#Barrel & Bugger

[threerattsinatrenchcoat]

Last 6 Lines

I was tagged by @graysparrowao3 !

These are the last 6 lines of a fic I just finished that will be out in a few days. The fic is NSFW, the lines are not.

I'm going to tag @beesht @redroomroaving @coreene @captainsigge

Working title: Barrel & Bugger

Sal flopped onto the barrel next to Gale, smoke lazily billowing around his head.

"You really had to eat a boot? Without even salt?" he asked.

"Indeed."

Another inhale, and Sal offered the smoke to Gale. "Think you need this more than me."

[shirefantasies]

OMG i just read the Mission of Misunderstanding about Kili x Reader and couild you please write something similar with Fili x Human Reader??🙏🙏🙏🙏

please plaese and thank uuuu

+ second anon: "Hiii so I really loved that thing u wrote about Kíli x reader, I think it was Mission of Misunderstanding and basically Id love to read something similar about Fíli 🫶😅 Hope youre doing well <3" Guess this was a highly requested scenario hehe! Enjoy this scenario and its humor twist 😁

***REQUESTS ARE NOT OPEN. THIS IS A MONTHS-OLD DRAFT THAT HAS BEEN FINISHED.***

Why Him?- Fili x F!Human!Reader

You were, quite frankly, not in the mood. For what? For anything, not when you despised getting wet and you'd been sent on a ride down some Valar-accursed river hanging on the edge of an empty wine barrel, tumbling only into its musty, red-stained interior when fear of a great approaching wave propelled you over the side. At least Gloin hadn't had the nerve to laugh, or else he and his wife would've had no chance of a second child. Not that it wasn't a bit late for that, but dwarves were persistent buggers, you'd learned, and they lived a long time. Beside, that was none of your business. Not a particularly pretty mental image, either.

Now the princes, on the other hand? More specifically the prince, the one with cascading golden hair and steady eyes that still managed to burn with mischief and a kindly way that looked like it would grip hold of you and—

Alright, maybe you were in the mood for one thing.

Not right then, though, not while you were wet and bedraggled and utterly sad. So exhausted and defeated you could barely get up any fear upon seeing an arrow pointing your way over the rocks you'd dropped to. As it turned out, though, the man was a ferryman. Or at least he was your ferryman. A father, from Bilbo's kind questioning, and a working man. He seemed kind, handsome, wise, a good head on his shoulders. Didn't even judge you for the drowned-rat look your hair was sporting, so you trusted him well enough.

Taking a solitary corner of the barge, you dropped to a seated position upon the sanded wood and leaned, trying not to mope as hard beneath the gently paddling sounds of wood through still lake water.

"Why don't I help you with that?"

The sound got a bit of a start from you, not quite a jump, but enough to jerk your head upward to meet the diminutive obstruction that was Bilbo, a concerned little look furrowing his brow as if he was a worried uncle or something.

“With what?” You asked, slowly drying head cocked.

“You have enough hair. I could braid it so it keeps out of your face while it dries. If- if you want, of course.”

Music! Music to your drowned ears! For the first time in what felt like ages, a smile lit up your face. “I do. I do want. Thank you, Bilbo.”

“Of course,” he smiled back, “Here. Face the water.”

You swiveled in your seat far as you could, legs pointed one way and waist twisted the other, overlooking rocks and ruins and stone statues half-submerged as Bard paddled your company closer to Laketown and Bilbo’s small fingers worked delicate magic. Every weave of your hair lightened your drenched mood, untangling the cloud about your head as much as it did the burrs and leaves and barrel-chips from your mess of locks. Forget Gandalf— Bilbo was your wizard!

~

By every power above, you’d never been so thankful to be a woman. A whole lot of dwarves was far too suspicious a thing to parade into one’s house, but a lone, half-drowned-looking lady? Why not? You were one of the blessed minority that hadn’t any need to get buried in fish or climb through Bard’s toilet. No, there you stood at his side, playing the lost-soul bit perfectly in the blanket he’d let you drape around your shoulders, smiling at your salvation both by him and by Bilbo.

Snickering, of course, as you reached down a hand and pulled up a few of your companyman such as a fretting Dori and a glowering Gloin. You’d exchanged distant chuckles with Kili, but Fili had only tilted his head at you and stared like he’d never seen you before. The look was too curious, too perturbed, to heat your cheeks, leaving only questions burning holes in your head even as his little brother elbowed you and pointed to Dwalin’s face.

Fear was nothing synonymous with Fili, not of battle or conversation or adventure from your experience. It was one of the qualities you simultaneously envied and loved. Yet he did not approach you through it all, not while the others bathed or while Bard and his daughters brought dry clothing in great fur-lined stacks.

It was only after mugs of steaming broth were thrust into the hands of all the companyman, your own treasure stowed away as you darted to a distant seat across the cozy wood abode, that he found his way to you.

"Can I ask you one thing?"

You felt your brows furrow before any thought crossed you to do so, your eyes darting to the gnarled but somehow still post-dwarf-boots sparkling clean floorboards. Soon as your eyes met Fili's pale blue stare, though, your lips arced in an utter betrayal of a smile.

"Anything."

"Why him?"

Wrinkles would be in your future, deep ones if all this creasing of brows kept up. Why who? Why Bard? Better him than that boiled creep he described always hanging around the town's Master. Why the boy, Bard's young son who sat about Oin and Kili asking for archery tips and battle stories? He was a teenager, for skies' sakes! All sense had seemingly abandoned the beautiful blonde dwarf. That was the only conclusion you could draw as your gaze swept over Fili's mane and tilted head and back around the crowded room and its many bodies.

"Why who?"

"What was it about Bilbo," Fili continued, giving a brief nod the hobbit's way, "that got you? He always acts like a father to you. You... like that, I guess? Wouldn't have taken you for it, but I'm glad you're happy. Really, I am. We all are, we just never thought he seemed all that interested. If he is, though, by all means—"

"Got me to do what?" You shrugged, rolling your eyes at Fili's dramatics and taking another invigorating sip of broth; he was just joking about after all. "If he's sending you to hound me about that tea bag I stole off him, of course I'm not interested. Tell him not to worry, I wasn't flirting, I just wanted some good tea and thought it was funny. Saved it from the river, too, if you think about it, because not one day later and that little thing would have been ruined. You scared me, Fili, I thought you were upset with me!"

"Well, no," his jaw dropped, eyes darting up and to the side somewhere past your eyes, "To be honest I simply—"

"He was wonderin' about the braid, lass!" Bofur chimed in. "He couldn't care less about any tea bag, he wants to know why you got engaged at such an odd time!"

When you got excuse me? "Seriously, who's got you all on this? You all know I've never been engaged a day in my life! The only reason I got all dolled up," you snorted, "If you can call braiding my hair back that, is because I felt like a drowned rat! If I was trying to please any of you, you would know it!"

"So you and Bilbo aren't—"

"Bofur, so help me, if you finish that sentence."

"Well," Fili sighed, eyes sliding back to what you realized was your hair of all things, then your eyes, "That's a bit of a relief. Thought for a moment you were into older men. Older hobbits, even. Lot you'd be missing out on."

His gaze, intent as it always was, was typically soft. This look he was giving you, though? Some sort of shadow had cast over it, a warm one. Something much more closely related to your mental image from earlier, in fact, and...oh. No. No. ...Yes. Yes!

Graciously you allowed a smirk to make your lips its plaything. "Missing out on a lot, you say? Such as?"

Most of the company and even the girls had been staring back and forth, heads bobbing a bit at this dwarf and that and back to you with the exchange, but they remained wide-eyed as ever and quite static when Fili closed the space between you in one deft motion, hands upon your hips as he dipped you down against him and absolutely ravished your lips with his.

"Such as that, I think. Doubt Bilbo could do that."

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @filiswingman @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy @th3-st4r-gur1 @fleurdemiel-145 @mistresskayla-blog1 @misabelle717 @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @evattude @kpopgirlbtssvt @rivendell-poet @rainyobservationblizzard | Reply/Message/Ask to join 🖤

[fayedintoyou]

wish it on your worst enemy

A/N: if you see me butchering british slang 🤨 it never happened 🤫

Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your worst nighmare takes a nasty spill during a scrimmage because he was distracted by you. It’s only right you go and check on him. 1.9k words

Warnings: violence by bludger, description of injury, cursing, lovesick losers, enemies to lovers???? ‘enemies’ to lovers but really idiots to lovers

George taking a bludger to the face was not the kind of news you would have liked to wake up to. Something had gone wrong during an emergency weekend scrimmage. He was laughing at something Fred said or shouting at Ron or maybe he was just distracted by his own thoughts and hadn't noticed the pesky bugger barreling towards him with every intent to bludgeon him unconscious. So he took a nasty spill from a considerable height and has been passed out in the hospital wing since six forty-five.

You rush down the hallway in your pajamas, cursing under your breath, face scrunched into a scowl, dead set on your target. Bloody quidditch. A few first years watched you nearly trample a group of girls in the hall. They were traumatized. It was bad.

"He's gone daft! This is absolutely mental—nothing is that distracting!" you shout at Ron who is actively trying to defend himself against you. He stopped you at the door because he heard you storming down the hall a full minute before you arrived.

"Calm down! He’s still alive isn't he?" he says.

"Not for long if I have anything to say about it—"

"Oi," Fred shouts, lounging in a rickety chair beside George's cot, "would you wait 'till he's at least cognizant to threaten him?"

"You!" you fume, "why didn't you warn him!" Ron has given up trying to stop you at this point. You push past him, headed straight for Fred.

"I did! I shouted for him three times. The git was proper distracted. Must've been dreaming of something really special." He winks at you, and you think you could ring his neck right about now.

"I think you mean someone," Ron teases.

Both of them. You'll ring both of their necks.

"What the hell are you two chittering about?" you hiss.

"Oh, nothing at all, your graciousness. We'll leave you two lovebirds"—Fred clears his throat, standing and nodding to his youngest brother—"I mean friends... to it."

You grumble and flip them both off as they leave. You plop down into the chair just in time for Madam Pomfrey to come fluff the pillow propped beneath his left leg. She catches your weary glance over his limp body.

"I wouldn't worry too much, dearie. Nasty spills are what young men are made for. He just needs a little rest. Time to recover," she coos, smiling up at you from the base of the cot. You briefly worry the back of your neck before managing a nod.

"Thank you, madam. I appreciate it."

She grabs a quilt from the stack she had brought to his bedside and flattens it across his torso. You tug the side to even it out, a hitch in your breath when your fingers brush his cold knuckles.

"You know, when I attended Hogwarts, the quidditch boys were all the rage. My boyfriend was a Beater as well—"

"Oh, George—! He's not my..."

"He was wonderful. But of course, he was always getting into spills. It drove me mad to see the boy I loved in so much pain. In the end, I told him he'd have to be more careful or I'd call it quits. He told me he had to focus on his career anyway." She stands silently for a moment. Solemnly.

"That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"You live and you learn. Boys will be boys, I suppose." Out of her trance, she shrugs and gestures to the clipboard sat on the desk. You hand it to her.

"May I ask... what became of him?"

"He retired from Quidditch very young. Only a few years in and, bam: traumatic brain injury. Some people can't be helped!"

You can't help but snicker at her frankness. She smiles, pats your shoulder, and sighs.

"You just have to love ‘em while you can."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"Of course, dear. You let me know when he wakes up." She scuttles away.

You take the silence of the moment to look at him. While you can. You prop your elbows on the edge of the cot and rest your head in your hands.

"Not sure how I feel about all of that information. Not sure how much I trust that advice." You tell him like it’s a secret, nose scrunched like there’s anyone else within earshot.

