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tardis-ghost-blog · 2 years

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Change is the constant (Dhawan!Master x Reader)

Rating: T (mostly fluff and bickering ;D) Summary: You always seem to get lost in the Master's TARDIS. Or is there something else going on? A/N: Someone in a Discord server mentioned how funny it would be if the Master had a habbit of constantly redecorating his console room and how a potential companion would be super confused about it... So I had to write just that. XD Enjoy ;) I didn't use any pronouns. So anyone can read it. Also, this - technically - could still be Simm!Master, if you prefer him ;D

Being the Master's companion had many benefits. You had your own room, free access to the wardrobe and even your own kitchen. Especially the latter had been of great importance during the time you had been his prisoner.

But when the time came for the Master's grand scheme to end and for the Doctor to collect you from his grip, things had long changed between the two of you. A strange companionship had formed that was neither quite friendship nor animosity and yet comfortable enough that you decided to… simply stay with him.

This is why you found yourself in a new, yet familiar situation this morning. After a nice shower and cradling your favourite hot beverage in a steaming mug in your hands you strolled through a door you had been certain would lead to the control room. Only that this wasn't what you remembered it to look like.

Yesterday it had been more akin to a library, with shelves lining the walls and a weirdly soothing green light that emanated from the control table. Today you were greeted by a mingle-mangle of papers, writing equipment, old maps and mahogany furniture. And nothing looked like it could even remotely be a control table. So you probably stumbled into a new room... again.

You sighed and flopped down in a dusty wingback, placing the mug on a small table to replace it with a book that had been sitting there. Something about the ancient culture of a place you had never heard of.

The moment you decided to leave you heard a door creak open and saw a familiar coat entering your field of vision.

"Ah, there you are, pet," greeted the Master. "I almost thought you had fled already."

"Fled?" You snorted, eyeing him over the rim of your mug. "There's nothin' to flee from. The only thing that's scaring me here, is how everything's changing all the time. I can never quite find my way 'round."

The Master stepped closer, chuckling as he bent down to place his hands on the armrests to either side of you. "It's only because you can't understand my TARDIS. She's telling you whatever you need to know. Pity your brain is too underdeveloped to perceive it."

The proximity to his face made you gulp and shrink a little and every answer slipped from your mind before it could leave your lips. But the Master already left, pushing himself away and swirling around with a clap of his hands.

"So. Any plans? I'm done with mine, for now. The emperor of Derkalga wasn't a challenge after all. Sadly. Was hoping to play with him a little longer, but oh well…"

"Th…" You stopped and coughed slightly to get yourself together again. "The waterfalls of Zelfraxatoria sounded nice. You mentioned them a few days ago and… and I thought…"

"Mhm… yes! Splendid idea, pet. I wanted to collect some dust from the lorica flowers anyway. Highly toxic if you mix them with… anyway…" He gave you a bright, toothy grin. "Go get changed. It's rather warm there." And when you needed a moment to get up he waved his hands towards the doors. "Hush hush. Off you pop. Don't make your Master wait."

Quickly you shot up and left the room, almost running towards the wardrobe to pick some short trousers and a shirt in a nice colour. Some comfy shoes also wouldn't hurt and you even found a straw hat that you couldn't decide if it looked nice or ridiculous. But you took it anyway and jogged to the kitchen to pack some sandwiches and a bottle of water. The Master never quite got a hang of how much humans need to survive.

When you finally rounded the corner and opened the door to what you were certain was the console room you found yourself in yet another completely foreign environment. The walls had countless of the round shaped tiles you knew from other places and had a light turquoise colouring. Black pillars of vines surrounded a stone well and wore torch holders of iron. With actual torches in them.

Your mouth hung open as you turned around yourself to take in the beautiful contrast of orange and blue hues in this room. And only then did you discover the top of a head peeking out from behind the well. The Master sat there, leaned against the dark stones, fingers tapping out a steady rhythm of four against his knee. His eyes opened and a smile crept onto his features as soon as you came into sight.

"That hat looks awful," he taunted, although his voice was surprisingly soft.

You squatted down in front of him, taking the hat off to put it on him instead. It was a funny sight, although he managed to still look infuriatingly handsome.

"What're you doing down there?" you asked, hiding a giggle. "Aside from insulting me, of course."

The Master furrowed his brows, his look darkening so much that you feared to have gone too far. He reached up to plug down the hat and then tossed it away, glaring at you. "You can't hear it, can you?" he muttered darkly, tapping his rhythm again. "It never stopped. Never found out how to get rid of it." He gritted his teeth as if in pain and suddenly shot forward, grabbing your shirt to drag you towards him. "It's completely useless now and I still can't get it to be quiet. Only the TARDIS helps a little."

"O… okay?" You vaguely remembered him telling you about some signal his race had once implanted into his mind, but you hadn't known it affected him that much. "Sorry. I didn't want to… I… don't even know. Does it hurt?"

He grunted and pinched his eyes shut for a moment, then shook his head and sighed, dragging you still a tiny bit closer until your foreheads connected. And for a short moment you could hear it. The drumbeat, ever repeating, but faint.

"Doesnt matter," mumbled the Master and let go of you. We wanted to go somewhere, didn't we? Keep me busy."

"Yeah, sure. The waterfalls. But say…" You sat up on your knees, trying to hide your racing heart. "Where are we?"

"What do you mean, 'where are we?' It's the console room. Same as ever."

"The…" Your mouth hung open. "Definitely not same as ever! It looked completely different a few days ago. It had green lights and books everywhere!"

The Master snorted and heaved himself to his feet, reaching a hand down that you took. You didn't expect him to draw you close as soon as he had helped you up, but he did, a grin on his lips again. "I've read all the books already. No need for them anymore."

"You what!? How fast can you read? The room only looked like that for three days!"

He shrugged.

"Wait…" A thought appeared to you. "Was the room from before also here?"

Now he rolled his eyes. "Of course it was, silly."

"But now it looks so different."

"Yeah… I'm not in the mood for paper and wood. This has more flair."

"And…" Something dawned on you. "The room I stumbled in the last evening? Shortly before I went to bed. The one with the red balloon lanterns?"

"Please. Why would I keep that? It's not a day for red."

"And you can't just change the light bulbs to have a different colour? I liked those lanterns."

"Pah, lanterns are boring. I needed something quiet."

"So you redecorated the entire room instead of just… going somewhere else?" you asked dumbfounded.

The Master snickered and snapped his fingers. Some controls slid out from the well and he pushed a few buttons, after which the light started to dim and shapes started to shift. It was hard to make out anything until it was done. And when it was, you found yourself in yet another version. One that looked like a regular living room, with a tea set on the couch table and even a TV in one corner.

"More like home for you?" he mocked. "Awfully human, isn't it?"

You shut your mouth, only now realising it had hung open. "I'd actually prefer the room to stay the same, thanks. I always thought… gosh! All those times I thought I'm lost I was actually here, wasn't I? How often do you keep changing it?"

He shrugged, plugging a pillow from the sofa and promptly tossed it in your direction. Surprised, you managed to evade, hearing it plopp to the ground. A snickering followed and you glared at the Master, unsure if his behaviour was more annoying or amusing, although you were happy to spend time with him. All the schemes and tricks he loved to play didn't leave much room for it, usually.

"So… we're going out, or do you plan to stay here in your awfully human living room?" you taunted, tongue poking out from between your teeth.

You swiped the pillow from the ground, about to throw it back, but the Master was in your personal space faster than you could move. His hands snaked over your own, leaving no room to move in any direction. Again your heart sped up and jumped when you saw his charming smile.

"You know, pet," the Master said, voice smooth as silk, "I kept you here, because you're distracting. The only thing that really helps." His head dropped against yours. "So… be a good little human and do your job, will you?"

Swallowing the lump in your throat you nodded, hoping he couldn't feel how fast your heart was beating. The pillow between you was hopefully hiding it.

"We'll then." Did you imagine it or had his eyes just darted to your lips for a moment? "Let's visit some waterfalls, shall we?" He let go of you and marched to a corner of the room to pick up your discarded hat to put in on you again. His smile widened. "Looks better the second time."

The smile fully blossomed to a grin and he swirled around to the controls - now inside the chimney - to push some buttons. The engines sprang to life, landing you in a new place. Then, again, the lights dimmed and everything blurred to shapes, setting itself together to something that more resembled the control rooms you knew, a hexagonal shaped table in the middle with its rotor slowly rising and falling. Desks appeared, filled with vials and devices for research. Bookshelves, a fireplace with blue flames and some comfy leather sofas.

"Again?" you asked.

"It's definitely a day for blue," explained the Master, as if it were the most natural thing to say. "And I'll collect some samples outside, so I need to experiment with them later."

You pointed at the comfy corner. "And this?"

The Master stepped in front of you again, tipping against your hat to smile at you. "I wouldn't mind some company."

"R… really?"

"Sure. It's always fun to see your brain almost explode from all the simple things you're too human to understand."

"Oi!" You slapped his arm, but couldn't hide the smile.

The Master let out a bellowing laugh, striding to the doors to open them dramatically.

"You coming?"

#The Master #dhawan!master #the master x reader #reader insert #doctor who #Doctor Who fanfiction

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mxvladdy · 3 years

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wait holy shit youre taking requests???? okay first of all, im in love with your writing skills especially those true forms they are *chefs kiss* magnifique. second, may i request for an angst but fluff ending prompt for barbatos/simeon/solomon (im an absolute simp for them) about MC having a really bad asthma attack and coupled with anxiety attack? (totally not me lmao) please and thank you! sorry for being too specific!

A/N: Oshbagosh! I hope you are good fam! You have excellent taste in simpin ngl Barbatos came out of left field for me, though I am weak for a quick wit and sharp tongue lol. And thank you for liking my works! Sorry, this took so long;.;

I hope my research was good and accurate!

Barbatos

Does not know what is going on at first. Were you having an allergic reaction to something you ate? Had you gotten into some Devildom spices he hadn’t secured well enough?

Panics internally. He is very ready to spend the exurbanite amount of energy it would take to turn back the clocks before you started wheezing.

Externally he keeps a level head, glad his gloves hide how sweaty his palms are. He remembers then your human medical file.

He tends to you quickly grabbing your medication and carrying you away from whatever triggered this attack.

“Do you need a doctor?” Barbatos asks for the umpteenth time. He runs a gloved hand up and down your back. You shake your head weakly coughing to try and dislodge some phlegm now breakdown in your throat. You take a shaky breath feeling your airways loosen, the fresh air that fills your lungs taste so sweet.

“I’ll be ok Barb.” You wheeze taking another deep inhale from your inhaler. “Stop hovering and sit please, you are starting to stress me out more.” The demon makes a weird tutting noise in distress but comes to sit next to you. You lean back with a groan. The garden wall was rough on your back but you didn’t care at the moment. It had been so long since you had a flare-up you had almost forgotten what it felt like. You shift over slightly seeking out the heat of your companion's body. Exhausted you flop over to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Here let me.” He pulls out his ornate handkerchief and starts whipping at your nose and eyes. “What triggered this love? Have I missed someplace in my cleaning?” He knew he didn’t, never in all his years had he ever missed a spot. He would retire in shame if he did, but he felt like he had to fill the silence. If you were talking that meant you were alright. Right? He curses at himself. He thought he knew more about humans than this, yet you somehow threw curveball after curveball at him. He needs you to be safe and happy yet he choked on something like this? Perhaps he would suffer more of Solomon’s companionship to pick his brain on human ailments. As long as he could dodge eating any of his cooks.

You fidget as he cleans your face and fusses over you, but you let him. This was for his benefit more than yours. “No, I think it's pollen. Your plants are not something I’m used to yet, and with the wind, it just hit harder.” He grunts, not pleased with your answer. He could do anything about the plants, and things out of his control were few and far between. You catch the inner argument he was having with his many selves and scoff. “Barb-” You take the cloth from him and tuck it in your pocket. “You and all your selves absolutely cannot control my illness, and that's ok.” He doesn’t look convinced, no doubt looking for a loophole in the webs he weaves.

“Given the time I-” He stops at your withering look. “I don’t like not being in control.” Your look softens.

“Who does?” You clear your throat finally feeling a bit more like yourself. Well, at least the garden wasn’t spinning anymore. “There. I think I can manage. Can you help me to the nurses' office? I should get a check-up since it’s been a while since I’ve had an attack. Then I think I’m going to call it a day.”

Barbatos nods helping you to your shaky feet. His hands locked around your arm like he was afraid you would crumble again. You give him a reassuring look and lean into his weight. You didn’t need it, but it was a nice feeling, being looked after. Besides, it was so rare to get his sole attention. “I’ll inform the young master that we will be taking the rest of the day off.”

“We?”

“Of course.” He says resolutely. “Unless you wish for me to leave?” He barely contains his smile when he feels your hands squeeze tighter around his bicep.

“As long as I’m not impeding.” Your words are half-hearted at best. You don’t give a damn if it throws off some super-secret agenda, you were happy to have more time with him. He calmed your nerves.

Simeon

He hadn’t meant to trigger an attack. The weather outside was simply lovely. It was dry and warm with a breeze that made grass dance in a mesmerizing way. The track around one of the Devildom’s many bodies of crystalline water was beautiful at this time of the day. He had to share his enthusiasm.

He just wanted to go for a walk with you. He had so much to talk about with you that he forgot how long his legs are compared to yours. He was so excited he didn’t realize how fast his gait is and how much you were struggling to keep up with him. He didn’t realize your troubles until he felt a sweaty palm on his wrist.

Openingly gets panicked but knows about human medicine and where you store your inhaler.

Simeon breathes deeply through his nose and out his mouth. One deep inhale and one long exhale- focus just focus. His chest clenches in alarm at your shallow pants, his eyesight narrowing down to pinpricks. Blessedly he keeps a steady hand.

“Slowly now my dear.” He shakes your inhaler before bringing it to your lips. His strong fingers massaging your jaw to loosen it. Squeezing your cheeks he slips the apparatus past your teeth noticing how glassy your eyes were becoming. “Inhale.” He orders thanking his father you understand him enough to comply. He watches you like a hawk till he hears your heartbeat steady. Once he is sure he could look away he calls Lucifer. He doesn’t remember what he said, but he knew it was a panic-fueled rush.

“Simeon,” He looks up from his phone. “I’m ok…” You wheeze blinking up into the afternoon moons. Simeon shushes you running his warm hands over your cheeks. They were ice-cold despite the heat. He warms his palms with magic watching the fog clear from your gaze. “Thanks.”

“You shouldn’t thank me.” He pulls away, shaking his head. “This is my fault. I apologize, my dove.” You chuckle breathlessly becoming aware of your surroundings. Last thing you remember was walking up the shoreline. Now the hardwood of the bench pokes at your back. Had you collapsed here? Or did Simeon carry you over? “I should have been more aware of the situation.” He pulls at his hair in frustration. His lower lip turns red as he worries it with his teeth.

You swat his hand away from his hair wincing in sympathy when a few chunks of hair that follow. Linking his dexterous fingers with your clammy ones, you trace the lines in his palm with your thumb. You try to breathe in time with the steady rise and fall of his chest letting your meds take full effect. Your breathing was better, but you still had spots in your vision. “It’s not your fault really. I should have told you when I started feeling bad.”

“I should have noticed. How can I protect you if I can’t even realize your limitations?” He bemoans. You exhale a jerky laugh. Your lungs throbbing with the sharp movement. It ached for sure, but not enough that you couldn’t get up. Ignoring his protests you get off the bench and pull him up with you.

“None of that!” You wag a finger in his face. I’m allowed to panic, not you. You try to make light of the situation but your finger trembles in his face. “You did exactly what you should have so don’t doubt yourself. Sides’-” You clasp yours. hands together playing with your thumbs. “I got horribly distracted too, and pushed myself.”

“By what?”

“You.” Your cheeks heat in embarrassment. “ You were so excited to have the day with me I didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

Simeon blinks. “You-didn’t want to ruin the mood by telling me you were having an asthma attack?” You shrug, a childish smile crossing your face. Unbelievable. Simeon swears under his breath. “I-I am at a loss for words.” He places both his hands on your shoulders squeezing them. “I will find them later and then we'll talk about your amazing lack of self-preservation, but for now, Lucifer is waiting for us at the nurses' office.” Not giving you time to argue he scoops you up, arm holding you under your knees and securely around your shoulders. Once he knew you were safe, he would make sure to have an eye on you at all times.

Solomon

The dusty old library located in the catacombs of the school was a dead giveaway to be trouble for your lungs. You both knew that. He warns you, the moment you feel ill they are leaving, no questions, no arguments. Very much the calmest of the three. He is human...mostly… so he knows the signs and can catch it much faster than the others.

Still worried about you though. You aren’t a mage, just his regular old human.

When he gets nervous he makes jokes. Not appropriate given the circumstances but they just come out. So while he is dragging you from the school he is making the obligatory joke about him taking your breath away.

He will have whatever medications or potions he can think of at the ready for you to use if you need them. Won’t baby you or hover, you’ve lived with this for long he doesn’t want to insult you in any way. But he will keep close and have his ringer on loud in case you need him.

But now he wants you to rest and recover. He’ll keep you company though.

You gaze sleepily out of the bedroom window propped up on an exorbitant amount of puffs and pillows. You breathe out with caution, testing to see if you were still having any lingering effects from being down in the catacombs. It wasn’t anything too serious this time, thankfully. The moment you started clearing your throat and breathing just a little too hard to be considered normal, Soloman had grabbed both your bags and dragged you from the moldy and dusty space. You were a little put out at how quickly your asthma had acted up. You had just found the book you were looking for too.

“If you keep squirming out of your blankets I’ll seal you in there with magic.” Your captor friend appears, pulling aside the drapes around his bed to sit next to you. He flashes you a cocky grin placing a tray on his bedside table. Solomon scans your face looking for any inkling of pain that might linger. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m hot.” You lie. In truth, the many blankets he wrapped you in felt marvelous, but you were being cantankerous. You wanted to get up and go back to work. The mage raises a pale brow, not believing a word of it.

“Of course you are, my little scholar.” He tucks you in again a little tighter then props your cocooned feet on his legs. “How are you really?”

You shrug. Compared to other attacks you’ve had this one was thankfully mild. Most likely because he had whisked you out the winding maze-like library faster than you thought possible. The jitters from the panic attack that followed took more out of you. Luckily for you, Solomon handled that easily too. “You know I want to go back.” You had your hands on the book you wanted when you started feeling a little breathless. You wanted to believe it was out of excitement for the tomes. But the back of that section of the library was damp, cool, and dark. The perfect trifecta for your lungs to riot.

Solomon nodded unfazed. “Yes, I’ve come to realize that whenever danger is present you seem to gravitate towards it.” He smiles fondly at your pout. Your thirst for knowledge was almost as insatiable as his, and both of you seemed to have a knack for attracting danger. He watches you fidget in your confines for a little bit more before sighing. “Alright-alright, I get the drift hold still.” Leaning over you he loosens the covers around your arms to give you a little bit of freedom. As soon as you were free you pinch his nose hard in retaliation. “Oi!” He laughs pulling back to rub at his nose. “Such violence! And here I came bearing gifts!”

“That’s for insulting me!” You huff settling back down. “I hope it’s food, I’m starving.” You eye him expectantly.

“Feed you? After that assault? My, you are brazing.” He picks up the tray he brought despite himself. The school cafe was serving your favorites today. Placing it on your lap he brushes his lips across your cheek. “Plus, I made tea.” You hum in excitement, eyes lighting up with glee. While he couldn’t cook worth a damn (you chalk it up to him irretrievably destroying his sense of taste and smell tolling over potions for years). He did have amazing luck with blending tea leaves and spices. A skill he severely took for granted.

You pick up the tea and breath deeply only to have a coughing fit. His warm broad hands are there in an instant pushing you back into the pillows. “Sorry-sorry. Still a bit tender.” You smile through watery eyes. “It smells great!”

“Does it? What do you smell? I admit, I just picked out things that looked pretty together.” He flushes pink rubbing at the back of his neck.

You take the cup again and sniff. It had a hint of springtime in it, warm and sharp. Something earthy mixed with fire. You take a sip. “Hmm, spicy. Is that licorice?” Solomon nods.

“It is indeed, I read that licorice and black pepper can help with asthma symptoms and circulation. I figured it could wash the taste of your meds away.” He jokes watching you eat and take small sips of the steaming brew. He smiles to himself, glad you could get so comfortable in his room. Perhaps once you were dozing he could slip back into the library and conveniently “borrow” the book you had to leave earlier.

#obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me #requests

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prismadog · 3 years

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Found Family AU: Dusty [Emptober 9th]

so, got something a little different here than the previous prompts. it's still within the AU but it involves a character that I haven't yet written much about. though, if you read the tags then you already know who the character is.

also, for now, skipping Day 8 because I'm struggling with that [but what else is new, amiright?]

idk how much I'll do with this character yet, maybe it'll only be this one little thing, maybe it'll end up being more, who knows? and honestly, I'm not sure if I even like this part yet but I'm gonna send it anyway because it's the best I got.

hope you enjoy!

Dusty

he stares at the room before him, at the wall to wall to ceiling to floor bookshelves, and he feels his heart drop in his chest.

where could he even start?

"there's got to be thousands of books in here," the elf says aloud, his words a shudder of breath.

when he decided to find a way to bring his brother back, return him to who he used to be, he never thought it would be such a...daunting task.

"perhaps it's best to give up," his advisor suggests behind him. "there is no saving that..." they trail a moment when Alinar stiffens and his wings begin to ruffle.

the elf in question turns slowly, golden antlers glittering in the low lamplight. his cyan eyes almost glow as he silently dares his advisor to choose. their. next. words. carefully.

the advisor inhales sharply then clears their throat, "I - mean to say, Exor had a fairly strong hold on...on your...brother-" the words seem to hurt the elf to say "-perhaps, it's not even possible?"

the wings shift, ruffling again, before starting to spread, slowly, ever so slowly - a show of power, an intimidation tactic, that he can and will take you out without a second thought. the fact that Alinar isn't blinking, staring long and hard at the other elf, doesn't make the display any less threatening. and those antlers Aeor gifted him? he could skewer someone like a pig on a spit if he so wished.

"I will find a way to bring Connel back," his words are slow, enunciated with such clarity, such conviction.

"I...I see," the advisor replies, taking another step back. "then I shall leave you to it, yes?"

