#I FUCKING HATE YOU JAMBALAYA. YOU ASS.

[paper-nika]

I discovered the mouthwashing font they used in game. Of course I had to make something with it.

[hiemaldesirae]

Swap AU:

Vox's Goetia (we need a name for him...umm because he's where Vox gets the extras for the fight against Heaven; got any ideas?) looks like a Griffin. He's got a Lion lower half and eagle upper half but his colors are shades of blue. (You see why Vox proposed that deal.)

The crew work on defense for days. Vox goes to Lucifer to ask about Angel weaknesses and informs him about Adam's threats against Charlie and the Hotel, and that's how the hotel crew gets informed of angel weaknesses. Lucifer tells, after all why should he keep Heaven's weakness a secret when they're coming for his daughter?

Vox then puts a big order of Angelic steel in for Carmine, paying extra to have it arrive early, which it does so he and Pentious can build turrets and drones to shoot down the exterminators. They have a blast.

Also: fun facts:

Vox's sensors and subconscious relax and recognize Alastor's scent as safe, even though Vox himself cannot smell anything. The sensor's database has recognized certain scents as family (Husk's, Vel's, Val's) lover's/husband's (Alastor's) little sister (Charlie's) my duck loving liege lord who might be my friend too? (Lucifer) the crazy exorcist chick whose now treating me with kid gloves--IT WAS ONE PANIC ATTACK! (Vaggie) Val's weird Spider who keeps taking photos and I know is stealing my shit (Angel Dust) The Best Little Engineer That Could (Sir Pentious) The Engineer's less then steller sidekicks 1-8 (Eggbois) the chick that keeps blowing up the wall (Cherri Bomb)

Angel Dust does do more then steal. He brings in Alastor's cooking to the Hotel, and Vox who does miss homemade jambalaya jumps at the chance to eat it. Vox just devours it. (Of course Angel lied and told him it was set aside for Niffty and Velvette for working so hard. He wasn't going to tell him Alastor had been waiting at the door of V-tower with the large Tupperware bowl with strict instructions that only Vox got what was inside.)

Vox actually turns in early--he'd been stressing out with Adam's threat laying over him and the thought of a true death coming for him hasn't sat well, but the warmth of good food made him sleepy and he goes to bed. He's barely asleep when Alastor joins him, gently petting his rabbit ears and murmuring his undying devotion to sleeping Vox's ears.

uhhh. drawing from the demons of the ars goetia grimoire, seir could work as a name? according to his description, seir can go to any place on earth in a matter of seconds to accomplish the will of the conjurer (possibly explaining how vox can use him for errands and such), and hes not a particularly evil demon. he's also a prince of hell, so that makes his and stolas' relation even closer since there seems to be only 7 of them in the ars goetia grimore

HAHAHA awww bonding time with pentious and vox!!! i still stand by the fact that i think vox should get to say kys to at least ONE other person in the swap au. i simply believe my wife should be allowed to cyberbully whoever he wants <3 also i imagine lucifer would show up to help with fortifications too, no? i just cant see him leaving his daughter and friend alone to deal with the fallout while not leaving the palace... though admittedly, i am a bit biased from what electric mentioned.

me after i die. HE STILL RECOGNIZES AL AS HIS LOVER...... auwgudawgh...... imgonna be SICK. what the HELL did they even fight about because clearly it wasnt enough to keep both of them from pining for each other... AUAUWGAHAH every time you come in my inbox its like another plane (angst( striking the twin towers (my heart)

and i am SUCH a fucking sucker for radiostatics love language being food. the idea that al nabs / has angel nab voxs stuff so that he can stake his claim but he also makes him food.... just stop being cryptic and TELL HIM YOUR SHIT !!! god i hate them. dysfunctional ass toxic couple theyre the WORST. and al. please for the love of god just be a Normal Person and STOP BREAKING INTO VOXS BED AT NIGHt ?!!?!?? just one normal thing from you. god damn its like if he doesnt act like a freak he loses 20 years off his lifespan or something

[hidden-1n-the-sand]

OKAY SO. daisuke gets prepped for (YAY!!!) but then kai jumpscare (☹️) (2 cryopods survive)

BULLET POINT TIME

pre hatchetfield. kai is 16 years old

she gets hired because her ass is DESPERATE!!!

due to magic idk, kai’s now in the FUTURE !! WOAAAH!!! but because they use credits, her ass is BROKE !!!! and she needs to get a job.

cue pony express

anywho. i feel she attaches to curly. (white man with blue eyes = kai father figure /j)

bestie westies with daisuke

scared of swansea. could not tell you why

anya is scared for kai because of kais health issues. she’s also scared of her. because what the fuck is this (not)woman

fucking HATES jimmy. gives her the ick. fights with him.

she is LYING out of her ass when asked why she’s 16 and in the work force. “Uhh. i dropped out of high school. yep. my dad lost his job. my mama is broke. yep. mhm.” *she’s alone now* “i’mgonnagotojailforFRAUD!!!”

gets a concussion during the crash (she got bounced around to much ☹️)

jimmy will NOT let her ass rest (i mean it’s not like she would but. she hates jimmy. calls his ass jambalaya on the daily. jimbo threatens to drop. kick her.)

watxhes jimmy feed curly his leg and is like “😨”

axes jimmy to death for the last cryopod after curly

they get found after a bit!! (we gotta get kai’s ass to hatchetfield by 17)

ok i have tried five time to post this so

shes. why do you keep giving kai trauma shes just 16 :(

capitalism

capitalism but future

pony express :D capitalism :D but with ponies :D do you think kai actually expected. ponies. like did she think the company took care of ponies or smth

”white man with blue eyes = kai father figure” what if we put kai in omori and see how quickly she gets attached to people

daisuke and kai friendship :D :D

who isnt scared of him /silly

anya dont be scared of kai shes. shes just like that :D

JIMMY HATRED YIPPPPEEEE :D

wait fraud what the hell did kai do. did. she try to pull a stanley

:(

jimmy needs to burn in hell

JIMMY NEEDS TO BURN IN HELL

YES KILL THAT BITCH KILL HIM

so kai gets traumatized and then immediately after gets thrown into more trauma why do you keep traumatizing her let her have a moment of peace :( /silly

[the-muppet-joker]

Not him again... ugh. Do you know that the Joker would win every day against Alastor? That nothing he could do would stop me from snapping his stupid twig in half, shoving each end up his deer-tailed ass and making a venison shish kabob. I would laugh while I did it. And if he ever tried to turn on the radio I would stomp on it and break it into a thousand pieces and make him eat it in his asexual jambalaya or whatever he supposedly eats. How does he wear shoes with his deer feet? Hooves? Fuck. You can tell he is asexual because of his "Fuck Ass Bob." As in no one would fuck him. Ugly as fuck. Not to mention an undercut up to his antlers so no lover could ever pull his hair, lovingly but firmly, in a consensual act consistent with their established dom-sub relationship. I hate seeing his Bright Red Humanized Bill Cipher Non Period Accurate To The 1920s Edgelord Ass on my dashboard topping the short noseless pink cheeked man or the snake or the television who all wear the exact same outfit as him. At least the Joker has style, and fucking variety. He needs some fucking Crest Brand Whitening strips. Don't EVER draw him like the Joker again.

@the-muppet-joker

My friend made this for you. Do you like him

[nixie-writes]

Husk and Alastor seperatly request. The old men. Yes! This one is slightly angsty or very angsty depending how you take it.

So. How would they react to overhearing Vaggie or others saying that the s/o is too good for them. Maybe others are agreeing. Charlie is of course trying to calm the situation, but Vaggie is just not a fan of their s/o's taste in men. Thinks they could do way better. Others might agree. How do da old men react?

My precious old men. Thanks for requesting this, I love it! I made Husk's a little more angst than I'd usually write because I love that old man.

Alastor - He'd arrived back at the hotel after going out to buy ingredients for his mother's jambalaya...With fresh meat so to say. He was passing along the halls when he heard Vaggie's voice drift through the wings of the hotel, mixed with those of Husker and Charlie. - "You know how I feel about them together Charlie. [Y/N] is just...Too good for him, you know?" That was Vaggie, anger evident in her voice. "Now, it's not our place to-" "I know him better than all of you combined, he's a piece of shit". Husker interrupted Charlie. Alastor froze near the turn in the hall. - "Husk we can't assume that; look, it's their choice to be with him even if he is...Questionable. Just give him a chance, this could redeem him!" A silly reason to support his relationship with [Y/N] but Alastor wasn't picky. Finally came the voice of his beloved. - "I don't need any of you judging me! I love him, he loves me, isn't that enough?" His smile grew at their temper. How feisty. He loved it. "I'll do what I want and if you have a problem with it you can all kiss my ass!" They shouted and rounded the corner of the hallway, running straight into Alastor. - "Well hello my dear!" He greeted cautiously. They smiled sweetly at him and pulled him by the arm in front of the three doubters. Without a word they smashed their lips into his in a fiery kiss, short but electrifying. "See? My choice." With that they walked back off, waving goodbye to Alastor. "If you don't mind I have business to take care of."

Husk - He stumbled in the hotel, drunk as fuck. Once again he drank too much, another reason [Y/N] deserved better. He was aggressive and sarcastic when he was drunk and he hated that it made them feel inferior. It was as he was nearing his room to sleep he heard voices he could hardly demystify in his drunken state. - "If he comes back drunk I'm forcing them to break up," Vaggie nearly shouted. Charlie squeaked but said nothing. Alastor only laughed. "Vaggie please, do smile. This could be entertaining!" Of course tonight was the night he went drinking. "And he gambles himself broke! It's bullshit and they deserve so much better, I don't know why they even got with him." That statement stabbed him in the heart because it was true and he felt the same way. - "Vaggie!" Charlie gasped. "It's not our right to question their decision, you know it isn't! My father didn't approve of us being together but that didn't stop you did it?" Charlie reasoned. Vaggie only grunted; even she had to admit Charlie had a point there. "Fine, I won't interfere but the next time he bums money off them I'm going off on him." Alastor chuckled. "Oh dear Vaggie, your passion burns so strongly for them one might think you have feelings for them!" Vaggie scoffed; "I have a girlfriend thanks for asking, but I don't like this relationship." - Husk slumped his shoulders and entered the room the debate was being held in. At least he was drunk enough to spit out his words. "If you hate our relationship so be it but I love [Y/N] with all my heart. I never thought I'd love again but they changed that in me. They've changed me. If you disapprove of that so be it but I'm not letting anyone get in the way of the only thing I fucking live for." He turned and stomped off to his room. - In his room Husk reached for an old dusty bottle he hadn't drank from in a long time. Inside was a Russian Roulette mixed with an ungodly amount of rum. He opened the bottle and took a long drink. Once again he doubted that [Y/N] deserved him and this time, others agreed. Didn't they deserve someone who treated them with as much love as he felt for them?

[bleachanimefan1]

Oblitus Part Four

Strange Things

64 days until Extermination...

Anna eyes slowly fluttered open as she woke up. She yawned and sluggishly sat up in the bed, stretching her arms up. Her eyes widen as she did not feel any pain on her side. Confused, she climbed out of the bed and walked over to the dresser with a mirror. Anna lifted up her shirt and slowly and carefully began to peel the bandages off. Her eyes widen in shock. There was no trace of a cut or a wound on her side, it was completely healed. Instead, was a small scar. Anna shook her head and stared in disbelief. It shouldn't have been healed so quickly, it hasn't even been a day. 

Anna stood a step back as panic slowly began to consume throughout her body. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stick up as a sudden chill rushed through her.

"Okay, that's not normal." Anna murmured softly, trying to calm down. "Calm down,Anna. I'm sure it's nothing serious."

 Then Anna heard the door slowly creak open and a sound of little footsteps as something quickly ran in. She turned her head but saw nothing there in front of her.

