"They obviously do not know you half as well as I do if they would seriously hold it against me." He replied in an instant, and Robin's jaw dropped, a second before she had to laugh. Alright, perhaps he had won that round… which only meant she had to switch the game.

"Fine, do it then." She shrugged with a daring expression, showing but exaggerated casualness as she made calculated steps backwards, blindly nearing the drop with every word while her eyes stayed on his. "I'll even make it easier for you, if you want to get rid of me quite so desperately that-..."

His hand was around her wrist in an instant, pulling her away from the edge while he shot her a glare that was both warning and plea to stop. They both knew that they had walked the line between tease and seriousness too far; it was time to stop, time to return from the place they had gotten themselves into.

"Sorry." Robin was the first to speak, in a whisper only, as she stood a mere step in front of him now. She gave him a sad half smile, but didn't miss the fact that he was still holding onto her wrist as if he was actually afraid she would jump over the edge if he let go. "Sometimes I just…"

"I know." He replied almost calmly, without a trace of actual anger. "But you are right. I would indeed be terribly bored without you."

Robin's smile lost its sadness in an instant, but her heart gained a fullness and warmth instead that made it beat so strongly, she was sure he must've heard it. Still, she would spare him any teases in return for once; if he was being sincere, she would be too. "Good. I would've hated to be the only one who would miss this."

For once he did smile too, a little at least, and he still held onto her wrist, consciously or not. "Are you ready to proceed to the next destination now?"

Robin nodded, upon which he moved his hand from her wrist down to hold hers again, making her heart flutter even more at the deliberately slow touch. But instead of focusing on it, she closed her eyes and prepared for the oddness of apparating, with a frown on her face in anticipation of the discomfort that would soon follow.

"I very likely should not be telling you this before you pass the according class..." He sighed, and Robin quirked an eyebrow but kept her eyes closed nonetheless. "But there are a few things you can do to make the process of apparating less… unpleasant."

"Enlighten me."

"Release the tension in your body, and try to keep it at that state. Clear your mind but for the place you wish to go." He ordered, and Robin tried to focus on relaxing every muscle but the ones in her hand that were needed to hold onto his. "Breathe in deeply, then out again and hold your breath. Keep your eyes closed."

She did as she was told, and an instant later she felt the strange pulling and pushing sensation around her again, the swirling in her mind however was a lot milder already, and the cramping of her stomach barely even there. Before she knew, her feet were on solid ground again, and while her head was very mildly spinning, she didn't feel sick at all when she opened her eyes. Her lips curled into a wide smile.

"I actually didn't experience the discomfort! That's incredible!" Robin beamed up at Snape, who in return rolled his eyes with a not-smirk.

"Bold of you to doubt me." He replied, and this time it was him who let go of Robin's hand first. Not in a haste, but rather because it was the right thing to do. "However I still do hope that this was the second to last time we apparate today."

"Since it doesn't make me feel sick anymore, I actually don't mind it quite as much." She grinned back at him, and only then at last she took the time to look around.

They were standing in the open space of a valley in the middle of the highlands, precisely where they had planned to go. Hills, mountains, stone and green, topped off only by the low hanging grey clouds that came down almost as a shallow mist. Perfect. If it hadn't been for their mission, Robin could've stayed here for hours to drink in the overwhelming beauty of nature. But they had work to do.

"Since you were so keen on helping me earlier, why don't you work the tracing spell now?" Robin quirked an eyebrow at Snape, of course with the ever teasing smirk still playing on her lips, while she took a step away from him to take off her backpack.

"You are insufferable." He rolled his eyes in return, but still took the handbook out of Robin's hand when she held it out to him. "But if you cannot do even this simplest of spells by yourself…"

"You bloody well know I can." She replied with an easy smile; she also knew for a fact that he was just trying to mess with her. But he wouldn't succeed this time.

Without letting his teasing distract her in the slightest, Robin summoned a larger jar which they had prepared in advance last night out of her backpack. Four out of five ingredients for the tracing spell were already inside, perfectly measured of course, and when Robin crouched down to place the whole thing on the ground, she pulled the Haramith petals out of her pocket to add the fifth at last.

"Do you think I can add all of them?" She asked on a whim though, with an inquiring look up at Snape. "I mean… Do you think the measurement of the Haramith even has any impact on the results in this case? I did calculate a specific amount, but measuring it would be such a hassle out here. And now that I think about it, I see no reason why a precise measurement would be necessary in this case. What do you think?"

"It is your tracing spell and your preparation; why are you asking me?"

"Well sorry, but last time I checked you were the potions master." Robin rolled her eyes at him, even if the gesture felt a little silly while kneeling on the ground and looking up at him like that. "Besides, I wasn't asking because you would know any better than me, but because I care about your opinion. But I could also stay sitting on the cold ground to measure the damn thing, if you'd prefer that."

"I believe you could add the entire Haramith without any negative impact."

"Thank you! Was that really so hard?" Robin replied with a smile, before she carefully shook out the petals from the vial into the larger jar. Measuring the flimsy little things would have taken ages indeed, and the knees of her jeans were sodden already.

Without wasting time, she then went ahead to shred all ingredients into tiny pieces until they were a mere blended dust of the same piercing ultramarine as the Haramith itself. So far so good. Before she handed the jar with the mixture to Snape however, she filled a small amount of the dust into the now empty vial, closing it up tightly before she sorted it into a shelf inside her backpack. When she rose to her feet again, Snape shot her a questioning look while she handed him the jar at last.

"I just thought in case this actually works, or even in case it doesn't, it would be nice to have a reference for the next time either way." She shrugged, holding onto the straps of her backpack that she'd placed back over her shoulders. "There's always something to improve on, you know…"

He quirked an eyebrow at her with a not-smirk, holding her gaze for a moment before he finally placed the jar on a rock next to him, then flipped her book open at the marked page that described the tracing spell. It was an uncommon charm, woven together quite messily at the first glance, but it was the best one Robin had found. Snape made quick work of it, speaking the foreign words so easily as if for the millionth time, and Robin couldn't help being mesmerized by the bright blue dust that rose up into the air in a faint line upon the sound of his voice. It was working… bloody hell, it was actually working!

