#[[starter call]] raised on a separate side of the track in a land where the wild things roam

[thehomemadehooligan]

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Paging Healer Malfoy // Chapter Five - Past Hauntings (D.M.)

A/N: CHAPTER FIVE!! Dates and drama, what more could you ask for? I actually wrote most of this before I even started to write Chapter Four, I was that excited for one bit! I hope you all like! All my medical knowledge comes from ER, so if there’s anything wrong, I apologise!

Summary: Draco has finally asked (Y/N) out, but will their date run smoothly?

Warnings: I made up a jinx, mentions of injuries, brief descriptions of procedures, strong reader, fluff, swearing, mean old men, mentions of food, kissing - IT ENDS WITH A BUTTLOAD OF FLUFF.

Word count: 4.2k

Prologue // Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four 

Draco lands on (Y/N)’s doorstep half an hour before their reservation at a bistro recommended to him by Dean.

He releases a shaky breath before knocking twice on her front door. Draco had only been to her home three or four times through the length of their friendship; (Y/N) much preferred to relax at his place and at his, she was closer to the hospital should she be called for anything.

Calming his heart, Draco fiddles with the cuff of his white shirt; ensuring that just enough poked out from underneath the black suit jacket he had chosen to wear.

It takes another knock at her door for (Y/N) to answer; she wrenches the door open with an apologetic smile, “I’m so sorry, Draco, I’m almost ready. I just need to find my shoes, jacket and bag and we can go.”

“Don’t apologise,” He laughs; his nerves abating somewhat, “You were dancing weren’t you?”

(Y/N) flushes, “How did you know?”

Draco points above him; to her bedroom where he can hear the well-known sounds of ABBA playing, “You love ABBA, it makes sense you would dance.”

She rolls her eyes, “Alright Sherlock, I was dancing to ABBA and I lost track of time, is that better?”

Draco laughs, nodding, “Much better.”

She smiles, “Good. Let me go grab the rest of my things and we can go.”

Draco doesn’t verbalise his response; he simply nods at her, watching her walk away, admiring her outfit. (Y/N) wears figure hugging tailored trousers; tapered so they’re tighter at the hems. His eyes rake over her body as she climbs the stairs to her room; he chides himself for not acting like a gentlemen but the stirring desire in his veins tells him not to bother.

(Y/N) rushes back down the stairs; almost tripping on the last step as she bounces around, trying to slip her foot into her heel. Draco lurches forward; reaching for her just as she topples forward. He can’t help the laugh that leaves his mouth, “Are you okay?”

She stands with a huff; hoisting her bag on her shoulder having put her jacket on upstairs, “I’m fine. Shall we get going?”

Draco smirks; holding out his arm for her to take, “As you wish, Dancing Queen.”

-------

Draco had booked a table at a small bistro; nothing overly fancy, but still cosy enough to retain the romantic atmosphere he hopes will continue throughout the date.

It’s not an overly large restaurant; fifteen or so tables all covered with red and white gingham cloth. A small kitchen resides in the back of the bistro; the scent of Mediterranean herbs making Draco’s stomach rumble as he and (Y/N) are led to their table.

“How did you find this place?” She asks, sliding into her chair, shucking off her jacket.

“Dean recommended it to me.”

(Y/N) smiles, “I was gonna say. This doesn’t have ‘Malfoy’ written all over it.”

He raises an eyebrow, “And what does?”

She taps a finger to her chin; deliberating with a small smile, “Michelin Stars, for starters. Huge plates with tiny portions of food, and expensive wine lists.”

Draco holds his hands up in surrender, “You’re right. However, my father is the sommelier of the family, I simply drink the stuff.”

(Y/N) snorts, “Is Draco Malfoy a rebel?”

He blushes at her teasing tone; glancing back down to the menu in his hands. A satisfied smile spreads across (Y/N)’s face at the sight of leaving Draco speechless; he so often had comebacks ready. It was a treat to see him so affected by her.

She peers down at the menu, “What are you thinking?”

“Is it completely stereotypical of me to go for the steak?” Draco ponders.

She shakes her head, laughing, “I may have been thinking the same thing.”

They hand their menus over to the waiter; giving their orders and choosing not to drink. Instead, they stick to water. Work tomorrow would be easier if they didn’t have a hangover to deal with as well.

“How long are you on tomorrow?” Draco asks.

(Y/N) shakes her head, “Let’s not talk about work.”

“I can do that,” He comments, “What would you like to talk about?”

She raises an eyebrow, “How did you know I was listening to ABBA? I thought you didn’t care much for muggle music.”

Draco flushes, “I don’t care for a lot of muggle music.”

“But you like ABBA?”

Draco nods; trying not to roll his eyes, “I like ABBA.”

(Y/N) laughs; clapping her hands together in delight, “That is my new favourite thing about you, Draco.”

“Oh?” He smirks, “What was it before?”

(Y/N) flushes as she averts her eyes; glancing around the room, “Truthfully?”

“Now you have me worried…”

She shoots him a glare, “I won’t tell if you’re going to be an arse.”

Draco holds one hand up in surrender; the other crosses over his heart, “I promise I won’t be an arse tonight.”

(Y/N) smiles shyly, “Your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

(Y/N) nods; the flush spreading to her neck as she bites her lip. The specific knowledge settles in Draco; making its home in his heart.

She recovers quickly, “What about you?”

“What about me?” Draco counters; knowing exactly where she’s going with this.

“What’s your favourite thing about me?”

Draco shuffles in his seat; butterflies running riot in his stomach. He reaches for his glass of water; wetting his mouth before speaking, “I don’t have a specific thing.”

(Y/N) visibly deflates; disappointed at his words, “You don’t?”

Draco nods; deciding honesty to be the best policy, “My favourite thing about you is all of you.”

“Oh…” (Y/N) whispers; a mesmerising smile breaking over her face and leaving him breathless. She opens her mouth to say more; to say what she feels in this moment, but as the words start to form on the tip of her tongue she’s interrupted by the arrival of their food.

With practiced flourish, the waiter places their food in front of them. The smell and sight making Draco’s mouth water. He digs in after sending a broad smile over to (Y/N) who watches Draco with bright eyes and a large smile herself.

Conversation is little as they eat; the both of them practiced in the art of needing to eat and rushing off to the next patient.

They get halfway through their main courses when Draco’s pager sounds. He looks at (Y/N) apologetically, “I thought I had turned it off. I told the hospital that I was off for the night, not be called in at any time.”

(Y/N) moves to answer, but she is interrupted by her own pager sounding in her bag. She glances at Draco sheepishly; the apology glimmering in her eyes as she reaches for it. Her expression changes as she reads over the number on the screen; Draco feels so concerned he can’t help but reach for his own pager to read what’s on the screen.

It takes them less than five minutes to pay the bill and rush from the restaurant; hurrying into a side alley to apparate to the emergency room.

They’re greeted by Vera; she looks them up and down, “Did you drink?”

Draco and (Y/N) shake their heads, “We’re both on tomorrow; we stuck to water.”

Vera thrusts trauma gowns at them, “Good. We need you sharp.”

Draco’s senses hone in; attention becoming laser sharp and focused. The shift in him is visible all to watching him; the relaxed posture dropping away to make room for the attending. He looks to Vera as he slides on goggles, “What do we have coming in?”

“Large raid on one of the last death eater hang outs. A battle broke out; everyone injured is coming our way,” Vera shakes her head, “It’s even being reported on muggle news; that’s how bad things got.”

“ETA?”

“Less than two minutes.”

Draco exhales, “Where are the trainees?”

“Behind you Healer Malfoy,” Matthew Kinghorn’s voice calls out.

He turns to find all four already gowned and gloved, ready and waiting. He meets the eyes of each one, “This will be your first large trauma, am I correct?” At their nods, he continues, “Okay. Split off to your attendings; do not get in the way. Help when you can but do not overcrowd. Kinghorn, I want you with me.”

Matthew startles; already heading towards his attending. Draco shakes his head; waiting for the other trainees to file away, “I want to see how you handle a trauma situation after I saw you with our impalement. We don’t exactly know what’s coming in but stay alert. If you think you’re going to be sick, leave the room. Do you understand?”

Matthew nods; remaining silent, following Draco as the first of the injured roll up.

From there, it’s close to a blood bath. St. Mungo’s is the only wizarding hospital in the entire country; supposedly equipped to handle such traumas. However, when the patients are from two groups with such differing ideals, keeping them separated is difficult.

In his head, Draco plans to make another appeal to the Minster for Magic; wondering if Hermione could help him persuade the powers that be for another hospital.

Piercing screams distract Draco from his plans to expand the hospital. With Matthew close behind, Draco rushes towards the sound. Being wheeled in by medics is a young Auror; barely out of his twenties or so Draco assumes – his face and body have been burnt so badly by a jinx that it makes it difficult for Draco to age the patient but also for the patient to offer anything but his screams.

The moment they enter the trauma room, Draco administers a pain potion. In cases like this, the survival rate was low. The most that could be done is to offer as much comfort to the patient as possible.

Draco looks over to Matthew, “How are you feeling, Kinghorn?”

Matthew’s gaze finally meets Draco; his skin looking rather green, “I’ve never seen something so bad.”

“Cases like this are rare, but they do happen. Now, the patient isn’t getting enough oxygen with the mask, what do we need to do?”

Matthew flounders; Draco adjusts the mask on the patient’s face, repeating his words, “What do we need to do, Matthew?”

The use of his first name snaps his out of whatever stupor, “Intubate. He needs to be intubated.”

“Have you seen one done?”

Matthew nods, “Healer (Y/L/N) showed me last week.”

“Good. You know what they say, ‘see one, do one, teach one’. Get over here, Matthew,” Draco leans over the patient, “Sir, we’re going to have to put a tube in your throat to help you breath.”

