#But why should we be surprised that Fred was rather tired of this topic?

[fredbensonenthusiast]

Fred Benson on religion: enragingly and bafflingly superficial

A Very Queer Family Indeed - Sex, Religion, and the Bensons in Victorian Britain, Simon Goldhill, 2016

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 8

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 8 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 7 / Part 9

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: swearing, slight (?) angst, far too much narration about the beauty of stars/space...

Historical Inaccuracies: once more, n/a. i’m on a roll!

Word Count: 4.3k (again, haha)

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Lightning crashed cacophonously outside of your bedroom window, and you jumped in surprise. Rarely did it storm in London. Normally it just rained. But the weather tonight was fierce— thunder boomed like a woman scorned, and the rain lashed against the sides of the house, roiling like the tempered sea.

The phone in the hallway rang, and you yelped, then proceeded to haul yourself from your bed so as to answer it.

“Y/N?” Heather stood in the hallway and glanced between you and the phone. “It’s just a phone, yeah?”

You nodded and Heather crossed her arms. “You’ve been jumpy for weeks. Why don’t you just call him?”

The phone rang on persistently, and you wanted to pick it up, if only to make the noise stop. But Heather was blocking your way.

“Call who.” It wasn’t a question. You didn’t need to ask who she meant, and she didn’t need to specify.

“You know very well that I’m talking about Brian,” Heather leveled her gaze on you. “Just call him. Say whatever you have to say. Hell if I know what’s going on, but I give bloody good advice and you’d be silly not to follow it.”

“Heather,” you sighed. “Would you let me pick up the phone to speak to whomever it is that’s already calling?”

“How do you know it’s for you, Princess?” With that, she snatched up the phone. “Hello? This is Heather.” She paused, then smirked to herself. “Of course, Freddie. I’ll get her on the phone.” To you, she said, “Fine. You win. But only because Rog’s already called me twice today.” She pushed the phone into your hand and entered your shared room. She flopped down on her bed, picking up a copy of Music Life.

“Hello, Fred?”

“Y/N, darling!” Freddie always began his phone calls like this. “Fancy a drink?”

“Freddie, it’s—” you glanced at your watch, “eight-thirty at night.”

“Yes, so why do you sound like you’re about to go to bed?”

You sighed. “Why now, Freddie? You must know I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, Y/N, you’re never in the mood.” There it was. He knew you too well. “And I want a chat.” His voice had dipped, taken on a quality of quiet honesty, a certain degree of sobriety.

After weeks of carefully avoiding the topic of Mary, and the topic of his feelings in general, would Freddie finally feel okay to tell you what was going on?

You hoped so. You’d been too anxious about Freddie’s possible reaction to your asking— you’d learned your lesson with these things— and so you had not asked at all.

“I’m on my way.”

“That’s the spirit! See you soon, darling!” There was a click.

You poked your head into the bedroom, “Heather, I’m going over to Freddie’s.”

“Sayonara, Y/N,” Heather waved at you over the top of her magazine. She seemed distracted by daydreams of a certain blonde-haired drummer. She’d probably pick up the phone and ring him as soon as you’d left. They’d talk into the night like the moon and the sun crossing paths between the dawn or the dusk, as you’d once done with Brian, your very own kindred spirit.

You didn’t even notice that you’d wound the rainbow scarf around your neck until you were too far down the road and it was too late to discard it again.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Freddie?”

“In the kitchen, dearie!”

You discarded your outerwear by the door and padded on socked feet into the tile-floored room. You were surprised to discover that it was not only Freddie standing there, but Deacy and Roger too.

“Hiya,” you said slowly, in puzzlement. No one was drinking alcohol, unless someone had invented tea bags for gin in the past twenty-four hours and neglected to inform you.

“Y/N, how nice,” Deacy smiled and toasted you with his tea.

“Yes, I think…” you murmured.

Roger was drumming his fingers on his mug. He seemed peculiarly high-strung.

“What’s going on?” you asked when no one spoke.

Freddie was quick to sweep a friendly arm around your shoulders. “Why, a gathering of friends, of course. Are you now also opposed to friendship with the three of us, hm? Not enough to alienate one of four?”

They wanted to talk about Brian. That was why you were here.

You didn’t want to talk about Brian. “I didn’t alienate him,” you said irritatedly. Freddie let his arm fall.

“Just trying to speak your sciency language,” he shrugged.

“You haven’t spoken to Brian for weeks,” Roger supplied, as though you needed to be reminded.

“I’m well aware.”

“But—” began John.

“This has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him,” you retorted. “I said something stupid, I apologised. He didn’t accept my apology, and here we are.”

Deacy looked positively crestfallen. He tried so unwaveringly hard to hold everyone together, and the look on his face almost made you take back your harsh assessment of the situation. Almost. Sometimes you had to stand your ground.

“Y/N,” Roger said cautiously, “you should know that he was rather close to his aunt.”

You closed your eyes in anguish. You’d tried not to think about how your words to Brian might have brought him painful memories, brought grief very close to the surface. Ill-willed or not, it was clear you’d hurt him.

But still, a stubbornness fought back within you. He had let you worry, and he had not given you a chance, and that had torn at you.

“He’s as delicate as his music, darling.”

Perhaps Freddie had put it perfectly, because you understood. And you would forgive Brian as soon as he forgave you. Before he forgave you.

“He just needs time,” John placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

You were about to nod when another voice sounded in the hall.

“Freddie?”

“In the kitchen, darling!”

You glanced at Freddie. “Wait a minute.”

Brian’s curly head appeared in the door.

“Oh, you did not do this,” your sympathy dissipated at the sight of Brian, for he roused in you an anger at yourself, a relentless hatred that swathed you in despair and confusion.

He appeared to feel the same way about you. “Freddie,” Brian said sternly.

Freddie threw his hands up. “Why is it that you all seem to think this was my idea?”

“Because it’s usually your idea,” you deadpanned.

“So you can agree on something, yay!” Freddie looked ready to give this fact a standing ovation. “Only, it wasn’t my idea. It was Roger’s.”

You turned to glare at Roger, only to find that he wasn’t where he’d been before.

And nor was Deacy.

There were two doors to the kitchen, and from the one to your left there came the clicking of a lock.

“Time to go, I think,” said Freddie, and before you could register what was going on, he’d pushed Brian into the room with you and slammed the second door shut with himself on the other side.

The second lock clicked.

“What the hell, Freddie!” Brian shouted as you flew at the door to uselessly rattle its handle.

“Roger. It was Roger’s idea,” you heard Freddie sigh.

“Bloody good one too,” said Roger from the opposite side.

“This is ridiculous,” you declared.

“Let us out,” Brian shook the other door’s handle, and his eyes flashed angrily when you caught them.

“No.” That was Deacy. “Not until the two of you talk. Or jump each other’s bones. Either one works, but it’s got to be one of them.”

“John Richard Deacon!” you bellowed, a flush flaring across your cheeks. A twin flush coloured Brian’s features, and you stared. Even in anger he bore his serene beauty, soft-lipped and deathly still, though his eyes burned like dying stars.

No voices answered your shout this time. They’d bloody well left.

“Stop looking at me,” Brian snapped, and your eyes immediately fell away from him.

“Sorry,” you muttered.

“You say that too often.”

“You don’t say it enough!” you cried. “You and your bloody pride.”

He scoffed. “Yes, Y/N, pretend you understand.”

You groaned. “Not like you’ve given me a chance to.”

“Well, god, it’s a wonder when you’re so—”

“You know what, Brian,” you whirled to face him, “shut up for a bloody second.”

His lips pressed closed, more in surprise than in obedience, but it would have to do.

“I have not spoken to you for weeks, and I don’t even fucking know why.”

He sputtered. “Because— because you’re being impossible!”

“I’m being impossible? How can I be, when you haven’t let me?”

“Well—”

But you’d had enough. You could be gentle, but what was gentleness if not offset by honesty?

“What is it that you want me to say? Honestly, tell me, because I’d like to know.”

He carded a hand through his hair. “I don’t—”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“No, alright, I don’t! Happy?”

“Not even close.”

“Excellent. What a fine pair we make,” Brian grumbled dramatically, throwing up his hands before letting them fall to his sides. He looked defeated, he looked tired. You were tired. Tired of arguing with a person who was supposed to be your friend.

You heaved a sigh. “But I do know one thing.” You approached him carefully. He didn’t step away. “I need you,” you said, “and quite frankly, you need me. I’m sorry that I was so insensitive. But if you won’t talk to me about this, then we’ve got to carry on as we did before.” His gaze was intense when he peered at you beneath his eyelashes, but you did not blink.

“You’re my friend, Brian,” you took his hands in yours, “my wonderful friend, who lends me beautiful scarves without a second thought and talks about the superiority of short-period comets, and I don’t want to see you failing Carmichael’s class because some idiot didn’t help you with your derivatives.”

He didn’t pull his hands back toward him, he let you hold them. The unbearable heat of his anger had turned to warmth, and it flooded through his hands and enveloped your own.

A smile ghosted his mouth. Your heart skipped dangerously.

“That was surprisingly touching, Y/N.”

You could have laughed in relief, in elation.

“Charming, Bri,” you opted for apathy instead. “You could’ve left out the surprising bit, you know.”

“Oh, no,” he murmured. “Can’t let you get too confident, love.”

You were all too aware that his hands still rested with yours, all too aware of the almost imperceptible pout that his lips always bore, all too aware of the way the light fell across his face and cast his eyes in a shadow that made them all the more lovely to behold. Tantalising.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved,” Brian said softly. “It was unforgivably childish.”

“And yet you are forgiven,” you spared him a small smile.

“Thank you.”

He squeezed your hands tightly and you hung on to the feeling even as he let go.

“Now,” he raised his voice, “would you let us out, please?”

You heard Roger laugh, and the door unlocked.

You followed Brian through the opened door and into the living room, where you found Deacy and Freddie handing Roger crumpled pound notes, the second looking decidedly more peeved than the first.

Roger’s expression was smug as he tapped ash from his cigarette into a flower-patterned ashtray. “We had a little bet…”

You glanced at John and Freddie. “You two. You know he’s going to hold this over you forever, right?”

Deacy nodded, closing his eyes. “Worst decision I’ve made in my life.”

Roger snorted in laughter. “And that’s saying something.”

Freddie only drank his tea cooly, took a drag from his own cigarette.

“Funny,” Roger reclined lazily on the sofa, “that’s the second time that trick has worked.”

“You’ve locked arguing friends into a kitchen before?” said Brian.

“Well, not a kitchen, but a room, yes,” Roger grinned and blew smoke into the air. Deacy waved it away, scrunching up his nose. “Actually,” he amended, “it was more of a cupboard, but yeah.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure why you’re surprised,” you responded to Brian.

John sighed. “Please stop encouraging him. He’ll never let it go.”

Freddie hummed in agreement, pursuing a staring contest with Roger. “Yes, don’t give him any good ideas.”

“Far too late for that.”

“I think I need a stronger tea,” said Freddie.

And just like that, everything was back to normal. Or, more or less normal, anyway.

You doubted you would ever be able to look at Brian in the same way as you had before.

Something had changed.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

March became April, and April turned to May.

May. Funny that to some people, it was only the name of a month.

But to you— to Freddie, to John, to Roger— May was Brian May. Soft-spoken but passionate, controlling, caring, motherly, silly, stubborn, and pensive was Brian May.

Opulent but direly shy Freddie, goofy and sweet-hearted Deacy, rebellious yet thoughtful Roger. The four of them together were magic.

It brightened your day when you went to their rehearsals, where John threw peanuts into Brian’s hair during his guitar solos, and Freddie struck up random chords on the piano to pen a parody, and Roger twirled his drumsticks in elaborate arrangements between fills, and Brian— well. Brian. Your breath hitched when he smiled at you.

Queen was the camaraderie and escapism you didn’t know you needed.

They treated you like family, like a part of their family, and there was never a band meeting without you to weigh in your opinion, never a rehearsal without you to make suggestions for this, that, or the other to make Queen just a touch better.

They had now begun writing for the new album, and it was an extensive process. It was untitled and contained a handful of half-written songs. Or so they all claimed. You’d only heard snippets of two songs.

The main issue lay in that Queen was attempting to juggle studies, part-time jobs, home life (in Deacy’s case), and the band. To add to this, there was the fact that they had only an empty lecture hall in which to practice. The space was simply not designed for the creative experimentation of four usually-squabbling musicians. Thus, rehearsal location became the main topic of discussion during the band “meetings”, which involved the five of you, as well as Queen’s new manager, John Reid, and normally descended into chatter over tea and biscuits after someone started off on a tangent and the others too forgot the world around them.

But when the world really fell away for you was every Thursday night, when Brian turned up at your place to learn derivatives and to teach guitar.

His improvement was incredible— not that you thought he was so terrible at maths that you found it incredible that he could improve, but rather, it impressed you how quickly he improved. It was like a wave, building, building, building, and then suddenly, understanding. And his understanding was brilliant.

When maths and science were involved, Brian spoke another language. He spoke it so fluently, it was like he’d invented it. His eyes lit up, and he just talked. God, he gushed. He was immersed, he lost himself in it entirely, in the numbers and theories and photographs and diagrams.

He loved the stars as much as you.

You’d never been able to explain to anyone what it was like, to feel your breath being taken away by the world above, even when there was little to be seen during daylight. The sky was wide and open and forever, a hopefulness in the unknown— night after night, the stars would be there to welcome you home.

You had never felt like a person; you had always felt like a star. Distant, cold at first sight, but white hot to the touch. The days were your bane, but night brought you glory.

And when Brian spoke of the universe, he was the night.

He also seemed impressed with your progress, in guitar, and if you were being honest, you were proud of yourself too.

It was getting far easier to move between difficult chords, now that your fingers were accustomed to the movements and strengthened by stretching. You were getting the hang of vibrato and of using your wrist to help you create certain sounds, rather than relying on your fingers alone.

And you were enjoying yourself.

Brian could see it too.

“Amazing,” he said one day, shaking his head. “Look at you!”

You laughed in delight, because there was a certain euphoria in hitting the right notes at the right times, melding them together to create melodies, and not only that, but you were the one creating the melodies, the music. It was the purest rush of power.

Then there came the day when you could play all of ‘The Width of a Circle’. Not perfectly, not without a few mishaps and mistakes, but play the whole eight-minute song you could, nonetheless. And you had no doubt that the amount your skill had improved by was thanks to Brian.

“Want to play it together?”

You glanced up at him.

His chin was inclined ever-so-slightly, and his eyes twinkled.

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“Lead us in, then,” he nodded to you, and you began the opening riff.

Brian joined in easily, and you almost lost your concentration in awe of the way he had harmonised his playing to yours.

You were tapping your foot to keep the beat, and he was leaning back and nodding his head to the music. He grinned and you smiled, and he moved to lean his shoulder against yours as he played.

You laughed through a chord progression and leaned so that you were playing back to back.

You could feel the shift of his shoulders against your back, and the warmth that emanated from his skin, and you closed your eyes as you played, because never before had you felt your soul so intertwined with that of another person. It was bliss.

The song was over far sooner than an eight-minute song should have seemed, and when the last notes rang out from the guitars, you turned around.

His expression was one of pure joy, and you imagined that your face bore a similar mien.

“That was— that was fantastic.” You had searched in vain for a word and finally settled on fantastic, because nothing would do the moment justice anyhow.

“We should do this more often,” Brian said, pushing his curls back from his face with another smile. He was always smiling these days. And how much like a star he looked when he smiled.

“You think you could handle being in my presence more than just every Thursday?”

“On top of every time we have rehearsals or meetings for the band,” he reminded you.

You nodded. “See, I don’t think you could handle it.”

Really, he would probably be okay, assuming he didn’t secretly hate you. But you, on the other hand, would probably not survive seeing him with his sunlit eyes and half-buttoned shirts more often than you already did.

He bit his lip, and of this you were painfully aware.

“No,” he murmured, “I don’t think I could handle it.”

You sucked in a breath.

You both jumped at the sound of Big Ben chiming, and the staticky feel of the air around you was relieved.

“Better go,” said Bri apologetically. “Fred’s wants us up early tomorrow, to discuss concepts for the album, but I guess you’ll be coming to that..?”

“Oh, yeah,” you remembered. “Nearly forgot about that.”

“Good thing you have me here,” he winked, then set to gathering up his things.

He didn’t see how you pressed your lips together, wrapped your arms around your yourself. It was starting to annoy you, how you behaved around him. You had no reason to feel so… so… so strangely. It was just Brian. Stupidly beautiful astrophysicist Brian.

Oh.

Despite Bri’s comment about not giving you “the wrong idea” all those weeks ago, when you’d made the mistake of inquiring about his disappearance, you found yourself thinking about him more often than not, and longing for his touch upon your skin.

