#I reckon another six weeks I might be able to stop covering it

[stardustedknuckles]

I don't recommend getting bit by a brown recluse but a weird side effect of acute anemia brought on by the bite was my body full on shedding like a damn snake for like two damn weeks. A side effect of THAT is that it included the skin on my heels and now I have the tender feet of a five year old and a chance to keep it smooth now going forward

[fukurodaze]

some days

pairing: post-timeskip! oikawa tooru x fem!reader genre: angst wc: 2.4k warnings: cursing, stress, anxiety, homesickness, insecurity requested by @dasighosamu​ <3: “oikawa video chatting regularly with his girlfriend that somehow convinced him they’re okay [...]”

a/n: i.. am.. so so so sorry this took so long... many of the negative feelings here are taken from my own personal experiences as well, so i’m very sorry if this seems a bit impersonal for some people, but i tried to make it feel as y/n-able as possible! enjoy!

special thanks to nat @natszoo​ for beta reading! love u :(

LISTEN TO: blue - taeyeon; through the night - iu

you feel it in your bones. you feel it rumble and twist and turn. some days you feel it more. some days you feel it less. you know what it is today. 

it’s so empty, you think, movements like a crack of sound in silence. you had woken up in the afternoon today, the room still dark yet covers already warm. oh, you feel disgusting.

the least you do is open the curtains, hoping to squeeze in some sunlight for the day you had almost missed. you remember, though, to wake up for today, because it’s saturday. you look forward to saturdays, actually, because it has in store one constant that you hold onto - facetiming your boyfriend, oikawa tooru, at 7pm.

it used to be everyday that you facetimed him, until careers advanced and work took up more and more space in lives. still, you would always watch his matches when they were televised (it was a hassle sometimes, though, to get through to argentinian television channels, but it was worth it) and he would text you good morning and goodnight in your timezone most days (it slips his mind sometimes, but you could never blame him; you like the texts anyways). and it’s okay, really, it’s okay that you don’t get to see him that often. it’s just that work gets a bit harsh sometimes and you live alone and most of your friends live quite a bit far from you and you feel like you’ve cried to them about tooru way too many times and-

okay, you are not okay. but you hold on. you try to hold on.

you get yourself an instant meal in the fridge, feeling well into the shitty weekend when you see the stack of dirty dishes in the sink. you wash them anyways, thinking that it might be a way for you to feel a little bit better. you don’t want to be irritable when you’re with tooru, because then he’ll just worry. he already worries enough about himself - the least you could do is smile. right?

it’s what you tell yourself as you slap on some skincare, hoping that the various products containing tea tree essence and papaya are enough to mask the layer of sleepless nights and early mornings on your face. it’s not like you’re afraid of him seeing you in your dejected state; it’s more like you wouldn’t want the only time you spend with him this week be a negative memory.

now, you settle on the carpeted floor of the living room, laptop placed on the coffee table between the couch and the tv you never really use anymore. you remember when tooru had bought you this apartment right before an off-season with promises of him visiting in the summer. he even insisted on that nice tv screen for netflix nights. 

but alone, you prefer a laptop; so you’re thinking of selling it, yet you don’t want to pass up on the chance that tooru might come back one summer.

eventually, the facetime on your laptop sounds its ringtone, and a smile grows on your face as quickly as you pick up the video call. 

"wait- can- can you hear me well?”

you purse your lips, your tired eyes seemingly so much more eager to stay open. you say, “yeah, i can hear you well. can you?”

he hums, and there’s a loving silence that ensues. you don’t really know what to do with your insides feeling all warm again, so you fold your legs to your chest and let out a light laugh. it’s him.

“wow,” you mumble through chuckles, “hi, tooru.”

“i missed you, pretty girl,” he coos. you see how tooru has his back against his headboard, one arm folded behind his head and the other holding his phone up. it’s seven in the morning there, you reckon, and he looks like he’d just showered. 

“i missed you too. just showered?”

your boyfriend nods, “woke up later than usual today, but it’s, like, hot outside even at six in the morning. or maybe i just sweat too much.”

you giggle, “here, it’s so cold already. i can’t even go anywhere without a sweater - i even sleep with socks these days.”

“are you sure your heater’s doing fine?”

“my heater’s almost on its highest setting. i’ve just been getting so cold lately? maybe i just hate winter...” you trail off as you hear your own stomach grumble. still hungry...? you mutter to yourself, standing up to get a little snack for yourself, “tooru, i’m getting a snack. just keep talking, though, i can hear you.”

tooru’s smile falters a bit when he hears of you getting cold. he knows you’ve never really minded winter, using the season as an opportunity to stack up on cozy clothing and coats. hell, he had heard you say once, during one autumn, that you were so excited for winter because “you could finally wear the hoodies and sweaters since you felt too warm for them even during autumn and spring.” back then, tooru had told you that you were just too warm of a person. 

but maybe he’s just thinking too much into it. he hasn’t been to japan in a long time, anyways. maybe it really is that cold.

you come back with some toast and a glass of water. a crisp, warm bite into the food makes you feel relieved. you tuck your hair behind your ears, putting your focus back on tooru. “so, how’s everything?”

“everything... is... a lot.” tooru makes his way off of the bed, telling you, “seeing you eat just makes me hungry, too. lemme get some food.” he brings his phone with him to the kitchen, propping it against a vase on his dining table, giving you a perfect view of the kitchen. 

“welcome to my cooking show!” he exclaims as he lets go of the phone. it falls immediately, of course, but he takes care in propping it against some more items. it works somehow.

“i just recently perfected my egg poaching technique,” tooru smirks as he takes two eggs from the fridge, “it’s kind of flawless, not gonna lie.”

“can i see?” 

he sets the eggs down on the countertop, making his way to his phone before pausing, “erm, due to camera placement issues and a shortage of hands, i am unable to give you a full view of my absolute skill. is that okay, baby?”

you nod, your lip protruding slightly in a quiet pout. tooru’s pointed it out before, but it seems like every time he calls you baby your body automatically responds with a little pout. he looks at you with calm eyes, “cute.”

as he makes his eggs, you let him go on about the people around his neighbourhood, the results of the ca san juan tryouts from last week, his new team members, and one restaurant he’s found around town. he tells you, “their food is just so good. i’ll take you there someday.”

your cheeks raise slightly at his last statement, “really? tell me more about it.”

“well, it’s a bit expensive, but so worth it. they sell japanese stuff, actually, and i seriously kid you not, it tastes exactly like food from home.”

home, huh? 

“maybe when i visit one day i can bring you some food from home, too.”

somehow, the mention of home stings a little bit tonight.

 it’s an off-day, off-night, off-week, you’ve told yourself, and now that the week is ending with a call from your boyfriend, you were positive that it was going to end on a high. here, you stand corrected, with your throat getting all tied up threatening hot tears from the corners of your eyes. you’ve made it this far in the week, why must you cry in front of tooru, of all people? 

you take a long gulp from your glass of water in an attempt to blink back your tears. you’re glad that tooru’s back is facing the camera as he takes out a plate to put his eggs on. 

you quiet down intensely, afraid that any word out of your mouth will come out as a choked sob. of course, tooru notices, whipping his head around with a faltering smile.

“y/n, are you alright-”

“um, tooru, i think my laptop’s running out of battery, so i’ll reconnect the call from my phone instead, yeah?”

tooru nods, and you hastily stand up, clicking blindly at what you thought was the red hang-up button. your legs carry you to the kitchen, a place where tooru can still hear you even after the both of you thought you had hung up, to get another glass of water. 

but your arms don’t go so far as to reach for the tap, and instead, they only hold onto the edge of the countertop, trembling lightly against the cold marble. 

“shit,” you curse, head hanging as tears flow down your cheeks in warm waterfalls with your breath unsteady, your neck heating up. you see how some teardrops make little puddles on the shiny countertop, and some are swept away when your hand flies over to rid them, swiping in quick motions, angry that your body betrayed you by crying.

“stop crying, goddamnit.” you mutter, “it’s going to be so obvious, and tooru’s just going to worry, and he’ll just find it a hassle to stay with you, and-” you can’t even continue your spoken train of thought when you choke on your own words, your legs not even enough to support you up. 

“what a shitty week...” you slide down to the floor, trying to steady your breath. you tell yourself to hurry up with this damned cry, as you told him you were going to call him again on your phone. maybe you could say it was the wifi. 

you look up, wondering why, why do i feel like this?

is it because you just miss him? is work just getting hectic? should you be going out more? but it’s cold... nothing’s been working out lately. it’s just become doubts on top of doubts and you don’t know where to stop.

on the other hand, tooru’s freezing up. he can still hear your sniffles from afar, and as he stares at the warm plate of poached eggs on toast, he wonders if it would be okay to call out to you. 

it’s not like this is the first time he’s ever seen you cry, because you two have seen each other in more ways than one. still, tooru feels his heart crumble at the fact that he had had absolutely no clue as to what you had been feeling all this time, whether it be just a week, a few days, or a few hours. he wants to call out to you, hug you tight, wipe your tears, do something to make you feel better. 

but tooru doesn’t really know how to make his way through this, seeing as the distance is too far for any physical comfort. he’s learned he’s not as good with comforting words as he is with flirting, but now that he doesn’t flirt with anyone other than you, he doesn’t know if he even is good with words at all. he thinks, if you were to be okay with him reaching out to you, why were you choking back your tears? why were you so quick to hide what you felt? why do you not want him to worry about you the same way you worry about him?

tooru likes to think things through, especially when he’s never felt so unprepared with you before, as he’d been used to resorting to physical comfort in the past. but in this moment, through all the doubts and negative thoughts, his mouth moves faster than his brain.

“y/n, i’m still here.”

in this moment, your breath hitches and you make the dreaded way back to your laptop, your eyes swollen and cheeks glossy. 

“y-you heard everything?” 

your boyfriend nods, “do... do you want to talk about it?”

you shrug, swallowing slowly. “i don’t know how to talk about it, really,” a shallow laugh falls from your lips, “some days- this week- it’s just not... it’s been low, for me.”

tooru’s chin leans patiently against his forearms, eyes focused on you. 

“oh god. i haven’t cried in months,” you exhale, “and it just happened to be in front of you. i probably look ugly, or something.”

your boyfriend shakes his head, “you and ugly are words that simply do not go together.”

“you can keep crying, if you want. i’ll be here for you.” he affirms, “we take care of each other at our lows, remember? no matter the distance.”

you sniffle a bit more, your sweater sleeve damp from your tears. his words are new, but it makes you feel much less alone. 

the call fades into you attempting to steady your breathing once more, and tooru reassuring you left and right. maybe it does feel nice, you begin to think, to have someone there with you. to know that they’ll care for you as much as you’ll care for them.

in the midst of your thoughts, tooru calls out, “y/n?”

you hum in response, and he continues, “i wasn’t supposed to tell you this, since it’s not final, but there’s a possibility that i’ve been selected to play for the argentinian national team in the olympics next year. in tokyo.”

you do a double take at him. “wait, you... in japan...?”

he loves seeing you smile like that. “i was called in a meeting yesterday. they were pretty positive about me being a starting setter, but, again, it’s not final.”

your shoulders drop a bit, “but there’s always a chance, right?”

“well, ‘not final’ is just their way of saying ‘don’t tell anyone yet’. and how could i not tell you?”

you giggle a little, “maybe if you come over i might have some use for this big ass tv you bought for me.”

tooru laughs, “i’m coming home, y/n.”

here comes your second wave of tears.

[therealvinelle]

Maybe this is bold of me to ask, but are there any deleted scenes from your fics, or scenes you had consideted writing but didn't? And if yes, would you be willing to share them someday?

Oh no problem!

Usually when a scene is deleted it stays deleted, so I don't have a lot to give you. There are a few things that were cut in betaing for various reasons, I can put a few of them below a readmore in this post.

There's the prologue that never was to Nebuchadnezzar's Dream, from back when the fic was supposed to be told alternately from Bella and Carlisle's respective points of view. In the prologue we saw how Bella, Alice, and Edward came to the point where they decided to overthrow the Volturi. Or, we would have, except I didn't actually like that prologue, and found myself jumping straight to writing chapter 2, the "Carlisle is at a party and gets attacked by a werewolf" chapter instead. My good beta @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin asked why I didn't simply make the whole fic from Carlisle's point of view, I realized she had an excellent point, now here we are.

For that matter, this is nowhere near the only significant change that happened to this fic during writing. One example, in the original outline I never brought up Carlisle's gift. Two significant things in the last chapter were not planned until after I published chapters twelve and thirteen, respectively (Luckily for me it'll look like I plotted them all along, so yay for that). For a tightly plotted fic, this one has had a lot of leeway.

Slight caveat, as I’m self-conscious: with most of these you will probably be able to tell why they’re deleted scenes. Especially the prologue. God, that prologue.

(Also, for the record yes I do write other things, but due to 1. being betaed, and 2. being long, I really only have examples for Nebuchadnezzar's Dream.)

The prologue that never was. Apologies for the fluff saturation:

The Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II once had a dream.

There was a statue that was gold on top, then silver, then copper, then iron, then clay and iron. As he watched, a rock struck its feet, and soon the whole statue crumbled, leaving nothing but rubble. The rock then grew into a great mountain that covered all the world.

This, the prophet Daniel told the king, was a message from Jehovah.

The statue represented five great human empires, the golden head being the Babylonian Empire, and the following three being those who would come after. The last would be both iron and clay, a divided kingdom. It will fall, and then the kingdom of Heaven will come, crushing those empires in its path.

Thousands of years later, in 1453, the Byzantine Empire fell. The last of the Roman Empire, a divided kingdom, had fallen.

The Christian world trembled, because reckoning was surely near. With the fall of this last, great human empire, all the world would fall to rubble.

-

Fifteen years had passed.

The Cullens had left Forks behind, settling in the small town of Grafton, Idaho. Carlisle had quickly settled into the new hospital, and Esme had designed a beautiful new home for them while the rest attended the new school. Jasper and Rosalie were Carlisle’s younger siblings while Bella, Edward, Renesmée and Esme comprised another set of siblings. Alice and Emmett were the fosters.

Jacob wasn’t far, he still lived with his old .

«Did you hear they all scored an A on Mr Rosen’s test? Seriously, all of them!»

The words were uttered by Jenna Gilbert, a blonde sophomore who reminded Bella very much of Jessica Stanley. She was sitting on the opposite end of the cafeteria from Bella and her family, though

«Jen, it’s the Cullens, that’s just what they do. You should stop comparing yourself…» her friend said soothingly.

Bella ducked her face into her hand to hide her smile, and winked at Alice, who grinned back at her.

It was Bella and Renesmée’s first time going to high school as a vampire. It was exactly what Edward and Alice had said it would be, for better and for worse.

For the worse, because she spent her days pretending to be a human girl, never using her strength or speed, pretending Edward wasn’t her husband and Renesmée wasn’t her daughter.

For the better, because she got to spend every day with Edward, Renesmée, and the rest of her new family. The others had done the high school routine too many times to see things the way she did, and Renesmée had never known a life without the Cullens, but to Bella, attending high school as one of Dr. Cullen’s adoptive kids felt like she had truly come full circle since that first day she spotted Edward in the cafeteria. She was one of them, truly, irrevocably, and high school was nothing if not a promise of the countless years to come surrounded by the people she loved.

Edward caught her eye, and she smiled back at him. She lowered her shield briefly to show him how happy she was to be with her family.

His face softened into that beautiful, lop-sided smile of his, and he leaned in to whisper into her ear, «You’ll be less happy when you’ve been through English 101,» he said.

«Hey, hey,» Jasper said quickly. «Don’t you dare, Edward, I need all the happiness I can get in this place.» He locked eyes with Bella. «Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.»

Bella laughed, and rested her head on Edward’s shoulder. He placed his hand above hers on the table, and she smiled. «Not a problem, Jazz.»

Jenna’s voice caught her notice again. «Look at how they’re sitting! Try and tell me they’re not incestuous, Cam. Just try.»

Her friend didn’t reply to that one, although a quick glance informed Bella that the girl was staring at the Cullen table with a frown on her face.

Bella and Alice caught each others’ eye again, and this time they couldn’t hold back the giggles.

***********

Later in the day, Alice’s eyes lit up. «You’ll receive a letter from Stefan and Vladimir a week from now,» she chirped.

«Oh!» Bella exclaimed. «What does it say?»

«The usual,» Alice replied, her eyes slightly distant as she concentrated. «They hope we’re all doing well, and they included a new story of how things used to be before the Volturi. It’s the story of how they once built an entire temple for themselves in just one day. Oh, and they have a new phone number. O-seven nine six five nine six.»

Bella’s eyes widened as Alice talked. She hoped they had included drawings of that temple, it sounded incredible.

Bella hadn’t expected the Romanians to stay in touch, when they left after the thwarted battle with the Volturi she thought they would slink back into the old European shadows they had cloaked themselves in for that past several thousand few years, not to be heard from until some new threat to the Volturi loomed.

But no, that very next Christmas Bella had received a gift from them. It was an old, if flaked painting of Ivan the Terrible looking a lot like Vladimir, and a note from Vladimir explaining how he fooled all of Russia into believing he was their ruler for decades, all right beneath Aro’s nose. Carlisle had broken into a fit of uncharacteristic giggles when he heard that, and even agreed to put the painting in the hallway. To this day, he’d huff with silent laughter whenever he walked past it.

After that, Bella and the two Romanians had been in touch. They’d send her gifts, stories, and their own observations about the Volturi, and she’d respond fondly.

It was a very unlikely friendship, but she was was eternally grateful to all those who had stood with her family when the Volturi came. The Romanians were no exception,

«Are you going to call them?» Alice inquired.

Bella nodded. «They were going to tell me about their visit to Thebes.»

(Outline: Prologue of sorts. Status quo update, everyone’s happy except for the part where the Volturi are waiting to kill them. Alice, Bella, and Edward form their plan. Alice sees that she’s going to have to send Carlisle away, and coincidentally his hospital colleagues are having their Christmas weekend in Montana. PERFECT. She talks to him.)

***********

Heavily altered scene from chapter 7

Carlisle makes more jokes than he did in the final product, they're unfunny to the point where my beta said "you can't publish this", the plague joke in particular is a bit too dark for him so I gave it to Jane instead. More importantly, the chapter itself has a very weird, clunky start:

«Is it the gift of being profoundly unimpressed by ridiculous claims?» Carlisle deadpanned. «Because if so, Aro, I think you might be on to something.»

Several seconds had passed since Aro made his ridiculous claim. At first, Carlisle had burst out laughing. Then, as he realized he was the only person in the room laughing and Aro was staring at him in full seriousness, his laughter had trailed off and he’d been left to stare dully at Aro for several long seconds, waiting for Aro to crack up and say «gotcha!».

Aro never cracked up.

Carlisle had absolutely no idea what Aro was playing at, especially not immediately after Carlisle had very reluctantly decided against shutting him out of his life.

«You can’t be serious,» he’d said.

Aro had sighed. «I’m afraid I am.»

And now, at Carlisle’s deadpan guess, Aro only shook his head. «Not quite.»

Carlisle stared at him for another second, before he ventured another, scathing guess. «Are you hoping it’s the power of being highly suggestible? Because I definitely don’t have that, or I would have abandoned my diet centuries centuries ago.»

Aro just looked at him. «If you would let me explain-» he began, but Carlisle cut him off.

«No, no, you want to try and convince me I have some sort of gift, then I want to guess at what you’re going for,» he said, crossing his legs at the knee and propping his chin up on his knuckle in a faux-pensive look.

«Now,» he continued, even as Aro gave him the world’s most unimpressed glare, as if Carlisle was the one who was being ridiculous, «I’m pretty sure I would have noticed the power to throw fireballs by now, so it can’t be that,» he mused aloud. «Same goes for the power of…» he searched his mind, «turning into a bat. That one would definitely have come up at some point. Or maybe I should suspend myself upside down in a cave. See if it triggers anything. Just to be sure.»

«Carlisle,» Aro murmured, but Carlisle wasn’t done.

«Maybe I spread disease. My father certainly thought demons did. Maybe that’s why I get so many interesting patients. Those brain fungi,» he nodded towards Renata, who was still sitting with the book open in her lap, «I’ve had two in one year. That’s a lot.»

«Carlisle-» Aro tried again, but Carlisle held up a finger, a wide grin spreading across his face.

«The power to change my eye color. You see, yesterday they were black-»

Aro actually rolled his eyes at that. Of course, he made the insolent gesture look like a fluid, enchanting movement.

«Yes, quite funny, now if you would let me explain…» Aro tried again while Carlisle tried not to snicker at his own joke.

***********

Two deleted paragraphs from chapter 9. The alteration was made because it was a bit on the nose about what Renesmée does.

Humans were mammals, and mammals were hardwired to protect their young. This extended across species, making mother cats care for puppies and humans care for anything that was small and cute. The instinct to love and cherish anything cute and helpless was an evolutionary necessity, and had to run deeper than anything if a species wanted to survive.

Enter Jane, who was the smallest, cutest thing Carlisle had ever seen, but from a species humans instinctively knew to fear. Maybe the very fact that she was something that humans knew they should want to care for made their fear exponential, made it impossible to deny that something was very wrong about her, that they were looking at a predator.

Perhaps too there was something to vampires having retained some of that human instinct to protect their young, if the countless stories of covens dying to protect their immortal children was anything to go by. Carlisle himself had been no exception when the Volturi came for Renesmée, even as he found himself risking the lives of countless friends.

How far things had come, he thought, from preparing to die along with his loved ones at the hands of the Volturi to sitting across a café table with Jane and pitching costume ideas.

***********

Chapter 9 was heavily altered, mainly as it was too funny the first (and second!) time around and I kept having to return to insert more existential dread. A side effect of this is that Carlisle in the original draft was still undecided on whether he had a gift up until the very end of the chapter, whereas it's proven beyond a doubt much earlier in the published version.

Jane was looking a bit daunted, though it was nothing compared to how Carlisle felt.

Silently, they went to stand in front of one of the many sports stores that Whitefish had to offer.

«This could still be confirmation bias,» Carlisle whispered, and leaned against the wall. For all the human blood that was in his system, his knees felt oddly weak.

Jane let out a startled laugh. «You’re seriously still in denial?»