The patient nods; a tear falling down his face as he realises the likelihood of him coming off the vent is low. At the patient’s nod, Draco administers a sedative – to help the patient and Matthew through this. Draco looks to Matthew; nodding his head slightly for him to begin the procedure.

Matthew bounces to life; rushing to the head of the patient. Draco hands him the scope and tube needed for the procedure; speaking him through it as Matthew visualises the cords, slipping the tube down the patient’s throat – aiming for the lungs and not the stomach.

(Y/N) joins Draco as Matthew finishes intubating the patient; the need for muggle medicine a priority when the jinxes and curses were so bad there was little chance of recovery. This particular patient had been hit with the extensive burn jinx – a nasty jinx that isn’t seen too often as it causes third degree burns across 80% of the body; spreading across the body like a wildfire, giving the witch or wizard hit a low chance of survival.

“How did you find our first date?” Draco asks as (Y/N) begins to debride the burns; giving the patient some chance of relief.

(Y/N) smiles at him from over the trauma, “It’s like you knew exactly what I wanted.”

Draco can’t help the laugh that escapes him; quickly regaining his professionalism, however and apologising to the patient even though he is sedated. He looks back to her, “Can you handle it from here?”

She nods; eyes flickering the trauma room behind, “I’ve got it. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

Draco grins at her; pulling off his gloves and gown before rushing into the next trauma. The patient is agitated; shouting and screaming at the nurses, leaving Jude Prewett scared but firm as she talks him down.

The Auror only gets angrier at the sight of Draco; hollering for the whole floor to hear, “I won’t have you treat me! I demand another Healer. Get me another Healer.”

“Healer Malfoy is the best Healer we have,” Jude reassures; eyes flickering between the patient and Draco.

The patient shakes his head; adamant, “I won’t have a Death Eater treat me. He’ll kill me just as he would look at me.”

Draco wants to shout; wants to get in the patient’s face and list all the ways he’s repented since he was a scared and vulnerable sixteen year old, doing what he thought was right for his family.

He doesn’t though; he sighs sadly, stepping back from the patient, “I understand sir, I’ll go fetch another Healer,” He looks to Jude, “Are you okay for a few more minutes while I go get Healer (Y/L/N)?”

Jude nods; eyes sad from Draco’s quick dismissal. As Draco returns to trauma room one, he hears Jude say, “I hope you know you just insulted one of the best Healers we have.”

(Y/N) looks up as Draco re-enters, “What’s wrong?”

Draco shakes his head; hating the lump that has formed in his throat, “Do you mind treating next door?”

She nods down to the patient she is currently working on, “I’m busy here. Why can’t you do it?”

“He doesn’t want to be treated by me. Wants another Healer.”

“Why?” She demands; voice angry, eyes angrier as they glance into the room behind Draco.

“We’ll talk about it later. Will you please treat him? I can take over here.”

(Y/N) looks like she very much wants to argue with him, but she decides against it. She nods quietly; handing Draco her scalpel before disrobing, “What’s his name?” She asks, referring to the patient.

Draco shrugs; focusing his attention on the burn victim, “We didn’t get that far.”

-----

(Y/N) liked to believe that she was patient; she knew when she began her training as a Healer that she would need to learn the art of patience and fast for there are some patients who have a list of medical complaints a mile long.

However, she did not have any patience for the narrow-minded Auror ranting before her.

“I can’t believe a place like this would hire him.”

“Hire who?” She asks; daring him to say it.

“Him,” He spits; jutting his chin to next door when (Y/N) knows Draco works diligently over another Auror who may only have hours to live due to the extensiveness of their burns.

“That man you’re spitting about happens to be working on your colleague.”

The Auror rolls his eyes, “My colleague wouldn’t be in his mess if it wasn’t for families like his. I knew who he was the moment he walked in the room; Lucius Malfoy’s brat.”

(Y/N) grits her teeth; continuing to stitch up the man’s arm; refusing to rise to his vitriol. He takes her silence as permission to continue, “I’m surprised we didn’t find his father there. We certainly found a lot of his friends; hiding together like rats, plotting their next uprising as if the last one worked. Who are they going to worship now? The Dark Lord is gone.”

“And yet,” (Y/N) breathes, “You cannot say his name without being scared.”

The Auror glares at her; not happy to have his courage questioned. He remains silent through the rest of his treatment; seething at her words, knowing that she called him on his bullshit.

(Y/N) removes her gloves, standing from her chair, “I would say that it’s been a pleasure to heal you given that you’re an Auror, but it hasn’t. I will be contacting your superior for the abuse you’ve shown my colleague – who, for your information, has nothing to repent for. I understand questioning the adults that followed Lord Voldemort, but you do not get to question the children who were innocent bystanders in a game they didn’t understand.”

The Auror laughs menacingly, “Speak to my superior, see if I care.”

(Y/N) grins, “I will. You’ve ballsed up big time – want to know why?”

The Auror remains quiet so (Y/N) tells him anyway, nodding towards Draco, “Your boss is one of his best friends.”

The colour fades from the Auror’s face and (Y/N) admits to herself that she rather enjoyed telling him what’s what. Patience is something that (Y/N) is still learning; even almost ten years into her career, but what she will not stand for in any form, is bullying.

----

Draco takes a moment of leave from the burn patient when his family arrive in floods of tears; asking about statistics and whether he was positive that nothing could be done.

He doesn’t see the commotion, but he hears it; her voice travels down the hall, easily leading Draco to her. He finds her gesturing wildly to an unprepared Harry Potter.

Harry catches his eye; pleading silently for help. Draco makes his way to her side; placing his hand on the small of her back, “What’s happening here?”

“I was just tell Harry about that lovely patient we have

“Auror Flintlock?” Draco asks; taking the chart from (Y/N)’s hands.

Her hands settle on her hips, “Potter, you have to do something about him. He was wildly inappropriate towards Draco.”

Draco sighs, “Patients can refuse to be treated by certain Healers, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) purses her lips; her attention still fixed on Harry, “I want to see him at least written up and giving an official warning for how he continued to speak after Draco left the room.”

Harry nods, “He’ll be written up, (Y/N). He’s been skating on thin ice for a while.”

(Y/N) folds her arms; a victorious look on her face, “Thank you, Potter.”

Harry smiles; nodding at them both, not missing their closeness. He makes a mental note to mention it to Draco the next time they go drinking. Harry looks towards trauma one, “How’s he doing?”

Draco pats Harry’s shoulder, “80% thickness burns to most of his body. It was a nasty jinx, Harry.”

“How long does he have?”

“Hours,” Draco states plainly, “His family is with him now.”

Harry nods; silver lining his eyes, sighing, “Good. They should be. He’s been on the force less than a year.”

With little else to say, Harry leaves Draco and (Y/N) – fulfilling his duty as an Auror; going to comfort the family of one of their own.

Draco and (Y/N) retreat to the break room; never officially being on in the first place. Like always, the ancient television set only displays the muggle news in a hushed volume; the red banner skirting across the bottom of the screen announcing an unexplained explosion on the outskirts of London. The news anchor repeats how lucky it was that no-one was hurt. Draco represses the urge to roll his eyes; muggles weren’t hurt, that’s correct and he’s thankful for that, but his emergency room is filled with Aurors and Death Eaters alike – all injured and vulnerable because of what happened tonight.

Draco settles at the round table in the middle of the room; sighing in relief at getting off his feet for a little bit. (Y/N) sits next to him; her hand reaching for his across the table. An act of affection so naturally displayed that it sends Draco’s heart rate through the roof.

He regrets the fact that their date had been cut short, but with any luck, (Y/N) wouldn’t mind a repeat. He thinks to their brief conversation in the bistro and for a second, he wonders whether she would protest much to his version of wining and dining. Reservations needing to be made weeks in advance; wine lists four pages long – each bottle with multiple zeroes behind the name. He realises he would like to show her the world in which he grew up; the fancy dinners and balls, but he also accepts that he would be happy in any world as long as he’s with her.

“Are you staying with him?” (Y/N) asks; concern in her eyes.

Draco nods, “I’ll stay with him through this. Matthew will need me to help pronounce.”

(Y/N) nods, “I’ll stay with you too.”

He reaches for her hand, “Thank you.”

She squeezes once, shrugging, “One thing’s for certain, you’re not a boring date, Draco.”

“It’s about to get even more wild,” Draco drawls.

“Oh? How’s that?”

Draco points to the pile of unfinished paperwork near his locker, “We have all that to work through.”

(Y/N) fans herself, “Slow down, Romeo. Paperwork is a second date kind of thing isn’t it?”

Draco laughs loudly, “So you see a second date?”

(Y/N) beams at him; pulling a pen from her bag, “I see a second date.”

------

Two hours later, Matthew interrupts their squabble about news anchor’s to say that the young Auror’s oxygen levels have dropped. Draco stands; knowing it won’t be long now.

It isn’t. Less than ten minutes after entering the room, Draco helps Matthew pronounce the young Auror; explaining the death kit and how the nurses do it.

(Y/N) looks up when Draco re-enters the break room; the question written over her face. Draco nods; silently confirming her suspicions.

They apparate back to his place; neither of them hungry after such an extensive trauma. (Y/N) throws herself on the couch; groaning at the softness, “You know, this is the comfiest couch I have ever sat on.”

Draco laughs; picking up her legs and settling them over his as he sits down next to her, “Are you just saying that because you wore heels all night?”

(Y/N) frowns down at her bare feet; having kicked off the offending footwear the moment she landed in Draco’s flat, “That could be part of it.”

“I knew it!” Draco declares with a broad smile, “You only agreed to the date so you could lay on my couch more.”

(Y/N) stretches her limbs out, “Can you blame me? This couch is a gift from Merlin himself.”

Silence falls between the two of them; it’s not awkward – far from it. It’s the kind of silence where they both know they’re thinking over the night’s events and remembering the young Auror who passed less than two hour ago.

