#I hope this finds the non-library side of tumblr because the library side of tumblr already KNOWS this

[therealamperssand]

On Libraries and Stuff

Fun fact, libraries don't just have books! Many also have movies, shows, and music which you can get for free with a free library card! The only drawback is that you generally have to return them within 3 weeks or so (longer than some free trials!), but that isn't a problem because you can just go back and check out more stuff. Libraries are so cool and important and we need to keep them!

[fockfjdkfncnfn]

Quite the ride | Luke Hemmings smut

summary: it’s a normal day and you didn’t have much plans except for dropping off some overdue books at the library. on the way, you decide to stop by at a cafe and you meet Luke there for the first time. you hit it off really well and on a cute date with him to a carnival and then things escalate.

warnings: unprotected sex, sex on the first date, oral uhmmm yeaaaa

requested: YES!! this is my first request from one of my friends i’ve just made here on tumblr! <3 their @ is @lukeshemmo. they write too so go check their stuff out!

word count: 3125

A/N: hiii!! thank y’all so much for 36 notes on my first smut!!!! i was really shocked to see so many people had read it and liked and tevloghed and stuff so thank you so much and i hope you enjoy this one <3 remember, requests are open to feel free to leave some!

ps. the book/cafe names i used in this are random ones that i just found in google lolol okay enjoy!

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It was a chilly winter morning and you were woken up by the sounds of your bed creaking as you were rolling over. You fluttered your eyes open and looked out the window to see the frost on the corners of your windows and the slightest bit of sunlight shining through the tree branches outside. “So cold” you whispered to yourself as you reached your arm out from under your warm blanket to grab your phone. as you took the charger out from your phone, you saw the screen light up, showing a reminder you had set for yourself the night before so that you could see it first thing in the morning. “Return books to the library,” it said. annoyed, you groaned and set your phone down beside you. You secretly wanted to stay in bed all day because of how chilly it was, but you knew that if you didn’t take the books back today you’d have to pay for it. 

With that thought in mind, you sat up and stretched your arms above your head and planted your feet on your cold hardwood floors, and made your way into the kitchen. You wanted to have a quick and simple breakfast since you weren’t feeling too hungry, so you settled on a bowl of cereal. 

you grabbed out a white bowl and poured your cereal and milk into it, thinking about what else you could do for the rest of the day after returning the books. You sat down at your kitchen island and started to eat. as you were eating, you scrolled through Instagram on your phone and an ad caught your attention. 

“Groundup cafe! grand opening happening today downtown! Come visit and enjoy some fresh, deliciously made coffee”

“That sounds interesting,” you thought to yourself as you ate another spoonful of cereal. You did some more research to see where the cafe was located and noticed that it was only a couple of minutes away from the library you were going to. “Maybe I’ll go after'' you thought to yourself as you finished the last of your cereal and put the bowl in the sink. 

You made your way into the bathroom and took a quick shower and brushed your teeth. You wrapped your hair up in a towel and one around your body then walked out to go to your closet. “Hmm what should I wear?’ You thought to yourself. Outside it was lightly snowing, so you decided that layering up would be a good idea. You decided to wear some cream white corduroy jeans, a black turtleneck and a short black puffer jacket with some high top docs. For makeup, you didn’t wanna go too heavy since it was a cold snowy day, so you just did some foundation and mascara. To finish the look off, you dipped your ring finger into a pot of tinted pink lip balm and spread it across your lips to give them some life, and used the residue left on your finger to spread on your cheeks to bring some color back into your face. You dried your hair and curled it, put on some earrings and you headed out the door with a tote bag that had the books in it. 

Since the cafe was on the way to the library, you decided to stop by there first and maybe get a drink since your hands were numb from the cold wind.

When you arrived, you put your hand out to grab the cold copper door handle and pushed it to make your way in. 

You were greeted with the smell of coffee and the sound of people talking amongst themselves, not to mention the noticeable temperature change in the atmosphere which was comforting. You went up to the counter and looked up to see what drinks they had on the menu. Your thoughts were interrupted when the barista started talking to you. 

“Hi! What can I get ya?” They said with a cheery smile on their face. 

You shifted your eyes slightly down to meet theirs and as you opened your mouth to respond, you suddenly got pushed, and then you felt hot coffee run down the arm of your jacket. “Fuck” you said with an annoyed tone. as you tried to use your other arm to wipe the coffee off of yourself,  You looked up to see who had rudely bumped into you, but your rage quickly melted away when you were met with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes. 

“I am so sorry,” he says with a sense of urgency in his voice. “I didn’t mean to, the person behind me was in a rush so I tried to move out the way and I accidentally bumped into you, let me go get some napkins for you and I'll buy you your drink,” he said as he quickly turned to get some napkins. 

as he was walking away, you couldn’t help but notice his beautiful golden curls and also how tall he was which was one of your biggest turn-ons. confused at what had just happened, you quickly turn to the barista and say “I’ll just have a peppermint mocha please” with a soft smile and you sit down at the nearest table. 

You see him walk towards you, drink and napkins in hand and a look of remorse on his face.

“I am so sorry for what happened back there,” he says as he gently places the drink in front of you and hands you the napkins. “Are you okay?” He asks 

“Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you” you say as you take the napkins from his hands and try to wipe the already dried coffee off of your sleeve. 

For a second it got a bit awkward because he was just standing there, but he gave you a little smile and glanced over to your bag which was open, putting on display the books you had in there. 

“Is that the east of Eden??” He says as his face lights up with excitement 

“Yea!!” You respond smiling and looking up at him. 

He quickly sits down at the empty chair across from you and you both start talking about the book. He asks questions like “what's your favorite chapter?”, “who’s your favorite character?”, “do you like the ending?” And before you could even catch each other's names, you both noticed that the cafe which was full when you first arrived was now empty, the only other people occupying the space being the workers cleaning up the machines and floors. 

“Woah, I didn’t even realize we had been talking for so long!” You say as you glance down at your phone to see the time. 

“Yeah me too” says with a soft laugh.

“What was your name by the way?” He says, looking at you with his bright blue eyes 

“Oh, its y/n” you say with a smile 

“Well, I'm Luke,” he says, playfully offering a hand out to you for a handshake. “Nice to meet you, beautiful”

After those words fell from his lips, you could feel butterflies swarming your stomach and blood rushing to your cheeks. 

“Nice to meet you,” you say giggling, taking his hand, and shaking it. 

His grip was strong but caring. You knew that it was crazy to feel such a strong connection to a person you had met only a couple of hours ago but when the workers informed you both that they were closing, you just didn’t want to leave. 

As you grabbed your bag and now empty coffee cup he stood up and asked,

“What are you doing tonight?’ 

It was like he read your mind and felt the connection too 

“Nothing” you quickly blurt out

“There's this carnival happening tonight just across town, would you maybe want to go?” He said hesitantly with a shaky voice 

“I'd love to!” you say, smiling up at him. 

You both walk out of the cafe and he leads you to his car. As you were approaching his it, you saw the library that you needed to go to. The whole reason why you left your house in the first place, but this was much more important, you thought to yourself. 