"that would be wise."

the young king watches, unmoving, unblinking, as his advisor slowly retreats to the door before turning sharply and disappearing into the hallway beyond.

the doors to the library click shut and Alinar -

Alinar practically deflates the second he's alone. his shoulders and his wings slump and a frown pulls at his mouth. he sighs and turns back to the rest of the room, his eyes gliding over the thousands of books.

this is going to be no easy task.

he starts with a shelf, with one book. that's the best place it seems. he pulls it down from where it sits and a cloud of dust comes with it, billowing around him.

he hacks and coughs and beats his wings to clear the dust - it seems to only make things worse for him.

he needs fresh air, is his only thought as his lungs struggle to get in air. why is there so much dust? does no one clean around here?

his wings flare and the elf shoots up to the rafters, beating the dust clouds to the floor. he settles there, forcing stale air into his windpipe - there's dust near the ceiling too, and cobwebs.

he's going to have to get someone in here to clean this.

but later, he decides opening the book still in his hand, he still has research to do.

---

#empires smp #emptober #found family au #xornoth adopts child!shubble au #alinar

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hentaimommi · 3 years

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ʀᴏʏᴀʟ ᴀᴘᴀᴛʜʏ | ʟᴇᴠɪ ᴀᴄᴋᴇʀᴍᴀɴ (x fem! reader)

Warnings: trauma, death, monarchy, abuse of power (?)

Summery: After her father's death, the new queen is sworn in. Her new personal knight is assigned to guard her at nighttime. Quickly she learns he is not just any night, nor is she just any queen.

[A/N]: I really hate the damsel in destress type queen/knight stories, so I tried to change up the arch type a little. fantasy au :) sorry if it felt rushed!

[R O Y A L A P A T H Y]

"The death of King (D/N) will forever be a greatest tragedy to our kingdom," My fathers best friend, who was also the earl, had been lecturing for what felt like sentinels by now. Sorcerer Hanji Zoe was at their witts end by now, clearly bored. I also tapped my food below the ballgown I'd been fitted and forced into this morning.

"I have new hope in the shadowing horizon of his beloved daughter, she will lead us to many victories. Let's hope the dragon guards love her!" He clinked the tall tankard with the barbarian man next to him, finalizing the speech. Many people laughed in fancy, but all I found myself wanting to do was visit the garden.

I excused myself, standing up and begging the well known path to the sanctuary. My heels clicked across the cobblestone like a smooth stone on a lake top, all the way until I had been met with the large doors. Built by the Elvish and designed by my mother, the garden was the most sacred room in the kingdom.

Guarded by two large stone gargoyles, watched over by the eye of luck, and cursed beyond point of entry if not completing the ritual. I took two fingers on each hand, palating the tongue of both gargoyle. Then, the eye above the door that was imprinted into the stone began to glow. "Who are you here under?" The entity I spoke frequently to requested. "(F/N) (L/N)." I responded, fingers still on the tounges. "Ah, the soon to be queen. You may enter."

The doors cascaded open, revealing the garden of most beautiful stature. Reds, greens, blues, purples- as far as the eye could see. I only wish I could stay, actually enter and be here. Duty called below, though. The bells were ringing and it was almost evening. The doors closed at lack of entry when I walked away.

Arriving in the meeting room was my next step. Many people of all races and stature were sitting around the discussion table, all watching me as soon as I entered. "Your majesty," The small frog woman, Ymir, hopped from her seat over to me. I raised my brow, indicating her to answer. "We have someone for you to meet, and hopefully show around if you would be so kind." Her voice was rough, you could tell she was of frog decent from a mile away. "Okay."

The room went silent as I turned to face the door, red dress swaying round. The fact attire was picked by my mothers personal designer, Historia. A sweet lady, but boy did she enjoy flowy gowns. The doors opened, revealing two men. One, a tall blonde man, and the next a shorter raven haired man. His gaze was cold, piercing even. "Your grace," The tall one spoke, his voice was deep and unforgiving. Like he'd seen a thousand lifetimes. "I am here to serve you your personal knight, who will serve you endlessly till death."

I looked over to the onyx haired man, who looked as if he was being tortured. "I appreciate your offer so much, thank you sir..?" He looked to me, kneeling on one knee and holding his hand to his heart for all to see. "Erwin. This is sir Levi, your guard." I nodded, walking up to the kneeling men and pressing a light hand on both of their shoulders. "Thank you, you are dismissed."

As the day continued I grew very weary, ready for any point of sleep I could obtain. Before the death if my father, every night I would stop by the sorcerers library. Instead I opted to go to my room this night, absolutely restless from the long and treacherous day. Upon arrival of my room, though, the same man from earlier stood flat out in front of it.

"You're Levi, correct?" I asked, looking into his tone cold eyes. They were so brash, clearly full of pained stories of a lifetime. "Yes, my queen." He moved aside. "You don't have to call me that. You can call me (F/N), and, come inside. It's cold in the halls." His blush was clear as day, nevertheless he followed me as told. I pointed to an empty plush bench for him to take a seat on.

"So, Levi, tell me about your life." I said, walking into my restroom to peel off the dress and change into my nightwear. He hesitated for a moment, clear by the cough let out. "Well, I was raised in a brothel. My mother worked as a lady of the night. She passed at a very young age, my uncle- who was also a knight- taking me in. He would soon leave, too, making me fend for myself. It's tragic and pitiful, I know, but it taught me many things."

"It's not pitiful." I returned changed with my hair graciously braided down to one side, smiling at the man before me. He was handsome, I had to admit. Dark hair offsetting his pale skin in all the right ways, rough appearance only making him that much more attractive. "If anything, you're nobel." He looked up, setting his sword aside, the sighing. "I suppose so. I always wondered what it would be like to guard a queen," He drifted off, eyeing the walls. "I always thought they'd be cold and distant, but it paid well so I didn't mind to take the job. You aren't like that."

I smiled. "Glad you think so, sir Levi. I think you're one of the most brave, and handsome damned men to walk these halls. I bid you a safe night, hope to see you in the morning." I then climbed under the large canopy that cascaded over my bed. It was made of the finest material, soft and warm. The night was cold, leaving me tossing and turning into the daylight unlike I had wanted.

Rising up from my half-slumber, I was met with the vision of Levi sitting exactly how he was before, restless, staring at the wall again. I didn't believe this was lazy- so I rose from my bed and put on the large robe that had been set aside by my maids. "Morn, Levi. How was your night?" I asked, walking over to him. He didn't respond, eyebags heavily present.

I walked closer, lightly touching his scarred face with my soft hand. He was so cold. I took off the robe, laying it over his shoulders. "What's..what are you going my lady?" He asked, thumbing the material that was new on his body. I smiled, standing up. "You were cold. Where do you live?" I asked, undoing the braid in my hair.

He hesitated as he did the night before, only to look away once more. "A- um, hut. Down in the village. I live in it by myself." He proclaimed, rising from his seat. I nodded, "Sleep in my quarters for the day. I insist. The bed is nice and I will have maids deliver a warm outfit to my door." His eyes darted to me, "You can't be serious- I'm not-"

My hand wavered in front of him. "I insist. Keep the bed warm for me, would you?" He nodded. I took the robe, tying it around myself once more. Levi ridded himself of the metal plates, leaving me to see just how muscular he really is. I avoided it, going to my dressing room where all of my dressing ladies already were.

The day passed as before, but this time I had been able to go the library, wanting to give the knight more time to rest up. The bookshelves were dusty, place so empty you would think no one works here.

"Hello? Hanji?" I asked, looking around. Noises came loudly from the behind the counter, making me back away. They were inconspicuous, that was, until the person stood from behind. An Elvin boy named Armin my tropes had picked up. He'd been stranded, left for dead on a battle field. "Oh, hello Armin!" I smiled, lying the book I had picked up on the counter.

"Hello my lady! How are you?" He asked, ears fluttering. How cute. "I'm okay! I've gotten a new knight, I left him to rest in my room for the day." Armin looked at me in a questioning manner. "And his name?" I rested my elbow on the table, looking over to the door through which I had came. "Levi-"

"Levi Ackerman?" He asked, clearly disheveled. I nodded, eyebrow arching as if to question him. "He's a famous knight! So smart and strong. They say during his last battle he suffered life threatening injuries, though, making him tired and worn." Armin gushed, smiling brightly and blushing as I listened.

When returning to my room, he was still asleep. I didn't think I needed him for the night; so I slipped into my dressing room and changed into another beautiful nightgown. Braiding my hair once more, I returned into my room to find him still sleeping. I remembered what Armin had said. He sustained horrible injuries, scars were probably all over his body. I couldn't imagine. Lifting up the edge of the curtain like material, I found him in the clothes my ladies had brought for him. He looked nice, and calm.

Instead of waking him up- interrupting him from his sleep, I decided to sleep next to him. Surely he wouldn't mind if I stayed a distance away, and slept under a different duvet. As I slipped in, his warmth had consumed the whole bed. It was warm in places he hadn't even been in. I tried to rest easy, only being woken up once when he accidentally kicked me; but I didn't mind.

The next morning I would wake up with him completely wrapped around me. His leg over both of my own, his arms around my waist and chest. This made me laugh, pushing his arm around a little to wake up. As I did, his entire body jolted in a gasp. "Where am I? (F/N)? What time of day is it?" He asked, then analyzing how close he was to me. "You slept with- me? I LEFT YOU ALONE?" I chuckled at his worries, him trying to get out of the bed. Swiftly, I gently grabbed his wrist. "Levi, don't worry about it. Just, rest, okay? You've done enough."

Reluctantly, he nodded. I pushed my hands into his hair as he scooted back into me to be the little spoon.

#levi ackerman #fantasy au #levi x reader #hanji zoe #armin arlert #levi aot

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extracrispycolonelw · 3 years

Text

In hopes to attract some more attention to my works, I’m posting a preview of the prologue/first chapter of the 40k x RWBY crossover story I’m writing. A link to the thread on Space Battles Forum will be posted at the bottom of the thread.

Synopsis: Magnus the Red, revived and redeemed through means arcane and ill-understood, has migrated to the world of Remnant after aiding his father in breathing life into a dying empire. With his sons, he will prove himself to the galaxy and to himself, or he will perish alongside the world of Dust he has pledged his life to.

O.o.O.o.O

Beacon Academy’s library was not the most elegant structure—it did not need to be. It was pragmatic in its design, generous perhaps in its dimensions, however. Large, with open space allowing for room to grow its interior. Walls that were half-a-foot thick, comprised of materials that could resist the force of a Megaton Bomb, if it were to exist on this strange world.

Despite these shortcomings, it still managed to awe the students as they entered, immediately greeted by a gothic marvel, akin to that of an, albeit simple, large cathedral. The front doors were wide, comprised of dark, well-conditioned and well-made wood that could withstand the blast of a grenade without even a scratch, battened by flat steel reinforcements along its top and bottom sections, riveted with gold and brass. Above that door, arching up to converge at a single point from which a stone gargoyle would sit upon an arched outcropping, and above that stone guardian, was a window. Stained glass in the shape of a nigh-perfect circle, plagued by the imperfections of the tools at hand, but certainly not the craftsmanship. It was no particular depiction displayed in the colourful window, yet many students still claimed to see figures in its visage.

Upon exiting the foyer—entering deeper into the mighty library, dubbed the Magnus Librariae, the Greatest Library, this theme only continues. High ceilings are accented by light fixtures that mimic the silhouette of candles, even giving the faintest flicker every so often to perform its best imitations of a wicked stick of wax. Walls with grandiose architecture that was painted along the curved roof to depict many a battle from that Great War which ended some eighty years before. The murals and the stories told by them, however, ultimately serve little other than to add an air to the building, something it accomplished well. Students respected this place above all others—no fights broke out in its expansive interior. No rules laid out by the quaint, feeble old man that called himself the librarian, were ignored or disobeyed. Books were placed on shelves where they belonged, and they remained nearly as pristine as the day they were taken off the printing presses.

Among the many towering shelves of the Beacon Library, a single book, one with no fancy cover or elegant text upon its spine, a simplistic, yet exquisitely crafted, leather-backed tome, sat upon a shelf. This shelf contained many tomes like it, each one unique in its contents if not its cover, but this one, so simple among such elegantly, flamboyantly crafted tomes, had the luck of catching the eye of the first woman to read its contents in so very long.

Pyrrha Nikos, while not much of a scholarly type in her own right, could still appreciate a good book. A good pastime when one spent as many hours as her or her team did recovering from battle wounds or engaging in the oh so arduous and pressing task of simply finding peace. Pyrrha couldn’t quite place what had drawn her to decide to read upon the topic of history. Perhaps Oobleck’s lessons were starting to get through to her, learning of history, after all, is the best way to avoid repeating those past mistakes in the future. Perhaps it had been the simple cover of the tome, the black sheep among the flock of silver-coated, shimmering lambs. Perhaps it had simply been fate.

Pyrrha took the tome from the shelf, finding herself coughing as long-settled dust was released from its still place along the ill-searched shelf. A brush of her hand and the cover became clearer, the title in simple, bold font along the top sect of the book, not too small that one must bring it closer to properly read, yet not too large as to take up any amount of space wider than a young woman’s hand. On the dusty, sage cover of the historical text, read the title:

SORTIARIUS, THE LOST CITY OF THE SHARPENED DREAMERS.

Pyrrha hummed softly as she mulled over the title. A brief flip-through showed the book in fair condition, with very little wear on its pages from frequent readings like some of the more popular tomes, like that of the Faunus scholar Mitellus and his reflections on the prejudice of man and beast, or the influential military tomes of Taurus Rex that taught many of the young students the advanced combat techniques utilized by full-fledged Huntsmen and Huntresses, or even that of the popular comic series, Pumpkin Pete’s Bizarre Adventure. This one was different, different enough to warrant being tucked under Pyrrha’s arm, against the bronzed cuirass of her outfit alongside the dozen other thick books already waiting, yet still a black sheep among a sea of ebon wool in comparison to the rest.

The shelves of the library were not only tall—dwarfing Pyrrha like a grown adult man to a toddler and then some—but they were dense. Sound had issues fully traveling in some places, especially the historical literature sections and discerning one’s location had become such a crisis that electronic signs would be mounted along the narrow of the shelves in order to direct students to where they wished to go. Even such a knowledgeable woman like Pyrrha found herself using the screens to get back to the main foyer of the library, the notorious two-floored, incredibly simplistic in comparison, warmly-lit main area where students gathered at tables to study and where the more commonly-read tombs were positioned on significantly smaller shelves than their taller, broader cousins in the deep of the library.

Soon enough however, the crimson-haired girl found herself weaving out from the shelves of the library and toward the wooded balcony overlooking the humble librarian’s station, situated cozily against the wall, alongside the main tables, where she would find her friends of Ruby and her wonderful team, alongside her beloved comrades in Team JNPR. Pyrrha quickened her pace, quietly speed-walking down a stairwell off to the right before emerging from past a column which supported the stairs she’d mantled. Ruby was the first to spot her, waving frantically to Pyrrha before the rest of her friends did the same, happy to see their friend alive and in one piece after her oh-so-brave venture into the heart of the library of Beacon, plentifully notorious for having many a student get lost in its winding halls for days on end before being found.

“Pyrrha! We thought you got lost,” Jaune said to his teammate with a smile as he turned to greet her, his blonde mop of hair obscuring the upper parts of his eyes as he shifted. Nora quickly bounced up from her seat like a helium-infused rocket and hugged her dear red-headed friend.

“Haha! I’m glad to see you’re safe—and not just because Ruby and I had a bet over whether you would get lost in the library,” Nora rambled as she embraced her friend, the raven-haired tiny reaper seething quietly at her seat with a hint of amusement drawing at the corners of her lips. Pyrrha allowed herself to giggle a bit at the antics of her friends before sliding into one of the wooden chairs beside Jaune, books neatly taken from the crook of her arm and stacked atop one another. Her eyes drifted curiously down to the sage-backed book at the top, the tale of the Lost City, a story of which she was endlessly curious about now. Not once in any of her history lessons, from the youngest of ages to now, had she even been vaguely made aware of this city, this Sortiarius. It baffled her mind and tempted her as her fingers graced the ribbed spine before gently taking it into her right hand, pushing softly the heavy stack of tomes off to the side in order to make room for the one which now held her full attention. Flipping it open to the front page, she was met with the author’s name and the opening words. She read the words in her mind after taking a deep breath.

‘It is in this tome that I, Helio Kalliston, noble orator of the final dynasty of the Redguard Guild of Serfs and Peasants, enclose the fullest history of the noble city of Sortiarius, from its earliest days as a result of colonization turned to migration by the various nations of the time, to its final days, collapsing at the hand of the damned Grimm…’

Pyrrha was quickly sucked into the elegant words of Helio Kalliston. He described a city borne from the ashes of apocalypse at the hands of Grimm, forged by the ancient and venerable Crimson King, a towering giant of a man who wielded the very weather in his own hands as he led his people from all the way in Solitas as the tyrant-kings rose to power, all the way across the ocean and through many villages, saving those they could from the rampaging hordes of Grimm that followed the melancholic band of knights that followed the King, whose powers were legend among the descendants of the Sortiarians. One story described a knight in full plate that carried the very hand of the righteous God of the Sun along his right arm, melting Grimm with beams of glowering orange heat, whilst the snarling, hateful axe of the God of the Underworld was clasped in his left, using these weapons to strike down any, man, woman or Grimm that dared stand in the way of him and his King. The legends enraptured Pyrrha like few things had done before—the harrowing tales of a city being forged from the fires of a Grimm-infested forest filled her with excitement, whilst the tales of the many dynasties of the philosopher-kings thrilled her, before saddening her upon their deaths upon the eve of long-gone centuries past. Pyrrha had no concept of how much time had passed as she fingered through the pages of the historical literature, allowing the outside world to bleed away until it was only her and the fated words of Helio Kalliston, the final orator of Sortiarius and its dynasties before the city’s destruction, described in the final words of the tome, written in by a second writer who included what Helio could not in the final manuscript. To think that any of this could have possibly been true, even if exaggerated, amazed Pyrrha. She lamented thoroughly how dozens of other records were used to cross-reference and act as intellectual sources for the knowledge of the tome and, though it was long, it seemed almost hollow. Reading the ending sentiments at the back revealed to her the unfortunate truth—that the tome was meant as the summary to a longer line of historical records which would cover in detail the many aspects of life in Sortiarius, from the socio-political battlegrounds to the innerworkings of the nigh mystical Redguard, the angelic warriors who defended the city to the last man, woman and child, the incorruptible few among the fallible many. How she would love to sink into the past and simply see what it may have been… however her fantasies were cut short by a nudge from Jaune. Promptly looking up, Pyrrha found the eyes of their table entirely on her. Cheeks flushed and quietly turning to Jaune for an answer, she sputtered out an embarrassed excuse to her silence.

“I-I’m sorry, I was so enraptured in my reading I didn’t even hear you if you were speaking to me.” Jaune smiled and nodded in understanding.

“I know the feeling. Those Pumpkin Pete graphic novels always have me glued to my seat!” The wholesome smile on their naïve leader’s face was something to be appreciated when it showed, Pyrrha had learn to do as the naivety—or perhaps innocence—of Jaune was enough to bring joy to both their teams in ways that would become scarce in their later years. This moment was no exception, giggles spreading across the table before Pyrrha responded.

“Well… While I can say that I’ve read those, albeit for a children’s charity some time ago… this book is one I don’t think I’ve ever heard of,” Pyrrha spoke with curiosity mixed into her tone, bringing forth that same emotion from her fellows.

“That’s so weird! You’re like one of the biggest bookworms I know, how have you not read this one?” Nora asked loudly as she came in close to her Mistralian comrade, the girl rocking backward to compensate for the distance lost between them.

“Well… I don’t know. It was in the historical section in the deeper parts of the library. It talks about an ancient civilization that was around before any of the four kingdoms, called Sortiarius.” Pyrrha explained the book in simpler terms to her younger and more… immature friends.

“It was this city that existed, well, we don’t know how long ago, but the footnotes suggest thousands of years ago! They were a kingdom, well, closer to a city-state, but they were a big one. Their government was a complex bureaucracy guided by mentor-figures called ‘The Philosopher Kings’ who ruled over the city. According to this book, they had mastered the art of using the soul as a tool that they could perform minor acts of what they considered sorcery. Although, I’m not so sure if that last part is real… ultimately it wouldn’t matter all that much, their city fell to the Grimm and internal strife long before even Vale was around,” Pyrrha explained to the best of her ability. While it wasn’t difficult in by any definition of the word, it certainly wasn’t simple by any means either. She had barely gotten through the first three chapters and it had been at least an hour. She let out a minor huff of irritation as she stared down at the book—as interesting as it was, she didn’t have the free time in any week to reliably put in enough time to read and retain whatever information could be gleamed from the book. However, judging by how the weapons were described in those opening three chapters, she had a fair idea of who might find better use of the book.

Pyrrha Nikos flipped the book shut and stretched out her arms before turning her gaze to the young, raven-haired red reaper.

“Ruby, you love weapons… you should read this. The Redguard—the city’s defense force, huntsmen of the time, they used some of the most advanced-sounding weapons I’ve read about, guns that fired some sort of energy and something called a ‘chainsword,’ among other things.” She placed her hands over the book and thumbed the cover as she asked, admiring the simplicity in the design for a moment before her eyes caught Ruby’s own orbs turning to saucers.

“Chainsword? As in a chainsaw-sword? Guns?! What kind of guns?! Sniper rifles? Shotguns? Pistols? Automatic weapons?! I demand to know moooore!” Ruby all-but belly-flopped onto the table as she got close to Pyrrha and the precious book, hands reaching out to snatch it, though the fiery-haired champion tugged the ancient tome back before her young friend could snag it.

“This book is very old, Ruby, be careful with it.” She was prepared to lecture the girl slightly, though feeling that was more the white-haired ice queen’s—as the rowdier students had nicknamed her, rather rudely—job than hers. The pouty face given by Ruby had not helped much either.

“I will! I promise,” Ruby said softly upon Pyrrha bringing the book closer. The younger girl took the tome in her hands for a moment and did the same as her compatriot—just finding a moment to admire the simple design, where so many others were elegant, vain and loud, this one was… humble. Quiet, soft-spoken. It knew that what it contained was worthy of her eyes, it was confident to such a degree that it did not need such a vain and flashy cover. A simple, leather, sage-green cover with neat, lightly-coloured, tall and bold font to display its title and the purpose of the tome. Something about it relieved Ruby’s mind as she took the book and scooted back into her seat. She slipped it into her bag after a moment of contemplation longer and refocused herself on studying.

Some hours had gone by, studying, socializing, and doing the part of students as best as could be expected of them. Eventually the sun grew tired and dipped below the horizon, allowing for the fractured moon of Remnant to rise in its place. The students, having spent their day studying, were unified with the sun in their exhaustion. So, after a long day of studying, the two teams separated from one another, said their goodbyes, and retired to their dorms. Whilst most members of the teams were quick to lay their heads to sleep, there was one outlier among them.