“You didn’t have to do that earlier, you know,” Draco whispers.

(Y/N) sits up the couch; swinging her legs around. She cuddles up to Draco, “Yeah, I did. I saw your face in there, I had to do something.”

Draco shakes his head, “It wasn’t the first time; it won’t be the last either.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t the first time?”

“I mean that it wasn’t the first time a patient has refused to be treated by me,” He sighs; heart heavy as he thinks of the early days of his career when the mark on his arm was as dark as the day it had been seared into his skin, “There are still those who have not forgiven my family for their involvement in both wizarding wars.”

(Y/N) frowns; staring up at him, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Draco shrugs, “Truthfully, it hadn’t happened in a while. Auror Flintlock was the first patient in almost a year to refuse my treatment.”

“You still should have told me.”

“I know,” He admits, “Will you forgive me?”

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “I don’t know,” She starts, “What’s in it for me?”

Draco chuckles; leaning in to her, “What would you like?”

(Y/N) takes it upon herself to connect their lips. She brushes her lips against Draco’s softly; to gauge his reaction. Draco gasps gently as the touch; unexpected but definitely not unwelcome. She pulls away; a hairsbreadth away from him, but he surges forward, reconnecting their lips in a kiss that screams pent up emotion and long-lasting love.

She lets him take control of the kiss; surrendering herself to his mouth and wandering hands as he presses her further into the couch.

They’re a mess of hands, lips, and tongue. Her hands work on the white button down he wears; unfastening the buttons and pushing it from his shoulders before running her hands down the flat expanse of his stomach.

Draco shudders at her touch; briefly wondering if whether this is what it feels like to internally combust. He’s dreamt of this for long so; sometimes waking up in the middle of the night with the taste of her in his mouth and desire lighting up his veins.

Her hands continue wander as he slows down the kiss; slowing their pace so they move together languidly. He doesn’t want to rush a thing; he wants to feel every inch of her set him on fire.

Breaking the kiss, Draco pulls her from the couch. She throws him a puzzled look as he leads her into his bedroom. Draco gives her a questioning look; searching her eyes for permission, making sure she hasn’t changed her mind since the couch. With a small smile, (Y/N) tugs Draco towards her by grabbing his belt.

He connects their lips once more, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.

**********

Paging Healer Malfoy taglist: @sycathorn-slush @obsessedwithrandomthings @kpopgirlbtssvt @kalimagik @brycelahelalover @fallinallinmendes @mischi3f-manag3d @remmysrecs @willowbleedsonpaper @nao-cchi @haphazardhufflepuff @soundsquid27 @mytreec @maydillydally @chaoticgirl04 @pregnant-piggy @rhyxn @acciotwinz @birdie-writes @reaganwonders @chanelwonders @izzytheninja @ravenclawbitch426 @ohissandhalasta @missmulti @nebulablakemurphy @pointlesscoconut @cherrylita @harpersmariano @slytherinlovesgryffindor @falconfeather23435 @namoreno @johannalauraaa

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl​ @detroitobsessed​ @reaganwonders​ @sophia-gwendolyn​ @ravenclawbitch426​

***if your username is in bold, I was unable to tag you.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

December Contest Submission #15: You Are Not Dating

words: ca. 3100 setting: mAU lemon: no cw: none

Anna smiled and stared ahead, lost in thought. It wasn’t until she felt a finger poke her forehead that she returned to the present.

“Earth to Anna, come in, Anna.”

“Yes?” Anna guiltily turned in her desk to face her friends. She hadn’t meant to ignore them, but thoughts of spending time with her girlfriend tended to side track her. 

“I asked if I could give your number to my friend, Toby?” Merida rolled her eyes, annoyed.

“Why?” Anna frowned in confusion. She couldn’t remember a Toby in their class and besides, she wasn’t interested in tutoring anyone.

“He thinks you’re cute and wants to ask you out.” 

“But, I’m dating someone already.” Surely her friends remembered that. Wait, had she told them?

“WHAT?!” Three voices exclaimed loudly.

Apparently not.

“When did that happen?”

“Who are you going out with?”

“When did he ask you?”

“Does he go to our high school?”

“How did you meet?”

“How far have you guys gone?”

“SSHHH!” Anna looked around the classroom but no one was paying them any attention. Good. She beckoned her friends closer and whispered, “I’m dating Elsa.”

“WHAT?!” Again three voices shouted, this time attracting the notice of a couple of other students. 

“SSSHHH!” Anna shushed them again and smiled nervously at the students watching them then turned back and glared. “Stop shouting.” Now she remembered why she hadn’t said anything.

Rapunzel leaned in and whispered, “Elsa Andersen? You’re claiming to be dating Elsa Andersen?”

“We are dating,” Anna sighed in exasperation. She really needed new friends.

“No way are you dating her,” Merida rolled her eyes. 

“I am!” The two nearby students, again, looked over at the commotion. The redhead ducked her head in embarrassment and whispered, “Elsa and I are dating. Why don’t you guys believe me?”

“For starters, we have never seen you two hanging out together. Are you even friends?” Rapunzel raised an eyebrow.

“We eat lunch together every day.”

“Our cafeteria is tiny. Sitting next to each other isn’t hanging out,” Merida replied.

“What makes you think you two are going out?” Rapunzel asked skeptically.

“Because we are?”

“She is the most popular student here and a Senior. If you two are going out, why doesn’t everyone know about this?” Merida asked. 

“Elsa’s a private person.”

“No one’s that good at keeping secrets at this school,” muttered Merida.

“She comes to my basketball games.”

“She’s in charge of the scoreboards, of course she’s at your games.” Rapunzel put her hands on her hips, clearly exasperated.

“We go home together everyday.”

“Isn’t that the only bus line that goes out there?” Merida asked.

“We-“ Anna closed her mouth. She wasn’t going to share that everyday Elsa invited her over to her house where they would talk and do homework together and half the time her girlfriend’s parents invited her to stay for dinner. Anna knew that Elsa liked honey in her tea after school, that she had been taking singing lessons for years and had a beautiful voice, that she loved playing video games even though she wasn’t very good at them, and that she laughed at her own jokes. The list of personal details only she knew went on and on and refused to share them with anyone else. Even her best friends. 

“How long have you two been going out?” Kristoff asked gently, speaking for the first time.

“Two months,” Anna grinned goofily.

“Have you kissed yet?” He asked.

“…no.” Anna bit her bottom lip nervously. Could her friends be right? Could this all be in her head? No, Elsa loved her; she was certain of it.

“See?” Merida grinned triumphantly.

“We’re taking it slow.”

Three groans and a muttered ‘goddamn it’ were their only response. Before they could ask anything else, the calculus teacher walked into the room.

“Okay, class, take your seats and pull out last night’s homework.”

* * * * * 

Anna glanced at the quiet figure next to her. On a typical bus ride home, after after-school activities, they would be laughing and chatting about their classes. But Elsa hadn’t said a word, just silently wrapped her arms around her middle and stared out the window.

“Elsa?”

She kept her head turned away, staring at the snow blanketing the town.

Completely baffled, Anna readjusted her knit cap and fidgeted uncomfortably.

The silence persisted while disembarking from the bus and as they walked home. Snow began falling again. Anna shivered in the cold and missed having Elsa’s arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and keeping her warm. But a distance stayed between them and her gaze on  the icy sidewalk. 

It didn’t take long to reach Elsa’s house where, silently, her girlfriend turned and walked up the walkway.

“Elsa, what’s wrong?” 

Footsteps faltered on her front steps but didn’t stop. Before she could call out again, Elsa stepped through her front door, shutting it quickly behind her.

For the first time since they met, Anna didn’t know what to do.

* * * * * 

Having calculus first thing everyday was bad enough, but it was particularly horrible that day. Laying her head on her arms, Anna closed her eyes and tried not to think or she would remember that morning and she was barely keeping hold of her emotions. Elsa didn’t respond to any of her text messages the night before or sit next to her on the bus that morning and she didn’t know what was wrong.

Did she do something to hurt Elsa? Did she forget something important? Did someone find out about them that shouldn’t have? Questions crowded Anna’s brain without an answer in sight. She decided to skip going to the cafeteria; it would hurt to watch Elsa sit with someone else.

* * * * *

Not caring if she got benched for tomorrow’s game, Anna skipped basketball practice. Whatever was bothering her girlfriend was far more important. On the top step of Elsa’s porch she stood, shivering in the cold and snow, determined to wait all night if needed. 

The sound of footsteps walking up the path caught Anna’s attention.

Elsa froze when she saw her. Gazes locked for a few precious moments.

“Anna…” whispered so softly that if she hadn’t seen her lips move, she never would have known her name was said at all.

Anna took a step forward and the spell between them broke.

Pulling her keys out of her pocket, Elsa avoided her eyes as she climbed the steps to her front door. 

“Go home, Anna,” the keys fell from her shaking hands. 

“No.”

“Please…” Elsa closed her eyes and stood in front of her door, keys at her feet.

“What did I do?”  Anna choked out, scared at the answer but needing to know.

Elsa’s backpack fell off her shoulder and landed in the snow. Bonelessly, she sagged against the porch railing.

“You didn’t do anything. I just…” Elsa wrapped her arms around her waist and turned to face Anna. “I just need some time,” tears fell silently. 

Seeing her girlfriend in tears broke Anna and she crossed the small distance separating them. She held Elsa’s face gently and wiped the falling tears away with her thumbs. 

“Please, don’t,” trembling, Elsa pulled away from her, “I… I… I need… some space.” Deep gasping breaths, clearly struggling to keep it together.

Tears fell from Anna’s eyes. “Please don’t break up with me,” she whispered, cold beyond the weather seeping in, chilling her to the bone.

“What?” Elsa’s brows furrowed.