You hopped in his car and he drove the both of you to the carnival. It was dark now, still cold but not as windy and it wasn’t snowing anymore. You saw bright flashing neon lights, children running around with their families, and young couples going on their first dates. “what the hell am I doing,” you thought to yourself for a brief second. When he hopped out of the car, you watched as he made his way around to your side to open the door for you. As he did, you took the few seconds you had to yourself to process what was happening. You planned to go to the library today, met some random stranger who spilled coffee on you and now you’re going on a kinda date with him to this random carnival. “But how could I turn this down?” you thought to yourself “he’s my ideal type. I mean, he’s tall, handsome, has the most hair, we talked non stop for like four hours, it's hard to find a connection like that with anyo-'' your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the car door opening. 

“The carnival awaits” he says holding the door for you and offering you a hand to help you get out

“Thank you,” you say giggling, taking his hand, and stepping out of the car. 

The whole night was filled with laughter and youth as you both chaotically ran around the carnival like little kids and going on ride after ride. The connection between the two of you became stronger despite how little time you really had spent with each other. Everything was starting to quiet down and you both decided to finish the night off by going on the Ferris wheel. While waiting in the line, Luke turned to you and rest his hand on your shoulder 

“I'll be back, I'm just gonna.. go to the bathroom” he said in a suspicious tone, a grin displayed on his face. 

You didn’t think much of it and just waited in line till he got back. You had your hands behind your back, rocking back and forth from heel to toe smiling out of pure joy. You hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. 

When it was finally your turn to go on this Ferris wheel, Luke just got back in time and you both hopped in and looked at the sky as it started moving, bringing you both closer to the stars.

“I had a really great night tonight,” Luke says with a soft smile. 

“Me too” you say, returning the gratitude. 

You felt the butterflies emerge again as the ride stopped. you were now both at the top of the Ferris wheel and looking into each other's eyes. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks with a soft and gentle tone 

Without any thought, you leaned in to connect your lips to his and as they did, you felt sparks going off in your heart. your hands gently cupped his jaw as his hands gently wrapped around your waist. as you break away from the kiss, you both look at each other for a second and giggle. 

“This is crazy” you say giggling, still cupping his face 

“I know,” he says laughing. He looks down and away for a second and his eyes shoot back up at you.

 “Would you possibly wanna come to my place?” He asks, looking at you with the eyes of a puppy 

“Sure” you say softly, smiling.

The Ferris wheel eventually started moving again and you slowly felt the grass under your feet again. He helps you out and instead of letting your hand go, he keeps it there, and your fingers intertwine. 

“Wait, before we go,” he says. “I have a surprise for you” 

Confused, you look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “A surprise?’ You say. 

He unties his fingers from yours and reaches around his back and pulls out a rose. 

“For you” he says 

You look at him, mouth slightly open realizing that when he was going to the “bathroom” he was really going to go buy you a rose. You stood there saying nothing because of how sweet this gesture was. He playfully turns around to see the flashing colourful lights. 

“The lights are interesting than this flower?” He says jokingly 

you laugh. “No!! I just, this is so sweet” you say. “Thank you” you say quietly as you take the rose from him.

“Of course y/n'' he says. You liked the way your name rolled off his tongue. It just sounded right. 

When you finally leave the carnival and make it to his house, he opens the door and moves aside so that you can walk in first. His house felt warm and welcoming, despite the fact that you had never been there before. 

“This is my home!” He says smiling as he shuts the door behind him. 

“It's beautiful” you say in admiration, looking around. 

“Not as much as you” he says as he walked towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist. His lips crashed onto yours and your hands wandered around his broad back. As you were making out, he picked you up so that your legs were wrapped around him and you giggled into the kiss as he carried you to his bedroom. Once he was there, he set you down gently onto his bed, using his arms to support you on the way down, and kissed your forehead once you had landed. 

“Is it okay if I take your shirt off?” He asked with a soft and loving voice 

“Of course” you say smiling, knowing what was about the unfold 

He started kissing your neck and making his way down to your breasts and you quickly unhooked your bra and tossed it to the side. He wrapped his lips around your left nipple while his hand cupped the other. You let out a small whimper at the feeling of his tongue swirling around your nipple. You felt his other hands move from your waist slowly down to your core, stopping just above your pussy as if to ask for permission. He looked down to see where his hand was and looked back up at you. you nodded, letting him know that this was something that you were okay with. 

He moved down so that his face was now in-between your legs and he unbuttoned your pants. You bucked your hips to help him pull them down along with your underwear, leaving you now completely exposed. 

“God you’re so beautiful” he whispered before diving in to eat you out

Your breath hitched as you felt his lips wrap around your clit and his tongue swirl around, making you become even wetter for him. 

“Ugh, right there” you moaned out as you tangled your fingers through his hair and moved your hips to match his movements. He moaned into you, making you feel the vibrations. 

He inserted a finger into you making you squirm in pleasure. 

“Fuck” you say as he pumps in and out of you. 

“I'm close” you say as you throw your head back onto the sheets. 

After he hears that, he stops, and before you can complain, he crashes his lips onto yours, forcing you to taste yourself. He moaned as he rubbed his bulge against your body. 

“You're such a tease,” you say with a grin as he breaks away from the kiss. 

he giggles and quickly takes off his shirt, along with his jeans and boxers exposing his length that was extremely hard. 

“Need a little help with that?” You say as you stand up and go on your tippy-toes to kiss him. You loved how tall he was compared to you. you watch as he sits down on the bed and you situate yourself between his legs and get on your knees. You lick a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip and he lets out a moan which makes you want him so bad. 

“Fuck it, just get on top of me” he says, lust-filled in his eyes as he looks at you with a hungry expression. 

You’re quick to follow his orders and stand up and get on the bed, your knees now on either side of his body. 

you lower yourself onto his length and you both moan out in pleasure. You start rocking back and forth feeling him inside of you. 

“Fuck y/n yes, don’t stop” Luke moans as he grabs your hips to help you move with him.

“Holy fuck” you moan out as you continue to move your hips faster. You start to lean forward, placing your hands on his chest and he bucks his hips up and down to pump into you. 

“Oh my god Luke” you moan shakily as he roughly thrusts into you, getting the perfect angle to hit your g spot. 

“Rub your clit for me baby” he moans and you do as you're told. 

The feeling starts to become overwhelming and you could feel your walls tightening around him. you felt your high coming and you knew that you were close. 

“I'm close Luke” you moan out breathlessly as you continue to rub your clit and feel Lukes long and thick length pump in and out of you. 

“Just hold on a little longer” he moaned out as he started to thrust into you even faster. 

He moved his hands from your hips to your back and flipped you over and pounded into you 

“Fuck Luke” you moaned with each thrust. He loved hearing his name fall from your lips.

“I can’t hold on much longer” you barely manage to say as you were trying not to cum before him 

“Cum with me beautiful”

That's all it took for you to let go. You moaned out his name, making it echo in the room. He came with you moaning out in pleasure and satisfaction. He sloppily thrust into you so that you could both ride out your highs and then flopped down next to you. 

Once you caught your breath, you turned to see his beautiful face and you reached your hand out to move a curl out of his face so that you could get a better view. 

“Out of all the rides we went on today, you were the best” you say giggling into his neck 

“It definitely was quite the ride” he says as he wrapped you in his arms.

[anti-porn-unicorn]

I’m a girl (18 now) who got exposed/addicted to pornography at a really young age, and I wanted to share my specific story on this blog so that the platform can get it out there.

Under the cut is my full story, and it’s a little long winded, so if you don’t want to read the whole thing, I bolded in purple the general topic/idea of that section. Just look for whichever of those interests you and the section will be about that. The first and last paragraph are good for context and end goal, though.