How fragile he seems laid flat atop this plastic wrapped bed. How rich the watercolor purples and yellows of his bruise. Down his neck, out across his jaw. The subtle swoop of his lashes, the rosy bridge of his nose. Then down to his bird bone fingers, your heart skips at the thought of tracing over the delicate skin.

He twitches, and you startle and sit pin straight. His muscles relax, though yours refuse to. You notice a rip at the hem of his folded quidditch robes and perk up.

Eight minutes later, you’re tugging just the edge of his robe into your lap while the rest is feathered out across the linoleum floor. Your emergency sewing kit is perched on your other thigh as you thread your needle and begin stitching.

George blinks the ache from his eyes, finally awake just to find you with a thin string caught between your teeth, your brow furrowed, and your fingers pinching fabric together. He reaches up and presses the heel of his palm to his forehead.

"Thank Merlin I wore something under my uniform today—"

"George!"

The sewing kit clatters to the floor along with the robe and thread. Hopefully that needle will be easy to find. But you smile for now, and it’s one of the sweetest things he’s ever seen. No wonder he took a bludger’s hit. You’re bloody distracting. Even when you’re not around.

“I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey, she said—"

"Were you... stitching up my quidditch robes?” he says, just a hint of teasing in his hoarse voice.

You look down and gape at the mess.

"There was a tear in—when you fell, the bottom—there was a rip! I had a sewing kit on me, I was just... helping a friend."

He blinks. If he wasn’t completely crushing on you before, it’s safe to say that was the nail in the coffin.

"That's adorable," he warbles.

You look cross and put your hands on your hips and scoff.

“Well, you can’t very well play with a rip in your uniform!"

"No. No, of course not,” he mumbles, “Silly me.”

Usually, you’d mock him. You’d call him names and tease him for getting knocked on his ass by and inanimate object. But that smirk has you incapacitated. He's making this very difficult for you.

"Well!” he chirps, “Don’t let me bother you, I’ll just be lying here."

"But Pomfrey—"

"I'll live. My mind is alive, the neurons are firing. All is well, it can wait,” he says, “Please.”

Goddamn you, George Weasley. You muster up a pathetic sigh and sit back on the stool, getting back to work on his robe.

But he’s back to grinning like a fool, admiring the way your tongue pokes the corner of your mouth when you focus. It’s incredibly endearing.

"You're very beautiful."

Daggers. “Shut up.”

He chuckles. "What? I find you to be very agreeable, poppet."

"Gee, thanks, Weasley,” you huff, “Do you want this stitch fixed or not—"

"Don’t get your dear panties in a twist, I’m only trying to compliment you. Would you just take it while I’m too ill to make fun of you properly?"

But he finds you very agreeable. And now you know that out loud. More than an inkling. More than friends. Oh, he’s awful.

"Quit staring."

"Sincerest apologies."

You roll your eyes and glare at him while the needle punctures the thick fabric.

"Why don’t I just tell Madam Pomfrey—"

"And ruin a moment? Come on, let me get a good look at you, you're the reason I’m in this mess,” George mumbles.

"Me?"

"Yes, you! Your stupid face won't get out of my head."

"Be serious, Weasley—"

"I am! You’ve cursed me, poppet, can't think straight unless I’m thinking of you."

"That's not fair!" you say.

"No, it’s not," he huffs, "I love you."

Shock. From both of you. More than friends, and more than a simple crush, now. But love. Love, for Merlin’s sake! Do you love him?

"You're being idiotic—”

"No. I'm not. I've thought long and hard about it, and I love you, and you can't change my mind—"

"George, quit it,” you say.

"Everyone knows it, poppet, I adore you, and—"

"I love you, too, George, now would you shut up!"

Well, then. Secrets out, no holds barred.

And he’s smiling all smug to himself, even though his left side is a bit swollen. And you’re back to fiddling with the stitched up tear in his robe. You’ve got crazy eyes. He thinks you might murder the stitched up tear in his robe. Or confess your love to it.

You groan.

"Stop smiling like that. You look crazy."

He shrugs. "I am crazy…"

"Do not—"

"… Crazy in love."

"I hate you"

"I know."

You look at him. And he’s looking back at you terribly fondly. As fragile as he seems now, he feels invincible. You fold up his fixed uniform and set it on the desk.

"George,” you sigh, “you have to stop getting hurt."

He nods curtly. "Okay. I’m sorry."

You squint at him, suspicious and expecting just a little pushback.

"... It's... okay, I just worry about you. I don't like seeing you like this." The stool scrapes against the floor, and George reaches for your hand.

"I know you don't, poppet. It won't happen again,” he says.

"Good. And if it does, then—"

"Then I’ll quit the team.”

"What!"

"I’ll do it. I’ll quit for you. I’ve got other things to worry about anyway. More important things than some silly sport where balls fly at your face."

Your eyes sparkle. For him, and it makes him absolutely giddy. He presses his thumb to the back of your hand and cocks a brow.

"Now,” he sighs, “would you come here and give me my hard won kiss?"

"Oh, so you won a kiss.”

"Nobly so. Dutifully and honorably. Nothing less than the best for your highness."

"Fine, whatever, only because you think I’m beautiful.”

You lean over his arm, trying not to nudge any of his tender injuries. While you’re being so careful, he’s straining for your kiss, jutting his neck out and shuffling under the quilt. He grunts at the overexertion, and you sit back before he gets his kiss.

"Nope! I’m getting Pomfrey!"

"One peck! Swear, I won’t move an inch!"

"Madam, he's awake!”

"Wonderful news, darling!" she calls from the other side of the wing, preparing a jug of water and a two glasses.

"You're horrible, and you torture me. You don’t love me at all, witch!" he whines, voice low

"On the contrary, I love you a good deal too much, which is why I’m so horrible."

He grumbles something under his breath.

Then chirps: "Be my girlfriend.”

You fold your hands in your lap. "If I must"

"And let me be your boyfriend,” he pleads.

"Well, what else would you be?"

"Your servant, your house pet. A footstool if you needed it.”

“George Weasley, you’re a fool,” you tease, reaching over to fix a strand of hair behind his ear.

"Yes, I am. A fool who loves you very much.”

“Sap.”

masterlist

[yourcherriemacy]

⚠️ sneakpeek to "Enemies to Parents (Apparently)" my fic, first meeting Jegulus. Young Regulus with a bowlcut definitely canon lolol

Regulus narrows his eyes up at the taller boy with something akin to envy clouding his heart and mind, a feeling that will fester greener than his eyes for a long, long while. "I don’t like you," Regulus announces, cutting off James before the other boy even has the chance to open his stupid, big mouth. James pauses, blinking as he looks down at the younger boy who has seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Surprise flickers across his face, quickly shifting to confusion, and then—finally—to amusement. His hazel eyes glitter, and a wide grin stretches across his face, a grin that Regulus will come to hate over the years. "Hey, whose funny-looking kid with a bowl cut is this?!" James loudly calls out, making a grand show of glancing exaggeratedly around the platform as though searching for the guardian of this lost child. Regulus frowns immensely. Ooh, he thinks this is funny, does he? He wants to laugh? Fine. Regulus will give him something to laugh about. Without a word, Regulus turns on his heel and stalks off stiffly, his small hands clenched at his sides while James' laughter follows him like an annoying shadow. "Hey, don’t go! I’m sure we can find your mummy together!" James calls after him, the grin still evident in his voice. Meanwhile, Sirius pushes through the crowd, his face lined with mild panic. "Bollocks, I can’t find the little bugger anywhere. I swear, I just left him by the trolleys for two minutes." James, still snickering, clasp a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. "Don’t worry, mate. I think we already got that covered. Your brother certainly has a sunny personality." Sirius stares at him, baffled. "Wait—you saw him? Where—?" James' grin slowly falters as something behind Sirius catches his attention. His eyebrows knit together in confusion, his mouth parting slightly as if to say something— And then his expression twists into sheer terror. "AHHH!" James screams, scrambling backward as a fully loaded trolley barrels toward him at an alarming speed, Regulus standing on top of it like a knight on a warhorse, his small hands gripping the handle with terrifying determination. "REGGIE, NO!" Sirius screeches, leaping aside just in time.

[rollforjackass]

sometimes i wonder if all those times that john constantine allegedly appeared to his writers irl weren’t actually meant to be read by them as an endorsement of their talents or his personal acknowledgment of their influence in his life (the way i used to generally romanticize those stories to mean), but were maybe more intended as like…..a Straight-Up Threat. or, more charitably, as some kind of flying-too-close-to-the-sun warning. just because it’s funny to me to think how (almost) every writer who “encountered” him decided without question to fuck off posthaste, and equally funny to wonder how — assuming he actively chose to make himself known to them, rather than merely running into them on accident — constantine wouldn’t have seen that reaction coming from a mile away.

i mean, if anyone should know best about constantine’s penchant for bringing down disaster on anyone & everyone around him, it would be him and the people who officially contributed to enforcing that penchant, right? so it’d just be common sense for the intelligent, meta-aware fictional character to think: “if i — the living breathing embodiment of a rockfall zone caution sign — go up to the dudes who made me this way, they will probably (wisely) assume my presence indicates that they are now in higher-than-previous danger of being hit by falling rocks — a danger which will only increase the longer they stay within my immediate proximity — and they will surely feel compelled to bugger off accordingly.” at which point he could logically conclude that there are undoubtedly better, less-mortally-endangering methods of paying respects to his creators than popping out of a sandwich bar stairwell and scaring the shit out of alan moore.

(unless john thinks his writers would get just as much thrill from that kind of adrenaline rush as he does, given they thought to make him that way; which, tbh, i would not put past him to assume. or unless he simply does not care to expend all the extra energy on plotting a meticulously inoffensive approach just to tell someone ‘hi’, which i also would not put past him.)

as much of a shit as he can be, i can’t really picture john constantine making the conscious decision to put the fear of god into the writers who made him without a really good reason for it. he doesn’t believe in fate or destiny or anyone pulling his strings, so even if he didn’t like something they wrote, i figure he’d just set his mind to changing it rather than lending credence to the writers’ supposed influence over his life by taking his grievances up with them. so if constantine were running around the real world actively jumpscaring the people who are most likely to genuinely fear him, knowing they’re the people most likely to genuinely fear him, i can only imagine it being a choice he makes to jar his writers out of some complacent drift that’s been leading them over the line between fiction and forbidden knowledge; or something to that effect. a scare tactic, but a preventative one.

anyway, all this said to provide context for the entertaining mental image i had of constantine rocking up to some stranger’s party in 2009 all cool & confident, thrice-assured of his ability to rattle his writers just by showing his face, only to have to beat the hastiest of hasty retreats with fresh horror in his soul after notorious freak-shit woman-hating character-mangler peter milligan gets one good look at him and comes barreling down the pipe trying to ask what john thinks of the college-aged deviantart-emo wife.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 8 - Not A Date

@wolfstarmicrofic May 8, word count 662

“So, fancy going to Hogsmeade with me on Saturday?” Sirius asked. “James is going with Evans and Peter is off with, erm, I can’t remember her name, but he’s off with someone and I don’t want to go on my own.” He scuffed his toe on the rug, looking up at Remus though his eyelashes. 

“What, like on a date?” Remus teased. Sirius’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Don’t be daft.” He grinned back. But secretly he wished it was a date. He'd wanted one for a while. 

“Oh, go on then.” Remus nodded. “I need some new quills anyway.” Sirius beamed. 

“Great. Where do you want to meet?”

“Sirius, we live in the same room. We can walk down together.”

“Oh, okay, great.” Sirius felt a bit flustered. James came barrelling in and tackled him to the floor. Thank Merlin for James Potter. He wrapped his arms around James and attempted to get on top of him, but James dead weighted him and squashed him into the floor. 