“Give me a second chance,” Anna leapt at the opening and resisted the urge to touch Elsa again. “I-I’ll fix whatever I did.”

Elsa opened and closed her mouth, confusion painted on her face. “What are you talking about? We aren’t together?”

I’ve lost her. The world rocked under her feet. “I-I-I’m sorry. I…” Anna backed away, nearly tripping on her own feet. She needed out of there fast before she completely lost it. Snow began drifting down again, the cold not touching her with the realization she lost Elsa.

“No! Wait!” Elsa rushed around to block her escape down the steps.

“Please,” tears began to fall and she bowed her head. Anna wished to be home alone to cry in earnest. Torturous, happy memories played out in her mind’s eye. “Please, let me leave.”

“No. Anna, did…” Elsa ducked to meet her gaze and visibly swallowed. “Did you think we were together?”

Oh god, my friends were right. Anna’s head spun and she wished to disappear. Tears fell rapidly. Stupid, stupid, stupid! 

Chilled fingers wiped her tears away and cupped her face. “Anna, please answer me.”

“Yes.�� Anna struggled to push the word through a closed throat. 

Warmth enveloped her and she found herself in Elsa’s arms. Tears fell on her neck.

“Oh god, when you didn’t say anything I thought…” Elsa sagged against her and sniffed, “I thought you rejected me.”

“Huh?” Anna fought the urge to wrap Elsa in a comforting embrace, no longer trusting her instincts on anything.

“The letter.” Pulling back, Elsa wiped her eyes.

“What letter?” Unsure what was happening, Anna’s tears stopped and mind raced.

“I left a letter in your locker about…” Elsa’s tears stopped and she offered a watery smile. “About how I fell in love with you and asking you on a date.”

“I never got a letter.” As Anna wondered what could have happened to it, a falling snowflake landed on the back of her neck. She shivered violently.

“Anna, you’re cold!” Elsa quickly picked up their bags and her house keys out of the snow. “How long have you been out here?”

“I skipped basketball practice.” Teeth starting to chatter, Anna pulled her coat closed more tightly.

“That was hours ago.” She looked distraught.

“I-I-I n-n-needed-d-d t-to t-t-talk with y-you.” The cold wind bit into her and Elsa pulled her  inside.

* * * * * 

Anna shivered in front of the roaring fire.

“Come here,” Elsa settled in behind her and wrapped them both in a blanket. “I’ll keep you warm.”

Snuggling into the warmth, she finally stopped shivering.

“Why did you think we were dating?” 

The softly spoken question pulled Anna from the light doze she slipped into and she stiffened. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Hey now, no going anywhere. Talk to me. Please.” Elsa tightened her hold, laying a chin on Anna’s shoulder. “Why did you think we were dating?” she repeated.

Face warming with an intense blush, Anna sighed before answering. “I asked you out and you said yes.”

“What? When was this?”

“The antique marble exhibit downtown.” Now that she thought about it, they had a wonderful time but maybe it hadn’t been a good idea for a first date. 

“The marble exhibit?” Elsa sounded startled and Anna kept her eyes on the fire. “But that was two months ago.”

Anna nodded. 

Strong hands moved her until she sat across Elsa’s lap. “Didn’t you wonder why we never held hands at school? Or why our friends didn’t know?”

“You’re a private person.”

Elsa rolled her eyes. “Not that private.”

“Didn’t you wonder why…” fingers gently traced her lips and deep blue eyes locked on her, “we never kissed?”

Unable to form a coherent thought, Anna stayed silent, buzzing with anticipation.

Lips she only felt in her dreams, pressed against hers softly.

Oh. 

Anna hummed and tilted her head, pushing herself more firmly into Elsa. A slick tongue traced the seam of her lips and she eagerly opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. For long, rapturous minutes they explored each other’s mouths.

Slowly, without breaking their kiss, Elsa guided Anna to the floor and covered her body with her own. Kisses traveled down her neck and Anna tilted her head to the side, giving her girlfriend more room. 

“S-s-shouldn’t we…” Anna whimpered, “we be doing our homework.”

“Later,” kissing back up her neck slowly, Elsa pinned Anna’s hands above her head. “I have kisses with my girlfriend to make up for.”

* * * * *

Hours later, a bright red Elsa returned to the living room from the kitchen, where she had gone to ask her parents if Anna could stay for dinner.

“They said it was fine.” She grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around them again.

Anna snuggled back into Elsa. “Are you alright?”

“Yup!” 

Turning to see her, Anna raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Umm… well,” Elsa drooped with a sigh. “I told my parents you’re my girlfriend now and they were confused.”

“Confused?”

“They thought we were already dating.” 

Anna laughed.

* * * * *

Stating she did not want Anna to walk home by herself at night, Elsa escorted her the two blocks home holding hands the whole way. The temperature plummeted and snow continued to drift down in lazy fat flakes, but Anna didn’t feel a thing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the bus stop.” Anna squeezed the hand in hers and took a step back in the direction of the front door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Elsa tightened her hold.

“You have to let go,” Anna giggled.

A hard tug and she fell into Elsa’s arms. 

“No, I don’t.”

Arms circled her waist and Anna wrapped her arms around Elsa’s neck.

“No, you don’t.” Warm lips and Anna smiled into the kiss, heart soaring with joy.

“Anna! You can kiss your girlfriend tomorrow! It’s cold out here, get in the house!” Her mother’s voice called from the front door. “And Elsa, you be careful walking home!”

Burying her face in Anna’s neck, Elsa groaned pitifully. “I think everyone knew we were dating but me.”

“We weren’t, though.” Head lowered, still incredibly embarrassed, Anna’s fingers played with the hair at Elsa’s neck.

“No,” Elsa kissed her gently, “we were.”

Anna smiled.

“But,” Elsa’s expression turned serious, “I want to redo our first date.”

“ANNA!”

“Coming, Mom!” A quick kiss. “And I’d like that.” 

“This weekend, then.”

“Okay.” Anna practically skipped to the front door.

* * * * *

At the bus stop the next morning, Anna shifted from foot to foot in anticipation of seeing Elsa and pulled her scarf tighter around trying to keep the icy breeze out. Arms wrapped around her from behind.

“Good morning.”

“Hmmm,” Anna snuggled back into the hold. “Good morning.”

“Yes, it is.” Elsa placed a kiss on her cheek.

Anna turned to face Elsa. “I like this.”

“Where are your gloves?” Elsa frowned looking down at the bare hands between them.

“Oh, I forgot them in my locker yesterday.”

“Here,” Elsa grabbed her hands and placed them on her warm neck. “Shit! They’re freezing!”

“Sorry!” Anna tried to pull away.

“No no no no no,” a strong grip held her there. “You hate being cold.”

Anna hummed happily as feeling returned to numb fingers.

Elsa grabbed her right hand and slipped a still warm back leather glove on Anna’s hand.

“Wait-“

“You need them more than me.” Elsa slipped the second one on.

“But what about you?” Anna bit her lip.

“Don’t worry.” 

Two hands slipped into the back pockets of Anna’s jeans and pulled her close.

“Elsa,” Anna looked at the other people waiting at the bus stop but no one seemed to notice them. 

“Does this bother you?” Elsa frowned anxiously.

“No, I just thought…” she trailed off.

“For two months you thought I didn’t like PDA.”

Anna nodded.

“I do with you.” A gentle, chilly kiss, and she sighed happily.

* * * * * 

Smiling so wide her face actually started to hurt, Anna sat, the letter found in the very back of her locker and now tucked safely in her backpack to be read later, and waited for the calculus teacher to arrive.

“Anna! Why didn’t you respond to any of our texts?” Merida, hands on hips, stood next to her desk. 

“Why do we even need to learn calculus?” Kristoff moaned pitifully and laid his head down on the desk. 

“Sorry.” Only now did Anna remember seeing the messages in their group text asking for help with the homework. “I was with Elsa.”

“Ugh!” Merida threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Sweetie,” Rapunzel laid a hand on her shoulder. “Do you still think you’re dating Elsa Andersen?”

By now they had attracted the attention of most of their classmates.

“We are.” Anna sunk down in her seat, withering under the stares.

“No, you aren’t.” Looking even more irritated than before, Merida stomped.

“Feisty Pants, we know you’ve had a crush on her forever but this is going too far.” Kristoff tried to smile encouragingly though he just looked exasperated to Anna.

Buzzing filled the room. Her friends had not been quiet. 

“Did you hear that?” Anna heard a girl from behind her whisper. “She really thinks Elsa Andersen would give her the time of day.”

Laugher in response.

“Seriously? Why would she date her?” The deep voice from in front of the class didn’t bother trying to whisper.

“I know right? Elsa Andersen has standards.”

“Awww, I wanted to ask that redhead out.” It was now too loud in the room for Anna to pinpoint who was talking.

“You dodged a bullet there.”

Finally deciding that maybe she should pretend she was joking, Anna lifted her head and saw Elsa stride into the classroom.

Anna smiled at, happy to see a friendly face amidst all this chaos. “What are you-“ a pair of soft lips cut her off.

A bit dazed from the unexpected kiss, Anna missed whatever it was Elsa said. “Uhh… what?”

“I said,” Elsa smiled and leaned back only slightly, their faces still close. “I found your math notebook in my backpack.”

Only now did Anna notice the battered thing on her desk. “Thank you.”

“I won’t be at lunch.” Finger brushed lovingly along her jaw and Anna leaned into the touch.

“I have to go to the library and finish my homework.”

“Oh, right.” Anna blushed remembering the kisses and snuggles in lieu of homework.

Elsa’s smile widened and Anna’s blush deepened.

“I’ll see you at your game tonight.”

This time, it was Anna who leaned in for a kiss. 

“Okay.”

Straightening up, Elsa strolled out of the classroom.

It was only after Elsa left that Anna realized it was dead silent. It stayed that way for several long moments before sound exploded.