Thank you.

I don't fully remember my first exposure to porn. I know I was in third grade (6-7 yrs old, I had skipped a grade). The reason I had wanted to share my story, in fact, is because I don't see many stories with circumstances similar to mine. Most I see have at least one of the following 'modifiers', for want of a better word. Most I see have at least one of the following 'modifiers', for want of a better word. Most I see have at least one of the following 'modifiers', for want of a better word. 1. The person is a victim of CSA/grooming. 2. The person was at a generally pubescent age (~11-14). And/or 3. The person experienced porn as a quick disturbance. To be clear, these stories are as valid and important as mine, and I simply think more perspectives make evidence of the effects of porn more airtight. I've never been the victim of SA, harassment, or grooming, ever in my life. My story shows the effects of exclusively porn.

The first memory I can recall about this was actually the first time I got caught. I was 6 yrs old, and very into video games,so on this day, I was playing a 3D porn game on my crappy hand-me-down laptop. I kind of knew that what I was doing wasn't acceptable, so I was sitting in my room in the corner as far from my door as possible. My mom walked in so I just slammed the laptop shut because I wasn't that good at hiding things. My mom obviously asked what I was doing, and I tried to keep her from looking, but it was right there when she reopened it. This is where the battle of it begins.

From ages 6-14 I don't have a good timeline of events but a few pop out that exemplify the severity of the issue. These are very probably out of order.

I got an iPod Touch for Christmas (~6-7), and every night I would watch porn on it until they caught on. I literally still remember some names of the sites, most that don't even exist anymore. My parents have always been amazingly caring. I couldn't ask for more. During the earlier ages (~6-8) I was put with a child therapist for fear of a deeper issue. My parents started either taking technology away in the night and/or setting restrictions on the internet. Unfortunately, between my slight tech-savvy, and my crazed addiction at this point, this wasn't a solution.

The addiction got DEEP. It warped my brain. When I had no technology, I used everything I could find.

Whenever I had access to less restricted internet, I used it. Once I asked my older cousin to use her iPod and watched it on there.(she noticed and told my mom. I remember my mom had asked me "Is there anything you need to tell me?", and I knew what she meant, but I just said "nope!" and walked away. At one point my dad's work provided him with a Blackberry, and I asked him could I play one of the built in little games. Once I had it, I watched porn. (when I gave it back to him he pressed the "back" button, and I was caught.)

I used Youtube. This was when YouTube was way less moderated (back when the app was a little old timey TV). I learned I could look up "striptease" and "nip-slip" and other stuff like that, finding more soft-core videos that could suffice when the internet in general was locked down.

I straight-up found out ways to disable the restrictions. Once I found out my mom's PIN for the controls, I went and disabled them, but changed the PIN so it would look like they were still on, and so that she couldn’t access and re-enable them. (I made it 7399. Spells "sexy". My mind was a mess.)

My parents bought a book called "The Classical Tradition". I'm just learning now as I'm looking it up that it was a Harvard Reference Library book (probably why it was so damn thick) about ancient Greek and Roman culture. I didn't know that. I had realized that sprinkled throughout the book there were pages that were more glossy than the rest, which you could see from the sides of the pages (the book was HUGE). These were the photo paper, which had the classical paintings and sculptures. And because these had nudity (Think "The Birth of Venus" type) I would regularly flip through this book when I needed a "fix". Absurd.

My parents got me an American Girl book that was made to ease worries about the developmental years. The pages on breast development / the anatomy of the vagina were what I looked at the most. When my parents had gotten me the child therapist, there was the logical fear that I might have been molested. The therapist gave me a book where there was a page with two cartoon mice, a boy and a girl. They were wearing swimwear/underwear and the point of that was "anywhere the clothing is covering is somewhere that adults can't touch you without telling.” They might as well have been stick figures, there was NO detail. But since they were in ‘underwear’ I'd always look at that page a lot. Anything barely vaguely sexual.

During this part of my life, I got no real pleasure out of this, I was just obsessed. For the first year I even watched it on mute out of fear of being caught. The lowest point during this period was when I very unfortunately filmed a video of me touching myself. I got nothing out of it and had no intent on ever sending or posting it. I was just emulating what I had been seeing. I deleted it the next day. I was 9 then.

From puberty until now (11-18) is when my sexuality was shaped by it. The addiction was far more controllable, I could spend a couple weeks to a couple months without it, but I'd always come back. Because it was now tied to my body. And while my need for it to be constant was gone, now I had to deal with the tolerance issue.

Over time what I watched became more and more depraved. I had the personal preference of hating anything amateur, because of the low quality, so I managed to avoid anything obviously non-consensual or involving visibly underaged girls, but that doesn't really mean much with the stuff the studios were putting out. During the middle points it got REALLY violent and disturbing. Bordering on torture (extreme kink) and even bodily deformation. As a young woman, I couldn't really tolerate any of the role based Kinks (father-daughter, babysitter, schoolgirl), so more extreme for me meant more extreme acts. Just absolute destruction of women's bodies for the purposes of sex. I moved away from that when tumblr banned porn and I started using reddit for it, and also during that time I was realizing how fucked up of an addiction that this was, even before I found feminism/anti-porn. I actively started trying to quit it, for good. But I always went back.

One big effect is heavy confusion with my sexual orientation. A lot of people face this, but the addition of porn for me really throws things off. Like: Am I bi, and a form of comphet/denial/inexperience keeps me from seeing women in a romantic way? Is it a mix of that and porn? (relatively likely) Or am I just straight, and the porn has completley shaped my mind (likely). 90% of the time I watched solo female content or lesbian content, and could only stand to watch certain specific forms if it included men at all. In real life I find a fair amount of men attractive but their bodies in a sexual sense are tolerable at best, but usually cringe inducing. l've never been attracted to a woman romantically, but exclusively women's bodies are sexual to me. It feels like everything in my brain that I would have been able to use in order to figure myself out has been permanently overwritten with incorrect information. Because of porn.

I've still got it bad. Every once in a while, I’ll read something vaguely sexual, or see a woman in a risque photo, and then the seed is planted. I'll always say "I'm not going to do it, I always feel disgusting after, it’s not even really enjoyable at this point, I can do better than this”. I always give in the end of the night. I'm 7 days off of it. I've been on this earth for 18 years. 12 of those years I've been cripplingly addicted to pornography. Two thirds of my life, and for as long as I can remember. I can never undo it. Just like an alcoholic will always be an alcoholic, only able to achieve remission, I will always be a porn addict. I have to be careful. But I have to hope for the future. And with finding the community that is speaking the truth about this, I'm heartened to do better. To no longer be held down by an addiction to consuming my own oppression.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Sophia Jirafe

Seven of Sophia Jirafe’s fics are at Gossamer, but more of her X-Files stories are at AO3 (as sophiahelix). I’ve recced some of my favorites of her stories here before, including Stones and Bones. She was active in the fandom during the show’s run and has never strayed far from fandom in general. She co-founded Glass Onion, a great multi-fandom mailing list that now has nearly 1,000 fics from 100 fandoms at AO3. Big thanks to Sophia Jirafe for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

It did initially, but so many old shows are on streaming now and getting discovered by new people, it makes sense.