Through the darkest hours of the night and to the early morning of the next day, Ruby sat at her desk and poured over the tome. Vast in density with its glorious renditions of battles between the mystical Redguard, towering giants that were rumoured to be ancient half-automata half-man, and the darkest and most formidable forms of Grimm that Ruby had ever seen depicted. Real or not, the images were nice to look at and that was where most of her time was spent, for despite the thickness of the tome, it still bore little content. Pyrrha’s assessment of the book had proved painfully correct, as it referred to so many dozens of other books that were likely long gone.

Her hunger for knowledge, always satiable, overwhelmed the young raven-haired reaper and she found herself redressed and quietly sneaking off to the library in those dark hours of the early morning. As she came to those huge oaken doors, Ruby paused.

Would the doors be locked? Would this all have been for naught? No, she would get her answers. Did that mean breaking in? Or did that mean waiting till morning? There were classes and countless trainings the next day, she wouldn’t get a chance like this again. But what if she was caught?

Her endless tirade of paranoid thoughts was stopped when the doors slowly creaked open, startling the girl as the humble librarian quietly pulled the door open and stared at her. He was hunchbacked ever slightly, wearing a brown robe that enclosed a thin body, while frail, had once been muscular and built like brick and steel. His face was wide, likely statuesque in his youth, but years fighting had scarred his face and old age wrinkled the once handsome features.

“You should be in bed, young one,” he greeted quietly after a brief staring contest that might have lasted a few seconds too long.

“I-I know, but I read this book and I just wanted to know more-!” Ruby began to explain in a lapse of mild panic, only for the librarian to raise a hand to silence her as he spotted the ancient tome in her hands.

“I am not one to judge the practices of those seeking knowledge… Gods know that would make me a hypocrite,” he opened the door fully and beckoned the young Ruby Rose in. The library was quietly lit by golden candlelight, the dim flickering shading the librarian’s face in soft yellows and oranges, highlighting the scars along his left cheek, burns, cuts, gauges in the wrinkled flesh. It intimidated the girl a moment, but the knowing smile invited her into the expansive library, and she took the offer gladly, clutching the sage-backed tome in her arms as she entered Beacon Library, the door closing behind her softly.

Soon, Ruby was sitting with a small stack of disappointingly thin tomes that could barely equate to the width of the historical, sage-backed volume, but it was enlightening, nonetheless. A cup of steaming tea sat at the opposite side to the books, on a ceramic saucer. Across from her, sat the librarian, pouring over a quiet-looking book. She shifted in her seat for a moment and waited to see the reaction from the old man across from her. When none came, she sat her head on her hands and sighed exaggeratedly. No response. The young reaper wriggled in her chair for a while before she couldn’t take the silence anymore without books to pour over.

“I still can’t believe that this place used to exist,” Ruby blurted. The librarian peeked up from the book he was reading, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“You’re unsure of the truth,” the librarian spoke softly as he closed his book, sliding it to his left. Ruby hesitantly nodded.

“The way they describe the weapons and these drawings, they just seem… unreal. Like something out of a fantasy book. They said the one captain, Hastar H’Kett, he had a weapon that was like… some kind of lance of orange light and all the pictures show him doing all this crazy stuff—it just… it feels more like a legend than ancient history, y’know?” Ruby ranted rapidly, red-faced and rosy as the old librarian stared at her with an amused expression gracing his features. He folded his hands together and sat them in front of him as he began.

“Well, I can assure you. This,” he pointed to the book, tapping its cover with his index finger, “it is our history. Remnant’s history. Some of those images were… exaggerated, but I can tell you that they very much had weapons like how those flowery words describe.” He grinned as Ruby became bemused at first, her forehead scrunching as her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes darted back and forth in thought.

“It… they’re not lances. They’re guns. But… how could that be possible!?! No Dust weapons could even accomplish stuff like this even now!” Ruby asked incredulously. In return, the humble librarian laughed softly, tapping a hand gently to the table, understating what would be a symbol of exaggerated laughter. Perhaps it was a sign of his age catching up with him, making him more soft-spoken. Perhaps it was simply an action to be amusing to the young student, a goal he readily achieved as Ruby tittered at his antics, something that brought a smile to his aged facial features.

“Well, I can at least tell you a story. Something passed down in my family… it all began in those olden days when most men fought with spears, swords and axes. Not the Sortiarites, they used majestic automata and weapons the like of which would never be known again…”

O.o.O.o.O

SB Forums thread:

#fanfic #warhamer 40000 #rwby fanfiction #rwby #scifi #writing #warhammer 40k #40k #fantasy #crossover #RWBYx40k #Magnus the red #thousand sons

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

Text

Salt & Snow - Chapter 2

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader

Summary: House Caspian’s only daughter returns to Winterfell, with her family in tow. She’s delighted to see her friends again, but with the end of the visit comes very startling news.

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Only two weeks passed before Y/N got her first letter from Lyanna. It was a long one, full of enthusiasm and clumsy penmanship, asking after Y/N, her family and full of questions about Ramsgate and their keep, Whitetide. Why are your lands called Ramsgate? Are there lots of goats when you move away from the sea? How big is Whitetide? Is it really right on top of the beach?

Y/N eagerly wrote back, and her mother gave her the idea to include some seashells, a starfish and a sand dollar, all little treasures that Y/N collected on her many walks on the beach. She couldn’t wait for Lyanna’s response, asking the guard who watched for deliveries every day if there was something for her. Lady Talia finally had to ask her to leave the poor man alone.

But the next correspondence was by raven, of all things, a little message with a cute drawing of a direwolf and a big thank you from Lyanna and Benjen. The maester handed it to her parents with great confusion, and they in turn blinked at it before giving it to Y/N. She gladly kept it safe in her sketchbook.

The next letter detailed the great scolding Lyanna received for using one of Winterfell’s ravens. She worried her mother wouldn’t let her send any letters at all, but instead she was forced to stay inside for two weeks helping Nan knit and practicing her penmanship with the maester. Y/N giggled at the thought, and made a point to compliment Lyanna’s handwriting. She could already imagine the girl’s grimace and cramped hand.

The letters became a staple in the next year. It was towards the end of the ninth moon when Lyanna sent an especially long one. Y/N read it halfway before she was jumping on top of her bed in excitement.

She ran down the steps, nearly crashing into a washerwoman and narrowly avoiding a guard. Lady Talia frowned at her daughter arriving in the great hall in such a breathless flurry. “Y/N, you’ll trip over your skirts and break open your head if you carry on like that —”

“Mother! Are we going back to Winterfell?”

Lady Talia almost dropped baby Rickard. She recovered herself and sighed. “Oh, it was supposed to be a surprise! Did your father tell you?”

“No, Lyanna did!” Y/N waved the letter at her mother, too fast for the woman to actually look at it’s contents. “When are we going? Is it soon? Is it tomorrow?”

“Yes, soon, sweetling. Think about what things you want to pack. It will be a long stay, so bring all your dresses and some books.”

Y/N almost didn’t hear her. She was buzzing. How long was a long stay? How soon was soon? She would’ve asked a dozen more questions if her mother hadn’t shooed her out.

Two maids helped her pack. Y/N expected to use the small wooden trunk she and Willam shared last time. It was colorfully painted and had manta rays carved into the sides, so she especially liked it. Instead, the maids brought in two large trunks, the ones grown-up ladies used to transport their fine gowns and furs. She gaped at all the space on the inside, and how finely it was lined. A whole person could fit in there, or at least both her and Willam!

She already pulled dresses from the armoire — it was easy, she only had so many — but the maid was taking everything out of her closet, even her long winter socks that probably didn’t fit anymore. The other maid was neatly stacking all of her books.

“Oh, um, I was only taking four,” Y/N said to her.

The maid smiled. “You’ll want all of them, milady.”

No, I only wanted four, Y/N thought, but the maids listened to her lady mother, not her. It would be useless to argue with them. If the men who packed up the carts complained about the weight of her trunks, she’d know what to tell them.

At dinner, her father asked, “All excited for the trip, little ray?” and he was delighted with his daughter’s enthusiastic response. She hadn’t noticed her mother looking less excited, but Lady Talia still gave Y/N a smile when she looked her way.

“I’m going too!” Willam declared, as if he worried he was going to be left behind. Lord Gareth tousled his hair and promised he could ride along with the knights and guards.

Seeing Winterfell for the second time was just like the first; breathtaking and no less a marvel. It was still hard to believe that a castle that big existed, and it was so close to Ramsgate, and she had a friend waiting inside. She was buzzing to get out of the carriage and just run up to the gates herself, but her mother was far less permissive than her uncle. She fretted over Y/N’s hair and tried to smooth her dress as they rode through the gate, and Y/N used every fiber of self-control not to squirm away. Her mother’s eyes said she was not in the mood to be disobeyed.

Finally, finally, the carriage door opened. Before the Winterfell guard could even greet her, she was flying down the steps.

Y/N heard her mother calling, but she pretended not to hear. The cold, saltless air blew through her hair, and she took a deep breath. It smelled like the dirt of the yard, the savory smoke from the kitchens and the distant pine of the forests. She only had a few moments to take it all in before the wind was thrown right out of her lungs.

Y/N choked as arms were thrown around her. She very nearly teetered over, the only thing stopped her was Lyanna yanking her back. The girl had a frightening grip. “Y/N! You’re here! It’s been forever!”

“I-I am!” Y/N coughed. “My mother is here this time, and Willam is back, and I have some things for you, and —”

“Lyanna, unhand the poor girl.” Lady Stark’s voice was familiar, but her appearance was a surprise again. Y/N realized she’d somewhat forgotten what the Lady looked like, but she remembered the pretty, long hair and grey eyes. “Y/N, it’s good to see you again, sweetling.”

Y/N was able to do a proper curtsy once she was unhanded, but she still felt a little dizzy. “Thank you for having me again, Lady Stark.”

“Where’s your lady mother, and lord father? Goodness, did you run ahead of them?” Lady Stark shook her head, but she didn’t seem truly upset. Had she always been so pale, though? Y/N couldn’t recall, and her friend easily took her attention away.

“Y/N, we have some new horses! You haven’t seen them yet, they’re so pretty. I’ve gotten to ride them already.” Lyanna just realized something. “Mother, can I show her?”

Y/N was expecting Lady Stark to put up a fuss, as her mother might have, but the woman looked too tired. She simply nodded and waved the two girls away. Y/N wondered if it was truly okay, even as Lyanna pulled on her hand. Y/N went along, figuring she’d see her parents and the Lord and Lady Stark at dinner tonight, anyhow. She could do her proper courtesies then.

To Lyanna’s disappointment, the new horses she was so proud of had been taken out on a hunt, so the next stop was the library of Winterfell, which surprised Y/N. She hadn’t taken Lyanna for the type to read these huge, dusty things, but it wasn’t a huge or dusty book that Lyanna pulled out. There was an old chest at the bottom of one of the bookshelves, and when she opened it, a collection of rolled-up parchment was inside.

Y/N’s nose wrinkled at the smell. “Are we allowed to look at these?”

“They’re here for the Starks.” Lyanna replied. Y/N felt like her friend could have unrolled the old parchment a little neater.

Lyanna set two heavy inkpots in either side of the parchment to keep it from rolling back. The beautiful drawings unfurled before her, and Y/N realized it was a stylistic, detailed map of Westeros. She gasped in delight. “Oh, it’s so pretty!”

The linework was so fine and detailed, each little mountain, tree and even tiny ships on waves were drawn out. She immediately looked for Ramsgate, and it saddened her that the Caspian ray was not there. It was still the merman of Manderly. This must have been a very old map, then.

“Your manta ray isn’t here!” Lyanna realized it as well, perhaps for the first time. “Hmph. They should update these dusty old things.”

“I don’t think that’s possible ... It’s still beautiful.” Y/N said. She sat in the chair with Lyanna; it was so wide, both of them could sit in it with just a little discomfort. Lyanna was skinny for her age, but she was already taller than Y/N. Y/N could swear they were the same height last year. “I love how they painted Winterfell. There’s even direwolves around it, and look here, each castle has its Godswood drawn, too. You can even see some of the Godswoods in the Southern castles, but they’re not as good as the one in Winterfell.”

Lyanna was proud of that. She pointed out some of her favorite parts of the map: The kraken encircling the Iron Islands, the collection of trouts running down Riverrun, the beautiful flowers and crops that covered most of the Reach. She and Y/N shivered as they saw the detailed flayed man of the Boltons, and they admired the horses of the Ryswells.

Lyanna pointed toward the Vale, where the Eyrie was drawn in splendid detail, its white, blue and dark grey ink only slightly faded. A beautiful sky-blue falcon perched on top of it. She tapped it with her finger and sighed. “Ned’s here.”

Y/N didn’t quite understand. She floated her own finger above the parchment, tracing from Winterfell all the way to the Eyrie. “But why? It’s so far away,” She said. “It takes days to get from Whitetide to Winterfell, and only if the weather is good. That’s what my father said.”

“I don’t know.” Lyanna crossed her arms. “I didn’t want him to go. He didn’t, either! But mother and father said it was important for young lords to learn … whatever they said. Hmph. Why couldn’t our maester just teach him?”

“And Brandon is the oldest. Shouldn’t he learn all the important things?”

“He should! He’s thick as an aurochs, though. That doesn’t mean I want him to go away to a big, stupid mountain, too. Even if he deserves it.” Lyanna huffed. “Ned writes sometimes, but letters take too long to go up and down the Eyrie, he said so. He said you have to take a donkey to go up, or ride in a basket of turnips!”

“A basket…?”

“They use a rope to pull you up, like getting water from the well.”

That didn’t seem right, but Y/N didn’t know anything about the Eyrie. Lyanna continued with a huff. “The last letter he sent was all about some lord he’s friends with, a boy named Robert. He’s a Baratheon from Storm’s End. He’s the first son of that house, so why did Ned have to go?”

Y/N knew where Storm’s End was. She was familiar with most coastal cities and keeps, like Oldtown and Lannisport, and Storm’s End was no different. It’s two great walls that looked like big drums, her Uncle said, and she was delighted to see it painted just as he described. There was a rearing black stag sitting atop it, and it was just as far from the Eyrie as the direwolf was.

“It must be very sad to be so far from home,” Y/N said. She couldn’t imagine.

Lyanna frowned. “Ned should come home so I don’t have to hear about stupid Robert anymore.”

“Who’s Robert?”

The sudden voice made Y/N yelp and jump almost a foot in the air, and that reaction made Lyanna fall right out of the chair and onto the floor. She scrambled back to her feet. “Benjen! Don’t sneak up on people!”

“It’s not my fault you don’t pay attention. Who’s Robert?”

“The boy from Ned’s letter, remember? We read it together!”

“Are you allowed to take these maps out?” Benjen asked.

“Ugh, we’re done with it, anyway. You really do sneak around like a shadowcat.” Lyanna removed the inkpots and Y/N took charge of carefully rolling the map. Maybe I can look at it later? The pictures are so pretty … Even if it doesn’t have a manta ray.

“I’m bored.” Benjen said. He clearly expected his sister and Y/N to do something about it.

“We can play a game?” Y/N offered. She watched with some concern as Lyanna closed the trunk and tried to shove it back on the shelves. She couldn’t remember if that’s how it looked when they found it.

After much discussion and debate, hide and seek was declared the game of choice… with some rules. Lyanna made it very clear that they were only hiding inside the living area of the keep, and only in rooms they were allowed inside, and only in rooms with no adults. She looked directly to Benjen as she said all of this. Lyanna was declared “it”, and Benjen wasted little time in grabbing Y/N’s sleeve when she began counting.

“Where should I hide?” Y/N asked. “I don’t know the castle. I could get lost.”

“Just keep going down that hall until you see a big window, and choose any of those rooms,” Benjen pointed. “There’s lots of tables to hide under. Oh, if you find a blue yarn ball anywhere, that’s Nan’s. Tell her I didn’t take it.”

Before Y/N could question that, Benjen shoved her in the direction of the long hallway and went scurrying off. Y/N could only faintly hear Lyanna counting in the library, so she hurried, trying to decide which room to dart into. Lyanna would expect her to hide in one of these rooms. After all, Benjen went somewhere else, somewhere that was actually difficult to find.

She noticed one of the rooms was being occupied. The door was closed, but there was light and warmth coming from under it. Y/N suddenly felt she was intruding, so she walked carefully past it. The voices from inside were feminine, and very familiar. She stopped suddenly when she heard her mother’s familiar laugh.

Her mother’s voice drifted behind the wooden door. Y/N leaned against the door, assuming she’d hear her brother or father, but instead there was another lady’s voice. Lady Stark. They were probably doing needlework by the hearth. She was ready to move on, but she heard her name.

“Y/N is a very dear girl, I think she’ll be happy …”

I’ll be what? Y/N pressed her ear against the wood. She remembered the keyhole, and while it was too small to peek, she could put her ear to it.

“You cannot consider the offer,” That was Lady Stark’s voice that sounded so stern, like when she scolded her children. “You musn’t, Talia.”

“I told Gareth about it, but he said …”

“ … Men are foolish about these things, you shall not …”

It was hard to catch the conversation, and Y/N worried about leaning on the door too hard - it might creak - but her curiosity was burning a hole in her. She couldn’t help but pick up several morsels as she listened in.

“If they think … my only daughter …”

“… We could always … She’s young, but a good child …”

“… It was supposed to be in a few years, Lyarra …”

A pair of hands grasped Y/N’s shoulders, and she screamed as Lyanna tackled her. “YOU’RE IT!”

There was exclamations and the sound of something breaking inside. Lady Stark swung the door open and was greeted to two girls sprawled on the floor. They were promptly dragged inside and forced to sit and participate in the needlework that the two women were doing. Y/N glanced at both Lady Stark and her mother, both peeved, both not picking up whatever conversation they were having earlier … because it was about her.

Y/N tried to focus on threading the needle. I heard my name, there’s no mistaking it. Am I in trouble?

Thirty minutes into the forced needlework, Lyanna gasped and realized they were supposed to find Benjen. Lady Stark sharply told her to sit. Benjen walked past the open doorway a few minutes later anyway, tying some blue yarn into complicated knots. He stuck his tongue out at Lyanna while his mother’s head was down, and Y/N pulled back Lyanna’s arm to keep her from tossing her embroidery hoop.

Y/N enjoyed an entire week at Winterfell, and she didn’t have a moment without the Stark children. Lyanna was an almost constant presence, of course. They had lessons in the day and ate together in the evening, and at night they even shared a room. They’d whisper and chatter under the furs until one of them finally fell asleep, usually Y/N. Benjen often joined in their more lively activities, and even Brandon would come along now and again, although it was usually just to annoy them. He fancied himself an important “man” of fourteen, and didn’t think much of silly girls.

Lyanna didn’t want Y/N to leave, so she tried not to think about how short a week really was. She hated having to waste time doing embroidery and staying inside, even if Y/N made such beautiful drawings on her canvas, and even if she was a surprisingly elegant dancer at her young age.

It was the seventh day, and Lyanna and Y/N groggily went through their morning routine. The septa helped them lace their clothes and braid their hair. Y/N looked over at her chest, still open and … empty?

“Septa Alys, where are my things?” She asked with some concern.

The septa was not terribly old. She had a sweet disposition and was more prone to wringing her hands instead of scolding whenever Lyanna acted up. “They were put away yesterday, dear. Did you not notice?”

“But why? I’m leaving today.”

Septa Alys was more occupied with Lyanna’s hair. “You’ll have to ask your lady mother and lord father, dear.”

“Maybe the servants were mistaken? I’ll help you put it back.” Lyanna offered, but she didn’t sound happy about it. Now that she was properly awake, she was sullen. She spent most of the previous night sulking.

Septa Alys helped Y/N secure the pearl and silver string in her hair, complimenting how lovely it looked with her pretty hair. Y/N didn’t completely hear her. She walked down the hall with Lyanna, who let out another sigh.

“We can still write,” Y/N said. She wasn’t happy, either, but she didn’t want their last day to be so gloomy. “I’ll send you things again, too.”

Thankfully, Lyanna was willing to be cheered. “I want to send you things too, but we don’t have seashells or anything like that here… I’ll think of something. I’ll send you blue rose petals! You wanted to paint them, right?”

“Oh, yes, I’d love that. Weirwood leaves, too. The ones at your Godswood are so big!”

The girls fell into an easy chatter as they entered the great hall for breakfast. The four parents were there, as Y/N expected, but there was no food on the table - they weren’t even sitting yet. Brandon, Benjen and Willam were nowhere to be seen, nor was Ser Roderick or the maester or any of the other staff that were slowly becoming familiar. Lyanna sensed the strangeness, too.

“Mother, what’s going on?” She asked.

“Girls, we have something important to tell you.” Lady Stark beckoned them. She didn’t look as tired this morning, in fact, she seemed like she was trying to keep from smiling too much. Y/N instantly looked to her mother, who was beaming, and her father, who had a smile with tension behind it. Lord Stark looked thoroughly amused.

“Y/N, do you like it here?” Her mother asked.

Y/N thought it was a silly question, and not what it seemed, but she didn’t know how to answer. “Yes, I like Winterfell very much.”

It was Lord Stark’s voice that boomed, and Y/N didn’t expect it. She startled a little. “Would you like to stay here for a longer time, little Y/N?”

She looked to Lyanna, who was just as confused, then to the parents again. “For how much longer, my lord?”

“Well,” Her mother tried to sound excited, but she was using the same voice she reserved for carefully explaining something to Willam, especially after he was about to cry about something. “Until you’re a woman grown, Y/N. In Winterfell you’ll learn to be a proper lady and wife, doing the same lessons as Lyanna. You’ll be like sisters.”

“Sisters?” Lyanna gaped.

“She’ll live with us for a few years, not as a guest, but as family.” Lady Stark said to her daughter. She didn’t speak to them like they were Willam. “You have heard that Ned is fostering in the Eyrie? It is like that, my dear.”

“Oh.”

She couldn’t believe it. Y/N was struck with absolute disbelief, like she was still walking around in a dream and she’d wake to Lyanna’s arm hitting her in the face again. Happiness hit her, excitement, but also nervousness, and then —

“But - Willam is not staying? Mother and father aren’t …?”

“Just you, little ray,” Her father finally spoke. He bent down to her level, still in light armor in spite of the early hour. “With Lady Stark and the septa, you can get a proper education here. You’re our only daughter, and we want you to be taken care of.”