"Oh boy, you sure did leave a mess!" a high pitched voice shouted that sounded like a child. Anna looked down to see a small cyclops looking demon with short red hair, wearing a white and red dress with a black poodle design on it, and red and yellow polka dot scarf. Anna took a step back, cautiously, watching the demon. Then the cyclops made a big grin showing off her sharp teeth looking at Anna with her big yellow eye.

"Hi! I'm Niffty!" Niffty smiled, waving, excitedly.

"Hi?" Anna said, confused, and made a small wave back. Suddenly, before Anna could blink, Niffty had quickly moved as she quickly rushed over to the bed and started darting back and forth, going in circles so fast for the human woman to keep up. 

"I'm so happy there's another girl in the hotel! I hope that we can be friends!" Niffty said, as she finished making the bed, changing the sheets and was now starting to fluff the pillows. 

"Can you stop moving around so fast? I'm going to puke." Anna groaned as she felt a wave of nausea hit her fast. The small demon quickly turned looking at Anna with a happy smile.

 "More to clean up!" Niffty exclaimed.

 Anna stared at the little cyclops demon with a puzzled look on her face. What a strange demon? Come to think of it, everything that she had witnessed so far was strange to her. Anna sighed and began walking over to the door to leave.

"I'll leave you to it. It was nice meeting you." Anna said, leaving. Niffty beamed making a wide grin.

"You too!" She called out.

Anna walked down the long dark hallway noticing many pictures on the walls as she did. There were many with Charlie, some had her with a strange man with green skin, wearing a black suit and a hat with sharp jagged like teeth, possibly an boyfriend? Then Anna stopped in front of a painting of a man and a woman with Charlie, posing. It was a family portrait of her and her parents. 

Anna looked looked at the woman in the left of Charlie who was the spitting image of her. Anna was so engulfed and overwhelmed by her beauty that she couldn't stop staring. Then she shifted her gaze over to the man standing to the right, seeing that he was slightly small in height compared to Charlie and her mother. He was wearing a white suit and top hat with a snake on the top, sharp teeth, and had red rosy cheeks like hers as well. Anna noticed that he was holding a cane with an apple on the tip of it. Her cheeks turned red, blushing, completely enamored by now handsome he was. 

"I guess the Apple doesn't fall from the tree when it comes to genetics." Anna thought to herself. Then an overbearing aroma hit her nostrils. She followed the smell which led to the kitchen and peeked inside. She immediately froze in her place, seeing the radio demon. He was hovering over a pot, stirring, as he was cooking something. He sensed Anna's presence and turned around with a grin which made Anna unease by it.

 "Hello, my dear! I made my mom's special jambalaya! I was looking for someone to have a taste test!" Alastor grinned wildly. Anna tensed when she saw him advancing closer to her.

"Thanks, but I'm not really hungry-!" Anna started but was interrupted as Alastor shoved the spoon right into her mouth. Anna gagged as a hot sensation hit her tongue which soon followed by burning as it slowly slid down her throat. 

"Well, how is it?" Alastor grinned, darkly. 

"It's a bit spicy." Anna replied, beginning to sweat. Her face turned completely red. Her tongue was on fire. "OH MY GOD! I SWALLOWED HOT LAVA!" She exclaimed, running out of the kitchen. Alastor laughed. 

"Looks like someone can't handle their spice!" He joked as he howled in laughter.

Up ahead, Anna saw what appeared to be a bar and made a mad dash over to it. Behind the counter stood a large bat-cat like demon with colorful wings, who was chugging down a bottle of liquor. He frowned when he saw Anna running over.

"What do want?" He asked.

 "Water!" Anna exclaimed, hysterically. She was pounding her hand on the counter in desperation. 

 "Do I look like fucking pansy? This is a bar, stupid. There's only alcohol." The cat demon retorted.

 "Then get me something with less alcohol, please! I'm dying here!" The human cried. The demon rolled his eyes in annoyance and bent down grabbing a few bottles and setting a glass on the counter.

 "Strawberry daiquiri coming up." The cat demon said as he finished making the drink. Before Anna could blink of even react, he slid the glass cup down then counter.  The cup continued to slide and it fell off the counter, shattering into the floor to pieces. Anna saw Niffty quickly rush in and swiftly cleaned up the mess and rushed out of the room like a flash.

"You're supposed to catch the glass, dumb ass." The cat demon growled. Anna flinched. She turned to him, smiling nervously.

"Sorry?" She said, sheepishly, now coughing, shrugging her hands. The cat demon rolled his eyes. He made another drink but held it instead on the counter. He slowly slid the glass and Anna caught it in her hand to quickly took a sip. She signed in relief feeling the soothing and cool liquid run down her throat. 

"So what's your name?" Anna asked. The cat demon opened one eye looking at while chugging down a bottle of booze. 

"Husk." He slurred.

"Husk." Anna said letting the name roll on her tongue as she repeated it and smiled. "Do you mind if I called you, Husky?" She teased as she winked her eye, taking a small sip from her drink. The cat demon glared at the woman sitting in front of him with a dangerous look in his eyes.

"I'd rather you didn't." Husk growled, annoyed. The two heard footsteps and saw Charlie, Vaggie and Angel walking towards them.

"What are you doing up? You're supposed to be resting." Charlie asked.

 "Yeah, about that, for some reason my wound is completely healed up." Anna replied.

 "That's impossible for a human, it shouldn't have been healed within a day." Vaggie said in disbelief. 

 "That's what I said." Anna said, lifting up her shirt, showing them the scar. Charlie began to turn pale and smiled nervously. 

"Anna, I hate to say this, but, I think that the longer that you stay here, you are slowly turning into a demon." She said.

"Meaning?" Anna questioned, dreading on what she was going to say next.

"You will become a demon permanently." The princess answered. The human's eyes widen in shock.

 "WHAT?!" She exclaimed in disbelief.

 "Don't worry, I'll -" Charlie started until she was interrupted by Anna.

"Don't worry? Don't worry?! What's there not to be worried about!? I'm going to be stuck as a demon forever!" She shouted, fearfully. Angel smirked. He was in hysterics seeing the girl in such a state. Anna frowned.

"This is not funny!" She shouted, angrily.

"Don't be such a drama queen, Toots." The spider demon said. Suddenly, Anna felt an arm wrap around her shoulder. She looked and nearly jumped in shock seeing Alastor. 

"How did he get here so fast?!" Anna thought to herself. 

"I think our guest's a little stir crazy being cooped up. I'll take her out for a bit of fresh air." The radio demon replied with a large grin plastered on his face. Before anyone could say or do anything, Alastor was dragging Anna away as he hooked his arm around hers, heading towards the door.

"Al? Wait, what are you-?" Charlie called out, worried.

"We'll be back in a while!" Alastor answered back, slamming the hotel door shut, leaving the four with baffled and confused looks on their faces.

[purgatoryandme]

What do you recommend for college kids just learning how to cook?

Own one really nice pan and one really nice mid-size pot. By really nice I mean doesn’t have any scrapes in the coating or visible blackening. You will find that most student apartment have really uneven cooktops that make burning your food pathetically easy, and having cookware that things DON’T stick to really helps you correct that particular issue. You don’t need nice cookware for everything, but it’s good to have at least these two pieces around for when you DO make something even remotely finicky.  Key advice is learn what doesn’t need to be stored in a fridge (most vegetables, some condiments and sauce), how much oil you need to coat your pans (scratched pans often get in the way of distributing oil, so if you have a decent set you’ll find a tablespoon is often enough or more than enough) for frying, how to clean your godforsaken oven, and how to cook something that is 1) freezable and 2) comes out in a large enough volume to feed you for three days. Also learn how to prepare at least one vegetable properly. There will come a time you crave vitamins and will need to incorporate it into another dish you probably like better. One day you will even realize that a well-prepared vegetable can save an otherwise flavourless dish. I like braising peppers, sauteeing spinach, and caramelizing onions. Maybe but one spice mix you’re particularly fond of to save dishes like plain sad pasta (TexMex is a student fave lmao).  Students don’t have time to cook every night! It sucks! So learning how to make something that marinates over time (I love doing a crispy honey garlic tofu and rice with vegetables because the flavour soaks in overnight post-cooking) to reward you for making two or three days worth of food. Learning how to make something freezable lets you have long storage (chili, jambalaya, lasagna though personally I fucking hate freezing lasagna and think it ruins the vegetables). Soups just simmer and don’t require your attention basically at all. Throw some ingredients in there and walk away - it’ll give you like five days worth of eating if you do it in a big ol’ pot and just keep throwing more pasta in it every few days.  Also anything can be turned into a sandwich if you’re inventive enough. Buy a loaf of nice bread sometimes when all your other ingredients suck ass. The bread will disguise the bland things you decide to stuff it with.  ...other general tips...hm. Take it easy on the butter, you really don’t need that much to get a decent flavour going - chances are you’re cooking something on too high a heat and need to just chill. Take it easy on the salt, too, but dear god please don’t forgo it entirely.  I think that covers a lot of the basics you need to get by? Learning how to pick decent vegetables, meats, and fruits is something that just comes with time IMO and through trial and error. 

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

libera nos a malo chapter 6: si, un mostro son

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 6/20

libera nos a malo masterpost+

unstoppable force/immovable object masterpost+

<< chapter five+

chapter seven+ >>

During the first Potions lesson of the New Year, Cassie called in a favor. She hated to do this, preferring to hoard them like a miser hoards gold; but she knew that a favor never spent was almost as useless as one you’d never had in the first place. And she hadn’t wasted all of third year trailing Draco Malfoy in order to give Pansy Parkinson a detailed account of the boy’s habits and routines for nothing.

She arrived early for class to claim her prize as Draco’s bench partner for the rest of term. As a peace offering (for she doubted he would be pleased with the new arrangement), she gathered the supplies listed on the board for the day’s lesson, setting up both of their work spaces with quick efficiency and shaking hands. She’d not forgotten the feel of Fenrir Greyback’s teeth on her neck, and when Pansy flounced into the room and gave her a haughty glare before slinking to the back to partner with Tracey Davis, Cassie had to restrain herself from laughing out loud. She would never be afraid of the likes of Pansy Parkinson again.

Draco barely looked at her when he arrived, and she knew from the house elf chatter that he’d been up most of the night again. Class began as usual with Professor Slughorn asking a simple question and Hermione Granger regurgitating the text book. Apparently this was what the professor considered sufficient instruction, and he set them loose to create a credible antidote for the mystery poison assigned to them. When she and Draco each had their poison simmering in their cauldrons, she quietly drew a piece of parchment from her textbook and slid it across the worktable to her partner.

He glanced at it and stuffed it into his pocket. “Your uncle?” he asked indifferently.

“Yes. It’s the first step to restarting the magic. If it’s not too much trouble, please take notes on what happens when you follow those directions. Then I can send them to Uncle, and he’ll be able to advise you on what to do next,” she replied, her head bent over her work.

“This is going to take too long.”

“I’m sorry. We’re doing the best we can. If you like, I could come with you and take the notes myself. It might make the whole operation go a little faster.”

“No. I don’t need anymore of your help.”

“Something wrong, Draco?” asked Professor Slughorn from where he lazed at the front of the room, his feet propped up on a velvet poof.

“No, sir,” Draco quickly replied. “We were just discussing the next step.”

Professor Snape would not have allowed this to pass unexamined, but Professor Slughorn was thankfully both more benevolent and less energetic than their Head of House.

“Very good, carry on,” he said, and returned to his reading.

The antidote preparation soon demanded their complete attention, and it wasn’t until Cassie was painstakingly extracting the essence from a year-old cat’s gallbladder that they had time to speak again.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” she said. “I’m doing my best.”

He curled his lip unpleasantly at her, but she had the distinct feeling that if she prodded his angry mask ever so slightly, it would crumble into despair.

“Yeah, well, you’d better try harder,” he hissed back.

She swallowed hard and turned her focus to the extraction; trying not to think about Greyback’s teeth.