I did get a comment from someone who said my first story under this name, posted in early 2000 when I was a college freshman, was older than her by a couple of months, and THAT took me aback.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

It was my first fandom, discovered when I was 17 and searching for info about the show on the school library computer, and it really shaped my whole life! I met a lot of people I still know today (mostly in non-fannish venues like FB, though I do still have some connections in fandom), and learned a lot about writing and just life generally, since I was younger than most of fandom at the time.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I started off on a tiny forum at a website called Squirrel’s Nest, but I kept seeing people thanking Scullyfic in fic headers and eventually I was able to join the mailing list (which was capped to 500 members). Scullyfic was everything to me — I made friends, betas, discussed the show, learned about all kinds of things on Off-Topic Fridays, etc. A lot of those friends, I would email with or more often chat on AIM (individual or these sprawling group chats that would go on all day), and then at the end of 2001 we started migrating to Livejournal. I was getting into Buffy more by then, but it was still mostly the same crowd of people I knew from Scullyfic.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

I feel like it started me on a whole life path really — finding that my deep obsession with fiction could be channeled like that and shared with other people, as well as deepening my writing. Online fandom has been a major part of my social life for over 20 years now, and I love the mix of getting excited about things with friends and also the creative outlet.

My corner of X-Files fandom in particular was just very calm and enjoyable for the most part, full of older professional women who were happy to be friends and give me advice about all kinds of things, and it really set the bar for me with my online interactions. Now I’m almost 40 and trying to be that person for my younger friends, as well as having no patience for toxicity and in-fighting in my fandom spaces.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

A combination of the creepy conspiracy angle and just adoring Scully. I remember how mysterious and fascinating the show seemed when I discovered it right before S5, and there was no way to find out more except to keep watching and hoping they explained. Scully was so smart and tough and beautiful and interesting, and as a teen I was just captivated by her (and the UST, though I didn’t care about Mulder as much).

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I ran across it a couple times early on but felt embarrassed by the concept, but then I read the first in Karen Rasch’s Words series and suddenly it clicked for me. After a while I started daydreaming my own conversations between them, very similar to what happens to me now when I’m getting into a new pairing, so after reading tons of recommended fic by big authors, I started writing my own (the 3-4 stories I posted in high school are all wiped from the internet now, though).

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Good memories, though because it was my senior year of high school and college, I know a lot of it is just tied to that time in my life, and also being in my very first fandom. I will rewatch episodes from time to time, but I basically never revisit former fandoms because they’re kind of like exes, even if I finished on a good note. I also think my taste in fic has changed (and there isn’t the same novelty of “characters I like getting together omg!”)

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

So many! None of them had quite the same combination of excellent central architecture (especially pre-AO3) and a really high level of discussion and friendliness without being enormous, but I’ve loved them all in their own ways. I’ve done fandom on LJ/DW, Tumblr, Discord, and now on Twitter, and I think I miss the mailing list days the most. You didn’t have to repeat yourself so much in multiple conversations, you weren’t character limited, and the discussion was all in one place, with personal stuff more confined to your side conversations. Discord is a little like that, but it moves too fast and there’s too much noise for my taste.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Heh, after X-Files I went through a whole phase of faves in the Scully vein — Buffy, Aeryn Sun, Kara Thrace, etc. Like many people I’ve shifted primarily into m/m in the last decade (Sherlock, YOI, and recently The Untamed have been my major fictional fandoms, along with a lot of sports RPF), but for non-fannish shows I’m always looking for awesome new female characters, like Elizabeth on the Americans, Peggy on Mad Men, Nadja on What We Do in the Shadows, etc. And I do LOVE Killing Eve and have written a little f/f over there.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I’ll rewatch favorite episodes occasionally, and I keep thinking about a full rewatch but it takes so much time! I never saw the second movie, and I didn’t finish the first of the new seasons because I was hating it, so it’s a little hard for me to think fannishly about them when I disliked basically everything after “Je Souhaite” so much (as far as I’m concerned the show ends there).

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

X-Files no, but yeah I’m still very active in fandoms.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I lost all my saved fic several computers ago, but I recall loving “Blue Christmas” by Plausible Deniability and “Diamonds and Rust” by MustangSally (obviously everything she wrote was great).

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Looking at my X-Files fic, I can’t believe how short it is and how comparatively little of it there is (I have lost track of a few ficlets). It felt like such a big deal to finish anything back then! I think my favorite remains Alphabetum, which involved a tricky structure and 5 elements given by people as part of the Scullyfic Improv challenge, where you had a week to write a story around those elements.

My favorite of my recent fic in fictional fandoms is probably the GoT/YOI crossover novel I wrote a couple years ago, for a completely opposite experience to this (and proof you can grow as a writer with a lot of effort!)

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

It’s honestly hard to imagine going back (like I said, I usually don’t), but I guess I could get inspired by something.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I certainly still write, and I do have to give credit to XF fandom and Scullyfic in particular for giving me the start I got, where I really wanted to be writing good fiction. The few things I wrote in high school were just me jamming out romantic cliches, but the people I was lucky to know in XF fandom showed me that “just” fanfic can still aspire to be high quality. I am a much, much better and more disciplined writer than I was back then, but I might never have started on this path without fandom friends encouraging me.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Usually just daydreaming about emotional dynamics between characters/people, but sometimes something specific in canon or real life (I write a lot of RPF) gets me going, or maybe something I read.

What's the story behind your pen name?

When I wrote for X-Files, I picked “Sophia Jirafe” combining my favorite first name with a fancy spelling for my favorite animal (I was 18! Don’t judge!) Over on Livejournal, my friend Jintian and I initially shared an account with the same name as our website, double_helix, and when she got her own account I changed to sophia_helix, which is now sophiahelix just about everywhere. A little clunky, but I like the continuity (and I do run across old friends who remember the name).

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

The friends I’ve known for a very long time know about it, but we have never talked about it in depth. My husband, who I met not long after getting into fandom, also knows about it, and he’s encouraging and also a writer so we talk all the time. I told my mom in college and she was pretty dismissive, so we haven’t talked about it since (but my younger sister knows and is cool about it).

When I was younger, it was something I shared readily (I bonded with a new friend in law school I saw looking at LJ), but now I don’t really bring it up with new acquaintances.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

I just made a Carrd the other day with all my various fannish addresses (Twitter, locked fannish Twitter, AO3, Tumblr)

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Just that it really was a high quality fandom — so much excellent long casefic, so many cool down to earth people, just generally a great launching place for a young fan. The friendships I made with older people were really important to me, and it makes me sad to see a lot of younger people now getting upset about the idea of anyone over a certain age being in their fandom spaces. I hope someday fandom can get back to appreciating that people of all ages can be the fandom type, and that everyone brings something different to the community.

(Posted by Lilydale on December 1, 2020)

[unnamedelement]

Image description: The first image is a drawing of Gimli from the side. He sits at a table in the archives/library in Minas Tirith and is holding a piece of parchment in his [poorly drawn] hand. There is a sheaf of notes to his left, and a venn diagram similar to the one in Image Two is sketched on it. The second image is a picture of notes from a statistics lecture on multiple regression. There is a three-way venn diagram in the upper right hand corner and others notes scrawled about.

 I don’t usually draw because it is absolutely not at ALL one of my skills and talents--have you SEEN the beautiful things people create in this fandom?!--but I started doodling after a headcanon came to me during the last hour of my Stats class today, and it carried me away. So here is a picture of Gimli laboring in the library in Minas Tirith, poring through old lore about the elves and their ailments, in an attempt to lift the spirit of his friend in the only way he knows how. Also, please indulge me by reading a new headcanon I have about dwarves. Eventually I’ll be writing up this little concept into a one-shot spinoff of my WIP series At Sea in the Middle of Ithilien. 