Carlisle shook his head quietly. «They reacted pretty reasonably, just because they didn’t run away screaming…»

«Reasonably?» Jane echoed dully. «Carlisle, you can’t actually…» she shook her head. «Remember that bubble we talked about?»

Carlisle put his head in his hands, and let his fingers move up, under the wig, pulling it off in one neat motion.

Jane shook her head at him. «You look even more glamorous with your real hair.»

Carlisle still said nothing, balling the wig together in his hands.

Could it be he actually had a gift?

***********

The chapter 11 outline originally had Renata and Carlisle failing to communicate like normal people because they've spent too much time with Aro, and unintentional innuendo keeps ruining their attempts to make polite small talk. Sadly (or happily) this is a lot easier to conceptualize than carry out in actual writing, and their conversation wound up being far too serious for that, so it was cut. Luckily for you I did pen Carlisle flashbacking to a time his foot got in his mouth:

The moment after the words were out her face scrunched up.

Carlisle snorted. «Aro is a horrible influence on us all.»

He remembered one of his first talks with Jasper, when they were still getting to know each other.

Jasper had been a little starstruck when he learned Carlisle’s friends in Italy were those Italians.

He’d asked Carlisle a lot of questions once he got past a misplaced sense of awe, wanting to put a face to the eternal, petrified, leaders of the vampire world.

During a hunt with just the two of them, Jasper had been asking about Aro’s gift.

«What do you even think about when you’re with him?» Jasper had marvelled aloud, and he would later explain that the way he say it, this was like the way the Egyptian gods supposedly measured souls.

Place your heart upon the balancing scale against the weight of a feather, and if your heart weighs heavier it is devoured by the demon Ammit.

Place your hand in Aro’s, and if he deems you guilty of breaking his law, you will be torn to pieces in the space of a second.

Being friends with the man sounded unbearably stressful to Jasper.

Unfortunately, Carlisle’s mind had gone in the opposite direction, and what came out of his mouth before he could stop himself was, «England.»

He’d covered well enough for that, or he hoped he had. Jasper never asked.

***********

Chapter 11 was also supposed to have Renata being brave enough to ask for a selfie with Carlisle when they're both in black robes, this because I just really want Edward to sift through the Volturi group chat after all this and finding that. Alas, I couldn't work it in there. (Determined to not lose the joke, I had Aro take the photos in chapter 12 instead.)

***********

Chapter 12, the fandom ghost requested I include another butt slap and offered me fanart if I fulfilled her wish.

And so:

He held up a hand, presumably to touch Carlisle’s arm in comfort, but just then Alec started retching.

«He ate human food,» Jane deadpanned to Demetri, Felix, and Renata. Shaking her head, she brushed Alec’s hair out of his face as he hurled into the river.

Aro grimaced slightly, his hand hovering in the air.

Carlisle felt all the bread, corn flakes, and water that he’d swallowed press uncomfortably against his esophagus. «I’ll do you one better, Alec,» he choked, before he span around, fell to his knees and started retching, much like a cat.

Aro, evidently not sure what to do with his arm but not about to let it drop purposelessly, gave Carlisle a supportive pat on the bum before kneeling beside him to hold his hair as he hurled.

It was funny, but simply didn't fit the tone considering what happened after. It had to go. But hey, I got the art.

[adenei]

Hermione doing everything to seduce Ron but fails miserably. A hilarious Valentine's day fic. XD.

Hi anon! At first you had me stumped, but the idea started to unfold, and I enjoyed writing this one in the end. Please enjoy their first Valentine’s Day together

Warning: Implied Smut, but no actual Smut. 

**************************

Valentine’s Surprises

She’d read the books. She’d gotten special permission from the Headmistress. Hermione was fully prepared to give Ron the best Valentine’s Day surprise. This was the first Valentine’s Day that they were actually together and could celebrate properly, and she’d have to make it extra special because she probably wouldn’t get to see him for his birthday since it fell during the week this year.

It’d been six weeks since they’d seen each other over Christmas hols, and this whole long distance thing was getting old pretty quick for Hermione. She looked in the mirror and observed herself. Demelza had helped with her makeup, and she’d managed to tame her hair down a bit using Sleakeazy’s. It had a nice waviness to it, and was pulled back into a side plait.  She smiled as she stared down at her overnight bag. Massage oil, sexy red lingerie and a silk robe, the fuzzy throw blanket that was wrapped in decorative paper, rose petals and bath bombs...and a change of clothes for class tomorrow.  

If Hermione had planned everything out properly, Ron would be in for the surprise of his life. She knew he and Harry always went to the Burrow for Sunday dinner, normally arriving at four and getting back around seven. It was 4:30 now, and Hermione was heading to Professor McGonagall’s office, where she was planning to floo to Grimmauld Place. She had two and a half hours to bake biscuits, and set things up before setting herself up in his bed for him to come home and find her. 

Upon arriving at the Headmistress’ office, she was reminded that she needed to return at 8:30 the following morning, and Hermione profusely thanked her again for allowing her to leave. She stepped into the fireplace and in a few short moments found herself in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. The boys had really done a fantastic job updating the home, making it brighter and more welcoming. 

Hermione set her bag down and began summoning the ingredients she needed to bake his favorite biscuits. Molly had shared the recipe. She only bothered with checking the ingredients because ‘if you could read, you could cook,’ right? Hermione quickly set to work preparing all the ingredients per the directions until she hit step seven. 

Wait...how was she even supposed to do that? She understood mixing the dry and the wet ingredients together normally, but there was a spell written, and having never read any magical cookbooks, Hermione was at a loss for what to do. She began panicking, looking around the kitchen for some sort of ‘how to’ book to help her through this. Of course the boys didn’t have one! She was opening and closing every cupboard she could find as she became more and more frantic. Then, she opened one particular cupboard, and a memory flashed before her eyes. 

Would it work? She had no idea, but she had to try. She was desperate for this night to go perfectly. “Kreacher?” she asked softly. At first nothing happened, but then a loud POP echoed through the kitchen and Kreacher stood before her. 

“Hello, Miss. What is you doing in Masters Potter and Weasley’s home?”

“Oh, thank goodness it worked!” Hermione said with a rush of relief. “I’m here to surprise Ron tonight, Kreacher. It was my intention to bake his favorite biscuits, but I’m afraid I- I don’t know how to get past step seven. Could you help me?”

Hermione was crestfallen. She wanted to do this all herself. She didn’t want to have to ask for help, but she couldn’t leave a half attempted recipe out for Ron to see when he got back.

“Yes, Miss. Where is the recipe?” Hermione pointed to the counter.

“Thank you, Kreacher! Do you mind if I watch?” Hermione tried to hide the disappointment in herself.

Kreacher gave a grumbled sigh and a curt nod as he set to work. Hermione should have known that the elf would use nonverbal magic on the recipe, so it was partially a waste of time to watch him work. He made quick work of the rest of the steps, and magically placed perfectly round balls on the baking sheet. “Miss forgot to turn on the oven.” He took care of it. “Would you like me to take care of the rest?”

“No, no, thank you Kreacher, I can take it from here. Thank you again!” Hermione said as Kreacher fell into a low bow and then disapparated out of sight. Hermione figured she had about fifteen minutes before the oven was heated to temperature, so she grabbed her bag and set to work upstairs. Somehow it was already after six. 

Hermione opened her bag and pulled out the bag of rose petals when she got to Ron’s room. She scattered them on the floor and over his bed,placing the package on the end of the bed and the massage oil on his nightstand. Satisfied with her work, she went back downstairs to find the oven was ready and she placed the cookies in the oven. Mrs. Weasley’s note said they needed to be baked for exactly ten minutes. Hmm, I wonder why so exact? Hermione thought. 

She set a timer for herself as she went back upstairs to draw the bath water and change into the lingerie and robe, keeping an eye on the timer. She’d gotten the top on, but was struggling with the bottoms when she got the minute warning. Giving up on them for now, she threw the silk robe around her and turned the water off, casting a quick warming charm over it as she hurried downstairs.

Hermione opened the oven door just as the timer went off and pulled them out. They looked perfect on top, but the bottoms were tinged a bit dark. It’s okay, at least you didn’t burn them! She turned the oven off and transferred the cookies to a cooling rack. Hermione magically washed the cookie sheet and double checked the recipe once more. Ugh, not another charm! She realized Mrs. Weasley had one more charm to set the cookies with at the end. I’m sure it’ll be fine without it, she thought because she did not want to call Kreacher back again. 

Hermione left the cookies to cool, and hurried back upstairs to figure out the mess of straps that were the bottom half of her outfit. It took a good ten minutes to get everything situated properly, and she checked herself in the bathroom mirror. She smiled softly and hoped she’d drive him mad with desire upon discovering her like this. Hermione didn’t often care what she looked like, and she wasn’t exactly one for seduction, but she wanted to do this for Ron. 

She checked to make sure the warming charm was still intact on the tub, and dropped one of the bath bombs in. Then, Hermione hurried into Ron’s adjoining bedroom, shut the door, and hung up the robe. She carefully climbed under his covers. Now, we wait.

************************

Harry and Ron finally flooed home from the Burrow just before 7:30. Ron knew they were later than normal, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do on Valentine’s Day. He cursed again because he should be able to spend it with Hermione, but she was at bloody Hogwarts. Harry had invited Neville and Seamus over around 8:00 since they all might as well be alone together on this particular holiday. 

“Uh, Ron,” he heard Harry say. “You didn’t bake biscuits before we left, did you?” Ron looked over and saw, were those his favorite biscuits? He didn’t even realize the sweet scent until Harry had said something.

“Er, no, mate..that’s odd,” Ron said. Harry made to pick one up, but having been poisoned before, Ron stopped him. “Harry, no! Better check with Kreacher first. We don’t have any bezoars lying around.”

Harry called Kreacher who appeared with a POP. “Kreacher, did you bake these while we were gone?”

“I helped, but it wasn’t me,” Kreacher croaked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked him.

“Surprise...doesn’t know how to bake with magic,” Kreacher muttered as he shook his head.

“Kreacher, is someone else here?” Harry asked as Ron did the homenum revelio spell. Kreacher nodded as the spell did in fact reveal a third person.

Ron looked back down at the cookies, which were his favorite. He looked at Harry, who said, “You don’t think…” 

“If it is, you’re on your own with Nev and Seamus,” Ron said as he sprinted up the stairs. His bedroom door was shut, and he definitely hadn’t left it that way earlier. He opened the door to see Hermione, scantily dressed and laying in his bed. His heart damn near stopped. “Bloody hell…” was all he could manage.

“It’s about time!” Hermione couldn’t help herself. She’d been waiting over a half hour and was starting to get nervous that he wasn’t coming home.

Ron shut the door and cast a quick lock and silencing charm on the door. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said as he met her on the bed and wasted no time in pulling her in for a passionate kiss.

“Wanted to surprise you,” she said.

“Reckon it worked. You’re bloody gorgeous, you know that?” Ron couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was stunning. He’d never seen her in lingerie before, only dreamed of it. He was basking in the glory of having her here, when he saw the look of disappointment on her face. It was subtle, but it was there. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s- it’s nothing,” she said as she looked away.

“Tell me, ‘Mione. Please?” Ron reached out and touched her chin, directing her face back to meet his.

“It’s just, everything I planned has gone wrong! I couldn’t even bake your favorite cookies! I needed Kreacher’s help and I still missed that there was a spell at the very end, so they’re probably ruined. I planned for you to be home around 7, so the bath water is probably cold, and I couldn’t go anywhere to check because I didn’t want anyone seeing me in this. I probably should have just told you McGonagall let me off for the night. Then you would have known and we could have had more time.”

Ron chuckled. “Hermione, we have the whole night ahead of us, and I'm so glad you’re here. And it’s a good thing you didn’t leave the room in this because I want you in this all to myself, though I’m about two seconds from ripping it off you,” Ron gave her a dark, wanting look then. Six weeks was way too long.

He always knew how to instantly make her feel better. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said, giving her best seductive smile. Ron was on her in an instant, hands exploring her body and relishing in the feel of her against him. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said against his lips.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love,” Ron returned, becoming lost in the sexiness of his girlfriend.

[harrysgoldrush]

chapter 2: styles v vegan contract

masterlist

tag list

part 1

Y/N Y/LN.

In her final year of law school and already planning on getting her LLM in Environmental Law and Politics. A true force to be reckoned with. Tom had told him that much the moment he closed the office door behind him.

Tom’s office was one of the bigger advisor’s offices on campus, with his desk pushed up against the left wall furthest from the door with two mismatched embroidered chairs that he had stolen from the Tisch School of Arts last year. A giant bookcase covered the whole back wall with books sitting on top of each neatly organized row. The right side of his office was occupied by a worn leather couch that had only fit through the narrow door by some miracle. There was a coffee table with some of the school’s different magazines and newspapers and a small black fridge that always had sodas and Tom’s leftovers.

Harry could imagine her taking naps on that sofa, falling asleep as she plotted her next protest, asking Tom for advice while he answered emails. She wouldn’t even knock, she’d make a beeline to the fridge to grab water. Except she hated those bottles. What did she do instead? Maybe she would finish Tom’s salad for him, his wife always brought him one for lunch and he only ever ate the “exciting” parts before he tucked it away in that fridge.

“Harry, she’s in two of your classes this semester,” Tom had laughed, setting his reading glasses down on his desk as he sat back down. “Your Public and Private Governance Seminar and International Trade and Investment Law and Policy Seminar. Those are small classes, I’m surprised you two haven’t met before.”

Sinking in his chair, he held his back closely as he defended, “We have met before. Last week at Sloan Energy.” 

“Ah,” Tom hummed, clearly entertained at Harry’s reaction. Scooting his chair closer, he closed his laptop so he could look directly at him. “She’s been leading that protest for a while now, I think it will be six weeks this Friday.”

“Is there any way to stop her?”

“From protesting for Green Energy? No.” Taking a deep breath, he rubbed at his neck and added hesitantly, “I suppose you could always talk to her? She’s reasonable enough, she just switched advisors this semester because she wanted to make Mark’s workload lighter; he’s semi-retired now.”

Tom went on to check in with Harry about his internship and how his classes were going so far but Harry could hardly focus, feeling himself drift towards the question of the hour: how could he convince her to move the protest?

From the short interaction he had had with Y/N and Tom’s high praise, he was beginning to think that he was Sloan Energy’s last hope. Why else would they turn to him, an intern, when they had a whole team of more than qualified lawyers? And why had Tom thrown him to the wolves, knowing that another student was leading a whole movement against the company?

Before he could ask, Tom was standing up and shaking his hand. “You’ll have to keep me updated on Sloan Energy and the protests. I’m eager to hear what happens.”

“Yeah, Tom I will. And thanks again for telling me about the internship.”

Tom was quiet for a minute, his smile frozen and his eyes narrowing before he nodded. “Of course, Harry. Jeff Azoff is an old student of mine. When he reached out about looking to hire students, I immediately thought of you. Pays a lot more than that paralegal you’ve been working for since your first year here.”

As Harry was leaving the office, he was surprised to see a new blue bin right next to Tom’s trash can. A single plastic salad bowl sat in it, still dripping water as if it had just been rinsed clean. 

“Is this new?”

“It was a gift, actually. Just got it last week.”

The first thing Harry did after his meeting was text Sarah and Mitch, asking what they knew of Y/N Y/LN. Walking briskly down the hallway, Harry’s searches on Instagram and Facebook proved to be a waste of time. Twitter was useless, with only a few pictures of protests with faces blurred and no mention of her. As he waited for the elevator, Harry opened a new note on his phone and began to type down everything he knew.

Studies Environmental Law

No social media.

Protests when not in class

In my governance and policy seminars

Meeting tonight????

Throughout his Financial Regulation seminar, Harry could hardly focus as their guest speaker outlined the history of finance regulation in the US, wondering how he had never noticed her in his classes. In the sea of sleek and professionally dressed law students, she was like a rainbow colored rocky shore. The only thing standing between him and a guaranteed job after graduation was a strangely dressed classmate.

As soon as they were dismissed, Harry unlocked his phone, relieved to see that Mitch knew her pretty well, having dated her old roommate last year. 

She was always really weird about showers. Her and Katie got into this huge fight at the end of the year because Katie had bought a Keurig and I guess that’s bad for the environment. When Y/N got mad about it, Katie locked herself in the bathroom and ran the shower for an hour. By the time she came out of the shower, Y/N had moved out.

Definitely weird.

Sarah had had class with her before and seemed annoyed at Mitch’s response.

It’s called being environmentally friendly, Rowland. Y/N has been practicing zero-waste since high school. She’s not weird, she’s thoughtful. My first year when I was dehydrated, she took me to the hospital and went to all of my classes for me to take notes. If I wouldn’t be risking arrest and my degree, I’d be protesting with her. She’s a better person than both of you combined. If she wasn’t so busy, she’d be top of our year easily. Why are you asking about her, Harry?

Ignoring her question, Harry put his phone away and kept walking, though he wasn’t entirely sure where to go. He hadn’t been able to convince Tom to give him her schedule although he could probably ask Jeff. And what was that meeting later tonight? Was it with Sloan Energy? Was that why they weren’t expected at the office today?

He wasn’t complaining, in fact he was beyond thankful to have a night to catch up with his studies and term papers, knowing he wouldn’t be getting much sleep either way.

Deciding to get a coffee to keep him warm while he plotted, Harry ducked into the Starbucks across the street and stood in line, making awkward eye contact at an old professor of his who was sitting with a much younger woman. Looking away quickly, his eyes landed on a basket with a sign that said ‘Reusable Cups $3.99’. 

Suddenly, he felt inspired.

Pulling his phone out again, he quickly typed into his search engine ‘is coffee or tea better for earth?’ with a surprising yet logical result. Grabbing two of the reusable coffee cups, Harry smiled widely at the barista.

“Um, just one coffee black. And whatever your healthiest hot tea is.”

Soon, Harry was walking briskly towards Sloan Energy, hoping Y/N wasn’t at her meeting yet. He had only seen her a few hours ago with her bright colors and worn fabrics but as he got closer to the building, it felt like it had been years since he heard her familiar voice, thanking the small gathering around her through her red and white megaphone. The hot drinks in his hand had managed to only spill minimally on the frantic trip across The Village, surviving the packed subway and crowds of tourists.

She was easier to spot now that he knew where to look. The crowd was smaller than it had been the day before, with a few slowly easing out of the group to get somewhere warmer. As Harry made his way to her, he was glad he didn’t have his internship today; he blended in much better with his dark jeans and black zip tie shirt with NYU School of Law embroidered on the chest.

He waited as she informed the group of tomorrow’s meeting times before approaching. It was just them now. Y/N didn’t seem too surprised to see him as she lowered her megaphone and walked towards him, one eyebrow raised as she took in the two white reusable cups in his gloved hands.

“What is this?”

“Green tea,” Holding it out to her, he pulled it back just as quickly and examined the two cups before holding out the other one. “This one’s green tea. Thought you might be cold.”

“No, I meant why are you bringing me a drink?” When he didn’t respond, she asked with a cautious smile, “Did you poison it or something?”

Shaking his head, Harry glanced towards the main doors of Sloan Energy as she took the drink from him, taking a sip before humming. “It's good. Thanks. Harry, right?”

“Yeah. Harry Styles.”

Looping her free hand through the wrist strap of the horn, she wrapped her bare hands around the warm mug as she looked up at him. “Well can I help you, Harry Styles? Or do you just like to watch?”

“Do you want to maybe grab a drink?” He asked, feeling colder with every second he stood under her cautious gaze.

“Besides the one you just gave me?” Smiling, she glanced at the watch on her wrist that looked more like a piece of wood before she cleared her throat and took another sip of her tea. “I have a meeting in an hour so I probably shouldn’t be drinking yet.”

Harry could feel his shoulders droop unintentionally and watched as her eyes widen before she added quickly, “But I’m starving. Have you eaten today?”

She had taken them to a vegan place only a few minutes away, leading them to a table without hesitation, leading Harry to believe she had probably been here a few times before. He was beginning to notice how attentive Y/N was, from the corner of his eye he could see her casually observing him as he read the menu above the counter.

 “Hope you don’t mind vegan, I always come here when I’m in the area.” She suddenly apologized as she dug through her backpack, taking out a much smaller back with her name sewn into it. “Their fries are really good, they’re air fried. The salads are pretty good too.” 

They were quiet, with her eating her guacamole burger as he used the bamboo utensils she had handed him once he sat down with his salad. 

“Don’t worry, they’re clean.” She had explained when he gave her a curious look. They’re safer than actual utensils, they last long. Better for the earth than those plastic things they give out here. Don’t even get me started on the metal stuff.”

The bag she had pulled out of her backpack had turned out to be a pouch with handkerchiefs, bamboo straws and bamboo utensils. The clinking he had heard earlier in her bag turned out to be mason jars.

“So, you just bring those with you everywhere?”

“Pretty much. I’m just doing my part to lower our carbon footprint. I bring my own containers and utensils mostly. Some places around here are getting better. Chloe, the manager, uses plates that are made of recycled materials and then recycles them again when they’re used.”

Nodding, Harry stabbed at his salad thoughtfully. “So why are you protesting Sloan? No offense, but don’t you have better things to do? Like study?”

“Why do you intern there? Aren’t there less morally corrupt businesses you could work for?”

“They’re one of the most successful energy companies on the East Coast--” He began but her sharp laugh was back, cutting him off quickly.

“And one of the most environmentally harmful energy companies in the US. It’s 2019, who uses coal anymore?”

“It’s not that harmful to the environment, it’s a natural resource.” He was glad he had paid attention to his Oil and Gas seminar last week. He only hoped she hadn’t. “Mining and burning the coal doesn’t harm the surrounding earth.”

“Uh, ever heard of global warming? They’re burning fossil fuels that are destroying the atmosphere. It’s not just cows.” She had been paying attention. Finishing off her sandwich, she took her final sip of her tea and looked at him expectantly. 

“What?”

“Just say that they’re paying you a shit ton of money to intern. You don’t need to defend them to me, I’m not going to change my opinion until they change their system.”

Sighing, Harry nodded, not knowing what else to say.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here then?” 

He set down her bamboo fork, a sign of defeat. He hadn’t prepared as much as he should have.

“I need you to move your protest.”

“Because?”

“If I get you to move your protest from their front doors, they’ll give me an actual job on their legal team once I pass the bar.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t expected that, her voice laced with pity and uncertainty.

“Yeah.”