*****

On Thursday evening, Finn and Miranda were lingering over bowls of jambalaya and glasses of iced coffee in the MACUSA cafeteria while they waited for Finn’s portkey home. The Marx Brothers were the evening’s wall entertainment, and Miranda gave Harpo and Chico half her attention while a sweet sort of melancholy tickled her heart. She rarely spent time in self-reflection, but the looming end of this visit with her favorite living brother was tempting her to the vice.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said, hoping to disarm some of the emotion by speaking it aloud.

“Course you are,” he replied, a flattering mix of disappointment and affection on his face. “It ain’t the same at home without you, no matter how many times you go off. But if you’re really aimin’ to set up a homestead here, maybe now’s the time to start easin’ everybody into the idea.”

Leave it to Finn to thrust her right back into the middle of her confusion. “I’m not going to stay here forever.”

“You sure about that? I mean, we’ll give you shit about it, but if it’s what you want we’d all back your decision.”

She dragged her spoon through the dregs of her bowl, avoiding his shrewd eyes. “It’s not what I want. I mean, I’m planning to stay for awhile longer. The money’s good over here, and much as I hate all Healers, I want to keep working with Healer A’isha at least until I’m back to normal.”

He wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. “And then there’s always Severus Snape.”

“I’m not staying because of him.” God, she didn’t want to talk about this now.

“Miranda Jane Rose, you lie to whoever you want, exceptin’ yourself and me.”

“I’m not lying to you!”

“Then what the actual fuck is going on with the two of you?”

“You wait until now to ask me that? You’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

“Exactly. There’s no time for you to beat around the bush. Now talk.”

“Ass. It’d serve you right if I just left you here without saying anything.”

“Probably.” He pulled out a pair of cigarettes and flipped one to her. “But you ain’t gonna.”

She gave a sigh of resignation and snapped her fingers to light the cigarettes. “The truth is, I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing. I thought it was just going to be a casual thing—just blowing off steam. It was that way for a long time. And then it wasn’t.”

“Do you love him?”

There was no way on God’s green earth that she was going to admit to that out loud. “I’d be an idiot if I did. He’s in the middle of a giant shit show over here, and he’s tied up in enough emotional knots to make Alexander scream.”

“Seems to me you know a thing or two about shit shows and fucked up emotions. Does he love you?”

“You are like a dog after a bone, Finn.”

He had the audacity to wink at her. “Yep.”

She never could lie to Finn. “He’s never said so, but I wouldn’t be shocked if he did. I’m not stupid. The way he looked after me when I got hurt in Romania—I know he wouldn’t have done all that if he didn’t care. And I know it hurt him when I moved out of his rooms and back to my cabin. But I couldn’t stay there with him and let it all choke me.”

“You do what you gotta do; but if he’s in that deep and you don’t feel the same way, it seems only sportin’ to let him go.”

“I know.”

“But?”

She puffed out a few rings of smoke and sent them dancing in and out of each other beneath the bright cafeteria lights. “But I don’t want to.”

“Interestin’. It ain’t your style to play with hearts like that.”

“I don’t need you to point that out to me. I know it’s a shit thing to do.”

“I ain’t here to judge you. Just watch your back. Even a lowly No-Maj like me can tell shit is hot over here, and I don’t wanna be goin’ to your funeral. I’ve had enough of buryin’ siblings to last me a lifetime.”

“Don’t I know it?”

They snuffed out their cigarettes and tossed them into their empty bowls. The interrogation had lasted long enough that they had to rush through the Hall of Virtues to make it to the Transportation Hub on time. Finn queued up at the back of the portkey line, and set down his rucksack to give his sister a fierce hug. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the smell of home, and her throat was so tight it hurt to breathe. When he let go of her at last, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“See ya ‘round, Sis,” he said. “If you need anything, you call me. I’ll be here in two shakes.”

“I will,” she replied. “And same goes for you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, threw his rucksack over his shoulder, and stepped up on wide platform. The ruby slipper appeared on the marble pedestal before him, and he threw her one final grin over his shoulder before reaching out to touch the portkey.

Then he spun away, back to Kansas and home.

*****

Half an hour later Miranda was hurtling into classroom 1B, ten minutes late for her first Animagus lesson. She skidded to a halt and fought the urge to wince at the way her boots echoed through the cavernous room. The door slammed ominously shut behind her, and Minerva McGonagall did not deign to look up from the podium where she sat marking scrolls and looking severely disappointed. Miranda’s face turned red as she slunk penitentially to a desk near the back of the room, and she was surprised to see Remus Lupin, dressed in tattered trousers and an overlarge flannel shirt, already sitting in the back corner. He gave her a sympathetic look when their eyes met, but she had the distinct feeling that he was studying her every move, withholding judgement until she either won her place as his working partner—or lost it completely.

“How good of you to join us, Miss Rose,” Minerva said, still busily marking. “I take it you had trouble getting through security?”

Miranda already liked Hagrid too much to throw him under the Knight Bus. “No, Ma’am. My brother was heading back home tonight, and I didn’t figure in enough time to get from the Embassy to here. Sorry for the inconvenience, it won’t happen again.”

Minerva let this answer hang in the air and Miranda slid into a desk a few rows in front of Remus, suddenly feeling eleven years old again.

“See that it doesn’t,” Minerva said crisply.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Minerva finished marking the scroll while Miranda fell victim to the sort of restlessness that only descended on her in the classroom. Through monumental effort, she managed to restrain this feeling to the tapping of one toe inside her boot, but she knew it would only be a matter of minutes before she felt like screaming. At last the steely professor rolled up the scroll, laid down her quill, and gave her student a look that showed how very unimpressed she was with the American witch thus far.

“May I safely assume that you have read Perdix’s Animagi Liberatus?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And do you have any initial questions on the material?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Then please stand up and cast a Patronus.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The chair squeaked horribly as she got up, and her boots sounded thunderous as she took her place in the middle of the empty aisle. She wet her lips and did her best to banish all these little humiliations with the thought of spring and perfect baseball games. “Expecto Patronum!”

The bobcat burst immediately out of her wand, displaying a confidence she didn’t quite feel. It eyed the inhabitants of the room curiously, slinking around Miranda’s ankles before prowling across the room to Remus.

“Funny, I thought you were a dog person,” he observed, returning the Patronus’s stare with an amused one of his own.

“I am. God has a sense of humor,” Miranda quipped.

“Please keep the commentary to a minimum,” Minerva ordered.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Remus and Miranda chorused.

“Thank you. Now, I want you to take a moment to study your Patronus as minutely as you can,” Minerva said.

Miranda squatted down to do as she was bid, narrowing her eyes as she marked each stripe and curve of her silvery bobcat. The Patronus ignored her, still staring at Remus, until it gave a hiss of displeasure and darted up one of the bookcases to perch imperiously on the top.

“Are you ready?” Minerva asked when the Patronus was settled.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Miranda had never made an emptier boast.

“To remind you, the incantation is Amato Animo Animato Animagus,” Minerva said.

“Decline puer,” Miranda muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Minerva clearly didn’t believe her, but she let it pass. “Picture your Patronus as you speak the words, and don’t fight whatever happens afterwards.”

“Okay, here goes.” Miranda took a deep breath and let her mind go mildly unfocused. “Amato Animo Animato Animagus.”

As soon as the final syllable left Miranda’s lips, her skin started to itch everywhere. Her reptilian brain started to panic as coarse, striped fur sprouted all over her limbs and her spine stretched and snapped like a rubber band. She closed her eyes against the pain as her right hand shriveled into a mangled caricature of a cat’s paw. Gradually the pain and the pitiful pseudo-transformation stopped. Remus’s eyes were glinting with humor when she opened hers again, although he had the decency not to laugh at her attempt.

“Not bad for a first try,” Minerva allowed.

“Surely we don’t need an audience for this,” Miranda said in a voice that was now colored by a throaty purr. “We must be wasting Mr Lupin’s time.”

“Not at all,” Remus replied. “The more time I spend with you, the less likely I’ll be to attack you when the wolf takes over. The Wolfsbane Potion isn’t always enough on its own.”

“I see.”

“Please shift back to your human form and then we’ll try again,” Minerva ordered brusquely.

“God, this is going to be worse than Apparition,” Miranda muttered. “Amato Hominis.”

Remus’s eyes were still on her, and she did her best not to flinch at the discomfort of shifting back.

“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Rose,” Minerva said.

Miranda had a sinking feeling that Minerva McGonagall was going to turn out to be an even sterner taskmaster than Severus Snape.

*****

By the end of the lesson, Miranda ached from head to toe and wanted nothing more than to crawl down to Severus’s rooms and beg for a massage. Remus, unfortunately, stuck to her like a bad penny, and she had to make a show of “going home” for his sake.

“Care to join me for a drink at the Hog’s Head?” he asked as they went out into the frozen night.

She didn’t, but something in his tone told her this question was another test. “Sure. We should probably get to know one another if we’re going to be working together.”

“I agree.”

Hagrid and Fang met them at the gate, and they paused long enough for Miranda to scratch the mastiff behind his floppy ears. Once they were clear of the school’s wards, Remus held out his hand to her. His skin was rough and calloused, and soon she felt the unpleasant pull behind her navel as he side-alonged her to the edge of the Hogsmeade High Street. The Inn was quiet when they arrived, dingy and smelling of old ale. A dour man with bright eyes and a long hoary beard manned the bar, and he grunted to them by way of greeting.

“I’d take a pint when you get a minute, Aberforth,” Remus said as they went by. “What would you like, Miss Rose?”

“Rye if you’ve got it, Firewhiskey if you don’t,” she replied.

Aberforth muttered something derisive and shuffled away to gather their drinks while Remus led her to a table in the furthest recesses of the bar. Without asking, he took the chair with its back to the wall, putting her in the uncomfortable position of relying on his eyes for protection. They stared at each other, each taking the measure of the other, until Aberforth arrived with a chipped bowl of greasy popcorn, a pint of cloudy ale, and a glass of flaming liquor.

“To new beginnings,” Remus said, raising his glass.

“New beginnings.” Miranda clinked her glass to his and drank without breaking eye contact.

“So tell me,” he asked as he picked at the popcorn. “How did you wind up working for Albus Dumbledore?”

After the excellent dinner at the Embassy, Miranda had no stomach for bar food. “By way of Lucius Malfoy.”

“Really?” His curiosity was obviously piqued.

“Ironic, don’t you think? He hired me to hunt down Sirius Black, and Albus hired me to pretend to hunt down Sirius Black to keep Malfoy busy. Then just to make things more entertaining, Albus sent me to Romania to help Charlie Weasley with a project. Now that’s over, and here I am with you.”

“I see. Albus does like to get his money’s worth out of people.” The bitter edge to this observation did not go unnoticed.

“Do I remember correctly that you and Mr Black were friends?”

“You do.” If possible Remus’s already woeful countenance became even more melancholy. “We were mates from our school days.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. I never got to meet him, but I think I would have liked him, if I’d gotten the chance.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked dubiously.

Something about his gaze made her vaguely uncomfortable—as though he could see through her in a way most people couldn’t.

“I spent a fair amount of time interviewing people who knew him while I was on the case. I got the impression that he was a passionate man, fiercely loyal to his friends, brave to the point of recklessness, and possessed of a wicked sense of humor. Sounds to me like the sort of fellow I’d love to have known.”

Remus took a long drink and then stared into the depths of his pint. When he finally looked back up at her, she knew he was setting her yet another test.

“Tell me Miss Rose, is Severus Snape one of those many people you interviewed about Sirius?”

Through long practice she managed not to visibly react to Severus’s name being spoken, but her toe inside her boot started tapping again.

“No,” she replied. “I never met Professor Snape before that Order meeting when I met you.”

Remus gave her a cold, wolfish smile, that did not suit his features in the least. “This is a terrible start. I’m going to ask Albus to reassign you.”

Her heart started to pound uncomfortably, but her voice was even and curious. “Why? What did I do wrong?”