“Oh my god, I’ll text Jenna and you text Kristy.”

“Holy fuck! They are dating!”

“Wha… bu… huh!?”

“Anna, we are so sorry!” Merida collapsed into a nearby chair in shock. 

Kristoff opened and closed his mouth, completely speechless.

“Ummm…” Rapunzel frowned. “Isn’t your basketball game away today?”

“I told you guys,” she smiled at her contrite friends, “she comes to all my games.”

[burnxngslash]

Upon the fields off the path that would otherwise lead towards the rather illustrious Dawn Winery were three very different individuals. One resembled a dog, but stood upright and wore clothes like any other person, the same could be said about the white duck that 'waddles' alongside him, shorter and feathers were ivory white and with those two was a run of the mil teenage boy sporting dark clothing and spikey hair. “Face it, you're lost!” The smaller duck spoke out as the teen led the way. Both his hands tucked at the back of his head. “I'm not lost, I just can't find where I'm going yet, there's a difference.” Now, upon saying that the large dog rubbed a finger at the side of his temple trying to make sense of the statement? Was there really a difference? Because they sounded quite the same.

But the little duck caught on quick due to his own hot-headedness. “WaaghaAAAaaaAGH.” It grunts loudly. “It's the same thing.” Said the duck, the young boy stopped in his tracks. “Is not!” Said the boy. “Is too!” Said the duck in response as the two slowly gotten into each other's faces as the tall dog then separated them. “That's enough fellas, don't forget why we're here in the first place.” He said, back away and quickly calm as he raises one finger. “Try to get me to figure out the power of waking.” Then a second finger had risen. “Find this person that the organization wants to make their princess.” The came one more finger. “Annnd...” The boy now began to think of their third objective. “And stay out of trouble because this world isn't connected with the others.” Said Donald before turning towards the area they had crash landed moments ago. “Mhmm but then we met up with someone..and for now we're stuck here..” Said the boy as the trio sighs in defeat, even going far as slumping down.

Closed Starter | Starter Call | @derreisende​

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Slytherin Sirius who is attracted to James and is the only one who can prank him but does so secretly. Gets caught one day which leads to confession also sirius telling james about his family. Maybe a little angsty confession with eventual happy ending. Thank you.

((A/N: Black-typical abuse))

There were parts of Hogwarts that Sirius really liked. Being away from his parents was the biggest one, but pranking one James Potter was up there. Bloody king of Gryffindor, loved by all and a cliche to be so perfect. 

The downsides of Hogwarts were more than he could really count, and most of it depended on his mood. Having to deal with a bunch of blood purists spitting filth came to mind. The classes. The professors hating him. His dormmates hating him. Pretty much... everyone hated him actually, with the exception of Regulus and a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that he'd tutored in transfiguration. He couldn't wait to get out of this place. Out of the entire magical world to be honest. He loved magic, buggering breathed it, but the only escape from his family was to run off to the muggle world and he was going to do it once he graduated. Reg was the best thing about his life, and when he'd mentioned this plan, Regulus had said he'd visit. He'd called him mad first, but eventually he admitted that he would keep in touch. 

So yeah. Hogwarts life sucked arse, and all he had going for him here (other than his brother) was a fancy for James Potter, who probably knew he existed just so he could avoid him. Great and Noble Houses were like that, and Sirius being at the top of their year was just an extra tick up. James Potter knew who he was, he just didn't care. So Sirius pranked him for fun, made sure no one outside of Slytherin knew it was him, and had the time of his life. Somewhere between spiking Gryffindor table's pumpkin juice with firewhiskey and becoming an Animagus just to mess with him because of his Grim-looking form, Sirius had to stop other people from pranking James. Because where Sirius did it with (mostly) good intentions, some of those pricks were looking to hurt, and he didn't care for that shite in the slightest. Two more months. Two more months, and he'd graduate Hogwarts and be in the wind. He'd finally get to take the fucking Black Family ring off, and he wouldn't have to ever wear it again. All he had to do was keep on the way he'd been doing, and he'd be fine. 

So of course, everything went to hell in a Merlin spiral. He hadn't had time to put his hair up this morning, and he was having trouble finding his arthimancy notes, so as he was walking down the corridor he was rifling through his bag, holding quills inbetween his teeth as he tried to find the stupid thing. It was being a bit of an arse about the whole thing, but Sirius needed to find it and it wasn't showing up. 

And who the sodding hell should bump into him like that than James Potter, knocking him flat on his arse and scattering his items along the floor. "Shit," Sirius bit out. He was pretty sure he'd just bit his tongue while falling, so he'd be dealing with this for the next week or so, on top of however many times he wanted to think about the fact that James Potter had just run into him like so much rubbish. Well, except maybe it wasn't like so much rubbish because he was apologising now, helping gather Sirius's things. 

"Sorry mate, I wasn't even looking where I was going, I was just trying to get away from Filch." 

"Did you succeed?" 

"What?" James Potter asked, looking surprised that Sirius had said anything. 

He raised an eyebrow. "Did you get away from him?" 

"Oh! Yeah, just a bit of a run, he's not actually good at tracking me down. I didn't think he was good at catching anyone until Mulciber got caught with his trousers down," he snickered. 

That was because Sirius had set him up to be caught, but he wasn't going to admit to that. If word got around, his parents would probably send him a hexed letter for doing something to a potential ally-- even though he knew his parents thought the Mulicber's were idiots who were only useful as extra bodies. The Black parents were fun that way. "Yeah well. Ta." Sirius shoved everything back into his bag. Except for the notes he'd been looking for, which he shoved in his robes's pocket so he'd be able to find it again. 

He must have imagined the way James Potter's face fell, because what? "Oh right. Course. Sorry again for running into you." 

"It's fine," Sirius said, trying to find a quick way of getting rid of his quills without them snapping. 

Nothing was forthcoming, so James bloody Potter had the time to say, "You're a lot nicer than everyone thinks." 

Sirius looked up at him, confused. 

He shrugged. "I mean, I was half convinced you were going to threaten me for not paying attention to where I was going, and instead you're acting like I'm the one people are scared of." 

"No one's scared of you," Sirius said, because the thought was rather laughable. Although, there were a few arsehole Slytherins that probably were afraid of him since he'd been quick to draw his wand before he'd become Head Boy, but he wasn't going to mention that. "And no one thinks I'm mean," he added, rolling his eyes. "They don't think anything about me." He'd been pretty careful to not interact with anyone because if he talked to people, word could get back to his parents and then he'd be well and truly trapped. He was the heir to the House of Black, so sure, maybe people did have opinions about him, but it wasn't anything accurate. He got to his feet, throwing the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 

"Now that's a bloody lie," James said, also standing. "Plenty of birds talk about wishing they could shag you." 

Sirius snorted. "Talk to a lot of birds about me, do you?" 

"No," James said, too quickly and with the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks. 

Sirius paused. Really? James Potter thought he was pretty. He chuckled, adjusting his bag so it settled more comfortably. "Whatever gets you through the night, mate," he said, patting James on the shoulder as he started walking towards the Great Hall again. "Have fun avoiding Filch." 

*

The first time James ran into him, it was clearly an accident. The second time was clearly planned. His fake, too-loud, "Oops!" echoed through the otherwise empty corridor, and Sirius glared up at him from where he'd fallen on his arse. This was making a bad day worse. He'd be sore for the rest of the day, and he wasn't very pleased to be dealing with that on top of the stinging pain his arm was giving him every time he touched his wand. 

"Sorry," James said insincerely, offering him a hand up. 

Sirius grabbed his hand and gave a solid yank, pulling him down. He landed on top of Sirius, which probably hurt him more than it hurt James, but the surprised widening of his eyes was worth it before he toppled over. 

"What was that for?" James asked, trying futilely to untangle himself. Somehow their bags had gotten twisted around and didn't want to separate. 

"For knocking into me, you berk." Sirius punctuated his statement by shoving James, forcing him to fall to the side. 

"I didn't mean to." 

Sirius turned his head and slowly raised an eyebrow. 

James had the grace to finally admit that he'd been caught. "Sorry, I just- I didn't think you'd talk to me otherwise." 

"Have you ever tried 'hello'? I hear it's a great conversation starter." Worked for Regulus, if you took his word for it. Frankly, Sirius had his doubts. Any time he said hello to someone, they got all squirrely, but James probably didn't have that same problem. They both got to their feet, and Sirius gave his hand a swat when he tried to pick up Sirius's bag for him. 

"Fine I'll try that." A beat. "Hello." 

"Why are you being weird?" 

"You just said-!" 

"I said to start a conversation! We were already talking. Do you have any friends? I used to think you did but now I have doubts." 

"Of course I have friends." 

"Well go bother them," Sirius grumbled, storming off. 

Or at least he meant to storm off, but James followed after him. "What are you in such a piss-poor mood for? Yeah I could've just come up and talked to you, but I thought I'd save your reputation some damage from being seen with me. I thought you'd be fine with it since we were sort of getting on last time." 

Sirius was too exhausted to do a subtle work around that revealed nothing but got James off his case. Too bloody tired to deal with that shite. "Just fuck off." 

Instead of getting offended and leaving per what Sirius was hoping for, James stopped him with a hand on his arm, looking concerned. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," Sirius said, trying to wrench his arm out of James's hand, but his grip was firm. 

"Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing? You sort of look like-" 

"Let me go," Sirius said, and this time he grabbed his wand, shoving the tip of it against the bottom of James's chin. He had to grit his teeth against the warning tingles of pain, but it worked, and James's slowly loosened his fingers until Sirius couldn't feel him anymore. 

"What's wrong with your wand?" he asked, still looking worried. 

"Nothing," he snapped, shoving it back in his robes. This time when he stormed off, James didn't follow him. 