After an excruciatingly long pause, she nodded. “Okay.”

“What?” Harry was more than surprised as he watched her shrug and wipe at her hands with the dark red cloth she had laid over her lap when she had started eating.

“I’ll do it.”

“But?”

“I have conditions. Obviously. Do you have any paper?”

He shook his head and watched her begin to dig through her backpack. “What? Are you drawing up a contract or something?”

“Yep,” Pulling out a pen and an old flyer for one of the first protests with the words ‘recycled paper’ stamped on it, Harry watched as she began to write messily on the black back side of it. It was bright yellow and her pen ink was a dark blue, her handwriting long and looped which he found fitting. “Today’s the twenty-fifth right?”

When he hummed in agreement, she continued. “Okay. This contract is between Y/N Y/LN and Harry Styles. Y/N Y/LN has agreed to move her protest permanently from outside of Sloan Energy on the understanding that Harry Styles will educate himself on eco-friendly behavior and practices zero-waste to the best of his ability. Styles must also make an effort to change Sloan Energy from inside, beginning with recycling bins within the building. Once he is hired, Styles is expected to push for green energy. How does that sound?”

 “That sounds like I’m doing a lot more than you.”

“Do you want them to hire you or not? I’m doing you multiple favors here, Styles.”

“Can I read it over and get back to you?”

She nodded before quickly scribbling something at the bottom of the contract. After she slid it across the table, he realized it was her number.

“So we can meet outside of my protesting hours should you Don’t think your bosses would be too happy to see you fraternizing with the enemy.” She was smiling now, one full of mischief that made him feel like she was letting him in on a big secret. Harry couldn’t help but smile back, not quite sure what he might be agreeing on.

As she packed up, Harry was tempted to ask her where she was headed, but she beat him to it; it was like she could read his mind. “Don’t follow me this time, okay? Twice in one day should be enough for you, my own apartment is lucky to see me once.”

He didn’t see a point in disagreeing with the girl as she left the small café. Looking around, it was as if all of the charm of the room had vanished with her, the pink walls now looking faded, the table sticky, the chair uncomfortable cold. 

By the time he got home, it had only gotten colder. His roommate, Ed, was an aspiring musician who had decided tonight was the perfect night to hold a private concert in the shower, his only audience being the last of their cold water. Shivering, Harry simply changed into warmer clothes and sat at his desk, putting on an old rock station before he got to work.

Jeff had asked him yesterday to begin looking into Energy Law and he had a paper due in two days that he had yet to start. Choosing to begin on the latter, Harry got to work, cranking out three pages before he remembered the folded up flyer in his coat pocket. Deciding now was as good as ever to stretch his legs, he walked back to the living room to grab it from the coat rack, his eyes tracing over her handwriting that reminded him of  kindergarten teacher. 

Adding her number, he typed out a short text and paused for a moment. If he texted her, that was it. He’d be agreeing to do whatever it is she laid out in this contract of theirs. Still, if he wanted the job, he knew he had to at least try.

hey, it’s harry. how was that secret meeting of urs?

Returning to his desk, Harry was surprised when his phone pinged. He didn’t take her for a quick responder. His smile fell when he saw it was a text from Jeff. He never texts, he was an email addict. He had a template for almost anything.

What the hell did you do, Styles? Y/N Y/LN just left the office. Moving the protest to washington square.

Before he could respond, his phone pinged again, her contact name flashing at the top of the screen.

have you decided when you want to meet to sign the contract? :)

tags: @berrynarrybanana​ @brwnskin-bunnyteeth​ @harry-is-my-medicine​ @detroitkiwis​ @theresthingsthatwellneverknow @fromyourstrulyh​ @cassiopeiaskies​ @ggaayyyong @mortumnoctis

[ibelieveinharrystyles]

Chapter Two: London Calling?

Forever? Masterlist

25th December 2015

“Merry Christmas Anne!” Ashley called out as her and her mum entered the Twist family home, the smell of Anne’s homemade nut roast wafting towards them as they hung the coats up. 

“Ashley! Linda! Merry Christmas to you both!” Anne greeted them both with a hug, her familiar scent was sweet, with an added floral touch that Ashley didn’t recognise.

“Is that a new perfume Anne? It smells absolutely delightful.” Ashley asked as she took off her battered converse, she respected Anne too much to wear them in her house.

“Yes my love! Harry bought it for me, we did our stocking presents this morning and we’re just setting the table for dinner.” Anne told her.

“Sounds absolutely perfect!” Linda exclaimed as Anne led them into the kitchen, perfectly decorated as always, Harry stood at the island in the middle of the kitchen chopping a mountain of carrots, “You’ve got him well trained haven’t you?” 

“Linda! My favourite Hanson!” Harry cried, placing his knife on the chopping board as he ran towards her, wrapping his arms as he swayed her from side to side. 

“Look at you Harry, you’ve grown so much since I last saw you,” Linda said, taking a step back to look at Harry properly.

“Mum you literally saw him six months ago.” Ashley muttered, rolling her eyes at her persistent mother.

“Don’t listen to her Linda, she’s just jealous.” Harry told her, causing Ashley to stick her middle finger up at him, “If it’s alright with you Linda, I’m going to say hello to my second favourite Hanson.” Harry sauntered towards Ashley, “Merry Christmas!” He cried, stretching his arms out, before enveloping her in a hug, the itchy fabric of his over the top Christmas jumper.

“Merry Christmas you little shit,” Ashley whispered, so as not to let her mum or Anne hear.

“Can I get you ladies anything to drink? I’ve got wine, beer, lemonade or just water.” Anne told them as she retrieved a bottle of red wine from the fridge.

“Well as it’s Christmas I’ll have a glass of wine please.” Linda told her.

“Just water for me please, I wasn’t feeling too well last night, I’m not sure alcohol is going to help that.” Ashley said softly, “Are you doing your ginger biscuits Anne?” 

“I made some yesterday, why do you ask lovely?” 

“I just thought I could smell them, I remember the smell from when Harry and I were little.” Ashley told her.

Dinner was in full swing and Gemma and Robin had now joined the group, to some it might seem unorthodox for Ashley and Linda to spend Christmas with another family but since the Christmas of 2008 when their oven stopped working Anne insisted they came over as they had lots of food spare and since then it had become a bit of a tradition, alternating between houses each year. The room was full of laughter and the warmth from the open fire tickled their skin, the sound of the Michael Buble album filled the room. “So Harry what have you got planned for 2016?” Linda asked, piling carrots onto her plate.

“I’ve got a few things lined up, I’m looking forward to it, I never thought the idea of not having my day planned for me would be so exciting.” Harry told her, fiddling with his paper crown.

“How about you Ashley? I know you’re on a gap year, but have you decided what to do after that?” Robin asked her.

“I’m quite interested in radio, I’ve applied for an internship at Capital in London, Harry gave me their contact details, and when we went down for the boys’ show in London I had an interview, and I’ve been offered a place, starting in the new year.” Ashley told them, the only other person around the table who knew was Linda, she had meant to tell Harry, there just never seemed to be a right time.

“That’s amazing Ash!” Harry exclaimed, “So you’ll be moving to London then?” 

“I’ve got the money dad left me in his will, I think this is the sort of thing he’d want me to use it for, to get myself a small flat.” Ashley didn’t like talking about what happened to her dad, she was only ten when he passed away so she didn’t really understand at the time, he was diagnosed with cancer when she was little, and in his last few months it became increasingly worse.

“He’d be so proud of you poppet.” Anne assured her, taking hold of her hand from across the table.

The meal was finished and Anne stood in the kitchen preparing dessert whilst everyone discussed whether to play monopoly or family fortunes first. Ashley felt herself losing concentration in the conversation, she felt her palms become clammy, she began to realise it was a recurrence of what had happened the night before. She excused herself and made her way to the bathroom, making it in time to throw up in the toilet rather than all over Anne’s bathroom floor, she slumped against the wall, knowing it was likely she’d probably throw up again. The tiles on the wall were cold against her warm skin, she stood up, splashing cold water on her skin. “Ash you alright in there?” Gemma asked from the other side of the door, Ashley unlocked the door, letting Gemma in, “You look a bit peaky lovely, are you alright?”

“I think I had something dodgy to eat last night, I was sick last night as well.” Ashley explained.

“Mum told me you could smell ginger.” Gemma replied, sitting on the floor next to Ashley.

“What’s they got to do with anything?” Ashley asked.

“Ash when was your last period?” 

“I’m not exactly regular, but i’d say it was almost eight weeks ago. Wait, you don’t think?” 

“You might be pregnant.” Gemma whispered, Ashley rested her head in her hands.

“Why is this happening? Why now?” Tears rolled down her cheeks, as far as she was concerned she wasn’t ready to be a mum, she was only just an adult.

“Hey, we don’t know that you’re actually pregnant lovely,” Gemma told her softly as she held her tight, rubbing her back gently, “I might have a test somewhere, do you want to do it now?” Ashley said nothing, she just nodded, “Let's get this over and done with,” she whispered.

Ashley had never known three minutes to take so long to pass, she sat on the toilet biting at her nails, the timer on Gemma’s phone went off, indicating that the three minutes were up. “Do you want me to look at it first?” Gemma asked.

“I think I’ve got to do it, it’s pretty clear I’d be bringing up a baby by myself, for that I should be able to stand on my own two feet.” She wobbled as she stood up, taking the test in her hands. She took a deep breath and looked down at it, she knew what it meant, she turned towards Gemma, “two blue lines. It’s positive.” her voice wobbled terribly as she broke down in tears.

“It’s gonna be alright, we’re going to get through this together, we all love and care about you immensely, whatever you decide, whatever’s best for you.” Gemma assured her, cradling her in her arms, “Do you want me to get Harry or your mum?”

“You can’t tell Harry, not yet, not today, I’ll tell mum soon, just not now.” 

“Alright, we’ll go back downstairs when you’re ready.” The two girls were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Are you okay Ash? Can I come in?” Harry asked from the other side of the door.

Ashley shoved the test in her pocket and wiped the tears from her cheeks, “Yeah come in.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Gemma made her way out of the bathroom, “She’s not feeling too well, look after her.” she instructed Harry.

He held out his hands to pull her up from where she was sitting on the floor “I’m going to run you a warm bath with any bubbles of your choice, then we’ll watch a film in my old bedroom, I don’t want to subject you to games night if you’re feeling ill.”

After a wonderfully long soak in the bath Ashley changed into the joggers and hoodie Harry had left out for her, she tied her damp hair up on top of her head and made her way into Harry’s room. He’d created a proper relaxed environment for her, the room was lit by nothing but fairy lights that were strung around the ceiling. “Love Actually or Home Alone?” Harry asked as she climbed into the bed.

“Love Actually, you know how much I love Colin Firth,” she chuckled, snuggling up under the duvet like a little kid.

“Don’t know why I even asked.” Harry replied, putting the DVD in the TV before joining Ashley in the bed, she snuggled into his chest as he wrapped his arm around her, stroking her arm gently. 

“I’m sorry I ruined your Christmas Harry,” Ashley whispered.

“Don’t be daft, I love spending time with you, if I’m honest with you I’ve spent so much time in other people’s company over the past five years, I’d much rather be up here with you watching cheesy Christmas movies.” 

An hour into the film Harry looked down at Ashley, she was sound asleep, she looked two peaceful, so he didn’t dare disturb her, he knew she was unwell and didn’t want to make her feel worse. He pulled his arms from where he’d been holding her, getting out of bed and pulling the duvet up so she was properly covered. He turned off the TV and all the fairy lights, “Merry Christmas my love.” Harry whispered, placing a kiss on top of her head before making his way back downstairs.

The smell of bacon stirred Ashley from her deep sleep, she peered around at the bedroom that wasn’t hers, realising she was in Harry’s bed. She slipped out of bed, making her way downstairs to the kitchen where Harry and Gemma sat eating breakfast. “Morning,” Ashley chimed as she sat beside Harry at the kitchen table.

“You feeling better?” Gemma asked, prompting Harry to get up and make up another bacon sandwich.

“Yeah, I slept like a baby.” She told her, stretching out before pouring herself a cup of tea, “You didn't say anything did you?”

“It’s not for me to say, you can tell him when you’re ready, but I know my brother, he’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Harry asked, placing the bacon sandwich in front of Ashley.

“You.” Ashley replied, sticking her tongue out at him, “When do you fly out to LA?” 

“As soon as he can I reckon.” Gemma winked at her.

“Oh yeah we wouldn’t want to keep Kendall waiting would we?” Ashley teased, Harry crossing his arms across his chest like a grumpy child, “Oh we’re only messing H, if you’re happy that’s all that matters.” Harry continued to keep up the grumpy teenager pretense, “If you don’t give me a smile I will sit on you,” Harry glanced at her suspiciously, “You leave me no choice.” She stood up from her seat and plonked herself on his lap, he uncrossed his arms and wrapped them around her tightly, her head squishing against his bare chest that poked through the gap in his white dressing gown.

“You win.” He told her, “You always will.”

[maximelebled]

2019 & 2020

Hello everyone! So yeah, this yearly blog post is about three... four months late... it covers two years now.

I did have a lot of things written last year, last time, but the more things have changed, the more I’ve realized that a lot of things I talked about on here... were because I lacked enough of a social life to want to open up on here.

In a less awkwardly-phrased way, what I’m saying is, I was coping.

Not an easy thing to admit to in public by any means, but I reckon it’s the truth. Over the past two years, I’ve made more of an effort to build better & healthier friendships, dial back my social media usage a bit (number 1 coping strategy), not tie all my friendships to games I play, especially Dota (number 2 coping strategy), so that I could be more emotionally healthy overall. 

Pictured: me looking a whole lot like @dril on the outside, although not so much on the inside. (Photo by my lovely partner.)

To some degree, I believe it’s important to be able to talk about yourself a bit more openly in a way that is generally not encouraged nor made easy on other social networks (looking at you, Twitter). I know that 2010-me would be scared to approach 2020-me; and it’s my hope that what I am writing here would not help him with that, but also help him become less of an insecure dweeb faster. 😉

Not that recent accomplishments have stopped me from being any less professionally anxious. Sometimes the impostor syndrome just morphs into... something else.

Anyway, what I’m getting at is, the first reason it took me until this year to finish last year’s post is because, with my shift in perspective, and these realizations about myself, I do want to keep a lot more things private... or rather, it’s that I don’t feel the need to share them anymore? And that made figuring out what to write a fair bit harder.

The other reason I didn’t write sooner is because, in 2018, I wrote my "year in review” post right before I became able to talk about my then-latest cool thing (my work on Valve’s 2018 True Sight documentary). So I then knew I’d have to bring it up in the 2019 post. But then, I was asked to work on the 2019 True Sight documentary, and I know it was going to air in late January 2020, so I was like, “okay, well, whatever, it, I’ll just write this yearly recap after that, so I don’t miss the coach this time”. So I just ended up delaying it again until I was like... “okay, whatever, I’ll just do both 2019 and 2020 in a single post.”

I think I can say I’ve had the privilege of a pretty good 2019, all things considered. And also of a decent 2020, given the circumstances. Overall, 2019 was a year of professional fulfillment; here’s a photo taken of me while I was managing the augmented reality system at The International 2019! (The $35 million dollar Dota 2 tournament that was held, this that year, in Shanghai.)

If I’d shown this to myself 10 years ago it would’ve blown my mind, so I guess things aren’t all that bad...!

I’ve brought up two health topics in these posts before: weight & sleep.

As for the first, the situation is still stable. If it is improving, it is doing so at a snail’s pace. But quite frankly, I haven’t put in enough effort into it overall. Even though I know my diet is way better than it was five or six years ago, I’ve only just really caught up with the “how it should have been the entire time” stage. It is a milestone... but not necessarily an impressive one. Learning to cook better things for myself has been very rewarding and fulfilling, though. It’s definitely what I’d recommend if you need to find a place to start.

As for sleep, throughout 2019, I continued living 25-hour days for the most part. There were a few weeks during which I slowed down the process, but it continued on going. Then, in late December of 2019, motivated by the knowledge that sleep is such a foundational pillar of your health, I figured I really needed to take things seriously, and I managed to go on a three month streak of mostly-stable sleep! (See the data above.)

Part of what helped was willingly stopping to use my desktop computer once it got too late in the day, avoiding Dota at the end of the day as much as possible, and anything exciting for that matter... and, as much as that sounds like the worst possible stereotype, trying to “listen to my body” and recognizing when I was letting stress and anxiety build up inside me, and taking a break or trying to relax.

Also, a pill of melatonin before going to bed; but even though it’s allegedly not a problem to take melatonin, I figured I should try to rely on it as little as possible.

Unfortunately, that “good sleep” streak was abruptly stopped by a flu-like illness... it might have been Covid-19. The symptoms somewhat matched up, but I was lucky: they were very mild. I fully recovered in just over a week. I coughed a bit, but not that much. If it really was that disease, then I got very lucky.

(Pictured: another photo by my lovely SO, somewhere in Auvergne.)

My sleep continued to drift back to its 25-hour rhythm, and I only started resuming these efforts towards the fall... mostly because living during the night felt like a better option with the summer heat (no AC here). I thought about doing that the other way (getting up at 3am instead of going to bed at 7am), and while it’d make more sense temperature-wise, that would have kept me awake when there were practically no people online, and I was trying to have a better social life then, even if had to be purely online due to the coronavirus, so... yeah.

I’ve been working from home since 2012! I also lived alone for a number of years since then. For the most part, it hasn’t been a great thing for my mental health. Having had a taste of what being in an office was like thanks to a couple weeks in the Valve offices, I had the goal of beginning to apply at a few places here and there in March/April. Then the pandemic hit, so those plans are dead in the water. I wanted 2020 to be the year in which I’d finally stop being fully remote, but those plans are now dead in the water.

Now, at the end of the year, I don’t really know if I want to apply at any places. There’s a small handful of studios whose work really resonates with me, creatively speaking, and whose working conditions seem to be alright, at least from what I hear... but, and I swear I’m saying this in the least braggy way possible... there’s very little that beats having been able to work on what I want, when I want, and how much I want.

This kind of freelance status can be pretty terrifying sometimes, but I’ve managed (with some luck, of course) to reach a safe balance, a point at which I’ve effectively got this luxury of being able to only really work on what I want, and never truly overwork myself (at least by the standards of most of the gaming industry). It’s a big privilege and I feel like it’d take a lot to give it up.

Besides the things I mentioned before, one thing I did that drastically improved my mental health was being introduced to a new lovely group of friends by my partner! I started playing Dungeons & Dragons with them, every weekend or so! And in the spirit of a rising tide lifting all boats, I managed to also give back to our lovely DM, by being a sort of “AM” (audio manager)... It’s been great having something to look forward to every week.

Something to look forward to... I���ve heard about the concept of “temporal anchors”. I had heard about how the reason our adult years suddenly pass by in a blur is because we now have more “time” that’s already in our brains, but now I’m more convinced that it’s because we’re going from a very school routine such as the one schools impose upon us, to, well... practically nothing.

I thought most of my years since 2011 have been a blur, but none have whooshed by like 2020 has, and I reckon part of that is because I’ve (obviously) gone out far far less, and most importantly there wasn’t The Big Summer Event That The International Is, the biggest yearly “temporal anchor” at my disposal. The anticipation and release of those energies made summer feel a fair bit longer... and this year, summer was very much a blur for me. In and out like the wind.

I guess besides that, I haven’t really had that much trouble with being locked down. I had years of training for that, after all. Doesn’t feel like I can complain. 😛

(Pictured: trip to Chicago in January of 2019... right when the polar vortex hit!)

Work was good in 2019, and sparser in 2020. Working with Valve again after the 2018 True Sight was a very exciting opportunity. At the time, in February of 2019, I was out with my partner on little holiday trips around my region, and, after night fell, on the way back, we decided to stop in a wide open field, on a tiny countryside path, away from the cities, to try and do some star-gazing, without light pollution getting in the way.

And it’s there and then that I received their message, while looking at the stars with my SO! The timing and location turned that into a very vivid memory...

I then got to spend a couple weeks in their offices in late April / early May. I was able to bring my partner along with me to Washington State, and we did some sightseeing on the weekends.

(Pictured: part of a weekend trip in Washington. This was a dried up lakebed.)

After that, I worked on the Void Spirit trailer in the lead to The International. In August, those couple weeks in Shanghai were intense. Having peeked behind the curtain and seen everything that goes into production really does give me a much deeper appreciation for all the work that goes unseen. 

Then after that, in late 2019, there was my work on the yearly True Sight documentary, for the second time. In 2018, I’d been tasked with making just two animated sequences, and I was very nervous since that was my first time working directly with Valve; my work then was fairly “sober”, for lack of a better term.

(Pictured: view from my hotel room in Shanghai.)

For the 2019 edition, I had double the amount of sequences on my plate, and they were very trusting of me, which was very reassuring. I got to be more technically ambitious, I let my style shine through (you know... if it’s got all these gratuitous light beams, etc.), and it was real fun to work on.

At the premiere in Berlin, I was sitting in the middle of the room (in fact, you could spot me in the pre-show broadcast behind SirActionSlacks; unfortunately I had forgotten to bring textures for my shirt). Being in that spot when my shots started playing, and hearing people laughing and cheering at them... that’s an unforgettable memory. The last time I had experienced something like that was having my first Dota short film played at KeyArena in 2015, the laughter of the crowd echoing all around me... I was shaking in my seat. Just remembering it gets my heart pumping, man. It’s a really unique feeling.

So I’m pretty happy with how that work came out. I came out of it having learned quite a few new tricks too, born out of necessity from my technical ambitions. Stuff I intend to put to use again. I’m really glad that the team I worked with at Valve was so kind and great to work with. After the premiere, I received a few more compliments from them... and I did reply, “careful! You might give me enough confidence to apply!”, to which one of them replied, “you totally should, man.” But I still haven’t because I’m a massive idiot, haha. Well, I still haven’t because I don’t think I’m well-rounded enough yet. And also because, like I alluded to before, I think I’m in a pretty good situation as it is.

It’s not the first encouragements I had received from them, too; there had been a couple people from the Dota team who, at the end of my two week stay in the offices, while I was on my way out, told me I should try applying. But again, I didn’t apply because I’m a massive idiot.

(Pictured: view from the Valve offices.)