Non-Spoiler Summary of the Series this Headcanon Orbits

You can find the At Sea series here (Part I) and here (Part II, the WIP). Most of my other writing about the sea-longing can be found at this link.   Please dear God, do not hesitate to talk to me on Tumblr, Ao3, or FF about the sea-longing. There is little in this Middle-earth I love more than exploring this concept.

Long and short of it, these stories take place around Fourth Age 30. Legolas and his elves--including his partner--are living in Ithilien while Gimli is in Aglarond. Legolas has been increasingly struggling with the Sea-longing, and the methods he and his friends have employed for years to curb it are running thin. Eventually, a tragedy of sort strikes, and it forces them all to take a new approach. Because Gimli has always been Legolas’ anchor in the midst of the Sea-longing, they begin the long labor of piecing Legolas back together.

And that’s where the headcanon comes in! Click below to read about dwarves and statistics and how Gimli tries to heal his favorite elf’s heart.

Basically, I decided that dwarves have an excellent understanding of mathematics and statistical analysis--beyond the understanding of even the Noldor in the Third Age--due to the limitations of their mortal lives. They are makers, creators, craftsmen, and builders, and they do not have forever to wait around to watch what happens, to piece together the patterns of things, and yet there is a drive and a fire to create. And, thus, for dwarves, math and formulas and statistics become a key and increasingly complex part of not just the designing of things but also the predicting of them. The dwarves collect data on a number of things, so they can answer questions like-- In what circumstances is a flood most likely to collapse a tunnel? What factors increase the likelihood of death during famine? Which jewels are most lucrative when brought in which seasons to which markets of Men? Dwarves are a sturdy people, but this self-created knowledge is part of what makes them so. So, after the War, Gimli brings these skills of his people to Minas Tirith and then, afterward, to the Glittering Caves--the planning and safety of these places, their structures and their beauty is rivaled only by the reliability of his work.  Thirty years pass and we are just past the time of At Sea. Gimli and Legolas travel together while he puts himself back together, and they follow Aragorn’s careful instructions on all those things that he thinks and he hopes--as a healer--are most likely to keep Legolas’ feet on the ground. But elves are not meant to resist the Sea, and they do not have much to go on but supposition and prayer.  But then Gimli begins to think. For, oftentimes, aren’t decisions made without all the data? Certainly there are not elves a-plenty to ask about the Sea here in the Fourth Age, he ponders, and there are none living save Legolas who are actively denying it, but surely there is information hidden about somewhere? There are archives in Minas Tirith, he muses, and libraries kept still by the Sons of Elrond in Imladris, after all... And if he can collect as much data as he possibly can from accounts of the past, might they not have a better idea of what things to expect, what things to avoid, and what things they might try to sooth his friend’s soul? For even if no elf in the history of the world resisted so long as his, there are probably hints hidden in all these millenia of writing that may open the door to improvement... And, so, when they return from their wandering, Gimli sets to it, for he is stalwart and stubborn and a solver of problems. He pores over texts and writes to Rivendell to ask they do the same; he recruits Faramir and Elboron to the project; he consults Arwen and writes to Mirkwood for whatever oral lore they may have stored away there in Wood-elven minds, and he works and works and works. He catalogues every possible example of Sea-longing and its effects and outcomes and the traits of the elves that have suffered it. He analyzes specific cases closely and uses them to guide the coding until he has buckets of predictors and traits and variables that might map onto outcomes and behaviors and feelings that he can just barely grasp, dwarven as he is, but that he hopes--if intervened on--might alter the course of things for his friend. So, eventually, Gimli has set to work with his formulas and his statistics, and he labors and calculates and checks and rechecks until he thinks he has some answers--he takes what he has found to Aragorn and Arwen, and eventually to Legolas and to his people. Then--after much time and much patience; some tears and much frustration; moments of failure and triumph and vulnerability and forgiveness--the stability of a new normal emerges, and it becomes a little bit more enjoyable and much more manageable for Legolas to move through a world in the Fourth Age of Men that is no longer built to accommodate elves. It is not perfect but it is enough. And that is the way that Gimli became the first dwarf in Middle-earth to labor so for the cause of an elf as to be named elvellon twice over. And it is also the story of how a dwarf became the first person in the history of their world to approach the healing of hearts in so logical a way that--nestled within the complimentary knowledge of those things beyond numbers--a new era of treatment was born. And all of this because a Dwarf could not bear to be parted from his Elf.

THE END

[shiraglassman]

Rec: “Hungry Hearts” - mostly WoC authored YA short story collection about food and community

Hungry Hearts - I’m not gonna link it here because of Tumblr’s weird issues with links but if you search Big Evil River Site or your local library (since it’s with a big enough publisher to be AT the library) or anywhere else With Books, look for the one that’s “Edited by Elsie Chapman.”

Review!

I stumbled onto this anthology by accident while searching one of its authors, and feel very lucky to have done so. For one thing, I LOVE food and have a special fondness for the human stories of the restaurant business, because of my work history. For another thing, short stories make great snacks during the pandemic when longer tasks seem intimidating. I also really adore the way all the stories are linked despite having separate authors, because all the restaurants and families that run them are on the same street -- so characters from one will show up in another making the reader grin with familiarity. I'm not used to reading an anthology that crosses genre like this in the same setting -- some of the stories are firmly rooted in contemporary YA -- both romantic and not -- while others are paranormal (or otherwise magical) or even suspense. I can definitely get behind a communal storytelling, "all genres welcome here" atmosphere. What you will get in this book are trips into the world of teens who are looking for confidence and find it, teens who are looking to start new relationships or repair old ones, teens who are .... looking to appease an angry ghost? Solve a missing persons case? Win competitions? Yeah, like I said, this book has a little of everything. One pleasant surprise for me was that there was more than one story that had a f/f resolution. The book also has a trans m/f romance (as well as some cis m/f romances) and casual mentions of other queer characters -- it's definitely nice to be included in books that are not specifically queer-focused. Makes me feel like I'm part of the world, not just the queer world. To squee about some of the individual stories a little: "The Slender One" by Caroline Tung Richmond is a wonderful story about a Chinese diaspora boy who's inherited his grandmother's ability to talk to ghosts. He ends up having to appease one during the local food festival, and I enjoyed both the paranormal and "YA drama with other teens" plot. "Hearts a la Carte" by Karuna Riaza took me all over the place emotionally, with a Muslim YA twist on the age-old dilemma of superhero romance: how do you cope with being the non-powered love interest mixed up in the conflict between good and evil? I guess mentioning that he's a superhero is a spoiler given the way it's written but maybe there are some people out there who would rather know a story like this exists than go without. "Bloom" by @phoebenorthauthor made me literally squeal. And I was outside reading in my yard at the time so I'm glad it was early enough in the morning that nobody heard me! Okay so: this is the book's Jewish story (each story focuses on a different culture, written by an author from that culture -- other stories include Filipino, Montenegran, Black, Mexican, Iranian, etc.) and I'm Jewish so I'm just really glad that I ended up liking "our" story so much. The reason I loved it is that there's a phenomenon in literature that has very rarely happened to me but that I adore, where the author makes me want something, in this case a relationship endgame, before I have any indication at all that it's actually going to happen in the story. It's the sign of a really skilled romance writer when the author makes you 'ship the characters without even knowing that's what's going to happen, because it shows that there's something there between them besides "the plot said so." Well, let me tell you, Reader, I loved this character. If you've read my books I think you'll understand where I'm going when I say that Mangoverse fans or fans of my other writing will love Chava. Even though she doesn't get much screen time, there's a lot there and I was so happy to get the resolution the story made me want without telegraphing that it was gonna give it to me. That's like writing-burlesque! Good job, Author :P "A Bountiful Film" by SK Ali has no romance or paranormal (which I guess is a spoiler in this particular story) but instead just has a really, really good girl-centered plot about mystery, competition, and friendship. Top-notch short story writing. "Side Work" by Sarah Farizan is also f/f and cool, and for the first time in the book we hear about the threat of The Chain Restaurant. I enjoyed seeing all the plot threads come together, restaurant vs. chain, teen redeeming herself to the parents she let down, girls tiptoeing towards relationship. Throughout the book, a Mexican diaspora girl flits in and out of the scenery handing out pastries to the main characters of each story. The final story of the collection, "Panaderia - Pasteleria" by Anna-Marie McLemore, is her story, so by the time she shows up -- like a foreshadowed dessert -- we're so glad to see her! And she gets the book's trans romance, written by a trans writer. Incidentally, this is where the book finally mentions gentrification, after the whole book makes us fall in love with the unique patchwork of Hungry Hearts row, it reminds us that places like this can evaporate all too easily. I think that makes the warning all that much more effective and cutting. I hope I've convinced you to check out this book. If even one of these stories sounds intriguing, or if you, too, are stuck in your house and wish you could be visiting a place this colorful instead, it'll be worth it. And again: if you follow me because you like Mangoverse, you are going to have fun here. (I will note that one of the stories is straight-up horror and another one is pretty violent, so I'm gonna slap some TW's on the Missing Ingredient one and also Kings and Queens. But they are still very very good.)