He sounded sad, and his eyes didn’t meet her’s completely, but he took her hand. Y/N felt like she shouldn’t be excited anymore. Could her family not take care of her? Was baby Rickard really so fussy, was Willam really so much more important?

No, Willam might foster in a few years, too, but not here. He’ll be a page or a squire. It’s an important thing for lords to do, especially first-born ... Mother and Father must expect a lot from me ...

Even if they had another daughter, Y/N was the oldest by far. She was always responsible for Willam, and she’d already helped plenty with baby Rickard. Her septa and maester were also often pleased with how she progressed in her lessons. A sense of duty and pride filled Y/N, combined with all the other swirling emotions. She’d miss her family very much, but her mother had told her many times about the duties of a grown lady. Wasn’t this part of that?

She felt Lyanna take her hand and squeeze it. Y/N could have been sent anywhere else in the North, or like Ned, far away to some mountain keep — to a place where she had no friends, and no familiar faces.

It must have been very hard for him, Y/N thought suddenly, but she shook those thoughts free when she realized everyone wanted a reaction from her. She nodded, looking toward her father first, because addressing everyone felt frightening. She might start crying.

“I’m very happy,” She said, hoping she sounded as such. She wasn’t sure how she felt; too many emotions were buzzing about and not staying still. “I’ll miss you, and mother, and my brothers … will you still visit? Can I visit?”

“Of course! Especially during the harvest season and the melees.” Lord Stark said.

Her mother added, “You’ll write me weekly, I want to read about all the things you’re doing. Time will pass before you know it.”

“It will be so nice to have lessons with you!” Lyanna blurted. Y/N was surprised how still and quiet she was being up until now. “It’s fine enough with Benjen, but he doesn’t do the lady things I have to. Oh! Mother, will we still share a room?”

“Yes, especially when winter comes, it will be too cold —”

The situation had fully sunk into Lyanna’s mind, and now she couldn’t stop. “You could have a horse of your own! Can you ride? No, you told me, so you’ll learn! I’ll teach you! We can watch the fighters spar, and we can walk in the Godswood, and sometimes when father goes to Winter Town —”

“Lyanna.”

She was hardly discouraged by her mother’s sharp tone. Y/N noticed her father looked much happier, and he kissed her brow before standing back up.

“Let’s break our fast, then!” Lord Stark went to his old friend and slapped his back. “I’ll call the rest in, the Others know where Brandon ran off to, though. Lyarra, where’s that son of your’s?”

“Your son is in the yard, swinging that new sword about. Sit beside us on the dais, sweetling.” Lady Stark patted Y/N on the head as she walked past her. Y/N’s mother smiled approvingly, and pulled her soft braid forward. The pearl glinted in the morning light.

“I’ll send you many more things, so you don’t feel so homesick, little ray.” She said. Then she turned to Lyanna. “It will be nice to have a sister for once, won’t it?”

“Yes, thank the gods.” Lyanna said bluntly, and the adults laughed to themselves, even Lady Stark, who was failing to look embarrassed. While the servants poured in to serve the food, and men at arms entered, and finally Benjen, Brandon and Willam, Y/N was quiet. She filled her plate, but much of it was untouched. Her stomach and her chest were fluttering at the same time, and if maybe one of them would settle, she could eat something more.

Lyanna was excited, too excited, enough to make Y/N feel uneasy. Her parents and Lyanna’s parents were pleased, her friend was delighted, the various members of Winterfell expressed their well-wishes.

Winterfell is big and beautiful, and Lyanna is my very best friend, and her brothers are nice, too. Lady Stark, Lord Stark, the maester, Septa Alys… No one has been unkind to me.

Y/N wanted to excuse herself. The hall was noisy, so she could have slipped away, if only they weren’t on the dais. Benjen was beside her, and he leaned in so their shoulders touched. “What’s the matter?”

She glanced up at his big, wondering eyes, and quickly said, “Nothing.”

Very little escaped Benjen, she knew. He was a year younger, but sometimes Y/N felt like he was older - only sometimes, when he wasn’t teasing them or playing a stupid prank. “It’s okay to be unhappy.”

Y/N wasn’t sure what to make of that statement. “I’m not. I like it here. … I’ll just miss home sometimes, I think.”

“It’d be strange to not miss home, right?” Benjen said. “You said you can’t smell the sea here.”

Y/N deflated. Now she truly wanted to cry, but she held it in, and touched her pearl. There were no pearls in Winterfell, no seashells, no sunsets making the water glitter, no giant ships with their billowing sails. There was no smell of salt or sound of waves.

“I’m sorry,” Benjen said quickly. He touched her hand where she left it, under the table, and squeezed her fingers. It was much gentler than the way Lyanna grasped it. “We should go to Whitetide one day.”

“You’d want to go?”

“I’ve never seen the ocean or a manta ray. Not even a ship.” Benjen looked on the other side of Y/N, where Lyanna was sitting. “Lyanna! Let’s go to Ramsgate.”

“What? When?” She stared at Y/N, as if that was who gave the suggestion.

“Um, some day,” Y/N said. “Maybe some day soon. Our castle isn’t big as Winterfell, or Lord Manderly’s keep, but I’ll show you the beach and the ships.”

She smiled as she thought of that. She could already see Lyanna building sand castles and getting completely dirty, and Benjen would sneak behind her and dump sand down her tunic. Brandon could come, too. He’d watch the ships with her uncle, or even board one, because he was a lordling and a man now. Maybe, somehow, Ned could come, too. She wondered what he’d like to do on the beach. Perhaps he’d just watch the waves hit the rocks, but that was fine in and of itself - because at night, you could see the stars the sailors navigated with. Y/N knew almost all of them.

This is what she said to Lyanna and Benjen, who listened with rapt attention. As she thought, Lyanna loved the idea of sandcastles, but she wanted to feel the waves crash against her legs, too. Benjen wanted to see a ‘tide pool’, and the little crabs that sat inside them - Y/N couldn’t imagine why he wanted to catch one of the mean things. Even Brandon overheard them, and chimed in. He couldn’t hide his own curiosity as he asked questions about House Caspian’s flagship.

When she returned to Lyanna’s room, her trunk had been stowed away somewhere, and her clothes were in Lyanna’s armoire. Her books were on a small shelf, and her other few belongings were with them. I need to ask mother and father to send my paints. She cared more about that than her cloak and riding boots.

It wasn’t long after that her parents and Willam had to leave for Whitetide. As Y/N expected, Willam cried. She hugged him and promised he could visit, or maybe she’d visit, and she’d write letters, although that meant nothing to him. Sometimes he was more like baby Rickard than Benjen. Still, she was glad her little brother had so much affection for her, and she ended up crying herself as she hugged her mother and father. It pained her that she couldn’t give a proper goodbye to Uncle Cole.

All of the Starks and Y/N watched as the carriage, horses and few men-at-arms disappeared. Eventually Lord and Lady Stark returned to the castle, but the children stayed by her side. Lyanna was holding her hand, Benjen slightly leaned on her other side, and behind her was Brandon’s strong presence. He was already so much taller than any of them.

Y/N thought her tears would have dried eventually, but they kept silently falling. She got tired of rubbing at her face with her sleeves, and she was glad no one was bringing attention to it, even if it was making Lyanna sniff at rub at her own eyes.

Y/N felt Brandon’s hand on her head, and while the gesture would normally annoy her, he wasn’t trying to tease her this time. As she looked up at him, Brandon almost looked sad.

“Manta rays shouldn’t be away from the sea for so long,” He said. “So you’ll have to be a wolf for now.”

“She’s too nice and pretty to be a she-wolf,” Benjen said.

Lyanna quickly asked, “What does that make me?”

“It won’t be for long.” Brandon said. Y/N couldn’t help but notice that for once, he seemed unsure with his words. He was usually so self-assured. The lordling gently touched her hair, where the pearl was tied in. “You’ll always have that to remember.”

Y/N looked down at the iridescent pearl, and while the silver glinted prettily in the sunlight, the pearl’s beauty was something else. It was a little bigger than her thumb. It wouldn’t be her only pearl, but it was her first, and her father did away with several before finding this one for her. It was almost a perfect sphere, almost.

Brandon seemed done with sentiment for the day. He didn’t wait for an answer as he turned away. “I’m going to practice. Lyanna, your face is going to stick like that if you keep making a stupid face.”

“Your face is already stuck with stupid, Bran!” Lyanna retorted hotly, then added, “And use your sword like a sword when you practice today, yesterday you flailed it like a reed!”

Y/N laughed as she rubbed the last of the tears from her eyes. Benjen said, “There’s some snow up on the walls, want to make snowballs?”

“Yes, and throw them!”

“At what?” Y/N asked. “Each other? Our dresses will get wet.”

“So we’ll throw them at someone not in a dress.” Lyanna looked at Brandon’s retreating figure pointedly. She pulled up her skirt to her calves, always the one who had to get a head start, even if it wasn’t a race. “Come on! I know the fastest way!”

#game of thrones x reader #ned stark x reader #game of thrones imagines #ned stark #salt & snow #libra fics

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blisslilywrites · 4 years

Note

Hello. You're good at it. You continue in the same spirit:) The scenario about how Hanamiya, Seto, Hara, Furuhashi, Akashi, Aomine, Kise read one book together with the s/o. Please. I congratulate you on the past holidays. I hope you've had a good rest.)

A/N: hellooo thank you so much for reading! ♡

KISE RYOUTA

“Ryouta! Let’s get this over with so we can go home!” Your voice echoed throughout the classroom.

“Ehhhh Y/N-cchi, I am listening!”

“I doubt it. Gosh, you read magazines when it’s all about you but can’t read a book? Read the book, READ IT.” The classroom became quiet when your boyfriend fixed his eyes upon the pages you were reading. Both of you were just the ones in the classroom. Well, it was a punishment for being loud in class. How did it happen?

You were discussing something at the back of your English class, then your teacher scolded you, “You can’t go home without reading the book and reporting it to me!” Yeah, it was hell for the both of you.

You continued reading to where you had left, you were able to comprehend each and every sentence but the silence your partner had made you felt different. You were harsh with him earlier, and so to replace the harshness, you kissed his cheek.

“Y-Y/N! W-what are you—,” He was surprised, but not as bewildered as you. Apparently your cheeks turned brighter red than his, “U–uhmmm, to lift up the spirit!”

Now silence had filled the classroom once again, this time it was not because of reading. Both of you weren’t even able to fix your gazes on the paper.

“Then.. Kiss me again,”

You coughed, “W–what are you saying! Let’s get back to work!”

“Ehhh you told me it’s to lift up my spirit-ssu! I couldn’t understand the book but when you kissed me it’s like all the words came running through my mind. I can understand it now!”

“What an opportunist!” You damned, but then you found yourself kissing his cheek once again.

The day ended with the two of you reporting to the teacher based on what you read. He answered every question right.

And when the two of you were walking to go home, “Y/N, let’s read again tomorrow.”

A reading with a kiss.

AOMINE DAIKI

You were lying on the couch reading your favorite book and listening to your boyfriend’s complaints.

“What’s so good about that book anyway?”

“It’s a good book if you bothered to read anything other than your gravure magazines.”

“Hey I do read things other than my magazines.”

“Oh really?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Prove it then.”

His eyes glittered at the challenge. Standing up and walking over to you, he plucked the book from your hands before settling down next to you.

He started reading and unconsciously put an arm around you.

You stared at the sight before you with mild amusement. You figured it was probably just a matter of time before he gave up. Until then though, why not just enjoy the moment since this probably won't be happening again soon.

After a while, you were sitting in his lap as both you and him quietly read the book.

Every once in a while, he broke the silence to ask you what a particular word or phrase meant.

There were many times when you turned the page and Aomine would stop you as he hasn’t finished reading yet.

Every time this happened, you’d look at him and see the intense concentration etched across his face. Then quietly, you’d think to yourself He's actually reading. Properly reading.

You weren’t gonna complain though. If he wants to spend the afternoon reading with you, you sure as hell weren’t gonna stop him.

You didn’t know how it happened nor did you know what was happening exactly.

All you knew was that you were quite comfortable.

By evening, the two of you had completed the book.

You were honestly pretty surprised he made it through the entire book.

Just as the thought crossed your mind, you heard a loud snore coming from right behind you.

You let out a small sigh.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

Turning to see his sleeping, snoring face, you smiled and took out your phone to snap a picture before setting the book down and snuggling up against him.

Book-reading was your thing and sleeping lazily was his.

HANAMIYA MAKOTO

“Hey, baka.” Hanamiya moved to the seat next to you, alighting a book to your desk you had for your elbows to stand and to play your phone leveled with your eyes. You felt your boyfriend rushed over your side, but that wasn’t a reason for you to stop what you were playing. Yep, you wouldn’t waste a prize just because of your bossy, sadist boyfriend—

“Give me that,” He grabbed your phone forcely out of your possession, diverting your attention to the certain attention seeker.

“Makoto-kun!” You complained, eyes squinching while attempting to grab your phone from his long arms.

“Y/N, I think you’ve had enough.”

“Well I don’t! Will you please just give me my thing?" You forced your way to get what you wanted, yet not long enough you surrendered already, crossing your arms in annoyance.

“I’ll give it to you after. For now..” He hid your phone inside his pocket, then opened the book he just brought. “I was told your grades were getting lower because of your meaningless games. Y/N, I know you’re stupid but you just can’t throw your education away.”

“Hey! I'm not trying to throw my education! It's just that.. well..” You averted your gaze from his to the front as your face slowly turned into light pink. The words wouldn't escape from your lips, yet Hanamiya managed to catch the unsaid words just fine.

“You don't understand the lessons, do you? Y/N, just how stupid are you? You could’ve asked.” By your boyfriend’s words, he persuaded you to read and study the lessons. Though he was only there to watch, telling you that you should learn on your own nonetheless he would constantly check how you progressed time by time.

AKASHI SEIJURO

You skimmed the shelves of the library, running your hands along the spines of the dusty books. Barely anyone came to this library anymore. You had to admit you haven't been coming here often either. With all the work you've got, it's hard to make time for yourself and your much-needed relaxation. It’s such a shame though because this library was one of the best places to just sit down and take a break from the world. And now here you were, scanning the titles for one to open and start reading. So far though, none of the books seem worth reading. They all just lacked a certain appeal. Sighing, you gave up with this section and walked over to one of the tables where a young man was sitting. He was reading a rather old-looking book when he looked up and caught sight of you.

“Still haven't found something to read y/n?” Akashi asked with a bemused smile before turning back to his book.

A playful frown appeared on your face. You moved to sit next to him and immediately started fidgeting all over the place. You turned your head to look at the book he was reading and a few lines snagged your interest.

‘Hey that looks familiar,’ you thought to yourself.

You leaned forward to properly see what he was reading.

The pages of the book were yellow and frayed. Small ink blotches dotted the paper here and there.

Akashi noticed you examining his book and turned to you with a raised eyebrow.

You blushed slightly but quickly regained your composure.

“Umm what book is that?” you asked, pointing to the book.

He showed you the cover and you immediately recognized it.

It was the book you were assigned to read in last year's English class. You didn't think much of it at first until you started reading it and became awestruck by it.

Nervously, you asked him if you could read it with him. He gave you a curious look before obliging.

And there you were, sitting in an almost empty library with Akashi reading one of your favorite books. You couldn’t ask for a better day than this.

FURUHASHI KOJIRO

At the very corner of the library, it was where you always sit; studying endlessly for an exam and sometimes, you would just read out of boredom. You would spend the whole day reading at the school library, and your boyfriend Furuhashi, inclined to bring you food amid its prohibition. Though the thing is, he’s in the library committee, it’s not that he uses it as an advantage, but he could always watch you everytime you read.

“Here you go,” Furuhashi placed a drink on your table for the 100th time, you laid your gaze upon the grape juice that was covered in moist, and redirected your sight to your special someone.

“Kojiro, thank you.” He blushed for your gratefulness, hid his fluttered expression and took a seat in front of you.

“What are you reading?” He asked.

“Flowers,”

“Oh yeah? What does it say about you?”

“I never said it’s about me. I said flowers.”

“And you are one,” A blush crept upon your features. You shared him your book about flowers and gardening as the two of you read together.

That wasn’t just the time of you together. Every time you read at your usual place in the library, he would come to join you. He complimented you every now and then.

SETO KENTARO

“Ken-chan, you promised to teach me. Wake up!” You pushed him to his waking yet he completely ignored. He snored, purposely.

“Ken-chan!” You kicked his chair for once, and you succeeded in bringing the lazy boy to his annoyance.

“I’m too lazy, Y/N-chan. You can do it on your own,” You spared him a gloomy smile, turned around and almost walked away when he caught your arm, causing you to return your footsteps to his side.

“Hey I told you to do it on your own. Where were you going?”

“Since you won’t help me, I’m going to ask the president.”

“Heya, don’t be silly. Come here,” He grabbed the textbook from your hands and placed it on the desk, he ordered you to sit down and started teaching you.

You smiled at the thought of having a smart boyfriend to teach you when in need. He’d be always pushing you away when you want to learn more because of his laziness, but when you are to ask anyone else other than him, he’d be pretty jealous and will start teaching you without hesitations.

HARA KAZUYA

You and Hara arrived at the library safely, you made your way to search for the books you had been wanting to read whereas Hara immediately slouched his way to the tables and buried his head completely. He didn’t really want to go when you asked him, but as convincing you were to him, you were able to break his disinclination; though apathy followed him along the way.

“Ahhh! I can’t stand boredom!” Your seatmate bellowed, lifting his head just as you sat down adjacent to him. You ignored, settling the book onto the table.

“Y/N dear! Let’s go home!” The pages of the book were in delicate touch as you began reading a compilation of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey.

“Y/N darling? Yohoooooo,” You were trying to focus, not letting yourself be distracted by someone you knew whiny.

“Y/N talk to me pleaseeee,”

“Y/N I love you--,”

“UHHH KAZUYA WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP?!” You shout that led him to his silence. It wasn’t just him who got affected by your loud voice but also the people surrounding the area.

“Fine,” he scoffed. He became quiet for awhile, glancing at anywhere near him but the moment he laid his eyes upon the page you were reading, he saw familiar words that caught his attention.

“Hey, isn’t that ancient literature? Why didn’t you tell me!” He smiled and had the book at the center spot for him to be able to read it with you.

Hara didn’t like reading, yet his eyes sparked enthusiasm when it was about ancient literature, his favorite subject. He would constantly spout trivias and lots of things concerning the subject.

The next day he asked you to go to the library with him.

#knb #knb imagines #kuroko no basket #knb x reader #kuroko's basketball #kirisaki daichi #kise ryouta #aomine daiki #knb scenarios #kirisaki daiichi #kirisaki daiichi x reader #akashi seijuro #hara kazuya #seto kentaro #furuhashi kojiro #hanamiya makoto #aomine x reader #kise x reader #akashi x reader

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xyliane · 4 years

Text

AU-gust 2: college au

PROMPT THE SECOND: COLLEGE AU (one of these days I’m actually going to draft a story out of my own tales of undergrad into chaos, mayhem, and jumping out of windows cuz the class was boring. instead today, you get the aftereffects of being a TA and also seeing this post on twitter and jumping a few dozen steps to the right. hxh again, zushi pov)

0o0o0o0o0o

It’s 3am, Zushi has a paper due in the morning, and he is bouncing impatiently from foot to foot outside of the RA’s door in shorts and an old shirt that should have fallen apart months ago. It’s not fair, really. He could have had this done days ago, all he needs is the translation for some final key conclusions, but his partner on the Artomatic forums fell off the map, Professor Palm absolutely refuses to help, and Zushi still doesn’t read Greek in any form, let alone whatever form of it is going on in this tome he’d scavenged out of the dusty corners of the old art wing library.

Zushi’s an engineering major. He has a whole internship lined up after this, working with Wing and Dr. Krueger on practical applications of Da Vinci’s wing sketches. This art class is the last humanities section he ever needs to take. Why does he need ancient Greek just to understand a fresco made thousands of years ago depicting a bunch of naked people breaking vases--

He pounds on the RA’s door again, just as the flimsy wood creaks open. Killua, to no surprise, is still awake, white hair casually tousled and blue eyes a little red from whatever he’s using to stay conscious. He looks like any other time Zushi’s seen him, save for the chocorobo-print pajamas. He blinks a little, like he’s not used to looking up at someone taller than him. “Oh, hey Zushi. What’s up?”

Zushi all but launches the tome at Killua (and it is a tome, leather-bound and heavy as a whole weightlifting rack and smelling of dead dust). The RA catches it in his chest with an oomph fuck. “I heard you...” Killua raises an eyebrow, and Zushi swallows heavily. “I heard you can read ancient Greek?” he asks the chocorobos covering Killua’s knees.

When he doesn’t get an immediate response, Zushi knows he’s screwed. He’ll take the F on the term paper, the absolute mess it will do to his overall GPA, Wing will just look disappointed--

And Killua lets out a little chuckle. “Haven’t got that in awhile. You bring your phone?” At Zushi’s stare, he adds, a little sharper, “For the translation.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Killua sighs, and steps into his room as though expecting Zushi to follow. They’re friends, Zushi thinks, or at least friendly--Killua’s a good RA as far as making sure everyone’s forms are in on time and not enforcing the rules when he thinks they don’t make sense. But he’s never been in here before.

It looks like any other single, but with a private bath. Maybe a little neater than most, a teetering tower of textbooks threatening to consume most of the desk. Zushi doesn’t know what he expected.

Fortunately, Zushi has had the fresco’s page marked for ages now, so it’s easy to find and point out the troublesome scrawl. At the sight, Killua seems to brighten, some of the everpresent uni student exhaustion lifting as he traces a finger along the photocopied brushstrokes. He looks absolutely thrilled at whatever it is he’s found, words boxy and stark against the naturalistic forms.

Zushi coughs a little too loudly, and Killua’s head snaps up, white curls bouncing a little. He grins a little sheepishly. “Where did you find this?” he asks. “When I was--I know some people who would kill for a look at this.”

Killua’s previous major is a source of much debate amongst the freshmen--what gives someone fluency in at least three languages, a solid basis in at least calc 3, and way too many opinions about world leaders?--but Zushi doesn’t care right now. He just wants to get this done. “Can you read it?” he asks. “Please?”

Killua shrugs. “Sure, as long as I can borrow this when you’re done. Pronunciation first.”

And Killua begins to read. Zushi has no idea what he’s saying, but the words seem to flow musically, one into the other, until it’s hard to tell if Killua is reading or singing. When the phrases finish, they don’t so much end as echo, vibrating around the shabby college dorm as though aching to sink in and create a place worthy of their sound.