To be 200% frank, even though there’s been quite a few people who’ve followed my work throughout the years, comments on Reddit and YouTube, etc. who’ve all said things along the lines of “why aren’t you working for them ?”, well... it’s not something I ever really pursued. I know it’s a lot of people’s dream job, but I never saw it that way. I feel like, if it ever happened to me... sure, that could be cool! But I don’t know if it’s something I really want, or even that I should want?

And if you add “being unsure” to what I consider to be a lack of experience in certain things, well... I really don’t think I’d be a good candidate (yet?), and having seen how busy these people are on the inside, the last thing I want to do is waste their time with a bad application. That would be the most basic form of courtesy I can show to them.

Besides, Covid-19 makes applying to just about any job very hard, if not outright impossible right now. And for a while longer, I suspect.

(Pictured: the Tuilière & Sanadoire rocks.)

I’m still unhappy about the amount of “actual animation” I get to do overall since I like to work on just about every step of the process in my videos, but well. It’s getting better. One thing I am happy with though, is “solving problems”. And new challenges. Seeking the answers to them, and making myself be able to see those problems, alongside entire projects, from a more “holistic” way, that is to say, not missing the forest for the trees.

It’s hard to explain, and even just the use of the term “holistic” sounds like some kind of pompous cop-out... but looking back on how I handled projects 5 years ago vs. now, I see the differences in how I think about problems a lot. And to some extent I do have my time on Valve contracts to thank a LOT in helping me progress there.

Anyway, I’m currently working on a project that I’m very interested & creativefuly fulfilled by. But it has nothing to do with animation nor Dota, for a change! There are definitely at least two other Dota short films I want to make, though. We’ll see how that goes.

Happy new year & take care y’all.

[liw-the-melancholic-apple]

The First One - Bonus scenes in traditional written word

This is a smau and a zukoXreader, although i haven't decided how this ends yet.

Y/n has recently transferred to Ba Sing Se from Omashu university and meets the gaang through a schoolproject they do with sokka and suki.

Bonus 2: Nerves

Ooooookay. It wasn't all this exciting. You'd been to parties before. You'd met new people before. Why did choosing a pair of jeans feel like you were deciding your fate? You usually only noticed people's jeans when they didn't fit, were neon colours or torn to shreds.

Your jeans all fit you, they were all in the neutral colour scheme and those that were distressed were still more fabric than hole.

So, by your own logic you could choose any pair and be fine. Yet still five pairs were laying on your bed. 2 grey, 2 black, one midnight blue. You didn't seem to be able to pick one.

The pile of t-shirts and jumpers on the ground hadn't gotten any of your attention but promised to be a similar drama...

You sighed in annoyance and texted both, Jin and Fai. The latter had a lot of encouragement and suggestions while the former mostly mocked you. He did however offer some really good advise: treat it like a gig with the band. In a pub. Wear those clothes.

"And stop being such a nervous wreck! It doesn't suit you. You're great. You're fun. They'll like you."

He didn't let you thank him, though. "Next time you're here, you're buying at least two rounds. I'm not your fucking therapist."

Classic Jin. But his idea worked. To a gig you'd wear the ripped black jeans, white t-shirt and the vintage leather jacket.

Those where the clothes you wore when you left your appartment. Those were the clothes you wore when Suki texted that she was held up at Aang's place. She would be late. Sokka was gonna join later anyways. Ty Lee wasn't coming at all.

Yeah, meeting new people who were presumably forced to be nice to you!! On your own. Without the safety blanket that were Suki and Sokka. Great...

You stood in front of the Jasmin Dragon, studying the green and gold of the big logo on the window and the small one on the door.

You could just wait here for Suki. No, you weren't a child and Suki wasn't your mum. Besides, she would show up with Aang -why did that name seem so familiar? - and you already told her that you would be about 15 minutes earlier than her. Waiting was no option.

You shifted your weight from your left leg to the right and texted the group chat:" So, I'm here."

Katara answered, telling you to come inside to the counter. The scent of oriental spices and caramel syrup filled the air in the shop. The perfect mix of old-timey, traditional tea house and modern way too sweet coffeshop combined into one smell. The essence of the Jasmin Dragon.

You had discovered it during your first week in Ba Sing Se and instantly fell in love with it. Was it that smell? Maybe. Was it the excellent sencha-ginger-tea? Partially. Was it the supercharging, black as your soul giant mugs of coffee? Partially. Was it the delicious muffins in every flavour imagineable? Yes. Was it the breakfast items that all looked mouthwatering? Absolutely.

But mainly it was the general atmosphere here. The furniture was a collection of armchairs, benches, sofas  and tables that all looked like they came from a 50's or 60's living room. All colours of the Rainbow, nothing actually fit together. It was so cosy and inviting.

And then there was the old man who usually was behind the black marble counter. You'd found that he would start around 11 am, as he was never there when you got your coffee before early lectures and classes. But he would take orders, prepare drinks, clean tables and give his thoughts on students' problems when you popped in for a midmorning pick-me-up.

And also now, close to closing time, the rotonde older man with the long grey hair stood behind the counter checking on a couple of teapots that gently bubbled behind him. While doing so, he talked to a short black-haired girl that giggled a lot.  She held on to an annoyed looking tall guy, that you thought might work here, and stood next to a girl that warmly smiled at you and waved you over.

"Y/n?"

"Yes, that would be me. You're Katara?" She nodded.

"And that's Toph and Zuko", she answered while indicating the girl and the guy. Suki had warned you about both of them. Toph was blind and often subjected to people wanting to help her, which she hated. "Don't offer her help. She'll let you know  when she needs you", Suki had said.

The girl extended a hand into your general direction. "Pleasure meeting you."

"All mine", you answered taking her hand. Zuko also shook your hand, mumbleing "Hi."

He had a rather large scar on the left side of his face. His hair covered it some. According to Suki you shouldn't stare and shouldn't mention it. She had known Zuko for years and still didn't know how he got it. You quickly averted your eyes.

"Okay, so I'm sure Suki already told you but she only just left Aang's. His roommate is a bit mad because he can't go to the party and delayed them."

You were about to answer when the man behind the counter cleared his throat. "Sencha-ginger", he handed you cup. Surprised but greateful you took it and looked for your wallet.

"Oh, no need. You've been a valued customer. And i finally learned your name. You know, you're one of the most quiet People ever to come into the shop." He gave you another smile.

"Not really quiet", you answer laughing. " But i usually come in alone and i don't like talking to myself in public. People stare." The man crinkled his forehead but Toph punched your shoulder and laughed. "Sokka said you were funny!"

"Well, why do you always come in on your own?", counterman inquired, his forehead smoother.

"Uhm...", should you tell the sad truth?

"You don't have to answer that", Zuko intervened. "Since he opened the dragon he's become quite enamored with gossip, haven't you uncle? No need to satisfy his curiosity."

"My nephew thinks me impolite. But I reckon there is a reason for your solitude. If it is your choice to enjoy our tea alone you can tell me that and no harm is done. But if unfortunate circumstances force you to drink your tea by yourself i would like to give you the oppertunity to speak about it. Let go of dark thoughts."

Wow. Some teamaker he was. And Zuko's uncle? Interesting.

"Thank you...Mr..."

"Iroh. Just Iroh will be fine."

"Well then, thank you Iroh. It's not too much of a story, though. I moved to Ba Sing Se six weeks ago and haven't yet found a group of people who'd put up with me for extended periods of time", you chuckled, hoping you didn't seem too desparate.

Katara seemed like she wanted to say something really nice but Iroh spoke quicker:" Oh, i don't think that's true. You don't give me the impression that anybody would have to put up with you. But if you want company while drinking your beverage i can always chat.

We could talk about your love for green tea and ginger. You know we also have black tea varieties that feature ginger and i think you might enjoy the herbal infusions.

The fruitier teas go great with the muffins! And if you're into croissants and pudding pretzels you should try the vanilla chai latte.

But if you don't want to talk about tea we could also gossip and play pai sho. You know how to play pai show, right?"

You absolutely didn't.

"I'm familiar with the most basic of basic rules." Wrong answer. The sweet little man grabbed a pai sho board out of nowhere and started explaining the game. Zuko offered an apologetic gesture, while Katara and Toph intently listened. You sipped your tea, nodded your head and enjoyed just being part of something. It had been a minute. But you would never play pai show of your own volition. The game was complicated and boring at the same time.

"Maybe you would like to learn about the ancient art of teamaking?", Iroh continued his suggestions of things to talk about when at the dragon.

Was there an art to it? Hot water and a teabag, no? You tried a vague expression and he kept talking.

"I always wanted to found a club or class, you know. Likeminded tea enthusiasts who want to deepen their knowledge and appreciation. Would you be interested?"

No, you weren't. But he was so endearing. So caring. So genuinely into this idea.

"I... have yet to find out how much time and effort my classes will demand. I wouldn't wanna make promises i can't keep."

That was fair, right? And not even an actual lie.

"We're here!!!!!"

Suki burst through the door, followed by a gangly guy with a shaved head. Aang!! That's why the name sounded familiar! He was Instagram verified. Half the campus followed him for his inspirational quotes and vegan recipes.

Suki hugged you hello, introduced you to the insta-famous and then Katara ushered you out and to the metrostation.

You waved at Iroh as you left. He had only talked about things that hardly interested you but he'd managed to make you feel like a member of the group that was now discussing pai sho rules, teamaking and being on time.

MASTERLIST

Part 1

@fanficflaneuse @eddiesemoass

[beerecordings]

Poison - Chapter 3

(Part 1 l Part 2)

okay!! so I wasn’t originally planning to do this because I don’t really like a ridiculous amount of suspense and I wanted you guys to be able to have most of the rest of the fic beneath your hands before I released another chapter, but this is just too gotdang long to not have in several chapters. so no this does not have the end, but i have a LOT more written than this and will plan to release it pretty quickly, probably within the week or a few days.

i hope u like it!! or, um, maybe don’t like it, because it is painful :)

seriously, though, trigger warning for major abuse of Marvin, death, blood, vomit mention, and extreme distress. I feel like the first two chapters set a strong enough mood that you can kind of anticipate how dark this could be, but I would definitely rate this as Mature on ao3 for the anger and torture of it all.

But you’ve been waiting long enough for this, so here you go.

Henrik packs everything he could possibly need.

Sedatives, painkillers, emetics, ethel, tubocurarine. His gun in his coat pocket. A pack of cards. A mask.

As soon as they find him, he’ll be ready. He’s already called the hospital to tell them what to expect and what to prepare. He’s not a rookie, not two months old anymore. Ready for anything. Ready for everything. All good war medics are, and fuck if his life hasn’t made him a soldier.

As soon as they find him, he can save him.

But they can’t fucking find him.

“What do we do?” he whispers from the couch, staring up at Jackie, pacing, pulling at his hair, panting. “Jackie, what do we – ”

“Schneep,” Jackie cuts him off, warning, thinking. Henrik falls silent, staring up at his big brother.

“I’ve got to follow this Chase lead,” mumbles Jackie.

“What? Don’t you think Marvin is just a little more pressing?”

“I don’t have any leads on Marvin!” Jackie’s voice is loud, always loud, but it barely shakes. He can feel Jamie and Henrik’s eyes on him. “Max will keep looking. None of our other friends have any ideas. I’m hoping – oh, fuck, I’m praying – maybe Anti was after Marv this morning too.”

“You think Anti might know where Marvin is?” asks JJ, frowning. “That’s hardly reassuring.”

“He was near Marvin when the camera spotted him. Maybe he was following him. Maybe he lead Cottonmouth to him or something. They could be working together. If I can find him, maybe I can find Marvin.”

Henrik and Jameson exchange glances. They both recognize it for what it is – Jackie’s last, bottom-barrel, goose-eggs idea. The only one they’ve got, no matter how slim the chance of it leading to anything. Jackie is already rushing to leave the house.

“Well,” frowns Henrik.

“No, don’t argue with me!” snaps Jackie, grabbing his boots from beside the front door, hopping on one foot to tug them on. “This is the only way.”

“No, I agree,” sighs Henrik. He clears his voice to get the weakness out of it. “I do think Anti watches us. Knows where we are. Maybe he could find Marvin if you could find him. Just… be careful. We’ll keep an eye on the video. You go.”

Affection like a heatwave rises up in Jackie’s chest. He pauses in his mad scramble to come over and shove his forehead against first Henrik’s, and then Jameson’s too, getting a small, warm whistle out of his little brother for comfort.

“Okay, stay here, be safe. Yes, that means you, Jameson.”

Jamie clutches his knife to his chest, sticking out his bottom lip petulantly. It’s a little strange that he hasn’t demanded to come along, sign-shouting about his own ability to kick ass and protect Marvin, but Jackie isn’t about to start looking gift horses in the mouth. Or whatever the fuck the saying is. He isn’t about to start looking a stab-happy little force-to-be-reckoned-with in the eyes when he’s in a rush, that’s the point.

He grabs Chase’s keys off the table and heads toward the door, his heart pounding painful in his chest. “I love you both!”

It’s important that they know that.

“I’ll be back soon. I’ll find him.”

A promise.

“I know, Jackie,” answers Henrik frailly, trying to believe him, and then Jackie is gone.

Henrik slumps down on the couch and breathes out a deep sigh, pulling the computer where Marvin’s figure contorts close. There’s nothing more he can do. He’ll just keep an eye on Marvin. On his big brother, writhing. Oh, God. Oh, God, please. It’s okay. He’s okay. Everything’s okay. He wipes his sweaty palms on his dress pants and decides on a quick break, maybe just two minutes to pretend this isn’t happening. He buries his face in his hands and tries to stop thinking.

JJ taps on his shoulder.

“Just a second, Jameson,” moans Henrik, pushing his glasses into his nose until they leave a mark.

Another tap, more insistent.

Sighing, Henrik pulls his face away and looks up, red-eyed, at his little brother.

“Sedate me,” signs Jameson.

Henrik closes his eyes. Opens them again. “I’m not understanding you,” he says.

Jameson furrows his eyebrows. He tries another sign.

“Put me to sleep.”

Henrik rubs at his beard, staring.

Irritated, JJ signs it out. “S-E-D-A-T-I-V-E.”

“You’re really going to make me ask why, aren’t you?” snaps Henrik.

Jameson throws his hands up in the air. “Obvious!”

“No, it is not,” Henrik signs back, just as forcefully. “What is you getting some sleep going to help in a time like – oh.”

The realization hits him.

“Oh, come on, Jackson. You must be pulling on my arm.”

“It’s ‘leg,’ Henrik. And you come on! If I fall asleep, I bet I’ll have another dream about Marvin, and then maybe I can find where he is! I bet if I really focus – ”

“Jameson, for the last time, they’re not prophecies. Just dreams. Please, let’s not do this right now.”

But Jameson grows ferocious under stress and he huffs and throws his hands, complaining without words, standing over Henrik.

“Don’t fuss at me!”

“This is the only thing I can think of to help!”

“Well, it won’t work, so it doesn’t matter!”

“I am telling you, as my big brother, who’s supposed to have my back, that these aren’t just dreams. Henrik. I’m not joking. Sedate me.”

“They’re not real! It’s better for you to be awake so you can come help me with Marvin when Jackie finds him!”

“Jackie’s not going to find him! Jackie hasn’t been able to find Anti for six months! That’s why Chase is still gone, if you hadn’t noticed!”

“Don’t fucking say that to me!”

“Why are you so opposed to this? You know magic is real, you’ve seen Marvin use his cards, but you refuse to believe me when I tell you I can see things too? I’m supposed to be able to trust you. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs. I’ve got an actual idea to find our brother who is dying at this exact moment and you won’t even try?”

“It’s not – stop! Just stop!”

“No, tell me why, why do you refuse to even – ”

“Because if what you’re seeing is real, then everything you’ve seen is real!”

He shouts it so loud it hurts the back of his throat.

He’s on his feet, but doesn’t remember standing up. Jameson flinches away from him, blinking rapidly, standing back.

Henrik tries to breathe steady.

Dust filters down through the sun-bright air.

“What do you mean?” asks Jameson. He reaches up like he might touch his hands, but draws away again, his mouth slightly open.

“You – you want me to believe you can see things before they happen.” Henrik runs a shaky hand through his hair. He can’t take this right now. “You want me to believe you’ve seen things that will come true, that will really happen. And for months… and months… and months… you’ve been watching Chase in torment.”

Henrik’s voice breaks down the middle and he has to stop, clutching at his heart. Jameson stares at him, mouth slightly open.

“Chained up and covered in blood, sitting in that little room hiding his eyes like Anti won’t see him if he can’t see him, crying through possession throes, and scheisse, scheisse, but I’ve been there…”

Jameson’s mouth trembles. He leans in, slow, and presses himself to Henrik’s chest, burying his face in his collar, gripping at his sleeves.

His soft breath against Henrik’s chest is a reassurance: It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” whispers Henrik, wrapping his arms around Jameson’s back, staring out at the sky through the windowpane of the home they share. “Often I think it would be better for him to be dead than to suffer that.”

Jameson groans and presses his forehead harder against Henrik’s collarbone, shaking his head. He squeezes his arms tight around Henrik’s ribs and then draws back, meeting his teary, embarrassed eyes, reaching up to tap on his chin. They could talk about this for so long – maybe they should have a long time ago – but there isn’t time now.

Marvin is limp on the screen, his captor standing in front of him, watching, watching.

“I’m sorry,” says Henrik, very softly, turning away from his gaze. “You know, I used to be stronger. Before you were born. Before anybody ever got their hands on me. Before my mind started to… I used to be stronger.”

“I like you just the way you are,” says Jameson, so simply that even Henrik can’t help but believe him.

Henrik rubs his eyes, breathes in deep, and blows the breath out again. “You really want me to sedate you?”

“Yes. So I can try and see him in the future.”

“It’s lunacy.”

“It’s the only idea I’ve got.”

Henrik sighs, straightens, and pushes his glasses up on his nose, standing tall. “Okay. Okay. You know the risks, you know the likelihood, so I trust you. Of course I trust you. I believe you. Go lie down on your bed – no, no, Marvin’s. He burns incense in his room and casts all his spells there, the walls are heavy with magic. Get his tarot cards out too, maybe they will help you.”

Jameson blinks and smiles. “Why, doctor! If I didn’t know any better I might take you for a bit of a magician yourself.”

Henrik scoffs, shoving his shoulder. “You take that back. It’s not my fault my brothers are all idiot sorcerers or whatever you call yourself. I’ve just picked up on the ways you do things. Me, I am a man of science. And I’m about to sedate the hell out of you, so get your ass to bed.”

Relieved, Jameson beams up at him and then darts off down the hallway. Henrik knows just the thing for the task – a sedative bordering on a mere calmative, helpful for younger brothers with too many shadows in their heads to handle alone or out-of-control magicians with too hot a glow in their eyes, just enough to take them out of whatever dangerous game they’ve been caught up in for a little while. It doesn’t take him long to prepare it.

Truth is, he doesn’t have much faith this will work, even if Marvin’s magic halos JJ’s in that little blue bedroom in the hallway. Jameson’s visions are fickle at best – though, to be fair, he never seems to dream of anything irrelevant to his life anymore. It’s always shadows purring along the corners of their house or the people he loves in danger. And the more obsessive he gets, the more paranoid, the worse the visions always seem to be... the more clear, the more powerful...

Maybe Jack made him like this for a reason, Henrik tries to hope, pushing through the door to Marvin’s room and finding his little brother already laid out on the bed, his neck bared in a show of trust, his eyes calm as Henrik approaches with the little needle. Maybe Jack always meant for him to be able to find us in times like this.

If nothing else, it will give his little brother a break from this alcohol-burn terror convulsing in their chests.

“Going to be a small pinch,” warns Henrik. “You should be able to wake in some twenty, thirty minutes. It’s light so you might have to make an effort to quiet down and fall asleep, okay?”

That doesn’t sound easy when he can’t think of anything but Marvin: writhing, strung up, his eyes bulging in his skull. He’s already seen part of where this story is headed. Now he just needs to find the setting for his brother's torment. For that, he will try his best to fall asleep.

In his hands, he clutches Marvin’s cards. His fingers play with the Chariot, flipping it up, and then down, up, and then down, up, and then…

He nods, and smiles, and then there is a needle in his throat.

Jumping Jehoshaphat! It hits him right away and he derealizes hard as the world goes distant, sinking down against Henrik’s arms. His body has never gone light quite like this, far away quite like this, and in the middle of it all, there is only one image that remains – Marvin tortured, Marvin blood-slicked, Marvin dying.

Brother! cries everything within him, cries his strength and his heart, cries the faraway world and the growing burn of something like magic in the blood circling through his aching chest.

Marvin shaking, Marvin calling, Marvin stiff and growing paler.

Brother, brother!

Flickers of strangers approaching his body, flickers of unnatural movement and colors that burn…

Marvin, Marvin, my brother…

His shattered cheek comes fully into focus. Jameson stares at the red-pink bone protruding. The walls behind him are brick, the floor cement, the air tastes of dust and alcohol, and someone is close, close behind Jameson, for he looks with eyes that only see what he needs to see, and nothing more –

And then the vision has swallowed Jameson, and his rolling eyes pause one more time to fix on the good doctor, and he slips under the sedative’s warmth.

Henrik sinks back, holding him.

His lip trembles.

He stares dead ahead.

His watch ticks softly on his wrist and the computer at his side is turned up to volume level two, just enough that he can hear the soft cries of Marvin beginning to suffocate. In his pocket, his phone waits for any word, any sign, any summons.

He is a sentinel, today.

“Let this fucking work,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around himself. He wishes Chase were here.

Like a well-trained soldier, the good doctor keeps watch.

  “Cottonmouth,” whispers Marvin through his gag.

She looks up.

Her eyes are the sharpened ends of daggers.

“Killian,” she says, tilting her head at her soldier. “Go run a perimeter check.”

His hulking figure retreats up the concrete steps of the basement.

Cottonmouth takes a long drink from her coffee thermos and pulls a few almonds out of a bag on her table behind the camera, popping them in her mouth. Marvin's blood has dried on her fingers. She licks the salt off.

There must have been a change in his tone, or maybe it's just because this is the first time he's bothered trying to speak in about half an hour, but Cottonmouth, though she can't understand his words, seems to understand that he wants to speak to her and not to the cameras. He's too tired to try anything. Maybe this is just his fate. Maybe he's already lost.