“Hello gorgeous, fancy seeing you here.” James cooed at him.

“Get off me, you big lug.” Sirius wiggled and pushed at James. But that boy was all muscle. James finally got to his feet and hauled Sirius with him. They wandered off together, leaving Remus to his homework.

Saturday came and Sirius had been too excited to sleep. It’s not a date, it’s not a date. He had to keep telling himself. They went down to breakfast together and when they were done James and Peter disappeared off to find their dates.

“Shall we?” Sirius asked, making a show of bowing Remus forward. Remus snorted at him. 

“Sure.” And walked off. 

The walk down to the village was pretty quiet. The other students milling around them making all the noise. 

“So where do you want to go first?” Sirius asked, once the picturesque village was visible before them. 

“Honeydukes,” Remus grinned. Of course, Sirius should have known. That boy was addicted to chocolate. 

“Perfect.” He grinned as they headed towards the sweet shop. 

He opened the door for Remus and said to him as they entered the sweet-smelling place. “Get whatever you want, my treat.” Remus turned and gave him a funny look. 

“I thought you said this wasn’t a date.” Sirius swallowed and became very interested in a box of peppermint imps. 

“Should I get some of these for Peter? They’re his favourite aren’t they?” Deflection. That always worked, right?

“Sirius, answer the question.” Damn it. Sirius picked up a packet of fudge flies.

“I’ll get these for James as well. Can you see the fizzing whizzbees? I have a hankering for some.” Remus stood in front of him, blocking his way. 

“Sirius, is this or is this not a date?” He’d folded his arms, Sirius knew he wasn’t getting out of this. 

“Would it really be that bad if it was?!”  He scowled. He was fucking this up as usual. He felt the tell-tale stinging behind his eyes as he blinked back tears that had suddenly tried to burst out of him. 

Remus’s arms relaxed.

“No,” He said, his voice low and sincere. Sirius’s eyes snapped up to Remus’s, searching his face for any signs that he was joking. “And if this is a date, I won’t feel bad about lightening your purse.” He winked mischievously and Sirius watched as Remus gabbed a basket and began piling all of his favourite sweets into it. 

When it was full, they took it to the till and Sirius paid. His purse was indeed considerably lighter when they left the shop. “Silly bugger.” Remus laughed at him at the same time as he took Sirius’s hand in his and entwined their fingers together. “Right I still need quills, then I’m all yours.” Sirius looked down at their hands and couldn’t believe that this was real. He felt ten feet tall and so happy he could have floated off without the assistance of the fizzing whizzbees.

[butchersboobs]

Twist (Part Two)

A Billy Butcher POV fic

You may need more tissues.

NSFW under the cut- MDNI

READ PART ONE HERE

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

I musta been 'ere at least three hours now, an' I swear t'God - that boy ain't stopped bombin' about once. 

'Appy little chappy, 'e is. Always yappin' and gigglin' away - eyes bright as a bloody summer’s day. 

For someone 'oo's never played a game wiv a kid before today, I don't fink I'm doin' too bad. I've bin chasin' the little bugger 'ere, there 'n every-bloody-where for the last 'alf hour, makin' 'im laugh wiv me ridiculous dinosaur noises - an' I'm fuckin' knackered. But the way 'e looks at me - like e's 'avin the best day of 'is life? Bloody'ell. Even completely fuckin' knackered feels good. Real good.

And then you walk in.

You stand there in the doorway, arms crossed tight across yer chest. And you got that fuckin' look on yer face - one I know all too bloody well. The one that says yer about firty seconds away from bustin' me bollocks over summink that's narked ya.

The whole room suddenly feels off, some'ow. Like ya sucked all the warmth and joy out the place the second ya stepped frew that door.

"Alright, Ollie, time to tidy up now," you say. Christ - even yer voice is stone cold. I bet you've been sat frew there plannin' whatever this is gonna turn into all afternoon, aintcha. Some fings never change.

Ollie’s face falls straight away. E's confused, poor lad. 'E looks up atcha like ya just told 'im Christmas is cancelled. "But me an' Billy playin’, Mummy. Five more minutes pleeease?" he asks, bless'im, holdin' five fingers up.

But you don’t care. Ya don’t even blink. "No - not today. Billy’s got to go. It’s time to go get your jarmies on. Now please, Oliver."

What the fuck ya bein' like this for? We were  'avin a whale of a time, me 'n 'im - five more minutes won'urt, surely? Are ya really that fuckin' desperate to take 'im away from me again? Jesus Christ. No need to upset the boy like this, f'fucksake.

"Can Billy come play t'morrow?" he asks, 'is bottom lip wobblin', tears in 'is eyes..

I'm about to say 'Yeah, I'd like that..' when you let me 'ave it - both fuckin' barrels.

"Billy’s a very busy man, baby. We won't see him again after today. So let's say byebye, and then get ready for bed, yeah? There's a good boy…"

Me stomach drops. The fuck you just say? I can't believe you actually just fuckin' said that. And ya never even flinched.

I can’t fuckin' fink straight. 

I just watch Ollie, me 'eart breaking. 'E runs over, wraps 'is tiny arms round me legs and just sobs. "B….bab-bye, b..Billy."

I bend down 'n pick my beautiful little boy up - little fing's light as a fevva. And I 'old 'im close t'me. I don' ever wanna let 'im go. I rub 'is back, rock 'im gently for a minute or two.

I kiss the top of is 'ead, 'n I tell 'im "There then, s'alright mate - don't you worry yerself, right? Don't you cry. We've 'ad a lovely day playin', ain't we, ay? I've never 'ad so much fun in me life! Now, listen t'me, yeah - I promise ya, I'll come back 'n see ya as soon as I can, right? You're a good lad, Oliver. Now, can you do me a favour and go play in your room, yeah? Put them dinosaurs to bed. Billy needs to 'ave a little chat wiv yer mum, OK? There's a good boy." 

I set 'im down, an' off he mopes, all dejected.

And when 'e's gone upstairs, summink inside me snaps.

I can’t 'old it back no more. The rage. I fuckin' can’t. 

Me fists are clenched that tight I can feel me knuckles turning white. 

I’ve been patient. Kept me fuckin' mouth shut in front o'the kid.

But now - I’m fuckin done. 

Done wiv you, ya fuckin' bitch.

"'Appy now, ya spiteful cunt? Some fuckin'   muvva you are. Fuck me…"

"I won't be happy 'til you get the fuck out of my house and away from MY fucking son, Billy…'

“Are you fuckin' stupid or summink? You seriously thought I’d just show up 'ere, play wiv'im for an hour, and then just fuck off like it’s no big deal?” Me fuckin' anger's still spirallin'. "You really believe that’s all I fuckin' came 'ere for?"

You just stand there, all defensive. Fuckin' arms crossed again, like you’re waitin' for me to apologise for givin' a shit about me own kid. You got some fuckin' nerve, girl, after everyfin you've done.

"You knew what this was," you say, all calm and collected, as if I’m the one in the fuckin' wrong. "You just wanted a chance to meet him properly. That's what you got. And now, you can fuck off."

I can feel the blood rushin' to me 'ead.

Fuckin'ell. 

"Yeah, I said that, didn’t I?" I snarl atcha,  steppin' closer, not even givin' you an inch. "And now, I’ve changed me mind. I ain't fuckin’ goin’ anywhere. You fink ya can stop me seein' 'im, do ya? Fink that's your fuckin' decision t'make?"

You keep yer gob shut for a fuckin' change, probly finking ya got some kinda power 'ere, some kinda control. But you fuckin' ain't. Not no more.

"You can kick off all ya fuckin' like," I yell, takin' another step toward ya. "But you ain’t keepin' my son from me. You fucking 'ear me?"

And then I see it. You’re scared. 

You're tryin' ya best to 'ide it, but I can see it in yer eyes. 

You fink I’m gonna back off, dontcha, ay? Fink I’m just blowin' steam. Well, I fuckin' ain't, I can promise you that, love.

"Who the fuck d'ya fink you are, ay? You fink ya can keep me out 'is life, like I don’t fuckin' matter? He's my fuckin' son! An' i'm fuckin' tellin' ya now - you ain't fuckin’ walkin' away wiv 'im again. Not now, not ever. Do you fuckin' understand me?"

Your face twists. You’re angry now. But I don’t give a fuck.

I ain't fuckin' interested in anyfin' you gotta say right now. I can't even bear to be in the same fuckin' room as ya. So off I fuck. I'm so fuckin' mad I pretty much rip yer fuckin' door off, just openin' it. I stand in the doorway and look back over me shoulder.

“I’ll be back to see the boy again, very soon.” I tell ya, tone bitin', venomous. "And God fuckin' 'elp you if you try t'stop me."

----------

Tags: @babyfri3dric3 @dumpy-little-nobody @bohemianblasphemy @smallsadjellyfish @frank3nfag @noonwardmoss @rebelled-angel @karlurbanism @jax-the-oregonian @chocolategiverzombie @scxrchedearf @bluemerakis @enchantedflameandflower @allirose18 @chiefcreatorcreation @bobabilbil

[weeesi]

Experiment - May Prompts (16)

“Am I obliged to consider this tryst of yours an experiment, brother mine?”

Sherlock snorts. “Trawling Silver Singles again, Mycroft? Surely an ancient recluse like you can find a suitably geriatric goldfish to, god forbid, woo or something—oh! bugger—” Phone haphazardly cradled between cheek and shoulder, he accidentally drops the pipette of sulphuric acid in-between his thighs. 

Mycroft clears his throat. “Hardly polite before the second date.”

“Good lord, spare me.” Sherlock curses as he hastily knocks over the chair to avoid splotching the corrosive substance onto bare skin. It’s a sheet day. There’s a lot of bare skin. “Humour doesn’t suit you. Better stick to whittling the stick up your arse.”

The chair’s a total loss. 

Mycroft sighs. “What are you doing, Sherlock?”

“Working,” he snaps as he readies the beaker of sugar. He’s bored and he’d watched a demo video last night whilst he was dredging the bottom of the YouTube barrel and he’s trying not to think about what will happen in approximately three hours.

“Tedium doesn’t suit you—”

“Oh shut up.”

“John Watson is moving his things into Baker Street this evening.”

“Yes, somehow your low-budget abduction and performance as Warehouse Gremlin Number One failed to deter him.”

“You want to play happy families with a complete stranger?”

“Flatmates aren’t family, Mycroft.”

Little did he know.

+

Sherlock is doing a real experiment here - I should know, I watched a YouTube video.

Thank you to @calaisreno for the fun prompt series! Tags in replies. Thanks for reading! <3

[lyricalt]

[tf2 minific] LSF: with your invite

fem!(Sniper/Spy) - rated T

Note: I must confess, I’d been trying to lead up to Sniper pulling that sick 10 second bit from the music video, Top or Cliff (at 2:50 in), which is great fun to watch.  Couldn't really commit to a whole fic but I decided to just write the fun part anyway.

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

+++

The final piece of Sniper’s rifle is hidden under a dresser on the third floor of the mansion. She gets down on all fours, ignoring how blood congeals at her side. Her knee pulls at the hem of her dress, getting caught under a pointed heel, and when Sniper bends further down, she hears a faint rip from the seams. Poor Demo’s never going to get her dress back. The dry cleaning alone would be a nightmare.

Sniper gropes beneath the dresser until her fingers find cold, hard metal. She closes her hand around the missing barrel for her rifle. Half of her wonders how the hell Spy managed to squirrel it away with all the other pieces, hiding them throughout the mansion. The other half is just happy to finally have it. When Sniper attempts to pull it free, one end bumps against something soft. Sniper frowns, adjusting the angle, and sets the barrel aside before reaching back in.