Oh god.

You would not go down that path. It would ruin you, become your undoing.

The sooner he left tonight, the better.

The sooner he left, the better.

You could only hope that Queen would be scheduling their next tour for the near future.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Good morning, darling!” said Freddie the following day when you arrived at his place for the meeting.

“Hiya Freddie, everyone.” Polite greetings chorused back to you.

Freddie, Deacy, Bri, and Reid were already assembled around Freddie’s coffee table in the sitting room, but it appeared Roger was running late, as per usual.

Atop your list of problems for the time being, however, was the fact that there was barely any room to sit down.

Sitting room my arse.

Reid and Deacy, immersed in conversation, each occupied an armchair on one side of the table, and Freddie and Brian were squeezed onto a loveseat that already looked decidedly uncomfortable.

Brian stood up and walked over to you. “Let me take that,” he said, easing the weight of your messenger bag from your shoulder. His fingertips skimmed your shoulder and your skin tingled.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him gratefully as he set down your bag.

Then Roger arrived, big sunglasses barely obscuring the bags beneath his eyes. He’d obviously been out partying the previous night. Likely he’d been out with Heather, who had arrived home in the wee hours of the morning, waking you in the process.

“Morning everyone,” Roger said drowsily, neither bothering to acknowledge replies nor his surroundings as he took the spot Brian had previously tenanted.

“Rog, that was my seat.”

Roger scoffed airily. “Was. And now it has a new owner.” He shuffled farther to Freddie’s side of the sofa. “Go on, squeeze in. There’s room for your spindly limbs yet.”

Brian crossed his arms. “And leave nowhere for the lady to sit?” he gestured to you and you pulled your cardigan more tightly around your shoulders, slightly flustered at being addressed a lady.

Freddie sighed laboriously. “Oh, hurry up and work something out, darlings, we’ve got work to do!”

“Yes,” John interjected, raising his teacup from its saucer. “We’ve got to sort out those finances Sheffield duped us out of.”

You didn’t want to be a bother. “It’s fine, I’ll just stand.”

“For the whole meeting?” asked Brian.

You shrugged. “Can’t be that long, can it?”

“Nonsense— you know how Fred goes on. You sit down. I’ll stand,” Bri insisted.

“Really, no, it was your spot first.”

He shook his head. “I won’t—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Roger yanked on Brian’s arm and Brian fell onto the sofa with an oof. Then the drummer snatched your sleeve and pushed you into Brian’s lap.

Upon reflex, Brian’s arms wrapped around your middle to catch you, and your hands went straight to his.

Deacy’s cup clinked against its porcelain dish. Reid smiled faintly in confusion, but Roger looked smug and Freddie folded his hands neatly.

You blushed. Brian’s fingers were warm on your stomach. But you wouldn’t let any of it faze you— no need to make any more of a scene than you already had.

Brian started, beginning to pull away, “I’m so sorry—”

You cut him off, patting his hands. “So what’s on the agenda for today, Deacy?”

John blinked. Then his features broadened into a smile, which he tried to hide.

“What?”  you said with the fabricated nonchalance of an Oscar-winning actress. “Can friends not sit together these days? Will you be scandalised if I show my ankle?” You tugged on your trouser leg and wriggled your foot.

“Aha, no,” Deacy said carefully. He was making the face he made when he was trying not to say whatever innuendo had just formed on his tongue. The others looked on in silence, rapt with attention.

“Hm?” You touched Brian’s knee with light fingers. You could’ve sworn that his breath caught; he went very still behind you, beneath you.

Freddie broke the awkward silence. “We haven’t got all day, you know. What’ve we got to talk about, John?”

“You first. You called the meeting, Fred.”

“Oh. Yes. Well. I had an idea for costumes,” Freddie began.

“Costumes?” said Reid. “Fred, you’ve yet to write the music for the next album. I can book you a tour without costumes, but I can’t bloody well book you a tour without music to play on it.”

Freddie waved his hand. “Music comes to us like breathing, dearie. Don’t you worry about that. We’ll have an album and more in no time, but image, image takes time.”

“Time and effort,” agreed Roger, who adored the glamour aspect of performance no less than Freddie.

Reid sighed. “Alright. So, costumes. Budget, John?”

Deacy put down his tea and flipped through a notebook. “We’re alright for a couple hundred pounds,” he said.

Reid raised his eyebrows. “A couple hundred? Where’d you get that kind of money? You’re not peddlin’ drugs, are you?”

Deacy shook his head placidly. “Pays not to have a studio to rehearse in.”

“What’ve you got in mind, Fred?” Brian made his first point of conversation, and you felt his soft breath on your ear. You quickly pushed the thought from your mind— focus, costumes.

Freddie grinned. “Zandra Rhodes.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: this is absolutely one of the chapters i’m most proud of writing. i think i put a bit too much of myself into my stories sometimes, though. let me know you get tired of me talking about the ethereality of starlight ;)

taglist: @melting-obelisks​ @hgmercury39​  @stardust-killer-queen​ @topsecretdeacon

Masterpost / Part 7 / Part 9

[kalimagik]

Chaos at the Burrow - Chapter 4 Journey to Hogwarts

A/N: CHAPTER FOUR IS HERE! I wrote this chapter with the help and fantastic support of @obsessedwithrandomthings, @iliveiloveiwrite, @heloisedaphnebrightmore, and @firewhisky-kisses! This has been such an amazing experience and so much fun! This chapter has some teasing, drinking, angst, and LOTS OF FEELINGS! I hope you all enjoy. 

Warnings: Drinking, intoxication 

Series Masterlist

McGonagall obviously wanted to push the girls to their maximum abilities during their weeks at Hogwarts. She had the professors teaching the girls as much as possible during their crash course, especially since the Ministry had sent no word about potentially returning the five girls to their own world. However, the crash course was coming to an end and McGonagall decided that exams would be similar to the O.W.L.s for the fifth years. Fortunately, the girls all read the books, so they knew how rigorous the exams were and how much they would need to study. 

Having so many Hogwarts graduates around actually came in handy for Ana. Ginny would let her practice spells on her and give her tips for her casting. Harry turned out to be a huge help with Defense Against the Dark Arts, even though it was one of her best subjects. Fred and George were more of distractions than helpers, but it gave her a good break. Ron would also stay up late with her and go through the hundreds of flashcards she had made. At one point, Fred even commented that she should have been in Ravenclaw, but she just brushed him off. 

When she wasn’t studying at the Weasleys house, all of the girls held themselves in the library. Ellie and Ana did their best to keep everyone on topic all the time, but various discussions often made their way to the table. 

“Which plant can be used to heal most wounds?” Ellie asked, reading from a notecard. 

“That’s easy,” Kiara waved her hand, leaning on her other one. “Dittany. Give me something a little harder.” 

“You only know the herbology questions because you get special attention from Professor Longbottom,” Des rolled her eyes, trying to focus on the potions book in front of her. 

Ana giggled before speaking. “Des, that’s just an easy one in general. I think we’ve all written about its effects in our fics at one point or another. Ask me one, El.” 

“Alright, how about this DADA one. Impedimenta is an example of what kind of spell?” 

“A jinx!” Ana beamed, “Ginny let me try that one out on her. She is the queen of jinxes and hexes after all!” 

“Oh common!” Mel snorted. “You’re only so good at this because you have a whole house full of people fighting for your attention to help you study.” 

“I’m surprised you can even focus in that house,” Kiara wiggled her eyebrows, teasing Ana as the girl’s face turned as red as the Weasleys' hair. 

“She did tell me that Charlie was visiting the other day,” Ellie grinned, actually joining in on the distracting conversation. “Something about him forgetting she was there and walking around shirtless?” 

“Stuff it, you guys,” Ana blushed, looking back down at her note cards. 

“Yeah you guys, we know that she only has eyes for RONNNN,” Kiara sang. “Has he made any moves yet, babes? Or is he being a slowpoke like he was with Hermione? Did they ever actually date or was that just for the book?” 

Ana shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not sure. No one has really mentioned Hermione in the house. Now that I think about it, we haven’t even met her yet. Have any of you?” 

All the other girls nodded their heads. “I’m rather surprised,” Ellie spoke up. “I was kind of hoping to meet her.” 

“I’m sure we will eventually,” Des waved off the oddness of the subject, even though Hermione had been such a large part of the original story. 

-------

More days passed and soon the girls were staying in the library late into the evening. Sometimes even Blaise or Neville would join them. Even though the two Professors were staying lowkey with Ellie and Kiara, the three other girls knew exactly what was going on there. 

Blaise gave Ellie a LOT of one on one time and focused most of his attention on her, helping the other girls when they asked. Neville was still playing hard to get, not wanting to break Headmistress McGonagall’s rules. Kiara, however, had different ideas. She was still just as forward with him as she had been and as exams grew closer, everyone could tell that she was wearing him down. 

The night before exams was the worst. Ana was definitely prepared for an all-nighter. The girls said goodbye to each other at Hogwarts around 11:30, well after the normal curfew time, but Ana didn’t feel like she was as ready as she should be. Luckily, everyone in the Weasley household were quite the night owls. 

“Let’s try it one more time, Ana,” Harry instructed, watching Ana and Ginny practice. “If I could teach this to Neville during fifth year, I’m sure I can teach it to you now. It’s just the stunning spell.” 

Ana contorted her face, thinking back to the fifth year she had read about, “OH! You mean during Dumbledore’s Army. Alright, I think I got it.” Before Harry could ask how she knew about the DA, Ana had already taken her stance, pointing her wand at Ginny. “Stupefy!” 

A bright flash emerged from Ana’s maple wand. Ginny went flying before she could throw up a protection shield. “Brilliant, Ana!” Ginny cheered as she stood up off the ground.” I think you have defense against the dark arts down!” 

“Excellent, maybe we could do potions now?” 

“I think Fred and George would be your best bet for that, but they’re at the shop tonight,” Ginny apologized. “I really wasn’t that great at the subject and neither was Harry.” 

“I could help you study,” Ron spoke up from the entryway that connected the kitchen and living room. “I may not be fantastic at it, but I picked up a thing or two about studying over the years.” Ana knew he was referring to studying with Hermione, but chose not to say anything. 

Not having to do a practical for potions was nice, but memorizing ingredients without actually using them was more difficult than it seemed. Ana and Ron set up camp at the kitchen table. When 2 am rolled around, Harry and Ginny finally went to bed, leaving the two by themselves. 

Even though she was beginning to feel tired, Ana wasn’t ready for bed just yet. 

“What is a possible side effect of Pepperup Potion?” Ron asked for probably the third time in the past hour. 

“Why can’t I ever get this one?” Ana whined, burying her face in her hands. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Ron consoled her. In efforts to do so, he pulled one of her hands away from her face, taking it in his own. He sympathetically rubbed his thumb in circles on her hand while speaking to her. “You’ve got a lot of information going on in that brain of yours. It’s okay to forget some things.” 

Ana looked into his blue eyes, happy that he was there with her and she wasn’t studying by herself. Then she remembered that she didn’t actually know his relationship status and pulled her hand away from his, even though she didn’t want to. She swallowed loud enough that Ron turned towards her again. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I know you are just here to learn the basics, not to get caught up in anything.” 

“Well no, it’s not that,” Ana shook her head. “You’ve been really great, Ron, but I don’t know, umm, I don’t know how to say this…What about Hermione?” She spit it out. She was too curious not to. Normally, she would have held her tongue, but she couldn’t tonight. Maybe it was the fact that it was after 2 AM or maybe it was the amount of time she had been spending with Ron. Whatever it was, she just had to know. 

“H-How do you know about her?” Ron looked taken aback. He leaned back in his chair, putting more space between him and Ana. “Are you a seer or something?” 

Ana chuckled at his theory. That could be one way to explain everything she and her friends knew. Ana would have to keep that in the back of her mind. “That’s a long story, but no. I just heard about her at school a little bit, that’s all.” 

Ron sighed, playing with the flashcards in his hands. “I figured someone would tell you about her. We were together, but her career pulled us in different directions. Somewhere over the last few years, we just fell out of love. We grew apart. She still comes around for Ginny and Harry, but there hasn’t been anything between us for the last year or so.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ana may have apologized, but she felt her heart swell in her chest. Maybe she had a chance at a great love with the redhead that she had only read about y/n having in fanfiction pieces. 

“It’s no big deal, I’m moving on.” Ron’s eyes met Ana’s piercing green ones. The smile on his face said all she needed to know. “You’ve got exams tomorrow,” Ron changed the subject. “Let’s go over these one more time and then get you to bed?” Ana nodded in agreement, taking in as much information as she could next to the fantasies that were playing in her head with the boy sitting beside her. 

-------

Exam week was just as strenuous as they all imagined. Honestly, it was worse than exam week at muggle university. Des repeated multiple times that her brain might explode from the amount of information that they had all crammed in their brains. Mel had to get some pepperup potion from Madame Pomphrey after Draco, being a healer and all, told her that she couldn’t keep up the studying schedule she had been. He seemed to notice a lot of things about her. 

Finally, Friday came around. After six exams in five days, Ana didn’t think she could take anymore. They only had History of Magic that morning and would find out after lunch what their marks were, based on the O.W.L. grading scale. 

“Mel, what did you get for the last question on that exam?” Kiara asked, serving some potatoes and chicken onto her plate. 

“That was the Gringotts question?” Kiara nodded. “I think it was 1474!” 

“Damnit! I wrote 1476. Maybe Binns will take it?” Kiara shrugged, forgetting about the test altogether when Neville walked into the Great Hall, papers in hand. 

“Are those our exams?” Ellie asked excitedly. 

“I have all 5 right here,” Neville grinned, holding the papers up. 

“Brilliant!” Ellie took her paper first, Neville handing out the rest until Kiara got hers. 

“So, Professor Longbottom, I guess this means you won’t be my professor anymore, huh?” Kiara winked, pulling Neville to sit next to her and not even looking at her report card yet. 

“How’d everyone do?” Des asked, looking up from her grades. “My best was Defense, but I passed everything else, so no retaking.” 

“Dang, defense against the dark arts was my worst one. It looks like I barely passed. It was the stupid practical!” Ellie complained. 

Mel leaned over the girl’s shoulder, peeking at her grades. “You got 3 outstandings and 2 exceeds expectations! That’s amazing, El!” 

“True, how’d you do?” 

“O in history of magic, obviously,” Mel chuckled. “Then 3 E’s and 2 A’s. I’m happy about it.” 

Ana was still looking at her report card, the excitement bubbling up in her, but she had someone she wanted to tell. “Ki, what about you?” she asked before someone could ask her about her grades. 

“O in defense against the dark arts, an E in potions, and then the rest A’s. WAIT! I got an A in herbology? What is this, Neville?” Kiara’s gaze turned to Neville, who shot his hands up defensively. 

“I didn’t grade the exams,” he explained. 

The other four girls just began laughing. “I bet if you were as interested in the subject as the professor, you would have done better,” Ellie teased her, earning a playful slap on the hand from Kiara across the table. 

“Mrs. Weasley said we could all go back to the Burrow to celebrate if you guys want to,” Ana offered. “Neville, Blaise, and Draco can come too, I’m sure,” she added, looking down at their now former herbology professor. 

“That would be great!” Mel exclaimed, everyone else nodding in agreement. 

“She also said that her and Mr. Weasley were going to visit Bill and Fleur, so we’ll have the house. Ginny, Ron, and Harry are getting drinks after work!” 

“It sounds brilliant!” Des beamed. “We can teach them some drinking games from our world!” 

“Ooooo, getting Neville drunk again, huh?” Kiara spoke out loud with a devilish grin. 

“If you’d like!” Ana laughed. “We can all take the floo network over whenever we’re ready!” 

-------

Still not used to the smoke and soot, Ana coughed as she stepped out of the fireplace, the last one to arrive from Hogwarts. Everyone was gathered in the living room and the group was larger than Ana expected, but with the number of people that already lived in the house, adding 7 more didn’t seem like that many at the time. 

Ana scanned the room for a specific redhead who was already making his way towards her. 

“How’d you do?” he asked, holding his hands out in anticipation. 

“O’s and one E!” Ana beamed. She could barely smile before Ron wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up in celebration. 

“Bloody hell! You’re a genius!” Ron grinned widely. The rest of the noise in the house stopped as Ana’s friends watched the interaction. They were all smiling knowingly. 

Ana was still in her own world when someone coughed. Hermione was standing next to Ginny. Even though she hadn’t introduced herself, all the girls knew exactly who she was, hair still slightly bushy despite being in her twenties. 

“Uh, everyone, this is Hermione,” Harry introduced, his arm around Ginny’s waist now. “I sort of invited her tonight, I hope you don’t mind. I know it’s your celebration, but I have told her so much about all of you.” 