Robin followed the line in the sky with her eyes up to the point where it faded in the distance, then she looked back to Snape with an excited smile. "Ready for a little walk?"

"I am right behind you."

… … …

Walking they did then, following the blue line that faded behind them only to grow longer in front of them in return. Wherever it was leading, their destination was further away than anticipated. After three hours of scrambling through the sheer endless grass and rock, it finally started to rain as if the skies had turned into a waterfall, and they decided to take a break under a small ledge. It wasn't much, but the driest space they had been able to find before hell broke loose. To Robin's great luck, the tracing spell seemed to be entirely unbothered by the train, as the powdery line still remained hanging in the air as clear and smoky as ever. But what use would its persistence be if water in their eyes made it impossible to follow? Even more impossible without getting hurt out there. Thus a break it was, to wait for the worst to pass. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes… the weather in Scotland never stayed the same for long.

The long walk had taken a toll on both of them already, as neither was used to this kind of exercise, but Robin was too determined to see this through, too stubborn to admit that she was exhausted, and she assumed Snape simply was too proud to. It didn't matter either way, she was only glad to be sitting on the insulated blanket that she'd placed on the ground now, and Snape seemed to be equally appreciating of it as he sat next to her with a more or less content expression. Robin still couldn't quite believe that he was actually putting up with all this for her theory. Perhaps even for her as a person. And he seemed to be enjoying himself even!

Sighing quietly in contentment, Robin leaned back against the cold stones behind her and watched the rain. Yes, she was enjoying this. More than she could put into any words.

"I would like to think that the sound of the rain is the universe applauding us." She said instead, with a small smile at the wall of water before she looked over at Snape next to her. "Rain is so full of life, I don't know why people won't appreciate it more."

"Most people see the world differently than you do."

"What about you? Do you see it differently?"

"I used to believe it to be a terribly unfair place. Cold and cruel and indifferent to those who live in it."

Robin's heart squeezed together in a stab of sadness. She hadn't meant to upset him… but the longer she observed his expression, the more she got the impression that he was still calm and content as before. Curious. "You used to believe that? And… what do you believe now?"

"I don't know. The world will always be indifferent to us, but I am not so certain I still stand behind the rest of it."

"Well, it certainly is cold now… With the rain and wind and all that." Robin mused with a small smile, giving him a look that hopefully conveyed lighthearted humor better than her words did. Indeed, a hint of a smile graced his lips in return, and she decided to go on. "But when I think of the laboratory, for example… a crackling red in the fireplace, mixing with the faint bubbling of whatever potion we're making that day and the sound of your voice when you're annoyed with me, but also a silence made of softest velvet. It smells like coffee and books and fire and stone and all the subtle nuances in the potions' fumes. We sit at the table and wait and read and drink coffee and talk, until the next step has to be taken. When I think of that… the world, to me, is nothing but warmth."

A moment of silence followed upon her words, a thoughtful and contemplating silence, which was only broken when the rain lessened and Snape replied at last. "Perhaps you are what renders it warm."

It? The lab? The world? Her own perception? "Perhaps." She replied. Perhaps, his world as well. She shook the thought out of her head as soon as it appeared. Wrong direction to go into, and the wrong time to do so as well. They were here to work. Not to dwell on impossibilities.

_____________________________

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[thearcana-junkie]

“We Won’t Be Gone Long.”

Summary; Julian drags Asra way for house calls, which normally would be fine if he didn’t have to take a three-day boat ride there. Asra really doesn’t want to leave but Julian insists he has to. While their away you go into labor, as soon as Asra knows he’s racing home with his idiot Doctor friend.

Warnings// the softest touches of Angst. Mostly fluff.

Pairing; Asra X Reader

—————————————

Asra whined softly in uncertainty as he looked at his bags by the door, he had about four of them all packed with his belongings. His gaze looked up from the bags to the redhead doctor that was taking them out the door to their carriage (Provided by Nadia), His gaze then turned to you standing in the kitchen tiredly.

This morning before the sun even hit the ocean Julian was knocking on the shop door. You both rose tiredly to answer. Apparently Julian had discussed with Asra about some trip overseas to help some smaller cities, he had agreed partially because he wasn’t paying attention and just wanted Julian to shut up.

Now he was really regretting that decision.

He walked over and grabbed your hands softly. “Are you sure You’ll be okay here... By yourself? For a week.” He asked with a frown. “Of course Asra. The baby isn’t even due for the next two weeks.” You assured softly with a tired smile. “But what if-“

“Assssra!! Stop worrying so much. They said they’ll be fine, then they’ll be fine. Even if the baby does come early— They took on the devil, taking care of a baby by themselves will be easy as cake.” Julian said as he picked up the last of Asra’s bags. Asra looked from him to you and whined pathetically, his hands tightening their grip on yours while he gave you an expression that resembled a kicked puppy. “Julian... Not helping.” You huffed. Julian poked his head back into the shop to say a simple “Sorry” with a grim before popping back out to finish loading.

You let out a sigh as you pulled Asra into a hug, You hugged him tightly, he however hugged lightly— weary of hurting the baby. “Seriously Asra, I don’t understand the problem here.” Julian said sympathetically once he finally came back in. “You don’t— Okay, Remind me why I have to go and why what we’re doing.” Asra huffed as he pulled away from the hug to face the doctor head on. He didn’t look very happy.

“Well, we noticed that some of the smaller cities don’t have any doctors, and often the whole thing with the Devil they desperately need all the help they can get,” Julian spoke as he crossed his arms in a thoughtful manner. “ So we put together all the doctors here and gave them each a city to go to. We all agreed that me; being the amazing professional I am, and you; being the skilled magician you are, would take the biggest of the small cities.”Julian explained. Asra huffed again, “I still don’t understand why I have to go...” He grumbled softly like a child. You just giggled softly at Asra while Julian rolled his eyes.