* "Not to put too fine a point on it," Regulus said, rubbing at his eyes tiredly, "but I don't think that giving him chocolates counts as a prank. It's just giving him a gift. You're allowed to give people gifts if that's what you want." 

"Oh shut it why don't you." Admittedly, buying a few dozen chocolate frogs to release in James's dormitory wasn't his best idea for a prank, but it was the only one coming to mind so he was going to do it. 

"Wouldn't you be better off pushing him against a wall and snogging him?" 

Sirius looked up and glared at him. 

"It would be easier than this, and less of a headache for me." 

"If you're going to take the piss, you might as well help," Sirius said, throwing a bundle of frogs at him. 

Regulus had a few options here. 1. Leave. 2. Keep complaining until Sirius threw more things at him. 3. Keep complaining but help so that Sirius wouldn't throw him out, and that had the added bonus of him not having to really move. Option number three it was. 

*

"Here," James said, shoving a truly pointy object at him. 

He put it against Sirius's chest and then let go, so Sirius's arms came up to catch it automatically, turning it so he could identify it. Belgian Honeydukes chocolates, very expensive and hard to get your hands on. Sirius blinked, then looked up at James. "What's it for?" 

"Eating, you pillock." 

"Why're you giving it to me?" 

"So you can eat it." 

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I got that thanks. I meant why are you giving me chocolates like we're a bloody couple?" 

"The chocolate frogs?" James said pointedly. "Nice spellwork there, but I figured this was more straightforward." He smirked, tapping the top wrapper. "Bit more clean too. Let me know how they are, yeah?" With that, he turned away and went about his day like he hadn't completely bewildered Sirius in less than a minute. 

Sirius watched him leave until there was nothing left to watch, then looked down at the gift. 

*

Sirius held up a bottle of firewhiskey with a grin. "Not as nice as yours," he told James, "but a good way to ring in your birthday." He jerked his head to the side, towards the Quidditch Pitch. "C'mon." 

James laughed and they immediately started walking. "Technically I should confiscate that, you know. I am Head Boy." 

Sirius sent him a sideways look out of the corner of his eye. "Technically you shouldn't be flirting with the Black Heir either, but here we are." 

"Here we are," James said, smile widening. 

It wasn't a long walk to get out to the Quidditch Pitch, and then it was just them, the grass, and the stars twinkling brightly above them. They made their way there mostly silent the closer they got, not wanting to be caught but both of them old hat with it by this point. The Quidditch Pitch was an overlooked rendezvous for students since they thought it was too open. The truth was that it was so dark that it wasn't easy to be spotted, and unlike in the stone corridors, noise didn't bounce around out here. Sound didn't really carry unless someone was yelling, and Sirius didn't think there'd be any of that this time. 

Sirius plopped down on the grass and broke the seal off the bottle. "So," he said, holding the bottle out to James after he joined him on the ground. "Any big plans with your friends tomorrow?" 

"The usual party. I know you're in Slytherin and usually aren't invited, but you can come if you like." James knocked their shoulders together with a grin. "It'd be nice to have you there." 

Sirius wanted to go; he'd always wondered what the other common rooms looked like, especially Gryffindor. The problem was of course, that he was a Slytherin. There was a reason he was never invited beyond the obvious point that he and James hadn't exactly had a talking-to-each-other relationship up until recently. "Nah, I wouldn't want to crash." 

James took a sip from the bottle, blowing out a smoke ring a moment later. He handed it to Sirius, who took a pull then-- because he was a showoff-- did a heart. After he did it, it occurred to him that maybe that was too heavy for the fun little celebration this was supposed to be. He could only do rings and hearts in smoke, and James had just done a ring. Therefore, a heart. It didn't bother James though, he just smiled and leaned against Sirius's side like they were old friends. Or perhaps new lovers. 

"What're you planning on doing after Hogwarts?" Sirius asked. Partly because he was curious, and partly because he was a masochist. It's not like James's plans were going to line up with his own. Thinking that sort of way was romantic hippogriff shite anyways. This was a school time romance, if that. 

"Quidditch," James asked, no hesitation. "Teams've been sending me offers. All I really have to do is negotiate with Puddlemere and I'll be set for the rest of my career." 

"Puddlemere?" 

"What's wrong with Puddlemere?" 

"Nothing, I just thought you'd go for a team with a little more history." 

James rolled his eyes. Sirius wasn't looking at him, but he knew it was happening. "Just because they're a new team doesn't mean they're not good." 

"Sounds like a ready-made excuse." 

"You're such an arse," James said fondly. "What about you? What are your big plans for after Hogwarts?" 

Ah. For some reason, Sirius hadn't expected for him to return the question. "I dunno," Sirius lied. 

"You do so. C'mon, I told you." 

"Promise you won't tell?" 

"I promise. Now what is this so secretive plan of yours? Going to join the Harpies so we'll be on opposite sides?" 

Sirius snorted. "No." 

"You'll come to my games, won't you?" James teased, turning to look at him. "I'll make sure you get good seats." 

"No I er, don't think I will go." 

James's little smile slid off, and he was left looking confused. "Why not?" 

"I'm not sticking around." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"My parents and I don't... exactly see eye to eye. As soon as I graduate, I'm out of here." 

"Leaving Britain?" 

"Leaving the magical world," Sirius corrected. 

That got a bigger reaction out of James than the possibility of leaving Britain had. "What?!" He startled, spinning so that he was completely facing Sirius now. The sudden move threw Sirius off balance, and he wobbled for a moment before righting himself. "Are you joking?" He saw Sirius's expression and how clearly he was being serious. "You're not joking. What're you- I mean, why? You and your parents don't see eye to eye, that's fine, just get a flat of your own for a few years, it's what I'm doing." 

"They wouldn't let me get a flat on my own." 

"Then you could stay with me! It's not like they can stop you from leaving the house, right? And okay, we're not the best of mates now, but that'll change, we could totally make something work." 

"James. It's not... it's not like that. It's not that simple. It's not a matter of getting out of the house and then I'm free to do whatever I want. I'm the heir to their precious Great and Noble House, and they're not going to let me have a life they don't control. Unless I get away entirely. If I fuck off to the muggle world, they won't want me back." 

"But you're their son. Why wouldn't they just let you be happy?" 

Sirius laughed without any humour in it. "If that's what your parents are like, cheers mate. You're the only one." 

"They can't be that bad," James said, but he didn't seem to sure about it. 

"Did you know I've got a family wand? I told them I didn't want to go to my cousin Narcissa's wedding, and they hexed it for a week so that any time I used it, it hurt my arm. I don't think me being happy has ever occurred to them." 

James looked horrified. "But that's- that's-" he made a noise of frustration. "You deserve better." 

"Well thanks, but that doesn't change anything." 

"But... you're leaving." 

"We barely know each other James. I'm sure as a professional Quidditch player you'll have plenty of people vying for your attention." Sirius would have kept talking, but that was when James kissed him. He tasted like smoke from the firewhiskey, and Sirius felt like he was going to get drunk on that alone. He didn't pull back, he just pushed forward and kept on until they were snogging, James sat on his lap like there was nowhere else he wanted to be. 

Sirius had no idea how long they sat there kissing, but a chill had set in everywhere he wasn't touching James and the massive clock tower striked midnight. "Happy birthday," Sirius muttered, and he felt James smile as he dived back in. "Mm, we should head back inside. We have classes tomorrow." 

"Who gives a fuck," James said, but Sirius wasn't engaging him anymore, ending their kisses with short pecks. 

"C'mon, we've got to get back." 

*

Sirius had to go home for a weekend to attend Narcissa's wedding. Regulus wasn't forced to go, but as heir to the house, Sirius's presence was required. James had tried to find a workaround so Sirius didn't have to go, but all his ideas would have ended with Sirius getting hurt. 

"Hullo love," James said, kissing the top of his head before sitting down next to him on the sofa they'd transfigured last time they came to this abandoned classroom and claimed it. 

"Mm." 

When James flopped on the couch to join him, Sirius winced. Then James noticed the arm he carefully had draped over his torso, like it was aching. "What happened?" James asked, immediately concerned and moving carefully to get closer to Sirius's side. 

"The usual. I mouthed off, Mother didn't take kindly to it, and out of the goodness of my heart I decided to not ruin Cissy's wedding." 

"Leave." 

Sirius startled. "You want me to go?" 

"Your family. Leave your fucking family behind, they can't keep doing this to you! You're going to die because of them." 

"Don't be dramatic James, I'm not going to die." 

"They keep hurting you." 

"Yeah hurting me in some sodding bid to change how I act. If they kill me, they're never going to change how I act." When he saw James's mulish expression, he sighed. "I like the thought James. Really, I do, but I only have to make it a few more months before I'm gone for good." He wiggled to the side, laying his head on James's shoulder. "Thanks for looking out for me." 

"Lot of good it's done you," James muttered. 

"It's done plenty, stop whinging." 

They didn't say anything meaningful for a while, bitching about homework and the upcoming NEWT's and some of the professors. James talked about Quidditch some more, and Sirius now knew more about Puddlemere United than he could ever want to. James was all glowy and happy though, so it's not like he minded. "Do you want to go to the muggle world?" James asked when there was a lull in the conversation. 

"What, right now?" 

James snorted. "No, after graduation. You said that's where you're going." 

"Yeah." 

"If you could stay here with your family leaving you alone, would you? Or would you still want to go to the muggle world?" 

"It doesn't matter because it's not going to happen." 

"Humour me." 

Sirius sighed, thinking it over. "If they'd leave me alone, I'd stay. But it doesn't matter, James. So long as I'm a Black, I'm theirs." 

"Yeah I know," James said, but the wheels in his mind were turning. 

*

Of all the things to happen at dinner, James Potter banging a box in front of him while he was sat at the Slytherin table was not something Sirius expected. "Er." Sirius blinked at it, then looked up. "What is this?" 