Mel broke the silence. “Hello, I’m Melanie Hunter.” She shook the witch's hand and the rest followed her. “Hi, I’m Anastasia, but you can call me Ana,” the last girl introduced herself, Hermione only taking her hand for a brief moment. “Pleasure.” Ana’s smile faltered slightly, but she held her ground anyway. Hermione was always one of her favorite characters and this introduction did not go the way she had expected it to. 

“Now that we’re all acquainted, why don’t we get started?” Blaise asked, moving closer to Ellie. 

“Most definitely,” Mel grinned, looking at Des for direction. 

“Right, we are going to play some muggle drinking games tonight. Two to get us all to the appropriate level of drunk and one for us to be a little stupid and get to know each other a little better. Now, everyone, sit in a circle, drink in hand.” Des explained, plopping on the ground.

Kiara explained the first game, bus driver. They used a deck of muggle cards that Fred and George kept for rigged card tricks and everyone eventually got the game down. Everyone’s adrenaline was already pumping, hoping not to be the one who had to go through the pyramid. After a few rounds, the game switched to stack cup. 

Draco enchanted the glass cups to keep from breaking and Ginny found a ping pong ball. Ellie turned out to be ridiculously good at the game and continuously lapping Blaise, forcing him to drink a new cup every other round. However, Kiara wound up drinking the bitch cup. The mixture of fire whiskey, butterbeer, and some other liquors lying around was enough for her to twist her face up while drinking. 

“Alright, I think we’re all good and buzzed,” Harry laughed, pulling Ginny into his lap, “What’s the third game?” Everyone else gathered back up in the living room. Des chuckled to herself as she saw Draco and Mel sit next to each other, but so stiff. They looked like they wanted to lean into each other, but were nervous.

Ellie let the silence continue for a bit to build anticipation, but then ultimately spoke the name. “Truth or Dare. Except, in this version, if someone catches you lying when you choose truth, you have to finish your drink and if you don’t do your dare, you have to finish your drink. And seeing as how everyone is at wonderful levels right now, it is an incentive to do whatever you are told too.” 

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to chuck everywhere,” Kiara laughed, sitting extremely close to Neville. Everyone looked wearily around, the twins already looking devious. They couldn’t wait for their turn to dare people. 

After going for a while, George had to turn his hair green, courtesy of Fred. Neville had to explain how and when he fell for Kiara. Ellie had to explain the 27 inches reference to Blaise - she was mortified. Ginny had to run a naked lap - all of her brothers clenched their eyes shut while Harry tried to block the view from the other boys. Hermione opted to drink when she was dared to give Fred a lap dance. And Mel had to painfully recite a Draco smut story that she had read back at home. The girl was beet red and stumbling through the entire summary, Draco laughing next to her. They did seem to be leaning into each other now, so it turned sweet.

“Des, you’re turn. Truth or Dare?” Ana asked the girl across the circle. 

“Pshhh, dare. Duh,” Des crossed her arms, waiting to hear what she would have to do. 

Her confident air was convincing until Kiara told her what she had to do. “I dare you to write a smutty love letter to Sirius.” The grin she wore on her face was pure evil. Harry on the other hand looked taken aback. 

“A love letter to my godfather?” 

“Oh yeah! Des is IN LOVE with him!” Mel was laughing so hard that tears started to form in the corners of her eyes. 

“Keep your trap shut!” Des rose from her chair, tackling Mel. “They don’t need to know about that!” 

“But this is a game about getting to know each other and they won’t know you if they don’t know that,” Ellie laughed, the sound just as loud as Mel’s. 

“So are you going to do it?” Ana asked, eyes wide, the grin on her face huge. 

“Get me a paper and quill,” Des rolled her eyes, getting off of Mel and leaning on the side table to write. “This will take a while, so go on to the next person.” 

“I think it’s Ron’s turn!” Ginny pointed out, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Brilliant! Ronnikins, truth or dare?” Fred asked. He already had a mischievous look in his eye. 

“Truth,” Ron said confidently. 

“Fine, if you could date one girl in this circle who would it be?” Fred asked immediately. Ron’s ears began to turn red as he tensed up. His eyes flickered from Ana on his right to Hermione who was diagonal on the left.  

“Wait, no! I meant dare!” 

Fred huffed at his younger brother, pretending to decide whether he would allow the change or not. “Fine, Ronald,” Fred emphasized his name. “I dare you to kiss the person whose hand you’ve been brushing all night.” Ana and Ron turned bright red simultaneously. She definitely didn’t think that anyone had noticed how Ron’s fingers gently ran across hers behind their backs. 

All of her friends ‘oooo’d as they looked directly at her. Ana’s eyes nervously ran around the circle, spotting Hermione taking a sip of her drink, looking annoyed. “You already switched once, no switching again,” Fred warned, smugly drinking his own cup of fire whiskey. 

Ron turned to face Ana, a shy, side smile sitting on his face. “I can drink if you want.” 

Ana’s mind was running a million miles a minute. Of course she wanted to kiss him! But his ex-girlfriend was sitting right there! She bit her lip, a nervous habit she’d picked up. “Kiss him, kiss him!” Kiara began to chant, knowing Ana would need a slight push. 

“Guess we have to give the people what they want,” Ron smirked, leaning in. Ana couldn’t keep herself from smiling when she met his lips for a few moments. She was trying her hardest to contain her smile when they pulled apart, fidgeting slightly as she held her hands in her lap. 

Everyone was still chattering and laughing when Hermione scoffed and stood up. She briskly walked out of the room, mumbling that she needed air. Ana met Ginny’s eyes almost instantly. She felt bad. She didn’t mean to step on any toes. When Ginny also left the room, Des looked at Ana with a confused face. “What’s that about?” 

“Uhhhh,” Ana didn’t really know what to say. It wasn’t her place to explain Hermione’s feelings - and frankly, she didn’t know what Hermione was saying. “I’m going to get a sip of water,” Ana excused herself instead. As she left the room, she heard everyone as they bagered Ron. She heard him explain how they had broken up. Not particularly wanting to listen, Ana walked out the front door. The cool air felt good after being in the house with so many people. 

She breathed in deeply, enjoying the nighttime sounds, that was until the crickets were overpowered by hushed, angry whispers. Ana flattened herself against the Burrow. She didn’t intend to spy, but she didn’t really want the owners of the voices to know she was out there. 

“Why did Harry think this would be a good idea?” 

“Just think about it, ‘Mione. They’re going to be here for who knows how long and they don’t know anyone else. They’ve all fit in with everyone well so far.” Ginny tried to bargain. 

“What do we even know about them? It’s obvious that they’re all smitten with someone.” 

“Common, you knew he would move on at some point. It isn’t Ana’s fault. Did you see how bad she felt when you left?” 

“It hasn’t been that long, Ginny. I thought we agreed to only separate for a while. I want to get my career on the tracks. Besides, the ministry is still looking into how to send them home. He’s just going to get his heart broken, they all are.” 

“‘Mione, it's been almost a year since you split. And I don’t know. It’s been pretty great having them all around. You have to admit that it’s been boring around here since graduating. Just give them all a chance. Give Ana a chance. She is living here.” Ginny continued to explain. 

“I’m just not sure. What if their story isn’t true? They could be misleading the entire ministry!” 

“Come off it, Hermione. What is this actually about?” Ana inched closer to the corner of the house, peeking around to see Hermione’s back. 

“I think I’m still in love with him, Gin. I think I made a mistake.” Ana’s breath hitched upon hearing Hermione’s confession. She slipped back inside, face solemn, trying to decide what her next move should be. Hermione and Ron’s love had literally been written in a book. Did the book really dictate anything that happened in this world? 

“George! Give it back!” Des’ voice shook Ana out of her own head. 

“There you are,” Ron whispered, coming next to her and slipping an arm around her waist. 

“We need to determine if you completed your dare! It’s the only way,” Fred chuckled, taking the letter from George. “Dear Sirius!” Hermione and Ginny also stepped back inside, Hermione’s presence causing Ana to move a few steps away from Ron, earning a quizzical look from Ellie. 

“I’m not kidding. Give it back!” Des yelled again. “I will hex you! I’ve passed the crash course now!” 

“Ohhh, Freddie, this is some good stuff!” George laughed, letter in his hand again. 

“You had to of known that this would happen, Des. It’s your own damn fault for leaving it on the table,” Kiara laughed, leaning against the counter. 

“I was using the loo!” Des threw her arms up in the air, frustrated. 

“You alright?” Ron whispered in Ana’s ear so no one else could hear. She just nodded slightly, lips pressed together tightly. She couldn’t see Ron looking helplessly at Harry, unsure what to do. 

“Fred, I’m serious! Give it here.” Des huffed.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George.” the redhead argued devilishly. 

“YOU ARE FRED! YOU HAVE BOTH EARS!” Des was stuck in an unwinnable game of keep away. She looked at Mel, begging for help with her eyes. 

“This is madness. Just give the letter back, Fred,” Hermione spoke up. Each of the girls was honestly surprised that she spoke in favor of them, well at least one of them. Fred huffed and handed a folded piece of paper to Des, who gratefully shoved it in her pants pocket. 

“Now, where were we?” Neville asked. He was glad that the twins’ game was over. Everyone else shrugged. Mel shook her head and leaned into Draco a bit, Ana sent her a questioning look. A comfortable silence hung in the air as everyone began to feel a bit tired. The quiet was broken by a knock on the door. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Sirius smirked, leaning against the doorway. 

“Ahh, Sirius,” Fred grinned widely, clapping Sirius on the shoulder before walking to his brother, snickering along the way. Des sent him a nasty look before turning back to Sirius. 

“Remus was getting antsy with Kiara and Desiree not being home yet, so I offered to pick them up.” Kiara groaned, rolling her eyes as she pushed herself off the counter. “Looks like we’ll be going now,” she grumbled, pressing a quick kiss to Neville’s cheek, leaving him stunned. 

“We should probably get going too,” Ellie spoke, looking at Mel and Draco. Everyone said their goodbyes and Ana hugged each girl before they left. The twins, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione followed everyone to the fireplace, but Ron beckoned for Ana to hang back. 

“What’s going on?” He tried to look in her eyes, but Ana avoided his. “Why are you pulling away all of a sudden?” 

“You don’t know me, Ron. Okay? Maybe you should just stay with Hermione. I understand if you haven’t moved on,” Ana blurted before covering her mouth with her hand. She really didn’t want to get in the middle of whatever this was. 

“But, I am. Ana, look at me.” Ron pulled her chin up so that she had to look in his eyes. “Hermione and I are over. We just weren’t meant to be. It was probably just a lot for her to see me with someone else, but she will get used to it. I don’t know how long you’re here for, but I want to spend as much time with you as I can.” 

Ana nodded, her chin still in his hand. “Don’t let her get to you,” Ron said. “I’ll try,” she whispered, Hermione’s words still placing doubt in her mind. Satisfied that Ana understood, Ron led her to the living room, saying goodbye to everyone who didn’t live in the Burrow one more time. When the house was finally quiet and the rest of the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione - who was staying with Ginny - went to bed, Ana slouched on the couch; wishing she could be in a house with one of her friends at that moment; knowing as much as she loved being in the Wizarding World, she sort of missed her simple life back home. 

-

Series Tag List : @just-an-outstanding-auror​​​​​ @jenniweaslee​​​​​ @the-hufflefluffwriter​

[professoruber]

Epithet Erased Role Swap AU FanFic: A swapped place in Sweet Jazz City Prologue

Hi, This is just a quick Fanfiction I've written up based on the amazing Role Swap AU made by @spliinkles. I actually did have a somewhat similar idea before (which was what if some epithet related event caused characters to switch ages) but I really love the ideas of this AU and wanted to write about it.

Sorry first of all if there are any errors. I wrote this up kind of quickly and if I do find errors I will be willing to fix them if  I get around to it.

Am posting this fanfiction here because the Epithet Erased fandom seems biggest on Tumblr and also that's where this AU is from.

Prologue: You're reading it

Chapter 1: https://professoruber.tumblr.com/post/189841325568/a-swapped-place-in-sweet-jazz-city-chapter-1

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Giovanni Potage was what some might call a variety of unflattering yet undeniably accurate descriptors. Such things included ‘problem child’ and ‘wannabe delinquent’, both titles he wore with pride.

With the exception of the ‘wannabe’ part of course, if you were to ask him, he would insist he was the most feared delinquent in his school’s history and most definitely not an adorable little soup child.

His reign of delinquency was joined by his friends, his ‘boys’ as he called them. Two of these aforementioned boys were now accompanying him on the most boring field trip ever.

“-and that’s when I smash that ball right into the principle’s office, and everyone cheered” Giovanni finishes accounting his latest most definitely truthful anecdote about his misadventures as a dangerous criminal delinquent.  His squeaky twelve-year-old vocal cords pushed to their deepest potential level in order to attempt to put on a wave of coolness on top of what he considers his amazing storytelling ability.

 “WOW GIOVANNI. YOU’RE SO AMAZING! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH” Screams one of his friends, known most often as Crusher for rather self-explanatory reasons. The high volume of his sudden outburst eliciting a glare from one of the museum guides who were currently giving a tour to their class.

The young guide turns away from the crowd of youths briefly to pop another pain pill before taking a deep breath and snapping back towards the kids with a forced smile.

“As I was saying before I was… interrupted…” she began, briefly pausing to once again glare at Crusher, who blessed with embarrassment and hid behind the protection of Giovanni as she continues “Epithets are rare and amazing powers gifted to just a one in five of the population. Wow, so cool. Anyway, moving on…” she begins to keep walking before being lightly nudged by her older bearded co-guide.

“Come now my apprentice Mera. It is important to show enthusiasm for this thing. It’s important to always do your best in every situation” the man says the last sentence with such sheer power that he flexes for emphasis, prompting a array of awed stares bystanders at his muscular build.

Mera even admires it for a moment before turning back to the children and sighing “You’re right Indus… I’ll try to spice up the tour a bit” she gives a somewhat more genuine smile this time, as Indus pats her on the back.

“Now that’s the spirit! Why don’t we tell them about the Arsene Amulet, that will certainly spice things up” Indus suggests with large genuine smile aimed at his young apprentice.

Mera goes wide eyed at the mention of the amulet before whispering to Indus “Uh… Indus I’m not sure if telling these kids about the amulet is a good idea”

Indus looks thoughtful but nevertheless was still in proud teacher mode “Do not worry apprentice Mera. No harm should come from granting these children some of the wonder of this museum”

Mera eventually relents and soon launches into a somewhat less half-hearted explanation of the amulet as well as other cool and interesting exhibits, Indus sometimes dropping in to suggest topics, such as the Dinosaur exhibition which he insists is amazing.

However, these were quickly drowned out Giovanni’s criminal mind as it’s focus settled firmly on the fact a mysterious cool amulet was hidden within these halls. An awesomely evil formed from the dark confines of his self-proclaimed delinquent mind.

“Car Crash, Crusher, come with me” he whispers in his best covert voice before snatching his pair of friends away from the tour. The former blushed at the close contact to his crush while the latter looked annoyed.

“Hey, my name’s Fred. All I did was crash Ben’s go-kart five times and now everyone just won’t let it go!” He complains and throws up his hands in annoyance.

“Shush, will you? Whatever. I have an awesome plan to show the whole entire world my awesome criminal skills so no one will deny that Giovanni Potage is the most awesome supervillain of all time!” He exclaims quietly with clenched fist.

Crusher loved every moment of It and even ‘Fred’ was captivated by the intensity if nothing else.  

“I will sneak inside the museum; spray paint my name on the exhibits. And then for the finale I will steal that amulet thingy and leave a pool of boiling lava and… uh… acid! In its place. These history nerds will never no one hit them” he gives a smug smile, proud of himself for having come up with such a villainous plan.

Crusher fell to the floor as he clenches his heart, overwhelmed by the sheer continued amazingness of Giovanni. Fred meanwhile was somewhat confused on What Giovanni’s plan was.

“So, you want to get an amulet which steals Epithets?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

Giovanni looks confused for a moment before putting two and two together “oh is that what that thing does? Nah that’s totally lame. What I want is the street cred. If I pull this off then all the greatest criminal gangs will be begging to have me join them. Maybe I might be able to join the Bushido Blasters… or even the Banzai Blasters!” He exclaims with enthusiasm.

As Crusher continued to be amazed, Fred scratched the back of his head “I don’t know man, this seems kind of dangerous even compared to what we usually get up to. And me and ‘Crusher’ can’t be out after dark, so you’ll be alone for this”

Crusher cries manly boy tears at the thought of having to abandon Giovanni. But Giovanni simply dramatically holds his hand to his chest and begins to reassure them.

“Don’t worry my boys! I have the greatest- hey what’s that over there!” He suddenly shouts pointing to the left, and grinning as Crusher and Fred look to in that direction. While his friends are distracting, Giovanni quickly dashes behind them and yells “Teleports behind!”, startling both boys.