She gets up and yanks the gag out of his mouth. He takes a deep breath, coughing hard and spitting up the taste of poison and the foul cloth.

“Don't beg,” she tells him as she returns to her desk, crossing her legs and rubbing her wrist gently across the satiny tights which covers her knees. “I don't care what you ask but don't beg, I'm so tired of everyone begging once it's already much too late. 'Don't kill me, don't hurt me, I have a family, I'm scared to die!' Blah, blah, blah. Everyone is the same when they are dying. It's no longer entertaining.”

Marvin is limp in his chains again. His eyes are closed and his throat nastily swollen, making his breaths come in a slow, steady, string-thin wheeze. Cottonmouth stares at him blankly, taking another drink of her tea.

“You really think you can get out of this untouched?” rasps his tiny, choking voice.

“Nothing can hurt me now,” she responds, immediately.

Her eyes glow gold in the one beam of light which filters in through the high windows of the basement, peeking out over grass and freedom.

“There is nothing left worth protecting,” she continues. “Not without him. Used to be fun living like this, you know. Being rich as all fuck and telling everyone what to do and watching my soldiers bash in heads between car-doors... and then, when I got bored of that, bashing in the heads myself... but it's nothing to me now. What does it matter? No fun without him.”

She sighs and throws another almond in her mouth, getting to her feet and stepping closer to Marvin on her little black ballet flats, soaked through with blood. Wet against her small feet.

“Nothing's fun anymore. Even this, shit. Hoped it would cheer me up.”

She sighs and pushes Marvin's cheek, making him sway back, like a doll on a string.

“Maybe I should have had you crucified or something a little more dramatic. Or hired a surgeon to pick your brain, literally. I suppose this is good too. Moccasin would have really liked it. And I'm looking forward to the part where you choke on your own vomit, filling up the swollen red chamber of your esophagus as you spasm. Come on, then. Have you fallen asleep or was that all you wanted to say? Not long now before the spasms come back. You're getting less and less time between them, now. Last two were only three minutes apart.”

No, he's not asleep. He's not asleep. If he were home, ill or poisoned or injured, he would be. Henrik would be here at his side, pressing medicine between his lips or whispering a warning about a swift prick of a needle, giving him something so he can escape this hurt and tumble into unconscious. Jackie and Jameson would be nearby, glowing in tandem, his gold and silver stars, watching over him.

He wonders if they're still watching.

He wonders if they're still looking for him.

“I'm going to come visit you in jail,” he tells her thickly.

There's a little life back in her eyes again, suddenly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I'll visit Moccasin too – sorry, Andrei, that's his real name, isn't it? – and I'll come and tell you all about it.”

“Will you now?” she laughs, and she begins to circle him, circle him, fond of the game they're playing, her eyes flashing like lights coming on in the graveyard.

“Yeah. Bring Jackie along too.”

“I'd love to see him again. You know, after I kill you, I'm going to hunt him down as well.”

Fire lights up in Marvin's blood, and not the kind that burns. Fuck, but he wishes he had his cards, his mask, anything to let his power out! He would explode like a supernova with this much pain and fear, all of it writhing to be expressed in hearts and clubs!

“He's going to be the one who catches you, Cottonmouth.”

“Please. Your little mongoose can't save you, gopher. No one can. You have minutes left, do you understand? Look at you, barely able to suck in air and almost completely immobile, stiff as a chunk of cold metal. At most, you struggle for perhaps an hour longer. And then, when you're gone, I'll put your body out on the streets for your boy to find, track him down, kidnap him and imprison him for the rest of his short life. I've got to put this fire out. I've got to put this goddamn hatred out. He'll be screaming like a rabbit to have died as fast as you did! No one is going to save you, stupid boy!”

A convulsion writhes its way up Marvin's spine once again and he shrieks, curving backwards, in agony, in agony, and the snake is laughing, is laughing; her teeth shine in the cold white lights of the damp stone basement, and as Marvin's pain becomes greater than his courage, he fixes the stiffened orb of his gaze on the lens of that horrible camera, and begs a God that he doesn't believe in to send somebody to save him –

A gunshot rings out like an apocalypse cry, close enough to make Cottonmouth give a defiant shout and whirl around, yanking a pistol out of her bright red dress coat, pointing it at the stairs.

Killian's body comes crashing down into the basement.

Thud, thud, thud!

Silence as his blood runs across the floor to meet Marvin's.

His eyes gape blankly up at him.

Cottonmouth begins to laugh.

Louder, and louder, and louder, into a fountain of ecstatic giggles, her eyes shining as she levels the gun and steps carefully forward, teeth bared in a grin.

“No one?” comes a voice from the top of the stairs. Familiar. Fraternal. So much like Marvin's own voice. “No one to save him? Are you so sure, my darling?”

“Didn't know you had got a taste for blood, Jackie,” she crows, tilting her head and smiling wicked. “But hey, I understand. Come down here and let's see which of us gets the next drink. Something to quench this hatred, no?”

“Jackie? Jackie? Oh, I see the problem. You have me confused with my big brother. People tell us we look alike, but don't worry...”

The lights flicker out

one

by

one.

At Cottonmouth's back, Marvin gives a low, keening whimper.

Undaunted, she holds her line – gun straight, chin held up. That one beam of sunshine glows down on her.

She doesn't have anything to lose anyway.

The outline of the figure of a man shivers into existence in the corner of Marvin's vision, and then, a second later, it is gone again, re-appearing on the other side of the room, flickering with all the colors of a technicolor dream coat, sometimes barely present, sometimes clear as any good mirage, ghostly and grinning, grinning like a monster.

“I'll introduce myself,” sneers Anti, stepping down the stairs.

[catisawells]

A Muse for a Huntress

Dahlyah Grimshatter takes aim and fires off a shot into the lake! In the distance, a green bottle sent floating off towards the shoreline shatters!

Catisa Wells tilted her head to the side as she watched Dahlyah curiously, "You're certainly a good shot, Miss Dahlyah." She giggled and wandered over to join the woman.

“--Hm? Oi, thank yeh! Been pullin' triggers since I were jus' a wee lass o' nine.”

"Nine? My father would barely let me use the shears at that age." She snickered, "Then again it seems everyone had a far more colorful upbringing than I did."

Dahlyah Grimshatter holsters the weapon, before hopping down off the bridge railing. "M'father dinnae 'ave too stellar o' plans fer me, frankly. Weren't 'is place t' stop me." she shrugs.

Catisa Wells frowned at that and turned to face her as she folded her arms across her chest, "I am sorry to hear that, it doesn't sound like you had much of a fun childhood."

“Dunane mean t' bore yeh with it, lass. Or bum yeh out by talkin' 'bout it. Point is, been shootin' a while, aye?” Dahlyah Grimshatter grinned wickedly, “Wot's got yeh out an' 'bout, then?”

Catisa Wells smiled faintly, "I just wanted some fresh air... I heard the shooting and came to investigate. It's not something you hear often in this area." She tilted her head and offered Dahlyah a reassuring giggle. "How did your hunt go? I never got the chance to ask."

Dahlyah Grimshatter cheery smirk falters a bit. "--Ah, er... went fine." she nods once. "Tried capturin' th' beastie, like we 'ad talked, if'n yeh recall? But, er…” She shakes her head, and shrugs.

A warm smile spread across Catisa's features as she reached over to place a light touch upon the woman's shoulder, "I remember... I'm sorry you had to take a life, but don't fret. Sometimes it's not always so simple. I'm glad you appear to have come back unharmed more than anything."

“Aye, I ain't damaged none. Ridley neither, thank th' elements. But I ain't all too upset 'bout takin' a life, lass. I take lives like a corehound takes flamin' shites. Aye?” Dahlyah Grimshatter shakes her head, brow furrowing. "I tried, y'know? Tried doin' wot it were we was talkin' 'bout. Snaggin' th' beastie fer study an' all. All fer nothin'.”

Catisa Wells nodded her understanding and blew a lock of loose hair free from her features as she leaned back against the stone walls of the bridge. "I know what you mean. Some avenues of research play out like that all together, except it can take years." She sighed and offered the woman a tired smile, "Nothing cuts deeper than lost time, after all."

Dahlyah Grimshatter tucks her thumbs beneath her belt buckle, as she joins Catisa in leaning up against the wall. "Oi, aye. Makes me think it weren't worth th' effort. Should've jus' done wot I were plannin' an' gone fer th' kill from th' git-go." she huffs. “Jus' dinnae wanna disappoint yeh…”

Catisa Wells arched a brow as she looked to Dahlyah, "Me?" She seemed surprised, "W-why me?" A nervous chuckle escaped her and she quickly moved a hand to cover her features as she blushed. "I didn't mean to, um, mislead you and waste your time trying to catch it..." Her eyes shifted down to her feet and she began to fidget in place.

“--Huh? Oh, uh... no, I dinnae mean…” Dahlyah Grimshatter clears her throat. "It weren't like... -that-... Y'jus' made some good points, I thought, aye? An' I were hopin' t' share th' good news with yeh once I bagged th' beastie 'live. That, er... that's all.” She nods once, breaking her fiery gaze away.

A sigh of relief escaped the fledgeling mage, "Oh good, I was afraid you were upset with me for suggesting such a thing." She let her hand fall to her chest and smiled sweetly to the huntress. "But the only good news I needed was to know that my friend made it back safely from her hunt!"

“--Aye, no, aye... I'm made o' stern stuff, lass.” Dahlyah Grimshatter shakes her head. "I weren't mad at yeh fer nothin'. Jus' disappointed in m'self."

Catisa Wells shook her head, raven locks shifting from side to side with the movement. "You should be proud. You tried. That's more than most of your colleagues or competition or however you might view them would ever do. And that's a victory all by itself, isn't it?" She smirked, "Sometimes you have to give yourself credit for trying to do what others probably wouldn't, what you think is the right thing, even if others don't agree with you. Otherwise who would?"

Dahlyah Grimshatter looks to Catisa, brow raised. "Y'think so? I mean... I like t' think I follow a pretty good code o' ethics, aye? I ain't ne'er tried snipin' a mark that weren't mine. Nor take earnin's out from another bounty hunter. Killed plenty o' marks, but none wot dinnae deserve it, reckon. She shrugs. "Kinna like that?"

Catisa Wells shrugged, "I wouldn't presume to know about people. That's a whole realm I hope to never cross into, but regarding beasts at least I don't think they go out of their way to be malicious." A hand covered her lips as she giggled once more, "I would probably be a pretty terrible bounty hunter, I wouldn't ever want to kill a mark."

“E'en if it were a bandit? Or one seekin' t' cause harm t' innocents? Them's th' marks I try an' go fer, m'self.”

Catisa Wells looked out over the water, towards the hills in the distance with an idle smirk upon her lips. "I would be too busy trying to capture them alive so I can find out why. As far as I'm concerned there's always a reason for their actions. Call me an idealist, but if the bandit is stealing from others it's likely because they have no other means to survive so they have to take it from others who do. For one seeking to cause harm to others, why would they wish to do so? Were they hurt themselves or were they hired to do so?" She shrugged lightly with a snicker at herself. "I suppose that's just who I am, I would rather know things so I could understand it better and do something to make a difference about it."

Dahlyah Grimshatter nods slowly, offering a weak smile. "Suppose that's one way o' thinkin'. Ain't a wrong way, but... prone t' git hurt one wat'r another, reckon. There ain't always a reason wot can be figured an' corrected, lass. Not in my experience. Sometimes... folks're jus' malicious an' cruel.”

Catisa Wells chuckled and shook her head, "And that's probably the reason I wouldn't be able to have a career like that." She giggled, "I would probably get myself killed!"

“Ran down a mark once, wot were a Renny. Void elf, aye? Parchments says 'e killed six people by guttin' 'em alive. Nasty fucker, this'n.” Dahlyah Grimshatter frowns, as she recounts the story. "Tracked th' sum'bitch up t' Alterac, found 'im hidin' out in' one o' th' run down towers. Ridley's got 'im by th' leg, an' 'e's practically sniffin' th' gunpowder out m' barrel. Right then I ask 'im... "Why? Why'd y' kill them people like that?" An' y'know wot th' bastard said t' me?” Dahlyah Grimshatter shakes her head, frowning deeper. "Said 'e liked hearin' th' screams they made when 'e cut int'a 'em. Fed 'im lead, right then'n there. An' I'd do it again.” She pulls a small flash from behind her belt, and takes a swig. "... Sorry, lass. Weren't th' most pleasant story, were it? Dinnae mean t' bring yeh down, none."

Catisa Wells furrowed her brow and shook her head again, "I just can't fathom that..." She sighed, "Even in the face of all that I think I would still be asking why. People don't just decide to do that for no reason, they don't just decide to be evil without a cause." Her lips pulled downward in a frown, "It's alright, Miss Dahlyah. I apologize if I seem bothered, it's just something I'm not used to having to deal with."

“Well, if'n yeh ask me, somethin' y' best git used t'. Unpleasant as it is... this world's got evil in it. An' we dunnae always got time t' sort out wot went'n made it so, aye?” Dahlyah Grimshatter takes another swig from her flask, before holding it out in an offer to Catisa.

Catisa Wells held out a hand to politely decline with a faint smile offered, "Perhaps, though I'd like to think that's why there are people like me and then there are others who do what they can to deal with it like yourself while those answers are figured out. Without each other we wouldn't get anywhere, but together change is made over time. That evil may exist and won't go away, one cataclysmic event after another, but efforts to improve our situation never cease."

“... Huh. Interestin'... might take both types, yer sayin'? T' make th' world a better place?”

Catisa Wells nodded, "Mmhmm! While I would hesitate in the face of something you wouldn't, someone like me might know something that could help in some way." She beamed to Dahlyah, "I want to understand and learn everything I can during this life. Who knows what we

could achieve!"

Dahlyah Grimshatter smiles warmly at that and nods once to Catisa. "Aye. Well... when y' put it that way, we make a damn fine team, aye?" she chuckles.

Catisa Wells giggled, "We do!" She exclaimed with a wink to Dahlyah, "If you ever need me to help you study something, just let me know! I'd be more than happy to help. Maybe I'll just stay away from advising you about how to do your hunting instead." An embarrassed laugh escaped her.

Dahlyah Grimshatter shakes her head, still chuckling. "Nae, lass! Yer input were valid, an' appreciated! I dinnae think 'bout wot added good would come 'bout from takin' th' beastie alive, aye? Besides th' up in payout, 'course." she grins. “It were my fault, fer puttin' my expectations so high up. Set m'self up fer th' disappointment, aye? Keep advisin', lass. I'll jus' try an' be more mindful o' worst case versus best case.”

Catisa Wells grinned, "Of course! Maybe next time you have a situation like that one I could join you and learn how it is from your perspective, for a change!" Her gaze rose to the evening sky and pushed herself off of the stone wall, "It's getting a bit late and I need to meet Miss Silverfield for our job board mission. Will I see you at the end of the week for our next excursion?"

Dahlyah Grimshatter nodded once. "Aye, lass. If'n I'm slated fer it, I'll try an' see yeh there. If not, suppose we'll figure out another way t' work t'gether out in th' field, aye? Would like that." she smiles.

"Likewise!" She giggled and offered a happy wave, "See you soon!"

“Aye, forges keep y' warm, lass.”

@dahlyah-grimshatter​

[texastheband]

Super Shar

Interview by Simon Gage, Photography by Wayne Maser Taken from Marie Claire UK - December 2001

She's one of the most successful women in British music, but Sharleen Spiteri refuses to let fame go to her head. And she doesn't mince her words about people who do. Here, the Texas singer gives Simon Gage the lowdown on babies, relationships and having Madonna and Guy round for tea. Photographs by Wayne Maser.

'And you need white wine vinegar, which is weird, but it's the secret ingredient,' says Sharleen Spiteri as she jams another slice of toast into her mouth and peers through the steam from a mug of tea big enough to soak your feet in. She's sitting in the television room of the huge house near London's Regent's Park she shares with her boyfriend, Ashley Heath, editorial director of The Face, explaining a pavlova recipe. (She doesn't mention she is making it for Tom Ford, designer for Gucci and Yves Saint Laurent.) The dustbins outside are full of carrier bags from Alexander McQueen - an old mate of hers from way back - and the kitchen is big enough to drive a Jeep around, but it's a homely home, not a stupidly luxurious swank pad. Although goodness knows, it could be. The house is fairly new to Sharleen - bought with the cash she's earned since Texas's resurrection with the White On Blonde album in 1997 made her a multi-millionaire - but it already looks lived in, with books and candles everywhere, a huge Aga and comfy settees. Her mum and dad are down from Glasgow to help her redecorate. Obviously, she could afford to employ a team of painters - she is one of the wealthiest women in the UK, with recent rich lists placing her higher than Posh but she sees this as a nice way of spending more time with her parents. 'And I get a lot of satisfaction from it.' she adds. 'We've been taking thousands of books off the shelves so we can paint. It's one of those jobs where you end up going, "Why the fuck did I start this?", but they're all back now and it looks fantastic.' Sharleen, 33, may be one of the most successful women in British music -the Greatest Hits album is six times platinum and counting but she is not going to let that stop her getting on with painting her shelves and sloping into cafes for junk food. She may have no time for the Mariah Careys of this world - they fell out last year - but to the women in the second-hand clothes shop we stop off at in Camden on our way to Marks & Spencer for bread, Sharleen's probably the nicest customer they'll have all day. The thing with Sharleen is she doesn't do the superstar thing and has a great talent for not being spotted. It's not like she's in disguise or anything - her hair is tied in a makeshift knot, she's wearing 'great label, but low-impact' clothes and she keeps her head up, talking non-stop in her recognisable Glasgow drawl. She even gives me a body-popping run-through of a Missy Elliott video in the middle of a road without anyone batting an eyelid, then goes on to say how shocked she was when a paparazzo tried to take a picture of her nipping out for milk. Shocked not in a 'How dare you?' way, but in a 'Why would you?' way. But that's Shar all over. She still doesn't quite get what all the fuss is about.

So we hear you're about to take two years off. SS: So people keep telling me. I'm not rushing to do the next record. I think people need a little break and so do I. Johnny [McElhone] and I are still writing [songs], but sometimes it's difficult to know where you want to go musically so we had to take a break. Two years is ample time to have a baby. I knew you were going to say that. Even my friends are phoning up and saying, 'Do you want to come to this party?' and if I go no, they ask, 'Are you pregnant?' and I'm like, 'Piss off!' If it happens, it happens. Hell, I ain't getting any younger. You're doing alright, aren't you? Is there anything you still want and can't have? No. I don't think having something you want has got anything to do with being a millionaire [laughs], but you can say that when you're loaded. I've never been happier. I can come and go, see my mates, have them round to the house and just have a laugh. Did you always dream of being a popstar? I never dreamed of being a popstar What defines a popstar? Someone who sings for a living and everyone screams at them. What defines a musician? Someone who does that but no one screams. So, what am I? You're a popstar. Yeah, but am I the same as people like Hear'say? I don't have a group of producers and writers who are writing songs for me and getting records ready so I can walk in and do my vocal. I don't sell newspapers, I sell records. Those popstars who sell newspapers don't sell albums.

Now you've made it, do things still impress you? Like when Alan Rickman phones to say he wants to be in your video? It's funny because [since the In Demand video], women come up to me and go,'Oh, what is Alan Rickman like?' He's lovely, we're mates. There's no bullshit to him. When we were doing the video, he told me he was up for a part in Harry Potter and I was like, 'Oh, my God! I love Harry Potter' When he got it, he phoned and said, 'Do you want to come down to the set?' I was like, 'You're damn right I do.' I took my niece and two nephews. It was so cool. You were supposed to be in Moulin Rouge, weren't you? What part? The Nicole Kidman part, but it would have meant spending a year filming in Australia. Now it's released, don't you think, 'That could have been me'? No. When I say no, it's no. I didn't ever see me doing that part. I was doing The Hush [Texas's fifth album] and that was more important than doing a movie.

What about when Madonna phones to ask you to dinner, does that impress you? My first meeting was at her house, so it's different from being in a popstar environment. It's pretty funny walking in the door and she's like, 'Hi, I'm Madonna.' You're a bit like, 'Yeah, I know that.' But isn't she just like all those popstars with the producers and the writers standing by? I honestly think she takes the music thing very seriously. We played with her and that wasn't a show where you just walk on and go, 'Let's see what happens.' It was very slick. Were you scared of her? Absolutely not. She's very bright - you don't get that amount of success without being bright. And what is Guy Ritchie like? Guy's nice. He's very real. But he gets criticised for being fake. Everyone reinvents themselves. It's bullshit when people go, 'That's not your background and you can't act like that.' I couldn't care less where Guy comes from. You're either nice or you're not. I don't need your family history to be in your company. Have they been to your house yet? No. It's just a case of getting it together. How would you be able to relax? Why wouldn't you? I don't understand. 'Oh my God, Madonna's coming round, I'll have to get the house repainted.' For fuck's sake. The night we went over, it was me, Stella [McCartney], Ash [Ashley Heath], Guy, Madonna, Guy's dad and his wife, and it was dead relaxed, like any dinner.

‘I don’t do cleavage, Cleavage is overrated’ - Sharleen

Did you see Madonna in concert? No. I was really busy. Was she upset? I'm sure she couldn't have given a flying fuck. So if you're not worried about meeting Madonna, what do you worry about? I'm really worried about my niece, because she's being bullied at school. I get angry more than I worry. I'm really bad at biting my tongue. I've seen people's jaws drop in a 'I can't believe she just said that' way. So you don't dream of having a body like Geri? Everyone would like it, but I wouldn't want to do the work. I couldn't bear having to think about it every time I want to eat. That's not living. I think she looks like a very ill girl. I'm just like, 'Get over it.' Would you ever do the bikini thing for a magazine? I don't need to. Some people might find the need to have a photo of them retouched, but I can't think of anything worse than going home after your boyfriend sees you on a magazine cover with your arse up to here and tits ping, ping, and then you go in and it's reality, gravity. Don't get me wrong, I really care that it's a nice picture. If I go into a studio and there's a stylist going, 'We really think...', I'm like, 'No, this is what I'm wearing because this is the way I look.' You have a big female following, don't you? A woman liking me is the biggest compliment you can pay me. After the Elvis video, so many women said, 'Well done, you're so brave.' Why brave? Because it wasn't you in a sexy little dress. I'm so bored with tits and arse. Did you know you were above Kylie and Madonna as the act most requested at Gay Pride this year? I couldn't believe it. I was like, 'Bring it on, the queen has got her crown back.' You've got a big lesbian following. Have you ever been tempted? No. I love women, but I don't fancy them. I look at women and think, 'Man, she's gorgeous.' I'd like to look like Angelina Jolie. I think she's so sexy. I love her big lips and her kooky character, and I find her madness appealing. I don't think she acts it. How does your boyfriend cope with you being a superstar? A lot of men would find that hard. Ashley's not that type. He's a very confident person, always has been. That's what attracted me to him.