"Surely you recognise a present when you see it." 

"Yeah but it's not real clear why." 

"Stop being so bloody difficult and open it." 

"Er, alright." Sirius reached for it and was about to slide the bow off when he paused. "Aren't you going to sit down?" 

James was still standing opposite him, hands on his hips and a rather determined look on his face. "No." 

"O...kay." 

"Is it more chocolate?' Reg asked, peering over his shoulder in interest. "The last one was delicious." 

"It's a bit small to be chocolates." 

"Good things come in small packages," Reg said, swatting his arm in annoyance. 

"It's not chocolates," James said. To avoid more hitting because it looked like Sirius was going to say something back and he didn't want to deal with the fight it would escalate into. 

"It was obviously not chocolates," Sirius added, and Regulus started pouting, muttering something about how it could have been. The box could have fit a few good sized bars but the last ones James had given him were considerably bigger. If Sirius put his hands together side by side, he could cover almost the entirety of the box. He set the string to the side and tore through the paper in a single large rip that he tossed in Reg's face just to be an arse. Regulus was used to that, so the paper died in a quick flash of fire before it made contact. 

The present... well, it looked like a jewelry box, something that a necklace would come in. Sirius opened it. A necklace was nestled in soft black velvet, rubies shining in the patterned silver chain. The top of it was a choker, individual lines of braided silver dripping from the collar, getting longer the closer to the center it got. Bloody gorgeous is what it was, and it was far too easy to imagine what it would look like against his skin. He snapped it closed, face flaming. "Hey," Regulus protested since he'd closed it before he got a good look. 

"James," Sirius hissed, "what the hell is this?" 

"Well I thought it was pretty obvious," James said, frowning slightly. 

"What it is, is obvious. What is not obvious is why. James, you can't just- you- oi!" Sirius snapped, saved from his fumbling when Reg stole the box from him and took a look. 

"Sirius, this is a betrothal necklace." 

Sirius reached for it, but Regulus held it out behind him so he couldn't get anywhere close. "Yeah I noticed thanks, now give it back." 

"Why is Potter giving you a betrothal necklace?" 

"A very good question." For the moment, Sirius gave up trying to get the box back and shifted to look at James. Regulus did the same, and James found himself the center of attention from more than just the two members of the Black Family in front of him. 

"You're proposing?" Reg asked. He turned to Sirius. "You didn't tell me it was that serious, what the hell." 

"That's because it's not," he hissed. "James, I appreciate... whatever the fuck it is you were trying to do here, but return the necklace before your parents find out and kill you." 

"Why would they kill me?" 

Sirius opened his mouth to explain that most people don't get engaged in school, and they certainly don't do it to people they've been dating for less than a year. 

"They already know," is what James followed it up with, and all that came out of Sirius's mouth was a squeak. 

"They what? And they're okay with it?" 

"No offense Sirius, but how else would I have gotten that?" he said, gesturing to the necklace that was still in Regulus's possession. "And there's no returning it even if you say no. It was a custom order, I wasn't going to ask you to marry me with something pre-made." He made a disgusted face to show how horrible he found that idea. 

"Why are you asking me to marry you at all?" Sirius asked, because that was the heart of the matter, and it seemed to be the one question James was avoiding answering. 

"Because I love you," James said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, even though that was the first time he'd said it to Sirius. "We were talking the other night, remember? You sounded open to it." 

"Did I?" Sirius muttered, but his time for panicking about this was over. He'd become an Animagus for this guy, there was no way he was going to actually say no. "Give it here, Reg." He half waited for Regulus to give it to him and half snatched it out of his hand. "If you ever," Sirius said, getting to his feet, "do something like this again I'm going to bloody murder you." Sirius grabbed the front of his robes and yanked him in for a kiss. Over the table wasn't the most comfortable thing ever, but it was a short kiss so he didn't care. 

"Is that a yes?" 

"Of course it's a yes, you prick. Sit down, everyone's staring at you." 

There was so much about that that was wrong that Regulus's brain shorted out and he just sat there silently, not pointing out that people weren't going to stop looking if James sat. 

"Are you going to put it on?" 

"Aren't you supposed to put it on me?" Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Traditionally, but I'm on the wrong side of the table. I think if I tried to touch you right now your brother might stab me." 

"He would do nothing of the sort," Sirius said, giving Reg a warning glare that promised pain if he did decide that stabbing James was fun. 

"True, I have to save all my stabbing tendencies for anyone that wants to take the piss about the mess you've just made." 

"I didn't make a mess," James said, sounding affronted. 

Sirius didn't take a side verbally, but he pat James's hand all pitying like before going back to his dinner. 

*

Sirius tucked a finger under his hairline and swept it across, holding his hair up and out of the way as James put the necklace on him. It clasped into place, but James didn't take his hands away immediately, rubbing Sirius's shoulders for a moment. "Not too tight?" he checked. 

Sirius swallowed reflexively against the new weight, but it didn't feel constricting. "No, it's good." He let go of his hair and it fell back into place. He trailed a hand over the front of the necklace reverently. "Not that I'm complaining, but are you sure you thought this through? You're going to be stuck with me for a while." 

James hummed, wrapping his arms around Sirius from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. "That was sort of the idea. The whole idea, to be honest. Getting you away from your family is a bonus. Well, family minus Regulus, I'm guessing?" 

"Yeah." 

"Problem solved." James turned his head, kissing Sirius's cheek. "Also, I know red's not exactly your preferred colour, but it's a Potter family one so there wasn't much I could do about it." 

"No, I like it. Red's good." 

[mastcomm]

After Culinary and Literary Acclaim, She’s Moving to the Woods

NAHMA TOWNSHIP, Mich. — It was only Saturday morning, and already the problems were piling up for Iliana Regan here in the rainy woods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.

Ms. Regan is a 40-year-old chef from Indiana with a Michelin star who last summer published “Burn the Place,” perhaps the definitive Midwest drunken-lesbian food memoir. On its cover, the chef David Chang calls her one of the best chefs he has ever known.

Ms. Regan and her wife, Anna Hamlin, who is 10 years her junior, have staked their future on these woods, where sight unseen they bought a late-1990s, four-bedroom cabin with pine log walls on 150 acres at the edge of the Hiawatha National Forest. They fixed it up and named it the Milkweed Inn. Last summer, they hosted their first guests.

The dream is that every weekend from May to October, 10 people will each pay $750 to nearly $1,000 to relax in the woods and immerse themselves in what some chefs and writers have started calling “new gatherer” or “deep nature” cooking.

If the chef René Redzepi (also a Regan fan) is the Nordic godfather of a culinary movement that cultivates a deep connection to the surrounding landscape, Ms. Regan is its Greta Thunberg, steering her tiny boat steadily into uncharted waters and attempting a new definition of what it means to be an American chef.

“She’s an example of American pragmatism,” said Mr. Chang, who invited Ms. Regan to cook with him last year at an event in Austin, Texas, and later interviewed her on his podcast. “It’s almost a liberal-arts approach to how she cooks.”

Her plan is counterintuitive: Make the remote inn successful enough so she and Ms. Hamlin can jump off the fame Ferris wheel near its apex and close Elizabeth, the Chicago restaurant on which Ms. Regan built her name.

The restaurant has won a Michelin star six years in a row. Jeff Gordinier, the food and drinks editor for Esquire magazine and a former reporter for The New York Times, called it “a funky, foraged, magic-realist vision of the Midwest” when he included it on his recent list of the last decade’s 40 most important restaurants.

Closing it would be a relief, the women said. No more wondering if they can make payroll or whether the dishwasher will show. No more pressure to scale a concept or seduce an investor or battle the haters on social-media platforms like Yelp, which Ms. Regan described in her memoir as a 10-ton penis relentlessly “boinking you on the head.”

She just wants to write, raise a family and fill her pantry with the wonders of the woods.

“Cooking is something I want to be doing until the end of time,” she said. “But I definitely don’t want to be 55 years old and running Elizabeth.”

On this weekend, with winter bearing down and a compound to secure until the first guests would return in May, it was hard to see how that was going to work.

On Friday night, after the staff at Elizabeth had served the last fresh doughnut dusted with blueberry powder, which capped her 14-dish fall tasting menu, the couple wrangled their three dogs into an S.U.V. and drove six-and-a-half hours to get here.

Around 2 a.m., they got lost on the network of profoundly muddy, one-lane logging roads that lead to the cabin. The next morning, Ms. Regan had to drive back out 25 miles to pick up a reporter and photographer at a minimart near the edge of Lake Michigan because the rain hadn’t stopped and the roads were too rutted for a city car to navigate.

Ms. Regan doesn’t so much arrive as she just appears, quiet as a deer. She looks younger than she is, in round eyeglasses and a yellow Minnesota Vikings watch cap she bought not because she is a fan but because she liked the looks of the Viking.

It’s hard to square the woman who quietly suggests a fried chicken thigh from the gas station as a road snack with the person who, before she got sober 10 years ago, ran away from the police in handcuffs, had sex in bar bathrooms and used her car key to administer bumps of cocaine.

“Because Iliana speaks with this high, gentle, childlike voice, I think some people underestimate her,” Mr. Gordinier wrote in an email. “She’s not an innocent kid lost in the woods. She’s actually the wolf. She’s fierce and independent and hungry.”

After a quick stop to pick apples from what seemed like the only tree in the forest that still held any fruit, we made it to the cabin. Almost immediately and despite the clear warning they give every guest not to pet him, Bear, her beloved Shih Tzu, bit me hard enough on the finger to draw blood.

There were other, bigger problems. Mice had discovered a bag of marshmallows left over from a summer s’mores kit. An enterprising rodent had dragged one into the banneton basket Ms. Regan uses to proof her sourdough bread, and hosted a mouse party.