“As you can see my stealth skills and unmatched. And after tonight no one will able to deny the supervillainy of Giovanni Potage!”

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Across the city in the backroom of a family owned toy store sat a young barely adult woman wearing a dark green dress and a yellow apron and boots, her dark brown hair tied up to prevent it getting in her face.

The woman was working stoically on toys which would be sold in the Blyndeff Toy Emporium, her family’s store.

“Police are still baffled at the recent theft of expensive several statues from a local art gallery, all of which were replaced by teddy bears. Despite the absurdity of this case police have still found no leads on the criminals responsible, although reports suggest Banzai Blasters may have been involved- “ the noise drowns out in the woman’s mind as her lips slip into an evil grin as she recalls the recent caper which led to her promotion from Blaster to Captain in the Banzai ranks.

In the monotonous world of manufacturing and retail she was glad to have an outlet to cut loose when she could, keeping up appearances in front of customers and not hitting the many who deserved it was tiring, and she’s been doing this for around a decade at this point.

Taking a deep breath, she got back to work, turning off the news livestream playing on her phone just had it had begun talking about how a Detective Ashling had been assigned to the case. She had bigger things to concern herself with right now.

Namely that of her first heist as a Banzai Captain. Her crew of minions were ready and a location had been mapped out. Now all she needed to do was complete the final workings of her special criminal helper toys, as well as the toys which need to be sold.

“Molly! Mum wants to know if the new toys are ready yet!” The bratty voice of the woman’s little sister comes through the door of the workshop as the young girl in question walks into take a look herself.

Molly feels like grimacing but instead effortlessly donned a smile as hollow as her soul.

“Almost done Lorelai. Tell mum I’ll have these out on the shelves soon” she said with a mask of cheerfulness, to which Lorelai simply rolled her eyes at and gave a quick “Whatever” before leaving back to the rest of the building, shutting the door behind her.

Molly got back to work, only stopping at one point to take out a small picture of the Sweet Jazz Museum, causing her to gain a much more genuine, and evil smile “tonight” she simply says, as she returns to work.

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Later in the dead of night, Giovanni’s head raises up above from a bin. He leaps out and whisper shouts “Teleports inside!” to himself as he looks around.

He proceeds to run carelessly around the now empty halls of the museum, slipping and knocking some stuff over a few times before arriving in the entrance.

“Uh hu! This shall be a great place to begin the reign of terror of Giovanni Potage” the twelve year out super-criminal announces as he walks up to the desk.

“I should call my boys, to let them know I got it, not that they would be surprised of course” He picks up the phone and dials Car Crash’s number, only for it to fail to go through. Confused, Giovanni looks at the phone only to find an explanation of its true nature.

“Internal and emergency calls only? Pfft, lame” he comments as he slams down the receiver. He then proceeds to duck down under the desk and take out some items from his bag. First a whoopy cushion which he fashions to the chair and then a canister of spray paint.

He begins spray painting a message about how lame their phone system is. Meanwhile as the young delinquent writes, a hole in the roof is silently made and a group of Banzai Blaster begin slowly coming in from above, going unheard from anyone who might be within earshot thanks to their leader’s Epithet.

The last to go down is their new Captain, Bear Trap, who under the silence of her Epithet begins handing out instructions to her minions.

“There all done” Giovanni says proudly as he finishes his villainous vandalism, popping back up from behind the desk her suddenly comes eye to eye with Bear Trap.

All parties present simply fall back, startled due to not expecting to encounter anyone else. For a few moments silence reigns even without the assistance of Bear Trap’s Epithet.

The silence isn’t broken until the shock face of Giovanni suddenly shifts into one of wonder and excitement.

“Wow criminals! Awesome!”

[solvskrift]

Harry’s mental health + suicidal ideation

(Obviously this post deals with sensitive topics, please be careful.)

Okay, I realize most fans would automatically say that Harry James Potter was definitely not suicidal. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, though, and some things in canon have stuck with me. To be clear, he was obviously never shown to be at the point of orchestrating his own death (with the exception of giving himself up in Deathly Hallows, which of course was an entirely different category of this), but I think there's evidence that points to him dealing with passive suicidal ideation on more than one occasion:

"Let's go," called Hermione from halfway up the stone steps. "This isn't right, Harry, come on, let's go...."

She sounded scared, much more scared than she had in the room where the brains swam, yet Harry thought the archway had a kind of beauty about it, old though it was. The gently rippling veil intrigued him; he felt a very strong inclination to climb up on the dais and walk through it.

"Harry, let's go, okay?" said Hermione more forcefully.

"Okay," he said, but he did not move.

- OotP, The Department of Mysteries

This particular bit where he feels an urge to walk through the veil illustrates something compelling and incredibly sad about his character. He doesn’t know what the veil is yet, only that he feels a strong pull towards it. There’s something JKR said once about Harry that’s always stuck in my mind:

"I wanted there to be a debate there, so of my three main characters – when they come into the room which examines death at the Ministry of Magic – Hermione, the ultimate sceptic and a hyper-rational person, hears nothing behind the veil and is scared of it. Ron is just uneasy...Harry’s drawn to it, and therein lies Harry’s slightly reckless, almost morbid streak, because Harry does have a hint of that dangerous adolescent trait which is the attraction to death.”

He’s lost his parents, his entire family, and therefore has a closer, more complicated relationship with death than most of his friends (except for Luna, who has also lost a parent and could hear voices beyond the veil just like Harry, though she did not appear to want to walk through it like he did).

“Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —”

“THEN — I — DON’T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!” Harry roared, and he seized one of the delicate silver instruments from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, “Really!”

“I DON’T CARE!” Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. “I’VE HAD ENOUGH, I’VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON’T CARE ANYMORE —”

- OotP, The Lost Prophecy

We’ve all seen this horrifically heart-wrenching scene quoted a billion times by now, but if you just stop and take it in? What Harry is actually saying? He’s a fifteen-year-old kid and he’s reached his limit. He can’t regulate his emotions at all at this point, and he’s literally begging for someone to end his suffering. LIKE? What the fuck.

“But they were not living, thought Harry: They were gone. The empty words could not disguise the fact that his parents' moldering remains lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent, unknowing. And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.”

- DH, Godric's Hollow

Look, I can’t even break this one down, it’s too painful. Boy’s a mess. Someone just fucking hug him. Please.

He raised his wand, but a dull hopelessness was spreading through him: Fred was gone, and Hagrid was surely dying or already dead; how many more lay dead that he did not yet know about; he felt as though his soul had already half left his body....

"HARRY, COME ON!" screamed Hermione.

A hundred Dementors were advancing, gliding towards them, sucking their way closer to Harry’s despair, which was like a promise of a feast....

He saw Ron’s silver terrier burst into the air, flicker feebly and expire; he saw Hermione’s otter twist in mid-air and fade, and his own wand trembled in his hand, and he almost welcomed the oncoming oblivion, the promise of nothing, of no feeling....

And then a silver hare, a boar, and a fox soared past Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s heads: the Dementors fell back before the creatures' approach. Three more people had arrived out of the darkness to stand beside them, their wands outstretched, continuing to cast their Patronuses: Luna, Ernie and Seamus.

"That’s right," said Luna encouragingly, as if they were back in the Room of Requirement and this was simply spell practice for the DA. "That’s right, Harry ... come on, think of something happy...."

"Something happy?" he said, his voice cracked.

- DH, The Elder Wand

I know, they’re surrounded by Dementors and they’re in the middle of a battle and why wouldn’t anyone feel this way BUT it’s pretty clear Harry’s having the most trouble, even though he’s canonically the most capable of conjuring a Patronus. Fred has died, and Harry is convinced Hagrid has too, and that everyone else will before the night’s over, and he’s tired, and he honestly just doesn’t give a shit anymore? He literally just wants a Dementor to suck out his soul at this point? This is not okay???

He also shows a certain reluctance to return from his King's Cross limbo (you know, after he’s been murdered) given that it's so calm and peaceful compared to the pain and loss he constantly faces in life.

I think it's all but explicitly stated that Harry deals with PTSD and, perhaps less obviously, depression. At different points in books 5-7 (and even a few times in the earlier books) he's described as lying apathetically on his bed for long stretches of time, not eating, or feeling very listless and lethargic. He has a tendency to throw himself headlong into dangerous situations, especially when others are in danger, which I think is partially due to his natural personality, but which also hints at him considering others' lives inherently more valuable than his own, which is not surprising at all considering his abusive upbringing.

As the title of this blog post puts it - suicidal people don't want to die, they just want the pain to stop:

Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again....

"If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy...."

Let the pain stop, thought Harry. Let him kill us....End it, Dumbledore....Death is nothing compared to this....

And I'll see Sirius again....

- OotP, The Only One He Ever Feared

It’s not that Harry comes across as actively suicidal, more that he seems to view death as an appealing option rather more often than someone who is entirely mentally healthy. These thoughts appear more than once and seem to be a reoccurring theme. I don’t think he walked around constantly waiting to die. He’s a strong kid with a desire to survive, to be happy and normal even though that’s so often out of reach for him. But I do think he went through episodes of depression, maybe even more than he himself realized, and I think the trauma he went through and the losses he suffered led to an underlying pattern in his thoughts that tended strongly towards self-destruction. Like it was something in the back of his mind he never really acknowledged, and when he was particularly distressed or in pain it manifested in these heart-breaking pleas for the world to just let him die already, because death had to be better than his horrifyingly painful hellscape of a life.

Conclusion: Harry’s trauma and issues make me really fucking sad, and we should all talk about it.

[aleapoffaithfiction]

XIV.

It's like I've been awakened Every rule I had you break it It's the risk that I'm taking I ain't never gonna shut you out

You ever felt like you’ve been hit by a car, survived it, and as soon as you go to stand on your feet, you end up getting hit by an eighteen-wheeler truck?

No?

Well, that’s how I’ve been feeling since I woke up this morning. I’ve suddenly morphed into a milk chocolate toned dragon who breathes fire from the depths of my chest and straight out of my throat. Every word spoken comes with an excruciating aching that Tylenol refuses to ease. The tea and honey are barely doing anything to subdue the rough cough that began just yesterday. Oh, and the body aches? I might as well just lay down in the middle of the floor and pray the Lord has mercy on me at some point.

“I don’t know how the hell you made it through the entire show like that. You really are crazy sometimes.” Anna pulled my box braids into a high ponytail as I slouched my frame even further down into the styling chair. I’m conning myself into believing that the slump position will give me a few seconds of relief from the aches I’m having.

The chills trickling everywhere have left me shivering under a throw blanket I took from home. If anyone on set didn’t know any better, you’d think I’ve been standing outside in the blistering soon to be winter air. Thank God I sat through the lengthy amount of time to allow her to put the braids in on Saturday night. With the way I’m covered in perspiration, any straightened or curled hairstyle would have left me looking like an extra left out of a Soul Glow commercial.

“It irritates me to have to call out at the last minute. That typically leaves production scrambling to try and fill in gaps. If I were in their shoes, I know it would be a headache for me, so I don’t like to do it to them. On Saturday, I e-mailed both Amy and Chip to let them know that I feel pretty shitty and to clear my schedule for the next two days pending further notice. I’m hoping it passes by then.”

The last time I had a cold, it was right at the very end of winter and it felt like nothing more than a bad headache and the sniffles. A couple of home remedies and a few over the counter products had me feeling much better within two or three days, but what I’m feeling now? I don’t know what the hell is going on. Rite Aid literally showed up to the medical office at the studio and offered the flu shot to everyone, through our insurances, as a curtesy, so it better not be that. I can’t stand getting injections, so it would be one hell of a disservice if I allowed them to inject that medication into me only for it to not work out in my favor.

“Are you going to go to the doctor?”

“Probably tomorrow. It’s too late to do any of that today. Once I drop Taylor off at the airport, I’ll head straight there.” Though I’m so accustomed to living on my own, I can admit to being sadden about Taylor heading out to Los Angeles tomorrow. It’s not that I’ve gotten used to her being around; it’s more so that I’ve enjoyed the company that she’s been to me for the past week. We always have incredible conversations over the phone about the most trivial of topics, but it’s been far more fulfilling and hilarious to be able to say all of those things to one another face to face. We’ve indulged in our love for classic cult black films, shared recipes between one another in my kitchen, and have taken New York City by a storm.

Even with Jesse being in town, it didn’t feel like the presence of her man overshadowed anything that we did together. Ice skating was better than I thought it would be because I was and still am quite rusty in that area. We did see the Radio City Christmas Spectacular and humorously took photographs sitting on Santa’s lap complimentary of the showrunners. Although I’ve seen it more times than I can count, we saw The Lion King on Broadway and then had far too many pitchers of Matusalem rum infused mojitos over at Havana Central on West 46th Street.

I nearly came face to face with the filthy pavement as I moved at the best speed I could offer to avoid the invasive TMZ camera crew awaiting our exit. In Hollywood, I suppose it’s controversial for a woman to be involved with a soon to be divorced television actor while he’s in a discomforting public battle with his soon to be ex-wife over alimony and joint custody of their children. Anywhere she goes, that narrative follows Taylor like a sinister stalker in the night and though her feelings run deep for the blue-eyed Chicago native, I know that she’s quietly growing tired of being the scapegoat for what is beyond her.

“You better go too. I know you. Sipping tea and taking spoons of Robitussin isn’t going to get the job done this time it seems.”

“I’m going. I’m going with a shit ton of questions about why the flu shot is a hoax. I’m not one of those conspiracy theory people, but I don’t know. I might have to start.”

“Take your illuminati ass home and get in the bed.”

“I’m not rich enough to be in the illuminati. They’ll probably be calling me when I make my first hundred million. I’m not there just yet, but I’m working on it.” I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t. Even a chuckle would have pulled more energy than I can exert at the moment. I’m currently questioning if I’ll even be capable of moving at a snail’s pace to make it out of the building with the next couple of minutes. I could have been gone already and yet I’m lingering around in this chair with hopes that my imagination will take me home. Where’s Glenda the Good Witch to instruct me to click the heels of my Jimmy Choo pumps so that I’ll be able to suddenly wake up in my bed in Edgewater?

“Get you a man that’s there already.” I knew she was going to say that. I just knew it. Anna will never not find it fascinating how I encounter countless men who earn hundreds of millions of dollars by running a ball around a field, court, or course.

In her words, I, more than the majority of the women in the world, have the perfect opportunity to live life lavishly and worry free by the way of someone else’s finances if I’d only open myself up to the opportunity of dating just one out of the many who flirtatiously attempt to garner some interest out of me. While my financial obligations are the last thing that I’m interested in a man handling for me, if only Anna knew what is going on in my life now.

“Yeah? So that he can think he’s entitled to stress me and all of his other women out because he’s providing materialistic shit? Girl, I refuse to allow a man to turn my head grey and cause bags to be up under my eyes sooner than it should be happening. No thanks. I’d rather be smiling in a Benz that I purchased than to be crying in one that he did.”

I’m naturally a giver. I give credit to my dad for instilling that quality into me. I’ve always struggling with taking or rather being gifted things. The majority of the time, all I wanted for birthdays and Christmas’ were new accessories needed for whatever sport I was playing at the time.

I never pestered either one of my parents to lace me in the latest Jordans, although my dad made sure to surprise me with them at least once a month. If he was due to leave town, he would leave enough money for my mother to handle it. Honor roll report cards always came with great gifts and while Celeste would often ask for the most expressive girly trinket she could think of, I never wanted anything. I was fine with a stack of pancakes from iHop and a day at the park.

What I did ask for was experiences. It never needed to be anything financially burdening or something that specifically catered to my taste alone. I was fine with exploring new exhibits at the Met or taking a random road trip to Philadelphia just for the hell of it. I loved walking around neighborhoods that I didn’t reside in to people watch and observe the different ways in which they express themselves and the culture that we all share.

I’ll never forget when we road on an Amtrak train to Washington, DC and stayed in the district for the weekend. I still consider that to be one of the best times of my life despite my sister’s ridiculous and pompous complaints about her boredom. Though she’s yet to admit it out loud, I know that she now undoubtedly regrets all that she said during that weekend because it was the last family trip, we ever had with him.

“All of his other women? Damn. Why did you have to put it like that?”

“Because men are vile creatures. If women are walking around talking about how much average men aren’t worth shit due to their antics, then use your imagination to think about what men with money and power are doing. I’m not saying all of them are dreadful, but I’ve heard far too much while working within this industry to write it all off as coincidences.” The last portion of my sentence barely made it out as my chest heaved up a rough cough. The furnace that only calmed for a mere couple of seconds ignited with a wild fire and sent a rush of warmth flushing through my chest while the rest of my weakening limps shivered.