“We’ve barely met and you’re already lying to me. Doesn’t bode well for future work together.”

“What are you talking about?”

He leaned across the table and dropped his voice to a low growl. “Miss Rose, I don’t believe for an instant that you met Severus for the first time at that meeting. His smell was all over you, even after he left. What did you do, spend all day in bed with him?”

It was a stupid mistake—forgetting that some loup garous had a preternatural sense of smell even in human form—and she blushed for shame of having been caught making it. She covered her embarrassment by finishing her whiskey, then returned his gaze boldly.

“And if I did?” she challenged.

Remus snorted. “I don’t care who you sleep with. But if we’re going to work together the way Albus expects us to, we can’t lie to each other. With what we’re going to be walking into, we have to trust each other completely. Unfortunately, there’s no time to build that trust.” He slugged down the rest of his pint and stood up from the table. “I’m sorry to waste your time, but it’s better for you to be off this assignment anyway. Safer, you understand. It was good to meet you.”

“Mr Lupin, wait,” she said, taking the risk of laying a hand on his wrist before he walked away completely. He glared down at the trespass, and she strongly suspected he was fighting the urge to snarl at her. “Please, just sit down, have another drink, and let’s talk about this.”

She held his gaze fearlessly, surprised he didn’t shake her hand off. After a moment he signaled to Aberforth, and resumed his seat at the table. She waited until the barkeep had set them up with another round and a fresh bowl of popcorn, furiously working out what exactly she was going to say. In the end she fell back on her usual tactic; improvisation.

“Listen, I’m going to lay it all out for you, and then you can decide what you want to do,” she began, ignoring his scoff. “I met Severus the summer before last while I was hunting a vampire. We’ve been on and off since then; mostly on. I know about both of his…bosses. Albus knows about me, but the other one doesn’t, and we’re trying to keep it that way for everyone’s safety. I think you can imagine what the Dark Lord would do if he got wind of the fact that his minion is fucking a No-Maj born like me.”

“I didn’t know you were Muggle-born.”

She bristled. “Does that matter to you?”

“No, not at all.” Remus’s suspicious expression became very thoughtful. “I think I’m just surprised that it doesn’t matter to Severus.”

“I haven’t grilled him on it,” she shrugged.

“Maybe you should.”

This was not a conversation she wanted to pursue. “I don’t remember asking you for relationship advice.”

“You’re right, you didn’t.” His lips turned up in a humorless smile. “You’re wise to keep things quiet. Does anyone else in the Order know about you?”

“Arthur and Molly Weasley. But as far as I know they’ve kept mum, so I hope you won’t go clucking with them about it.”

“I won’t. What do you see in him?”

That was more than enough. “I don’t see the need to justify my love life to you, Mr Lupin. Or maybe you’d like me to start asking you questions about Auror Tonks.”

“No, I’d rather you didn’t,” he said coldly.

It seemed to her that they’d scuffled enough for one evening. “Maybe we should go back to safer topics,” she suggested as a peace offering. “Like loup garous or blood politics.”

He studied her for a long time, and then his face relaxed into a real smile. “Yes, let’s. Tell me more about the werewolves in America.”

*****

As the clock ticked perilously close to midnight, Severus sat in his armchair, reading Oscar Wilde and doing his best not to be annoyed with Miranda’s tardiness. He’d long since accepted her chronic lateness, and he knew she’d had a hefty list of commitments ahead of their engagement. Still, it was his birthday and it would be nice to see her at some point before the ninth of January turned into the tenth.

At five minutes to the new day, the door to his sitting room creaked open and he put aside his novel, greeting her tired smile with what he hoped was a reserved, but pleasant expression of his own. She hung her bag on a hook by the door that he’d installed for the purpose and stretched like a languid cat. He admired her form, unreasonably pleased that she was finally here.

“I’m glad that’s all over,” she said.

“Did your first Animagus lesson go so poorly?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Professor McGonagall said I did well, but my joints all say differently. She’s as hard a teacher as you are.”

“Harder, I think.”

She came to him and slipped onto his lap. His arms went around her waist, and as she laid her head on his shoulder he felt unnervingly content.

“Then Remus Lupin decided to give me the third degree. That’s what took me so long. He wanted to cut me out of the whole mission,” she explained.

Merlin, he didn’t want to think about the details of this pernicious mission. “Perhaps you should have let him.”

“I know you don’t like that I’m assigned to it, but it’s part of my job. And anyway, I talked him into keeping me.”

“I’m not surprised. You can be quite…persuasive when you care to be.”

She gave him an impish smile. “Speaking of persuasive, what would it take to convince you to give me a massage? I had no idea that Animagus training was going to make my body feel like a pretzel.”

“I give you a massage?” he teased. “I was under the impression that it was my birthday.”

“And so it is. I’ll give you your presents first if that’s what it takes.”

He kissed her temple and shook his head. “No. You’ve coerced me. To the bedroom with you.”

“I knew there was a reason I spent time with you.”

She stripped down to her knickers on the way to the bedroom. He hung his frock coat in the armoire, and rolled up his sleeves as she picked over his store of healing balms for a satisfactory concoction; more comfortable in her own skin than anyone he’d ever met. She tossed him her selection and stretched out on the bed with a happy sigh, and as he knelt over her his heart ached with an emotion it was ill-equipped to process. He buried this hurt with the feel of her flesh under his fingers, and the sound of her appreciative moans as he kneaded her pains away.

“Mmm…” she hummed. “You do love me.”

Her shoulders tensed instantly under his frozen hands, and he inwardly cursed her impulsive tongue for uttering such nonsensical truth.

“I mean metaphorically speaking,” she added quickly.

“Of course,” he replied, his hands mechanically returning to their work. “You’ve quite an inflated sense of your own importance, haven’t you?”

“That’s me,” she said, her voice nowhere near as relaxed as it had been moments before. “My head’s so big it’s in danger of floating away.”

For a brief moment he had the insane urge to confess the sin she’d lightheartedly accused him of; morbidly curious to witness the destruction it would likely cause. As she settled back into limpid tranquility under his touch, he frantically searched his mind for some other topic of conversation to distract him from wantonly lighting the inferno that would no doubt spell the end of their association.

“I…had thought we might attend the opera on Saturday,” he said. It was a mostly idle promise—he hadn’t even spoken to Charity to arrange the purchase of tickets—but he hoped mentioning it would both please Miranda and close the door on the previous topic.

“Oh, Severus, I’m so sorry, but I can’t,” she replied.

His temper was rubbed raw from the last ten minutes, and her contrition was salt in the wound.

“May I ask why?” he asked in an subtly acrid tone.

“I’m actually already going to the opera on Saturday.”

“I see. With whom?”

“Dante Sanguini. He set it up weeks ago. Didn’t I tell you about it earlier?”

“Not that I recall. I don’t suppose it matters to you if I mind that you are cavorting with a vampire.”

“My time is my time, and I’ll spend it with whomever I like.”

“Need I remind you that you have yet to regain your full strength either magically or physically?”

“No. I’m very aware of my limits.”

He seethed silently as his fingers worked on her muscles. How dare she be so reckless with her person and then claim he had no right to be concerned?

“Severus,” she said after a few moments of deadly silence had ticked by, “you’re hurting me.”

“My apologies,” he muttered, lightening his touch.

“Just stop. That’s enough anyway.” She extricated herself from her position beneath him and rolled up to sit against the headboard, her knees tucked to her chest as she studied him with new eyes. “I don’t need you telling me what to do. Do I complain when you go off to have tea with the Dark Lord?”

“That is different,” he growled.

“It’s not.”

He felt his face turn to stone and he got up off the bed, crossing his arms over his chest like a shield charm.

“I do not ever needlessly put myself in harm’s way. You make a sport of it,” he accused.

“Well why do you at all? Put yourself in harm’s way I mean. You’re not a hero, so why do you do it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You hate teaching—and I’m not all that convinced you like Albus Dumbledore. You’re not a coward, but I don’t think you’re the sort of man to be swayed by “The Cause.” So why are you doing all this?”

“We aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you and your dalliance with a creature that can snap your neck and drink your blood before you could raise a finger to stop him.”

She swung off the bed to face him, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing. “You sound jealous.”

“I do not.”

“First Lupin and now Sanguini?”

“That is the most ridiculous accusation…”

The rest of his defense dwindled into hiss of pain as the mark on his arm flared to life, twisting with an ugly black fire. His suddenly numb fingers fumbled to roll down the sleeves and fasten the buttons as he watched the anger on Miranda’s face give way first to fear, and then to acceptance. She opened her mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it, and went out into the sitting room to collect his cloak for him. It took an age for him to don his frock coat and retrieve his mask from the armoire as he fought to bring his roiling emotions under some semblance of control.

His feet were like lead as he dragged himself to the door, and Miranda’s brave smile did little to cheer him. When he had his cloak in place, she impulsively threw her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth. He groaned pitifully as he pulled her against him; their embrace a fury of tongues and teeth as fierce as their argument had been.

“I can be here when you get back,” she said in a husky voice when they parted. “Or I can go if you think you’d rather be alone.”

“No. I want you to stay,” he replied, his own voice raw from choking back all the things he dared not say.

“Then I will.”

He traced a finger over her cheek and accepted the kiss that she pressed to his hand—a kiss that troubled him to the core of his battered heart. The mark on his arm continued to throb painfully as he paced outside the wards, breathing in the bitter night air and waiting for his mind to reach a place of indifference that Occlumency required. It seemed to him that the longer this misadventure continued, the more difficult coming to that place became. His life had never been under his own dominion; but now it often felt to him that Lily, the Dark Lord, Albus, and Miranda were horses intent on drawing and quartering him alive.

*****

The plush delights of the private box on the Grand Tier of the Royal Opera House, and the glorious music of Rigoletto did not quite assuage all of Miranda’s guilt that her companion for the evening was a sentimental vampire rather than a dour potions master. She was mildly annoyed at her conscience for smiting her and sullying what ought to have been an evening for decadence, and she was indulging in far more of Dante’s excellent cabernet in an effort to compensate. As the lights went up for the beginning of the interval, she knew she was well on the way to a headache in the morning, but she stubbornly stuck to her self-destructive course. Severus had no right to boss her around, and she was going to prove it by means of what was likely to be a wicked hangover.

“Tell me more about Giuseppe,” she said. There was nothing like hearing Verdi with a man who’d known him.

“There are those who would call him cold, but I liked him very well,” Dante replied. “Although he was at times a difficult partner at the card table. When the music would invade his brain, he would set everything aside until he’d jotted it down. I was there the night he sketched out that magnificent quartet.”

“That must have been thrilling.”

“It was. It’s a shame he would not let me bring him over.”

“Did you try?”

“Of course! A genius like that, to molder in a tomb. It’s a crime.”

He offered her a refill from the bottle of cabernet, which she accepted (although she probably shouldn’t have). His own glass he topped off with his preferred blend of merlot and type AB positive.

“What did he say when you offered?” she asked, enjoying the buzz from the wine and the music.

“He said that only a fool wished to live forever in a body of dust and grime.”

His smile was sharp on his pale lips, and whether he was mocking the dead composer or himself, she wasn’t sure.

“I’ve never thought you were a fool, Dante.”

“I thank you for the compliment, and I hope that you will not behave so stupidly when I come for you.”

She shivered. “I didn’t know you were planning to.”

“I was. As long as you do not manage to destroy yourself so extensively that my kiss would be useless.”

She was flattered and horrified in almost equal measure. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. But I want you to know that I’ll probably give you the same answer that Giuseppe did.”

“How disappointing. Why would you do such a thing?”

“I have my reasons.” She swirled the crimson liquid in her goblet, and the movement (or perhaps the conversation) made her head swim. “Do you mind if we change the subject? I hate talking about death at the opera.”

“And I adore it. But you are my guest, and I will indulge you. Tell me about your current projects. Hunting any other cousins of mine?”