Zushi doesn’t realize he’s stopped breathing until Killua takes a deep breath himself. He’s pale, paler than usual, and his hands are white-knuckled around the edges of the pages. “Well. That was...” He glances up, seeming to remember Zushi is there, and rolls out his shoulders. “Now, to translate--”

And the ground erupts in light.

When Zushi’s eyes clear, it’s still nighttime, but he’s laying on well-used cobblestone, and an infinite array of stars stretches out in front of his eyes. He doesn’t remember laying down. He doesn’t remember the outside. And he certainly doesn’t remember such colorful statues towering overhead, not unless you count Captain Biggs’s much-defaced figure outside of the gym.

A brown-skinned young man with wind-swept black hair stares at him, brown eyes dancing as he yells something across the stone--a plaza maybe? a courtyard?

By the time the young man’s helped Zushi sit up and offered a small sip of what tastes like wine, Killua’s back, now dressed in something out of a toga party with a smile practically splitting his face, wider and wilder than Zushi has ever seen. “Cool, you made it. Did you know you found one of the last remaining active frescoes? Because I didn’t, and if I had I wouldn’t have read it out loud.”

Zushi shakes his head. “I don’t read Greek,” he says.

Killua says, “You’d better get good quick. We’re in Athens until our friend here--” The young man says something, voice a question even if his expression is still laughing, and Killua shakes his head. “--Gon, can help us find the original.”

“The original...”

Killua kicks him gently with a bare foot. “You’re an engineering major. You’re not that stupid.”

Zushi can all but feel the wheels creaking in his head, splitting away from logic and reforming into some new, illogical, impossible set of gears. “Th-that’s not--we’re in Greece???”

“Circa 4th or 5th century BCE, if I’m getting my dates right,” Killua agrees cheerfully. He holds out a hand and tugs Gon to his feet, their grip and Killua’s eyes lingering just a little too long before offering the same to Zushi.

Zushi takes a few deep breaths, then one more for good measure. He can deal with this. He’s shit at language, but this is a problem, and there will be a solution, and he will find it before he has to turn in that miserable paper.

“Okay,” he says, and lets Killua help him up. “Okay. And your new boyfriend will get me clothes, too?”

Killua’s grin turns smug in a way that Zushi really, really does not want to know. “When in Rome, right?”

“We’re in ancient Greece!” Zushi squawks.

(AUgust prompts)

#AUgust2020 #my writing #hxh #zushi #killua zoldyck #look I don't know #I'm sorry to my art history profs who made sure I knew about black figure and red figure #the ancient greeks didn't really do inscriptions like this but fuck it magic book #using my art history degree here for the only thing it's actually useful for

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unlockthelore · 4 years

Text

A Reprieve

Considerations emerge when questions are asked then answered, and Aether begins to feel just a bit better. This is part of the Where The Soul Lies Down series on Ao3. For more fics in this series, follow the where the soul lies down tag on this blog.

Initially, Aether wasn’t sure what to do with the child. There was no one he could ask for help or any means to inquire where she came from. After she’d finished coughing against his shoulder, water trickling down into the crevices of his vest, he’d heard a strange noise like a pigeon’s squawking. The girl whimpered and tiny hands fisted in the hair at the back of Aether’s neck as a small voice whined, “Hungry,” pitifully. That was the only word the girl uttered before she dropped into slumber, practically dead to the world with how easily he lifted her.

Concern gripped his heart when her hands flopped against his shoulders but gentle snores filled his ear and he sighed. Finding where she came from wasn’t something he could do but satisfying hunger definitely was. He tucked his fishing pole between two rocks to keep it upright and hustled over to the patches of grass beneath a tiny tree stuck between two slabs of rock. His fingers curled in the girl’s feathery white locks, keeping her head from bouncing against his breastplate’s golden epaulets.

Kneeling down in the dirt, grass, and sand, he balanced the girl in the crook of one arm and undid the clasps on his stole. The white fabric then slipped across his shoulders exposing his back to the breeze. A light shiver coursed through him but he focused on the task of laying out his stole then bunching it together. To his surprise, when he laid the girl upon it, she fit its length with a little extra fabric he used to drape over her in a blanket. Aether sighed, his brows slanted and lips pulled to one side as the girl laid there miserably enthralled in sleep.

He heard a few more pigeons’ crying then reasoned it must have been her stomach instead. “Food,” Aether reminded himself. A backward glance cast to the slumbering girl as he stood then jogged back to where his fishing pole was swaying to and fro - its line in tact but bobbing uselessly in the water with no bait. It didn’t take long for him to find a few worms attempting to burrow their way into the sands at his passing. A blue-horned lizard narrowly escaping his grasp by darting into a few shrubs before he could close his fingers around its tail.

Aether considered running after it but he was starkly reminded of the young girl still sleeping on the shore. His footsteps slowed before he could pass by the odd humming monument oft to the side. Its crimson gem reminded him of a teardrop while the upturned ornament escaped his recognition but thoughts of it haunted him as he jogged back to where he left the girl, peering over one of the rock slabs. His stole rose and fell with her breaths and he sighed with relief. Worms squirmed in the palms of his hands and he hastened to fastening them to the line, sitting down to continue his long wait.

Patience was required while fishing and while Aether honed his tolerance for the silence that came with waiting, he couldn’t seem to sit still. Every so often, he would rise to his feet and peer back across the sands to the slumbering bundle. Occasionally tucking his fishing pole between the rocks to jog over and ensure she was still there, let alone breathing. He’d begun to wonder if the girl was messing with him when her shallow breaths halted then started again with a raucous snore, jolting his heart to beat and leaving him gasping for breath.

Eventually, Aether gave up on fishing altogether and laid the small haul he’d caught on the rock slabs. At least she was sleeping and he didn’t have to explain the process of preparing a fish to eat. Aether didn’t know the first thing on how to explain it, nor could he really remember who taught him how to. Perhaps it was Lumine or someone they’d encountered on their travels. An old adage of teaching someone how to fish crossed his mind until he was battered by the thought of having someone to explain to.

How long had it been since he needed to do that?

When was the last time someone crossed his path that he’d talk to rather than avoid?

Another deafening snore pierced through his thoughts. Aether leant over the slab and saw the girl flopped on her side, a trail of drool rolling down her chin. He smiled sheepishly then shook his head. At least one of them was able to find a little peace. He allowed his muscle memory to pull him through the motions while his mind lulled off.

--------------------

Lumine’s firm hold squeezed tears past Aether’s tightly closed eyes. He could feel them dripping off his chin but couldn’t summon the will to make it stop. His eyes stung when he forced them to open, blearily staring down at their shadows, merged to where he could barely make out where Lumine ended and he began. Slowly, Aether lifted a hand to rest against his sister’s back and buried his nose in the crook of her shoulder.

He could smell wildflowers, ink, sticky sweetness from jelly beans they’d split from their pay, and dusty books. She must have spent most of the afternoon in the library while he’d run off. A little smile tipped the corner of his lips as he thought of his sister nose deep in a book until curator came to tell her it was time to leave. If they were together then they could have gotten twice the amount of work done but he tried not to dwell on that.

His attention easily diverted when his sister squeezed him around his middle. A sharp ache wrapped around his rib cage reminding him of why his wings were sore. Aether figured he must have flinched because Lumine pulled away from him, wiping away the mess of tears streaking his cheeks.

“Are you hurt,” she asked, her palms cupping his jaw tenderly.

Aether wanted to avoid telling her or anyone this for as long as possible. Careful not to take too deep breaths in case his ribs wanted to protest, he pursed his lips then looked down at the book that’d fallen in lieu of Lumine holding him. When Aether glanced up, she was still watching him intently and he internally sighed. “No, it’s just the bandages…”

“Bandages?” Lumine said breathlessly, immediately dropping her hands to his shoulders then roving around his torso as if checking for injuries.

A shiver coursed down his spine when her palm hovered over his chest. His hands shot up to stop her and he grimaced at the wide-eyed look on her face. Swallowing down his apprehension, Aether slowly brought his hands back to himself, hesitating then crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought.. If I used them on my chest, it would make it..”

Lumine blinked at him a few times then her eyes widened, understanding dawning on her face with a slight downward tick of the lips. “But your wings…” She started, then stopped, another realization flashed across her eyes with indignation. “And you’ve been flying for this long! You’re just going to hurt yourself..”

Aether grimaced and hugged himself tighter as if his arms could protect him from the weight of her words. “I don’t have a lot of options, y’know..” He grumbled, unable to keep the bite out of his voice.

The disappointment was palpable and he knew. He wasn’t sure how to tell her the depths of how much he knew that his wings, and his ability to fly would suffer. That it was terrible trying to re-bandage himself, and keeping them on for long periods made it hurt. But he felt better.

Lumine sighed and Aether braced himself for another rebuttal. “Why don’t we go to the seamstress in town,” she offered, and Aether whipped his head up to look at her, surprised. Lumine seemed to take that as anger and held her hands up defensively. “Maybe she can make you something that won’t give in the way of your wings but makes your…” Her gaze fell to Aether’s chest then returned to his face sharply. “Makes you feel comfortable.”

“But we were supposed to be moving in a few days,” Aether retorted although the prospect certainly caught his interest and his argument left him withering inside. “It’d take her awhile… and with gathering everything…”

Lumine waved a hand dismissively as if knocking all of his words and worries out of the air. “Don’t worry about that,” she stated, bracing his shoulders with both hands. “The Borealis won’t be ready for a while yet, so we have plenty of time…”

Aether must have looked as apprehensive as he felt because she held him a bit firmer then then pulled him into another embrace, adding softly, “And besides, you matter more.” Defenses he’d carefully crafted crumbled at once under his sister’s heartfelt sentiment. Aether’s arms unfurled and wrapped around Lumine in a vice, hugging her as close as he could without them being squished into one being.

When they separated, Lumine patted his cheek lightly. “We should get back, we’ll have to get up early, right?”

Aether nodded, stooping down to pick up her book and hand it to her. “Yeah..”

Dusk stretched on around them. The forest, dense and thick with tall trees, seemed less intimidating with Lumine at his side. His brisk pace earlier on replaced for a leisurely stroll that somehow left Aether more winded than he’d been before. Perhaps it was the adrenaline or dizzying relief from no longer having to keep his thoughts to himself - but he lagged behind his sister more than once. Lumine peering over her shoulder as they crossed gnarled roots, and shrubs.

“.. Are you okay?” She finally asked when Aether lagged behind for the umpteenth time, nearly tripping over a root in his haste to catch up to her.

“Just..” He took a gulp of air, and winced at his rib’s protest. “… A little tired.”

Lumine frowned and propped her book against a small bed of leaves draped over a tree’s roots. “Why didn’t you just say so?” She asked, turning on her heel and crouching down in the grass. “Here, climb on.”

Warmth prickled his cheeks and Aether shook his head, feeling a renewed sense of energy from panic curled in his chest. “No way, I’m way too old to be riding on your back.”

His sister’s hands dropped from where they were cupped by her ankles, resting on her knee when she shot him a look over her shoulder. “We’re the same age, and I ride on your back plenty.”

“That’s different,” he shot back.

She narrowed her eyes and a shiver rolled down his spine at the cold, creeping dread of her words. “Oh yeah?”

Aether wanted to say yes, but the confidence in his words died at the thought. He often carried Lumine back to bed when she passed out over a book or was too tired to lug herself inside when they went stargazing. He didn’t mind it. It was one of the few times he could take care of his sister. Repaying her for all of the times she looked after him as well. An uneasy silence fell around them and Aether toyed with his nails dragging against his palm. Shallow breaths making it easier on his aching ribs but he knew if he were to try and keep up, the pains would arise again.

“… Just to the gates, okay?”

Lumine eyed him then nodded, facing forward as he mounted her back and wrapped his arm around her neck. His hand held out when she offered the book to him before standing up. The slow shuffle of her feet through the tall grass was like a lullaby and soon, Aether found himself drifting off.

“You don’t have to do everything on your own, you know…” said Lumine as she hiked Aether up on her back, making sure she had a firm hold before she started to walk. “I’m always on your side.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact lumine #genshin impact aether #genshin impact paimon #fanfiction #my fanfiction #where the soul lies down

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

Text

“A Helping Hand” || YEAR 3 – Ch.13 (HP au)

Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 8/21/2020

Word count: 3,058

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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It was Friday morning and Heather was already up early before the rest of her house, and probably the rest of the school. All night long she had been twisting and turning with fear that her boggart would be incredibly embarrassing. She knew it would spread like wildfire if it was, much like Neville’s boggart. Already all of the Slytherins were talking about it and she didn’t doubt all of the Gryffindors were too.

The sun wasn’t out yet and the ground floor corridor of the staffroom was still dimly lit from the four or so torches at the ends. She didn’t have time to wait for the sun to rise and shine through the castle windows. She looked down the dungeon steps, keeping her ears tuned to the silence. Professor Snape was not – at least not currently – lurking in the shadows below.

She turned back. It was a clear shot to the staffroom. She un-crouched and ran to the wall the staffroom door was on and crept forward, passed the library doors, looking in for Madam Pince who also appeared not to be an early bird. The gargoyles were still asleep with brows furrowed. She opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind her and turning on her wand light. The staffroom was completely empty except for a handful of armchairs, a couch, and the wardrobe at the very back.

She walked up to the wardrobe and knocked. It wobbled, scaring her back before she composed herself and reached for the knob. All she had to do was pull it open, see what her boggart was, say the charm, and leave. That was simple. The wardrobe thumped loudly and the doors rattled, making her doubt how good of an idea this was.

“Harry could do this.” She nodded and steadied her shaking hand. “Harry has faced Voldemort three times now… I can face a silly boggart.”

At her words the doors rattled more violently, as if insulted. She gripped the knob and turned it but the door wouldn’t pull out. She tried the other door but the doors wouldn’t budge. The wardrobe was unlocked but closed with a seal. She needed the spell that produced sparks and opened the doors. She dropped her hands and cursed to herself.

She didn’t think Professor Lupin just had the counter spell laying around his office. He knew it nonverbally. She groaned and kicked at the ground, slowly heading back over to the staffroom door. She poked her head out and listened for any echoed steps or tiny pitter patters. Whatever time it was now, the whole castle was asleep.

This time she didn’t creep along the wall on her way back. She stopped at the library and out of curiosity pulled on the doors, hearing them creak open. She looked around and pulled them further, stepping into the eerily dark library. There was no Madam Pince to give her a menacing welcome glare as she walked past her desk. Heather headed to the back door where she served detention in and slipped in.

“So dusty,” she coughed. She spotted the large wood door in the back and ran to it, gripping the doorknob. “Please be open!” It was not. The door thumped as she pulled, locked in place. She stepped back and rubbed her hands together. “Knox.” She held out her wand at the doorknob and started down the list of charms she knew. “Alohomora, Recludo, Decierra, Resero!” Nothing.

She sighed. She should head back before people started waking up. The last thing she wanted was to get caught and have to serve another detention in here repairing old books. She was halfway out the door when she turned and held her wand out. “Aparecium?”

There was a green glow along the edges of the large door. It seemed to morph and the hinges appeared on the other side while the door knob shriveled away and regrew on the opposite side. She ran back and pulled the door open, turning on her wand light.

There were books of all sizes on shelves inside. It was a secret book closet. She pulled out a small book off the middle shelf and flipped through it. “‘Banned Herbs and Ivies’.” She set it down on the table and pulled out several more. “‘Transfigurations for Inspection’, ‘Prohibited Potions’?” These were all books of things outlawed by the Ministry, with no seal of approval on any of the spines.

Were these the types of books Draco’s father had in his library? They weren’t dark arts stuff though. She rearranged the shelves to look like no books had been taken out and scooped up the ones she had already. She closed the door and watched it morph back to its mirrored self.

She was out the door and down the corridor towards the great hall, bounding down to the second Slytherin house entrance as far away from Professor Snape’s office as possible. She whispered the password and headed down the steps into the common room, finally able to catch her breath.

Her heart was beating out of her chest and she couldn’t believe what she’d done. This was certainly expulsion worthy. She jumped as a first year Slytherin coughed at one of the desks and quickly headed back to her room, making sure to keep the books as hidden as possible incase her dormmates were awake at all. She lifted her mattress and stuffed the books at the foot end of her bed, not wanting to risk Pansy going through her trunk again.

The rest of the day went by agonizingly slow. Every break she excused herself from her friends to check the books were still in place and every time a professor looked her way she froze, sure they had caught her. She was nearly sick when Professor McGonagall asked her to her office, only to find out she was asking if Harry was still ok after the dementor encounter.

“Heather?”

She jumped and turned back around to face Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They were sitting outside in the courtyard doing essays. It was Saturday morning now and she was still terrified she was yet to be caught.

“Why are you so jumpy?” Harry was crossing his arms, knowing she acted like that when she was worried about a secret she shouldn’t know.

“Oh. It’s nothing.” She turned back as footsteps grew louder, but it was only Marcus walking passed.

“You’re as bad as Hermione,” Ron grumbled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hermione opened her book back up and continued her ancient runes essay. “If Heather says its nothing that its nothing. And I don’t care how many times you ask; I’m managing my way just fine.”

“No. You know a secret. What is it?” Harry shook Heather’s arm. “Tell us!”

What could she say? She couldn’t tell them about the books, they’d want to read them and who knows what those spells would do. And she couldn’t tell them her only other secret. They’d kill her. She opened her mouth, willing more ideas forward until she remembered what she’d found out from Professor Snape.

“Marcus is holding full team tryouts today, and he doesn’t know me or Draco know. They’re later tonight.”

“Already? Quidditch season isn’t until October. And isn’t he only missing one player?”

“Harry,” she crossed her arms at him, “Unlike you, I’m not a beloved Quidditch player. I have to actually work to stay on the team.”

Harry’s face went red. “I work at it too!”

“I didn’t see you train once this summer.”

“Neither did you!”

Heather looked away, forgetting he wouldn’t know she had trained for a full week with Draco. “Right. But I’ve been working out, which counts.”

Ron laughed, “You? Working out?”

“Ron! Don’t be rude!” Hermione tried to hold in her laugh.

Heather scoffed and stood. “Well I HAVE been!” She picked up her stuff and headed to lunch, grumbling the whole way. She tensed her arm and poked at it, feeling what she thought was some muscle, though she wouldn’t really know for sure. She had been working out for two months almost and her arms didn’t look any bigger than when she first started.

She found Draco and sat down next to him. “How’re you supposed to do tryouts with your arm still in that thing?”

He set down his fork and clutched his arm tight. “Gee, I don’t know if I can, Potter.”

“Heather! You know he’s hurt!” Pansy placed her hand over Draco’s, “Are you ok?”

Draco nodded and looked back at Heather. “I’ll be there though. Don’t worry about that.”

She figured that was code for ‘I’ll just take off the sling and play’, which was fine with her. Maybe she should invite Harry to watch so they could catch him playing just fine with his arm. Not like that would help with anything since Draco could just say they’re lying.

“So, how’re you thinking of beating Warrington and Montague?”

Heather nearly choked on her juice. She had completely forgotten she had a plan for one of them. She stood up and looked for Fred and George. They weren’t at lunch. She left the table and headed up to Gryffindor tower and knocked on the fat lady.

Neville opened the door and stepped out. “You looking for Harry?”

“I need to talk to Fred and George.”

He shook his head, “They’re not here.”

She nodded and headed back down the steps, finding it incredibly harder to breath. She had forgotten to talk to them yesterday. Now how was she going to get one of the chasers to not show up for tryouts? She couldn’t compete against them… she wasn’t strong enough yet. She got off on a random floor and sat down on a bench, covering her face with her hands. She wasn’t going to make it into the Quidditch team this year.

Someone cleared their throat next to her. Her head shot up and Professor Lupin was standing there looking down at her awkwardly.

“Curious that you’d be placed in Slytherin house while Harry was placed in Gryffindor.”

Heather nodded, “We aren’t that similar.”

“No. I suppose you’re not…” He sat down next to her on the bench. “Is everything alright? You seemed bothered.”

Heather looked down at his tattered robes and shrugged. “I may not make it onto the Quidditch team this year.”

“Oh? Why not? You were on it last year, I heard.” He smiled but his eyes were distant. He was looking a lot better than when he was on the train with them. He’d gained some wait and his cheeks no longer looked hollow.

“Last year no one really showed up for tryouts. This year Cassius Warrington and Graham Montague are trying out as Chasers and… well I was hoping one of them wouldn’t make it to tryouts…” She was hoping Fred and George had more of last year’s sleeping potion.

“Chaser? Why not Seeker? Your d-brother is Seeker. I’m sure you’d be just as great as he – ”

Heather stood up and started pacing. “No. Harry is Seeker and I hate being compared to him. Everyone always compares me to him so I want to be good at something different. I’m a lot better than him in a lot of things but no one notices because he’s ‘The Boy Who Lived’.”

He seemed to flinch at the mention of Harry’s title. He glanced away and chuckled, looking back at her. “Oh, believe me, I know what that feels like.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “It’s hard being someone’s shadow – of course I wouldn’t know what it’d be like to be my sibling’s shadow – but I do know how hard it can be at times.”

Heather sat back down, “Who were you the shadow of?”

He smiled. “A friend. He was very popular without even meaning to – well, that’s not true. He definitely meant to be popular – I guess he just didn’t really need to try. I, on the other hand, had to try very hard – much harder. And sometimes it never felt enough.”

Heather nodded and leaned back against the wall. “That’s how it feels. Everyone loves him even though we’ve been through the same stuff… kinda. And he doesn’t try.”

Professor Lupin stood up. “Who was it you were hoping wouldn’t show to tryouts? I may have a few tasks I need help with,” he winked.

Heather thought for a moment. “Warrington.”

His mustached smile pulled up into a grin. “Ah, what a coincidence. I believe I have some words for him about his essay he turned in yesterday.” He started down the hall, leaving Heather smiling on the stone bench.

Hours later, after dinner, she was standing on the Quidditch pitch next to Graham. It was getting dark and Marcus was pacing in front of them with his hands behind his back, looking out into the grassy lawns for any sign of Cassius. The minutes went by and Heather’s smile was growing as Marcus’ frown deepened.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Let’s begin.”

They went through the same drills as last year but harder. Graham threw the Quaffle with his full force at her, bruising her arms and ribs, and chin at one point. Tryouts were awful, and she knew she’d hardly be able to walk tomorrow, but the look of surprise on Marcus’ face when they showed up and better yet when Cassius didn’t was worth the pain.

She threw the Quaffle a lot farther and straighter than last year, and she didn’t drop it once. Her sweat dripped down her face and the cold wind stung her eyes but she did it. She pulled through. She ended the Chaser tryouts and touched down next to Graham.