Julian wrapped a lanky arm around the Magician. “Look here, my Magical friend. Do you know why it takes three days to get there?” Julian hummed. Asra just raised an eyebrow at Julian while lifting his arm off his shoulders, Asra didn’t particularly like being that close to his ex-lover. “Because the city is that far?” Asra said in a curious yet bored tone. Julian began slowly guiding them to the door. “Ppt! No! Because with all the supplies we have onboard the ship is heavier— thus it doesn’t travel as fast.” Julian explained while making hand gestures, Asra just hummed in acknowledgment. “So! This means once we get there if that little one of yours decides it wants to see the sun, we’ll just load up what you and I need and ZOOM!—“ Julian grabbed Asra’s shoulders and quickly spun him around so he was now facing you with his back to Julian. Julian—With his arm extended towards you finished talking; “We’ll be home to greet your new family.”

With that Julian let go of Asra and headed out the door to the carriage. You laughed and shook your head as you walked to your husband. “You heard the Pirate-Doctor. Zoom, and your home.” You smiled as you fixed his scarf. “How is he even allowed to sail? Don’t you have to be in your right mind to be a captain?” Asra asked. You just smiled and kissed his cheek. “I and Faust will be waiting for you.” You hummed.

“Asra!! If you don’t hurry the boa will leave us and we won't be able to go!!” Julian yelled from the carriage. Asra hummed as he mussed over the idea of just staying until the boat left them. “No!” You scolded, “Whaaat?” He laughed. “Go!” You demanded while pointing out the door. “Okay! Okay! I’m going!” He laughed with his arms up in defense while he left the shop. Not of course without giving you a chaste kiss on the lips.

Once the door was closed Faust raised her head up from her place on your shoulder. “Bed?” She asked tiredly. “Yes, Faust, Time for bed.” You yawned as you both headed upstairs.

——————————————————

They had finally just landed in the city, Asra was a nervous wreck by now. He couldn’t contact you the entier ship ride because he couldn’t find a steady body of water. As soon as he was on land he ran to find the closest still body of water.

“Okay. I guess I’ll just get us a room...?” Julian asked as he watched the white-haired magician runoff from the ship.

Once Asra found a good spot he sat and waited for you, once your face finally appeared in the pool of water he smiled his biggest smile. “That was quick. We’re you waiting for me?” He asked. “Ah. Well, I figured you might try to call me this way so I’ve been hanging out around the fountain a lot waiting for your face to show up.” You admitted softly. “Mmm. The fountain? The one at the palace?” He asked after a moment, during that moment he just replayed what you said on repeat in his head so he’d know to remember your voice. “Yeah! Nadia suggested that I come to stay with her while Portia and Muriel took care of the shop. She said it would probably ease your mind if you knew I wasn’t working and had someone with me.” You explained nonchalantly.

Asra had to admit, The thought of Muriel and Portia in charge of the shop kind of terrified him. Then again, Muriel knew what everything was— and Portia had great people skills so the two kind of worked perfectly for the job.

“Well that’s good. How have you been doing? Nothing abnormal?” Asra asked as he leaned over the edge of the pond. “Hmm... Nope! I feel fine. You however— Look exsauhsted.” You stated, “Yeah sea life isn’t for me...” He mumbled as he scratched the back of his neck. Even through the slightly wavering fountain you could tell he had a light blush paint his tan skin. “Mhm... It’s totally not because you were worrying yourself to death on that boat. Right?” You asked with an unamused expression. “I— Well I couldn’t call you so if something happened I wouldn’t be able to know until I got here And— And if something happened, like if there was a complication or—“ You had to quickly butt in to stop Asra from working himself up over ‘what-ifs’

“Asra! Darling, Look, I’m fine. Now your on land and you can call me. You don’t have to worry I promise!” You smiled at him through the water. Asra looked down in thought, his gaze landed on his ring. He took a deep breath. “Your right. I’m worrying to much.” He agreed. “Yes, yes you are. I hate to see what you do when the baby starts walking.” You laughed softly. He chuckled as well at the thought. Soon your laughs died down, there was a long moment where height one of you spoke. “Darling, do me a favor.” You hummed after a moment of silence, his head jerked up to look at you. “Get some rest, Please? For me?” He begged softly.

Asra hummed, the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly into a faint smirk. “Well, You know I can’t refuse when you beg.” He hummed in a sultry voice. You rolled your eyes at his lewd comment. “I love you. Bye!” You acted like you were annoyed but he could tell you found his comment amusing. “Alright Alright. I love you too, my Love. Oh! And kick Lucio for me!” He smiled. “I will I will.” You laughed.

Your face faded from the water. he stayed there though, Just looking at the water just in case your face showed up again. It didn’t. he sighed and stood, he made his way back to the docks. He siliently had cursed himself for not asking Julian where exsactly they where staying.

Much like Asra you linger at the fountain for a moment to see if his face would show up again, when it didn’t you started to get up. The maid who had helped you out the the fountain helped you stand up. “It’s none of my bissinuess but, Why did you tell him you were fine when you’ve been complaining about your stomach hurting all day?” The maid asked softly as she held your arm. “Ah, It’s just heartburn. No need to worry him when I’ve got it under control.” You hummed softly a you walked inside to the palace.

—————————————

After having had a restful nights sleep, Asra woke up to an arm draped over him. Asra huffed as he remember what happened. Julian had gotten a room with one bed so they opted to sharing it under the condition Julian stayed on his side, That of course didn’t happen. Julian was a cuddler and Asra knew this, so setting those ground rules were pointless and he knew it from the moment the words left his mouth. Curse Julian’s horridible linguistics.

“Julian...” Asra huffed tiredly, Julian only stirred softly. “Julian.” Asra stated a little louder, Julian just pulled him closer in his sleep driven state. “Julian! Off!!” Asra snapped as he flung Julian heavy arm off him. Julian followed his arm off the bed in a pile of sheets. “Ow!” Julian yelped before sitting up. “Your fault.” Asra said as he stood up, “Someone’s grouchy in the mornings... I dunno how MC stands you in the morning.” Julian yawned as he laid his head on the edge of the bed. “I am NOT a grouchy morning person. Just when I wake up with you laying on top of me like a body pillow.” Asra growled as he grabbed his shoes, “Mmm... No I’m pretty sure you were a grouchy morning person when it was just us.” Julian hummed tiredly. Asra yelling in annoyance before throwing Julians boot at him. “Maybe get a bigger bed next time!” He snapped. Julian yelped and fell back when his boot collided with his head. “Okay! Gods!” Julian yelled back at Asra.