“No, not lately. I’ve moved on to werewolves and Death Eaters.”

He raised his mocking eyebrows at her. “I never thought you one to play the hero.”

“I’m not, it’s all about the money.”

“I’ve always appreciated that ruthless streak in you.” He took her hand in his, laughing as the chill of his touch raised gooseflesh on her arms. “Do watch that charming backside of yours.”

“I will. But if you happen across any information that would help me watch it better, I hope you’ll share it.”

“And what will you pay me in? Smiles?”

“If you’ll take them, they’re yours.”

He brought her hand up and rested her palm against his cheek, sighing melodramatically.

“There is nothing quite like a warm hand when you are dead.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Is there something you’re getting at, or is all this a tease?”

He leaned down until his icy breath brushed her ear. “I have it on the best authority that a certain dark wizard is building an army of inferi.”

The chill that went through her had nothing to do with Dante’s breath. “How uninspired. Didn’t he do that last time?”

“His creativity is indeed lacking these days, but this new army will put the last one to shame.”

“Have you seen it?”

“I have.”

“Where is it?”

“It is moved by now.”

“By which you mean you aren’t going to tell me.”

“Topolina, I have told you enough already.”

He dipped his head and ran the edge of a sharp canine over the sensitive skin of her earlobe, and she put a finger on his cheek in warning.

“Thanks Dante, I do appreciate it. But I’m not going to fuck you tonight, even if you do cast a tutela charm to keep yourself from killing me.”

“Tease,” he grumbled. “Why not?”

“I’m just not interested.”

His dark gaze was as penetrating as Remus Lupin’s—and she was just about sick of being studied like a side of beef.

“You have a lover,” he accused. “That accounts for the extra perfume. You didn’t want me to know. Why not? Are you ashamed of him?”

“No. I just didn’t want to talk about him.” God she was sick of everyone being in her business. It was almost enough to take up the mantle of celibacy for the rest of her live-long days.

Dante, bless him, seemed to catch on to her exasperation. “Then I shan’t ask you anymore about him.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. Really.” The lights began to dim around them, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Dante, if I find myself needing a hand in the near future, will you help me? I’ll make it worth your while.”

He gave her a devilish smile. “Will you? Aren’t you afraid of what I might ask in return?”

She wasn’t fooled. “No. You’re a gentleman.”

“You wound me! But I could deny you nothing. Ask, and I will be there.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

“Shh,” he grumbled as the curtain rose. “The opera!”

*****

Notes: The chapter title (yes, i am a monster) is a quote from Verdi’s opera Rigoletto. In the opera, the Duke sings this line in jest—but he pretty much is a monster.

The incantation to become an Animagus is taken from Pottermore. The textbook, the incantation to turn back (and the attending Latin mistakes) are mine. The process by which one becomes an Animagus is also from my imagination.

libera nos a malo masterpost+

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[jawllines]

hey bub don't forget to post the met gala fic! xoxo ur reminder anon

tHANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME :D

“Holy shit.”

Y/N had seen Harry in a lot of things -- being his best friend meant experiencing his wardrobe, including but not limited to getting pictures of outfits laid out for something with question marks for her opinion, entering expensive boutiques with eyes averting from price tags in attempt not to panic, marveling as she walks through his closet to see pieces he’d purchased unbeknownst to her (plucking a few things from his drawers), and sending him links to things she think he ought to like just to see him in a photo online in it a week or so later. Despite how familiar she was with his taste in fashion and what he looks like in items of different colors, cuts, and fabrics, she is still often blown away with what he could conjure up. There was just something so. . .alluring, about the way in which he wore things with confidence without oozing any sort of cockiness that might turn someone off from him.

So when he’d invited her to come with him to New York for the Met Gala (in which she would not be attending, given she didn’t have thirty grand lying around to spend, but she got to sleep in a fancy hotel and eat like a King for a few days so she was happy), she’d been more than ecstatic. Was keen on seeing his outfits, hearing what he would do, what he’d have to say, and hope that he explain to her what even happens at the Met Gala apart from the red carpet. Even had fun with his impromptu ear piercing that she helped with (she’s got steadier hands than him). Her plan was simple -- to enjoy the luxuries of being rich without actually having to be rich, dawning one of the expensive hotel robes, slipping her feet into slippers and watch a livestream of the carpet while simultaneously pretending she would be willing to spend more than twenty dollars on a top as she scrolled through various clothing websites. Maybe take a bath or something and wait for him to come back, wondering what food they served at those kinds of events, if Harry would even like it, and if she should order room service (to which she would pay him back for even if it meant sliding money into his wallet when he wasn’t looking) and get him something in case he didn’t.

Though as the night continued on, picture after picture being released, videos and live streams from the event, everything seems so exciting and entertaining, she began to feel a small pit of. . .of something in her chest. She couldn’t quite tell what it was -- she was so proud of him and so happy to see him happy, that her cheeks could burst with a smile from it, but her heart weighs heavy. Harry makes good to rarely seem like he’s famous. Apart from the occasional fan picture or paparazzi hoard, he’s just normal Harry, who snores way too loud, has awful gas after eating jambalaya, picks off people’s plates without so much as a question to, and cannot sit still or keep quiet through a movie if he wasn’t interested in the subject matter. He was the Harry that shoved his head under her hand as his formal request for her to play with his hair and gave her drunken, emotional kisses because he’s “never felt so close t’a someone before”, and would rather sleep on her dingy old couch in her worn down flat than sleep in his multi-million dollar home if it meant that he didn’t have to be alone.

This Harry though -- famous Harry -- appeared to be completely in his element. Floating down the pink carpet with the man responsible for all things Gucci, dancing to Cher, mingling with celebrities, hosting the fucking event. It was like a whole different world he was apart of; one of glamour and opulence that she could only ever dream of. At that moment, for the first time, she’d felt as if she’d been holding Harry back somehow. She’s more than aware that she does not have that kind of power to do it on her own, but what about what he does for her? The nights that she wants him to come over, is he turning down plans with someone who might be more beneficial to his career? Or with someone who has much better, more interesting stories than what her professor tried to pull in her lecture? Maybe he was passing on drinks with stylists and people of greater importance because he’s far too loyal to pass on a romantic comedy movie night with her?

He deserved all good things; nothing but great, wonderful things and she feels endlessly guilty that she is unable to cater to that side of him.

That’s why when he returns a little earlier than he had expected, showing off the second garment he had changed into, his eyes wide and bright, “Get dressed, you’re comin’ with me to an after party!” He chirps after bursting through the door, walking towards the closet without a second thought and swinging the door open to reveal what she had presumed was a bag for one of his suits. Instead he pulls it from the closet, tosses it onto the mattress that she was sprawled on and points his finger at it, “Loads of people I wan’ you t’a meet, yeah?”

Her heart kicks up in her chest, not only because he is even more ethereal in person, nor was it just the fact that he had literally scared her phone out of her hand when he’d plowed in through the door, but because what in the hell? People he wants her to meet? At a met gala after party? Is she even allowed at those?

“Am  I even allowed at those?” She mirrors her confusion and he shrugs his shoulders.

“Don’t see why not; m’the co-chair, so I think I get a bit of leeway with a thing or two,” he pulls the zipper open to the bag, uncovering a beautiful glittery, chain detailed silver slip dress that she only distantly remembers stroking her fingers against on the mannequin, checked the price tag, and pretend it didn’t happen. Y/N couldn’t believe he’d remembered it let alone purchased the damn thing and now it was just sat on the mattress, waiting for her to put it on, “If anything everyone will suspect your just some smarmy socialite who doesn’t a hundred percent what Camp is and that’s’ okay. Hurry on then, I don’ want them to have too much fun without me.”

Her eyes were wide, “Holy shit,” sbe begins, placing her fingers to her temples, “Holy shit, Harry,” she shakes her head, “I can’t go! I’m not even -- I don’t even -- I took like a half assed shower at best!”

“And you look marvelous, Darling,” he took the liberty of withdrawing the dress from the bag, thrusting it out towards her with his fist around the sleek dark wood of the hanger, “I’ve been gushing about ya all night, and y’know I hate to be made a liar.” He motions towards the piece in his hand, brows furrowed as he becomes impatient, “S’been like two months since I bought this so if y’don’t like it anymore then --”

“Shut up, you know I love it,” she takes it from him, trying to ignore the way her heart swells when his mouth pulls up in a big, triumphant smile, “But it was at least one month’s rent, you’re asking me to go to a party with a ton of famous people and that’s something that I need to like prepare for mentally weeks beforehand.”

As soon as she’s got the dress in hand, he takes her by the shoulders and guides her towards the bathroom, “Yeah, yeah, Lovie, listen -- they’re all jus’ like me, yeah? Normal, dressed a bit fancy,” he squeezes her where his hands lay, “Loud as all get out, just like a good chat, will absolutely adore you if you get your arse ready in the next twenty or so minutes.”

He’d managed to close her in the bathroom, leaving Y/N to stare into the large floor to ceiling mirror illuminating every flaw she could’ve possibly thought to have all at once. She looks disheveled -- like someone who had only been planning on lounging around on a hotel bed and living simultaneously through Met Gala Twitter. Not somebody who was meant to get ready in twenty minutes. However, somehow Harry was incredibly persuasive without even having to be persuasive and she was sliding the robe from her shoulders, letting it pool to the floor.

She could get ready in twenty minutes -- she’s had worse time constraints in the past.

                                                                .                                    .                                       .

Y/N’s head is spinning.

Too much had happened in such a short amount of time; she’d met more people than she would have thought to be imaginable in a night than she’d ever met in her entire life. People of such fame and opulence she was certain that they would never cross paths, no matter the fact that she’s Harry’s right hand for most things. However, she realizes tonight as she’s mingling and meeting these people Harry has known for a long while and had never let the situation arise in which Y/N would meet them. Harry kept his personal life separate from his public life and if he could, she realizes, he kept her personal to him which simultaneously made her heart soften and ache all in the same.

She doesn’t think it would hurt too bad, until she had fluttered around the room with him and he had left her to her own devices for a moment so he could get them both something to drink. That’s when someone had turned to her (she wishes she could remember their name but after meeting so many people in a night, most of them escaped her) and said with a look of bewilderment on their face, “So you guys have been friends for how long? You seem so close, I wonder why he hasn’t really mentioned you before.”

It’s not like she expected him to be speaking on her twenty four seven, that definitely wasn’t the case! However, she talks about him a healthy amount to her other friends, and not even in a way where he’s Harry Styles -- again, just the boy who gets drooly when his face is smushed up against a shoulder -- they know that he’s around and is aware of his presence and their friendship. It makes her wonder if he’s ashamed of her or something. . .was being friends with a college student considered unclassy? Would it be better if she was some socialite who had infiltrated the world of celebrities and shared all their gossip at the first breath of their names? Because those are the friends of his that these people know about.

But he had brought her tonight, so that meant something didn’t it? It had to have, right? Was this a test to see how she would do in a situation where she was placed amongst people of such high regard? Or did he just feel guilty for inviting her then leaving? Or was he just riding off the high of the night and was making hasty decisions that he otherwise wouldn’t dream of?

There’s too many possibilities, it makes her head spin, more so than the apple flavored vodka she’d been sipping on. She needed to get out of her head -- she knows she does -- but it feels impossible when she so clearly doesn’t belong. And without Harry at her side, she felt even more misplaced than she had to begin with. The judging glances from people who couldn’t seem to decipher why she was there, why she was silent unless spoken to, and why it appeared like she wanted to jump from her skin. She had never been more uncomfortable in her life, and she decides then that maybe Harry keeping her away from this was best.

When she’d sought him out to tell him she was going to head home -- make up some excuse about a migraine or something -- she sees him speaking with Kendall, which only seems to further the wrench in her heart. All those teenage glimmers of hope that she could be his right hand are squashed because she’d only proven tonight that she couldn’t handle this side and this was such a large part of him. Not the only part, but big enough that she could understand if he didn’t want to bother trying to acclimate her to it. Why would he want to be with someone who he couldn’t bring to events without them starting to doubt themselves? And why the hell is she even thinking about being with him right now?