She pulls out her own pair of boots, along with a note tucked inside with handwriting that she is very familiar with.

The note reads, ‘You have 45 seconds.’

Sniper lets out a huff of laughter. She sits back, pulling up her dress and happily kicking off those bloody heels. Bugger all three inches of them. She snaps the heels off, shaking out two bullets from the hollow into her palm, before tossing the shoes over her shoulder. Thank fuck, she’ll not have to wear them out.

It takes ten seconds to stomp her blistered feet into her boots proper. The next thirty-five seconds are for putting her rifle together. Luckily, she’s gotten most of it already assembled on her way up. It only cost her a stab at the side from a very pissed maid, but Sniper’s been stabbed plenty times before. No need to fuss over it.

She shakes out her stupid glittery clutch for the scope attachment, and blissfully feels more like herself the moment she slaps it on. 

All in all, Sniper is about five seconds late once she goes to the balcony, hiking one leg up against the railing for support. She loads up the rifle and rests the end of the barrel against the balustrade.

Five seconds late means that Spy has done more sweet talking than she would have liked. The mark is a sharp-eyed man, older but still quite handsome, if Sniper had to make an opinion. Spy looks good, clinging at his arm and steering him into a more open part of the gardens. There’s a red lipstick stain at the corner of the man’s mouth. He tilts his head for more, and Spy has to stand up on her toes to give him another kiss. She angles him perfectly.

Sniper inhales, slowly, and adjusts her aim. Pretty, she thinks, and isn’t quite sure if she means the clear sightine, the mark’s forehead, or Spy.

At the apex of her breath, she squeezes the trigger. There’s not a doubt in her mind that she wouldn’t miss.

Spy doesn’t get that second kiss in. 

Sniper catches the beginnings of a grin on Spy’s blood-splattered face before she has to look away to reload. Mark’s mark marked. Shot clear right off.

“Hrm,” Sniper muses, pulling the bolt open and shut. She takes out the furthest bodyguard with her last bullet while Spy dispatches the second one with just her bare hands.

Turns out she definitely meant pretty for Spy.

+++

The SMG isn’t where Spy told her it’d be. Sniper peeks behind the kitchen counter for a third time before ducking back as bullets ricochet off pots and pans and various other kitchen things.

“Bugger,” Sniper says, miffed. Her rifle rests in her lap, a little bit useless now in close quarters combat. She tips her head back, letting it thump against the cabinet. There’s the sink in front of her. Above it, a rather large and shiny pan with a nice mirror reflection shows the number of people shooting into the kitchen. Sniper stares at it, glumly. Four. The odds aren’t too great. 

Just as Sniper starts to contemplate using the frying pan as a weapon, she hears the sound of her own SMG fire a full round into the kitchen. Sniper waits until the noise putters off. The only sound that comes after is the steady taps of heels walking closer.

A couple of seconds later, Spy peers over the counter. Despite the blood over her face, she looks significantly less bedraggled than Sniper. Probably because she’s the one with the extra gun. 

“I didn’t have time to hide the SMG,” Spy says, by way of apology. She tosses the gun to the side, empty and dry.

“S’all right,” Sniper grunts. She doesn’t much like using the SMG in any case. Spray and pray, for good reason. “How’re we lookin’?”

“Fine,” Spy says, which could mean anything. “There’s a sniper covering the front entrance. I saw the muzzle flash from the second story. Third window from the right.”

Sniper glances down at the rifle in her lap. She lets her legs stretch out. The razor cuts have started bleeding again, along with the other lacerations she’s managed to get. Real gashes from broken glass and blades, at least. “Out of bullets, darl. Unless you got one in that ample brassiere of yours.”

Spy rolls her eyes. “Your rifle barrel took up a lot of space.”

Sniper smirks. “...Or are you just happy to see me?”

Spy reaches for her. At first, Sniper is almost convinced Spy really is hot and bothered enough to start fooling around right this second—at this point, she wouldn’t put it past them—but Spy’s hand finds the back of Sniper’s head, drawing her in. It’s an impersonal gesture, completely professional when Spy slides her fingers through Sniper’s braid and pulls off the golden hair brooch and pin. 

Sniper’s face heats up anyway. Bugger.

Then she flushes in a different way when Spy unscrews one of the decorative tassels and tips out a third sniper bullet from a hidden slot.

“You didn’t tell me?” Sniper says flatly, holding out her palm. “Thought you said it was a knife.”

Spy places the bullet into her hand, fingers lingering in Sniper’s grasp. She smiles. “Yes, I did not tell you.”

“Anythin’ else you’re not telling me?” Sniper asks, sarcastic, and loads the bullet.

Spy hauls her up, as unrepentant and steady in her heels as ever. 

“Plenty,” she promises.

[atlasascending]

So I just finished young royals and Oof, what a show. If you haven’t seen it yet watch it because it’s great BUT ALSO can I please just take a minute to say I love how much all the characters just hug? There’s so many hugs? I love it. Of course it’s Wille and Simon the most, but I adore how much a normal gesture of intimacy it is for them all. It’s so sweet to see.

I actually also think this show kind of perfectly strikes the balance of Teenager™️ wherein you can’t focus for the following two scenes after kissing someone you like (shout out to that one post) but you can also do drugs and drink and fuck around and somehow these things are not mutually exclusive. Just honestly 10/10

AND the writers and director(s) give the characters so much SPACE. It is so unbelievably refreshing to not be rushing from scene to scene all the time like most American media does (and sadly UK media is heading the same way). Truly reflect for a moment and consider when was the last time you watched something that had so much silence in it, so many pauses, so much room to breathe? And by god do you need it, because all the characters are such forces coupled with the intensity of the plot that you’d be buggered if the characters (read: actors) were barrelling on a mile a minute too

I think it’s a really well written, INCREDIBLY well shot show and that more people should watch it

[bingusmode]

Roses are red, Sniper is Blue

Blue Sniper x Reader

AN: Your class name is Assist in this story

Blue Sniper could hear his teammates dying. Even worse, he could see the Red Team heading towards his current hiding spot.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Sniper hissed, quickly taking into account his weaponry.

Sniper rifle? Out of bullets

Machete? Currently sticking out of a red scouts body

Jars of piss? He has a surplus of them.

He ran through the options in his head, he could fight. Which depending on which red team member he was facing, meant that he wouldn’t be blessed with a quick death.

Or he could hide, seemingly a better. More risky option.

Sniper shoved his body behind a stack of Mann Co. barrels. Squeezing his body in-between the cheap metal and the wall.

Seconds later, the door was kicked in. Sniper could see it bounce off the wall before the Red Medic strolled in, syringe gun at the ready.

Sniper immediately started sweating, remembering how Blue Spy couldn’t respawn for a week because Red Medic kept his head in the fridge. Who does that?

Following the Medic was someone he saw plenty of, but didn’t know much about. Assist.

“Doc, you’re sure he’s here?”

“Of course I am! I saw the reflection from his rifle”

Assist step further into the room, spotting the dropped sniper rifle

“He might have already ran-“

“And leave his weapon?”

“If he was desperate enough, he has no backup. Blue team is gone expect for him,”

Assist only confirmed what sniper already knew.

He tried to keep his breathing even, doing his best not to he seen.

He had only seen Assist through his scope, and while she wasn’t bad to look through his weapon. Sniper realized she looked even better in person.

And while he prides himself of distancing his emotions from his work. A pretty girl is a pretty girl, and Sniper can appreciate that. He is only a man after all.

He counted the seconds off his head, hoping they would leave soon. Assist stepped closer, moving around boxes.

“Medic, I don’t really think he’s-“

She kicked over a barrel, just catching Snipers shades in the shadows.

“Here…”

“Did you find him?”

Assist just stared at him and Sniper stared back. She blinked, Sniper could see her weighing her options in her head before taking a breath.

“No,”

Sniper watched with confusion as she placed the barrel back where it was. Once again, hiding him completely.

“He’s not here Medic”

“The coward probably ran…and I needed new organs too”

Medic whined, holstering his weapon.

“There’s literally a dead Spy outside, you killed him”

“His organs aren’t fresh…and I already have his spleen,”

“Gross”

Sniper watched as the two walked off. Opting to stay completely silent until they were a safe distance away.

He drug himself up from his hiding spot, taking a deep breath of fresh air as he did so.

He was sweating, his heat beating too fast and his hands shaking. Somehow he knew it wasn’t from the close encounter with death he just had.

“…bugger”

Sniper considered himself a rather sane individual, but what he was doing was anything but the sort.

Sneaking into Red Base at night? Might as well be signing his death warrant.

He didn’t even know why, he was doing this, it just felt right. From a distance, Sniper quickly set up his scope, peering into the glass. From across the way he could see the Red Lounge, every team member either relaxing or nursing their wounds after todays fight.

There was only one member Sniper was concerned about. Assist was dozing off on the couch, Sniper all too familiar with how Red Team runs her ragged during battles.

And so he waits, he waits and waits until Assist drags herself up, stretching to get her blood flowing.

Tracking her through his scope, he watches her bid her team goodnight and exit the lounge. From there it wasn’t hard to follow her movements to her quarters. Through the slits in her blinds, Sniper could just make out her form. If he wanted to, he could have increased his scope and glanced at her changing into nightclothes. Using restraint, Sniper put down his scope and lay still, not daring to move until he saw the light in her room go out.

It was easy enough shimming up the drain pipe to her window, placing a Blue rose he had stolen from Pyros garden on the edge of it.

‘There, we’re even’ he thought while running back to his own base. This was settled, no more sneaking up to a pretty girls window. Whatever debt he owed to her was paid.

That’s what he kept telling himself anyway. During battles, Sniper had a habit of “checking in” on Assist. It was only natural to keep tabs on your enemy.

“Just to keep her in sight” he mutters to himself, following her figure around the war zone. Red didn’t have the lead this time, Blue team was back for blood. And blood they did have.

The ground was soaked in it, the hot sun doing little to help. Sniper adjusted his scopes on Assist, getting to view her closer.

He frowned, sucking his teeth when he saw she wasn’t doing well.

Assist had backed herself into a semi hidden corner, using the shelter to patch her wounds up.

Sniper took his gaze away from his scope, looking around the field for her teammates. It wasn’t often she was left alone, especially if she was insured.

He got his answer when he spotted his Pyro lighting a bonfire with the bodies of Red Team, all but missing one of course.

Quickly switching back to his scope, to his shock, Assist was gone.

“What the hell?”

Sniper reevaluated the field, trying to spot any glimpse of her. The fight wasn’t called off yet, so she was still alive.

“Come on Bird, where are you?” Sniper muttered, his focus on his own team gone.

He received his answer once the door to his sniper perch was broken into.

Assist dragged herself up through the door, covered in blood and god knows what else. How she made it up the latter was a miracle itself.

Groaning and spitting curses to herself, Assist seemed preoccupied in shutting and locking the door again, placing a crate over it for safety. Not realizing her real threat was in the perch with her.

Sniper just watched carefully, he knew she wasn’t the type to give up easy, but this was a whole new level.

It wasn’t until she started to move a second crate that he spoke up.

“That’s really not necessary”

Assist shrieked at the sudden voice, nearly losing her balance whipping around to face Sniper

“How long have you been here?”

“The whole match, how long have you been bleeding?”

“The whole match”

Assist went to grab her hunting knife but remembered she didn’t have it, she didn’t have anything. Sniper felt a twinge in his chest, he didn’t want her to see him as a threat. He could be nice, he could be gentlemanly.

“Calm down Bird, it’s just us up here”

“That’s what I’m worried about,”

She was a smart girl, not being quick to let her guard down.

Sniper slowly set his rifle down, and kicked it across the room. Skidding to a stop against the wall.