“Nice tryouts,” Graham muttered and left the pitch.

She nodded and turned to Draco. “Good luck.”

“Won’t need it,” he smirked and handed her his sling.

Draco took off and Heather watched him pull off the Seeker drills against one other person who had the same problems Draco had last year. This time Draco wasn’t wobbly and never swerved when he looked behind him or to the side, keeping a straight line to the snitch.

She watched Marcus who didn’t seem as angry as when they started. Draco touched back down and they both stayed to watch the Beater tryouts, not too interested in who would take the spots. She handed him his sling back and they decided to leave.

“Did you have something to do with Warrington not showing up?”

Heather shook her head and hid her smile. “No. I didn’t do anything.”

They were heading up the lawn when Cassius and Professor Snape exited the castle entrance, both looking very mean. The four of them came to a halt and Professor Snape stared her down.

“Am I to assume you tried out?” Professor Snape’s voice was bordering on being venomous.

Heather and Draco nodded.

“And I suppose you think you’ve made it onto the team, since Warrington never made it.” Professor Snape stared into her eyes with a piercing intensity.

“Well,” she swallowed, “There were only two spots open… and only Graham and I – ”

He gave her a sickly smile. “Don’t think you’ve made the team just yet. Potter. See, Warrington was – mistakenly – held up. Something I will make sure Flint understands.”

Warrington smirked and the both of them continued down.

“What did you do?” Draco was laughing.

“Nothing.” She watched them enter the Quidditch pitch and turned back.

They continued into the castle and split off. She headed to the library to meet up with Hermione, Harry, and Ron. They were sitting in the back and waved to her as she entered. Harry and Hermione ran to her, excited to know how she’d done.

“Fine… Cassius didn’t show up so I should get the spot…” She sat down and drummed her fingers on the table. “But then he did after it was over…”

“Then you did it,” Ron tried to reassure her. “If tryouts were over then he couldn’t try out.”

Hermione had also noticed her mood. “It’s in the rules.”

“But Professor Snape went down with him.”

Harry groaned loudly, earning an angry shushing from Madam Pince. “What’s he got against us! He just wants Heather not on the team.”

“Oh Harry, why would he want that. She’s a Slytherin.”

“Because she’s a Potter. And he hates me.”

Heather scoffed, “Not everything is about you.” They were all silent for a while and Heather got up. “I’m going to bed early. I’m tired and it’s almost curfew.”

She left and headed down the dungeon stairs, thinking about how Marcus was probably relieved to give Cassius a chance. Anything to not have her on the team. She wouldn’t be as good, and she was smaller, and not as strong. All she had going for her was her speed. Maybe she should have tried out as Seeker and just deal with being the second-best Seeker in the school after Harry.

She entered the common room and saw that Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were at a desk in the back, laughing at whatever stupid thing Draco had said. Pansy was with her friends on the opposite side of the room chatting away. She thought about what Professor Lupin had said, about trying harder to be popular.

She lived as Harry’s shadow, but in her own house she also felt she was a shadow of Draco and Pansy. They weren’t friends, but they talked often, and she also talked to most of their friends without really being friends with anyone. She was just as known as them, but she was not popular at all.

She sighed and headed into the girl’s dorms to take a long bath in one of the cramped tubs. She made sure to actually untangle her hair as she washed it for once. After toweling off and dressing she brushed through her hair again and put it in braids before heading to bed.

If she didn’t make it onto the Quidditch team she’d focus on something else. Something more than just grades. The only friends she had were all Gryffindors, so maybe she could start being friends with her own housemates… the good ones at least – or… the ones who didn’t hate muggles.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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azo-dye · 4 years

Text

Theatricality, Ch. 8

Read the full fic HERE on AO3 or just the chapter under the ReadMore. Full disclosure... there be bj’s ahead...

...

Dean was in trouble.

Rehearsal went smoothly enough. Dean sat in the back again, smirking to himself as Cas tried to correct what now was looking like a much deeper attitude problem with the students than before. If they were aiming for Shakespeare, however modern, they were pretty far off the mark. Dean wouldn’t call himself an expert by any means, because seriously—apart from Sammy’s brief stint in middle school theater—he had no idea what constituted as quality work. Still, the kids’ awkward phrasing and flippant half-hearted gestures didn’t lend itself well for showing any sort of respect.

He did have to chuckle at Cas’s attempt at giving stage direction though. It was clear that this was a battle of wills between someone who was never educated on the actual terminology of what was supposed to be happening and kids who didn’t give two shits if they were being given direction or not.

“No, further up the stage, Michael… no—okay, stop there. Perfect. Don’t move.” Cas sighed as he adjusted his glasses, his annoyance apparent even from Dean’s spot a few rows back. He wondered if Cas had any actual acting or directing experience. He said he was originally supposed to be a speech teacher, and Dean could see that a bit more. Cas, with his thick-framed glasses and his pretentious—hot as fuck—eyebrow tilt, absolutely bringing down the house with a debate on foreign politics or whatever other brainiac topic that would have interested him at the time. He could see Cas bent over a thick textbook in a dusty library somewhere in the historic part of Chicago, maybe scribbling notes in a notebook as he pored over it. He also had a rather intriguing image of Cas pressed up against a shelf of those textbooks, collar unbuttoned and yawning to the side, exposing his sharp collarbones, breath panting and scruff dark on his skin, but not quite dark enough to hide the hickey that Dean—

Dean shifted in his seat. Probably not the right time.

After rehearsal, Dean had grabbed the bag Cas had stuffed all the hats into and met him at the doors leading back into the shop. Cas chased away the last of the teenagers at the paint counter, and turned to lock up for the night.

“We still don’t have a good place to burn these.” Dean pointed out. He wasn’t crazy about starting a fire in the parking lot of the motel, and he knew he’d have a trooper on his ass in about twenty minutes if he tried to drive out to the country to do it. With so much open space and farmland, almost everyone was looking out for each other’s property.

Cas shrugged as he nudged the stage weight that was propping open the last door. “Might have to do it one by one in my fireplace, I guess.” He glanced over. “You wanna come over for a drink?”

Dean blanched. “Well… maybe that’s not—“

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” Cas laughed, totally at ease. Totally ignoring the fact that Dean almost had him by the mouth again in the costume room a few hours ago. “We have the hats, and we need somewhere to get rid of them anyway. Nothing untoward. It’s just a drink, not a marriage proposal.” Cas said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in time with the tilt of his eyebrow. The very same one that Dean had fantasized about earlier.

“Uh.” Dean was super intelligent in times like this. He really, really shouldn’t set himself up like this. He knew what would come of any time spent alone with Cas right now. He didn’t want to break his own heart—whatever was left of it—and he certainly didn’t want Cas to feel obligated or anything.

So yeah, Dean was definitely in trouble.

As it was, just a drink turned into three, which almost inevitably turned into Dean and Cas sitting side by side on Cas’s tiny excuse of a sofa, a bottle of whiskey, a few beer bottles, and three shot glasses between them. Dean was pretty sure they’d had four at one point, but one was on the floor or something. He wasn’t actually too sure. The hats still lay in their bag by the side of the couch, and normally Dean would have made sure to finish the job before indulging like this, but his nerves were currently winning in his battle of priorities.

Cas was slung back across one end of the sofa, legs stretched out with his toes tapping against Dean’s foot. Dean leaned back against the other end and just looked. Looked at Cas with his long, loose limbs, and his messy shock of hair—even messier when Cas ran his hands through it. Dean wondered how it was possible for one person to look so good while so disheveled Cas reached up and palmed the back of his neck, drawing Dean’s eyes to the soft swell of his bicep. He knew for a fact that Cas wasn’t as scrawny as his appearance with his shirt or his profession might suggest. Knew that Cas had some muscle of his own there. Sleek, sinewy muscle, like a runner or a swimmer. Built for speed, instead of bulk. Dean also knew the strength he had in his hands, knew it from the grip Cas had kept on him both in the car, dragging him back down to meet his mouth, and by the way he had pulled Dean in when they were in the costume shop earlier.

“This’s a bad idea?” Dean had to wonder aloud.

Cas frowned and nudged his foot solidly. “Why s’this a bad idea?” His brows were furrowed like he was puzzling Dean out.

Shrugging, Dean let his head loll back for a second. “I know what your mouth tastes like.” Couldn’t get the taste of it out of his head actually. He kept replaying the first moment his lips touched Cas’s, and that brilliant electric shock that had coursed through him. He’d felt the sparks come back earlier this afternoon, and he was fighting the urge to see if that same voltage could be attained now.

If possible, Cas frowned harder, his confusion evident in the crook of his eyebrow. “So? I know what yours tastes like too.” He said this like it didn’t make Dean hot under the collar.

“So...” Dean trailed off, distracted when Cas took a sip from his nearby beer, licking a stray drop from the rim. “... so, it’s weird.”

“Then don’t think about it, Dean.” Cas pitched forward and leaned into Dean’s space, peering up at him from beneath his lashes. “Don’t think about it and it’s not weird.”

Dean tried. He really did. He stared hard at Castiel, eyes running over his lips and eyes, down to the open collar of his throat between the buttons Dean can remember undoing with his teeth not 24 hours ago, “Can’t.” he said, pursing his lips grumpily.

“Can’t think about it?” Cas’s confused look was back. “Or can’t not think about it?” Christ, but they were really going to have a hangover the next morning. He backed off, leaving Dean on his side of the sofa.

Dean sighed. “Guess I’m not good at not thinking about it.” He reached for his own beer, twisting at the label. “You’re good at it though.”

“What makes you say that?” Cas smirked.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look at me like that. Like I look at you.”

“How do you look at me?” Cas asked slowly.

He stopped. Even with this much alcohol in his system, he didn’t want to give himself away. He shook his head. “Too embarrassing.” He admitted, with a sheepish grin.

Cas grinned crookedly. “I like the way you look at me,” he said. “I especially liked the way you were looking at me last night.”

This changed everything if Cas knew. Knew how he felt and encouraged it. Dean shifted to press down the butterflies he felt in his stomach and coughed. “I thought we were going to be professional about it.” He looked down the neck of his beer, feeling himself get red.

“Of course,” Cas said. “My apologies.” Even without looking at him, Dean could tell he wasn’t sorry at all. “But how do I look at you? You never said.”

Dean looked up to see Cas with his head tilted thoughtfully. “You look at me like...” he stopped to consider again. The look in Cas’s eye had him swallowing around a sudden dry throat.

“Like you’re something to eat?” Cas leaned in and smiled with all his teeth, earning a bark of a laugh from Dean.

“Maybe that’s it.” He smiled, despite the feeling of butterflies roiling in his belly again. He really hoped he wasn’t about to puke. That would definitely ruin whatever mood they had going here, as well as bruise his ego for the next few days.

Cas tilted his head and took another sip. “You do look pretty tasty from here.”

Dean blushed, grinning the whole time. “Nah, I prolly taste like cheap beer and cheaper whiskey.”

“Want me to find out?” Cas asked, his smile crooked with intention that stopped Dean in his tracks entirely.

Dean didn’t have a good answer to that. As Cas tipped forward to press his lips lightly to Dean’s own, something flipped from feeling slightly woozy and drunk to fucking wide awake. Cas was still as good of a kisser as he remembered, and he felt himself leaning into it entirely too much to be a drunken fling. A second-time fling? He eased back from Cas, a hand pressed to Cas’s shoulder where he was pretty sure he’d been holding on for dear life a moment ago. Cas’s gaze searched his, not disappointed. Just watching.

“I really shouldn’t do this.” Dean started, strangely breathless. He scrunched his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry, Cas. It’s—“

Cas’s hands untangled from where they had curled in the front of his shirt, and Dean opened his eyes, cold at the loss of his warmth. “No, I’m sorry, Dean. I assumed—I shouldn’t have done that.”

The butterflies froze in his chest.

“Cas…” he started. Cas shook his head and leaned back against the other end of the sofa.

“That was rude of me. You said no, and I kept pushing. My deepest apologies..” He sounded oddly formal in his embarrassment. Dean stared as Cas’s hands started fluttering around the coffee table, gathering beer bottles and shot glasses, pink in the cheeks. He moved to stand. To leave. Dean panicked.

Without thinking, Dean threw himself across the sofa, intercepting Cas’s hand as he moved. With one hand, he turned Cas’s face to his and locked onto his mouth again. With the other, he wrapped around the back of Cas’s neck and pulled him in tight. He got his thumbs on either side of Cas’s jaw and opened his jaw so his tongue could taste Cas’s. He trailed his tongue along Cas’s soft palate before the other man got with the program and swung a leg over his lap. Cas pinned him back against the sofa, and fucking ground down with those hips of his. Dean couldn’t move, his arms were up by his shoulders, being pressed into the fabric upholstery by the other man’s strong hands. His legs were spread wide to accommodate the welcome weight in his lap. He pressed up into the friction, groaning into the next kiss. This was just as good as he remembered last night. Maybe better, now that he had some idea of what to expect. He really wanted to get his fingers into that wild, dark hair, but Cas didn’t look like he was up for giving him any independent mobility any time soon. Dean finally pulled back to gasp out for air. Cas nipped at his neck, before pulling away as well.

Cas squinted at him. “Why did you do that?” He asked, his voice whiskey-rough and lust-stoned. Dean felt himself twitch. If Cas knew how he felt, encouraged it, and was pressing for more… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to indulge one last time.

“I changed my mind. I really wanna do this.” Dean was definitely breathless now, his gaze skittering all over Cas’s face. He could feel his pants getting tight, and by the look in Cas’s eye, he was about two seconds from losing his shirt. He also couldn’t decide if his earlier goal to get his hands in Cas’s hair was as important as his new goal to get those same hands down Cas’s pants.

Cas didn’t say anything for a moment before frowning. “Are you drunk?”

Shaking his head, Dean tried to focus on something other than his raging libido. “No. Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Another pause. “Are you sure?”

Which, alright. Very fair question. Dean nodded and leaned in again, whining when Cas pulled back again. “Please, Cas.”

Cas leaned in until his lips were a millimeter from Dean’s. “I knew it,” he whispered hotly, his lips twisted in a smirk Dean desperately wanted to feel against his own mouth. “I knew you were jealous about Melody. And I knew you wanted this again.” Cas moved his hands from Dean’s wrists to better support his weight while he made himself more comfortable in Dean’s lap.

“Yeah, I really fucking want it.” Dean breathed into him, pressing up at an angle to get at Cas’s mouth.

Cas gave back as good as he got, scratching through Dean’s hair in a way that set him on fire. “That’s okay,” he whispered back. “I want it, too. Been thinking about it all day.”

Dean’s hands came up to his hips, cupping the strong muscle there as he pressed his fingers into it. He scooted down further into the couch, pulling Cas’s weight into him. It was nice, sitting here on the sofa, just making out with Cas. Of course, he had other ideas in mind of what he’d like to do, but getting there was half the fun.

The other man was getting impatient though, it seemed. Cas hitched his hips forward, pressing them together all along their fronts. Dean gasped as he felt exactly how into this Cas was too. The feel of another man’s cock throbbing against his, even through a few layers of cloth was overwhelmingly sexy, and as Dean laid his head back to the feel of Cas’s teeth along his carotid artery, he couldn’t help thinking that it was a damn shame he hadn’t been able to show up to the hospital that morning and show off the big ol’ hickey on his neck that was already there from the previous night to put Melody in her place. Maybe now he would with a matching one on the other side.

“Dean, can I touch you?” Cas murmured into his skin, punctuating it with a lush kiss. Dean nodded, pushing against the other man’s body to make some room to get his shirt open. Cas’s hands replaced his, smoothing down the sides and deftly undoing the row of buttons. His touch was warm, tracing up the planes of his chest and down to where his stomach muscles were jumping. Cas pushed Dean’s flannel shirt off his shoulders, Dean leaning forward slightly to help. He kept one arm wrapped tight around Cas’s waist to steady him. Cas tossed the flannel to the side, backing out of Dean’s grip and away from his mouth. Dean moved to follow, but was pushed back with a firm hand to the middle of his chest.

Shimmying down, Cas dropped to his knees in front of Dean. With a hand on each knee, he parted Dean’s legs, making room for himself there. Dean struggled against the instinct to close his legs, feeling a little too exposed. He knew he was watching Cas with a dopey, drugged expression, his mouth partly open and his breath coming in puffs. Cas looked up at him and licked his lips. “Can I suck you off?”

Dean managed a nod and heaved a lungful of too-hot air before Cas’s hands went to his belt buckle. The jangling of metal sounded loud in their tense bubble, and as Dean sat up a bit to facilitate Cas sliding the belt through the loops of his jeans, he glanced quickly towards the window, where the lamp sat. Anyone could probably see in and watch them getting cozy with each other. He shifted in his seat.

Cas glanced up, and followed his skittering gaze. He got up fluidly, which allowed Dean to appreciate the very nice bulge at the front of his slacks, and walked over to click the lamp off. The room was cast into darkness, lit only by the light-up sign from the grocery store across the street and the changing stop light on the corner. Dean barely managed a nod of thanks, for understanding his weird hangups, before Cas sank down again in front of him, palms trailing up his thighs like brands, scorching the surface and leaving light in their wake.

“Oh shit.” Dean heard himself whine, and he leaned his head back, gaping up at the ceiling as Cas wasted no time pulling his zipper down and reaching inside to pull him out. He’d had plenty of blow jobs before, but the fact that it was Cas—the same person who’d been driving him crazy all day—made it that much sweeter.

Pressing kisses to the head and down the shaft, Cas kept his eyes on Dean, moving with him as his hips rolled. When he clenched the fabric of the sofa, Cas went harder. When he relaxed and took a deep breath, Cas changed tactics. Dean felt like he was being strung along higher and higher, with no chance to get used to the sensations. He was fully aware he was getting worked up much faster than he usually did. Dean’s gasps turned into higher-pitched whimpers as he felt Cas’s warm hand sneak down and grind a knuckle into a patch of skin behind his balls that made him see fucking stars.

“What the fuck are you doing to me, man?” He felt slightly hysterical asking. Cas smirked around his cock—and seriously, who does that?—and sank all the way down, taking him deep into his throat. The fucker winked and swallowed. Dean gripped the other man’s shoulder as his stomach muscles contracted and he felt his eyes cross with the force of his orgasm. He hitched forward and felt his groans take on an urgent note. Dean was going to die here, and he was going to die the happiest son of a bitch on the planet. He jerked each time Cas lapped at the head of his cock, hovering on the edge of overstimulation, muggy galaxies still swimming in his vision.

He was still panting and sprawled bonelessly when Cas finally granted him mercy and popped back up, grinning smugly. Cas sat next to him on the couch, pants tented obscenely, and with a low fire burning in his eyes, even in the dim light. Dean tried to make himself more comfortable to lie on when Cas fit himself next to him, but his muscles still weren’t cooperating.

“So, was it good?” Cas asked as he sucked at a spot under Dean’s ear, causing him to have to rein in a whine. Cas continued laving at the spot, and the sound of his breath in Dean’s ear was causing quite the rally effort in Dean’s pants.

He blinked. “Shit.” He croaked, his voice hollow enough to let Dean know that yes, he had actually been crying out exactly as loud as he dreaded he had been during that whole episode. He frowned when he heard Cas laugh softly.

“You’ve been holding out on me.” He accused gently, turning enough to snag Cas’s mouth again, fucking in between his lips in retribution. “Or maybe you’re just a show off.” He nipped at Cas’s bottom lip, feeling a tick of a smile when it made Cas’s breath stutter.

“Definitely a show off,” he answered. “Fuck, Dean. I love kissing you.”

Dean couldn’t disagree, especially when Cas proceeded to show how much he enjoyed kissing him by pulling him sideways so they lay atop one another. Dean lost his t-shirt quickly, and Cas was running his hands over his chest, thumbing across his nipples with pleasurable electricity thrumming between them. Despite his best intentions, Dean likely wasn’t getting it up again soon. He could still feel his stomach muscles jumping from his orgasm as Cas tried to rile him up again. He could still get Cas hot though, and—given the impressive erection Cas was grinding into his hip—that was his current goal.

Cas pulled back, breathing heavily. “What does this tattoo mean?” His fingers skated over the black star-sun over his heart.

“Protection,” Dean panted back. “Not that kind—“ he scoffed at Cas’s smirk, “Protection from demons, that sorta thing.”

“Do I want to know about demons?” Cas asked, gasping into the air of the living room as Dean set out to give him a hickey that matched his.

Snorting, Dean rolled his hips firmly to give Cas something to thrust against. “Honey, I hope you never have to know about demons.”

Cas grinned, stroking over the ink. “Such a charmer.” He yanked Dean back down with an arm around the neck. Dean couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to have a habit of getting this man in the same position two nights in a row. Or maybe Cas had the habit of getting him in this position.

“Hey,” Dean pulled back, licking his lips and chasing the taste of Cas off his mouth. “Can I try something?”

The wide-eyed look on Cas’s face told him that Cas was willing to try about anything Dean asked if it meant getting their mouths back together and their skin touching again. Still panting, Cas nodded.

“I—I’ve never… done it before—“ Dean was nervous, performance anxiety like he hadn’t experienced since he was sixteen. “But… I still wanna try it.” He hauled himself upright, before clumsily settling on his knees at Cas’s feet. He glanced up at Cas meaningfully, half-terrified and half-aroused out of his mind.

Dean didn’t think Cas’s eyes could go any wider, or his irises any blacker, but he was dead wrong. “You want to give me a blow job?” Cas gritted out, his fingers clenching around nothing.

Nodding, Dean swallowed hard. “I haven’t done it or anything,” he said quickly, not wanting to get Cas’s hopes up if he was truly awful at it. Who knew? What if he threw up or did something equally and horrifyingly embarrassing? “You have to—tell me what to do.” He cleared his throat when his voice cracked. He settled his gaze at Cas’s knee, still covered with his work slacks, though the zipper was splayed open. He focused on the strong joint there, where he knew Cas was packing some strength in his legs, had felt them wrapped around his hips. He knew this must not look sexy or anything, the way he was on his knees, nervous about giving a blow job. He’d gotten dozens of them over the years, he didn’t mind bragging. Surely, if some random short dark-haired, light-eyed waitress in the middle of rural Ohio could make him come so hard he blacked out momentarily, he could give this his best shot.

Then again, he was starting to see a pattern in the people he chose to fall for—however temporarily.

A hand under his chin jerked him out of his reverie, and his gaze was pulled to meet Cas’s. Cas seemed to be searching his face, intense as anything, just probing his expression. “You know I’m not expecting anything, right?” Cas asked lowly, his words going against what his eyes were practically screaming. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” Dean answered quickly, surprising himself even. He knew he wanted Cas’s dick something awful, wanted to feel the heft of it forcing his jaw wide, wanted to wring noises out of Cas until he couldn’t see straight. He just didn’t know how much he was willing to admit that to the man attached to the dick in question.