She retreats to the bathroom -- just for a little space, at the very least, to calm her down. Tears threaten to crawl up her eyes but she won’t let them. God! Why is she being so melodramatic? What’s her deal all of the sudden? She’s about three minutes from kicking her own ass -- surrounded by celebrities and idols she’s had for years, just to go to the restroom and sit still on the toilet long after she finished peeing? Just because she plummeted herself into her feelings about a boy? It’s like some twisted form of movie high school prom that she’d never, ever wanted to encounter.

Y/N isn’t sure how long she’d been sat there, until her phone dings a bright noise and startles her from whatever reverie she’d thrown herself into. She’s surprised to see Harry’s contact be what she sees, considering she didn’t even think he had pockets to keep his phone, so she swipes right on it quickly.

Where are you? Is everything okay?

And then the bastard had to be so damn sweet! Why should he care if she’s okay? He’d just hosted the damn Met Gala for Christ sake, she should be the last thing on his mind.

She feels her eyes well; here she was in the bathroom, feeling sorry for herself when it was Harry’s night. How could she run off to the hotel? She was here to support him and praise him because tonight is about him and she almost feels selfish for letting her emotions have her feeling like it was even remotely about her.

Deciding to no longer feel sorry for herself, she answers him back letting him know she was in the bathroom, stands up, finally wipes like she should have about ten minutes ago, and goes to wash her hands. She looks at herself in the mirror, very seriously tells herself to buck the hell up only to jump some when she realizes that Katy Perry is beside her in a burger costume. She nods politely, pulls a paper towel from the dispenser and pushes her way out to see Harry was standing and waiting for her, a dopey smile on his stupidly cute face.

“Are ya havin’ fun?”

Y/N musters her best smile and nods, “Loads,” she responds, “Are you?”

He nods enthusiastically, reaching out for her arm and giving her a small tug, “C’mon then, ‘ve been DJ-ing with Mark and I want you to have a go.”

                                                        .                               .                             .

By the end of the night it is very well apparent that celebrities party like college students. After the first afterparty he had taken her to, they went to a smaller one that he co-hosted, and it was a bit slower paced. Y/N felt more comfortable there at the very least -- maybe too comfortable, because several times she caught herself slowly fading to sleep, only brought back to full alertness when the coolness of her glass is pressed against her thigh. She’d done her fair share of mingling here too and met a handful of people that made her mouth dry, but by the time the sun started to rise in the sky, she was curled up on a couch and scrolling through her phone absently, waiting for Harry’s cue that they could go back to the hotel. He’d come to check on her a few times, asking if she wanted to meet someone (she would say yes), or if she just needed company but she urged him several times to go have fun (“You and I will be together for the next few days anyway, y’might as well enjoy your time without me hovering,” she had told him to which he replied with a pout of, “But I like when you hover.” that made her heart flutter more than it should have).

She was in the weird state of drunk-ish but slowly sobering; the last shot she had was an hour or so ago but she still felt buzzy and light. Still drunk enough to think that considering trekking downstairs and hitching a taxi by herself when she wasn’t all too sure of where their hotel was, might be a good idea -- but of sound enough mind to recognize that her feet ached too much to even think about trekking anywhere.

Around 7-ish, a gentle hand lies on her shoulder and nearly has her spring from her skin. Harry’s soft, low, sleepy chuckle is her first indication that it’s him before she turns around and sees his bow is a bit askew, his hair has been tousled and combed through to high heavens, and his eyes were puffy and red from his own weariness. “Jumpy,” he’d murmured, and she could tell he had sobered up considerably and was probably far soberer than she was, as he holds his hand out for her to take, helping her rise and leaning over to grab the heels she had kicked off and lied beside the couch, “Y’should’ve told me you were tired. Would’ve gotten you back to the hotel.”

“And what, miss out on some rich hot shot celebrity falling in love with my drunken sleeping form?” She stood, wincing and pouting, taking her heels from his fingers and sliding them back onto her foot, “Speaking of, m’pretty sure Taron Egerton is bringing me home actually, so I’ll send for my things.”

He furrows his brows at her and waves her along, “Yeah, yeah, and Alessandro is signing Gucci over to me -- c’mon now.”

“That’s actually not so unbelievable,” she replies.

The ride home, Y/N demands Harry work through his jaded brain to tell her about his entire night. She hypes him up even after the fact, reveling in his stories with him, all the new people he meant, how invigorating it was to be hosting the very first Met Gala that he attended, how freeing it was to have his nipples out at an event of this high stature, and how much fun he’d had even afterward. Though he still shies from her praise, blushing a pretty pink when she tells him he’s a legend and, “You’re literally doing such great things at such a young point in your solo career, m’surprised you aren’t floating from ego bloat,” makes him shake his head through a laugh.

She had thought she had made a brilliant recovery from her previous, mid-party panic, and was actually patting herself on the back for having it go unnoticed by him (because he notices absolutely everything; people could call Harry a lot of things, but one of them wasn’t dense). This is why she was so blindsided by how he approaches her when she’d plopped down on the hotel bed, kicking the heels off once again and flopping back against the mattress.

“So are you going to tell me what had you bent out of shape earlier?”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, heart sinking to her stomach, “Hm?” She plays dumb but he gives her that look -- that “don’t for a second think that you can trick me” look that almost makes her visibly shudder.

“You know what I mean,” he responds, “Y’think I don’t notice when you’re gone quiet? Or when you disappear for twenty minutes? Did someone say something to you?”

She opens her mouth to deny it but he shoots her that look again and she crumbles beneath it, shaking her head, “It was nothing,” she tells him, “I just got in my head, is all but it doesn’t matter and m’fine, so everything is good.”

“Don’t say you’re feelings don’t matter, because they do,” he responds almost immediately, peeling himself from his outfit and revealing the creamy smooth skin beneath -- Y/N has to tear her eyes from his torso so that she’s listening -- “Tell me what was wrong.”

“You’re awful demanding,” she grumbles, reaching up to take her earrings out, “It was just new and weird; I was surrounded by people I only ever see on a screen and then there were some people that just -- I just realized I didn’t really fit in, and I got in my head, but I got over it.”

His brows furrow, crawling up onto the bed, “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“Because it was your night idiot!” She all but snaps at him, not out of anger with him, but from pure frustration with herself, “I wasn’t going to hold you back because I felt weird. That wouldn’t be fair to you, n’I just -- I’m not apart of that world and it was very apparent and I just realized that I could be holding you back from something better when you’re hanging out with me or even that you have to take me places with you ‘cos you feel guilty. And if. . .and someone just -- I said we were best friends and they made a face and I -- it just feels weird. . .I felt weird.” Pushing the heels of her palms to her eyes, she shakes her head, “But it doesn’t matter, stop prying, me head hurts enough and I’m not letting this ruin how amazing tonight was.”

Harry’s fingers are gentle as they loop around her wrist, pulling it at it delicately so he could draw her hands from her face, “Okay,” he murmurs gently, “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, I just --” he pauses for a moment, like he’s trying to pluck the right words from his brain, “You’re so important t’me, y’know that? Right important and I wanted to bring you with me t’night, because I wanted to experience this amazing night with you.” His thumb carefully caresses her skin, and she can feel his eyes boring into her though she doesn’t look up at him, “Y’don’t have to be apart of that world, yeah? I like that you aren’t ‘cos -- well, as selfish as it is, I just want you all to myself. You’re my person. And don’t ever think you’re holding me back, Lovie, if I wanted to hang out with a ton of snobby rich celebrities all day then I would.” He leans in, pushing a kiss to her forehead, “I love you Dummy.”

Her heart pulls in her chest, “I love you more,” she murmurs.

They finish getting ready for bed (despite it being close to 9AM) and Y/N returns from the bathroom to see that Harry had planted himself on her mattress opposed to his own, snuggled up beneath her covers with only his eyes peeking out at her, “Get in,” his words are muffled by the blankets and Y/N rolls her eyes, climbing up into bed beside him. He wriggles his way over to her almost instantly, lying his head against her chest and sighing contentedly as his eyes flutter shut.

“You looked really hot t’night,” she murmurs idly as she combs her fingers through his hair and he hums, nestling closer to her, “Especially in the first outfit. You’re lucky I didn’t jump your bones.”

Harry laugh comes as a soft puff through his nose.

“You should’ve.” He responded.

Y/N stays up for an hour after thinking about it.

[thorne93]

Stan Lee University (Part 14)

Prompt: What would the Avengers be like in college, more importantly, what would they be like if Y/N existed around them?

Word Count: 1903

Warnings: drama, language, welcome to fluff town

Notes: This is based on a HC from @carryonmyswansong. They helped brainstorm and write part of this series. In this AU, no one will have powers, everyone is a normal human. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong​

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So we’re going to chat on Discord every day, right?” you questioned, pushing your finger into his chest as you stood at the airport.

“If I find time. You know, all those nurses, so little time,” he teased, looking off into the distance.

“Strange, if you aren’t on that chat at exactly--”

He held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll be there. We will video chat as often as we can,” he assured.

“Good. You got everything? I know you had to pack pretty fast.”

In fact, you know he had to pack in a panic because you had helped him pack his things for the trip. You two made a list and went over it three times.

“We should. If I don’t, worst comes to worst, I have to buy it there.”

“Right… And you get back on the--”

“Tenth, of January.”

A half smile pulled at your lips, it was painted with sorrow. That would be about a month apart and you weren’t sure you were ready for that.

“Well, you better get going,” you noted, glancing to the group of abroad students he would be traveling with.

He sighed. “Yeah, they can’t function without me.”

“I know I can’t,” you muttered.

He put his finger under your chin and lifted it to face him. “Hey, yes you can. You’re going to enjoy your winter break, be with your family, and we will talk every day. This will go by before we know it.”

“I hope so.”

“It will.” He leaned down and gave you a firm kiss, making your stomach flutter. “Alright, I gotta get going. I love you. Thank you for taking me up here.”

“Sure thing. Any way to make sure your ass gets out of the country, far away from me,” you joked with a smile.

“Always nice to have a free chauffeur.” He winked at you and grabbed his bags before joining his group.

You couldn’t bear to watch him leave so you left and went to the car. As soon as the door closed, the tears trickled down.

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

It was only a few days after Stephen left, but you both needed to register for Spring classes, so you decided to do it together.

“Okay, so, I still need social psych,” you explained.

“Yes, Freud, we know. I’ll need biochem.”

“Do you need Physics 2?” you asked.

“Of course.”

“Okay, we’ll take that. What about your electives, got any room on that?”

“Yeah, I do. What were you thinking?”

“Computer science class? We could take it with Peter,” you offered.

“Oh, yeah, good idea. Put me down for that. So what’s left then?”

“Well, I still need some foreign language. You want to do that with me?”

“Sure.”

“What language?”

“Latin seems to make the most sense with us going to medical school,” he offered, shrugging through the video cam.

“Right. Okay, so we only have one class each next semester that we won’t be together. That’s not too bad!” you noted, looking at the time slots.

“Ugh, I’ll be around you that much?”

“Bitch, you’re lucky you get me this much.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

You glared at the camera. “I will be a delight...until you piss me off. This can go one of two ways, Strange. Don’t fuck it up.”

“I don’t fuck things up. As you will recall from me being the perfect lab partner.”

“Perfect-- Perfect lab partner? Is the water tainted over there? You’re a self-involved, arrogant dickwad.”

“Well this dickwad loves you and I’m looking forward to a full schedule with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled. “I’m sending you the codes now for the classes. You better register, right now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a slight laugh.

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

“It’s only been two weeks, but Y/N, I swear, I’m learning so much,” Stephen said through the screen on the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like how I definitely don’t want to be a cardiologist.”