Asa had planned to call you at some point in the morning to ask if you had slept well and possiably blow off steam by telling you about how annoying Julian was. However he didn’t get the chance, Another thing Julian had neglected to mention was that he had The whole day booked with appoinements.

So Julian and Asra spent the good part of the day asking care of patients, it was well past midnight when he was finally able to try to talk to you. He waited by the pond waiting for you. Like the day before it didn’t take long for you to appear. “Hey! Busy day?” You asked, “Yeah, Julians been running be ragged. Hey listen this morning— hey what’s wrong?” Asra jumped to attention when he saw your face twist in pain. “Ah its nothing! Just a tummy ache.” You brushed it off, Asra didn’t look convinced though. Faust peered into the water at Asra and stuck her tough out. “Baby!” She chirped out. Asra looked confused for a moment but all that confusion went out the window when you leaned over out of view in pain. “Friend!?” Faust yelped in worry. There was another voice but by the time it hit Asra’s ears it was distorted like the image in the water. Everything faded out quickly.

Asra jumped to action, he took off in the direction the the hotel where he left Julian.

Julian was laying bed trying his best to sleep when Asra barged into the room yelling frantically about how he shouldn’t have left and how he was right. He went back and forth between worrying, self loathing, and yelling at Julian. “Asra! Will you calm down!! They’ll be fine! Their’s plenty of doctors in Vesuvia. We’ll leave tomorrow.” Julian said as he draped and arm over his face. “No! o theirs not because— if you’ve forgotten— Some IDIOT sent all the doctors away to different cities!!” Asra screamed at Julian who quickly sat up. “Oh... Right..” Julian bit his lip in guilt.

Asra walked over to stand in front of Julian, He grabbed his shirt and forcefully pulled him up to his feet. “If we don’t get there as soon as possiable. I swear to ever god there is I will lock you in the magic realms!” Asra snarled with a glare that could kill. “O-okay! Okay! Get your stuff and we’ll head out now.” Julian stammered with his hand up in defense.

—————————————————-

Asra and Julian were packed and out within an hour, no matter how fast Julian was going Asra insisted that he needed to hurry.

throughout the journey they fought on and off, thanks to the small boat they used (and Julians any prayers to various god) they arrived in Vesuvias Port that morning. Asra got to the palace as quickly as he could.

Honestly when he burst through the doors and ran pasted a very tired Lucio, everyone was surprised he had made it back so fast. When he finally made it to your room (It wasn’t hard to miss from the crowd of maids and friend as well as the baby cries) He pushed through the the crowd and just.... Stopped... and stared at the sight in front of him.

You laid there in a giant bed, Nadia on one side, Portia and Muriel on the other. You looked exsauhsted but you were also beaming with happiness to the point you had tears in your eyes. A little bundle of blankets in your arms that let out little shrieks.

“Aw look it’s got Asra’s eyes!” POrtia chirped happily while she wrapped her arm around Muriels. Muriel smiled very softly as the baby in your arms held his big finger with its tiny hand. “C’mon MC! I wanna hold the baby!!” Portia whined. “Now Portia.” Nadia sighed, “No.. Asra gets to hold them first. Ain’t hat right, Poppa?” You hummed happily as you looked over at Asra.

He didn’t even know he had started to cry. He waltzed over and took Nadia’s place on the bed, You transferee the baby into his arms. He just watched them while they stared at him. The babies eyes flicked from one person to another, its eyes filled with curiosity. By the time its eyes landed back on Asra, Julian had finally made it into the room.

“See! I told you not to worry, We’d be back in time.” Julian smiled triumphiently. “Julian...” Asra hummed. “yeah?” Julian asked. “I’m never going along with one of your ideas again.” Asra chuckled as he wiped his eyes while handing the baby back to you. Julian opened his mouth to opbject but closed it siliently. He opened it again; “Yeah, no, that’s fair.” he smiled.

#angry asra #asrathearcana #asra x apprentice #asra x mc #asra x reader #the arcana asra #asra alzanar #muriel the hermit #portia devorak #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #count lucio #thearcana #the arcana game #the arcana #pregant #pregnancy #preggers #pregantreader #tooth rotting fluff #fluff

[440mxs-wife]

That One Night

Pairing: Dean x Reader

You were in the library, taking advantage of the silence to dive into the next chapter of your favorite book. You reached for your cup of orange cinnamon tea on the table behind you. The cup was almost to your lips when you heard the bunker door fly open. You nearly spilled your drink in your haste to return the cup to the small table next to your chair. Heavy boots clomped down the stairs and you bolted from your chair to greet them.

"Hey, you guys are home early! I take it things went well?" you asked as you stepped in for a welcome-home hug.

"We came, we saw, we sliced off their heads," Dean quipped. "Seriously, though, if you hadn't called with that last minute bit of info, this would've gone very differently. Thank you, sweetheart," he said as he kissed your temple. "You saved our asses tonight."

You felt your cheeks grow warm at hearing Dean's praise. "Let's not exaggerate things, Dean. You guys have been in much tougher situations way before I came along. You survived just fine," you reminded him.

"Maybe, but it's a lot easier, now that we have the best damn research artist in the hunting world," Dean replied. "I'm gonna go take a shower, then we're headed out for a drink. You wanna join us?" he asked you.

"Nah, you guys go ahead. You deserve to celebrate, since you did all the hard work," you answered.

You had your reasons for not always going to the bar. Usually, you sat in the background while Sam and Dean traded stories with other hunters. From time to time, you went up to the bar to pick up another round, or some snacks. Eventually, the boys would each find a warm body to keep them company. Then, you were left to entertain yourself, at least until someone wanted to go home.

"Aw, come on, sweetheart. What you did was just as important. You deserve to have a little fun, too. Please?" Dean pleaded.

You rolled your eyes in mock annoyance. "Fine. While you're in the shower, I'll get changed," you relented with a smile. You decided to dress up a little, so you changed into your new pair of faded blue jeans with decorated back pockets. A sparkly red scoop-neck tank top, black-and-white flannel shirt and your red Converse shoes completed the outfit.