A Knack for Foraging

Bread plays an outsize role in her life. She makes it from a starter she has been tending like a pet for 15 years. It took her a year to learn how to turn wild yeast and winter wheat flour into a perfect loaf with a hard crust and a custardy heart. She serves it as a separate course at Elizabeth, alongside cultured butter that has been molded into the shape of an owl.

The bread also sustains guests throughout their weekends at the inn, which starts with pierogi and smoked lake trout on Friday and peaks on Saturday with a 15-course dinner that might include wild blueberries in juiced wood sorrel, young milkweed pods fried until the insides turn as silky as cheese, and moose tartare.

“Making a good loaf of bread can entirely change my mood,” she wrote in her memoir. Executed correctly, the day is good no matter what else happens. Screw it up, and she feels sad and worthless.

The mice had ruined the proofing basket, so she improvised with a colander and a dish towel. Temperature and timing were not on her side. When she baked her loaf outdoors in a cast-iron Dutch oven tucked inside a ceramic grill, it emerged misshapen with large holes.

Redemption came in a steamy cup of tea brewed from three kinds of mushrooms, including some black trumpets like the ones she hoped we might find down by the river once the rain stopped. She has been making the dark broth ever since she ran an underground restaurant out of her Chicago apartment a decade ago.

“It’s her ‘Free Bird,’” Ms. Hamlin said.

One sip, and you think maybe they can actually pull this off.

Ms. Regan grew up with three older sisters on a 10-acre farm near Merrillville, Ind. Her bedroom had plywood floors, and the basement always flooded. The barn was crammed with used restaurant equipment, coffee cans filled with old parts and an abandoned light-blue Chevy, where she used to sit and fantasize she was on a date with a pretty girl. An outsider observing her young life, she wrote, might have bet she’d grow up to be an alcoholic transgender trucker carny.

Her mother liked to read Gourmet magazine and make her own pasta. Her father, a steelworker who never met a vegetable he didn’t want to grow, saw early on that she had a knack for finding the last ripe dewberry on a bush.

In an arresting passage in her book, she describes the day he taught her to hunt for chanterelles. She was about 5, and so focused on the task that she lost track of him. A drunk uncle who she recalls was always telling her what a pretty little girl she was, picked her up from behind and carried her into a dilapidated cabin. A family friend was inside, saving her, perhaps, from something terrible. He took her back to her father. As they headed to the car with their bags of mushrooms, a tornado spun through the sand and swept the family to the ground. When they finally made it home, her father placed her on a stool next to the stove and taught her how to carefully cook the chanterelles with red wine and butter.

“This was the day I slighted fate and became a chef,” she wrote.

By 15, she was already a hard worker, grinding it out in small-town restaurants. She was drinking, too. And chasing women. She tried studying chemistry at Indiana University Bloomington but realized she wanted to write, so she got a creative writing degree from Columbia College Chicago.

In between classes, she worked in restaurant kitchens, eventually landing a job waiting tables and expediting food at Trio, the restaurant the chef Grant Achatz ran before Alinea, where she also worked for him.

Despite the insight that comes with maturity and a decade of working the steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, she can still obsess over criticism and the backbiting gossip endemic in professional kitchens. To wit, she had heard that Mr. Achatz didn’t think much of her.

Not so, he said in an interview. “There is a certain amount of honesty there that resonates,” he said. “She’s not playing the game.”

In 2008, Ms. Regan began selling food she made or grew at farmers’ markets, including warm pierogi she stuffed with beets and sautéed in butter. Chicago Magazine named them the best pierogi in the city. Two years later, she started a small underground restaurant with an elaborate menu in her apartment. Fans encouraged her to start a traditional restaurant and were willing to back her.

Ms. Regan opened Elizabeth in 2012, naming it after a beloved sister who was a drinker, too. She died, possibly from a stroke, during a night in jail that followed a fight with her husband.

Success, and Stranger Things

Elizabeth is a small restaurant tucked between a tire shop and a soccer supply store in a north-side Chicago neighborhood. The open kitchen in the back feels like something your well-off friends who like to cook might set up until their loft got remodeled. The décor is deeply personal, with thrift-store teacups and antlers and Funko figurines. In the bathroom, a collection of small logs leans against the toilet. A thoughtfully considered shelf holds bobby pins and a marble box of tampons.

It was here that Ms. Regan learned to weed out the arrogant young male chefs who challenged her authority and to temper her own tendencies to either withdraw or yell like a coyote and fire people if things weren’t done properly. She taught herself to become, in her words, a girl boss.

“I can’t really say I have gone to chef ladies for advice necessarily,” she said. Part of it is simple shyness, or maybe respect for their time. When she went to Sqirl in Los Angeles recently, she didn’t tell the chef, Jessica Koslow, that she was coming even though the two had cooked together before and had spent time together in Copenhagen at Mr. Redzepi’s MAD conference.

She just ate, and left a copy of her book. “I know how much pressure there is when another chef calls you up and says they’re coming in,” Ms. Regan said.

Ms. Koslow was disappointed but understood. “She’s just so cool by even doing that, for being someone who doesn’t need to be recognized,” she said. “She is just trying to be her, and that’s so refreshing.”

Doug Seibold, who runs Agate Publishing in Evanston, Ill., has an imprint dedicated to Midwestern literature. He had been following Ms. Regan’s career, and reached out five years ago, thinking she might want to do a cookbook. She didn’t, but she was interested in a memoir. It came out in July. By December, several publications had picked it as one of the year’s best.

“I think some people were unprepared for a Michelin-starred chef to be the daughter of a steelworker union rep who grew up with sisters who were drunk and fighting all the time,” Mr. Seibold said.

The memoir made the long list for the National Book Awards, the first time a food book landed there in nearly 40 years. The September morning the list was announced, she and Ms. Hamlin woke up to dozens of messages. They had no idea what had happened.

“I had to actually look up the National Book Award,” Ms. Regan said. “It was a huge shock.”

She is working on her second book. It’s about foraging, but also about inherited trauma and her family’s cooking lineage.

The book advances were small, and went right back into the restaurant. The couple relies mostly on income from cooking classes and Elizabeth’s popular theme menus, which can cost close to $600 for two with wine and can last three or four hours.

Ms. Regan created one inspired by the television show “Stranger Things,” and prepared her “Game of Thrones” menu by reading all five books and highlighting every food reference. During November, the theme was 1980s Nintendo. The menu featured dishes like a Super Mario mushroom built from a root-beer leaf with Meyer lemon and a slice of black truffle sandwiched between brick pastry.

“I basically gauge how far she is willing to go,” said Ms. Hamlin, who is as animated as her wife is introspective. She grew up in a Southern Indiana restaurant family, and fell for Ms. Regan when she was working for a wine distributor and landed the Elizabeth account. Now she is a full partner, running service, worrying about staff and matching beverages as eclectic as the food.

They also offer an elegant, seasonal tasting menu, which is so personal it can restore an eater’s faith in a format that has become cliché. Late last fall, she served a dense, rosy slice of duck that had been dry-aged for three weeks, with a sauce made from the apples and wild cranberries we had harvested together at Milkweed a month earlier.

Still, 2019 was a tough year, even though the book was a hit and they hosted their first guests at the inn. Ms. Regan had to close her two other Chicago businesses: Bunny, the Micro Bakery, which had been entangled with a difficult investor, and Kitsune, a 24-seat mash-up of Japan and the American Midwest that was a critical darling when it opened in 2017.

The closings were a blow to her ego, but she had to consolidate. It was the only way to save Elizabeth, expand the inn and create some semblance of a balanced family life.

“Everybody around me seemed to be, like: ‘Hashtag-cheflife, it’s all good,’ ” Ms. Regan told Mr. Chang on his podcast, “and I’m like, what are they talking about?”

She also had a miscarriage last year. Ms. Hamlin has medical challenges, so it’s up to Ms. Regan to carry their child. More attempts to get pregnant haven’t worked yet, but they’re trying.

On Their Own

The Milkweed Inn is all Pendleton blankets, deer taxidermy and wood smoke. The water pressure is great, and the basement is filled with new fishing gear and inflatable kayaks. A copy of the 2016 Best New Chefs edition of Food & Wine is in one bathroom. There Ms. Regan is on the cover, the only woman in a sea of 10 men.

You can rent one of three rooms inside the house, a platform tent or the tiny Airstream trailer the couple took around the country to cook pop-up dinners in 2018. It has a bumper sticker that reads “Ted Bundy was a Republican,” which is just one reason the handful of people who own hunting cabins nearby were initially suspicious of the two women.

After a walk to look for mushrooms, Ms. Hamlin removed the orange vests the dogs have to wear during hunting season. Ms. Regan was busy sweeping the new wood floor. She had two walleyes hanging by their lips over a fire outdoors, and a pile of chores to do before they left the next day.

Talk turned to what little progress has been made for women in the restaurant business and whether her book would become a movie and just what it means to homestead a new life here.

Ms. Hamlin is still adjusting.

“I know we’re safer here than when we’re in the city, but I am scared of bears and I’m scared of old white men sometimes,” she said. “This can be quite isolating.”

“That’s why I like it,” Ms. Regan said. She slipped on a jacket and headed outside to check on the fish.

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[thehomemadehooligan]

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[thehomemadehooligan]

[thehomemadehooligan]

Ugh, I really wanna write stuff with Dove, my ST experiment oc who can make anyone do whatever he tells them to. He never actually escapes from the lab. He’s brought back to Hawkins in the aftermath of Starcourt to make the cover up easier and that’s how he ends up free. 

[thehomemadehooligan]

Like for a starter from Roman Godfrey

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Like for a starter from Peter Hale

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Like for a starter from Eddie Brock aka Venom

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Like for a starter from Jon Snow

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Like for a starter from Paul Tristan��

[thehomemadehooligan]

Like for a starter from Robin Locksley, trans son of Robin Hood & Maid Marian, professional smol.