“Okay, you need to go, because I’m not trying to get sick. You may not have any dick in your life at the moment, but I do, and I’m trying to get back to it with my health intact.”

“Whatever.”

Like a boxer in a ring attempting to peel himself off of the floor after a knockout, I pulled myself up and out of the comfort of the chair. With every step, my muscles stiffened and the aches throbbing from the sides of my body intensified unexpectedly. My Alexander Wang bag felt like a dozen bricks rested at it’s very bottom once I positioned it over my shoulder and it only slowed down my stride as I made my way to the awaiting SUV.

I could only silently thank God for Fred as he secured me inside the vehicle and warned me that he better not see me in the morning. Thankfully, I followed my gut and decided not to drive. If I were sitting in this parking lot in my own car at this very moment, I probably would have taken off this midnight black Moncler coat and used it as a blanket while I lay in the backseat awaiting a rescue that I never called for.

“Can you please turn up the heat just a bit more?” I’m sure I’m suffocating him but I can’t help that it feels like the temperature precipitously plummeted to ten degrees below zero. The sound of my teeth chattering against one another has surpassed the faint tunes coming from the radio.

“Sure, Ms. Nazaire.”

As the heat increased and swarmed me in the manner that I needed it to, I glanced down at my phone vibrating in my lap. The lone heart emoji was a clear signifier of who was attempting to contact me. He’s the only person in my phone not identified by his name and at this point, it is the most idiotic tactic to keep because I have more than enough photographs of him and the both of us together to implicate me in whatever may happen if we’re caught.

As soon as I slid my thumb across the bottom of the screen to answer, the splendor that is his face filled the frame of my screen. And just like that, I’d been reduced to speechlessness.

“I thought I told you not go to work this morning.” I certainly read the text message as soon as I opened my eyes this morning, but it did absolutely nothing to deter me from doing what I had to do. It was great advice but it had to be brushed off until I handled a number of things at the production studio this morning. Besides, it wasn’t as rough of a day as I thought it would be, effort wise. Aside from speaking throughout segments, we had no guests or anything major to cover.

“I’m staying home tomorrow. Also, look at how early I’m leaving today. It’s still the afternoon. I’m not doing the Podcast.”

The slight shaking of his head was brief and though he quickly stopped, I noticed it. I’m not sure if it’s in reference to this morning’s chosen defiance or the current state of frustration we’re both in for two totally different reasons. Despite my explanation about my occasional absentmindedness being a part of the reason why I needed to hurry home and write out a check for the nine-a.m. maintenance job my mother called to have done on her stove, I omitted the part that truly mattered most to the both of us.

I fear him.

My mind is with him whenever I’m not within his presence. My body yearns for the warmth that soothingly radiates from him whenever we’re within an inch of one another. I can eerily sense and feel him; emotionally and now physically. He evokes a sentiment within me that is at call unceasingly and has intertwined our lives in a manner that I never faced before or expected to come into my life at this point.

My body is now at his mercy. Just the tips of his fingers faintly grazing off the smooth surface of my skin awakens every aspect of me; sending my frame into an uncontrollable frenzy that only he knows how to tame. I don’t know what he did to me that night in New Orleans. I expected to be fucked; most men prefer to turn a woman over on her stomach to consciously strip away any intimacy that may be felt and emotionally clung to during and after those moments when their bodies are adjoined. Despite his unpredictable nature, I did cling to that repeated experience as something that I’d always endure. I should have known that what we shared would be everything but that.

He savored me; deliberately drawing out every single second of it in an effort to achieve a never-ending wordless oath that we’ll never be able to share with anyone else. His eyes bore into mine and spoke to me whenever his lips weren’t whispering into my ear in the midst of the groans spilling from them. My body clung to his, gratifying his silent plea to take possession of me in every way possible.

Our heartbeats created an identical medley as they thrashed against our chests in unison with the increase heat within our cores. I was no longer in control of myself. His flesh played as the remote; pushing buttons to leave me weeping and leaking. I believe I only slept for minutes. Though the clock read that it had been four hours later, it only felt like minutes because the feeling of him hadn’t subsided. If anything, he served as the gasoline to the flames as his tongue awakened me for what turned into another two rounds of him.

I am wordlessly at war with my evolving devotion to him; to us. What if I’m not enough? With the life that he lives, something better always comes along. What am I supposed to do when we’ve arrived to that point?

“You’re so hardheaded. You going out into the cold and being at work all day has most likely made your cold worse. You should have stayed in the bed today. Did you just leave?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“How do you feel?” He tugged on the neck of his hooded Givenchy sweater to loosen it’s pulled tightness around his neck and almond shaped eyes narrowed, intensifying his glare. He’d pull my card if I lied.

“Like shit, honesty. Everything hurts. It even hurts to breathe. I thought I’d be able to tough it out until I can see a doctor tomorrow, but I don’t know. I might have Taylor drive me over to Hackensack University Medical Center when I get home.” And just like that, he sat up from his lazy and laxed position on the couch. As his large palm brushed over the golden curls falling all over his forehead, he stood to his feet. He paces when he’s nervous but it was never my intention to provoke him to do so.

“You feel that bad? You want me to go with you?”

“Odell.” As great as that sounds, I shouldn’t have to explain why that can’t be. He already knows the answer to that.

“You’re going to the hospital.”

“Yes, so that I can speed up the process of getting some medication. I’ll be able to get prescriptions tonight rather than waiting until tomorrow. That’s all. It’s going to be an in and out thing. Also, you have an event tonight. Did you forget?” He’s heading into Manhattan to promote the launch of his Air Force I collaboration by speaking with fans and a couple of groups of kids who won a contest to be able to meet him and have their shoes autographed. I know he doesn’t want to miss that because being a great role model for the youth is one of the primary reasons why he does what he does. He loves kids, so disappointing them for no legit reason doesn’t make much sense.

“I didn’t forget. If I don’t go, the least I can do is come and stay at your house so that I can make sure you’re taken care of until you’re better.”

“And spread my germs to you?”

“What is it with you and your love for being difficult? You hate to cooperate.” I’ve heard that before. Actually, I’ve heard it far too many times. It’s been said that I have an answer for everything before even hearing the complete scenario or question being asked of me. I can be somewhat of an overthinker. Well, not somewhat.

I am an overthinker, but I’m not admitting that out loud because it’ll give people the ammunition to call me out on it whenever they feel like it and I’m not with the shits. It is never my intention to do it to be difficult or uncooperative as he just called it. I tend to try and side with logic first before I jump into anything. Unnecessarily spreading my germs isn’t logical. Besides, I tend to go and lay up at my mom’s place whenever I’m not feeling my greatest. She doesn’t always welcome me with open arms, but ultimately, who else do I have to lean on despite her resistance about that?

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. It’s annoying as hell too.” He rolled his eyes to put even more emphasis on what he had to say.

“If you come, don’t complain when you start sniffling and feeling like every part of your body is aching.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll take the risk.”

“What time does your event start?” I nearly dropped the phone down onto the carpeted flooring as another rough cough poured out of me. I’m convinced my lungs are going to suddenly fly out of my mouth and land in my lap.

“You sound really bad.”

“I know. What time does the event start?”

“Seven.”

“Oh, you have time. I can’t believe I caught this stupid cold. I was supposed to start my Christmas shopping this weekend. Speaking of, what do you want?” I’ve been trying to think of gifts for him. There’s one in particular that I already have hiding in my closet. I consider that one to be the big gift.

Patek Philippe is a family-owned Genevan luxury watch manufacturer. Their watches are considered to be among the best in the world: full stop. Of all of the other impeccable Swiss watch manufactures with distinguished statuses and sophisticated watches, Patek Philippe has driven itself to the forefront of them all. While it would have been much easier to purchase him a Rolex, he deserves something that is as inimitable as he is. The “Ribbon Joaillerie” watch and its distinctive diamond embellishments that orbit its surface in a glimmering never-ending loop stole my heart as soon as I laid my eyes on it. The spiraling circles of diamonds beautifying the dial was what immediately made me hand over my Citigroup Chairman Card to secure it. It’s the first time I’ve ever spent six figures on a man.

“Supreme stuff. It doesn’t have to be any specific item. Oh, and maybe some art or something.”

“Art or something? Like a painting or a sculpture?”

“Anything. Actually, I want it to be a picture of you. A painting or something of that sort.”

“A painting of me? Are you kidding me?” That’s arguably the most narcissistic gift I could ever give anyone. I can only imagine how much internal cringing I’d be doing while boldly requesting for a painting of myself to gift to be my man. Actually, a canvas painting of Heather, Jazzy, and himself together would be breathtaking. I love that idea so much more.

“No. I’d love that.”

“And where exactly are you going to hang it up? You currently have a camera crew in your house once a week.” He is presently in the midst of filming a docu-series with Lebron James and Maverick Carter’s sports-media company Uninterrupted. Though the majority of it will focus on his comeback throughout the next season, they are filming coverage of his recovery from the ankle injury and his life off of the gridiron.

“In my bedroom. They don’t go in there.”

“We’ll see.”

“Ain’t no we’ll see. That’s what I want. Oh, and you in one of those sexy ass Mrs. Claus outfits.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.” I’m not sure if the driver is focusing on our conversation, but if he is, I’m certainly embarrassed now. His laughter might have made it even worse.

“I’ll call and check on you in a bit.”

“Okay.”

I attempted to take a nap but the physical discomfort served as a disruption to my mental state and kept me awake the remainder of the ride to my home. Traffic wasn’t as disorderly as it usually is during this time of the day, which allowed me to arrive just fifteen minutes over the nearly two-hour timeframe that it’s supposed to take me to get into Edgewater.

“You’re finally home!”

The way Taylor’s voice vibrated off of the walls almost made it seem like my house is completely empty. It was so piercing.

“Yeah.”

I’m not sure what she decided to cook but it smelled appetizing from the moment I stepped into the door. Maybe it’s Italian.

“I watched a bit of the show before making a Whole Foods run. Oh, and I found this bottle of wine upstairs in your room. I hope you don’t mind, because I couldn’t resist.” It was one of the remaining bottles of wine Odell bought me during our weekend getaway. I decided to pack it and take it home.

“You’re drunk?” That’s the last thing that I need her to be.

“I wouldn’t say drunk. I’m feeling pretty good though. Incredible, actually.”

She’s drunk.

“I want you to come with me to the ER, so that I can get checked out for this cold and get prescriptions for it. I wanted you to drive but since you had drinks, I’ll do it.”

“You feel that bad? Oh my God.”

“I’d just rather go now instead of waiting to go to the doctors tomorrow.”

“Let’s go. I just have to grab my coat. I told you to stay home this morning.” If I had the energy, I would have gone upstairs to change into whatever sweatsuit within close reach but I’m not walking up there. I’ve barely stepped away from the door.

“Taylor.” Part of her hazelnut toned wool trench coat hung off of her body as she rushed in my direction. As I nodded my head in the direction of the wine glass in her hand, she took a glance at it.

“Oh.” Before she put it down, the remaining contents inside of it went down her throat. If we both weren’t notorious for finishing entire bottles of wine on our own, I would have thought that something stressful or a man were driving her to drink so heavily today.

You good?

I read the message as I stood at the very top of my porch.

Yeah. Headed there now. Taylor’s drunk, so I’m going to drive.

Of all the days for her to get drunk, it just had to be this one.

Drunk? The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. I’m just going to meet you there.

As I slid into the passenger seat, apprehension immediately caused my eyes to bulge out of my face. His stubbornness will probably be the one thing that’ll always make me want to reprimand him.

You better not.

I-80 West was the fasted route. It took me to Exit 64B within seven minutes. As we walked through the parking lot, I slipped Taylor one of the cough drops I had in my pocket so they wouldn’t frown upon the whiff of the alcohol oozing from her breath any time she opened her mouth up to speak and I sprayed her coat with the mini bottle of perfume I keep in my purse to further mask it.

It’s very seldom that I use my status as a trump card for perks. Often times, it just happens and I go along with the flow. In this case, I used it. One autograph for the registration clerk served as a fast pass through the paperwork to process me through the emergency room and straight into triage. The hundred and two fever and slightly raised blood pressure rose the severity of my flu like symptoms to somewhat of an urgent case though I’d beg to differ. Luckily for me, the examination room was built to only fit two patients and thus far, I’m the only one in it.

“Did you see that bald guy nurse?”

“What bald nurse?”

“The one who walked past us out in the hallway. I’m not even into bald guys but he’s hot.” Like a child in a store, her curiosity kept her out of the seat next to the bed, and urged her to walk around examining everything in sight. Though she didn’t touch much, she looked on and read off whatever she thought I’d be just as interested in knowing about. Now I think she’s starting to see shit, because there was no bald nurse in that hall way. If she’s talking about who I assume she’s saw, that was a woman.

“Right in here?”

That voice couldn’t be mistaken no matter how much I desired to be hallucinating in a reaction to whatever drug they intend to give me for the pain I’m feeling. It’s that soft depth filled tone that plays like the sweetest medley in my dreams when I’m resting and fills my thoughts at random moments throughout the day when I am diligently executing every task on my schedule. It evokes chills and a throbbing within my center that nears me to the point of erupting.

I could choke him right now.

Behind a visibly annoyed Ben, he appeared in the doorway barely discreet in his black and vivid yellow attire. The Supreme beanie on his head barely covered his signature platinum blonde curls and casual dreads as they loosely hung out of the very front of it. His light caramel skin was without a single blemish as it always is.

God, he’s beautiful.

“Hey, big sister Sarai. I heard my favorite sister was in the hospital and I rushed here right away. I was hanging out with my boy, so I figured I’d bring him with me.” Both of my eyebrows rose as my head dropped back. Ben slowly panned his eyes to Odell and instantly rolled them in response to the nonchalant shrugging of his broad shoulders. What the hell is he talking about?

“Ben told them he was your brother so we could get in. I mean, it was either that or I was gon’ say that I’m your husband.”

“I’m going to fuck you up. You do know that, right?” If I had the energy, I would do it right now. His rebelliousness is absolutely pointless within this moment. It’s a trait that I’ve always admired about him from afar and now that admiration is coming back like a thief in the night to haunt me.

“I’m so confused. Maybe I’m a little drunker than I thought. What are you two doing here?” Taylor wagged her finger like a scolding mother as she twisted her head back and forth to take in the additional presence within the room. I had no set date or specific timeframe for when I intended to explain what’s been going on to her, but I planned to do it at some point. We share just about everything but I’m still trying to navigate all of this and figure it out on my own, which is why I’m purposefully avoiding any additional opinions.

“I’m going to sit in the car. Ya’ll two motherfuckers are annoying with this sneaking shit.” The hint of playfulness in his tone did not match the expression on his face. While my lover found it to be all so hilarious, a confused Taylor glared at me with a questioning expression that I did not want to have to answer to. I never thought I’d ever say it, but I was sad to see Ben walk out. If anything, I needed him to remain in place to be the comedic relief or better yet the distraction from the verbal questionnaire that is sure to come from my friend.

“The doctor came in here yet? What did he say?” As his large palm meshed into my forehead to serve as his own personal thermometer, I smacked it out of my way.

“Why don’t you listen?”

“I told you that I was coming. Don’t act surprised.”

“And I told you not to come.”

“And I didn’t listen. What’s next?” My frustration rose with every word that slipped past his supple lips.

“Since when are ya’ll such close friends? Like three months ago, you were ready to argue with me about why you two couldn’t be cool and now you’re the best of friends? What?” She finally flopped down in the chair that was in place for her to relax in and she looked on between the two of us as if we were two guilty souls. I may be the only guilty one.

“Sarai Nazaire?” A middle-aged white woman donning blue scrubs and a white lab coat cheerily entered the room with a chart in her hand and a stethoscope loosely hanging around her neck. I faintly raised my hand to single myself out so she wouldn’t confuse me with Taylor.

“I’m Dr. Shepard.”

“Oh snap. Like Grey’s Anatomy?” Why did I bring Taylor?

“Yes, just like that. I get that all the time. I’m not Meredith though. I’m Dr. Jane Shepard.”

“Nice to meet you Dr. Shepard.” I didn’t extend my hand to her because hers aren’t gloved and I’ve been using mine to cover my mouth during the coughing spells.

“So, it says here that you’ve been having flu like symptoms. I see the hundred and two fever. You’re visibly sweating. Tell me anything else you’re been feeling and for how long.”

“I start feeling sick a few days ago and it just got progressively worse. I feel chills, aching muscles, fatigue, a horrible headache, my nose is stuff up.”

“Don’t forget the sore throat, baby.” I was getting to it before he interrupted.

“Baby?” Oh my God. I should have let her finish off the rest of that bottle without any interruptions.

“Have you been taking anything?”

“Tylenol and cold medication. Robitussin DM.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“I’m going to take a listen to your lungs. You mind unbuttoning your blouse for me?”