When you heard the shower turn off, you knew you only had about ten minutes before it was time to leave. You fluffed and sprayed your hair to hold it in place, and kept your makeup to a minimum.

"Last one to the garage buys the first round!" Dean shouted. There was no sense in running, since you had decided you were going to buy the first round anyway. You climbed into the back seat of the Impala, and headed to town.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You'd met the Winchesters several years ago on a particularly nasty ghoul hunt, after which you moved into the bunker. Since you took up residence in the bunker, your role in the hunting world changed. It became less about hunting and more about taking care of things on the home front. You covered the research, kept the boys well-fed and patched up the injuries.

Because of your love for books on any and all subjects, you and Sam quickly became best friends. You liked a lot of the same movies, and told some of the same jokes. You knew every piece of Star Trek trivia, while Sam gave you a run for your money on Star Wars knowledge. On long car rides, you loved to challenge each other with random facts about your favored series.

But Dean? Well....Dean was different. Your dreams were filled with visions of his sexy green eyes gazing at you like you were the only woman in the world. His muscular arms that you longed to have wrapped around you like a warm blanket, keeping you safe. That deep, husky voice of his that nearly melted you every time you heard him call you "sweetheart".

You had no idea when you first noticed your feelings towards Dean were starting to grow. They had almost reached a point to where you were afraid that one day you'd accidentally let it slip. Then you knew you'd hear the inevitable "I love you, but just as a friend" speech. After that, life at the bunker would be forever changed. So you dealt with it the only way you knew how. You pushed your feelings down, ignored them and talked yourself out of having them altogether.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As usual, most of the talk around the table was about hunting. What wasn't usual was that for some reason, Dean seemed to be paying extra attention to you tonight. He wasn't letting you just sit back and let everyone else talk. He had his arm around your shoulder, sometimes running slow, lazy circles on it, causing goosebumps to form. From time to time, he would lean over and whisper in your ear to tell you some smart-ass remark or a joke.

You looked around the bar and there certainly was no shortage of women for Dean to choose from to keep him company. It made you wonder why he was focusing all of his attention on you tonight. Some of the women would slowly walk by the table, trying to catch Dean's eye, but he didn't seem to care. As they left, the women mostly glared at you, like you didn't belong with Dean.

Jerry, one of the other hunters at the table was in the middle of a story when a blonde and her red-headed friend stopped by the table. "Hey, there handsome," the blonde purred. "Wanna dance?" she asked Dean.

"What a great idea," Dean said as he exited the booth. His eyes never leaving yours, he held out his hand. "Shall we, sweetheart?" he grinned, leaving the blonde to pick up her jaw from the floor.

"I...I...sure, Dean," you stammered. You slid out of the booth and took his hand. When you stood up, you were close enough to Dean that your noses nearly touched.

"After you, darlin'," Dean said. His hand moved from holding yours to the small of your back to guide you to the dance floor, where the next song was a slow one. Dean smiled as he took your hands and brought them up to clasp them behind his neck. Then he settled his hands on your hips and pulled you closer to his chest, swaying you both to the music.

As the song ended, Dean pulled back from you a little, a soft smile on his plump, kissable lips. "Thanks for the dance, sweetheart," he said softly. He leaned in and as he gave you a lingering kiss on the cheek, you closed your eyes in contentment.

"Anytime, Dean," you whispered.

"Want to head back to the table for another drink?" he asked.

"I will in a minute," you answered. A puzzled look crossed his face. "Restroom," you giggled, as he relaxed a bit.

Still tingling from the dance and what happened after, you had a bit of a spring in your step as you headed for the restroom. Maybe there's hope after all, you thought. Maybe it isn't just me feeling this way. You entered the restroom and closed the stall door behind you.

Suddenly the door burst open and slammed against the wall behind it. Somebody's pissed, you thought.

"Joanie, calm down!" you heard.

"Calm down?!? Shelly, how the hell can I calm down?!? I ask him to dance and he completely ignores me!!" Joanie seethed. "And for what?? That stupid, pathetic nerd-girl who never says anything, just fetches drinks for them all night!"

You could see through the space in the stall doorframe that "Joanie" was the blonde from earlier who stopped by your table. "Shelly" was her red-headed friend.

"What could he possibly see in her?" Joanie continued. "She's not pretty, a boring techno-geek who probably runs around quoting 'Star Trek' all the time," she finished.

"Well, he has been drinking, or maybe he felt sorry for her because she doesn't have a boyfriend," suggested Shelly.

"That has to be it. Because there's no way he'd go for someone like her when he could have someone like me. Can I borrow your lipstick? I'm going to go back out there and do something about this. I need to 'freshen' up before I go back out there, though," she giggled.

Tears sprang to your eyes at what they were saying about you. You knew you didn't deserve anything they said about you, but still their words hit a little close to home. Worse, it got you thinking about why Dean was paying extra attention to you tonight. What if they were right? That he was drunk and didn't know what he was doing? Or worse, that he felt sorry for you?

You washed your hands and checked your face before exiting the restroom. You knew your eyes were probably still red, but in the dim lighting of the bar, you thought no one should notice.

When you got back to your table, you noticed that your partially finished drink from earlier was still there. However, everyone else had moved to the back corner where the pool table was. Oh, good. Maybe a game of 8-ball will take my mind off of things, you thought.

You picked up your drink to finish it off. Before the liquid could touch your lips, you heard the same laughter as you did in the restroom. You lowered the glass and your eyes traveled over to the corner. There for all to see was Dean up behind Joanie, helping her line up a shot.

You gasped at the sight before you, final confirmation of Dean's true feelings about you. Joanie must have heard you or had otherwise known you were there. Just before she made her shot, she looked up at you and gave you a knowing smirk. When the ball went into the pocket, she squealed, jumped into Dean's arms and locked lips with him.

Not waiting around to see what came next, you turned on your heel and headed for the back door. The bar had a patio area for additional seating, but it was empty tonight. You climbed up on one of the picnic tables to sit on top as your feet rested on the bench seat. Your hands covered your face as tears streamed down your cheeks.