“There, and I don’t have my machete on me either, I’m not gonna hurt you,”

He put his hands up to show he wasn’t a threat. Of course he still was, who else was picking off her teammates during the fight.

It took a minute, but Assist relented. Dropping like a rag-doll to the floor, leaning back against the crates. Sniper joined in, sitting across from her.

“Feeling friendly today?”

“Just towards you Bird,”

Assist smiled, using whatever little energy she had left to do so.

“Aren’t you sweet,”

“Just returning the favor”

She laughed and Sniper wanted to hear that sound more, preferably off the battle field.

“I have a strange suspicion that you were the one to drop off that rose,”

Blood was soaking the wooden floorboards now, whatever medpack she had gotten only helped minimally.

“Had to pay off my debt somehow,” Sniper took off his hat, setting it down beside him

“Women like flowers don’t they?”

Assist nodded, her smile still lingering

“I do, but I prefer babies breath myself. Roses are my third favorite”

“Only third?”

She hummed in confirmation, Sniper saw her getting ashen by the minute. It wouldn’t be long now with her rate of blood loss.

Assist blinks over at Sniper, a question lingering in her eyes.

“Does that make us even? A flower for a life?”

“Not even close Bird, I think I still owe you”

Not that he minded owing her, especially if it meant seeing her more often.

“Mm, maybe we could make it even”

“I’m listening,”

Assist took a deep breath, a rattle forming in her ribs.

“Win the match for your team” she nudges her head towards his rifle

“A life for a life”

“I don’t think you wanna do that Bird”

“You would be doing me a favor sending me to respawn, better than letting me bleed out here…on this dirty ass floor.”

Sniper laughed, but it didn’t distract from the pit forming in his stomach. He had taken out her teammates no problem, but her? He wasn’t sure he could detach himself from that.

“Bird-“

“Just made it quick, and make sure my next flowers are even prettier”

“And how are you sure you’ll be getting flowers?”

“Just a hunch”

She winked at him, a playful smirk gracing her lips.

He hated how he was willing to go along with her plan, just because she asked.

Slowly, Sniper stood up and retrieved his rifle. The pit in his stomach getting bigger and bigger with each step he took towards her.

“You sure about this Bird?”

“Just make it quick, you can pay me back later,”

Assist tipped back her head and closed her eyes, completely relaxed.

“…I’ll get you the biggest bouquet at the store”

A shot rang out and Blues victory was declared. Victory was sweet, but not for Sniper. For the first time in years, he could feel his hands shaking holding his rifle.

Assist stepped out the respawn machine, stretching her aching muscles. Scout immediately threw an ice pack at her, Assist barely dodging it

“Well there’s princess, taking your sweet time huh?”

“Give me a break Scout, I held out longer than you did”

Engineer clapped her on the back, guiding her towards the mess hall

“Good work today, we’ll get them next time”

Assist thought wistfully back to her conversation with Sniper, she wouldn’t mind a next time. Maybe with less blood loss though.

“Yeah, next time,”

It took her awhile to get back to her room, after a long day. All she wanted to do was curl up and sleep. Until she got a glimpse of something on her windowsill. Opening the window, she retrieved a Bouquet of babies breath tied with blue bow.

She smiled to herself, looking out to see if her admirer was still watching. Assist leaned over the windowsill and blew a kiss into the night air. Hoping he saw it wherever he was.

Snipers cheeks burned at the gesture, as he made his way back to his own base.

All he could think about was how he could leave even prettier flowers at her window.

[tgrailwar-zero]

If we’re dropping ourselves into the water as bait, we better hope we can stop this whale next turn. Otherwise, I think we’re done for.

ADMIRAL: "Probably. Have fun!"

You were tied to a rope-- a more sophisticated device would probably be less unsettling.

CREW: "Heave, ho!"

Fwish.

You were thrown overboard.

And then-- down into the water you went.

You could see MUSASHI deeper down, thrashing against the whale. She stabbed her blades into the uninjured eye of the beast as it let out a horrible noise, roiling back and forth.

You probably had two Emperors with chronic migraines at this point, yes.

The whale, while blinded, seemed to be using echolocation to help guide it. However, the sheer amount of stimuli barraging it at the moment was far from ideal.

Still, the yelling did the trick.

It began barreling towards you.

There was a very real feeling that the second that monstrosity made contact with you, you were dead. Honestly dead. Gone. Consumed by a program and then broken down into data and deleted.

The whale opened it's massive maw, closing in.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

You felt a heavy tug on the rope as you were yanked upwards and out of the water.

You spiraled in the air, feeling yourself a hair's breadth away from being whale food, before slamming onto the deck.

The massive Attack Program breached the water, MUSASHI hanging on with her blades plunged into the left eye of the monstrosity.

The ADMIRAL cackled, stepping forward.

ADMIRAL: "We're not going to get a cleaner shot than that! Hey, you damn whale! You're showing your belly- is that a surrender? Unfortunately, I take no prisoners!"

ADMIRAL: "Alright, you picaroons! Show me you have the stones to pull this off, and let's blow this waste of data space out of the water! Fortune is mine, and mine alone! Mine to spend and mine to gain! By this lucky coin of mine… Pseudo-Noble Phantasm, 'Agni Gandiva', charged to 75%! We can either get the perfect shot, or hope we can make do with what we've got!"

MOBY DICK is within incredibly close range of you and your ship.

SHIP STATS

The ship took some damage from MOBY DICK breaching the water so close!

SHIP'S HULL: [ X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X / / / ]

MAGICAL ENERGY: [ X ] [ X ] [ X ] [ X ] [ X ]

'LUCKY SHOT': [ X ] (Power: Stage 3)

[fanfiction-she-wrote]

Green and Gaunt

3 - Trolls and Troubles

Word Count: ~5.5K Chapter Tags: Mild Violence, Friendly Banter and Roasts Previous Chapter <- Here -> Next Chapter Series Masterlist

Quite the treat indeed, Lorelei thought to herself as she ducked behind a stand with her classmates. 

“What is that?” Ominis asked from beside her, the tip of his wand glowing threateningly as if prepared for battle.

“A troll!” Sebastian hissed as he tried to peak over but ducked to avoid getting hit with debris.

“Is that not normal?” Lorelei asked, trying to control her breathing. She knew it was foolish to ask, but had hoped it was just a minor stroke of bad luck rather than an unprecedented catastrophe.

“Most certainly not!” Ominis replied, fueling the terrified jump in her heart and anxious voices in her head. Catastrophe then, naturally.

“Bombarda!” a voice called out. “Draw it away from the buildings! Away from the village!” They could hear shouting and action behind them before loud pounding footsteps started to distance themselves. The trio hesitantly stood up and watched as the residents of Hogsmeade led the being out of the square. Lorelei let out a sigh of relief, but before she could say anything, another pair of loud footsteps approached, but this set was quickly approaching from right behind them. Lorelei and Sebastian exchanged a look.

“Move!” she yelled. Sebastian grabbed Ominis’s arm and dragged him from the stand from one side as she followed suit and scrambled away from the other. They all just narrowly avoided the stones that went flying as yet another troll broke through a nearby building and bowled through the cart they had just taken refuge behind. The troll set its eyes on Lorelei as soon as it blinked away the debris and fully charged at her. "Oh bugger."

In a split-second decision, she rolled out of the way with a grunt, blood pounding in her ear as she raised her wand to fight with the handful of spells she'd learned. The three Slytherins put their all into the fight, but the troll’s club kept barreling down on them. Just as she dodged one strike, the troll threw a hand out and swatted her away, tossing her across the courtyard. She blew through a stack of newspapers and rolled against the ground with a moan on her lips, ultimately landing flat on her back.

“Are you alright?” Ominis asked, shuffling closer to her so he could offer her a hand. Unable to respond immediately, she rolled to her side dazed for a moment. It was then that she managed to register the troll’s club coming down on them, forcing an audible gasp from her mouth as her fingers froze on her wand. Ominis must have understood this because he cast Protego over both of them and then counterattacked with stupify, his hand somehow remaining outstretched to her. Taking it quickly, she got back on her feet before the troll could regain its bearings and pulled Ominis away with her. They fired back to back spells, falling into line with Sebastian.

“Are we weakening him at all?” Lorelei called out, growing nervous as the troll turned to them, seeming to prepare to charge once more.

“Keep at it! We’ll wear him down eventually,” Sebastian shouted confidently. He cast another disarming spell and knocked the club out of its hand.

“Preferably before he flattens us,” Ominis added as the troll let out an angry roar and charged at them. The trio dove out of the way, Ominis and Lorelei fleeing one way while Sebastian rolled the other.

“Your optimism isn’t helping,” she groaned sarcastically, casting Protego over both of them to protect them from a tossed boulder. After it bounced off the spell with a resounding thump, Ominis in turn levitated it away from them, the pair of them watching it fall to the floor after the protective shield wore off.

“We have to do something before it wears us out,” he insisted. Looking around, Lorelei’s eyes fell on a set of intact crates and she felt a surge of magic. Without much thought, she flicked her wand without a word, a silver stream of magic snatching the crate and throwing it airborne against the troll from behind. The force was incredible as the crate smashed into pieces, leaving the troll howling and trying to brush off the embedded pieces that wedged into its back.

“What was that?” Sebastian shouted excitedly from across the way.

“A taste of his own medicine,” she quibbed, grabbing another crate and repeating the process.

“Nicely done!” In his praise however, Sebastian failed to notice the troll stumbling towards him as it flailed around wildly attempting to pull out the wooden stakes. “Oof!” he groaned as the troll haphazardly swatted at him, sending him flying backwards into a crate himself.

“Sebastian!” she called out, her eyes dashing between the troll and the impact radius.

“I’m alright,” the freckled boy groaned as he rolled to his knees. “Don’t let up!” The pair followed through, keeping the troll thoroughly distracted as he gathered himself once more. Launching a rather impressive combined range of attacks, he let out a battle cry screaming, “that’s right you lumbering lout!”

“Must you antagonize him?!” Ominis yelled at him in frustration as he blocked yet another rock. However, Lorelei noticed the way the troll’s swings had become lethargic, its movements as a whole seeming to slow in the process.

“I think he’s faltering!” she shouted, dodging the deflected boulder and throwing it right back.

“A few more hits should do the job,” Sebastian said excitedly. As such, they all fired a few more shots before the creature fixated on her once more, preparing to make a last stand. As she pulled her wand back for one final attack, she felt a thrum of ancient magic pass through her. Looking to her wand, she could see silver magic pooling at the tip and felt the building of a familiar surge. She pulled her wand back to invoke this untapped power and allowed it to pool in her hand, the liquid-like light folding in on itself as directed by her hand. Hurling it with an underhand, she watched the spherical silver blast out of the end of her wand and into the charging troll who had made strides against her. It stopped in its tracks as the silver light collided and transformed into purple lights against the blackening exterior, the color change happening upon impact. In a blink, the exterior burst into purple fluttering flakes and the troll’s remains were lifted and carried away by the wind. Softening her stance after a few deep breaths, she stared at the empty square in disbelief. What was that?

“Are you two alright?” Ominis’s voice called out, the sudden silence causing him to slowly rise from his crouched stance. She didn’t pull herself from her trance as they both approached her. Ominis turned his head towards Sebastian hoping for a response, but he simply stared at her bewildered. “What is it?” he pressed, shifting uncomfortably. Sebastian’s stare seemed to have registered as she started to fiddle with her wand and whirled around to face them.

“Just a tad shaken is all,” she breathed out, trying not to give anything away. Just then, footsteps approached them, calling her attention over her shoulder.

“Goodness! A second troll?” A woman in all black with a matching tophat stopped in front of them, slightly out of breath. “Did you three take on a fully grown troll, by yourselves?” Sensing the question required a response, Lorelei forced herself to offer the woman a shy smile.