When I walk into the East London photo studio about a week later, the first voice I hear is Sharleen's. She's in the middle of telling the team of internationally celebrated photographers, stylists and make-up artists some off-colour stories. The photographer reckons he doesn't know Texas's music, so someone puts on the Greatest Hits, to which Sharleen lip-syncs like a drag queen, throwing in some comedy Mariah Carey moves. As she changes from her white T-shirt into a variety of top-drawer designer togs, most of which she's brought along herself, the only thing that stays the same is her attitude. Halfway through doing a glamorous shot laid out on the floor, she asks if we can see her balls up her skirt, then she comes out in a top with a plunging neckline, pulling the sides together because, 'I don't do cleavage. Cleavage is over-rated.' Are you still big mates with Chris Evans? SS: I haven't spoken to him since he got married, but I really believe that he and Billie are in love. I met her at a funeral with Chris. Everyone is going on about Billie and Chris and you think, 'OK, so Chris has fallen in love again,' because Chris does that. When I met him with Billie, I thought, 'Oh, this is different.' I don't know her, but she was very relaxed in his company, and he was in hers, and I don't see Chris like that very much. I thought she was a really nice girl. I was quite taken aback. But you forget how young she is. What age is she? Nineteen. I never knew she was that Young. Age makes no difference to me. At that age, I was writing I Don't Want A Lover. I still stand by the lyric. Did you go to Madonna's wedding? No. There were only 60 people invited. If Madonna had invited me to her wedding, I would have wondered why. She's only known me a year. Are you going to invite her to your wedding? Who says I'm getting married? [Laughing] That was the cheesiest way of asking me I've ever heard. So ... ? Probably... I don't know how you decide. I always find it horrible when people talk about it. You're big on monogamy, aren't you? I'm a romantic. I think I'm a realist, to be honest with you. Is monogamy a big deal to me? Fuck, yes. If it lasts a week or lasts the rest of your life. So you won't put up with any running around? No. That's like [split sound] material. It's not good. Would you end it even for a minor indiscretion? Yeah. Why would you have a boyfriend? You might as well just be shagging people. Don't you ever fancy a meaningless shag? No. A shag is the ultimate closeness you can get to me, mentally and physically. When I'm having sex, that's completely me. It has to be really special. That's the way I am. You don't think there are different sorts of sex? You're talking like a man; 'I shagged her and it didn't mean anything.' How do you know it didn't to the other person? I think there are lots of girls who kid on that they don't care, but I don't believe women are like that. But I'm not interested in other people's sex lives. I love having a laugh and a great conversation, but you've seen me with my girlfriends and we're like, 'You dirty devil' and laugh like other women. We talk about sex, but not our sex lives. It's an urban myth that women talk about what they do in bed. So what are your thoughts on Posh? Every time I've met Victoria, she's been a sweetheart. Everyone goes on about her, but you still pick up the paper to see what she's up to. She seems pretty normal. Well, not in the sense that I'm normal, but I think she's actually quite normal in her heart.

See the photoshoot: here Read the scans: here Text originally posted on texasindemand.com

[sherlollydramoine]

Another WIP Preview

Here’s another random update on some stuff that I’ve been working on. Anything posted here may possibly be a huge chunk of the fic, or just a snippet. All of these works are unedited and are in the rough draft phase of writing. Please leave me your feedback either via an ask, a message, or a comment. 

1. Love At the Shore, requested expansion from a fic title request. RAMI X READER

Getting invited by your best friend, Alicia, from college to hang out with her in her hometown of LA for the last month of summer before you headed back to school was the best thing you’ve ever done. Glad to be free from your toxic family for a few weeks left you feeling excited, and perhaps way more than willing to let loose. So when Alicia suggests that you head to the beach for the afternoon, you were more than happy to go. You were going to miss this though, as the summer was quickly coming to a close, soon enough it was back to the grind of textbooks, tests, and the stress that accompanies college life. 

Maybe it’s because she’s from LA, or just part of her personality but Alicia is a force to be reckoned with. She doesn’t take shit from anyone and is the biggest badass out of everyone you’ve ever met. Her enthusiasm and energy was relentless and also somehow infectious. She has always had a way of lighting up a room and brings the fun to everything. Most people assume that her attitude and demeanor makes her stupid which couldn’t be further from the truth. She’s pre-med, always made the deans list and is in the top 1% of your graduating class. 

“Y/N did you grab the beer from the fridge and put them in the cooler?” she asks, as she throws her gorgeous brown hair up on top of her head.

“Yes. I also put all the snacks in there. Why do we need so much food?” 

“The boys are joining us for some sun and fun, and they can eat.” she laughs out.

“Oh God Al-is this a good idea? I mean that suit is-it’s tiny.” 

Her laughter was infectious and her brown eyes full of amusement. 

“That’s the point. You are here to party before you get bogged down by school responsibilities. It fits you perfectly and honestly, you’ll have no problem finding some decent dick later if that’s what you are aiming for. And Sami’s brother is fucking hot. I mean, I may be biased, but they are also identical twins.. soooo.” she continues laughing.

“It always comes back to getting dicked with you doesn’t it?”

“Not always, I don’t get any when I’m at school unless Sami or I decide to visit each other. The pain of having been in a committed relationship for well over six years. So I guess, I don’t know, I need to live vicariously through you.”

“Living vicariously through me? You’ve pretty much been getting dicked the entirety of the summer, and you’ve disappeared on me several times while I’ve been here; for Sami’s dick.”

“The boy will be here soon, so go get your ass into your suit!”

Doing as she said you went to her spare room to change. Silently cursing her for insisting that you wear the tiniest black bikini known to man. It barely covered anything, and you felt uncomfortable. Throwing on the cutoff shorts and off the shoulder top she picked for you to wear over your suit, you head into the living room in search of your sandals your body.

“Hey Allie, can I borrow your-” you started, as you came around the corner of the hallway into the living room you collided with someone.

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” you mutter out an apology.

“It’s alright. You must be YN, I’m Rami, Sami’s brother.” 

“Yeah I kind of figured.” you smile, as he shrugs and you watch something you think is amusement play across his face.

2. Animals - this is piece currently sitting pretty at over 7k. Enjoy this chunk. WARNINGS: THIS CONTAINS LANGUAGE & SMUT.. RAMI X READER

“C’mon babe it’ll be fun! Seriously, there is no privacy for us anywhere and I’m tired of sneaking around just to get an opportunity to give my girl some proper lovin’” he whined, in your ear. “It’s bad enough that neither of us have been able to travel as much since I left for school, and I miss you so fucking much. I  get so much crap from my classmates about how much time I spend thinking about you.”

You were laying down in the backseat of his car, with him still on top of you, as you had just finished have some pretty incredible sex. And now he was trying to convince you that both should go on your first random road trip together. Or rather a spontaneous adventure as he kept referring to it.

“I don’t know. I have to work and you are only going to be home from school for a very short period of time. Your family misses you a lot and I don’t want to take you away from them more than I already have. I don’t want them to hate me more than I’m sure they already do.”

“Well, that’s up to you. I know you have quite a bit of savings, as do I. Believe it or not, I’ve managed to put away a decent chunk of money, even as a poor college student. Mama taught me how to be frugal. And don’t talk like that because you know for a fact that my family adores you. My brother keeps giving me shit about the fact that we aren’t married yet. He said that he was certain that it would have happened the day I turned eighteen.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that statement because marriage was something that both of you had talked about since we were sixteen. Both of you are fairly certain that it was an inevitability for you both.

“You know what? We are young, in love, so why the hell not. Let’s do it. I hate my stupid fucking job anyway and there will always be other job opportunities.”

“That’s the spirit! I love you. I’m so happy that you decided to say yes, because I have a few surprises that I had planned, if you had said yes to this.”

“When should we leave?”

“Tonight?” 

“Great, but what time tonight? I get off work at 10, but I don’t want to smell like the diner so I’d want to go home and at least shower first.”

“Since I was going to drop you off at work, I can pick you up and take you home so that you can shower and then we go after that. Does that sound like a plan?”

“Yes. Now come here lover boy. I want you so bad right now. We’ve got time to make up for.”

“Again? Didn’t we just-” you cut him off mid sentence with a kiss. His mouth not putting up much of a fight against yours. Your fingers threading through his wild hair as you pull him closer. 

Your naked bodies already tangled together in the backseat of the car, your hips bucked into his, and you can feel his hardening member against your thigh. He stops momentarily to grab his jeans off the floorboard to grab another condom out of his pocket, and he wastes very little time slipping it on. 

“Mmmm baby.. I want you so fucking bad.” you murmur against his ear.

Your body so easily turned on by him, was already slick and ready, and you couldn’t help the low moan that escapes you as he slides into you. Wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist you buck your hips in time with his thrusts. 

The only sounds you could hear was the squeaking of the car as it rocked in time with your joint movements, and the quiet moans that you were both letting out.

“Ohhhh. Yes baby… don’t stop…”

“Fuck baby, always so tight for me. I love you. You feel so good. Just.. uhhh.. Fuckkkk.. Yesss..” 

Skin slapping skin as your hips meet in time with each other, your desperation for each growing in this heated moment. Your nails clawing at his back as his thrusts become more frantic in their pace. 

Unable to restrain your pleasure you let it all out with a series of moans as you continued your assault on his back. Your moans only spurred him on further, your bodies slick with sweat, his moans in your ear getting louder.

“Yesss baby…. Godddd… yesss….please don’t stop baby.. Fuckkkk…. I’m so close… So close…. “ you whined in his ear. 

His lips descend on yours for a heated kiss as he his hips pounded into yours, working to push you over the edge and into the depths of your orgasm. 

It took a few more thrusts of his hips to get you there, but you came around him with a muffled scream of his name, your nails digging further into his back. You felt his cock twitch, body stiffen, as he followed you into orgasmic bliss. 

His body collapsed on top of yours, as you held on to him tightly until you both were recovered enough to finally move again.

“Damn babe. That was hot.” he smiled, your naked bodies still tangled together.

“It always is with you my love.”

“I can feel it now babe, but seriously, I think you fucked up my back. Jesus woman, you are seriously like a fucking cat. I can’t take my shirt off for a while now, or my brother will give me so much shit and the rest of my family will know exactly what the hell we’ve been up to. They know we are together, but I think with them, ignorance is bliss.”

You giggled and could feel yourself turning red with embarrassment,”I’m sorry my love. I wasn’t even aware that I was doing it, but if it makes you feel better, I won’t walk right for a week.”

The smug look on face told you that he was happy with that compromise.

“I wouldn’t worry about your back anyway since we are leaving tonight, so who gives a fuck who sees you with a clawed up back. Maybe I was just marking my territory. Hell, I’ve got enough hickies all over me that I might as well be a walking advertisement for ‘committed relationships’” you shrug, as you both sat up in the back seat, and started to re-dress. 

“I hate when our time together comes to an end like this, but I should probably get you home so that you can get ready for work.” 

“Me too. I should just say ‘fuck it’ and just go to work all mussed and smelling like sex.” you giggled again.

“Oh fuck babe, that would be so hot, but no, I promised my brother that we’d go to dinner tonight. He knows how bad I want to see you though, so he suggested that we go to your diner for dinner. Their burgers at least are delicious.” he smiled into your hair.

“I love you so much Rami. I swear you are the best and bless your brother for giving up some of his precious little time with you just for us. Maybe I fell in love with the wrong twin.” you tease, laughing at the mock hurt on his face.

“How dare you!” he gasps in shock, as he dramatically places his hand over his heart.

“Oh you!” you poke him in his stomach and he yelps. “Always so freaking dramatic…”

“Ha! I’m an actor, that’s what I’m supposed to do. Ya know? Be dramatic!”

You roll your eyes at him,”You’ve always been a dramatic ass bitch, but it’s alright, I still love you anyway.” 

“Ugh.” he dramatically sighed.

“Seriously? The dramatics again.”

His laugh was loud as he playfully shoved you, before he opened the back door of the car and climbed out, stretching his body. God you almost started drooling watching his body as it stretched. His shirt riding up on his stomach just a little bit, and for some reason you had to resist the urge to bite it. Next time, you are definitely going to leave a little mark there, right above the ‘v’ of his delicious hips. Leave your mark on him, like staking a claim, a little something that temporarily marks him as yours.

You followed his lead and exited the back of the car, smoothing your dress down over your hips before leaning against the drivers side door waiting for him to wander his way back to you. Once he was in front of you, you throw your arms around his neck and give him a sweet chaste kiss. 

“I love you so damn much. How the hell did I get so damn lucky?” you smiled, tears filling your eyes from all of the random emotions swirling around inside of you.

“Aw baby don’t cry. I love you too! Don’t doubt yourself love, because I’m the lucky one. The luckiest man alive because I have you.” he reassured as you sniffled into his chest. 

“No way. Me. I’m… I’m.. I’m.. just.. I’m so plain.” you gestured to your body as if to demonstrate your point.

“Excuse me. No. I wish you could see yourself the way that I see you. I see a beautiful woman with the kindest eyes, beautiful hair, and a generous heart. I’m the lucky one because have you seen me? The guy with big eyes that looks so different from the majority of my peers.” he tried echoing your earlier movements.

“NO! DON’T YOU EVER SAY THAT! You’re eyes are so expressive and gorgeous. I’ve known you forever and I still can’t figure out exactly what fucking color they are. They are… I call them ‘ocean eyes’ because they are ever changing from green to blue to sometimes gray. You are so talented and anyone that doesn’t see how talented you are is a fucking loser. And you will be successful no matter what because you want it, your live it, you fight for it. You are the love of my life, and I will stand behind you and support you no matter what!” holding him a little tighter now, because you know how insecure he can be about the way he looks.

“Oh babe. Look at us, arguing over our looks. If anyone overheard this conversation would think we are the two most shallow individuals on the planet.” he laughs, trying to lighten the mood.

“Rami, this is fucking LA, ninety-eight percent of the population is made up of a bunch of shallow assholes. So for someone to overhear a conversation about our looks would just think we are another bunch of wannabe somethings.”

Another bark of laughter from him before he kisses your forehead. 

“Okay, we need to get going now or both of us are going to be late.”

It was your turn to laugh again before you pointed out the fact that his name should actually be Rami Late-For-Everything Malek. To which he actually just flipped you the bird and that made you laugh so much harder than you already were. That was your Rami, playful and fun, sarcastic and just.. he was always making you laugh.

Sighing you climb into the passenger seat and buckle up, he puts the car in drive and cranks the radio up. You both singing along loudly and off-key to nearly every song that came on. Time seemed to pass by all too quickly and before you knew it, you were outside your house. You lean over to give him a not so chaste kiss, pulling away all too quickly. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours baby. Oh, I forgot to tell you, bring your birth certificate and passport with you, just in case we decide to do something reckless on our little trip.” he smiled conspiratorially at you, before giving you a wink. He can’t wink for shit, but it's adorable watching him try. 

Confusion racking your brain, but not questioning his motives you shut the door, and watch him drive away. Feeling like you were floating on air you nearly dance your way into the house that share with your parents and begin packing for your trip. 

You decide to pack fairly light, even though you have no clue how long this trip is going to last for and you grab the documents that he requested that you bring with you, putting them in a plastic Ziploc bag, and shoving them into your backpack. 

Deciding to lay down for about an hour to take a small nap before work, your body a little tired from the vigorous activities earlier this afternoon. Waking with your alarm, you get up and take a quick shower, and then get dressed in your ugly work uniform, grab your bags and head out the door. Standing at the end of your driveway waiting for Rami to show,  a little late like always, your mind wanders to what he had said earlier. What could he possibly mean by ‘if we decide to do something reckless?’ The thoughts rolling around in your brain, you must have looked like an idiot standing there lost in thought that you barely registered that he had pulled up. 

“Yoooo babe!!!” he hollered out the window which snapped you out of your thoughts. 

“Sorry, I’m comin!” you holler back. “Oh pop the trunk I’m going to throw my shit in there.”

He does as you ask, and you toss your backpack and small duffle bag into the trunk of his car, and you notice that he has several bags already in there, including what looked like a garment bag.

“Hey Sami!” you smile, as you climb into the backseat. You hadn’t even realized that his brother was in the car with him when he pulled up.

“Hey Y/N. How’ve you been?” he asks, a small smile on his face. 

“Great. But you don’t have to ask, I just saw you last week before Rami came home. So compared to how I was last week I am doing so much better. Happier. Ugh babe, I can’t believe the seat isn’t dry yet. Jesus it’s had a few hours to bake in the sun and it’s still wet. Now my ass is going to be all wet when I get to work.”

Sami nearly spit his water all over the dash as his brother was now speeding down the highway towards your place of work, and Rami just wore a smirk.

“You two are fucking disgusting. Animals.” Sami grumbles.

“That we are Sami-cakes, but the sex is always worth it.” you managed to get out between fits of giggles.

“Dude, she just called me ‘Sami-cakes’ like.. Seriously?”

“She calls me Rami-cakes, so Sam that just means that she likes you. She did tell me earlier that she thinks perhaps she fell in love with the wrong twin.”

The twins laughter rang through the car, against the noise of traffic. 

“So what the hell did you two do while I wasn’t around? 

“The same thing we always do, just bro stuff.” Rami replied.

@txmel @xmxisxforxmaybe @itsme690 @mrhoemazzello @r-ahh-mi @free-rami 

[isitgintimeyet]

Letting Go

Eight years is a long time. Enough time to forget, move on, start anew... 

Except that sometimes it isn’t.

This story is inspired by my favourite Jane Austen novel ‘Persuasion’. Its a bit of a slow burn with a bit of angst and bit of fluff.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and thanks to @happytoobservenolongerdistant for the encouragement.

So, very nervously posting- hope you enjoy x

1. And So It Goes

So I would choose to be with you.

That’s if the choice were mine to make.

But you can make decisions too,

and you can have this heart to break

Billy Joel

Eight years ago

“Claire, love, please remember, I am no’ walking away from ye.”

“Well, that's what it feels like.”

“I have tae go, ye ken that. It’s ma family’s survival, it’s the future of Lallybroch. This contract we have wi’ the breeding stables in Kentucky, I have tae do it…  I have tae go. But I'm askin’ ye tae come with me.”

“You’re asking me to give up the dream I’ve had since I was a little girl, to be a doctor, a surgeon.”

“There must be hospitals in Kentucky where ye can continue that dream, wi’ me.”

“But none with the reputation that Glasgow has. It’s pioneering work here, and Dr. Hildegard says…”

“So it’s Dr. Hildegard as has persuaded ye on this then. She should keep her mouth shut and let ye decide for yourself.”

“I am deciding for myself. Can’t I stay here and we try to make it work long distance?”

“That’s no’ goin’ tae work and ye ken that. Ye work all the hours ye can. How often would ye be able tae visit me? If I visited ye, how much time would ye spend away from the hospital? Nah, Claire, I want ye tae come wi’ me… us together.”

“Jamie, I want us together too, but I want my dream as well, Dr. Hildegard says it’s my calling. Don’t make me choose, please.”

“Aye, weel, I reckon ye’ve already chosen. It’s funny ye want tae be a cardiologist, fixin’ people’s hearts, because Claire, I tell ye, ye’ve just broken mine.”

*************

Present Day

“Uncle Lamb, Uncle Lamb?” Claire dropped her car keys in the bowl on the hall table and shrugged off her coat. “Are you in?”

She walked down the hallway, the sound of her heels on the chequered floor tiles echoing in the silence. Quickly scanning each room as she passed by, she continued a one-sided conversation with her unusually silent uncle. “Has the post been today? Where is it? Did my copy of The Lancet arrive?”

Finally arriving at the door to her Uncle’s study, she knocked gently before entering. The scene that greeted her was familiar, unchanged since she was a child. The large, dark, wooden desk was strewn with a forest’s worth of paper, fixed in place by a haphazard assortment of stones, belt buckles and ancient bowls, and lit by a single desk light. The old leather chair turned away from the desk to face the window overlooking the back garden.

A garden of this size was a rarity in the suburbs of Glasgow, and Claire had to admit, was sorely in need of some tender, loving care -- Claire being short on time and Lamb short on inclination. But she had always loved the view from this window, as had her uncle.

One of her first memories, following the deaths of her parents, was quietly creeping into this study, desperately looking for assurance that her uncle was there, yet trying not to disturb him. Her ninja skills being unrefined at age five, Lamb had heard her and immediately swept her into his arms, settling her in his lap as he sat and turned the chair to face the window.

“See there, Claire,” he had whispered to her. “Over there, that’s where we’ll put a swing, if you’d like. I want you to be happy here. This is your home, too.”

The swing, much used, was still there, now rusted and wobbly with weeds breaking through the wood-chip ground cover beneath.

The desk seemed more untidy than usual, a layer of envelopes and official looking letters covering its surface. Uncle Lamb was sitting facing the window. He swung back to face Claire.

“Hello, Uncle. Have you got my copy of The Lancet? There’s an interesting article on a non-surgical approach to mesenteric vascular disease…”

Claire looked at him and stopped. His eyes were red rimmed and watery. “Lamb, what is it?”

She rushed round the desk and crouched beside him. “Are you ok?”

He pointed at the papers on his desk and sighed. “The bank, the credit card companies…”

Claire focused on the collection of letters in front of her, statements and demands from an assortment of financial institutions, some of them dated months ago.

“Uncle, what are these? I don’t understand. Why haven’t you talked to me about these before?”

Lamb cast his eyes down to his hands, fingers nervously worrying his cuticles. “I don’t know… I thought I could sort it out… that you’d never need to know. But the bills just kept coming, and the amounts kept getting bigger. I didn’t want to burden you with it. I should have been able to cope. But now, I’m worried… I don’t know how to get out of this.”