The sound of flapping wings caught your attention and you turned to see Castiel had appeared, his trenchcoat billowing behind him. You wiped your tears and tried to regain your composure. "Hey, Cas. What are you doing here? Do you need something? Is everything okay?" You stopped because you realized you were rambling a bit.

"Good evening. No, I don't need anything, but I don't think everything is okay with you. Am I right?" he asked.

You turned to look in his ocean-blue eyes and rested your head on his shoulder. "Yeah, you're right, it's not okay with me right now. Can you please take me back to the bunker?" you asked.

"Shouldn't you tell Sam and Dean that you're going home?" Cas asked.

"They'll figure it out when I don't come back from the restroom. Besides, I saw them in the corner at the pool table. They're having plenty of fun without me," you muttered.

In the blink of an eye, you were back in your room, with Cas standing next to you. "Thank you, Cas. I'll be all right for now," you remarked.

"Are you sure? I'm here if you want to talk about anything," he offered.

"I really don't, Cas. I'm going to take a shower then go to bed. Goodnight," you said with a yawn. With a flapping of wings, Castiel was gone.

You gathered your robe and your towel then headed for the showers. The rushing hot water from the shower was doing little to wash away the thoughts about what happened earlier. You put your hair up in your towel and walked back to your bedroom to dry off. After you changed into some pajamas, you locked the door and turned off your light to try and get some sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"So, you didn't see where she went?" Dean asked. He and Sam were returning from the bar, worried about what may have happened to you.

"Dude, you took her out on the dance floor, and that's the last time I saw her. I was too busy on my phone looking for cases to see anything else," Sam replied.

"Dammit! Where could she be? Last place I saw her was after the dance, then she went to the restroom. I thought for sure she'd come back and we could pick up right where we left off," he remarked. "We were having such a good time tonight, too," he muttered.

"I noticed you were getting a little cozy with her tonight," Sam smirked. "If you were having such a good time, what were you doing with that blonde chick, um, Joanie was it?" he asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's her. Practically threw herself at me, which, for a woman to do normally isn't a problem. But, this time it felt....wrong, like I was betraying someone," he replied.

He explained to Sam that Joanie had stopped by the table earlier and asked him to dance. He mentioned that he had turned her down and asked you to dance instead.

"Joanie's had her eye on you for months now and hasn't really let up at all. Then you choose someone else to dance with? I bet she was pissed," Sam observed.

Dean said that before you could come back from the bathroom, Joanie dragged him over to the pool table to play. He told Sam that it was his intention to play a game with you, not Joanie.

"Joanie asked me to show her how to make this one shot, so I did. Then she kissed me and afterwards, she asked me if I wanted to go home with her. I told her no, and she went ballistic. Her friend, Shelly, had to drag her out of there, kicking and screaming," he chuckled at the memory.

A little later, Dean pulled the Impala into her parking space in the bunker garage. He raced down the spiral staircase, noticing that all the lights were off but one. When he got to your bedroom door, he tested the knob only to find that it was locked. Dean gently knocked and softly called your name. He didn't hear anything or see any light under your door, so he figured you were sleeping. He turned and went back down the hall to his own room, hoping to get some sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, you got up early to make breakfast. After last night, you wanted to minimize your chances of running into Dean, at least for the moment. Being in the same room with him was bound to be awkward for awhile. You decided to do your best to keep it on a friendly level, no matter how much you wanted it to be more.

After you finished the last batch of pancakes, you covered them with aluminum foil to keep them and the bacon warm. At that moment, Sam came in from his morning run and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Hey, what happened to you last night? We were looking all over for you," he remarked, taking a long pull on the bottle.

"What do you mean?" you replied, your eyes never leaving the task at hand.

"Dean said you were in the restroom, then you never came back to the table. What's up?" Sam persisted.

"Nothing's 'up', Sam. I did come back to the table. I was going to finish my drink, realized it was all watered down and left it sitting there. I saw you all in the corner by the pool table, but I started feeling tired. I went out back for some air, Cas showed up and I asked him to take me home," you finished.

"Why didn't you let one of us know where you were? Dean was worried about you when you didn't come back from the restroom. If you were tired, we would've taken you home," Sam said pointedly.

"You all looked like you were having enough fun over there without me, and I didn't want to intrude. Besides, it looked like Dean was keeping himself occupied anyway," you muttered. You put a couple of pancakes on a plate for yourself and snagged some bacon, leaving the bulk of it for Dean. "I'm going to my room for a while. Later, Sam," you said as you exited the kitchen.

You saw Dean walking towards the kitchen and ducked into the library just in time to escape his radar. Guilt crept in that you were actively trying to avoid him, but you felt it would be better for you both in the long run.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A short time later, Dean stumbled into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in all different directions and his eyes not quite focused. He saw the plate of bacon and pancakes and was on instant alert. "She made breakfast? Where is she now?" he asked.

"She just left, took a plate to her room. She looked tired, eyes were kind of red," Sam explained. He filled a plate and took a seat opposite his brother at the table.

Dean fixed himself a plate of pancakes and mostly bacon. He wanted to talk to you about what happened last night and ask why you didn't come back to the table. He decided that after breakfast, he was going to talk to you and make sure you were okay.

Last night when he couldn't sleep, Dean thought back on the events of the evening. When you said you would go out to the bar, he couldn't believe his luck. He noticed that in the few times when you did join them at the bar, you tended to keep to yourself, not really saying much. Dean wished you felt more comfortable in the group, that you would open up a little more.

When you came out wearing that sparkly red tank top, his mouth ran dry and his heart started racing. It was his favorite color on you, because it reminded him how sassy you were when you wanted to be. He loved your sense of humor, injecting hilarious one-liners into the conversation when no one was prepared.

Dean also knew that beneath your quiet exterior was a woman of genuine caring and pure passion. That's the layer he wanted to get to, and learn more about. Thus, he made it his mission that night to show you that you belonged in the group, even if you didn't always feel that way.

As the night continued, he found himself drawn towards you and really seeing you, maybe for the first time. He thought about how your eyes flash when you and Sam get into your "Star Trek vs. Star Wars" debates. The way your mouth scrunches up when you're researching for a case. Your soft and silky locks that he can't wait to run his hands through or use to tug you closer to him.