[bubonickitten]

TMA fic: where there’s a will, we make a way

New chapter is up on AO3 here!

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 11 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 11: mild self-harm (brief instance of wrist banging/bruising to distract from intrusive thoughts; mention of scratching/skin picking); some Buried-related claustrophobic memories; mentions of Jon starving himself (wrt to consuming statements, but worth mentioning for anyone who needs content warnings related to eating disorders, restrictive diets, etc.; there will be more going forward of Jon being hungry and restricting himself, and I'll keep warning for it, especially in chapters where it features heavily). SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 11: Reaching Out

The tunnels are as ominous as they’ve always been, but at this point, Jon just might be growing accustomed to them. The creeping fear he’s always felt down here has faded to the background – an ambient sense of dread. It's almost tolerable, or at least less oppressive than the omnipresent sense of being watched that he’s long since accepted as his normal.

Here, he can compose his letter to Martin without the risk of Jonah Seeing exactly what Jon’s eyes see.

After the Watcher’s Crown, Jonah did not Watch through Jon’s eyes anymore. Whether that was because Jon was stronger than Jonah at that point or because Jonah did not bother to try, Jon doesn’t Know. Once the ritual was completed, Jonah no longer had any stake in Jon’s trajectory, no need to monitor his progress or ensure his survival. Moreover, Jonah’s inflated ego never allowed for the possibility that Jon could pose a threat to his reign. His Archivist – his Archive – had no further interest to him except as a source of entertainment, and he didn’t need to See through Jon’s eyes in order to behold the show. He could See all of creation from the Panopticon.

Jon is stronger now than he was the last time he was here, but he’s still nowhere near as powerful as he was during the apocalypse. He’s tried to Know how he measures up against Jonah now, but the Beholding seems intent on withholding that knowledge from him. Last time he made an attempt, the Eye treated him to a litany of statistics about the interactions between the human body and the venom of various species of spider.

Sometimes Jon thinks that if the Beholding is sentient, it might just be the pettiest of the Dread Powers.

In any case, Jonah Magnus is still as much of a gnawing question mark as he’s always been. It’s safest to assume that he has the advantage until proven otherwise – and Jon will take the tunnels over Jonah’s voyeurism any day, no matter how harrowing they may be. Even if he has to be down here alone – which he is.

Georgie is with Melanie, and Jon is reluctant to ask Basira for any favors right now. He wonders again if this is how Martin felt, living in the Archives, spending sleepless nights with himself and the scratching of a pen as his only companions. Just like Jon, Martin was never very good company for himself, especially back then – and back now. He was primed for the Lonely long before he started working at the Institute.

Speaking of which…

Jon sighs, puts his pen down, and begins to read through what he’s written.

I’m sorry I left you.

…now I’m here, trying to explain things –

– had changed since he left –

– it seemed he was alone –

– as far as I could tell, all alone in the world, and rather unhappy about the fact.

I will admit to taking a dislike to the man when I first met him – but –

– I’d say that – was a foolish act of past me.

Jon is still worried about starting the letter like this, but this is a point in time not too far removed from his early mistreatment of Martin. Jon had made his apologies and explanations at length in his future, but this version of Martin hasn’t experienced that yet. Jon can’t just jump into showing affection before taking accountability for his past behavior – recent past, from the perspective of this timeline.

He can only hope that Martin will read through to the end, and that Jon’s intention – his sincerity – will be understood.

Soon I was giving my account as a full confession –

– trying my best to fit this into a relatively coherent narrative.

It’s plenty of things I’ve done I couldn’t explain to you. I mean, I’m constantly – looking back at my past self and thinking, what an idiot. How the hell could he have done such an obviously stupid thing? How was I surprised it went so badly? What a relief I’m now so much older and wiser.

I’ve never really been the social type – I’ve always just been happier alone. Well, maybe happier isn’t quite the right word. I did get a bit lonely sometimes. I’d hear laughter coming from other rooms in my building, or see a group of friends talking in the sun outside, and maybe I’d wish I had something like that, but it never really bothered me – I didn’t need another people and they certainly didn’t need me.

Jon looks down at the words with a dissatisfied scowl. Does this come off as too self-centered? As more as an excuse than an explanation? This would be so much easier if he could just say what he means. Then again, Jon’s always struggled with discussing emotional matters, hasn't he? He can’t blame it all on the Archive.

These thoughts, these feelings were always in my mind – until – I realized the deeper truth of it all.

I tried to put it into words, but without any real success. Even here, with the time to compose it properly, I’m not sure I’ve caught the essence of what I felt –

– I had a look through my library, and couldn’t find anything that matched it –

– those are musings for poets, among whom I do not number –

– it’s all very well to say ‘write down what you saw,’ but what if you don’t have the words?

I suppose I’ll just have to try.

I’ve always been more comfortable alone –

– had few friends – reluctant to make the sort of connections that might lead to –

– the prospect of being genuinely loved –

– fully and completely known –

– having people be genuinely lovely to me, I didn’t know what to do with those feelings –

– I could never bring myself to try. It felt more comfortable, more familiar, to be alone.

It is the fear of being watched, and judged, and having all your secrets known.

Ironic, in some ways –

– being what I am –

– an Archivist pleading for knowledge –

– to feed the sick voyeur that lurks in this place.