“No.” Odell reached his hands in for the small buttons on the Zara dress shirt covering the upper portion of me and I rapidly smacked his hands down.

She only needed me to unravel the first few buttons so she’d be able to easily reach her hand down into my top to access my chest and back.

“You’re definitely congested. Are you allergic to any medications?”

“No.”

“Based upon the date of your last period, I have to ask, do you think that you could be pregnant right now?”

“Oh, dear God no. Absolutely not.” Taylor’s abrupt answer and laughter was nearly condescending. We’ve had far too many conversations about kids being something we’ll worry about later on down the line because we have so many aspirations that we’re working towards accomplishing now.

If a sewing needle suddenly dropped onto the floor, it would have sounded off like a vibrant bass within a stadium due to the stillness within the room. All eyes panned down on me while I had every urge to unexpectedly combust into a gust of nothingness so that I wouldn’t have to expose the anxiety I’ve been dealing with since we boarded the private jet to leave New Orleans.

My periods have always been slightly irregular and may sometimes skip a month, but God only knows how much I did not need one of those skips to happen this month. I haven’t been on birth control in three years. I decided to stop taking the pill because I had no use for it anymore and wanted to regulate my hormones and cycles. It’s been smooth sailing ever since because I haven’t had any men in my bed and I haven’t been in any of theirs until now. I’ve always been careful. Always. Even with the few years I spent in a relationship, I’ve never had unprotected sex until I shared my body with the man sitting at the foot of this bed.

“I….”

What was once one set of questioning eyes, turned into three, but all I could focus on was his. I awaited the grimace, but it never showed itself within his facial expression. Much like everyone else, he was awaiting the answer that would involve his fate just as much as it would mine.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m just not one hundred percent sure.”

And there it is. My reality. I truly don’t know. I’ve driven past a few Walgreens, Rite Aid, and CVS stores since it all happened and my lack of courage kept me from going inside to purchase what would give me a verdict to either ease or intensify the stress. Back in Louisiana, what should have been a trip to a pharmacy for a Morning After pill when the sun began peaking beyond the curtains and cascading down on us turned into yet another escapade of him filling me again.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?”

“Taylor!”

“That’s not a problem. We’ll collect a urine sample to measure your HCG level. It’ll be quick. A nurse should be in the room within the next two minutes or so with a cup. It’s just protocol so that we’re on the safe side when administering medication to you. She’s also going to do a rapid influenza test so that we can verify those flu symptoms you’re having. Your symptoms align with it, but we still have to run the test. She’s going to swab the back of your nose.” 

“Okay.”

“In the meantime, just relax. Once we get the results back, we’ll proceed from there. Sounds good?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

The nurse couldn’t come with the plastic cup fast enough. I nearly fell onto the floor as I leapt out of the bed once she did. Locking myself in the bathroom is what eased the spell of anxiety being triggered by all eyes focusing in on me. What should have been a two to three-minute process turned into fifteen as I sat there wallowing in my thoughts. I never wanted my apprehension to be on display in front of him. I didn’t need any of what I’ve been dealing with being a conversation until it was absolutely necessary.

“You okay baby?” His knock was light but I could undoubtedly sense his urgency.

“I’m fine.” It’s far too late to hide now.

“The nurse is back. You want me to give the cup to her?” This man wants me to hand over a sample of my urine to him? Seriously?”

“No. I’m coming out.” 

Once I handled the hygienic aspect of things, I finally stepped out of the bathroom with the cup wrapped into two pieces of paper towel and I timidly handed it over to the nurse. Once I was seated again, she swabbed my nose just as the doctor informed me, she would.

“Thank you. I’ll be quick.”

I wished she would have offered to take me with her. I wouldn’t have minded walking to whatever laboratory that she’s going to drop that off to.

“How long has this been going on?”

Her lean leg crossed over the other and Taylor sat back with a knowing smirk on her face. Her haughtiness in figuring out the obvious would have been hilarious at some other time.

“Months.” His answer came with a shrug. His tone was so blasé that it nearly made it seem like the entire world knows about this and she’s the only one who’s late to the party.

“Months? You hid this for months?”

“T, can we have the room for just a minute or two?”

“So, you can talk about your baby?” The lingering headache seemed to strengthen at what she thought was some sardonic joke. Her irritation about being left in the dark is justified but now is not the time to admonish everything that I am. I’d rather she stand before me and release her frustrations in a private setting and away from him.

“Taylor, please?”

“I’ll go. I’m going to the waiting room. While there, should I think about baby shower themes? Maybe Tinkerbell if it’s a girl and Finding Nemo if it’s a boy? Oh no. I know. A New York Giants theme sounds so much better; a little cliché but better.”

“Taylor.”

“I’m going.”

She tenaciously cut her eyes at Odell sparking laughter from him in response.

“Cute though. Really cute.”

Those were her last words as she disappeared down the hall, finally leaving us in the privacy that I needed. The lack of commotion in the hallway kept my attention focused on his striking face. I thought I would have seen a rush of nurses running a gurney down the long hall and into emergency surgery. If not that, then maybe a crying baby and a fretted mother who can’t seem to figure out why her child has been crying all night long. I need a distraction

“I don’t want you to be upset with me. I should have been more careful. I…”

“Sarai. Upset with you about what? The unknown? I’m not upset with you. I’m not upset at all. I’m here. I’m right here with you. It’s not just you.”

“I know but…”

“What’s the but for? Whatever happens, happens. We’ll be fine.” Will we be? I don’t believe I’m with child but hypothetically speaking, what happens if I am? How do I explain a sudden pregnancy to a man that no one knows about? I am not Mary and this is not the Immaculate Conception. How do we navigate still being in the stages of exploring and learning all there is to know about one another while preparing to be parents to a child that we did not plan?

Both of his hands reached for my thighs. This time, I had no energy to smack them away as they began a pacifying caress. I just want to go to sleep. Is that too much to ask for? In the midst of what should be a temporary illness, the weight of erratic decisions rests on my shoulders and is further deteriorating my mood. He’s in the prime of his life. If people aren’t talking about Tom Brady, they’re talking about him. He’s not ready for any of this. He doesn’t need this.

“Relax.”

“What?”

“You keep tensing up. I can feel it. Relax.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

If it were, I would have already been home sleeping.

“It’s as simple as we want it to be. I don’t mind being your Big Daddy and someone else’s daddy. It’s cool with me. A kid that looks like us? We can both retire now and use the kid for money. Plus, we’re both athletic, so our kid is bound to be a pro athlete. Yeah, our retirement plan is set.” Every muscle within my upper core clenched to an unbearable tightness and yet I laughed anyway. With my mouth being open, I know I’m sharing every bit of this virus with him. However, his words tickled me in a manner that I needed. I haven’t laughed all day long. If anyone is more than capable of making me do so, it’s him.

“My what?”

“Your Big Daddy.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You sound like Stephen A. Smith. Ridiculous. Conspicuous. Prosperous. Expeditiously. He’s forever using some unnecessarily big word to describe his frustrations.” The joke about my fellow ESPN brethren amused me even more. He is absolutely right and it’s what we all love about Stephen A. He’s animated, exaggerated, and his outbursts about the eternally cursed New York Knicks will stand the test of time for sports fans. I constantly have a good laugh when I stop by his dressing room for conversations. He’s been a mentor to me from the moment we’ve met and my admiration for him is boundless.

“Don’t talk about Stephen A. He’s great.”

“He stays on my ass though. He tends to be hot and cold with me. One minute, he’s praising my talent and in the next breath, he’s tired of me.”

“He appreciates you. I promise you that. Steven A. is tough, but he believes you’re the heart of the team. It’s why he can be so critical.”

“I watched the discussion ya’ll had about my pending contract situation. You really think I should be the highest paid receiver?” He’s the most explosive one.

“We can make arguments about Antonio Brown and Julio Jones, but when people think of wide receivers, your name is the first name to come out of most people’s mouths. You have the highest selling jersey of any receiver in the league and you’re the one who fills those seats at the Giants stadium. You have been the heart of the team’s offense for the past three years. Prior to your injury, they averaged twenty-three points in three games when you were on the field for the most snaps. They averaged thirteen point six points when you weren’t out there. You’re worth almost ten points per game with your ability to take a short gain and turn it into a long touchdown. Teams literally run their defenses strictly off stopping you. Get paid. You deserve it.”

All I could see is pearly white porcelain as his eyes further narrowed the more his smile spread across his face. As soon as he leaned in for a kiss, I drew my head back.

“Germs.”

“The way you know your shit is sexy as fuck. You want my last name?”

“Shut up, you…”

Dr. Shepard stepping back into the room ceased my reply. And just like that, my nerves were rattled all over again.

“Well, the pregnancy test is negative. Flu test is positive. I’m not sure which way you wanted those results to go, but that’s the verdict.” I know it was supposed to be witty but it didn’t register as such as I signed in a relief that wasn’t as fulfilling as I thought it would be. No, I’m not ready to be a mother. I’m not in that space just yet. More than anything, what I’m now focused on is the person who would have been alongside me in the journey if the results were the opposite. I would not have been alone. I commend him for that.

“I got a flu shot.”

“When did you get it?”

“A little less than two weeks ago.”

“It takes the body about two weeks after the vaccination to develop immune protection. You probably were exposed to influenza viruses sometime since then. Also, there are different strains of the flu. The vaccination only protects you against certain ones. You may have been exposed to one that is very different from whatever ones the vaccination is designed to protect you against.”

“Well screw whoever was around me and had been sick.” She and my man shared laughter at my words.

I’m serious.

“We’re going to give you Tamiflu. The directions on how to take it will be in your discharge instructions and the pharmacy will give you some too. You can take Tylenol for the fever. Rest. You need a lot of that. No work for a couple of days because you have a ton of germs right now. Hot foods and drinks. Steamy showers will help with congestion and the stuffy nose. Vitamin C is great, so orange juice and they have the cough drop like ones. I emphasize rest. Getting rid of the flu is really a waiting game.”

“You hear that Sarai? Rest. Lots of rest.” If I had no class, my middle finger would have been up and towards him.

“If you feel like your symptoms are persisting, come back.”

“Thank you, Dr. Shepard.”

“The pleasure is all mine. The nurse will be back with the forms and prescriptions.”

As soon as we were left alone again, I immediately slipped back into my coat for much needed warmth.

“I’m about to head out so I can make it into the city on time. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sending Renee over so that she can make you some soup or something. So, be expecting her. You need something from the store?”

“I can make the soup myself.”

“Anything you need from the store?” See? This is what I mean.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Alright, so I’ll see you when I get back. Be in the bed.”

“Uhm.” He knew I’d swerve his lips, so he softly planted his kisses on my warm forehead.

“See you in a bit.”

The nightfall car ride to Walgreens and finally to my home entailed of more conversing than I wanted to have. I was nearly ordered to confirm and deny many of her assumptions, feed into her baseless jokes about a baby that she now knows is non-existent, and defend myself against my supposed lying by omission as we spoke on the phone while I was away. She then proceeded to take credit for our relationship; citing the Bleacher Report party run in as all being a part of her master plan. I beg to differ. I still think it’s a coincidence that he saw me there, but I’ll let her run with that fairytale if it makes her feel better and keeps her off of my case.

“I’m going to lay down.”

“As you should. It’s not like you have to do anything anyway. Your man’s chef is currently making you tea and soup.”

“Taylor.”

“And he arranged for a driver to take me to the airport tomorrow so that you don’t have to get out of bed.”

“Taylor.”

“And he shoots up your club.”

“You know what, goodnight Taylor.”

Lavender; I doused everything in it. I lathered my body up with Dove’s Purely Pampering Relaxing Body Wash while in the shower and spent an extended time inhaling the steam to loosen my nasal passages. Once I was dried off, I moisturized my skin with whipped shea butter fused with lavender essential oil. I lit a match to my Joe Malone London Lavender & Lovage candle, and finally sprayed my pillow cases with Bath & Body Works lavender pillow spray. If I don’t get the best sleep of my life after all of that, I’ll know that I’m suffering from insomnia.

Renee’s coconut ginger carrot chicken soup and the cup of ginger tea certainly made me think of my mother because it’s her key remedy for illnesses. The rich flavoring and natural spice of the ginger eased the congestion discomfort in my chest.

I opted out of the television because it would only deserve as a distraction to the rest, I not only needed but wanted. Unfortunately, what I thought was going to be a long night of slumber ended up being nothing more than on and off naps.

Bergamot, cedar musk, and hints of sage superseded the rest inducing scent that once filled my room. With only a hint of moonlight peaking beyond the white curtain, the man of my affection quietly dropped what appeared to be a duffle bag onto the floor and began to shuffle around the open space within my bedroom to sort himself out.

“I’m not sleeping.” His pace was slower than his usual because he didn’t want to ruin whatever sleep he assumed I was getting.

“You should be.”

“I keep taking naps.”

“You hungry or something?”

“No. Not really. You?”

“I’m good. There’s more than just soup downstairs. I had something before I came up.”

“How was the event?”

“It was nice. The kids were great. They enjoyed themselves.” With every piece of jewelry that he removed; I could hear it clinking against the dresser as he placed them down one by one. “You smell great.”

“Thank you.” I love when he chuckles. It’s so lighthearted and innocent, especially following a compliment. I always want to hug him right after. It’s no different now.

“You look good too.” Yellow against his skin is defining. The whole time he sat with me in that examination room, I couldn’t look away. Even in this darkness, I still cannot do so. My body is riddled with a confusion that I cannot define. I can feel every single flu symptom there is and yet, my nipples are impulsively stiffening against this t-shirt of his that I’m wearing. The prickling in my thighs is increasing with every article of clothing that he removes. I should make him go into the guest room.

“Thank you. Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying.”

His presence kept my eyes open and trailing behind his every move until his almost bare frame slid under the covers and alongside me. I’ve warned him more times than I can count about my germs and yet here he is, basking in them.

“Thank you.”

As he always does when he’s in my bed, he took two of the pillows on his side and tossed them towards my side to lower himself to his liking. I’ve always been someone who loves to lay on way too many of them. It’s probably why I wake up with neck pain every once and a while.

“For what?”

“Taking care of me today.”

“You’re stubborn as hell but it’s what I want to do. It’s my pleasure.”

“Thank you for dealing with my stubbornness too.”

“Of course, baby.”

“And thank you for that yellow coat because I’m keeping it.” That amused him.

“You can have it.”

“Can I have a kiss too?”

“Nah. Germs.”

I used one of the pillows he tossed to whack him in the head. How is he so adorable and maddening all at once?

“Hey, Sarai.”

“Hm?”

His arm extended and slowly snaked around my waist to draw me closer. The skin of his legs melted into mine as they intertwined.

“No Beckham babies today, but later on down the line, for sure, right?”

Beckham babies. Plural. Maybe two boys? Possible two girls? How about the best of both worlds? More than two is out of the question. Twins would ideal. It’s a one shot and done, deal. Actually, no. Two at one time sounds like madness. The genes are strong within his family. I don’t think they stand a chance of genetically inheriting any of my traits. I’ll literally be birthing clones of him in either male or female form. It’s hilarious and yet warming to ponder about.

“Right.”

His lips then met mine.

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero

Chapter Eleven The Firebolt

Sunday morning was as chaotic as September first had been. Harry had packed his things for the holiday in a daze, still mulling over everything he’d learned about Regulus Black. The other boys in the dormitory, however, were packing in a rush and chatting excitedly about their plans for the holiday.

“We’ll miss breakfast if we don’t leave soon,” Neville said as he closed his trunk.

Dean and Seamus followed him out quickly, with Dean insisting that Seamus should visit and play a game of football with the kids in his town. Seamus didn’t seem to think much of a game played on the ground.

“Are you coming, Ron?” Harry asked, since Ron was busy tearing apart his bed.

“I can’t find Scabbers anywhere,” Ron said.

Harry remembered Scabbers trying to make a break for it the day of his Quidditch match. He wondered if Scabbers had finally made it out.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Harry said.

“We’re going to be gone for two weeks,” Ron said. “Anything could happen to him!”

“Maybe he wants to explore the castle while all the students are gone,” Harry tried to joke, but Ron didn’t laugh.

Once on the train, Ron stared sullenly at Crookshanks, but said nothing.

“I’m sure Scabbers is fine, Ron,” Hermione said. “Weasels are very resourceful creatures.”

“I’ve lost Trevor loads of times,” Neville said. “He always turns up.”

None of these words seemed to cheer Ron up at all. Even when Ginny appeared, carrying her cat, Ron very rudely told her to leave them alone. Ginny sniffed indignantly and disappeared.

“You should be nicer to her,” Neville said.