The more he noticed about you, the more it made him want to focus more of his attention on you. To him, it felt natural for him to put his arm around your shoulder and keep you close. His fingers tracing patterns over your skin could almost be considered possessive. Kind of like his way of telling other men to back off, that you were his. Having you in his arms as you danced together, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace, and he never wanted to let go.

When Joanie was hanging all over him, it was different. It felt empty and superficial. When she kissed him, Dean didn't feel that connection, that spark the way he did with you. He couldn't wait to break away from her lips and get as far away from her as possible. He realized now who he felt like he was betraying when Joanie was all over him. She wasn't you.

Dean finished his breakfast and put his plate in the sink. He started to walk back to his bedroom when he saw you in the library, reading in your favorite chair. Well, you had a book open in your lap and you were sitting in your chair, but your eyes were doing anything but reading.

As Dean approached you, he could see the redness in your eyes. If he didn't know any better, he would say that you were tired, but he knew that you'd been crying. He was filled with this need to find out who had hurt you and to make sure it didn't happen again.

"Hey," he said softly as he rested his hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

Mask in place, you slowly turned to face Dean. "Hey, Dean. What's up? Is there something I can help you with? Some case you need researched?" you asked.

Dean knelt down next to your chair and searched your face for some clue as to what happened last night. "No, no, nothing like that. No cases right now, you can relax. Are you okay? You seem a little upset about something," he remarked.

You fought to keep your emotions under control and hoped that the battle wasn't showing in your face. "I'm fine, a little tired maybe, but I'm fine," you tried to assure him.

"If you're sure," he murmured, though not quite convinced. "Hey, what happened to you last night? You said you were going to the restroom, then I thought you were coming back," he stated.

You slammed your book closed and abruptly rose from your chair. "I already explained this to Sam. I went back to the table for my drink, but you all were off in the corner by the pool table. About that time, I was feeling tired, so I went out back to get some air. Cas showed up and I asked him to bring me home. End of story," you spat out in a rare flash of anger.

As you started to walk away, Dean quickly stood up, staring after you. He raced to catch up to you before you could leave the library. "Wait a minute. If you saw us over by the pool table, why didn't you come back over? I thought we were having a good time together," he persisted.

"We were, Dean. It was one of the best nights I've had out with you guys in a long time. Until...." you broke off, tears threatening.

Dean reached out and took your hand. "Until what, darlin'?" he asked softly.

You tore your hand from his. "Until I saw you and Joanie locking lips in the corner. After what she said about me in the restroom...." You shook your head. "You know what? I've got no right to say who you hook up with, who you choose to be with. I don't know what I was thinking," you muttered as you started walking towards your room.

"Whoa, wait a minute. What did she say about you? Because I'll guarantee you it's not true," he demanded, blocking the entrance to your room.

You took a deep breath to compose yourself. "She said I was a 'stupid, pathetic nerd-girl, a boring techno-geek who runs around quoting Star Trek all day'," you replied. "She said there was no way you'd go for someone like me when you could have someone like her," you whispered.

"Oh, sweetheart...." Dean whispered, his heart aching for how you must have felt.

"I don't know what's worse, that she said all that, or that I'm inclined to believe her," you started. "I wasn't sure why you were paying so much attention to me last night, when usually you're otherwise occupied.

"But, I do know that I liked how you made me feel, especially when we were dancing. Even if it was for just one night," you admitted softly, your eyes cast downward.

Dean hooked his finger under your chin to tilt your head up so he could gaze into your eyes. "Who said it was for just one night? When you said 'yes' to coming out with us last night, I was so excited, darlin'. I know you don't come out with us often, so I wanted to make it special for you.

"As the night went on, I noticed how much I was enjoying just being with you. It was fun to whisper jokes and comments in your cute little ear, because it let me get even closer to you. To have my arm around you felt like the most natural thing in the world, like you belonged there. Especially true when we were dancing," he grinned, causing you to giggle a bit.

"Dean, when I saw you kiss Joanie, I thought I had read too much into what was going on between us. That you didn't mean it, that she was more like what you wanted. It was one of the reasons why I didn't go over to the pool table. I figured that if you were happy with her, I was going to stay out of the way," you explained.

"Darlin', I swear, that was all her, the kissing part. Anyway, I couldn't kiss back," Dean confessed. "One, I didn't feel anything, there was no connection. And two, I felt like I was somehow being unfaithful to someone....well, to you.

"I couldn't sleep last night because I was trying to figure out how I feel about you. Sweetheart, I am in love with you. You are a compassionate, selfless and intelligent woman who has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met. That's what makes you beautiful to me. Although I must say, you are smokin' hot on the outside, too," he remarked, waggling his eyebrows.

"I am in love with you, too. Have been for a long time, just never had the courage to say it. You are one in a million, Dean Winchester. You are a smart and caring man, who puts others before himself and who's more than a little bit gorgeous," you giggled. "You are worthy of all the love this world has to give, and I am more than happy to give my heart to you," you finished softly.

Dean licked his lips and reached up with his hand to cup your cheek, while you moved in to close the gap between you. Like two magnets, your lips crashed into each other as what started as a spark soon built into a raging bonfire.

Your tongue swept across Dean's bottom lip to request access, which he gladly granted with a smile. As you explored each others' mouths, you could taste the sweetness of the maple syrup from the morning's pancakes with the salt from the bacon. Your hand slid up to cup his cheek, gently caressing it with your thumb.

Determined to leave no territory untouched, Dean dropped a trail of feather-light kisses across and down your neck. When he reached your collarbone, his playful nips turned into more of a love bite, sucking at the skin to soothe the pain. "Mine," he murmured against your skin.

"Yours, only yours, Dean," you whispered as you ran your fingers through his hair. You gave it a gentle tug and were rewarded with a growl of pleasure.

When the two of you broke apart, you were both panting, trying to catch your breaths. "All this time," Dean began, as he touched his forehead to yours. "All this time, and you were right here. How could I not have seen how lovely and wonderful you are before now?" he mused.