A laugh rolled out of you. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes. But the good news is, I do think I’ve taken an interest in neurosurgery,” he mentioned.

“Really? That’s fantastic. So that’s what you want to specialize in?”

“We’ll see, but for right now, yeah. It’s complicated, always progressing, but the field really needs some talented doctors in it right now.”

“Yeah, it does. Wow. That’s great.”

“What about you? You still stuck on working with crazy people?”

“I work with you every day, Strange, and you’re getting better.”

He couldn’t help but laugh and you snickered as you walked toward the kitchen, still on video chat.

“That was just hateful,” he commented.

“Is that him?” your mom suddenly shouted from the kitchen. You were walking through the living room when she heard you. “Let me say hi!” she called out and you blushed.

“Okay, Mom. One sec,” you said, your heart hammering. “My mom wants to say hi,” you informed with a face of worry.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell her all the naughty things you send me.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “What a relief, because I don’t send you naughty things. Must be your British girlfriend.” You stuck your tongue out as you walked to the kitchen. “Mom, this is Stephen, Stephen Strange. Stephen, this my Mom, Andrea.”

You turned the phone and showed her. She took the phone and your eyes went wide.

“Oh my gosh. Hi there! Well I’m Y/N’s mom! It’s so good to finally put a face to the name! We hear about you nonstop! I swear.”

You chuckled lightly, your ears and face turning as red as a tomato.

“Oh, wow, Y/N, he’s quite a looker, isn’t he?” she said, eyeing the phone.

You gave her a painful smile. “Yes, Mom, he is.”

“We hear about you all the time. Y/N tells us you’re very bright.”

“I hope so. But actually, if it weren’t for her, I don’t know if I would’ve made it through physics on my own.”

“Aww, and he’s sweet too,” she gushed. “Well, I’ll hand you back over. I’m making some dinner so…”

“Oh, what’s on the menu?” he asked.

“Jambalaya. Do you cook?”

“I cook, but you’ll have to ask Y/N if it’s any good.”

Your mom glanced to you. “Yeah, he’s really good.”

“If I may make a suggestion? I always throw in bay leaves with my jambalaya, seems to marry the flavors.”

“Oh, I never thought of that, I’ll try that,” she noted. “Thank you!”

“Is that Y/N’s new boyfriend?” your dad asked, coming in from the garage. “Let me see him.”

Your mom passed your phone to your dad.

“Hello, sir,” Stephen said with a pleasant tone.

“Why hasn’t Y/N brought you over yet?” your dad asked Stephen.

“I’m not sure, really. You’ll have to ask her. I’ve asked to meet you all before,” he stated.

Oh, that son of a bitch was trying to get you into trouble.

“No, that…” You took a deep breath. “Yes, he has, but we were at school. Then he decided to galavant all the way over to Europe.” You glared at the phone even though he couldn’t see you. “So, here we are.”

“So how is London this time of year, Stephen?” your dad asked, walking out of the kitchen with your phone.

“Very brisk, sir. Thankfully, my work is all done indoors, or I’d be dead by now.”

Your dad laughed. “I hear that, I hear that. Well here, I’ll give you back to Y/N. Glad to hear you’re doing good work over there. Keep it up.”

“Will do, sir. Thank you.”

Your dad went to hand it back to you but suddenly your older sister came into the living room too. “Are we talking to Y/N’s boy toy now? Finally. I thought he didn’t exist,” she noted.

“Thank you, Claire, for that,” you said, the blush on your cheeks just getting hotter and hotter.

After grabbing the phone, her eyes went wide. “Holy shit, Y/N. He’s hot as hell. Good job. Here you go.” She tossed the phone at you and you caught it, fumbling a bit.

Leaving the living room and retreating back to your bedroom you glanced down to the screen. “Sorry about that. I’m gonna go die now.”

He immediately started to laugh loudly.

“It’s not that bad,” he noted. “So, you talk about me... a lot?” he teased.

“Yeah? What of it, asshole?” you shot back, trying to diffuse your embarrassment.

“Nothing, just kind of sappy, that’s all,” he accused.

“Okay, well first off, fuck you. And fuck you again for trying to lie and say I didn’t invite you over. I’ve tried to get you here before, you dick.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I like them. They seem very nice. I can’t wait to meet them in real life. My family wouldn’t notice if I brought in the playboy mansion.”

A sympathetic smile tugged at your lips. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, it is. One day, you’ll see exactly what I mean.”

“Oh, so I’m invited to meet your family?”

“Whenever I’m sure you won’t leave based on that decision, yes, you’re invited to meet them.”

“I feel like this is a huge step for us, is this a huge step for us?” you teased sarcastically.

“Alright, if you’re going to act like an idiot, I’m hanging up,” he tease-threatened.

“Actually, you probably should. It’s like midnight there, isn’t it?”

“Ah, shit. You’re right. I should probably get some sleep. We’ve got early rounds in the morning.”

“Yeah, don’t want to go in asleep. You’re already a half-assed student wide-awake.”

“I’m too tired to think of anything clever to say. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Only if I feel like it,” you remarked with a coy grin.

“Oh, you’ll feel like it. You always do.” He winked at you, making you laugh. “Good night. I love you.”

“Love you, miss you. Sweet dreams.”

And the two of you hung up.

So far, you had gotten through this. At first, it was really difficult. Especially trying to figure out each other’s schedules on when you could and couldn’t talk. But once you got that down, it all seemed like smooth sailing.

Your mom probably wasn’t exaggerating when she said you talked about him all the time. The only thing was, you hadn’t realized you did. It just came natural to share his accomplishments, to talk him up. You didn’t share how humiliated you were with Loki, but you did tell them that Stephen was there for you and made you feel so much better.

So far, your family seemed fine with him. You assured him he was mature, had his head on straight, that he had goals and was working really hard toward them. They never tried to control your romantic life, but you could tell your dad got less and less fond of Bucky as your boyfriend. When he came over as a friend, your dad was okay. As the years went on and you two got more unhealthy for each other though, and Bucky seemed to fall behind you in the dedication department, things were strained.

But now, your family seemed to be really supportive of you and Stephen. Of course, meeting him, actually spending the day with him will be another thing all together, but for right now, everyone seemed happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[rhysdubois]

RHYS DUBOIS is a 32 year old PROFESSOR that teaches in CONSTITUTIONAL LAW & CONSTITUTIONAL CRIMINAL PROCEDURE. It has been stated that they are +WELL-SPOKEN && +CHARISMATIC, but they can also be -A WORKAHOLIC && -PESSIMISTIC. HE happens to be into MUTUAL MASTURBATION && VOYEURISM, but won’t do CG/L && MEDICAL PLAY. It just so happens that they look like PENN BADGLEY && are HETEROFLEXIBLE!!

Ohai! I’m Ruby, and here is one of my trash children, Rhys. Here’s the down and dirty you’ll need to know when approaching.

Rhys is a New Orleans boy, born and bred. He bleeds purple, green, and gold. Carnival Season is sacred. He wants a second line at his funeral. Jambalaya is a basic food group. He will fight you about the best snoball stand in the city. And it’s spelled “snoball,” not “snowball.” Words are better with -eaux instead of -o. Geaux Saints (who dat!). He’s a Saints fan until he dies.

His father was a pretty wealthy and well-known Louisiana Supreme Court justice. Rhys and his little sister, Rosalie, grew up not wanting for anything, living in the ultra expensive Audubon Park area. 

But they had expectations on them. Rosalie was not into them. The little rebel. Rhys was.

Consequently, if someone would like to pick up Rosalie as a character, HMU. Dunno yet if I’ll put up a formal request for her, but yanno.

Rhys mainly has Daddy and Mommy issues. Daddy was never there, but Mommy wasn’t either. Hello nannies. And Rhys had this whole thing about being the man of the house, so it was important to him to protect Rosalie. Rosalie kept running away, getting into trouble, and he would be the one to bail her ass out.

Rhys went to Tulane for undregrad, double majoring in Political Science (general) and Sociology. He graduated with honors.

Rosalie, by the way, went to a year of college and dropped out to live with her shitty boyfriend, who Rhys hated. Rhys couldn’t prove it, but he was pretty sure those bruises on her wrists were not from too-heavy bangles.

Rhys continued on at Tulane for law school. He graduated in the top 10%, basically because he wanted to prove to his professors (substitutes for Mommy and Daddy, no doubt) that he could do it.

Oh. And there was that whole thing where he fell madly in love with his Obligations, and later Successions, professor.

She was pretty adamant about not acting on their mutual attraction, but he couldn’t help it. She was older (only slightly) and all too fucking gorgeous, smart as hell, and he wanted her.

So when Rhys graduated and passed the Louisiana bar shortly after, he returned to school and asked her out. They basically boned for twelve hours straight. After that, they were inseparable. Yay.

Rhys got a job with a well-known criminal defense firm and he was ultra-successful. He believed in the justice system: in order to defend the innocent, you had to defend everyone. Everyone is owed equal protection under the law. Be a fucking decent person and give people a fucking chance. All of that.

He was 27 when he proposed and they got married that year in a small courthouse ceremony. 

I am going to put in a formal request for his ex-wife, but HMU if you’d like details. She’s older than him, but doesn’t have to be by much. He’s 32, I’d say she’d need to be 40-45 at the youngest.

Shortly thereafter came the biggest case of his career. He was defending an accused serial rapist and murderer. Only thing was... the guy was innocent. But the Prosecution was fierce (Rhys knew she would be... he went to law school with her after all), and evidently met her burden of proof. Rhys lost the case and his guy was put on death row.

Rhys appealed, but while it was in the process of going through the system, his client was killed by another inmate.

Rhys blamed himself and shit went downhill for him.

Believing that he could have done something, argued something differently, he punished himself by pulling away from everyone he cared about. That included Rosalie. It included his wife, who he’d loved for years. She finally asked him if he wanted a divorce. He said that he did, but even now, he doesn’t know if he meant it, or if he was just in pain.

Regardless, he needed to escape New Orleans. And he needed to escape practice. He found a job opening at a University in Florida. It was close enough to Louisiana that he could be home within a day’s drive if Rosalie needed anything, but it was away from everything else.

Even though he didn’t need to pass the bar to teach, he did take and pass the Florida bar. You know. Just in case.

And now, he’s here.

In private, Rhys is quiet. A little broody. He’s still working through some shit, yanno? When he’s teaching, however, or if out in public, he’s charming. Enthusiastic. He doesn’t want the next generation of attorneys to make the same mistakes that he made, so he was hella excited to bring these classes to the fray.

He’s not much into physical connection anymore, which is why he’s a total voyeur instead. He gets off on watching other people. He doesn’t really make eye contact when he fucks. Doesn’t really kiss people, unless kissed first. He’s the “wham bam thank you ma’am” sort.

He’s heteroflexible in the way that he’d have a threesome and be fine with it. He can watch other men fucking people and find it erotic. Rhys, also, has only been attracted to women and considers himself straight, but... he’s open. Anything is possible.

So HMU for plots or thoughts, or if you just want to screech about how hot Penn Badgley actually is. I’m here for it!

[tommyhagen]

Old Friends Can Still Fight

Hey everyone! I’ll be posting sick fic centered scenes from some of my fanfics (totally not in hopes it’ll inspire you guys to send me some prompts or anything. This fanfic was a long multi ship X-Men Mpreg (not ABO tho) but you can ignore it because I’m not got be posting anything more of it than the sickfic and whump scenes. Note for Remyspeak Ah=I. I just can’t write for him doing his third person bullshit.

TW: sickfic, nausea, conflict between friends, unsolicited touches and mentions of sexual harassment

@jay-sop I don’t ship them quite like you but their broship is a fucking sight to behold

———————————————————

Remy felt someone looking down at him. One of the kids already? Breakfast had literally just started! Didn’t they have problems of their own to worry about? He couldn’t leave his damn room anymore without a trail of them following after him. How hadn’t they put together yet that asking ‘Mr. LeBeau’ if he was okay all the time was bound to make him less so?