He shuffled forward on his knees, running his hands up Cas’s slacks until he got to his fly. “Please, Cas,” he whispered. He reached in between the flaps of his pants and stroked him gently through the navy boxers underneath. Cas’s cock was hot and so, so hard underneath the fabric. The man above him sighed, his breathing ragged. Cas tipped his head back at the feel of Dean’s hand. Cas’s fists were clenching beside his thighs. Feeling daring, Dean reached for his hand. Cas tried to intertwine their fingers, but that wasn’t what Dean was after. He pressed Cas’s hand to the back of his head, Cas’s fingers twisting gently into his hair.

“Okay,” Cas whispered, “I’ll show you how.” He fit his other hand to the curve of Dean’s jaw, and when Dean thought he was going to get pushed down, Cas tilted his head up to look at him again. Dean unscrewed his eyes just in time to get tugged back up to kiss Cas. It must have been an awkward angle, with Cas leaning down, and Dean straining upward, but he couldn’t care less. Frankly, any time spent away from kissing Cas was time wasted, in Dean’s opinion. There was a new hunger to the kiss now, like Cas was doing his very best to worm his way inside Dean’s skin. Cas pulled away. “You have to relax,” he whispered. “I promise not to choke you, but if you’re tense like that, it won’t be good for either of us.” He kissed Dean again. “Relax for me, baby.”

Dean sucked on his tongue for a moment before pulling back and nodding. “I want to do this,” he nuzzled against Cas’s temple once more before setting back on his knees. He took a breath and pulled Cas’s cock out from underwear, where it stood proudly in the dim light. He could hear Cas panting above him. Cas still had his hands in Dean’s hair, stroking instead of pulling. Dean licked his lips and leaned in, pressing a wet kiss to the head, keeping his eyes on Cas’s expression. When he heard Cas’s breath hitch above him, he grinned to himself and leaned in again, this time taking the entire head into his mouth and swirling his tongue around, tasting the tacky precome. Keeping his teeth out of the way, he leaned forward and sank down as far as he could, which wasn’t very far, if he was being critically honest. He suctioned around the shaft, pulling a grunt from Cas. He started a rhythm bobbing up and down, using his hands on what he couldn’t fit in his mouth.

“Fuck, Dean, so good,” he could hear Cas babble above him. “Fuck you mean, this is your first time? Ah—!” Cas yipped a bit as Dean’s teeth caught him in a sensitive spot, but it quickly turned into a long groan as Dean soothed it with his tongue. Dean settled in closer, pushing Cas’s knees further apart, in an effort to get closer. Cas’s hands were so tightly clenched in his hair, still not pulling, but enough to make tears spring into Dean’s eyes. Not that he dreamed of being anywhere else.

Dean was surprised to find that this was doing it for him too. Maybe he wasn’t surprised though—everything with Cas seemed to do it for him. Cas was encouraging without being patronizing, just genuinely glad to be there with Dean. He didn’t seem to mind that it was Dean’s first time giving head, and was instead just enjoying the attention. Dean wasn’t sure if he should feel sorry for the guy that even a first-timer’s attempt was apparently getting him off, or smug about the fact that he seemed to turn Cas on as much as the reverse was true.

He must have been doing this for some time, because before long, he felt Cas’s hands again, pulling him up and away. “Dean, I—I’m going to come—“ and Dean dove down with renewed fervor. Cas thought he’d be too chickenshit to go for the whole deal? Fuck that. He groaned around the feel of Cas’s cock, his jaw wider than he thought it could go. Finally, finally, he felt Cas’s hands pulling him closer, really going for it now. “Fuck, Dean—!” Cas let loose a pained grunt and came.

In all honesty, Dean was a little caught off guard. The flavor wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever had, but the fact that it was the result of his efforts taking Cas apart was what made it so appealing. He tried to get it all down, but he knew he missed some as it dripped down his chin. He pressed kisses to Cas’s cock as he worked through the aftershocks. When he finally leaned back to wipe his face, they were both panting.

Cas shifted to tuck himself away, his hands trembling. Dean leaned back on his hands, propping his knees in front of him, knocking lightly into Cas. “How’d I do? Notes?” He was only a little breathless. He worked his jaw a few times.

“Very adequate. Probably went too deep at first, but… that’s fixable.” Cas grinned at him.

Dean chuckled. “Fixable, huh?” He lounged back, settling into his elbows. He huffed a sigh at the ceiling. “That’s hard work, you made it look easy.”

Cas laughed too, “I’ve had years more practice, don’t sweat it.” He tilted his head, still smiling, before heaving himself off the couch and pushing back into Dean’s space on the floor. He laid over Dean’s body and crowded in close for a kiss. “Not that you should, anyway. That was thoroughly” he pecked Dean’s cheek, “absolutely” his other cheek “satisfactory.”

They laid on the floor making out for a while longer, both wiped out and stinking like sex. Eventually, Cas pulled away and straightened up, reaching down for Dean’s hand to pull him up too. “I think it's time for bed, don't you?”

Dean grinned and let himself be pulled. His gaze happened to catch on the bag that had been kicked over by the sofa. The hats spilled from the bag, some under the sofa where he’d have to lean all the way down to reach them. Great.

“Never got around to burning those, did we?” He nudged one with his toe.

“Later,” Cas said, tugging him down the hall back towards where Dean knew his bedroom waited. “Plenty of time for that tomorrow.”

Dean had to agree.

#theatricality #ghosts in the theater #deancas fic #deancas #destiel #destiel fic #spn #spn fic #casefic #teacher!cas #alcohol cw #Destiel fanfic

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writing-royza · 4 years

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Royai Week Prompt Three - Old Wounds

Old Wounds

Weapons could be used to wound. Any first-grader that got a lecture from their mother about scissors and sharp knives knew that. But he had hit upon one that, although it had wounded him time and again, it also healed him. Riza had been the cause or reason for several major marks inflicted on him – physical and psychological – and yet Roy knew he’d never be able to let go of her. On the surface, sure. Physically, yes. But never in the deepest recesses of his heart.

Because any wound she caused or he incurred on her behalf, he had only to look at her for it to fade away.

———————-

Logically speaking, he shouldn’t be scared of her.

She was a lone thirteen-year-old girl that kept to herself, did her homework, kept a level head on her shoulders, and somehow still managed to keep the entire house (besides the library) clean and have a hot meal ready at the end of the day. There was absolutely nothing about her that should make him break out in the cold sweat that every hormonal teenage boy dreaded… but that was the exact effect she had on him.

If there was anyone with the last name ‘Hawkeye’ that he should be scared of, it was her father. Her terse, intimidating, single-minded father… but somehow, he garnered much less fear in Roy’s book.

He sat on the overstuffed couch in the study, both feet on the floor, both hands on the book in his lap… and tried to recall what he was supposed to be reading. Every muscle was tense, his jaw clenched, he was afraid to move… and all she was doing was sitting on the opposite couch, facing him, scribbling on a notepad and occasionally checking some bit of information in the book beside her. Her legs were tucked up underneath her, the toes of her bare feet wiggling idly as she worked, light concentration turning those already serious brown eyes somber. That was as much as he could see without lifting his head and making it obvious he was watching her.

Finally, enough of the tension eased from his chest to allow him to speak. “What —“ Having been quiet for so long, his voice gave one of its embarrassing mid-puberty squeaks, and he coughed to unsuccessfully cover it. Riza looked up, and he almost lost his nerve, then swallowed hard and tried again. “What are you working on?”

“Oh.” She held up the book. “Book report. Although it’s less of a report and more of a ‘I hope I’m getting this right,’ because the prose is heavy and kind of hard to understand.”

Roy tried a smile. “Yeah. I recognize the title. That’s a rough one.”

His heart started racing as she returned the smile – in a very pretty fashion for someone so terrifying, he had to admit – before she shifted to sit with her back braced on the armrest, her knees drawn up to create a kind of easel for her notepad. “I’ll still take this over my math homework any day.”

“You have trouble with that, too?” Curiosity was drawing him in, now. At her confirming nod, he set his book aside. “Maybe I can help. I mean… I’m a couple years older than you; chances are I’ve had to deal with it already.”

The look she gave him was sidelong, evaluating the offer. After a moment, she said, “Well… I understood basic trigonometry well enough. Sine, cosine, all that. But we just started talking last week about “functions” and I’m already lost.” Her lips twitched in a suppressed smile. “You might say my math skills have become… non-functional.”

He knew he was staring at her. Open-mouthed, no less. He hadn’t been expecting a joke like that, not from her. She was so quiet, so reserved…. This had to be once-in-a-blue-moon sort of thing for her. Laugh, he thought hazily. Laugh before she gets insulted and puts you out of your misery for good.

He settled for a smothered snort, shaking his head with a grin. “I might be able to help a little bit. That stuff was clear as mud to me, as well.” He looked up, still smiling. “What do you say – shall we make it a study date?”

It was exactly the wrong phrasing to use. He saw her walls go up, saw her dart back into her shell… a dozen metaphors came to mind, all leading to the same conclusion. Roy had firmly overstepped his bounds, had trod on this already tenuous new ground, and stepped directly on the new flower of a possible friendship.

You don’t use the word ‘date’ that fast around a kid like her, idiot, he scolded himself. If she didn’t already barely tolerate you, now she’s just going to think you’re a creep. How are you going to fix —

“I… don’t think a date is necessary.” His train of thought cut off abruptly as she dropped her feet to the floor, gathered her book and notepad, and rose. “I should go,” she added quietly. There was no other emotion in her voice, no obvious discomfort, no open dislike… and somehow that was worse. More condemning.

Roy could think of nothing to say as she headed for the door. His mind was reeling with a combination of embarrassment, rejection, and returning fear, all three emotions leaving painful little scratch marks on his heart. Just as her hand reached for the doorknob, he managed a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

Riza froze instantly, then turned to look at him. “Pardon?”

Swallowing the hurt, he sat straight and forced himself to look her in the eye. “I… made that really awkward, and put you in an uncomfortable position,” he said, knowing he sounded overly formal but not having any idea what other words to use. “I’m sorry about that.”

She watched him for several agonizing heartbeats, her expression unreadable, then nodded. “Apology accepted.” She tilted her head, that small smile coming back. “And, hey…. I said no to the date part, not to some help studying. If you’re still willing.”

———————-

Sometimes, he wished he had paid more attention to constellations and important stars in school. Alchemy, chemistry, physics… that had all come first in his mind, not little points of light in the night sky that would still be there when he decided to take the time to learn about them.

Of course, in Central, seeing stars at night was a rarity. The streetlights dimmed them, if not causing them to vanish altogether. At the Academy, he’d been so tired every night when he finally crawled into the bunk that he couldn’t stay awake to stargaze even if he’d wanted to.

But here, in the desert landscape of Ishval, the sky came alive at night.

Lying on his back, dark eyes wide, he stared the sparkling skyscape overhead, trying to memorize all the stories Riza would spin for him, trying to memorize name after name… and failing horribly. He alternated between watching the sky and watching the graceful movements of her fingers as they traced shapes on the starry backdrop.

“This one is Eagle’s Flight,” she said, pointing to a cluster of stars in the shape of a capital T. “The tip of one wing, to its head, to the other wing, with the tail back here. And this is the first one I learned about: Mother Bear.” She traced an uneven rectangle between four stars. “The body…” Her finger trailed along several bright dots. “…a tail…” In front of the rectangle, she added a triangle that culminated in a single forward-facing point. “…and her head.”

He couldn’t help himself. “Bears don’t have tails that long.”

“Seen many bears, have you?” she shot back easily.

Rolling his eyes, he gave up, pointing instead to another section of stars. “What about that one? Is that anything?”

Riza thought a moment, then nodded. “The Seated Queen. She said that she and her daughter were more beautiful than any sea nymph, and that made the god of the sea so angry that he sent a sea monster to destroy the kingdom. The only way he would stop was if the queen and her husband sacrificed their daughter to the monster.”

He turned his head so that he could see her, lying on her back in the sand like he was, her eyes on the stars. “…You’re kidding. You’re making that up.” She shook her head. “What kind of crazy fairy tales were you reading as a kid?!”

“It’s not a fairy tale, it’s a legend,” she corrected him, though teasingly. “Anyway, the daughter was saved before she could be eaten, by a hero – that’s his constellation over there – and the queen and her husband – over there – were placed next to each other in the stars.”

“Hey, that’s a good deal,” he said dryly. “Agree to sacrifice your daughter and be immortalized forever as a bunch of balls of hot, burning gas.”

She laughed quietly, and the two of them sank into companionable silence. Roy breathed deep of the cooling air, wondering how a moment like this – a moment of personal peace and relaxation – could be achieved in the middle of a warzone. He had almost no right to be lying here, calm, when tomorrow he could be sent back out with the first wave of a new attack.

He turned his head slightly, just enough so that he could see her, and watched her eyes still roaming the sky. They flitted from one group of stars to the next, trailed the lines that, of the two of them, only she could see. He could see a shadow of that young girl he’d known, had helped to figure out math homework in the dusty, close confines of her father’s personal library.

Back then, she’d had bruised and scratched-up legs from being outside every moment she could. The soles of her feet were blackened and calloused, requiring a scrub in the bathtub every night, from going barefoot in the summer heat. She had climbed trees with the best of them, swum in the small stream two hundred metres behind her house, and sat perfectly still to let a butterfly alight on the palm of her hand while he watched breathlessly.

And now she was here, with him. She wore the same uniform he did. She had the same tired, dark circles under her eyes that he did. Her hands held the same bloodstains as his… and it was all his fault. She had followed him to this place, and in doing so, he had condemned her, body and soul.

He looked away quickly; too quickly. She noticed.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said, casually, knowing that the answer wasn’t going to satisfy her. “Just thinking.”

A moment of silence, then, “Not thinking.” Her voice was soft, knowing and sympathetic… but unyielding. “Brooding.”

“Hm.”

Her elbow nudged his ribs. Not painfully, but enough to signal that a second nudge might not be as gentle. “Say it aloud,” she advised. “It’s not going to do you any good if it just sits and festers in your mind.”

Roy held his tongue, trying to wait her out. If he didn’t admit what he had been thinking, she couldn’t hate him for it. She couldn’t hate him for drawing her into this life, for using her father’s research the way he was. She couldn’t hate… him.

But he should have known better than to try to out-wait a sniper. Finally, after fifteen minutes of near-deafening silence, with her head turned so that her eyes were staring holes into his cheek, he let out a a deep sigh. “All right, all right, you win already. I was just… I was thinking that… I’m sorry. Sorry that I drew you into this life.”

Riza said nothing, and after several awkward seconds, he sat up, staring out at the nighttime sands. “I’m sorry that you felt you had to follow me into the military, that it got you sent here, that you’re forced into doing… what it is we do.” More long seconds of silence followed, twisting the knife of guilt a little further into his heart. “I’m so sorry, Riza. For all of it.”

“Does that include thinking so little of me that you believe I’m incapable of my own decisions?”

His head whipped around to find her still lying flat on her back in the sand, her legs crossed at the ankles, her fingers laced together and resting at the bottom of her ribcage, her eyes calm and on the stars once again. “…What?”

“What what?” she countered. “Do you honestly think that I followed you into the military because of some schoolgirl crush? Or maybe you think that you spoke so eloquently about rebuilding the country and using alchemy to help people that I just threw away whatever dreams I had of a civilian life and dashed headlong for the nearest recruitment centre?” She snorted quietly. “Give me some credit, please.”

Roy wasn’t sure what to say, either in general or that wouldn’t make her angrier than she clearly already was, so he kept his mouth shut. Riza continued. “You may have sparked the idea, pardon the pun, of joining the military, but you’re far from the reason I enlisted. I made that decision on my own, based on my own interests. Yes, that led to me being stationed out here, yes, that has led to my having to do things I regret. But in all of it – enlistment, training, being assigned to Ishval – the only point where my hand was forced is in, as you said, doing what we do.”

She got to her feet, brushing herself off. “I gave you my father’s secrets, Roy. I didn’t give you control over my actions or my life. You want to be a leader? You’d do well to remember that.”

Turning, she started back toward the nearby glow of the tents and campfires, leaving him feeling as though one of Kimblee’s explosions had gone off directly underneath him. It sank in, slowly, like ice-cold fingers, that he had probably just ruined one of two genuine friendships he had in this hellhole, and when Hughes heard about this, he could kiss the second one goodbye as well.

You idiot, his mind growled at him. Get off your ass and get after her. Don’t lose her after all you’ve been through.

Scrambling to his feet, he took off, sending sand flying. “Hawkeye, wait up!”

To his relief, she paused, half-turning to watch him approach. Her expression gave nothing away, neither anger or willingness to forgive. Roy skidded slightly as he came to a halt, swallowing hard in nervousness. “I – That was… unfair of me. I assumed a lot of things out of… of guilt, I guess, at finding you here, in a place like this. I feel….”

He struggled with the words for the moment, but she waited, hands folded, watching. “I feel… responsible for you, somehow. Your dad asked me to look after you, and up until now, I’ve done a pretty piss-poor job of that.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair, trying to figure out just how the hell expressing oneself was supposed to work. “You were right, the decisions that brought you here are yours. You’re responsible for your own life. I guess… I just feel guilty that I haven’t done more, and can’t do much, to make sure it’s a happy one.”

When it was clear his words had run out, she spoke. “Would you like to know something that does make me happy?”

He grinned lopsidedly, and only half-heartedly. “Will it make me feel less awful?”

“Maybe.” Her smile was small, knowing. “Something that makes me happy… is seeing someone receive information, and accepting that information and using it to change their outlook. To grow themselves as a person.” She tilted her head to one side, regarding him closely. “And I believe I just saw that.”

He felt it go, felt that cold ice-knife of guilt slide out of the rip it had torn into him, felt the warm, affirming words close up the wound with no blood spilled, and leave him just a little stronger.

“I’ll try to live up to that.” He glanced upward. “Maybe it’s not worth being immortalized in the stars, but it ought to count for something.”

Her fingers brushed, feather-light, against his and then withdrew. “It already counts for a lot.”

———————-

He remembered thinking “oh, good, that’s the last of it” before catching a faint whiff of charred skin, and having to turn away to be violently sick. The tent was too confined, too dark, too oppressively hot all at once, and yet his pulse roared in his ears, spots of light swam in his vision, and a deep chill ran through him.

He spat the foul taste of bile from his mouth, glancing back over her shoulder.

Riza was on her knees, crouched low, her forehead pressed to the sandy ground that served as a floor. He could hear her breathing, the sound coming in sharp hisses around the leather belt clamped between her teeth. Her right hand, the only one he could readily see, slowly clenched and unclenched, compressing and flattening the same palmful of grit over and over.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Hawkeye?”

Her hand froze, then reached with agonizing slowness to the belt and pulled it from her mouth. “Bottom of my kit,” she gritted. “Small white bottle. Get it.”

Roy’s stomach rolled as he moved to do as she said, but he swallowed hard and kept whatever was left in his stomach down. Wriggling a hand through the various articles in her pack, down to the bottom, he fished about until he found something that felt like a bottle. It rattled as he brought it out.

“Pain pills?” he asked, turning toward her.

“For… you know.” She had shifted so that she was sitting, though she was still bent forward. Her cheeks, ashen until now, coloured slightly. “For… ‘women’s troubles?’”

He looked at the label again, read the active ingredient in the medication, and the dosage, his brain feeling fuzzy and sluggish. “…Damn, it hurts bad enough for extra-strength?”

She held out her hand, crooking her fingers impatiently. “Dealing with that means I can deal with this,” she said, just a little sharply. “Two should help.”

“Right, sorry.” He noticed, belatedly, that his fingers were shaking as he twisted the cap off the bottle. The little white tablets inside rattled even harder as he eased a pair of them from the container and passed them to her, watching in dull surprise as she dry-swallowed them, one by one.

He had a sneaking suspicion he was in shock. The one rational part of his brain could realize that. The confusion, the cold sweat, the tent seeming to tilt one way then another around him… all signs pointed to it. He should tell Riza, tell her so that when he most likely passed out, she would know why. It seemed only polite.

She was sitting calm and collected, her eyes closed, taking deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. Maybe he should try that. Mimic her, and in doing so, find some kind of emotional anchor in this storm of emotion.

It hit him again. What had he done? To her, to one of the single most important people in his life, to the quiet girl and stoic woman whom – he had to admit – he had somehow fallen head over heels for? He had marked her. He had marred her. She had been perfect and whole and now —

He watched as she gathered the tan overcoat of her uniform to her chest, apparently realized rather belatedly that she was sitting in the dark without any sort of covering up top. She hugged the fabric, looking his direction… and stopped. “…What?”

“…Can you forgive me for this?”

Brown eyes, dulled slightly by the pain, stared at him for a long moment. Then, quietly, “Roy, I asked you for this. I asked you to destroy it.”

“I didn’t. Destroy it, I mean. Not all of it.” Her eyes flashed with hot anger in the darkness and he scrambled to explain himself. “Riza, I couldn’t! I don’t care how strong you are, that much would…. Even if I held back the most I could, it’d kill you. You can’t go to the medics with this, you know you can’t. They’ll ask too many questions. If I burned that tattoo in its entirety, you’d go into shock and you’d die. Hell, I’m in shock and all I did was snap my fingers!”

Her eyes still smoldered, unrelenting. “So then how —“

“The parts I burnt are absolutely vital to understanding everything else. They tie it all together,” he explained. “It’s… it was surgical, I guess. Precision shots. Without those three spots, the rest is next to useless.”

She was quiet for several beats, then murmured, “Precision shots…. Like a sniper.” The heat was gone from her eyes, the glare fading. “I’m…. I can still be my own person.”

“You always have been.” The smile he offered was nowhere near strong enough to be genuine, but it was a valiant try. “You’re the smartest, strongest, most independent, self-reliant, quick-witted person I know. I’d keep going with adjectives, because I know there’s at least three dozen more, but I can’t think of them.” He closed his eyes, willing the tent to stop spinning, or at least to spin a little less violently. “I want that for you, I want you to have that freedom to be yourself because if any of us deserves to come out of this place with even half a chance, it’s you. It’s you and Hughes.”

“You’re leaving somebody out,” she prodded gently.

He shook his head. “I don’t think you realize how badly this place has hit home for me. I said I wanted to help people, but… I think I’ve got an entire nation – and any others we’re fighting with – to help. I’m not dragging you two into that. Hughes has that girlfriend of his to go home to, you’ve got the rest of your life in front of you.”