“She can go sit with Fred and George,” Ron mumbled. “It’s crowded in here.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to cheer Ron up. Scabbers was, in all likelihood, perfectly fine at Hogwarts. Anything that challenged Crookshanks to a fight could handle itself, he was sure. As much as Ron complained about his temperamental pet, Harry thought it quite obvious that Ron cared for Scabbers.

“Harry,” Hermione started slowly, “we didn’t talk about what we learned yesterday.”

Harry was grateful for the change in topic, but he wished Hermione had picked literally anything else. He would’ve rather rehashed his loss to Malfoy than talk about Regulus Black right now. His eyes flicked to Neville, who had no idea what they were talking about. Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to tell him.

“What’s there to talk about?” he mumbled, picking at a loose thread on the seat.

“We agree that Regulus Black’s last letter had to be a lie, didn’t it?”

Harry wasn’t ready to believe it. He’d spent so long thinking about that letter, so long being angry at Sirius for not listening to him, that he couldn’t just change his mind.

“You still think Regulus Black might be innocent?” Neville said, and stared at Harry with wide eyes. “How?”

Harry thought of the part of the letter where Regulus Black said he was protecting the people he loved. Harry thought of his nightmares of his mother standing between him and Voldemort. He couldn’t believe those words were a lie. There was a desperate plea to them, like when his mother begged Voldemort to kill her instead.

“It’s obvious he faked his death so he could serve You-Know-Who without anyone coming after him,” Hermione said. “His last letter was just part of that scheme.”

“What was he apologizing to Sirius for?” Harry asked.

“I think that’s something you’ll have to ask Sirius yourself.”

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Harry stood on the train platform and watched Susan Bones run to her parents. He thought again of the letters and wished he could read them over one last time. He just wanted to make sense of the person he’d built in his head and the person everyone claimed Regulus Black was.

Harry wondered if Susan’s family was going through as much strain as his, but her parents were laughing as she ran to them, and they didn’t look nearly as tired as his had when he saw them a month ago. Maybe they didn’t know that Regulus Black was responsible for what had happened to their family. The Minister had said it was something of a secret.

“Harry!” he heard his mother call, and he turned to see her stretching her arm over the crowd of parents and students to get his attention. Harry took his owl and his trunk to where his parents were waiting.

“Where’s Sirius?” he asked.

“In Hogsmeade,” James answered. “He’ll be bringing Remus home as soon as Remus finishes up at Hogwarts.”

Harry thought of Remus grading all those essays and having to walk past the dementors into Hogsmeade before apparating to their house. It would be good to have Sirius with him.

“Ready to go home and decorate?” Lily asked and took his hand.

This lifted Harry’s spirits considerably. Last year he hadn’t been able to go home, and he was quite excited to have Christmas with his parents, Sirius, and Remus without distraction of Hogwarts and monsters skulking about the castle.

When they arrived home, Harry insisted they wait for Remus and Sirius before they began to decorate. So, much to Harry’s delight, James suggested they fly around the yard for a bit. Even if it was on Sirius’s usual broom, and he wasn’t chasing a Snitch, it still felt good to throw a Quaffle back and forth with his dad. Lily watched from the back patio with mugs of hot cocoa.

Late into the evening, when Harry was struggling to stay awake and the grandfather clock quietly chimed 3:33, Sirius and Remus finally arrived.

They were bundled up against the cold and pink from the wind. Harry wondered why they hadn’t simply apparated into the yard, then remembered all the protections his parents had put on the house during the summer.

Lily quickly had cups of tea on the table, and Harry was no longer sleepy.

“Had to walk halfway across the county,” Sirius grumbled as he clutched the warm mug.

Remus added, “It’s my fault, really. I just wanted to have all grading finished before we left. I didn’t realize it was so late. It wouldn’t have been nearly so cold if we’d left earlier.”

“I completely understand,” Lily said.

James added, “I’ve tried to convince the Ministry to lift the apparating protections from outside the property, but they won’t have it. It makes trips to London quite the ordeal.”

“You will be staying the night,” Lily said, and it wasn’t a request or an offer. It was insistence.

Harry helped her make sure the spare rooms in the house were ready to host guests. In such a large house with so few inhabitants, some of the rooms fell into disuse. He helped her put fresh sheets in two of the bedrooms and clean out most of the dust.

By the time they were finished, it had passed late and gone into early, and as such no one woke the next day before noon.

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Christmas was small at the Potters, but not quiet in the least. Harry roused his parents from bed just after dawn with a lot of bed shaking and some eager commands to get up.

His parents trudged downstairs at his insistence and Harry helped with tea, since it was too early for his parents to use spells. Harry remembered once when his mother had tried to heat a kettle with his wand first thing in the morning, and the kettle had combusted.

Once they had steaming cups of black tea, Lily said, “You need to wake Remus and Sirius before we do presents.”

Harry was a little softer with that. He woke Remus quietly, with gentle tugs and whispered begging to get out of bed. When Remus was finally out of bed, they went for Sirius together. Which Harry was grateful for. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to do it as energetically on his own.

He and Sirius were speaking again, which was good, but there were still a lot of unsaid things. Things Harry was determined to say before the end of the holidays. He was not going back to school without getting some of his questions answered.

For now, though, he and Remus managed to drag Sirius out of bed and downstairs. By the time everyone was assembled in the kitchen, Lily was awake enough to summon the presents from upstairs. Harry, of course, had his eye on the very long box that was just the right size for a broom. The only reason he hadn’t bothered his parents about a new broom was because was sure he’d get one for Christmas. And there it was. He decided to open it last.

His parents gave Sirius a pair of things that looked vaguely like brightly colored phones, but there were no wires attached to them. Whatever they were, Sirius thought they were a riot, and said he should hide one in Remus’s desk and disrupt class.

Remus received a new winter cloak from Sirius and new books from James and Lily. Harry, who hadn’t been able to do much shopping in Hogsmeade, had at least given them all unique Christmas cards. He’d been inspired by Ginny’s shrill get-well-soon card, but of course, he hadn’t attempted to make his sing any Christmas carols. He’d simply charmed a few moving pictures with some help from Dean Thomas.

Harry opened his presents in his turn, and was surprised to find a small present from his parents that contained three tickets to the Quidditch World Cup for the following summer.

He thanked his parents, but stared down at the tickets, still bewildered. It wasn’t as if the tickets were unexpected — though Harry had quite forgotten about the upcoming World Cup in the wake of his school work — but then who was the suspected broom from?

Harry reached for the long package and opened it carefully. It was indeed a broom, with a neatly polished handle and perfectly smoothed tail. “A Firebolt,” Harry breathed. His parents had money, of course, but these sorts of indulgences were unseemly. His parents didn’t approve of excess spending. There was only one person who could have given him this.

He looked up at Sirius with eyes wide. “You shouldn’t have — I mean — Thanks, but you shouldn’t have.”

Sirius grinned. “You were in need of a new broom. Only the best would do.”

As Harry began to organize his presents, he heard Lily whisper to Sirius, “I know you said you wanted to replace his broom but — really?”

And then his father whispered, “Mate, are you sure you can afford that?”

But when Harry looked up, Sirius was waving off their questions and getting to his feet. “Well, I for one, am starved. Should we fix up some breakfast?”

Once the shock and awe of the Firebolt had passed, Harry only felt eager to ride it. He rushed through his breakfast and bounced anxiously in his seat for an hour while his mother insisted he let breakfast settle. Finally, she agreed he could go out on his broom, as long as James and Sirius were with him to make sure he was safe.

He knew James and Sirius were teasing him about wanting to stay inside where it was warm.

“But your mum’s cocoa,” Sirius said as Harry pulled on his arm to get him off the couch.

“I should help with Christmas dinner,” James said, leaning back in his chair.

“Uncle Remus can help with dinner,” Harry said. “And it’s not even lunch yet. Come on!” He dragged Sirius to the door and outside.

Sirius leaned against the side of the house, holding the cup of cocoa. “I’ll join you in the air in a minute,” he said. “But I’m right here. You’re good to take off without your mum having a fit.”

Harry mounted his broom and pushed off the ground. It lifted with such ease, it made his Nimbus look as unstable as flying Sirius’s bike. Harry zipped toward the treeline and skirted just over the leaves. The turn was sharper than he expected, and he laughed as he nearly tumbled from over-correcting. The Firebolt was the best broom in the world. The only disappointment Harry felt, and it was a small one, was that he’d have to wait an entire year to play against Malfoy again.

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

As loud as Christmas was, New Year's Eve was exceptionally quiet. Not because that was the usual for the Potters and their friends, but rather because the full moon fell on the twenty-ninth, so it was only Harry, his parents, Sirius, and a very tired Remus Lupin to ring in the new year.

While Lily was fixing up a potion for Remus’s aches, and James was losing poorly in a game of chess against Remus, Harry finally found a moment to talk to Sirius without fear of being disturbed.

“Thanks again for the Firebolt,” Harry said as he took a seat beside Sirius, next to the warm fireplace. “I think that we’ll definitely have a chance at the Quidditch Cup now, even if we lost our first match.”

Sirius smiled. “You deserve it, really. Sorry your match against Slytherin had to end so poorly.”

“It’s alright,” Harry said quietly. “Er — Uncle Remus said that — He said that the dementors affect you as badly as they do me. Is it true?”

Harry knew it wasn’t a pleasant subject to bring up on New Year’s Eve, but he needed some answers before he went back to school.

“Yes,” Sirius answered quietly. “The dementors are pretty hard on me.” He paused for a moment, and Harry wondered how much he would say about it. “I didn’t get on with my parents. Or my grandparents. Or my aunts or my uncles or my cousins. Just Andromeda, who ran off with a Muggle-born when I was barely twelve. The dementors bring back a lot of memories that I don’t like to think about. It’s why your dad’s the only family I count.”

“You didn’t get along with your brother, either?” Harry asked it hesitantly. The last time they’d spoken about Regulus, Sirius had gone into a bit of a temper. Harry hoped that three months later it would be safe to talk about.

Sirius did not fly into a rage like last time. Instead, he let out a slow, steady breath. “We got along for a time. Then I got into Gryffindor, and he went to Slytherin. He was interested in pleasing my parents. I was interested in displeasing them.”

“I heard Madam Rosmerta say she had to throw you and Regulus out for fighting once.”

Sirius laughed. “She did. James was on a date with your mum at the time, so I was a bit more reckless than usual. How’d you hear that story? You’re not allowed in Hogsmeade.”

But instead of feeling embarrassed or guilty, Sirius had a twinkle in his eye that made Harry feel proud. So Harry told him about the Marauder’s Map.

“I’m glad it made its way into good hands,” Sirius said, trying very hard to keep his laughter quiet. “So, which passage are you using?”

Harry told him about the One-Eyed Witch passage. Sirius nodded solemnly.

“It’s a good one. Peter and I ran a butterbeer trade in our sixth and seventh years using that passage. It was a very lucrative business. Your dad always suspected we were doing something of the sort, but at the time he was a little busy courting your mum to pay much attention to our antics.”

“Is that when you got into your worst trouble? When dad wasn’t around?”

Sirius snorted. “Not by half. He was just exceptionally good at talking us out of the punishment bit.”

Harry was quiet for a moment, thinking about his parents at Hogwarts and how much fun they must have had. Harry certainly had fun with his friends, but he felt like they got into more dangerous trouble than what he heard from his parents. He ended up fighting Acromantula and Basilisks instead of smuggling drinks in and out of town.

Then he decided it was time to ask the question he’d been meaning to all week.

“Sirius… do you remember that letter I showed you? The last one that was written by your brother?”

“I told you it was a lie. He was probably —”

“I know, I know. But I was wondering…. What would he have been apologizing for? Why would he tell her to apologize to you?”

Sirius’s face looked very grim in the flickering firelight. “There are a good many things he would have to apologize to me for. For siding with our mother, for joining You-Know-Who, for a handful of duels which he got particularly nasty hexes off on me…. There are a long list of offences between us.”

“You don’t think,” Harry began slowly, “he was maybe apologizing for all of it?”

It took a long moment for Sirius to consider his answer. He finally said, “It’s best not to dwell on it, Harry. He’ll be caught soon, and this will all be over.”

But Harry couldn’t help thinking that that’s what everyone had said three months ago, and they were no closer to catching Regulus Black then than they were now. And he felt like, for every question he got answered, more questions seemed to arise.

[cosmicmadwoman]

Adam and Eve Chapter One: Scapegoats

Summary: Betty and Jughead get surprising news from Archie that ultimately creates a riff between the red head and beanie boy. (Also smut, I couldn’t help myself).

Prologue.

Word Count: 3299

(PS. if formatting is weird it’s because i did this on my boyfriend’s mac and i have no idea how to work them)

The two lovers got the call about Fred Andrews early that morning as their limbs were wrapped around one another on the pull out couch. Jughead didn't want Betty knowing his room was one he shared with his sister and it didn't even contain a real mattress for him.

Betty got the call and stirred only slightly, deciding to ignore the unwelcomed interruption. The phone promptly rang again and she gave out a huff as she got up and went to the kitchen counter to grab the glowing device. She was going to be livid if it was a scam call. Instead, the name Archie Andrews appeared across the screen. What could he need at this hour?

"Arch? It's early. What's up?" Betty tried to keep her voice sounding as not annoyed as possible.

A strangled sob came on the other line. "He... my dad... he was shot. Pop's was being robbed and... I'm at the hospital," Archie managed to say.

It may have been the grogginess of the morning or still being enthralled by last night, but Betty couldn't comprehend what she had just heard. They had just solved the murder of Jason Blossom, and now the town was going to be shrouded in another mystery. One murder was an anomaly, but possibly two was another story. That would mean Betty and Jughead weren't the only ones in Riverdale feeding into the new darkness that ran through the town like rain water after a storm.

"Did you hear me, Betty?" Archie asked after she gave no response.

"Yeah, I'm just processing. Jughead and I will be right over," Betty proclaimed, already working on gathering her clothes from last night and tugging them on with one hand.

"You're with Jughead?" His tone seemed accusatory.

"Um, yes?" Betty answered with a question as she was taken aback by Archie's. There were more important matters at hand. Besides, what was it to him?

"Uh, ok. My mom is catching the first flight from Chicago. She should be here by noon," Archie informed her.

She nodded, but realized he couldn't see her. "That's good, Arch. I'm so sorry. It's going to be okay."

"I don't know, Betty. There was so much blood," the wailing began again, no doubt from the images replaying in the red head's mind of his father laying helpless on the ground while Archie kept his hands pressed to the wound trying to keep as much blood in as possible.

"Oh, Arch."

Betty heard Jughead shuffle behind her. She turned around to see his hair sticking in all direction with half lidded eyes and no shirt.

"Is everything okay?" Jughead's voice was still scratchy.

Betty said into the phone, "We are leaving now."

She clicked the end button and met Jughead's curious eyes. They weren't eyes of innocent curiosity, but of having a feeling something was terribly wrong because that's just the way things were going lately.

"We have to get to Riverdale Hospital right now. Mr. Andrews was shot. I'll tell you more details on the way," Betty was talking fast as she pulled on the rest of her clothes and started tossing Jughead his.

Jughead had inherited FP's truck for the time being, so the two teens climbed into it wordlessly. They snuggled deeper into their jackets as their bodies met the cool air. The chill made the old truck creak with startling noises, but she was trusty and started anyway.  Betty explained to Jughead what she knew. He took in the information silently. A part of him wished this wasn't happening for selfish reasons, like he wanted to stay in bed, he wanted to have lazy morning sex with Betty and so on, but mainly, Fred Andrews stepped up as a father when FP couldn't, which was most of the time. Fred was more than his best friend’s father, he was a father figure, a hardworking role model.

And this whole thing reeked of more than just a robbery. Robberies don't just occur in Riverdale. That kind of stuff happened on the Southaide, not at Pop's diner. If someone knew Riverdale and wanted to make a murder look like a robbery gone wrong, they would know better than to stage it a Pop's if it was to look inconspicuous.

Jughead left Betty of at the entrance of the emergency room as he went to go park. She raced in and saw Veronica and Archie clutching coffee cups in the lobby. They both stood up and sandwiched her in a suffocating hug that she welcomed.

"Arch, I can't express how sorry I am," Betty said gripping his shoulder lightly.

"I'm just glad you're here," Archie offered her a weak smile.

Veronica touched the hem of Betty's short skirt and tugged at the fabric. "Last night's clothes, I see. Couture," Veronica tried to make light of the situation in any way she could, but Archie looked more pissed than amused.

"Speaking of which, where's Jughead?" Archie asked.

"He's parking the truck," Betty said.

Just then, the boy in question shuffled in awkwardly. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and the beanie laid askew atop his head. He looked up meeting Archie's eyes, his blue eyes conveying all the apologies and heartfelt concern his words could not. He gave his friend a hearty hug that Archie leaned into. He clapped his oldest friend’s back, suddenly feeling the worn emblem on the jacket he hadn't noticed Jughead was wearing when he walked in. Archie jerked away leaving Jughead stunned.