Remy was draped over one of the couches tucked in the back of the living room. Pretty standard procedure these days after he attempting to eat something- his stomach flipped at just the thought. No wonder they found him. Maybe he ought to switch couches.

He had an arm sling over his face blocking out the sun streaming in from an overhead window. He moved it aside slightly so he could crack an eye open at whoever was harassing him and tell them to get bent. Depending on their age. He was happy with his life here at X Academy and wasn’t trying to get himself fired.

Oh. It was Logan. “Get bent.”

“Nice to see you too, Gumbo.”, Logan replied with a chuckle.

Remy moaned softly in response. Logan was sneering- the bastard. He knew how much Remy hated that nickname. Four years later and he was still yelling it at him from down the hall every other day.

“Okay, okay. How about Jambalaya, then?”, the bastard guffawed.

Remy actually whimpered and there would be hell to pay for Logan causing him to do that. The hand covering his eyes shot down to clamp over his mouth. Slowly, once it was safe to do so, Remy opened his eyes to glare up at Logan. “Seriously. Mention food again and Ah will blow up every last one of the Cubans ya got ‘hidden’ in ya desk.

Logan gave a deep frown and they both knew it wasn’t for fear of the safety of his cigars. He could get new ones anytime he wanted. Ever since Deadpool had moved in it was like the Black Market had opened up a Westchester branch.

Wilson just always had his hands on anything you could ever want. Now whether or not he’d give it to you was another thing entirely. He didn’t take money and Remy was damn certain he didn’t want to find out what Wilson took instead. The guy was a freak. And Charles had to know Wilson was dealing pot to the kids. Just another confirmation that at some point in his life Charles must have been all kinds of fun.

Remy decided to speak again just to put an end to the wave of pity coming off Logan- the damn Neanderthal. Remy wouldn’t take that shit and sure as hell not from Logan.

“The missus send ya to check on me?”, Remy teased. Logan was beyond whipped and Remy knew he’d never get tired of laughing about it.

Logan relaxed again as Remy forced their teasing dynamic back into the interaction. He was good at that, the guilt and pity not so much. “Nope. Sent myself to check on you. Cuz if you die the missus would never let me hear the end of it.”, Logan grunted, giving Remy his smarmiest grin.

Remy made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh considering his voice had stopped working well enough to do so a few days back. His lips were curled upward though so even Logan could probably figure it out. “You’re a prince among men, Logan.”, Remy retorted drily but with an actual smile now. He’d missed this- Logan.

“Well that’s what they tell me, anyway.”, Logan said with a shrug. “Now move your ass so I can sit down.”

Remy’s smile grew wider. At least someone had the sense to realize that being sick didn’t mean he was a five year old. If Jean -or shudder, Scott- called him sweetie one more goddamn time he’d make sure to throw up on them. At least he could always count on Logan to give him a hard time. “Only because you asked so nicely.”, Remy crooned, batting his eyelashes frantically at him which earned Remy an amused snort that he had no idea how much he’d missed.

Nowadays he just got like a fucking hug or something. Seriously, had he missed some house-wide memo that said it was suddenly okay for everyone to hug him?!

It had started with the little kids and even that Remy hadn’t been crazy about. But with them he figured, what’s the harm? Everybody hugged little kids for some reason that was completely beyond him. It probably would’ve been weirder for Remy to say no to them, right? And, okay, even he’d say some of them were pretty cute.

Kitty Pride had just come up to him in the hall all out sobbing about how Remy was her favorite teacher and he just couldn’t die because she’d miss him too much. What the hell was he supposed to do?! He didn’t like kids but he wasn’t a fucking monster. He’d leave the making little girls cry to Erik.

That was before Remy’d known that apparently there’s this rule with kids where if you hug one then you had to hug them all. Ugh. All the damn time he had kids coming up to him and clinging and climbing all over him. Gross. Leave that shit for Charles and Kurt. Remy missed the times when he’d been the cool, unapproachable teacher.

Somehow, though, he was still the sexy teacher. The teens had somehow decided they got hugging privileges too which they interpreted as sexual harassment privileges. Remy had always known half his classes had a thing for him but never in a million years would he have guessed how many of them were little fucking creeps.

It was all of them. He couldn’t go a full day without at least three of those little dirtbags pressing themselves too close during a hug. Remy’d nearly kneed one in the groin when the little freak took the opportunity to try to sniff his neck. Thank God he wasn’t actually their teacher anymore or he’d flunk every last one of them.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it. He might actually have to do something about that girl Rogue soon. He was pretty sure she was stalking him. He kept finding weird notes and poems so...ugh... they could have only been written by a high school girl. Remy had to admit, she had him a little creeped. (And God forbid Victor should find out.)

The worst part was he didn’t know Rogue well enough to feel comfortable fucking with her a bit to get her to cut it out. Like he would with Bobby or his annoying little minions. The last time Bobby Drake had hugged him the little bitch had grabbed his ass. Remy had blown up his pants and left him standing there in the hallway in his boxers. Problem solved.

Charles hadn’t been happy with him about that but Remy had barely gotten a slap on the wrist. He hadn’t even been called into Charles’ office for A Talk. Because obviously since he was such a fucking invalid no one could talk to him unless it was to coddle him. It was disgusting.

Remy could handle the girls doing it. Hell, he’d spend as much time pressed up against Raven as she wanted him to. Even Jean, boring as he was. Charles and Kurt were a special case but Scott had to be stopped. Someone had to tell that ass he wasn’t just the big brother figure to everyone that he clearly thought he was. Who in the hell’s dumb idea was it that sick people might like to be touched, anyway.

Remy was so busy thinking about how much he hated people touching him that he hadn’t noticed his head had somehow ended up in Logan’s lap. When he had clearly moved his legs for the dumbass to sit there. He narrowed his eyes as he looked up at Logan. How dare he?! Remy didn’t think he would be able to handle it if Logan started pulling this shit too. Then Victor would be the only person left in his corner. Sure, Victor was the only person that Remy really needed but that didn’t mean losing everyone else wouldn’t hurt like hell.

He buried his paranoia under a joking tone. That was the way he and Logan had always communicated and Remy’d be damned if anything was going to change that. “Ugh, don’t tell me! Ya the one that been slipping those get well cards with those little third grade ass poems in em under my door? Ah thought cuz of the handwriting it must have been from one of the little kids or somethin. Probably shoulda figured it could have been yours too.”, Remy jeered but it probably hasn’t been one of his best performances. He could feel there was something a bit too bright about his eyes.

Logan forced himself to laugh. And his tone wasn’t even close to casual as he snarked, “In your dreams LeBeau. Only sitting like this cuz now nobody will ask me to do shit.” Neither of them said anything about how much more obvious it was that Remy was really, really bad if Logan had managed to surprise him with anything.

In gratitude, Remy accepted Logan’s flimsy excuse without another word about it. Although he knew part of that was for himself. It was maybe 9 AM and and already he felt like shit. (He always felt like shit.) But arguing with Logan might actually be enough to do him in and land him in the infirmary with Hank for the next few days. And that’d be even more hell on Victor than Remy himself.

Besides, the excuse would probably work for Logan. If he claimed to be too busy taking care of Remy no one would argue with him. Even Remy would admit he sure as hell LOOKED like someone who needed to be taken care of. “Always happy to help someone skip out of their responsibilities.”, Remy replied with a half hearted salute.

“Well, no one would know more about it then you, Rem.”, Logan smirked returning the salute with a pretend tip of the hat.

“Oh, yes.”. Remy closed his eyes in mock appreciation. “Ya’ve always had SUCH a way with words.”. Remy batted his eyelashes at Logan like a lunatic over his hand like a fan, striking his best southern belle pose and voice, “Oh how do you do it, Mistah Howlett?”

That had Logan cracking up and the tension gone. “Seriously though, Rems, you up to talking? Cuz I can be quiet and let you get some sleep. Have you seen yourself? You definitely need it; you look like shit.”, he asked, careful to word things in a way that wouldn’t be patronizing.

Remy loved that about him desperately. Logan really did have a way with words sometimes. “Oh my, always the gentleman!”, Remy crowed trying his goddamn best to channel Scarlett O’Hara.

He laughed and then answered Logan’s question more quickly than he intended, “Don’t ya start treating me like Ah’m a library too or Ah promise Ah will punch you in the throat.” If that had sounded needy Remy couldn’t help it. It was always just so damn quiet now and Remy was never really comfortable unless he was surrounded by noise and a crowd. What the hell was he supposed to fade away into now?! Nothing. Remy could swear being left vulnerable like this was only making him even sicker.

“Course not! I’ve never seen you with a book in my damn life.”, Logan shot back lightly.

“Well pardon me, Wordsworth.”. Remy managed another real smile when Logan clearly had no idea what he was talking about. “What?! Ya old enough ya coulda met him! Can you even read, homme?”, Remy taunted.

Logan smiled down at him and flicked him on the forehead. “Have some damn respect for your elders, sonny!”, he played along.

Remy made the almost laughter noise again before growing serious. “Really. Don’t start whispering around me. You know the kids won’t even curse around me anymore? Turned around a corner just as one of em yelled ‘Fuck!’. Thought he might explode from fear. Didn’t even calm him down when Ah told him to stop acting like a little bitch. He just run off like the devil was after him. When in the hell did I become everyone’s granny?”, Remy joked but there was real hurt there too.

[reimagination]

I fucking hate vegetarians.

Like sure, don't eat meat. I'm fine with that. But don't be so fucking rude, okay.

I work in the French Quarter. A customer asks me if there are any vegetarian restaurants nearby. I mention a Vietnamese restaurant a block away that has some great vegetarian options. She doesn't like Vietnamese food. I mention a Mexican restaurant and rave about their grilled vegetable burrito (which truly is one of my favorite things to get there). She doesn't like burritos. I mention a place that has great salads. She's tired of people recommending salads. My colleague chimes in with a vegan Indian food restaurant. But it's 2 miles away. She also wants New Orleans cuisine. I tell her that most New Orleans foods have meat in them (that's mostly true for most cultures I believe), but I mention a nearby café that serves beignets, which are vegetarian, though not vegan.

I, while at work, where I could be helping actual customers who may want to buy a thing, drop everything to google vegetarian friendly restaurants in New Orleans (one site recommended a bloody Mary. Hey!)

But see, what she wants are not vegetarian options, but a whole ass vegetarian restaurant. And she wants New Orleans cuisine. Like, honey, 1) you've been vegetarian for how long? You should know that full on vegetarian restaurants are rare, and they're most likely not going to be in touristy areas. And 2) if you took a single minute to google New Orleans cuisine, you'd see it's not vegetarian friendly (even red beans usually has small bits of ham in it, and some people even put full on bacon in it. And I have made vegetarian jambalaya before because I was poor as fuck). And here I am trying to rack my brain of the meagre vegetarian options in the Quarter, and you know what she does? She flat out tells me I'm going to die.

Like, she starts telling me I'm young and may seem okay now, but eating all that meat will kill me, and I won't live to see her age. Bitch, when did we ever discuss what I eat? If we HAD, you would know that while I may not be a vegetarian, I often go a coupla weeks without eating meat. And you know what else? I have a SLEW of health problems. Take that as you will.

And before you go off, like oh that was just one bitch. No. This is not even the first time this WEEK that I've been told eating meat is going to kill me. Or about animal cruelty. Or how being vegan will save the environment (No it most definately will not as long as capitalism is still alive and thriving).

And another thing. Does no vegetarian ever talk about slave labor? No. Exploiting immigrants? No. How we have the monetary resources to feed the homeless yet do not? No. The various dietary needs of disabled people? No. The gross way we keep poor people from obtaining nutritious food? No.

Fuck off. Fuck the fuck off.

Fuck off quinoa salad soy burger PETA pie.

Fuck.

Off.