“I suppose so. It’s all a bit of a blur to be honest.” The woman’s eyes widened in response.

“Merlin’s beard! Are you alright?”

“We are,” Lorelei sighed, taking some comfort in the nods offered by her companions. “We’re just glad we could help.” The woman in all black let out a dry chuckle.

“I’d say help is a bit of an understatement. Nerve like that? The makings of an auror, if you ask me. What’s your name?” Lorelei’s lips tightened in her smile, her heart starting to race again suddenly.

“Um, Lorelei. And these are Ominis and Sebastian, my fellow housemates.”

“Pleasure to meet you. Officer Ruth Singer with the Ministry of Magic.” Her heart froze for a moment. The Ministry? Does she know mother? Singer didn’t seem to pick up on her tension as she took in the damages around the square. “If you are unharmed, perhaps you three wouldn’t mind putting things back to the way they were for me? I should report these attacks immediately.”

“Actually-“ Sebastian started, but Lorelei intervened, seeing an opportunity to cut the conversation with the auror short.

“Of course, Officer Singer.” With a brief appreciative nod and tip of her hat, she apparated away and left them in silence. That of course didn’t last very long as Sebastian made his way around Lorelei to face her.

“What was that?” Sebastian tried to pry.

“We made this mess. It’s the least we could do,” Lorelei said casually, moving to one of the smashed carts. Summoning the repair charm, she lost some of the tension in her shoulders as all the pieces came back together cohesively.

“Correction, the troll we just bested made this mess. We were simply defending ourselves. And that’s not what I meant,” Sebastian pushed, following behind her as she moved on to a disheveled tower of crates. “What was that-that light thing?” If Ominis was confused, he didn’t show it with the exception of his brows furrowing just a tad as he casually stepped up to the messy newspaper stand. Lorelei focused in front of her, her hand clenching a little tighter as she tried not to let her nerves speak in her incantation.

“I…it was just magic, of course. What else could it be?” she brushed off, continuing her work on the square. Ominis followed her lead, his wand continuing to pick up broken pieces of Hogsmeade daily life. Sebastian, however, wasn’t ready to let it go and continued to follow her.

“Well, I’ve never seen magic like that,” he grumbled. Before either of them could say anything more, Ominis let out a loud exasperated sigh.

“And I never will. Now, can you please help us tidy this up? I’d like to finish my butterbeer before curfew, thank you very much,” he threw at Sebastian. Rolling his eyes at the call out, he did as he was asked, stepping away to handle one of the last troubled areas. Sensing the shift, Ominis turned towards her slightly. “You sure you’re alright?” She subtly smiled to herself as she focused on her wandwork.

“I’ll be fine, but thank you. Was that…a blind joke you made by chance?”

“I haven't the faintest idea what you mean.” Judging by the slight quirk of his lip, she understood and let some of the tension roll out of her as the last of the boxes in front of her came back to their original form and stacked themselves neatly. Her eyes fell to the intricate wand in her hand. The warm-toned rowan wand was surprisingly smooth and polished despite the twisted notched design, and the wand seemed to yield magic to meet her needs with just the slightest bend. Perceptive little thing, she couldn’t help but think to herself, recalling Mr. Ollivander’s words. Noticing a hushed silence fall in the square, she looked over at her companions and set her wand aside, everything seeming to be back in order.

“So,” she said, attempting to keep the mood light. “What’s this I hear about liquid butterscotch?” Thankfully, Sebastian allowed the redirection without a second thought and grinned.

“Liquid butterscotch doesn’t begin to describe a proper butterbeer. Let’s get going before Ominis gets grouchy again.”

“For the record, I wasn’t grouchy,” the boy in question said without a care for his tone. He didn’t seem particularly defensive, as though he was stating a casual fact.

“Of course not,” she chuckled to herself. The tilt of his head towards her indicated that he had heard her clear as day, but he made no motion to retaliate. The group set off, a chain reaction of familiar actions occurring. Ominis once again offered his arm, Lorelei resisted yet another smile as she took it with a distinct gentleness Ominis relished, and Sebastian raised the exact same eyebrow and cataloged the recurring gesture for future conversation with his roommate. As Sebastian took the lead once more and gushed about the magic of Hogsmeade and the gift that is butterbeer, Ominis leaded his head down to her so she could hear his hushed words.

“I apologize for earlier. Sebastian can be persistent.” She sighed to herself.

“I can’t say I blame him. I mean, the way that troll just…disintegrated? I didn’t know that was possible.” Seeming to sense her impending strike of anxiety, he gently patted the hand she had on his arm twice to ground her.

“Perhaps you simply underestimate yourself.” A small smile forced its way out across her face, but before she could offer a response, a chill went down her back. Lorelei’s eyes tracked the prowling shadow disappear down a nearby alleyway, a tophat descending with it.

“Is that…” she didn't finish her mumble as she loosened her already gentle grip and tiptoed closer, Ominis feeling her touch slip away quietly. He followed suit, following her lead as she pressed herself against the wall of a building.

“What-” he started to ask quietly, but he stopped as her hand flew back and pressed against his arm urgently.

“Shh,” she let out as quietly as possible, her ears straining to listen to the heated conversation below.

“You said you could get the child when they came to Hogsmeade. That all you needed was a distraction.” She sucked in her break sharply, the voice throwing her back to her dash out of the Gringotts vault. “I gave you a distraction.” She dared to peak her head out just enough to confirm her fears.

“I just watched a student take down your ‘distraction,’” the man with the tophat sneered. He didn’t sound any kinder than the infamous goblin she had the misfortune of crossing. And now he’s looking for you,” her mind whispered fearfully, her wide eyes watering just enough to gloss over. “Who is this child? What are you not telling me?” Her mind was starting to spiral. What did they want with her? Why go through this trouble? How could he be here?

“All you need to know is that if you cannot get to the child, then you have no value to me,” Ranrok growled. Just as he glared at the wizard, his eyes caught onto something in the background. Seeing the way his ears tilted further into her line of sight, Lorelei snapped out of it quick enough to duck back against the wall. Without a word, Ominis took her elbow and pulled her away, setting them arm-in-arm back on the path to the Three Broomsticks at a quickened pace.

“Did they see us?” he asked in a hushed tone. She chanced a glance back, and let out an airy sigh.

“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure,” she whispered. Focusing her eyes forward, she could tell that Sebastian hadn’t noticed their absence from the way he had continued to ramble. As such, they were able to fall into step behind him easily.

“Then care to fill me in? Who was that with Victor Rookwood?”

“Victor Rookwood? Was that the man with the tophat?”

“Tophat, shabby looking goatee, overall unpleasant, yes that’s Victor Rookwood. Who was he talking to? It sounded like they sent the trolls to try to…” his voice faded out, unsure how to complete his thoughts. Her usually light touch on his arm flexed.

“...it was me. Ranrok sent that troll so Rookwood could get to me,” she mumbled, feeling her heartbeat rising once more. Surprised, Ominis did nothing this time to stop it, simply leaning his head down closer.

“Wait, Ranrok? The goblin from the Daily Prophet?” he hissed in disbelief. “Sebastian’s told me about him. What does he want with you?” She found herself at a loss. She thought the madness would end when she reached school grounds, but it was all just the beginning. But the beginning of what, exactly?

“I…I’m not sure.” It wasn’t a total lie, but Ominis could tell there was some truth being omitted and sighed.

“Lorelei, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s happening.” She shook her head before watching Sebastian lead them down a set of steps, trying to shake the sudden pit in her stomach.

“I’m surprised you’re so willing to help a stranger,” she said timidly. It was clear to her that he was trying to be her friend, that he was trying to be nice. But Imelda and Sebastian’s words about him made her hesitate in fully assuming his intentions.

“Perhaps it’s a lapse of judgement. Perhaps not.” He lets out a tired sigh. “In any case, you should be careful. Sebastian is enough trouble on his own. Can’t have you adding to the mix.” She couldn’t help the little smile that graced her lips at his jab. Her hand loosened slightly, returning back to its feather light state, but the pit in her stomach remained.

“Here we are, a slice of heaven!” Sebastian exclaimed suddenly, whirling around to them as he reached for the door and held it open for them. Lorelei started to turn towards Ominis, but he stiffened suddenly and pulled her inside with him.

“What-“ she whispered, barely having a moment to chance a glance at the goblin passing her to leave and prevent herself from stumbling about.

“They’re coming,” he responded as calmly as he could, bringing her over to the bar top. He released her arm and settled himself into a stool to her left, his hand lingering close by on the counter. Sebastian came up on her right and took a seat, clearly beginning to sense the tension in the air.

“Is he alright?”

“I…suppose the grouchiness set in again.” Sebastian watched Ominis for a reaction, which was a tense chortle as he shook his head.

“I will not allow such slander,” he joked back with his usual dryness. Sebastian and Lorelei both eased a tad just as a tall witch with rags tucked into the waist of her skirt came up to them from the opposite side of the counter.

“Now, what can I- oh!” she cut off, her sight falling on Lorelei. “There’s a face I haven’t seen before.” Lorelei let out a nervous chuckle, but smiled shyly.

“It’s my first time here. I’m Lorelei.” The woman’s smile was subtle but genuine, helping her feel a little more at ease.

“Sirona. Welcome to the Three Broomsticks! Here, butterbeers on me.” She turned to make quick work of filling up their mugs, talking to them from over her shoulder. “Heard about the attack. I shall be looking in on all the other shopkeepers and residents shortly. Glad to see you three escaped injury.”

“Thanks to this one,” Sebastian announced, throwing a hand to pat Lorelei on the back ceremoniously. “Single-handedly took down a troll!” Sirona gave her an appraising glance.

“Is that right? Well done.” Lorelei flushed, taken aback by the praise and attention.

“He exaggerates. I had help.” Taking her mug gently, she nodded. “And thank you for this.”

“My pleasure.” Sirona wiped her hands on the waist-clung rage and scanned the establishment’s crowd. “I will say…trolls? In Hogsmeade? That’s never happened before.” Lorelei subtly looked at Ominis who seemed deep in thought as he clutched his drink close. “Something’s not right. The only brutes we usually have to deal with are-“

Just then, the door swung open and Victor Rookwood entered with a companion. Ominis and Sebastian tensed immediately and the air in the room grew thick with tension. Lorelei swallowed hard as she risked a glance as the other patrons. They seemed to be attentive and cautious.

“How timely,” Sirona muttered as she came around the bar, the smile absent. Ominis leaned toward her slightly.

“Keep your head down,” he whispered, his command heard and respected as Lorelei kept her body turned away from the door and tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible, shoulder sagged and her head tilted down towards her untouched drink. From there, all she could do was listen and try to keep her breathing even.

“Was that Lodgok I saw leaving just now?” Rookwood’s sneer was audible. “Hmph. Your clientele isn’t what it used to be, Sirona.”

“Not to worry, Victor. Once the two of you leave, the caliber of my clientele will greatly improve.” In the heat of the moment, the other man shifted and reached for his wand, but Sirona was prepared. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Theophilus,” she remarked loudly in return, all eyes in the room attentive and focused on the intruders. Rookwood seemed to recognize the spectacle that had been created and waved at his partner to not engage.

“Come now. No need for theatrics. I’m only here for this one anyways,” he said casually, pointing directly at Lorelei’s back. She didn’t have to look to feel the shift of attention towards her, the hairs on her neck standing straight as she stiffened and looked over at Ominis in fear. Ominis and Sebastian immediately rose from their seats, Lorelei doing so shakily a moment after. Her eyes remained downtrodden as she turned to face them. Ominis, however, decided to angle himself in front of her, putting himself between her and the threat as he brandished his wand with its menacingly red glow. Sirona took a similar stance, preparing herself for a fight.