Eventually, I opened my eyes –

– feeling absurd about how terrified I was about being seen –

– kicking myself for having been so stupid –

– it wasn’t natural for people to live in isolation – we were creatures of community by nature.

Soon enough, I could no longer fool myself –

– the man I loved –

– who was by all accounts such a kind and gentle soul –

– when I – saw him standing there waiting for me – I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than in that moment.

He spoke words I thought existed only in my heart, and I loved him as the soil loves the rain –

– and it seemed he felt the same way –

– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.

Everything about being with him felt so natural that when he told me he loved me, it only came as a surprise to realize that we hadn’t said it already.

…to say – “I love you” – honestly it’s one of the few decisions I’ve ever made that I completely understand.

It’s… woefully inadequate. Too devoid of context. Unlikely to reach Martin through the fog. But maybe it will be enough to at least convince him to talk to Jon. To keep the Lonely at bay, at least for now.

After leaving the hospital, the next thing that is properly clear in my mind is –

– I need him to be okay.

I couldn’t see him or hear him –

– I didn’t even get a chance to speak to him – asked what had happened, he was just gone. And I was alone again.

I wanted to say something reassuring, to reach out and let him know I was still there –

– I wanted to act, to help, to do something, but – I felt helpless to do anything but watch as events progressed.

I think he might be part of something really awful, and I don’t know how to make him see that – of course I did worry. I knew that, secretly, he was as well.

I know how that sounds – but – I ask you to read on.

For a split second, the memory of the ritual flits through his mind – Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading … – and Jon brings his wrist down on the side of his chair, hard. The pain jolts him out of the recollection and brings him back to the present. He watches halfheartedly as the discoloration fades before his eyes, frustration with his overreaction itching in the back of his mind. Stupid.

With a longsuffering sigh, he rereads the previous section again. The borrowed words sound patronizing, without the qualifying context he wishes he could provide more explicitly. He isn’t just nitpicking – it’s crucial that Martin knows that Jon isn’t underestimating him, despite a history of doing exactly that for far too long.

The first time around, he trusted Martin – more than he trusted anyone, including (perhaps especially) himself – and even knowing what he knows now, he doesn’t regret it. He heard the tapes.

“But if I could just explain,” Martin had said.

“And how do you think Jon’s going to react to that explanation, hm?” Peter had replied. “You think he’ll accept it calmly? Come through with a well-considered, rational response?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Or would he assume he knows better than you and do something rash?”

“I don’t like being manipulated.”

“That’s fair. But I’m not wrong.”

“No.”

In Jon’s original timeline, he had proven Peter wrong. He had trusted Martin, respected his boundaries, followed his lead. This time, though… Jon won’t be able to demonstrate that with non-interference, and not being able to use his own words doesn’t help him explain that this isn’t just another instance of Jon just assuming he knows better than everyone else, that he actually does have special knowledge, and – well, truthfulness aside, that sounds condescending, too, doesn’t it?

He doesn’t blame Martin for agreeing with Peter. For a significant portion of Jon’s life, it would have been a fair assessment. He didn’t trust people. He didn’t trust himself, either – not really – but at least he knew his own intentions. That bone-deep fear of being manipulated, of being rejected, of not having control… it never played well with the concept of trust.

And when they first started working together, Jon made no secret of his knee-jerk judgment of Martin as being incompetent, clumsy, and unreliable. In retrospect, he couldn’t have been more wrong – and he knows now that he was only seeing what he wanted to see, projecting his own insecurities and fear of failure onto Martin to distract from his own floundering.

After learning that Martin had lied on his CV, Jon readjusted his initial opinions. He was impressed. Martin was remarkably capable for someone with no prior qualifications, no experience, no degree. What he lacked in experience he more than made up for in effort. He was clever, and resolute, and dependable, and genuine, and… and god, wasn’t Jon a fool for taking so long to notice? And then for never saying as much until it was almost too late?

This version of Martin hasn’t heard that apology just yet – or the corollary apology for waiting so long to apologize. Georgie had told him years ago that he needed to use his words, that people needed to hear directly that they were acknowledged and appreciated. Jon himself struggled with reading between the lines. Just because he had low tolerance for receiving direct praise – despite craving it deeply – didn’t mean that other people had the same hangups.

He’s since taken that advice to heart, but he should have done sooner. Georgie had been right about a lot of things.

Jon did eventually say as much and more, during those brief few weeks they had in the safehouse. Peter hadn’t been all wrong when he questioned how much they really knew one another. Between Jon’s early irascibility and the distance he felt obligated to keep given their employee/boss relationship; between preventing apocalypses and being in such constant life-or-death peril that it started to feel normal, so normal that Jon didn’t know what to do with himself when he wasn’t being chased or held captive; between the coma, and descending into inhumanity, and the Lonely… they hadn’t had a chance to get to know each other outside of a crisis situation.

Jon didn’t even know himself anymore. He wondered if he ever had.

For the first time, they finally had the time and space to remedy that. Both of them were changed and would never be the same, but they had each other. They were both willing to put in the effort, to learn how to communicate and accommodate and navigate boundaries, despite neither having much experience with a healthy relationship. And for a little while, it had seemed that they could both learn how to be present in the world again – starting with their own microcosm, one day at a time, encouraging one another to be more patient and kind with themselves.

It wasn’t fair, how abruptly that hesitant, hopeful attempt was stolen from them. Jon didn’t feel like he deserved comfort and contentment – he still doesn’t – but Martin… Martin deserved – deserves – to be safe and cared for and loved. Martin deserves to be happy.

Jon desperately wants to help him See that.

Don’t… misunderstand me, please –

– I trusted his instincts almost as much as I trusted my own.

More than I trusted my own, Jon amends in his head – but the Archive isn’t cooperating.

But I knew that I – knew the future –

– the promise of secret knowledge, of seeing something that no one else was privy to –

– there was – a lot – we were missing.

Please. All I ask is that I be allowed –

– a chance to express myself –

– said something about knowledge being a good defense here –

– so here I am, pouring out my lunatic story on paper in the hopes that you might eventually read it.

Statement of Georgina Barker regarding –

– travel through time.

Jon still has to ask Georgie if she can explain the situation to Martin, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind. It won’t be as comprehensive as Jon wishes it could be – he still struggles with explaining the fine details of the apocalypse to the others given his current limitations – but he’s done his best, and he can trust Georgie to do the same.

Some fears can only be endured for so long. I remember every second of that fall. Like it was happening in slow motion. I was certain I was about to watch him fall like I had.

That knowledge I had gained – could finally be put to use.

I shall do my best to explain, and hope that any revelations contained here in me sway you from the path you have started upon.

I wanted to tell him to stop, to warn him – because I knew –

– the Extinction – while I have seen evidence of its influence in other powers –

– there was no sign of – imminent arrival – I resolved –

– its emergence as a true power of its own –

– wasn’t a threat.

Whatever he was planning –

– to try and rescue those trapped –

– trying to protect me –

– defending the world from the darkness…

…I know – to talk to other people about it –

– desperately wishing for another human being to talk to –

– to take too much comfort in – people – would go quite strongly against the spirit of the experiment – had to really feel alone. That at least didn’t take too long to set in.

All that remained was the fog – could wander there for years, and never meet another – utterly forsaken – there seemed to be no end to it.

But it didn’t need to be forever, did it?

“This too shall pass.”

I tried to explain but all I could manage to get through the shaking sobs was, “I love you.”