“You’re right on that, but wrong on another thing.”

His eyes opened just in time for her to press a soft kiss to his cheek, her hand folding around his. “I’m not leaving here without you.” The words were soft, but anchored stolidly in conviction. “You’ve got big dreams for this country… and thanks to you, so do I. And you’re going to need help to make those happen.”

———————-

His eyes snapped open to darkness, but it wasn’t the darkness of lying on the sand under an Ishvalan sky. Instead, only the whitewashed ceiling stared back at him. The sheets were tangled around his legs, some faint draft turning the sheen of a light sweat icy against his bare chest. Even that did nothing to dispel the summer warmth permeating the apartment.

Nights like this often brought the past back to him in dreams. Sometimes pleasant, more often not. But more and more frequently in the not-too-distant past, it had become much easier to handle.

The reason why was sprawled next to him, her hair lying half on her pillow and half on his, one hand beneath the pillow and the other curled to her chest, her dog draped over one extended leg, and her mouth open just enough for the faintest of snores to issue forth.

Turning onto his side, Roy slid an arm around Riza’s waist, tugging her close against him. If she only knew that she became as un-Riza-like as physically possible while she slept…. He suspected she would find that potentially embarrassing, but he loved it. Hell, he loved her.

And, in the end, that was the miracle balm for any wound, no matter how far in the past or near the present it was.

#royaiweek20 #royai #royai fanfiction #fma #fmab #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #royza

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the-omni-princess · 5 years

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Blood Bound [Chapter Two]

Author: @the-omni-princess

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky x Witch!Reader

Summary: Vampires and witches have been known enemies since the dark ages. Backstabbing, secrets, and magic turned supernatural brethren again each other. As a natural-born witch, you grew up on these stories, your own monsters under your bed. What happens when one of those sworn enemies claims that you are his blood mate, the vampire equivalent of a true mate? Will you give in to this man out of time? Or destroy him for the sake of your Coven?

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: violence, death (both mentions and descriptions), illusions to kidnapping, language, witchy stuff, vampire stuff, oh and angst

A/N: Wildddd man, we GETTING THERE

Anyway! I’d like to thank two cuties. @annaloveloki for always trying to beta (and listen to my stories in the middle of anatomy lectures), and @peterfrxst for listening to all my wild Vamp and Witch ideas. :D

[Series Masterlist] [My Masterlist]

----

A week had passed, and while no word had come from the Coven to the north, you were more focused on the pages in front of you. Wanda, bless her soul, let you look through every book with the mere mention of witches and vampires, as well as every book on Bindings. The only book that spoke of Bindings was old and stale. Thick pages barley held together in the seams; Wanda must have found it at an antique shop. Dusty, and it reeked, yet one quick incantation and it looked, well still ancient and worn, but definitely readable again.

According to the book, Bindings were extremely rare among any species, and the world hadn’t seen them in centuries. Bound couples, no matter the species, were extremely powerful if they worked together. And yet, that was their weakness. Each other.

“Y/n! We have a problem!” Carol called out from the living room. You shut the book quickly from your spot on the loveseat in your mini library, a small cloud of dust rising. Coughing, you tossed the book onto the seat. It was a book room really, but with all the spell and potion books, plus your love for reading, the shelves had grown.

Quickly making your way down to the living room, you gulped, noticing how worn down and frankly terrified your Coven sisters all looked. “Shit, what happened?”

Wanda was shaking, and you quickly pulled a nearby blanket over her shoulders, gently leading her to the couch and sitting her down. “They’re dead,” she choked out, eyes brimming with red, you secretly hoped it was from crying and not her powers. Natasha sat beside you two, calming the younger witch slightly. “The North Coven, I found them in their basement… covered in blood,” she shuddered, and despite both your and Natasha’s best efforts, she was clearly still petrified. “Gamora and Nebula are gone, but the rest of them are dead. No trace of what did it,” she broke into another sob, and you didn’t hesitate to pull her into your arms. She buried her face into your shoulder, crying. It broke your heart, but you silently hoped Gamora and Nebula had made it out unharmed.

“We should inform the Council,” Carol spoke, giving the rest of you a look. “An entire coven missing or dead, they need to know.”

“They’ll ask too many questions,” Maria looked over at her. “They’ll sense y/n from a mile away, and we’ve hidden her for far too long to let them have her now,” she tried to reason.

Nat nodded, but sighed softly, looking towards the still crying girl in your arms. “We have to do something though. Who else could we contact?” You bit your lip, definitely and totally not thinking about your blue-eyed vampire. “Y/n?” she broke you from your thoughts, “Who gave you lavenders?” Everyone’s head, including Wanda’s curious yet puffy-cheeked one, looked towards the vase of lavender flowers on your kitchen island.

“Those are there for protection…” you hoped to end the conversation there, but Nat was far too observational for your own good.

“Yeah, but you don’t have any of those in your garden, and they don’t naturally grow anywhere nearby, andyou haven’t left this house all week.” She gave you a pointed look, tugging Wanda into her own arms like a mother hen.

“Um… well?” how could you explain that a cute vampire left them on your back porch the night before?

“Well?” Carol sat down, intrigued to say the least.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “Have you guys ever heard of Bindings?”

Maria tilted her head, “Isn’t that like soulmates? I thought that was just a myth.”

You looked towards the lavenders, smiling faintly. As much as you hated how easy it was, you trusted the vampire, and you ignored your mother’s voice in your head telling you otherwise. “I felt a presence in the woods, right after our crystals exploded, so I explored it-“

“Were you tryingto die? Jeez, that’s how you die young, horror movie style, y/n,” Carol chided.

“I know, I know, but it made me feel safe, and I don’t know. It felt like…” you ran your hand over your face, eyebrows scrunching up as you thought. “Like a warm bath on a cold day, or lighting a new candle, or snuggling in blankets while watching a movie, it felt like home. I just followed that little tug until it led me into the woods, and to James.”

“James?” Wanda looked up from the safe space of Natasha’s arms.

“Yep, James… How do I say this without being judged?”

“Y/n, you’re a natural-born witch that we’ve kept hidden from the Council for years, you can tell us anything.” Nat pointed out, placing an encouraging hand on your knee.

Taking a shaky breath, you nodded. “Well, for starters, he’s a vampire,” you saw Carol stiffen beside you. “And he claims, we are Bound.”

“I know you are an idiot, but this is a new level even for you, Buck,” The vampire sighed loudly, despite the fact he didn’t need to breathe in centuries.

“Like I chose to be Bound to a Witch, Sammy?” Bucky looked up towards Sam, who gave him a glare.

“Okay, sure, you didn’t, but all you do is hang around her house like a guard dog. You already love her, don’t you?” He gave him a look.

He scoffed, “I do not love her. I just-“ he groaned, taking a seat on the dirty motel floor they were renting for the month. “She feels right… this hole in my chest that’s been there since the second I woke up, well like this, is gone the second I see her.”

Sam and Steve shared a look before Steve spoke up, “Bucky, I’m happy for you, truly, but you need to be careful. The Witch Council isn’t quite happy with vamps, they’ll kill both of you if it’s true she’s your Bound.”

The brunet nodded, running a hand through his hair, “I’m not going to let that happen. I’ll protect her.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself, but Steve and Sam knew him better than that.

“By stalking her and buying her flowers?” Sam chided, giving him a look.

“No, I’ll talk to her. I just…” he groaned, gripping his head as a wave of dizziness hit him, and he quickly sat down for it to pass, but all it did was start to drown him.

“It’s happening again isn’t it?” Steve was suddenly beside him, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He nodded, “Since we came to this town, it feels like my human side wants to make a comeback,” he glanced up at the blonde. “You said when you turned me you weren’t sure what I was running from, you absolutely sure you don’t know what I was running from?”

“Buck, we’ve talked about this, we had only known each other a few years. You knew what I was without me telling you, you looked depressed, and you were on the run. Whatever you were running from, it wasn’t anything good. You would wake up with nightmares, crying, calling out for someone, you were frankly a mess. Yet you begged for me to turn you, or let you die trying, so I honestly can’t say what you were running from before you lost those memories.”

Sam jumped in, although hearing the story before, he thought of something new, “What name was he calling out?”

Steve thought for a moment, Bucky now looking up at him too, not really thinking to have asked that question. “Theodosia,” he finally recalled.

Bucky stiffened, a flash of colors moving through his vision. He groaned, clutching his head, and rubbing his temples, as he silently begged for the vision to stop. Stupid, fickle human memories. He wanted the memories, fuck, he craved the memories, but the pain with this one felt like a knife carving into his skull.

“Bucky! You should not just steal things like that, the villagers will begin to question us,” the girl in front of him had her arms crossed as she scolded him.

“It’s fine, sweetling, the mortals won’t know a thing,” his voice sounded different to his ears. Mortal, he realized. He sounded human. Vampire hearing was enhanced, so of course, his human hearing sounded muddled in retrospect.

The girl rolled her eyes, kaleidoscope eyes, with rich warm colors, luring him in. “You say that often, but just last week they kidnapped another girl. I think they are on to us.”

“Nonsense,” he reasoned, grinning as he kissed her hair, a wave of honey, cedar, lavender, and juniper filling his senses. “I’ll protect you, Theo,” he grinned, wrapping the girl into his arms.

His brown overcoat draped around her, making her smile up at him adoringly. “Do not make promises you cannot keep, James Barnes,” she warned, scrunching up her nose teasingly towards him.

He chuckled, tightening his hold on her, “Why would I not keep my promise?”

As they walked together through the words, his vision blurred, before focusing on a different part of the woods, an entirely different scene laid before them.

It was her again. Yet the sight before him made him sick. Eighteen girls lined up, nooses around their necks. Some were crying, hysterical, others were begging for their lives, and yet his girl was still, calm. At peace.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, and as they focused on his, he saw them widen. ‘Go’ she mouthed, but he didn’t listen, taking a step towards her. He was determined, he had to save her, he had to fight for her. She quickly shook her head, silently pleading for him to run, a quiet plea for him to save himself. One of the men in his way grabbed onto his arm, slowing his movements. “Let me go,” he growled lowly, attempting to tug his arm back. He had always been strong, he knew he could take on this man.

As the winds picked up, the girl squirmed on the stool she was standing on. “It is too late, it is over for her,” the man spoke, and the winds started to howl. The cool September air whipped her hair around her face, her bonnet long gone as she had been dragged to this very spot. “What are you?” The few men listening were now turning towards him. “Oh, good God! You are one of them!”

As more people turned, he felt his heart pump faster, preparing for a fight. “James!” His eyes locked onto hers, and she gave him a small smile. “Run, please. I love you,” she whispered, yet the winds carried her voice to him, and he shuddered.

One of the men stepped forward, kicking the stool away from her legs, just as he lurched forward. “Theo!” He cried out, one of the men grabbing onto him, two more joined the first and he couldn’t stop as he saw her dying in front him. Fury was the first emotion to burn into his body, before an idea came next. He couldn’t care less of the village trying to stop him. Her. She is all that matters. Save her.

He whispered softly, the howling wind thrashed the tree branches as the men kicked the stools out behind each of the girls. One of the men holding him suddenly gripped his own chest, falling to the ground dead. A dull golden glow slithered onto the ground like a snake, under shoes, around ankles, until it surrounded her now still body. He was never good at these sorts of things, but he had to try, he couldn’t just give up.

The winds died down with his breath, and the men let him go. He rushed forward, using his knife to cut the rope, pulling her chilling body into his arms. “No, no, no, no. You cannot leave me. I promised! Please, Theo,” he pleaded, gently brushing her hair out of her face. She merely looked like she was sleeping, yet he knew better. “I promised,” he murmured, sniffling loudly.

He hadn’t even realized that he was crying, until someone stepped forward, and the cool air made his cheeks freeze. “Another one,” he accused, and despite the growing pit in his stomach, Bucky knew he couldn’t stay. And yet, he didn’t want to leave. How could he run when his reason for living was gone from this cruel earth?

A hand grabbed his arm, strong enough to drag him away from her. He cried out, weeping out that he couldn’t leave her. As he was dragged away he could only think one thing. He promised. He lied.

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice pulled him from his memories. He was shaking, Steve and Sam both coming into focus, both kneeling beside him, wearing matching worried looks on their faces. He ran his hands over his face, then his hair, and his cheeks were damp with tears. “What did you see?” Despite his huge size, and the fact he could kill an army in seconds, Steve was a big teddy bear.

“Theodosia,” He whispered softly, looking up towards the men, broken, sorrow filled eyes still brimming with tears. “I loved her, and she was killed…”

Sam took a deep breath, sitting beside him on the floor, “That’s rough… before you were turned I would assume?”

He nodded, looking up towards Steve. “But we have another problem…” He took a shaky breath, he was always the calm one, and yet he only felt the hole in his chest press down on him. The invisible weight in his chest called to him, the insatiable demand to be close to his Bound starting to overwhelm him, and he wasn’t sure why this Binding was calling to him after flashes of his past. “And I think she was a witch.”

---

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by-nina · 4 years

Text

Years and Years

A Royai fanfic Rating: M (sexual content) Genre: Romance Word Count: 2,048

A/N: Hello everyone I miss writing and I miss Royai! And I was feeling both soft and very spicy so this is what came out of it. Y’all know how much I love taking them back to the Hawkeye manor.

“For starters, the last time I saw you here, I had you burn my back. And before that, I was both an orphan and my father’s successor to you. I don’t know how I should see you, Roy Mustang; you’re a different person every time you’re here, even now.”

There is a four-hour drive from Central to the Hawkeye manor at the outskirts of East City. What was once a dirt road that barely saw visitors to the old house welcomes Riza one morning, and it is only then that the finality of her visit sinks in for the first time. A young family had bought the house three months ago, with the promise that they would manage and spend for the renovations themselves. Her only purpose is to collect some old things of hers and her father’s, and maybe get a bit of cleaning done as courtesy to the family.

Roy had decided to come along without question, or even any kind of discussion. She had simply mentioned the purchase in passing one day, and then her planned visit, and under a still-dark sky that morning, he showed up outside her apartment with his car. It made perfect sense, Riza reasoned. He might have left some of his own things during his time as her father’s student, and he would have more use than she would for whatever research materials her father had left behind. Above all, it’s a huge house—she needs the company and help.

“We’re here, sir.”

He is already awake, but he has difficulty opening his eyes. Riza decides not to wait for him, and she steps out just to look at the old house. She breathes as slowly as she takes it all in. There is a heaviness about it, like a weary weight on tired shoulders. Since her departure for the military, her presence has been replaced by that of overgrown vines and weeds. Despite all this, it hasn’t changed much; the structure still seems solid and functional. Nothing that a fresh coat of paint, new wood trimmings, and landscaping couldn’t fix.

Roy joins her in gazing up at the house. “So this is it, then. Shall we get to work?”

“A ten-minute break won’t hurt.”

“No, no, I’m in perfect shape.” Roy swings and stretches his arms. “That nap for half of the trip helped a lot.”

“I couldn’t let you drive all the way, though, could I? You’ve already done me a huge favor by coming along.”

Riza finally takes her eyes off the house, and as she turns, she’s greeted by a smile that she wallows in greedily, and then guiltily. The warmth that rises in her cheeks is damning in the cool early morning breeze. Thankfully, Roy grants her another favor by not remarking on it. “Come on.”

Every part of the house seems to creak as they enter—the fence, the door, the floorboards. The interiors aren’t as bad as Riza expected. Other than a few mold spots on the upholstery and a layer of dust on the remaining furniture, everything seems to be intact and functional. Of course, it isn’t as if she had left the house entirely untouched once she entered the military. She has dropped by now and again just to make sure it hadn’t fallen to ruin, and the young family has seen it for themselves—there are spots where the dust has been disturbed on the hardwood floors.

“So, where should we start?”

“Hmm.” Riza pauses for a moment. “There’s not a lot down here. I’ll go through the living room and the kitchen—you can start with my father’s study.”

Roy clicks his tongue. “All right.”

Clearing the ground floor is an easy half-hour task, as there are very few things on display that could be considered sentimental. Riza takes the only three pictures in the living room—the last Hawkeye family photo, a solo portrait of her mother, and herself as a baby with her mother—then she proceeds to the kitchen, which is far more promising. She recovers some brass pots and pans, an heirloom dining set with matching silverware, and wooden cooking utensils. Riza gathers these into a box and places them in the trunk of Roy’s car, and then she heads upstairs to check on his progress in the study.

She pokes her head through the door. “How are you doing, Colonel?”

He is crouching by the bottom of a crowded bookshelf at the back of the room, carefully absorbing each title. This is the first thing that takes Riza back to a vivid memory of her childhood, when a much younger Roy first became acquainted with Berthold Hawkeye. Shirt half-tucked, hair standing at the back—she can see the boy there almost as clearly as the man.

“Well, the libraries in Central would cough up a fortune for a collection like this, and this shelf is all just general alchemy titles,” says Roy as he straightens up. He has a tattered book in hand that Riza didn’t notice right away. “You have stuff on philosophy over there, and biology in two full shelves there—that’s not yet getting into physics and chemistry, which is of course a lot more extensive since your father studied flame alchemy, and…”

He trails off at the sight of Riza, who has become a picture of amusement—leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised, and a smirk lifting one corner of her lips. Roy clears his throat. “Anyway, I’ll try to finish this quickly.”

“Take your time, we have a long day ahead of us.”

Riza’s gaze is then drawn to a door at the end of the hallway. The sight of it alone is enough to fill her with nostalgia, enough to know that she needs to take precisely twelve steps to reach it. She opens the door, and she is all that has changed about the room.

There are a few old books on her dresser and on a shelf that also holds a few memories of schoolgirl days—certificates from school and notebooks filled with both learnings and idle doodles, a few photos here and there, but nothing too personal—they come from official portraits like those from her graduation days, and class photos at assemblies. There’s an old porcelain lamp and her mother’s hairbrush on her nightstand. In her bedframe is a mattress long stripped bare, spotted with mold.

She enters the room as if it were a sleeping beast she doesn’t want to wake. Only her reflection in a tall mirror startles her, but it might have something to do with the unfamiliarity of her freshly cut hair, which is once again as short as it was in her younger years. In contrast, the way she sinks as she sits at the end of her mattress is still a very familiar feeling. Riza is content to stare at the dusty curtains ahead of her for a while, until she is interrupted by the approach of Roy’s heavy footsteps.

“So,” he says, slowly entering and examining the room, “this is the bedroom of young Miss Hawkeye.”

She simpers as she turns to watch him. “You know, it’s not appropriate for strange adult men to enter young girls’ bedrooms like that.”

“No!” Roy clutches his chest in mock pain. “I can’t believe you still consider me a stranger after all these years.”

“Well, I’m open to suggestions. What should I consider you?”

“It’s simple, really.” He takes a few careful steps to the side of Riza’s bed, then hesitates for only a few seconds before sitting in a spot perpendicular to hers. The mattress groans as it accommodates his weight. “When you’ve known someone for nearly all your life, you’ll eventually realize how you truly see them. It could go one way or the other.” A pause. “I realized that about you long ago, Riza.”

Riza ignores the swooping in her chest. She laughs wistfully, her eyes cast downwards.

“Oh, I don’t know. For starters, the last time I saw you here, I had you burn my back. And before that, I was both an orphan and my father’s successor to you. I don’t know how I should see you, Roy Mustang; you’re a different person every time you’re here, even now.”

“Am I really just one of those things to you?”

She looks up to find a knowing and hopeful expression on his face. He doesn’t need to ask; Riza knows exactly what he means by asking the question that he did. But surely he knows that she needs him to take the lead—that she has kept far too many hard truths to herself for honesty to be easy?

Roy reaches for her hair without warning, raising goosebumps as his hand brushes against her nape. She is made aware again of how short her hair is now, cursing how exposed it leaves her feeling. Riza swallows hard, visibly. Somehow, it’s just the push that her nerves needed.

“You’re not,” she whispers. “You haven’t been for a long time.”

Suddenly, they’re face to face within an inch of each other. Riza leans in to close the gap, with their foreheads touching first, and then their noses. And then, only hesitation hangs between their lips. The moment stretches out with Roy taking a last lingering look at her features up close. Still, it’s he who kisses first, soft and cautious.

There are a million lines that they have crossed to find themselves here, and the kiss does not answer when or how those lines were crossed. Ishval, the move to Central, the Promised Day—there's no point in figuring it out now. It's only one of many things that they have never needed to discuss, but somehow already knew. Still, even as Riza kisses him back, Roy pulls away with a deep breath. “Is this okay?”

She responds by kissing him again and nodding eagerly—then her hands reach for him, one tugging at his button-down and the other taking his hand up the split in her skirt. Roy takes his cue; he guides her back down to the bed and her legs along the length of it. He is careful with his weight as he settles on top of her. All the while, their kisses become more fervent, greedier, until every little movement they make is lost in a flurry of reflex actions that are unrehearsed, but familiar from years of being side by side.

When he finally enters her, Riza freezes for a brief moment as she is seized by the most tantalizing waves. She helps him find his pace by moving against him as well. Slow, then a little faster, then slow again—there is a different kind of pleasure at each pace, as well as some pain to work around. They find more places to kiss each other and place their hands, and at the sound of each other's moans and shuddering breaths, she becomes wetter and he throbs in anticipation.

They settle on a certain tempo as they begin their final climax. Riza can no longer tell where it aches or stings, but the impending pleasure takes her mind off it.

“Please, Roy—please—ahh—”

Roy is moaning her name as she comes, and then again, until the waves stop and leave her spent. He thrusts a final time and then finally pulls out, deflating on top of Riza. For a minute, they are nothing but sweaty bodies, panting, and a plesant residual buzz. The wetness spreads onto the mattress. She holds him close, fingers in his hair.

He settles into the spot next to her once he recovers. Roy kisses her forehead, and then her shoulder, and then her hand—and then he doesn't let it go. She inches into him until she cannot get any closer, and they are face to face again. Riza is the first to smile. He laughs, and it's the first new thing she has seen about him in a while. The second is his voice as he asks, “For how long?”

She touches his face with her free hand. “Years.”

Roy closes his eyes solemnly and nods once against the mattress.

“Years.”

He lets go of her hand then, pulling her close instead. There will be more questions about where this leaves them, Riza is sure—many of them to be dealt with once they return to their daily working lives at Central. But while they are there, she decides that this is all that matters: she is falling asleep in her old house for the last time, and in Roy’s arms for the first.

#Fullmetal Alchemist #Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood #FMA #FMAB #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #Royai #fanfiction #fanfic #one-shot #romance #smut #lemon #cw: smut #cw: lemon #writing #written by nina

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