I shifted my face back into my own, raising a hand to my lips as Azriel knelt before her. I kept up my litany of praying, beseeching the Cauldron to make my womb fruitful, on and on— Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. “Are you hurt?” She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. “You came for me.” The shadowsinger only inclined his head.
Photo of Director of Magical Security Percival Graves on his wedding day, Circa 1929. Inscription on back reads; June 13th, 1929. To my heart and soul, so you’ll remember what I look like during your travels. Yours always, Percy. Photograph on loan from the Scamander family Archives. From P. Graves to N. Scamander-Graves.
[☮: An argument I think my muse would have with yours.]
“What is it with you and being away, huh? You think it’s okay to just leave me here? You know what he does to me, Ross. He’s fucking insane! But no, that’s none of your business, is it? You just stay far, far away, and he doesn’t touch you. Who cares what he does to me, at least you’re safe, right? Fuck you.”
“You don’t–” He was trying to interrupt to tell Smiff that he had it all wrong, but couldn’t even get a word in. Ross visibly winced at the last statement though and then grimaced, scoffing. “It’s not my fault he favours you.” He had a good reason as to why Smiff hadn’t seen him much, but if the lad was just going to jump to conclusions he didn’t feel it necessary to explain it. “And before you accuse me of being ‘away,’” he spat, making air quotes, “Check the fucking garden, mate. That’s as far as I’m allowed to go.”
you said ships are okay so I really couldn't help myself :p can you write something about Nicolas comforting Worrick when he's getting depressed and losing his usual cheerful attitude (I'm a sucker for angst, I'm sorry T_T)
Wahh, I’m so tired! I did what I could nonnie, but sorry if it’s not shippy enough :(
said he was fine. Nicolas knew that was bullshit; they had been together way
too long for half-assed lies like that to work on him.
It was a
universal truth that Worick could hardly keep his mouth shut, but even when that
vacant look had settled on his eyes and he started avoiding all forms of
communication, Nic hadn’t been surprised. He wasn’t a stranger to this facet of
his; he had been dealing with Worick’s mood swings ever since the very day he met
He hadn’t been
worried at first. Why would he? He
had learned that on days when Worick was acting distant and complaining about
his aching eye, it was better to give him plenty of space and wait for his
sullenness to go away. It usually didn’t take more than a few hours, anyways.
however, it was exactly three days since the last time Worick had spoken more
than a few words to him. And Nicolas wouldn’t admit it, but he was starting to
find it alarming.
He was also
in a dilemma. He had already asked if there was something wrong, to which
Worick had responded he was fine–code
language for leave me alone–, and he
knew that was exactly what he should do… But he didn’t want to. He was starting
to feel bothered–worried.
The door to
the living room swung open. Nic caught sight of it out of the corner of his
eyes and looked up from the shirt he was currently folding. Worick came in
wrapped in the same gloomy aura that had been accompanying him for the last
three days. Nicolas was a little disheartened. He knew Worick was paying Theo’s
clinic a visit today, and just then he realized he’d been kind of hoping seeing
Nina would help.
Worick came up to the coffee table, were Nic had laid
out their fresh-out-of-the-dryer clothes in a cluster.
“Your fix, pal,” he mumbled, placing two bottles of
celebrer on it. Then he headed out for his room.
Nicolas debated with himself over what he should do. “Ignore it,” he told himself, and tried to go on with his domestic
chores. But after mere minutes, he found himself drawn to Worick’s room,
seemingly by a force out of himself.
left the door open so he peered in. His longtime partner was lying on bed with
his head upturned to the ceiling, a forearm pressed against his eyes. He must
have sensed him standing on the doorway, because he lifted it and squinted at
“What is it?”
[Is your eye
hurting again?] Nicolas signed.
another time, Nic would have taken that as a talk closure and left Worick be. But
today, he stood there awkwardly, not sure of what he wanted to say. Worick
stared at him, confused.
signed, hesitated, continued. [I was wondering… Is there anything I can do to
even give it a thought.
the word very clearly. Nic had tried to help once, and things hadn’t turned out
very well, so to speak.
accepted that with a nod. He understood he should leave now, but he walked into
the room instead. Worick stared in puzzled wonderment as the deaf man he sat at
the corner of his bed.
[Want to go
for some drinks then?] Nic signed.
baffled. He knew Nicolas enjoyed a beer or two once in a while, but he usually
drank home; he wasn’t a fan of going out for drinks (like himself).
He threw his
head back in laughter.
cheer me, are you pal?” he said, in a sarcastic tone he knew Nicolas could
his head away, but Worick could still see his ear turning red.
Nic signed and tried to stand, but Worick rushed to a sitting position and held
him back by the wrist.
“I’ll go,” he
said. “Since you’re being so nice.”
was turned away from Worick’s lips to the hand closed around his wrist–he had
started rubbing circles on his skin with his thumb. It was strange, this kind of
intimate feeling between them. But Worick was smiling again and that was all
Nic cared about at the moment.
Echoes Down the Hallway - Dean/Cas, 11x03 coda. [AO3]
Dean wakes in the dead of the night, the cool flesh of Cas’ palm pressed softly against his cheek.
“Dammit, Cas,” Dean groans, the icy chill of grace flaring beneath his skin, crawling up his spine, coiling around his toes. “I said I didn’t want it.”
“I don’t care.” Cas says flatly, face half illuminated by the bedside lamp. “You have punished yourself enough for one lifetime, Dean.”
“It’s what I deserve.” Bleary-eyed and shaken from the sudden wake-up call, Dean meets Cas’ gaze in the half-light.
“And do you think I deserved to be punished for what I did under Naomi’s control?”
“That’s not the same thing, Cas.” Dean aches, something visceral and vacant. Something desolate and empty stirring in his belly. Something angel grace could never touch.
“It is the exact same thing.” Cas’ hand grips Dean’s shoulder, squeezing, sparking something primal and hot in his chest. “Everything you’ve done, you have done because you believed it to be the right thing at the time. The only thing.”
Dean’s eyes flick shut as Cas’ hand slides up to rest against the tender flesh of his neck, warmth seeping down into all the hollow spaces carved behind his ribs, behind his eyes, touching something deeper than his bones.
“You should sleep,” Cas whispers. “I can make it easier for you, if you’d like.”
Constanza had just ran to her dorm to find one of her many hoodies and some money. She wasn’t one to rely on the male to pay for the meal, whether he would have or not, or any gender for that matter. Sifting through the hangers in her closet, she found a pullover, one that she had purchased when she visited Juilliard during a summer program last year. Call her crazy, but it was the one article of clothing that she treasured most. Stumbling to her bag as she looped her head through the appropriate hole, she took out a ten dollar bill and ran out of her dorm.
The one thing that Stanza couldn’t wrap her head around was the fact that this kid, whose name she had forgotten to ask for, hadn’t even heard of the largest fast food chain in the world. She knew that a lot of people didn’t like McDonald’s, so she was sure that he’d probably be among them, but she was determined to get him to at least try it. Everyone has at some point, or rather most people have. Walking out into the parking lot, she looked around for the familiar face or for some indication that he was already out here.