You closed your eyes, your hand still on his cheek. "Doesn't matter, Dean. What does matter is that we're together now. And I intend on making the most of our time, regardless of whatever may come our way. I love you, Dean," you remarked.

"Sounds like a great plan, making the most of our time together. I love you too, sweetheart," Dean replied.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #spn imagines

[cayde-6]

A much needed conversation

(Warning my grammar sucks, also I have edited it in hopes to show that the character Faire isn't just a random person.)

"Atlas, come on Atlas wake up!" Comes the voice of Shaxx

I open my eyes to see him standing next to my side of the bed.

"Osiris is calling you." Shaxx tells me

"Thanks." I look at the time. "I wonder why he's calling me so early in the morning." I grumble as Drachen transmates my helmet on and patches me through to Osiris. "What's up bird grandpa?" I ask

"Atlas I need you to come to my coordinates, it's important." Osiris answers

"Alright I'll be there," I hang up and slide out of bed.

"What did Osiris want?" Shaxx asks

"No idea, he wants me to meet him at his location." I reply slightly annoyed

"Well I'm off to officiate Crucible matches, please be careful." Shaxx says

"I will." I helmet kiss him and after Drachen puts on the rest of my armor he transmats me up to my ship.

Soon I'm flying to Osiris's location where Drachen transmats me down, standing there is Osiris and Crow. I of course pull a Shaxx and don't take my helmet off.

"What do you two need?" I ask

Crow looks nervous while Osiris steps forward.

"Atlas I am going to take Crow to the Tower, he needs to train to be a better Hunter and among other things." Osiris tells me

I freeze and Cayde's dead exo face flashes through my head, Uldren's smug face also flashes through my head. I feel my solar and stasis powers flowing around me, the darkness whispering louder to me but I push it back with my light. Suddenly I'm no longer standing with Osiris and Crow but with a living Cayde.

"Cayde," I choke out reaching for my friend.

"How's it been buddy," Cayde asks, pulling me to him and hugs me tightly.

I start sobbing. "I miss you so much, Ikora and Zavala aren't talking anymore and they're so distant from each other. I'm trying to keep them together but Shaxx and I can only do so much." I ramble

"What else is bothering you," Cayde questions running a hand through my hair.

"Uldren's back as a Guardian named Crow and it's not fair that he gets to come back. It's not fair a deranged murder is brought back by the Traveler who seems to favor him while you're left dead. I know I'm favored by the Traveler too but now I don't have anyone, you're as close to a family that I've ever got. Honestly Zavala and Ikora never really cared for me, they only care about the fact that the Traveler favors me! I cry out the last words

Cayde rubs my back. "Atlas know that Zavala and Ikora do care for you and not just because you're favored by the Traveler, they wouldn't have given you those sessions to help you with my death, they love you like family even if they're too stubborn to admit it. Speaking of my death I know it seems unfair that my murder gets to come back but take that opportunity to shape him into a better person. I know your friends will help, especially that Warlock friend of yours Faire. Remember it was my time to go and I don't regret anything well other than the dept I left behind and the fact that I should have killed those Barons, but now I know my decisions shaped your and Uldren's, no Crow's future. I'm not asking you to be like Faire and baby him but treat him like a Guardian, help him escape Spider's and Mara's grasps. Take him to the Tower with Osiris and show him the Hunter nests, show him why I gave you the title of Honorary Hunter. Do it for me." Cayde tells me then starts fading away

"Cayde don't go!" I shout trying to hug him tight enough to keep him with me.

Cayde hugs me back then says. "Don't worry I'll be watching over you and the others, I bet you'll make an impact in Crow's life. He fades away

"I accept your bet," I whisper, then clench my Memory of Cayde Mark.

All I see is solar, void and arc energies swirling around me then darkness but not the evil one, I hear voices and realize that I'm back with Osiris and Crow.

"Osiris what happened to him?" Crow asks scared

"I'm not sure, Drachen is he okay?" Osiris questions my Ghost

I feel Drachen's light sweep over me as he scans me. "He's fine but I have no idea what happened."

"I'm okay," I groan and I open my eyes to see I'm on the ground with my helmet off.

Osiris is kneeling over me and I see my sub class energies are fading away and back into my body, Osiris helps me sit up and I see the infamous Warlock curiosity in his eyes.

"What happened?" Osiris asks

I take a deep breath and hold my hand out to Drachen who settles down on it, I pull him to me. "I spoke to Cayde." I tell him

Osiris gets a confused look. "How?" He asks

"I don't know but I promise you I did, I think the Traveler did something to let us speak." I reply then look down at my Ghost who is looking up at me.

"Go on Atlas." Drachen encourages me

"We talked about things that are troubling me and he made one last bet which was to me." I look at Crow then whisper. "He wants me to help him."

"I understand." Osiris responds

Osiris helps me stand up.

"Come on we got a Hunter to show the Tower, I wasn't given the title of Honorary Hunter for no reason." I say

"Wait honorary Hunter, what does that mean I thought you're a Titan." Crow asks confused

"I'll tell you about it while we move your stuff into your ship." I reply

We follow Osiris over to Crow's ship and soon Faire appears.

"Shaxx sent me, he was freaking out saying something was wrong with you. He felt your light go haywire." Faire says

I look at Crow. "I'll tell you after I tell her what happened because she'll just keep pestering me if I don't and I want the story to be uninterrupted." I tell him

"Hey, I don't pester." Faire shoots a look at me.

I put my hands up. "Rule one don't upset Warlocks." I say to Crow then look at Faire. "You know you do and if you're not pestering me then you're mother henning me." I grumble

"You mother hen me!" Faire shoots back

Osiris laughs. "You both mother hen each other."

Faire looks at Osiris and asks; "Have you eaten yet?"

Osiris looks away, Faire mutters something under her breath but I catch it and snort.

"See Crow she mother hens everyone." I tell the younger Guardian

I then start explaining what happened to me to Faire as we start moving Crow's stuff.

#destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny titan #destiny oc #destiny game #destiny osiris #destiny crow #destiny cayde #Faire isn't mine but my friend's who honestly really doesn't mind if I use Faire