“My friend is enjoying a well-earned Butterbeer.”

“Only want a quick word-“ Rookwood tried to step forward, but at his shift in posture, Sebastian and Lorelei also pulled their wands out, the tension in the room multiplying. Despite the confident display she tried to maintain, Ominis could practically feel her panicked breaths behind him and reached his free hand out behind him to try to ease her. She didn’t reach for it, but the gesture brought her a smidge of comfort.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me.” At Sirona’s dark tone, the other patrons stood from their seats and held their wands at the ready. Some even went as far as to step forward and produce a defensive line near her. “I said my friend is busy.” Rookwood let out an exasperated huff.

“One would think you all had enough bloodshed for one day.” He sneered, his eyes bouncing around the room as if to assess the risk. After a moment, he straightened himself up and brushed the air off his coat sleeves. “Come, Theophilus. The Three Broomsticks is not what it used to be. Let’s take our Galleons elsewhere.” His companion turned to leave, but Rookwood chanced a look at her, a malicious glint in his eyes. “Can’t drink Butterbeer forever,” he taunted as he turned and exited, the door slamming firmly behind him. The room fell into a tense silence, no one daring to move in the event they came back. Two, three, four minutes passed before Sirona, sure they wouldn’t return, let the tension in her shoulders drop. The patrons took this as a sign that the worst had passed and returned to their seats, conversations flowing freely once more over the sound of seats scooting against the wooden floors. The trio barely had a chance to ease their stances as Sirona turned her attention back to them with a sigh as she moved to pass beside Lorelei.

“Seems you’ve made an unfortunate enemy. Watch your back. Rookwood and Harlow are worse than any troll you might encounter.” She left them with her warning in mind, slowly stepping away to tend to the other patrons. As if broken from a spell, Lorelei immediately sunk back into her stool with a sigh, closing her eyes as she tried to fight the adrenaline-turned-anxiety clawing up her neck.

“Trolls, Ranrok, and Rookwood? What a day.” Ominis sighed wearily, leaning against the counter to take a calculated sip of butterbeer. Sebastian whirled around to them, his eyes wide.

“Wait, Ranrok? When did you see Ranrok?” Her eyes snapped open as she looked at Sebastian, his eyes immediately fixating on her because of her reaction. “What are you not telling me?” Sebastian asked, his eyes narrowing accusingly.

“Now isn’t the time, Sebastian,” Ominis tried to calm his friend, pushing himself off the countertop to try to appeal to him, but Sebastian merely studied her. They held eye contact for a minute or so before Lorelei felt a gentle touch settle on the counter behind her back. She tilted her head to look at Ominis. “Why don’t you try your butterbeer?” With an appreciative nod, Lorelei slowly turned herself back to the mug and lifted it up to her lips. The boys waited attentively for her to finish her first sip, the anticipation rising. Sebastian had lost some of his tension as he waited for her to crack a smile. Instead, he watched in horror as she set the drink down and struggled to school the grimace that had twinged over her expressions.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Hm?” Lorelei still had the sweet slightly fizzy taste in her mouth as she hummed and had to fight the grimace again.

“That right there! Your eyebrows, your lips, you look disgusted.” Swallowing the last of the taste, she tried to offer a neutral smile.

“Disgust is a strong word,” she countered.

“So you like it.”

“I…” she chanced a glance at Ominis, who simply looked amused. “I can see why others love it.” Sebastian saw her flickering gaze and gasped.

“No. No no no. What does that mean? Ominis-“

“Not a fan then?” The blind boy was quick to interject. He carried no judgement in his tone and casually took a sip of his own drink.

“…alright fine. It’s too sweet,” she said, her volume diminishing as she finished her statement. However, it was more than enough for Sebastian to hear as he gasped and clutched his chest.

“Here it comes,” Ominis muttered, enjoying the show as he enjoyed another sip.

“I’m sorry, Sebastian-“ she scrambled to say, but Sebastian threw his hands up dramatically and turned his face away,

“Betrayal! Bitter utter betrayal!” Some of the other patrons looked over in their direction and mumbled to one another, making Lorelei blush at the attention.

“Is he always like this?” she asked Ominis, trying to shrink into her seat.

“I warned you,” he simply added.

“Woe is me, woe- wait, what do you mean you warned her?” Sebastian said, breaking out of his act to throw him a suspicious look. “Warned her about what?”

“You, Sebastian.” His eyebrows flew up his freckled forehead and he leaned closer to them, though his attention had fully fallen onto Ominis.

“Me? I am baffled. I am grief stricken. I am-“

“Letting your butterbeer grow lukewarm,” she mumbled as she forced herself to take another sip. Not waiting to see her reaction, he gasped and clung to his butterbeer. They all sat silently, sipping their drinks at their respective pace. Lorelei’s eyes tracked over to Ominis, who had slowed to a stop despite still having a quarter of his drink remaining.

“Hey,” she asked softly. “Are you alright?” He didn’t startle, simply turned his head towards her.

“I should be asking you.”

“Just a tad shaken. I…I promise to tell you everything, both of you,” she added, turning her head to address Sebastian. He lifted his face away from the glass to show he was listening. “But now may not be the best to do so. Not the best place.” Processing her genuine tone, he nods.

“Very well then.” He threw the glass back and finished his drink with a few final gulps. Letting out a content sigh, he plunked the glass down and wiped the foam from his lips. “On that note, I think we should head back to the castle.”

“That would be wise,” Ominis chimed in as he followed suit, quickly finishing the last of his glass. As the boys rose, she struggled to bring the half full glass to her lips, dreading the sickening sweetness. However, before she could get too far, Sirona returned and laid a hand in front of her on the counter.

“It’s not for everyone. Don’t force yourself to finish it.” Embarrassed, Lorelei put the glass down.

“I’m sorry. I just don't want to seem ungrateful-“

“I know you aren’t. There’s no harm in trying something and not liking it. Let me guess, too sweet?” She nodded shyly. Her nerves were eased by Sirona’s smile as she shrugged. “Maybe try the pumpkin juice next time. It’s more spiced than it is sweet. Particularly popular this time of year.”

“I just might, thank you,” she offered, sliding herself off the seat and turning to her companions. As they exited the Three Broomsticks, Sebastian and Ominis seemed to scan the area for any trouble. When their shoulders relaxed a tad, she chimed in with a lightness in her tone. “I’m certainly glad Sirona was there.” Sebastian pivoted and threw her a grin.

“Told you she was one of the good ones.”

“I can see that. She didn’t seem at all intimidated by Rookwood and his goonie.”

“Theophilus Harlow, Rookwood’s right hand man,” Ominis said, his voice hollow. He was clearly still on edge, even though his posture had changed. Before Lorelei could say anything to him, Sebastian clapped his hands together to catch their attention.

“Well, I believe that’s enough excitement for today. For the moment, we should return to the castle. Professor Weasley’s certain to hear about the troll attack soon if she hasn’t already. Don’t want to risk another detention for getting back after hours.” The exhaustion of the day had finally started to set and she gave a weak nod. Seeming to sense her dip in energy, Ominis gave a resolute nod.

“That’s wise,” he added to his gesture. Before he could offer his arm to her as he had done throughout the day, Sebastian quickly chimed in.

“Ominis, why don’t you take the lead this time?” Ominis’s eyebrow quirked the slightest.

“Are you quite sure?”

“Sorry, are you scared of a dusk-dusted stroll? Would you like a guide-“

“That won’t be necessary,” he snapped and turned on his heel to start the trek back to the castle.

“Excellent.” Sebastian offered her an arm, just as Ominis had earlier. “Shall we?” She raised an eyebrow at him but tentatively took it, her grasp a bit more tense but just as featherlight. This didn’t last long as Sebastian quickly pulled her closer to his side and set them on a steady pace. She noted that Ominis was not the talkative type as he led them on the pathway and part of her wanted to break the silence between the trio. That, however, was not what Sebastian had in mind as he leaned in close and dropped his voice to a mere whisper. “So, why does Victor Rookwood have you in his sights?” Her eyes darted forward to see if Ominis had heard him. If he had, he didn’t let it show.

“I-I’m not sure this is the right place for this conversation, Sebastian,” she whispered back, trying to keep her voice low and steady.

“Come now, I doubt he’ll be popping up again so soon.”

“It’s not that,” she said before noticing Ominis turning his head slightly towards them. He heard her. Her eyes fell to her shoes as she allowed a moment of silence to pass. Chancing a glance at Sebastian, she was surprised to see his full attention on her, studying her like she was a cipher. “I just…I'm still processing some things. And so far, I don’t understand it, so I need answers.” The smirk returned to his face.

“A curious mind. We have that in common. I know an excellent place for minds such as ours.”

“And where would that be?”

“The library.” She chuckled at the simplicity of his answer. Perhaps he was right though. The library may be worth a visit.

“That’s fair. I haven’t quite found my way there yet in my previous explorative adventures.” She expected a chuckle or a laugh, but his grin simply widened as he leaned a little closer.

“I’d be happy to give you a tour if you'd like. In fact, let me take you on the grand tour.” His suggestion was coated thick with mischief, but she began to consider her options.

“What does that entail?” There was a clear sense of curiosity that she was unable to hide in her whisper. She considered correcting herself, but he was faster with his response.

“Just the usual layout of the library as well as a taste of some of the more…exclusive works our school has to offer. Think you’d be interested?” She bit her lip. A tempting offer, to say the least. Perhaps they would find information on ancient magic. Maybe she could figure out what Ranrok was after…and maybe she could figure out how to stop him. After another moment of silent thought, she met his gaze and tried to hide her shaky breath as she tried to showcase her nerves as excitement.

“Alright, I’m in.”

It’s just the library. What could go wrong?

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

I’ve kinda already written about this before with the college AU I started a while ago but I have a mighty need for a life drawing workshop with Ghost and Soap.

Like maybe Soap runs some classes in a local bar venue space or something and he puts out ads every so often for models. Ghost meanwhile is discharged from the army with a shitty shoulder injury and no where to go. After going for a pint with Gaz to commiserate, and drown their shared sorrows of having to leave army life, Gaz tells Ghost about a new side hustle he has going ever since he’d had to leave months prior.

Ghost snorts out a laugh at first “are you bloody joking? You. A life model?”

Gaz pretends not to get too offended, but rolls his eyes and take a drink.

“It’s not as weird as you think. You stand in a couple different poses-“

“With your kit off,” Ghost chuckles.

“Yes, with your kit off,” Gaz huffs. “You get told how to stand and what props to use and then a bunch of people draw you for a couple hours. It’s totally painless and you get decent dosh for it. I do Soap’s class twice a month and Alex’s class three times - it’s easy money, plus it’s cash in hand so HMRC don’t have to be any the wiser bout it.”

“Hang on a minute, Soap?” Ghost says, shaking his head. “What kind of a name is Soap? He gives you props as well? What next, does he ask you to dance for him too? Give ‘im the old dazzle dazzle, do you?”

“Fuck off Ghost.”

“Aw, im only messing. ‘Sides even if I wanted to do little poses for your art class, I wouldn’t be able to. My shoulder’s buggered remember? I wouldn’t be able to hold a lot of positions for long.”

“Soap’s pretty understanding. He can pick poses that suit your body and he can adjust the times so that you don’t have to stay still too long if you can’t take it. You just have to tell him about your injury and he’ll be understanding.”

Ghost shook his head again and took another gulp.

“Fuckin’ Soap.”

“He’s an eccentric guy, but he’s cool,” Gaz shrugs. “Do you want me to speak to him for you? He’s usually on the lookout for new models.”