Claire was silent for a moment, doing some rough mental calculations. It seemed to add up to quite a sizeable amount, certainly more than was evidenced by her uncle’s usual lifestyle. She didn’t want to embarrass him more than he obviously was, but she needed to understand.

“Uncle, how did this happen? I’m sorry, but that’s a fair amount of money to have spent so quickly.”

“The field trip last summer, that six week dig in Turkey. That’s where it started.”

“But I thought those expenses were covered by the university. Not funded out of your own pocket?”

“Well, you know the universities at the moment, cutting back on everything nonessential. Apparently research into cairn burials around the Black Sea is not relevant enough for today’s modern universities. The funding they gave me was a pittance… practically an insult.” Lamb spoke bitterly. “How can learning about what has made us who we are not be relevant? What did I always tell you, Claire?”

“A people who do not know their history are fated to repeat it.” Claire answered automatically, years of visiting historical sites with her uncle had drilled this into her brain.

“Exactly! You understand, Claire. And there is more to be done over there, that trip just set the groundwork. I’m sure that…” Lamb’s eyes brightened at the thought of future archaeological digs.

One of her Uncle’s many endearing qualities had always been an otherworldliness that focussed his mind on the significance of the past at the expense of the trivia of his present. Claire had never minded having to shoulder the responsibilities for their ‘trivial present’, leaving Lamb free to explore the ‘significant past’. Even now, part of her longed to be able to take this financial predicament away from him, leaving him to dream and plan for his next expedition.

But, she had to be practical. Lamb had to set aside any thoughts of future trips until this financial problem in his trivial present had been dealt with. And Claire thought she had just the solution.

“Uncle, no, please.” Claire interrupted. “I’m sorry but you can’t be thinking about that at the moment. We have to sort this out. You are going to have to sell this house.”

Lamb was immediately jolted from dreams of the past back to the present. He stared at Claire, aghast at this suggestion. “Sell the house? I couldn’t do that! This is our home.”

Claire cleared her throat and paused for a second before she spoke again. Her medical training had taught her to view objectively, taking all emotion out of her surgical procedures. And surely that’s what this is, she told herself, another surgical intervention -- quick, clean strokes to sever the bonds and leave everything repaired good as new.

“Lamb, you know as well as I do, this house is too big for us. We’re rattling around in here, and half the rooms we never even go in. How many people still live in great big Edwardian villas like this? You only have to look down this road, most of these houses are converted into flats. I’m sure a property developer would give us a good price and you could get something smaller. And it’s high time I got my own place. A flat close to work would be great.”

“Claire, I can’t sell this place. It’s where you grew up. It’s what I want to pass on to you, your inheritance. No, I won’t do it. There must be another way.”

*************

Claire settled herself in the battered chair reserved for visitors to the office and waited for Mrs. Fitzgibbons to return with the promised cup of tea. Glenna Fitzgibbons (widely known as ‘Mrs. Fitz’), had been her Uncle’s secretary at the university for many years and knew him better than anyone apart from Claire herself. Claire hoped that she might be able to use her considerable influence to persuade Lamb to sell the house.

Mrs. Fitz bustled into the office with a tray filled with what seemed to be a full afternoon tea. Settling behind her desk, she poured two cups of tea from her favourite novelty thatched cottage teapot, added milk from the matching jug and passed a cup  to Claire, along with a scone liberally spread with butter and jam.

“I canna bide the notion of jes’ dippin’ a teabag in a mug of hot water, ye ken. A cup of tea, properly brewed, mind, can fix anything. So, pet, tell me, how are ye? And what’s mitherin’ ye? I ken there’s something goin’ on.”

Claire sipped her tea. “Oh, Mrs. Fitz, I’m so worried. Has my uncle spoken to you about his current financial situation?”

“No, that he hasna, but from the look on yer face, I’m guessin’ that’s what’s on yer mind. Talk tae me, how can I help?”

“Well, he’s been hiding it from me, but that last trip he did to Turkey, he practically had to fund it himself and it’s wiped him out financially. He owes so much now, the only way I can see out of it is to sell the house, but he refuses. I was hoping maybe you could talk to him, change his mind?”

Just the act of talking to Mrs. Fitz made Claire feel a bit better. She couldn’t remember how many times growing up she had sat in this office while Mrs. Fitz had shared pots of tea, advice and great big all-enveloping hugs. There was a time, in her teens, when Claire had asked her advice on everything, looking for a female, almost motherly view that Lamb, much as he loved her, was unable to provide.

Once into her twenties, although their bond remained strong, the need for this advice waned. Although, Claire sometimes wondered how different her life would be had she sought out Mrs. Fitz eight years ago rather than relying on another’s counsel.

Claire passed over a piece of paper with her rough calculations on it. Mrs. Fitz studied it intently.

“I’m thinkin’ there may be a way round this. How about if we could convince Lamb he didna have tae sell, but could rent the house out for a couple of years and then use that money tae pay off what he owes. The university has some accommodation for faculty members at a peppercorn rent but what about ye? Where would that leave ye?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve been thinking for a while, it’s time I got a place on my own. This is just forcing me to make the move.”

Claire took the paper back and folded it before placing it carefully in her handbag. “I know the funding from the university wasn’t great, but this amount looks really high…  I don’t know, has anything changed?”

Mrs. Fitz pursed her lips and remained silent for a moment before responding. “Aye… Malva… his latest grad student. She went on that trip with him.”

Claire was taken aback. “No… surely not… you don’t think…”

“Och, nay, I dinna mean that. But she was determined tae go on that trip wi’ him, and somehow convinced him. And the equipment… for years yer uncle hasna changed his equipment, now, suddenly nothing but the best state of the art imagin’ equipment will do. And a drone, he’s bought a drone. Now I’m no’ one tae point the finger, but all this started when she began tae work wi’ him. Mark ma words, she’s tryin’ tae make a name fer herself here at the university… and at yer Uncle’s expense”

And with that, Mrs. Fitz sat back and furiously began to munch her scone.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

daisies in the summer

[cedric diggory x reader]

author’s note: it feels so nice to write without the thought of homework looming in the back of my mind lol. probably gonna write for draco next 

word count: 3,433

Diagon Alley is, as per usual, bustling and bursting with life. Not a day goes by when it’s quiet in any sense of the word, though if there had been such an occasion in the past, Cedric couldn’t tell you the date. It would have been long ago by now, for his numerous visits to this familiar stretch of road over the years have been just as they are today. As he turns the corner, he enters into the thick of the crowd, swept up by the sea of wizards and witches, flowing past shop windows displaying wares of all kinds. He’s content to let the current take him where it will; there’s nowhere specific he needs to be. There are no school supplies to be bought, given that it’s the middle of summer.  But thoughts of Hogwarts aren’t far away because he’s got a stack of textbooks waiting for him at home, ready to be delved into for his holiday homework.

Thinking about the laundry list of assignments to do doesn’t distract Cedric; he’d finish it all before term began. He always does, whether it be in a timely manner, evidence of proper planning and management, or in a haste, a mad scramble to write that last six inches of an essay or read the last chapter of a book to be discussed on day one. The noise doesn’t allow him to dwell on any of it anyway. If he had wanted to worry and fret, he wouldn’t have come somewhere so lively.

A group of kids is pressed up against the glass at Quality Quidditch Supplies, staring at the newest model of broomstick sitting proudly front and center. Cedric saunters past and easily sees over their heads. A friend of his had sent an owl a few weeks ago telling him they’d bought that very broom. It looks well and good on display, a small light shining on it to illuminate the smooth mahogany handle and birch twigs, but Cedric imagines it must look even more incredible in the air. He’ll have to see for himself when classes resume and he’s back on the pitch with his team.

He leaves behind the broomstick and its admirers and continues along the street. Flourish and Blotts is several storefronts down and he considers spending some time in there perusing the shelves. The last time he’d wanted to stop by, there had been a book launch, and the line to meet the author had gone out the door. Occupied as he was with staring at the bookstore’s sign, he only narrowly avoids running into a witch holding a cage with an owl. He sidesteps quickly and mutters an apology, and the owl flaps its wings as if annoyed. Such personality those birds have.

Cedric twists back around, intent on walking the rest of the way to Flourish and Blotts, but he’s stopped again by what at first glance looks like a floating pile of books. His brows furrow, and his eyes slide lower to the pair of legs carrying the stack along. Next he notices the hands balancing the tomes precariously, arms braced beneath the bottom book and fingers curled up on its spine.

“Excuse me!”

Cedric blinks as he hears a small voice attempting to speak up over the noise but not entirely successful—the books obscuring the speaker’s face prevent their words from going very far. Suddenly your head pokes out to the side, eyes peering down to make sure you’re not about to run into anyone (or anything), and you call out again, much clearer now, in warning to anyone in passing. Pardon me!

He’s momentarily rooted to the spot as he watches you. It looks like there are multiple close calls where you might run into someone, but they always skirt past you with ease. He wonders if you can even tell. A burly wizard accidentally checks Cedric’s shoulder trying to walk around him, and it kicks him into action. Quickly, though carefully so he doesn’t startle you into dropping all your books, he approaches and asks, “Did you want help with that?”

Instinct drives you to turn your whole body around to look at him, but it’s not effective considering your line of vision is still concealed. He takes a step back to avoid being knocked over by the hefty pile as you move, returning back to your original position which lets you simply turn your head to look at him properly.

“Yes, please!” you squeak. “These are really heavy!”

Cedric takes half the stack, which renders your face visible. You sigh in relief at the loss of some of the weight, and he grins. “Where to?”

You nudge your head in the direction you’d been going. “Just here. Not too far now.”

The books he has are rather heavy, and he steals a glance at the ones you’re holding. They’re of similar size, and all of them have hard leather covers. He can’t quite believe you tried to carry them together. To be fair, it seemed you were doing okay, but he’d grown anxious as he stared those few seconds that something might go wrong as soon as he looked away. He couldn’t help offering his assistance, and you hadn’t seem bothered by it. Quite the opposite actually; you’d sounded grateful. Curiosity bites at him to ask why you have these books, and so he does. “What are these for?”

“Leisure reading.”

Cedric blinks in surprise. “That’s some leisure reading.”

You laugh, and it’s easy to hear over the bustle of the alley since you’re close to him. “Well, not all of them are. Some of these are for my boss too. He put in an order he wanted me to pick up, and I guess I got a little overzealous finding my own books to get through over the summer.”

“I’ll say.” Cedric chuckles. “One of these might take me a whole year to finish!”

“They look intimidating, but I assure you, they’re not too difficult to understand.” You smile as you look up at him, and there’s a sparkle in your eye. Cedric’s not certain if it’s due to the sun shining or if it’s something else. Whatever it may be, at the sight of it, he can’t help smiling back.

You start to slow down as you arrive at your destination, and he does as well to match your pace. “Here we are,” you announce.

Cedric lifts his gaze to the sign, which is no problem because it’s in the shade. It’s a shop he’s well acquainted with—many are, in fact. He needn’t have looked at the shop name, for a peek through the windows was a more than adequate hint as to where the two of you have stopped. “You work for Garrick Ollivander?”

You hum and nod. “The very same. Come on.”

It’s easier for you to support the books with one hand now that you’re only holding half of them, and you reach out to open the door. The noise of the street is drowned out the moment you walk inside, the shelves filled from top to bottom with wands absorbing any sound. You look back over your shoulder to make sure Cedric’s following, and you direct him with a wave of your hand to lay the books off to the side. All this is done in silence, for Ollivander is attending to someone. When you put your books next to the small stack Cedric set down, you stand up straight and take a deep breath, shoulders lifting and then dropping again as you exhale quietly.

“Thank you,” you whisper. If you were to talk out loud, Ollivander and the patron would be able to hear you clearly even when separated by several bookshelves due to the small size of the shop.

Cedric speaks in a tone similarly hushed. “Of course. That would’ve been a hard walk to make by yourself.”

“And a boring one.”

He smiles at that remark. “I’m Cedric, by the way.” He holds out his hand.

You shake it and tell him your name. “It’s nice to meet you, Cedric.”

He doesn’t linger for long. You do have work to do, and he could stall and pretend to be in the market for a new wand, if only to remain in your presence just that bit more, but his current wand is perfectly fine and thus, it wouldn’t take much for you to figure out his real reason for staying, for weaving through aisles as he hopes to catch another glance of you. So instead, he walks back outside, in the direction of Flourish and Blotts, squinting as his eyes readjust to the brightness.

Inside the shop, he meanders lazily down a random aisle, scanning the titles on the spines but not processing any of them. He is busy remembering that twinkle in your gaze and the curl of your lips. He is thinking about the softness of your whisper and how it almost seemed to reach out and caress his heart, for it had been impossible to ignore the heaviness that settled in the pit of his chest as you breathed out his name. He is pondering what you might sound like, reading in quiet murmurs out of the poetry book he’s just pulled off the shelf and is flipping through. Goosebumps rise on his arms as he tries to imagine it, tries to hear these stanzas in your voice. He is reckoning you would sound wonderful.

———

Cedric sighs and lies back on his bed, resting his arms beneath his head. He stares up at the ceiling and feels the blood rushing to his brain. It’s intense enough that his eyes slide closed as he waits for the sensation to subside, and once he does, the sound of your laugh flitters in his ears, like little ghosts of songbirds who greet him in those several moments balancing between being awake and being asleep. Because his eyes are closed and he’s not looking for them then, and they’re awfully shy and so the most he might see are flashes of light against his eyelids. But now every glimmer is your grin.

He opens his eyes, sees the ceiling again. Your image disappears with the birds, and your laugh is replaced with the sound of the gramophone flickering to life downstairs. A piano plays the opening melody, and it’s one he’s familiar with. The vinyl his father had placed down had been a gift from Arthur Weasley; the artist was a Muggle, and Mister Weasley had been excited to share a small piece of that world with them. The music floats through the air, comes up the stairs and creeps through the crack at the bottom of Cedric’s bedroom door. He knows all the words, and he mouths the next line subconsciously: “I see your face in every flower…”

That’s when he pauses, and the song continues without him. He smiles to himself and shakes his head. “Haven’t told a soul and yet the world already seems to know,” he mutters amusedly. The sentence is said mostly to himself, but he’s not alone, and he glances at the other occupant of the room. His owl is perched on the window sill, thoroughly enjoying the gentle breeze wafting in. It looks at him intently, as though the previous statement had been aimed at it, and gives a small coo in response.

Sometimes he considers telling his friend about you in one of his letters, but he stops himself before he can take quill to parchment with thoughts of you in mind. He’d probably sound crazy,  prattling on about you in that fashion of whimsy he tends to lose himself in when he gets carried away, and something about you seems to do that to him—It’s like I’ve drawn the queen of hearts from a deck of cards on the first go. Yes, certainly crazy, to feel so strongly about someone he’s just met, and crazier still to solidify the sentiments with ink, because it makes them real. Having them written out indicates deliberation and assuredness that those feelings might ring true after all. No mere hypotheticals. And, well, if that should be the case, he thinks he could use up a whole bottle of ink talking about you.

He rolls onto his side and closes his eyes again. He’s dreaming of you. Or maybe it’s daydreaming, since he’s not actually falling asleep. Maybe it makes no difference.  

“You’ll never know how slow the moments go till I’m near to you…”

On his next visit to Diagon Alley, Cedric isn’t completely without a goal. He passes the usual sight of children outside Quality Quidditch Supplies; scoots around the spare cages and tanks outside Magical Menagerie; catches the smell of fresh pastries from Sugarplum’s Sweets Shop. His eyes search left and right in search of you as he continues down the road. He looks for people with books and traces the arms holding them, all the way up, fingers crossed that it’s your face he’ll see.

He comes across Ollivanders and stops by the left window, remaining by its left-most edge, which leaves him half-concealed as he looks inside. The smile playing on his lips is automatic once he finds you. You’re standing with your arms clasped in front of you, wearing a small grin as Ollivander takes out a wand from a box that looks identical to the many other boxes stored around the shop, and presents it to a young wizard.

The boy gives the wand a quick, imprecise wave, and several boxes from the shelf behind you fly out of their place and fall to the floor with a thud. You jump slightly in surprise and twist around to assess the mess, and Cedric can’t hear what the boy says, but he assumes it’s an apology because you turn back to him and Cedric reads your lips as you say with an understanding smile It’s okay.

You haven’t noticed him peeking into the store, and he remains standing there for a few more moments even when you’ve turned to pick up the fallen boxes and as Ollivander finds a new wand for the boy to try. Cedric would like to say hello, whether verbally or just in the form of a wave through the window, but he doesn’t want to interrupt. So he sighs and glances warily in front of and behind him, wondering if he comes off as strange to any passerby since it looks like he’s spying (and, well, perhaps he is a little).

Before he can look too suspicious, he backs away from the shop window and proceeds to Flourish and Blotts. He hadn’t really looked at the books closely last time, distracted as he was. But he’s not sure it’ll be any different today now that he’s spotted you and knows you’re only a few storefronts down the street. He hopes he’ll run into you later on.

Your remark about leisure reading for the summer prompts him to scour the shelves in search of books that grab his attention. He doesn’t plan to get as many as you had, nor any as thick, but he supposes at least one is a decent start. It’d be nice to have something other than his schoolbooks to be reading at home, when his mind needs a break. He surmises half-jokingly that he could spend that time thinking of you, but that’d wear his mind out all the same. You leave him in a daze, running around the edges of his brain until he’s dizzy and seeing stars. Maybe he could buy you daisies.

Cedric’s new novel is wrapped in brown paper and tied up with twine, and he tucks it beneath his arm as he steps out of Flourish and Blotts. He hadn’t kept track of how long he was in there, but it’s long enough that he’s a bit peckish. Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour is visible from the front doors of the bookshop, and that’s where he chooses to go. Ice cream was just a good a meal as any, right?

The large wooden door creaks loudly, a testament to its age, and Cedric steps inside.There’s one person at the counter ordering, and he waits patiently behind them. His eyes light up when he realizes it’s you. You ask for two scoops of peanut butter ice cream in a cone, and a spoon moves on its own to scoop up the flavor you’ve requested and drops it into a cone floating nearby. After you pay, the cone drifts over to you, and your fingers gently curl around it to bring it closer.

“Thank you!” you state brightly. Then you turn around, and you halt at the sight of Cedric. “Oh, hi, Cedric!”

He smiles, lifting a hand slightly to give a wave. “Hullo, [Name].”

You wait for him to order his own ice cream (double scoop of chocolate chip) and you find a table in the corner, next to the window. Cedric plops down in the seat across from you and sets his book on the tabletop. He looks at you but you don’t notice, preoccupied with gazing outside at everyone walking past. Your hair is tied up, and you’re wearing a dress well-suited for the heat. The temperature has only risen now that it’s the middle of summer. His eyes follow the curve of your collarbones and the line of your jaw. Even from the other side of the table he can see your long lashes, curled upward and brushing languidly against the fragile skin of your cheeks with each blink.

He clears his throat and forces himself to look elsewhere. If he kept staring, he’d forget what he was holding and would be reminded none too nicely by melted ice cream seeping onto his hand. “How have you been?” he inquires. He licks at his sugary treat as you turn back to answer.

“I’ve been well!” you reply. “Helped a young wizard pick out a wand today.”

Cedric’s about to comment that he’d seen that, but thankfully the words never leave his mouth. It would only merit questions about how he would know, and he’d be forced to admit he’d been peeking in to Ollivanders, hiding half behind a wall to remain out of sight. So he changes what he’s going to say. “Really? That’s fantastic.”

You hum in agreement, and your eyes drop down to the book. “What have you got there?” It’s your turn to ask a question.

“Oh, this?” Cedric sets a hand on it and drags it closer. “Well, you inspired me, [Name].”

“Did I?” You sound excited, and you tilt your head curiously.

Cedric smiles at your enthusiasm and nods. “You did. I thought about how you bought those books to read over the summer and figured it’d be good for me to do the same.”

You ask him which book he bought, and he tells you. A part of him isn’t surprised you’ve already read it. You say that you hope he enjoys it, and that you think he will. You’ll have to tell me your thoughts on it when you’re done. He promises that he will. Your eyes are sparkling again and now he understands it’s no product of the sun. Suddenly his ice cream is so bland in comparison to your voice and smile. Could he ever enjoy sweets from this point on, knowing none of them could match up to you?

He listens to you talk about the little knickknacks you saw in the junk shop: I like to go in there every now and then to see what’s found its way there. Never know when it’ll be my lucky day. And Cedric grins and thinks that it’s his lucky day whenever he’s with you. You’re watching him with soft gazes and filling his ears with soft laughs, and he can only hope that you feel the same way when you’re with him.

In the evening, he’s three chapters into his novel and already looking forward to the next time he sees you. The moon casts a white glow on his bedroom floor and Cedric closes his eyes. You’re there to greet him and guide him over the threshold, into the world of dreams. The two of you are outside the ice cream parlour, and you take his hand to lead him inside. You grace him with a toothy grin that looks right at home on your beautiful face, and he sees tiny songbirds fluttering around your figure.

[shadowynnn]

fire and ice |part three|

far cry 5

fire and ice synopsis: After a drunk driver kills both of your parents in an accident when you were sixteen, you eagerly leave Hope County for college a few years later to escape the demons that haunt you there. After six years away, a strange dream prompts you to return home where you find things not quite how you left them. With a mysterious, and possibly dangerous, cult on the rise, you attempt to juggle finally coming to peace with your parents’ deaths and the cult’s increasing interest in you. (Begins a few months before the events in the game take place.)

part two synopsis: Your first encounter with Jacob Seed.

pairing: Jacob Seed, Joseph Seed, John Seed x Reader (though mainly Jacob Seed x Reader in this part)

words: 1731

You were utterly exhausted from last night’s party at the Spread Eagle Bar. While you had been ecstatic to see and catch up with everyone again, it had left you drained and yearning for time alone.

You knew that the mature and responsible thing to do was start the long process of fixing up your parent’s old cabin and moving in your belongings before you started up your job at St. Francis the following week and really lost all willpower to do just that, but you had always been a procrastinator and knew that the work could stand to wait another day. So instead of getting to work at settling back into Hope County, you had opted for a nice, long hike. It had been too long, after all, and you were eager to spend the day wandering through the Whitetails.

You had planned on allowing yourself to sleep in, letting your body have one good night of sleep before you got to work on the cabin and then eventually began your shifts at the hospital, but you awoke early all the same, breathless and heart racing from the dream you had been having. What the dream had been, however, you couldn’t seem to hold onto as time slowly ticked by. The more you tried to remember, the hazier everything became.