"What the hell are you doing wearing that?" Archie accused with his jaw clenched.

"It was a gift..." Jughead said slowly calculating his next move. He knew where this was headed. The outsiders were always the scapegoats. The Serpents, his father, him.

"I hope you're not one of them now, Jug," Archie warned. "They shot my dad."

Jughead gave a side eye to Betty as if letting her know that whatever happens next, he loves the hell out of her.

"Did they have a jacket on? Did you see their face?" Jughead's tone became dark and pointed, nostril flaring.

Archie's determined face faltered for a moment, but he regained his confidence quickly. "What other low lives would shoot an innocent man?"

"Maybe a very wealthy man hired someone to shoot your dad, not a Serpent at all. Maybe a very vengeful, jealous rich man who wants your dad's company," Jughead shot back to the awe of everyone else in the room.

"You leave Veronica out of this!" Archie lunged for the leather clad boy, but Jughead dodged the punch. He became an expert at it from all the jocks who felt like getting their aggression out on a loser like him.

"Jughead, what the hell?" Veronica steamed.

"I'm trying to prove something. There is not good or evil. Black and white. There is no North side or South side of Riverdale. We are all as fucked up as the person down the block," Jughead said.

He meant every word of it, but this probably wasn't the best time or place to put forth a philosophical debate when his best friend's dad was in the hospital. But the damage was done and there was probably no way of repairing it. Any words of sympathy that would come from Jughead's lips at this point would fall on deaf ears.  

"Archie---" Jughead began.

"Please, just go. Both of you," Archie exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose before he sat down, putting his head in his hands and resolving to ignore them until they left.

Jughead and Betty stood still hoping that this whole encounter was a fever dream.

"We can't let this violence tear us apart. It doesn't matter what our parents did or families did. We care for each other," Betty tried to reason with the group.

The waiting room's silence continued. Jughead took Betty's hand and entertained their finger together. He wanted her to physically feel his support. He was an ass and she had stuck up for him despite of that. He was too fucking lucky.

"I need to be alone. Jughead, take Veronica home," Archie murmured, his head still in hands.

Veronica sat next to Archie, rubbing his back, but he stiffened under her feather light touch.

"Archie, I can't leave you like this," Veronica whispered. "We are soulmates, remember?"

"Please. Go."

Veronica got up with streams of silent tears running down her cheeks. Jughead led the way to the truck and the three piled in with Betty in the middle. They sat silently waiting for Jughead to start the vehicle.

"I'm sorry about what I said, Veronica. Truly," Jughead looked over Betty and to her, trying to gage a reaction.

Veronica returned his gaze and met it with a tired smile. "I know. You defend yourself with words and I get that. And you know what, you could be right. But Archie can't think about logistics right now. He just needs to know Mr. Andrews is going to be ok."  

Jughead snorted into a laugh, "You're one hell of a lady, Ronnie."

"I know," Veronica smiled with pride. "On to more happy topics, how was the sex last night?"

Betty and Jughead blushed until they were pomegranates. The teenage boy started the car and Veronica laughed and nudged Betty. The two girls exchanged a wordless look that said, oh, it was good.

It was nine o'clock by the time they had dropped Veronica off at her apartment building and Jughead and Betty sat in front of her house in the cyan colored truck.

"I was an ass, wasn't I," Jughead said it as a fact rather than a question.

"Veronica was right. You were defending your... new family," Betty said.

Jughead grabbed her hand and kissed her fingertips. "You're my family first," he said.

Betty gave a lopsided smirk and pressed her lips to his. "I don't want to be alone right now. Do you wanna come in?"

"Your parents...?"

"Are at church. They don't make me go anymore, thank God. That's why they didn't notice I was gone this morning," Betty explained.

Jughead laughed, "Thanking God for not going to church is hysterical, Betty."

The blonde rolled her eyes and tugged on her boyfriend's leather sleeve. Her formally sarcastic eyes became dark and pleading. "Juggy, come inside with me."

Jughead heard the undertones of need in her voice and there was no way he was saying no. But first, he wanted to play a little bit.

"And what will we do once inside?" The beanie clad boy smirked gloriously. His finger reached over and drew lazy circles on the pale skin under her shirt.

"Study?" Betty played along.

"Actually, I'm hungry," Jughead put a finger to his chin, "But what am I hungry for?"

"Eggs Benedict? It's still breakfast. Even though I know all you eat are burgers," Betty joked playfully.

"I'm working to put variety in my diet," Jughead answered with a suggestive quirk of his eyebrow.

"You've unleashed the beast within, Juggy," Betty remarked at his comments.

"Oh, so you did pick up on I was talking about your vagina. Good, thought I lost you."

Betty whacked his arms and leaned his to kiss his smirking lips. Jughead was such a mystery. The more she got to knew him the less she understood him. The Jughead Betty thought she knew before they began investigating Jason Blossom's murder exuded no sexual energy and would scoff at the pleasures of the flesh because he was more concerned with literary theories. But Betty was able to turn this intellectual into a hot mess begging to do deliciously wicked things to her.

As soon as the pair entered the house, Jughead's lips were suctioned to Betty's neck leaving dark pink marks along it. She bit her lip to stifle her moan, but failed miserably and made a whimpering sound. Every sound of pleasure fueled Jughead to be more rough and fierce. He gripped Betty's hips and lifted her up. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist as he moved gracefully to the white Victorian couch and plopped her down on it with him in top. Betty loved feeling the weight of his body in her, it was safe, warm and the pressure made lightening bolts shoot to her core. They kissed like Thai for a while, tongues in a constant battle for dominance, mirroring their cerebral battle of wit. Jughead's finger flit down and up under her skirt, rubbing the already soaking wet center of her panties. Betty was a tad embarrassed that she could be so sopping wet from just kissing, but she felt better at feeling Jughead's hardness poke her belly button with vigor. He began to jerk his hips against her just to get a rubbing sensation to his groin, but stopped and got on the floor because he wanted this to be about her right now.

"Face me," Jughead commanded in a dark haze.

Betty did as she was told. She knew what he was about to do, he was going to go down on her, but there was still this in innocence and mystery about it. There was something so special about it being the first time for both people, like going on a vacation in a place you've never been and without a map. She intentionally leaves her legs a part just enough so Jughead could see a little lace peaking through. He growled impatiently as he pulls them a part and pulls her panties aside in one swift motion.

"It's beautiful, Betty," Jughead said in awe at her moist sex.

He saw her last night, but here, he was so up close and personal. He felt privileged to see the delicate folds of her sex, Georgia O'Keefe was right, it really does look like a flower.

"Don't keep looking at it like that, you're weirding me out," Betty scolded half heartedly. In reality, she was relived he loved a part of her she thought always thought was ugly and abnormal. She was no perfect pornstar, but then again, no one was.

She had a little freckle on one of the outer lips and Jughead dared to kiss it. Betty took in a sharp breath, already in heaven just by feeling Jughead's hot breath on her most intimate part. He smirked inwardly at the noise and gently blew his breath onto her sex, causing her to wiggle and whine.

"You tease!" Betty said, having half the mind to just grab the back of his beanie covered head and press his face into her vagina. What a naughty treat to look down and see her boyfriend's face squished into her sex. She was getting wetter at the thought.

The said boyfriend hooked his fingers at the edge of Betty's panties and took them down, unceremoniously slipping them into his leather jacket, hoping she wouldn't notice. He was switching schools after all and not seeing her as much, so the teenage boy figured he should have a little something to remember her by on lonely nights. The blonde didn't give anything away if she did notice because she scooted of the couch more and put her feet up, knees in the air, giving him unhindered access.

"Someone is an eager beaver," Jughead said with a tell tale smirk.

"Shut up and tongue me, Jones," Betty sighed.

Oh, gladly, Jughead thought. He delved right in as she told him to, exploring her folds with a flat tongue. Once he made it to her clit, he pointed the wet muscle and flicked at it mercilessly. Betty cried out so intensely it was animalistic. He encircled his lips around her nub and sucked, emitting more crazy moans from the blonde. This was his new favorite spot in the world, he was in complete control of this amazing girl's unprecedented pleasure and it was the hottest thing ever. It was still all about her, but Jughead couldn't help himself and unbuckled his belt and pants with one hand to free his rock hard cock. He stroked it with his right hand getting off on the scent, sounds and sights of Betty's own arousal. He licked down her slit and nestled his pointed tongue into her hole, working in and out and his left hand pinched her clit. The stimulation of both areas became too much and Betty started bucking her hips into Jughead's face, causing him to moan into her sex, the vibration setting of her cumming onto his waiting tongue, her muscles clenching on the wet muscle. He came too, his arousal spraying onto the hardwood floor at his knees. Betty's legs flopped back down and Jughead rested his head on her thigh, his smiling glistening with her juices.

"I'm never washing my face," Jughead joked breathlessly.

Betty giggled, "You are a weirdo."

Jughead rolls his eyes and got paper towels from the idyllic kitchen to wipe up the cum from the floor. Betty watched him, not even realizing he had taken care of himself. She was glad, she was too exhausted to give him anything in return. She doesn't think she could sit in her living room again with her family remembering how Jughead brought her to climax on this very couch with his tongue, and his cum was pooled underneath. She felt gross, but in weird sexy way.

Jughead sat next to her after he finish cleaning up and put his arm around Betty.

"I think I have an idea," Jughead said after a few moments of comfortable silence. "I'm in with the Serpents now. I can just ask them if any of them know about Fred. If I can figure it out, Archie will see we weren't involved."

"And if they are?" Betty asked quietly. She wasn't sure how he would take her always suspecting that his new found family could be involved in Fred's shooting.

"They aren't. Sure, they did some stuff for Clifford Blossom, but they didn't pull the trigger," Jughead reasoned. It was a loose excuse, but Betty didn't push. What he said earlier was right, things aren't always simply black and white and right and wrong, but cleaning up a murder and kidnapping a teenager for a rich man was clearly wrong.

"Just be careful asking questions," Betty warned.

Before she could say anything else, Jughead's phone rang and he answered it quickly, most likely to avoid talking about the matter any further. Betty heard a lot of "uh huhs" and "yeahs" from Jughead before he hung up and smiled. He got up and kissed Betty on the lips tenderly.

"Perfect timing. That was Hack Saw. He was the guy who gave me the jacket yesterday. He wants me to meet the guys at the Whyte Wyrm. And... wants you to come," Jughead said.

"Me? Why?"

"The gang's boyfriends and girlfriends hang out at the Wrym too. Just to get to know each other. It really is a family. And I would be super appreciative if you did come."

"I need to shower."

"I can wait."

"You should shower too."

"I'll shower with you," Jughead offered with a smirk.

It was clear Jughead so want her to go. She knew the Whyte Worm had nothing on her, she was fierce enough to fight any snake, but would she fit in? Was she as dark as Jughead and his new world? A curiosity rushed over her, what would it be like to have a leather jacket of her own? Be fighting beside her man? A leather clad Bonnie and Clyde. The prospect thrilled her in the oddest way; her sex tingled for the sharpest moment.

"I'll get you a towel," Betty winked before heading up the stairs, Jughead like a dog at her heels.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN PROBLEM

There's still debate about whether this was because of the Bubble, or because they're a bad idea. The alarming thing is that we may have to decide which we prefer. Someone ignorant but smart will come along and reinvent everything, and in fact does tend to vary quite a lot in common with. What a solitary task startups are. And when motivated by that you find you can do to help: Avoid distractions. In the Valley it's not only real but fashionable. But using the Internet, and distractions always evolve toward the procrastinators. What they don't tell you is that as a kid you're sitting on the shoulders of someone else who's treading water, and that was considered advanced.1 But I have a separate laptop on the other side of the room that I use to check mail or browse the web. The real question is, what's saving startups in places like Silicon Valley?

Is anyone able to develop software faster than you? Historically the closest analogy to what he does are the great Renaissance patrons of the arts. And what's especially dangerous is that they don't realize how rich they are in the same direction technology evolves in. Why not start a startup with someone you like, because most types of work, but that they're driven by more powerful motivations. In retrospect, he was. Don't ignore this data point just because it's an outlier. Ordinary programmers working in typical office conditions never really understand the problem.

Graduation is a bureaucratic change, not a biological one. Certainly they'll learn more. Another surprise was that the hypothesis we were testing seems to be a good idea were obviously good, someone would already be doing them. Bad circumstances can break the spirit of a strong-willed person, but I think this time I'll wait till I'm sure they argue, like all founders, but by 30 they've either lost touch with them or these people are tied down by jobs they don't want to abandon. If a professor wanted to have students solve real problems, he'd face the same paradox as someone trying to give an example of a paragraph from an essay I wrote about labor unions. Another consequence of the tree structure that every large organization is forced to adopt. I've just described is an acquisition by a public company. Because in fact the distinction we began with has a rather brutal converse: just as you can, give the best advice you can based on your experience, and empathy. The suburbs of Pittsburgh in the 1970s were a pretty dull place. Working for a small one, and if our experience this summer is any guide, this will probably increase the number of points on the curve decreases. If you want to create the most wealth, the way to do this.

I can't read most anymore, because they weren't really saying anything. It's a consequence of the tree, you're going to be one of the heavy school record players and played James Taylor's You've Got a Friend to us. But in her novels I can't see the gears at work. Art History 101. The best of these explorations are sometimes more pleasing than stuff made explicitly to please. So I think it would be a mistake to attribute the decline of unions to some kind of website people will find useful? I found myself thinking of people like Douglas Bader and R. I knew would be hard to start a startup just one year later, after you graduate, you should wait.

Sometimes they're in a buying mood and they'll overpay enormously; other times they're not interested. I'm such a good athlete, why do I feel so tired? Recently I've spent some time advising people, and promoted from within based largely on seniority. Mihalko, everything was different. One group got an exploding term-sheet from some VCs.2 Traditionally the student is the audience, not the teacher; the student's job is not to invent, but to write a prototype that solves a subset of the problem. But between the two I like Calder better, because his work seemed happier. Other parts you don't understand as well, and more efficient.

But that's not the route to well-deserved obscurity. Professors will tend to judge you by the distance between the starting point and where you are now and the features they need. Ignorance can be useful when it's a counterweight to other forms of stupidity. I know to be the investor of the future by accident.3 In practice, it seemed as if there was a correct decision in every situation, and if you have more ideas about what to do when the teacher tells your elementary school class to add all the numbers from 1 to 100? He has an almost superhuman integrity. But the Steelers were the best team in football—and moreover, in a way that's more natural for humans. The reason these conventions are more dangerous is that they interact with the ideas. The reason I suggested college graduates not start startups immediately was that I wrote a lot of smart, young people. Silicon Valley it seems normal.

There are a few places being sprayed with the antidote. The paintings that were popular at the time. They did but I am not negative on this one. People tend to; I'm skeptical about the idea yet, or it seems so far that if you don't have a house or much stuff, but also correct about how correct he is. Your old bad habits now help you to work.4 The distinction is similar to the rule that one should judge talent at its best, and wisdom by its average. As often happens, Ron discovered how to be the most important component of the antidote—an environment that encourages startups, and most will find on the way down that they have wings. The problem comes when we drag the word intelligence over onto what they're measuring. He thought for a second, and said ok.

Maybe not. Perhaps the absent-minded professor is wise in his way, or wiser than he seems, but he's not wise in the way of noticing it consciously. They were so beautifully typeset, and their tone was just captivating—alternately casual and buffer-overflowingly technical. It seems like a defense of present-day union leaders would have to work as if it were the small group of individuals that humans were designed to work in, but something major is missing. Though the most successful investors are also the most upstanding. They delight in breaking rules, but not about observing proprieties. He didn't learn as much as he expected.

Notes

You'd have to give you more by what you've done than where you currently are. It's not a commodity or article of commerce. The idea of getting rich, purely mercenary founders will do that.

See particularly the mail on LL1 led me to try to avoid becoming an administrator, or pigs, to the wealth they generate. Founders are often surprised by this standard, and Fred Wilson to fund them. Everything is a bit dishonest, incidentally; it's roughly correct to say because most of the false positives caused by filters will be pressuring you to behave like adults. Though they were just ordinary guys.

Why Are We Getting a Divorce? Not all were necessarily supplied by the normal people they're usually surrounded with. Thanks to Paul Buchheit points out that this had since been exceeded by actors buying their startups.

Certainly a lot to learn to acknowledge as well. Monk, Ray, Ludwig Wittgenstein: The variation in wealth in a time machine. For example, the laser, it's hard to answer, and oversupply of educated ones come up with much greater inconveniences than that. For example, if you're not even in their own page.

Thanks to Kevin Hale, Sam Altman, and Robert Morris for sharing their expertise on this topic.