Ghost would say he’d need to take some time to think about it, but Gaz would take that as a yes. So a few days roll by and soon enough Ghost gets a text through telling him that Soap would be ‘well up’ for meeting him and said he should come by the next evening before class.

Ghost - I told you I’d think about it, you twat. Not to go on ahead and tell him I wanna join his little cult.

Gaz - show up or don’t, you can think about it all you like between now and then. You’ll thank me later 🤪

After that last text Gaz then sent him a picture of a wad of cash and few coins spread out over a blotted bar top. Ghost would sigh, but as soon as he saw that money he knew his decision was made. He needed something until he was able to figure out what to do with the rest of his life, something to tide him over till he received payments for his injury.

He’d turn up for Soap’s class with a flustered air around him and would step through the shadowy doorway to the bar with soft unsure steps. It was still early, there wouldn’t be many people inside. He’d ask the barman where the function room was and sullenly walk through the curtain, raising his brows when he’d finally lay eyes on Soap.

Ghost wouldn’t know what to expect but it’s not the mohawked barrel of a man that’s lugging chairs around the room and running around like a little worker ant. His eyes would linger on the muscles that were exposed from Soap’s paint and charcoal stained tank top and he’d watch on wordlessly, widening his eyes when Soap would finally notice him. He’d dig his nails into his palms to try to stop himself from blushing in embarrassment.

“You’re a bit early for the class’ mate,” Soap would huff, settling another chair around the raised stage. “Looking to join?”

“Uh sort of,” Ghost would say, frowning as he struggled to find words around the bodybuilder/artist. “My friend Gaz, uh Kyle you probably know him as - he said you were looking for more models and that I should come by…”

Soap’s eyes would light in recognition and he’d smile warmly, striding over to greet Ghost properly. Ghost wouldn’t be prepared for the warm grip in Ghost’s handshake and he especiallly wasn’t prepared for those big blue crystalline eyes to be roaming over him as if they were mentally taking him apart.

“Simon right?” Soap would say, revealing a perfect white grin. “I’m Soap, John’s my name, but I prefer Soap so you can go with that, yeah? Kyle mentioned you had a shoulder injury and that you weren’t sure you could hold certain poses.”

Ghost would straighten up then and nod, pointing out which one it was. From then Soap would take him through a few positions and would discuss the technicalities with him, were Ghost to join. Apparently it was easy to make accommodations for him, and Soap would be more than pleased to have him as a model, and like Kyle had already mentioned, the pay was pretty good.

Ghost would grow interested the more he would hear and eventually Soap would wear him down enough into taking him through a few practice ones. They would be relatively easy, and Ghost would find himself realising that Gaz was right - it was easy money. Plus Soap was no bad company either.

He’d be convinced into watching the class that night and getting to have a little taster of what he would be doing. The model that night would be a tiny little thing, a dancer, and would hold the most intricate stances for the eager artists to draw, contorting themselves into pretzel like shapes that Ghost couldn’t possibly hold. They’d capture his attention for a minute, but Ghost would always find himself staring at Soap right after.

He’d watch the way he directed the model, stroking the air to dictate how he wanted them and guiding them gently into form all without physically touching. He’d encourage the artists, complimenting a few people, and helping anyone that needed guidance. His favourite would be when the others would fall silent and Soap would take to gathering himself a pencil and paper and drawing for a little bit. The immense concentration, the way he’d clench his jaw and narrow his eyes would be so captivating and there was nothing that could stop Ghost looking away. Nothing that could stop him from wondering what it would be like having Soap’s eyes on him like that.

As it turns out it would almost steal all the breath from his lungs. Ghost would be sitting on that same stage the next week, stone faced and gritting his teeth through the slight chill in the air. He’d be used to resisting the cold, though he wouldn’t be used to all the eyes on his naked body, most of all Soap’s as his furrowed brow stayed glued to him. Ghost would swear that Soap could read his thoughts, could strip his mind just as easily as his body and he would know that Ghost was developing a stupid obsession with him (he’d refuse to think of it as a crush).

He’d look purposely look away on the next pose and would still feel Soap’s eyes on him still. They’d warm a path from the bones at his collar, all the way down the ridges of his pecs and right down to the pit of his belly. Butterflies would dance where his empty stomach should have been.

He’d love and hate it in equal measure, barely feeling the eyes of Soap’s gaggle of students because of the intensity of their teacher, but he would still show up again the next week and the next after that. Just hoping that maybe one night it wouldn’t be his own hands pulling the cord on his robe, perhaps he could embrace a pair covered in charcoal and graphite and entice them to touch instead of trace the air. He’d want to break through Soap’s page and show him new colours, tear the world as he knew it apart in only the way that Ghost could.

[angelswing236]

"You always have a plan!"

Fictober 24 challenge

Fandom: Downton Abbey

Fanfiction

‘Uh, oh! Quick! Run!’ Jimmy cried, taking off like lightning.

‘Where?’ Thomas panted, pounding along beside him. He glanced over his shoulder to see an unwelcome sight. ‘Bugger! It’s still coming!’

‘Tree,’ Jimmy said, pointing at the old tree on the green.

The pair of them bolted over to it, grabbing hold of the lower branches and hauling themselves up into it.

‘Ha! Now what, ya mangy mutt?’ Jimmy shouted triumphantly down at the dog that had barrelled up to the tree and was now barking up at them, its front paws braced on the trunk.

‘Shut up, Jimmy,’ Thomas snapped, already regretting agreeing to that final pint. ‘Stop antagonising it.’

‘Why? What’s it going to do? Dogs can’t climb.’ He paused, thinking about that. ‘Can they?’

‘Let’s hope not,’ Thomas said, crabbily.

‘Nah. Dogs can’t climb,’ Jimmy said, confidently.

‘This is so undignified,’ Thomas complained, trying to pull his coat back into some kind of order.

Beneath them, the dog dropped to four legs and prowled around the base of the tree, growling. Then it sat down, staring balefully up at them.

‘Oh, for God’s sake. Why doesn’t the thing just bugger off? Thomas groaned.

Five minutes later, the dog was still there, its backside stubbornly planted under the tree, growling whenever either of them moved.

‘So, what’s the plan?’ Jimmy asked, bored now.

Thomas shot him a look of disbelief. ‘Why are you asking me? I don’t have a plan.’

Jimmy stared at him, astounded. ‘What do you mean you don’t have a plan? You always have a plan!’

‘Not this time I don’t. I mean, call me crazy, but I did not expect to be stuck up a tree with a grudge-bearing dog holding me hostage,’ Thomas replied, irritably. ‘Anyway, you’re the one that got us in this mess.’

‘I did not!’

‘Who was the one provoking the dog?’

‘I was only messing. I didn’t think it could get out.’

‘Well, it could, and now look.’

‘So, you don’t have a plan?’

‘No.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Then I suppose we’ll just have to wait for it to get bored and go away,’ Thomas said, heaving a put-upon sigh.

By the time they’d been up the tree for another ten minutes, Jimmy’s short attention span had evaporated, and he was beginning to get on Thomas’ last nerve. As it turned out, in the dark, it didn’t matter how nice Jimmy was to look at when he was rambling on about God knows what. Between that, his uncomfortable perch, the biting cold, and his increasingly pressing need to urinate, Thomas was contemplating simply dropping into the slavering jaws of the waiting dog just to be done with it.

Another five minutes later and Thomas found himself wondering if weeing on the dog from a height would antagonise it or send it packing. Just then, a vision of hope and salvation appeared in the unlikely form of Mr Molesley strolling down the main street towards his father’s house.

‘Mr Molesley!’ Thomas called, trying to keep the note of desperation out of his voice.

Molesley stopped and looked around, clearly puzzled about where the voice was coming from.

‘What you doing?’ Jimmy hissed.

‘What do you think? We need help.’

‘Not from that idiot, we don’t.’

Thomas glared at his fellow hostage. ‘It’s not ideal, I agree, but do you want to spend the night up this bloody tree?’

‘S’pose not,’ Jimmy conceded, grudgingly. ‘And I really need a piss.’

‘Well, shut up, then.’ Thomas cleared his throat and called out again. ‘Mr Molesley!’

‘Mr Barrow?’ Molesley asked, a frown on his face, still looking around. ‘Is that you?’

‘Yes! We need your help.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Up the tree on the green.’

Molesley swivelled his head towards the tree and began walking over.

‘Be careful!’ Thomas called, feeling dutybound to warn the man about the beast that was keeping them imprisoned.

‘Be careful of what? Hello, boy, what are you doing here?’ Molesley said, dropping his hand on the dog’s head, fondling its ears.

Thomas and Jimmy exchanged a look as the beast that had chased them up the tree leaned into Molesley’s touch, as gentle as a puppy.

Molesley squinted up into the tree. ‘Mr Barrow? And is that Jimmy up there with you, too?’

‘Hello, Mr Molesley,’ Jimmy said, lifting a hand in greeting.

‘What on earth are you doing up there?’ Molesley asked, plainly not connecting their presence in the tree with the presence of the dog beneath it.

‘That dog chased us up here,’ Thomas said, pointing at the hound.

‘Pickle did? Are you sure?’ Molesley said in surprise.

‘Well, we didn’t climb up here for the fun of it,’ Thomas bit out, beginning to lose his patience.

‘But he’s a pussy cat. Well, he’s not a pussy cat; clearly, he’s a dog. But he’s as soft as a brush, aren’t you, boy?’ Molesley said, fussing the dog a bit more.

‘Well, not twenty minutes ago, he wasn’t. He was a howling, growling beast,’ Thomas said, firmly.

‘Pickle was?’ Molesley said, doubtfully. ‘That’s not like him.’

‘It’s possible that Jimmy might have provoked him a bit,’ Thomas allowed.

On the other branch, Jimmy bristled. ‘I just shouted a few things and rattled his gate. I didn’t do owt to him!’

‘Ah, you rattled his gate, did you? That was a mistake. He doesn’t like that. Always barks at the postman,’ Molesley said, nodding wisely. ‘He doesn’t like his territory being threatened.’

‘Do you know where the dog lives?’ Thomas enquired, eager to get back on terra firma.

‘Oh, aye. Next door to me dad.’

‘Then could you be so good as to return him to his home, so we can come down from this tree?’

‘Oh, right, will do. Come on, lad,’ Molesley said, taking hold of Pickle’s collar.

Once they were a safe distance away, Thomas jumped down from his branch, Jimmy following him.

‘Thank Christ for that,’ Jimmy muttered, unbuttoning his flies.

‘What you doing?’ Thomas asked, scandalised.

‘I told you, I need a piss,’ Jimmy said, relieving himself against the trunk. ‘Ah, that’s better.’

‘For God’s sake. In the middle of the village?’

 ‘Why not?’

Thomas rolled his eyes, ignoring his own bladder. ‘You’re a heathen.’

Jimmy grinned, tucking himself away. ‘I know. Fun, in’t it?’

‘Tonight has not been fun,’ Thomas said, primly.

‘Aw, it has. ‘Cept for the dog, obviously. Although even that was fun in its own way.’ Jimmy slung his arm over Thomas’ shoulders. ‘Same time next week, Mr Barrow?’

Thomas sighed. ‘All right. But no dogs next week.’

[cbssurfer]

Same spot , different lines. Time is always ticking away and yet the more things change ,the more they stay the same.

Rincon in all her glory has stayed true to her roots, being described as

“a long peeling right point that offers up barrel sections and steep workable walls”, in the 50’s .

She still offers up the cache of gold for those patient enough to bugger the muttle. (Deal with Kooks)

Top: 1964 “Richfield Island”by Ron Stoner- unidentified surfer

Bottom: 2022, Dimitri Poulos S turn bliss

Photo📸 @flykngimages