Figuring it was better to leave it forgotten with the way it left you shaky and anxious, you put the dream to rest and climbed out of bed. There was no way you would be able to get back to sleep now, so you decided you might as well begin the day bright and early.

It took you longer than normal to get ready as your old bedroom in your uncle’s house was crammed with boxes and you hadn’t done a very thorough job of organizing things when you had packed everything up. After a few minutes of haphazardly rummaging through the boxes, you pulled an army green utility jacket on over your t-shirt and shorts before slipping on a pair of your old hiking boots. You then quickly tugged your tangled curls into a messy ponytail before pulling on your backpack guitar case and strapping your trusted Glock into the holster on your waist-you could never be too safe hiking by yourself in the valley-and were out the door just as the sun was peeking its way over the horizon.

You would be lying if you said the case didn’t grow uncomfortable and cumbersome to carry throughout the day, but finding some quiet, isolated place up in the mountains and playing to your heart’s content was one of your favorite things to do. It calmed you; kept you grounded when nothing else could and your fingers were just itching to play.

You didn’t have a destination in mind, but rather, let your feet take you away when you arrived at the start of some of the trails. It was a beautiful day, the morning sky dusted with just a few wispy clouds and the temperature just cool enough to make you appreciate bringing a jacket for the first few hours. Fall was fast approaching, but the afternoons were still pleasantly warm.

You softly hummed along as the hours passed by, your feet traveling up and down the worn trails. You had yet to see another soul, just a few deer and other harmless wildlife scattered among the trees. 

Eventually, your legs began to grow tired and you could feel your breath starting to catch. Looking at your watch, you saw it was nearly noon and decided now was probably a good time to sit down to rest, eat, and perhaps play for a little bit.

You walked just a bit longer as you looked for an appropriate place to stop, finally finding an open place to your left which opened up to part of the valley below. After settling down on one of the larger rocks, you ate the meal you had packed for yourself before getting your guitar and beginning to tune it.

Ever since you were born, you had had a knack for all things musical. You were quick to pick up instruments and had an ear for being able to play things you heard. You could read music, your mother had taught you at a young age, but you often didn’t need the sheets. You found it easier and more enjoyable to just hash out the notes yourself and see where they took you.

Your fingers strummed idly across the strings, playing a few chords of this and that as you tried to find something which resonated with you at the moment. After a few minutes of indecisiveness, you found yourself strumming the beginning chords to an Axel Flovent song, your voice softly humming along before they turned to form the actual words.

“Your dreams are incredibly loud tonight; you're creating forest fires. You can't even change your sight; it's stuck in you like --”

You stopped abruptly when you heard rustling behind you. Startled, your guitar dropped from your hands which immediately moved to hover over the Glock at your waist while you spun around to see what had made the sound.

You didn’t know quite what you were expecting, some sort of animal most likely, so you were shocked to see it was a man standing a few yards back, staring intently at you.

“Holy shit, man!” You breathed out when you felt your heart begin to slow once again. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on someone out here?” 

Your common sense told you to keep your guard up, but you were just so relieved it was just another person and not a wolf, mountain lion, or god forbid, a bear, that you found it hard to still be wary of him. With a dead whitetail strapped around his shoulders, you reckoned he was just a hunter who had wandered by when he heard your singing.

“I’m sorry, that was kind of rude of me.” You blushed when you saw his eyes glance at the hand still hovering over your gun. You quickly dropped it against your better judgment as you began to ramble from your still buzzing nerves. “It’s just, you scared me, is all...Which I guess, now that I think about it, there probably wasn’t a very good way to announce yourself without scaring the shit out of me, so I guess we’re just...equally...to...blame...” Your words trailed off at the end as you realized you had begun to ramble. You felt another light blush creep up your cheeks at your actions. The man probably thought you were an idiot.

Deciding it was better to keep your mouth shut and not embarrass yourself any further, you took a few seconds to truly take him in. He was older than you, you thought by at least fifteen years, though it was a bit hard to be sure. His hair, a few shades lighter than your own was cut short on the side but kept longer on the top and the lower half of his face was covered in a shaggy beard just as red as the rest of his hair. His jacket appeared to be military and you could just make out the glint of dog tags around his neck confirming your suspicions. You weren’t familiar enough with the military, however, to figure out what branch he had served in.

You were unnerved by the silence which followed your previous ramblings. He had yet to say a word since you had acknowledged his presence behind you. This silence along with the intensity of his scrutiny over you caused you to shift uncomfortably in your seat.

The time it took him to reply, though only a few seconds, seemed much longer due to the way he kept looking at you. It wasn’t in a lustful manner, but rather a careful, almost wary one. Nonetheless, it made you uncomfortable and you were about to open your mouth to break the silence. With what, you had no idea, but any rambling on your part seemed better than this stifling silence.

“Don’t you know it’s not smart for you to be out here by yourself?” 

Before you could break the silence yourself, he finally spoke, his words a mocking reference to one of your earlier statements. 

Despite the blush his words brought to your cheeks, you narrowed your eyes at the statement. “Puh-lease, I’m just as safe out here as you are. I could shoot you square between your eyes if I wanted to.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his obvious condescension from your appearance. Sure, you probably didn’t look like it, but you had been taught how to shoot a gun since you were ten and you had become a pretty straight shot after the years. “You’re just lucky I’m not a trigger happy kind of gal.” He was also lucky that it had been a few years since you had practiced, though he didn’t need to know that.

The man smirked at your statement, resituating the deer hanging off his shoulders as he gave you another one over. He took another bout of silence as his eyes took you in once more, almost as if he was seeing you in another light.

“Well aren’t you a little spitfire.”

“Wow, real original.” You narrowed your eyes at him again. “It’s not like I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Not surprised,” he snorted.

“Don’t you have something better to do than annoy girls just trying to mind their own damn business?” You retorted, before picking up your fallen guitar and checking for any damage. It wasn’t so much the words which bothered you, you could go back and forth all day with talk like this. You just really didn’t like the way he kept looking at you, with a gaze and intent virtually impossible to read.

“You’re right.” His head tilted to the side, taking one last long look at you before beginning to walk down the trail, seemingly losing complete interest in you. “See you around, Spitfire.” You heard him shoot back at you before he disappeared around a clump of trees and out of sight.

You turned back to your guitar, brushing off the dirt still clinging to it and trying, yet failing to hold back the blush creeping up your face.

[sodoyouknowbts]

Jungkook x Reader - Sugar and Spice (One)

Genre: Humour, fluff

Author: Pilot

“Keep going, you have plenty of room!”

Your friend shoots you a nervous look and her hands are most definitely not at the twelve and three o’clock positions on the steering wheel as was taught and recommended by the driving instructor six years ago when she first got her license. They’re bunched up at the top of the steering wheel, her knuckles white from gripping so hard.

You suppose you shouldn’t have driven if you were going to end up drinking. Then again, you weren’t exactly expecting your friend Sebastian to order two bottles of soju at your favourite casual Korean restaurant on the outskirts of the central business district. He’d asked the petite waitress with perfect circular frames for two small shot glasses and before you could protest he had cracked open the green cap and poured you drink.

Your mother didn't raise you to waste. “Think of the starving children in Africa!” she had ingrained in your head, her shrill voice never choosing to expand her selection of continents or countries.

And in no way were you about to say no to free alcohol. That shit was expensive and your penchant for cheap five dollar bottles of Sweet Lips Moscato had given you more pimples than it was worth due to the high sugar, low alcohol content.

You tap on the passenger window from the outside and watch as Moxie presses an unsteady finger to the window controls. The window winds down just a fraction and you give her a judging look from under your heavier than usual eyelash extensions. You step off the kerb and bring your lips between the small gap.

“Wind it down more! How can you hear me give instructions if it’s still up?”

“Ugh fine!” She exclaims and presses the button. It sends it upwards, almost catching your hair and you scowl, moving up and back onto the sidewalk.

“Why did you park here?!” she yells out in frustration. The window is down. “And parallel of all places?! Why couldn’t you have been a normal person and parked in a normal parking bay closer to the restaurant?”

“No!” It’s your turn to exclaim. “It’s free parking here! You know how hard it is to find parking for free on a Friday night this side of the city. Besides,” you continue, “I need to equalise the amount of money I spent on that parking ticket I was wrongfully given last week.”

Moxie rolls her eyes and shifts the car into reverse.

“You deserved that parking ticket. You parked in a loading zone,” she mumbles under her breath.

You had to give it to her. She was unfamiliar in your car, not used to the way the car’s nose was shorter than it looked and how its white backside stuck out more than it should.

“Keep going!” you encourage, a little less forceful now.

She moves back slowly, a small acceleration for every step on the break pedal. The rear-lights flicker on and off as she does this and you wonder if the two of you will ever get home.

Finally, the car is at a good enough spot that if she just turned a little more to the right she’d be able to manoeuvre the car out of its precarious position. You tap on the side of the car to suggest to stop and she does. You signal to her to go forward and she does, but again slowly. She’s getting on your nerves and you yell out to her.

“Hurry up!”

Agitated, she throws you a glare over her shoulder and adjusts the rear-view mirror. She turns the steering wheel and the front wheels grate on the road.

“Yep, keep going, going, yep - no stop, stop, STOP!” you yell out. It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. Literally. Because she’d gone too far.

So far in fact that she had side swiped the base of the car that had parked too close for comfort in front of her. After all, it was this stupid car, that had boxed you pretty much in with little to no wriggle room. Only so many tiny three point turns would be able to get your car and its massive ass out of the small street.

You’re glad that prior to dinner you had decided to take a photograph of both a) the fact that you had parallel parked in such a straight fashion between the faded red Toyota and the pick up truck and sent it as a glorified picture to your friend of your parallel parking skills and b) you’d taken another albeit slightly blurrier photograph of your car stuck between the pick up truck and an expensive looking soccer mum car as photographic evidence of the injustice you’d come back to.

“Sweet Jesus.” Moxie steps out of the car and you run over to the side to inspect the damage. There’s a lot of damage. White paint has transferred from your car to the SUV in front of you and there’s a huge dent on the rear step bumper.

You crouch down, bundling and shoving your skirt between your legs so that the hem doesn’t trail the road.

“Do you reckon they’ll notice?” you ask, your fingers trailing the damage.

“Don’t tell me we’re literally going to hit and run?” the perpetrator asks.

“We’re going to hit and slowly, cautiously drive out of here and down the street, never to be seen again.”

“We can’t just leave it like this!” Moxie interrupts.

“Yeah, we can.”

“Uh, no we can’t. It’s all on camera.”

She extends a delicate arm out and points upwards at a nearby CCTV camera perched on the edge of a lamp post at the edge of the street.

You look upwards at the security camera. You swear it’s recorded footage of you, grey and white and you bet your eyes are little pinpricks of light.

“Motherfu-”

“Should we wait? We should do something.”

“Why? No. Let’s go. They won’t be able to tell who did it.”

“It’s your car! They’ll have your license plate.”

“But you were driving!” you argue back.

“I wouldn’t have had to drive if you hadn’t decided to drink!” she throws her hands up, her voice strained.

“Fine, fine. Look. I’ll leave a note.” you rationalise, throwing your hands up in truce. You quickly stick them into your bag and pull out a small notebook you’d kept on you after work. You flip through a few pages and bust out a pen from the front pocket of your bag, shoving the lid in your mouth as you write. Satisfied with your scrawl, you rip the page out of the book and head over to the front of the SUV.

The front looks incredibly new and you sigh. It’s a Lexus. A fucking Lexus SUV. You didn’t even know that Lexus made soccer mum cars. You can only imagine how expensive it’s going to cost to repair. Your eyes scan the interior. There’s a baby seat in the back and a small little shaking solar pot plant sitting on the dash and a crystal angel hanging off the rear-view mirror. There’s even a box of tissues on the dash in an obscene pink fluffy tissue box cover. You despised people with unnecessary trinkets in their cars.

You pull up a windshield wiper and stick the note underneath it and let the wiper go. It slaps harshly with a crisp sound against the tinted glass and you cap your pen and put your notebook away.

“Okay, happy?” you ask, heading back to your car.

Moxie narrows her eyes at you and walks over to read what you’ve read.

“Don’t park so fucking close to other cars, asshole.” She reads out. “You can’t just leave that!”

“I can. And I have.”

“You need to at least let the insurance cover this, you haven't cancelled it yet have you?”

Begrudgingly you shake your head. No, you hadn’t, but you had been close to it. You suppose it was fortuitous that you had decided not to stick it out for another minute more of the forty-seven minutes you’d spent on hold. Who knows, you might have actually gotten through and cancelled it and then this would have happened and you wouldn’t have been covered.

You pull your pen back out from your bag and add an additional note, holding the scrap paper down on the window.

You add a contact number and your name, in addition to a further instruction.

I’ll only cover half the costs.

Somewhat satisfied, Moxie lets out a “hmph” and gets back into your car. You take another look at the SUV and the dent. You notice that the car even has those horrible “My Family” stickers on the back window. A mother, father and two young children, one boy and one girl. You roll your eyes at their poor choice in car decals and pull your bag off your body and round over to the passenger side of your own car, where you then get in.

Moxie steps on the accelerator and pulls out, but not before you fiddle with the Bluetooth. I’m it by Kota Banks plays as you drive away.

//

“But Jensen, I’m not sure if this is right...” your voice trails off.

“What do you mean, lass?” His Southern accent is smooth and buttery.

You turn away from him and clasp your hands to your heart. “I just don’t know if I can do this. Do you really love me?” You turn back around, the hem of your skirt billowing behind you. You note the yellow grassy knoll you’re standing on, the way his boots crunch on the dry grass as he steps closer to you.

“I’ll leave her. I swear it on my dead father’s name. She doesn’t make me feel the way you make me do. The steadiness in my heart, the reasoning in my head, the fire in my loins. I can’t fight the yearning.”

Jensen Ackles reaches out for your waist and spins you back around to face him. The bodice of your pale cream dress tightens under his large hand and your breath escapes you. Your fingers find themselves trailing across his chest, which is slightly bare in the white cotton shirt he has on. You look down, he’s wearing knee high brown boots, tight cream pants and a brown holster where he keeps his gun.

His fingers push the hair away from your face and he begins to untie the bonnet you’re wearing from the loops around your chin.

Suddenly the sound of a stock Samsung tune interrupts the moment.

“What is that foreign sound?” Jensen looks up, eyes fearful. He holds you close to him with one strong arm and the other is poised above his holster.

“Oh it’s just a phone - someone’s calling.” you respond, your hands now reaching for his face, to avert his attention back to you. He was just about to kiss you and -

“No, what is this noise? This ... ringing?”

“Look it’s nothing, can we get back to what we were doing, my love?”

The ringing sound grows louder and you groan.

You sit upright in bed, awakened from your dream of a 17th Century Jensen Ackles romance and haphazardly shove your hand through your bedsheets in search for the culprit interrupting your sleep. Instead you come across the Little Black Dress Book you had been reading before you’d fallen asleep.

Sighing, you finally grasp your hands around your mobile phone and pull the Hello Kitty eye mask you’re wearing up from over your eyes. It sits awkwardly on your head, scrunching up your hair.

“Hello.” A mellow boyish voice flows through the speaker.

You frown at the unfamiliar voice on the phone and pull it back away from your ear to scan the caller I.D. It was eight in the morning for goodness sake.

Puzzled, you remark a hello back.

“Sorry, who is this and how did you get my number?”

“You should know, I mean you gave me your number.”

You frown and try to rack your brain. Number, number. Oh God, was it the guy you’d made out with at three in the morning after you got kicked out of the gay club in the city? You remembered him giving you his mobile number but you couldn’t recall exchanging yours. He was kind of cute, had a nice little button nose but he was a bit of a sloppy kisser and -

“Hello? Are you there?”

“Sorry. Look buddy. Last weekend was fun, plenty of fun. And you’re a pretty good kisser, I mean you just need to work on lessening your saliva and you’d be a great kisser. But I don’t think I’m keen to get into anything right now and -”

“What?”

“What?”

“It’s me, the asshole whose car you rear-ended.”

You sit up straight in bed, your eye mask slipping down your face. You pull it up off over your head and discard it on your sheets.

“Oh so you’re the asshole who decided to park incredibly close to my car.”

“There was plenty of room for you to have gotten out.”

“No. No there wasn’t. If you’re going to purchase such a large car, learn how to drive it, soccer mum.”

“S-soccer mum?” He scoffs. “I am not a soccer mum. It’s not my car.” He sounds offended.

You remember the poor choice of stickers on the left corner of the rear window of the Lexus. No, there were definitely only four family members.

“If it’s not your car why are you calling me?”

“It’s my sister’s car. I'm looking after it while she’s away.” He lets out an exasperated sigh which reverberates through the phone and you pull a face as the sound gives you unnecessary goosebumps. You poke a finger in your ear and wriggle it around, trying to get rid of the weird after effects of the ASMR you’d be on the receiving end of.

“Fine. Let’s say you’re the brother of the car’s owner. You’ll have to prove it. I’m not going to sort anything out until I have evidence. Who knows, this might be a scam.”

“How could this be a scam?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You could have just seen the note on the windshield and thought great, I can make a bit of quick cash from this poor, unsuspecting woman and -”

“Unsuspecting?”

“- take me for a complete ride and take all my money.”

“Trust me. I have far better things to do with my time than sort out some juvenile hit and run criminal.”

He sounds condescending and rude. You’re not that inclined to sort this out in a hurry.

The asshole lets out yet another sigh and you physically pull your mobile away from his ear before the end of it reaches you and gives you that same unwanted goosebump effect.

You switch it to speaker and ditch your phone on your bed as you get up and begin to stretch your arms above your head. Once done, you take your phone with you to the bathroom, balance it precariously on the side of the bathroom sink and turn the tap on to brush your teeth.

“So?” he says, expectant, as it had been quiet for the last minute as you’d squeezed toothpaste onto your toothbrush.

“So what?” You garble between minty foam.

“How do you want to sort this out? You said on your note to call you. That you’d pay for half the damages. I just want this sorted. I think you should pay for the whole thing but I’m willing to go halves.”

You spit out your toothpaste and turn the tap back on, cupping your hand under the running water to rinse your mouth.

“Oh, how kind of you,” you state dryly as you wipe the corner of your lips.

“Whatever. I think this will be easier to sort out face to face. Where do you live?”

“What? Don’t think I’m about to give some stranger and potential soccer mum murderer my home address.”

“I’m not a soccer mum!”

“So you admit to being a murderer?”

Exasperated, he lets out a groan.

“I wanted to know the suburb so I could suggest somewhere close-ish to meet. Somewhere public where you can’t oh, I don’t know, run me over with your car.”

You roll your eyes and squeeze out a bit of face wash into the palm of your hand. You might as well get this over with. You could hear Moxie’s voice of reason in your head. Maybe you shouldn’t have written ‘asshole’ on the note although he definitely sounded like he was one.

“Fine.” He’d woken you up early, disturbed your hot dream with Jensen Ackles and you still had a few hours to kill before meeting your friend Luna for breakfast. If you’d have to sit through fifteen minutes of car insurance torture with him, you might as well do it over a cup of coffee. “Are you free now?”

“Now?” he asks it as if it’s an inconvenience. He was the one who wanted to sort this out pronto. If he couldn’t make himself available now he’d just have to wait.

“Ok, fine. Now is fine. Give me about half an hour? Text me where you want to meet.”

“See you then.” You hang up on him and begin to lather your face wash into your cheeks.

//

The cafe you suggested was a local favourite. They roasted their own beans, tried their best at being sustainable and sourced their produce from local growers in the community.

If anything, going there made you feel better about the fact that you were still being wasteful, albeit in a more eco-friendly way. You liked to think that the money you spent daily on coffee and food there was going back to the community.

Your altruism was certainly helped along by the fact that the coffee was actually good, although you constantly got a “I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed” look from the barista every time you ordered your skinny flat white in a take away coffee cup as opposed to a more environmentally friendly Keep Cup.

You didn’t get why he always gave you that look that weighed momentarily on your guilty conscience, particularly given the cafe continued to stock paper coffee cups anyway. You found it a bit contradictory. Luna liked to reason it to the cafe staff “just trying to do their best”.

She was far too optimistic sometimes.

You’re seated near the window, on a small table for two. Two bright yellow daisies sit in a small thin plastic jar, that looks like it’s an empty pepper grinder. You take a sip of the water while you wait.

He’s late. Or maybe he’s not. Maybe he had already gotten here before you and had taken a seat and you’d taken a separate seat, becoming just two strangers with the same agenda waiting for the other to make the first move.

Your eyes scan the cafe. You spot a young boy with a dog seated at his feet outside. He’s drinking a smoothie as he scrolls through what you presume to be his Instagram feed on his phone. You narrow your eyes. He seems a bit too young to be driving around soccer mum cars. You doubt it’s him and move onto another candidate.

This man looks a bit older, at least in his thirties. He’s sipping a latte as he flips through the morning’s paper. The voice on the phone doesn’t seem to match the man’s face.

You wonder if you should buckle and go to call him when your phone begins to buzz. You quickly look around to see if you can spot someone on their phone. You see someone from the corner of your eye. They have short brown cropped hair and - they turn around. She’s a lady.

Reluctantly you pick up your phone. The caller I.D. has been set to Soccer Mum. You answer.

“Hello?” you narrow your eyes as you look outside the window for any guy that matched the voice. “I’m here, where are you?”

“I’m just rounding the corner now. It’s The Apple Tree right?”

“That’s the name of the cafe I texted.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Whoa, whoa. At least buy a woman a drink first.”

He says nothing and doesn’t even chuckle at your joke.

Sighing, you reply “I’m by the window, seated inside. I’ve got a black beret on.”

“Right,” and he hangs up.

A few moments later a tall man, about your age, walks into the cafe. He’s holding an envelope in one hand and his phone in the other. He’s striking. A round nose and large brown eyes, framed only by a black fringe of hair. He’s wearing jeans and a black hoodie, joggers and a look of contempt on his good-looking face.

He spots you in your beret and strides over to the small table for two. You stand up, outstretching your hand and he takes it with a firm shake.

“Nice to meet you, Soccer Mum.”

“It’s Jungkook, actually.”

To be continued