By then it looked like he was on the verge of tears,

Jon stops reading for a moment, realizing that, aptly enough, he’s on the verge of tears right now. He swallows them back and continues.

By then it looked like he was on the verge of tears, but I couldn’t leave it alone – just couldn’t let it go.

I have tried to write it down, to put it into terms and words you could understand. And now I stare at it and not a word of it is even enough to fully describe the fact that –

I cannot lose him.

I – cared deeply about his well-being.

I know he didn’t deserve what happened to him.

He deserved to –

– to be – beloved –

– cared for – trusted –

– being wanted and appreciated –

– being genuinely loved –

– no matter how wrong it might feel –

– when you’re at your lowest point, when you’re your most emotionally vulnerable.

I need him to be okay –

– and the world is so much better for –

– the easy, charming man I’d fall in love with –

– being in it.

Please. All I ask is that I be allowed to –

– talk to you, before it all comes to an end –

– and I swear to you that –

– if you decide to do it – if –

– you want to be alone – and –

– didn’t say much to me after that –

– I made sure to keep – distance.

There’s so much more Jon wishes he could say; so much that he wishes he could say in his own voice, rather than the stolen words of survivors recounting the most traumatic moments of their lives. It still feels perverse, to use their statements like this. It might not be as bad as feeding directly on a victim, but it still falls on a spectrum of appropriating the torment of others for his own use.

At the end of the day, it really doesn’t feel all that different from Jonah’s brand of dehumanization. It’s just one more way Jon is complicit in the evil that thrives in this place –

“Hey,” comes Georgie’s voice from just a few yards away. Jon startles, sending his pen clattering to the floor. He had been so lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t even heard her descending the ladder. “Sorry,” she says with a wince. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Retrieving the fallen pen, Jon waves the apology off – it’s okay – and Georgie comes to sit next to him.

“Finished with your letter?”

“…I’m vague on the details,” he says. “I have to be.”

“Want me to take a look?”

Jon nods; he had been planning on asking her to read it through. Even if it was in his own words, he would likely run it by her. He trusts Georgie’s judgment regarding relationship matters far more than he trusts his own, and he knows she’ll be straightforward with him if he’s said something… well, stupid. He’s gotten better at communicating, but that doesn’t mean his tendency to put his foot in his mouth has disappeared entirely.

He jiggles his leg restlessly as she reads, increasingly self-conscious the longer the silence goes on. He resists scratching at his hands – Georgie is sure to reprimand him if he starts that up again. It isn’t that she has a problem with his fidgeting; she was actually one of the first people in his life to tolerate it. Encouraged it, even. She pointed out quite bluntly once that whenever Jon tried to force himself to sit still, his restless energy didn’t go away, it just came out as waspishness instead.

But she had a rule: no self-harm, no matter how mild. Personally, he didn’t categorize the scratching as self-harm, but she was firm about it. Lately, the scratching is limited mostly to his burned hand, and he’s tried explaining to her that it doesn’t even hurt – the scar tissue doesn’t register much sensation anymore – but she won’t hear it. For the past couple weeks, whenever she catches him at it, she gives him a look until he stops.

“I think it’s good,” Georgie says. “But…”

Jon tenses, but then he glimpses Georgie’s playful grin.

“It’s nothing bad! It’s just… well…”

He can hear the spark of mischief in her tone and somehow that makes him more apprehensive than the prospect of criticism.

“See, you say you’re not a poet,” she says, pointing at the letter, “but this part here…”

He spoke words I thought existed only in my heart, and I loved him as the soil loves the rain –

– and it seemed he felt the same way –

– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.

“You go and use a sappy metaphor – and I know,” she says, seeing him ready to protest, “they’re not your words and you’re using what you have available.”

Yes, he wants to say, and my vast library comprised solely of people’s retellings of their supernatural trauma isn’t exactly forthcoming with declarations of love, Georgina.

“But,” she says, goading now, “then you go and rhyme the first and last lines.”

Jon squints at the letter, and…

Fuck. It does rhyme.

He moves to snatch the paper away and Georgie stands and holds it out of reach, dancing backwards.

“No, nope, absolutely not,” she says, laughing. “Jonathan Sims, I refuse to let you change it. You’re leaving it exactly as is.”

“…being used against me in a cruel joke,” he huffs, glowering at her – but her laugh has always been infectious, and he can’t fight it as his lips twitch into a smile.

She hands the letter back to him after a minute, still grinning when she takes her seat again.

“I’m teasing you. You can change it if you want, but I think it’s adorable and you should leave it. Besides, Martin’s a poet, isn’t he? He might get a kick out of it.”

Honestly, it doesn’t bother him enough to rewrite the entire thing. And if there’s a chance of it coaxing a smile out of Martin…

“On a more serious note – this part here, ‘statement of Georgina Barker’ – I’m assuming you want me to try to convince him that you actually are a time traveler here to stop the apocalypse?” Jon nods. “Probably easier than trying to write it all out. I don’t mind, but are you sure he’ll listen to me?”

Jon shrugs. He has the same worry, but…

“As for myself, I must cling to –”

“– that most insidious of emotions: hope.”

“Somehow both unexpectedly sappy and predictably ominous,” she replies, “but I’ll take it. Better than despair, anyway.”

Despite the light teasing, the smile she flashes is genuine. Fleeting, though, as she continues.

“Oh, and one more thing – that one bit, capital-E Extinction? One, don’t like the sound of that, and two – should I know what that is? Melanie hasn’t mentioned anything like that before.”

“I’m sorry – it won’t let me say the words,” Jon says with a frustrated sigh.

“Will Martin know what it means, though?” Jon nods. With any luck, Martin can be persuaded to fill the others in on it. “Good enough.”

She watches him for a few moments as he chews at his thumbnail, leg still shaking, staring at the floor.

“Something’s on your mind.”

Jon sighs and closes his eyes.

“I could feel hunger gnawing at me.”

“You still haven’t had a statement?” Georgie says, frowning at him.

“Something he could salvage from the whole situation,” he mutters, not looking up at her. “Just a way of getting some control over his life, you know?”

“Jon, you can’t just starve yourself –”

“Running was pointless,” he agrees sullenly. “To try to escape from my task would only serve to fulfill another. I finally understood what I needed to do –”

“– some hungers are too strong to be denied –”

“– you have to feed it – or it will feed on you.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“Even as I did so, in the back of my mind I hated myself –”

“– to feed the sick voyeur that lurks in this place.”

“I’m not saying you should… go hunting, or whatever you want to call it. This is an archive, there are plenty of statements lying around.”

“…you’ve got all this… all these people’s experiences listened to and filed away.”

“Right. They’re already given. They can’t be taken back. You’re not going out and hurting people, you’re just… reading what’s already here.”

She thinks he was just agreeing with her, he realizes – she didn’t comprehend his true meaning there. How could she have? He hasn’t properly explained to them that he is the Archive. He already Knows all of the statements housed here. Old statements were stale even when he hadn’t read them yet. Now, they’re even less fulfilling.

As a child, he hated reading anything that he felt like he had read before. It seems morbidly fitting that the Archivist in him is much the same way.

“Think of it like… like harm reduction,” Georgie is saying now. “From what I can gather, abstinence just isn’t an option for you, at least not right now. The next best thing is to meet yourself where you are. Even if you can’t stop, you can still take steps to minimize the harm – and that includes harm to yourself. Reading the statements that are already here – I think it’s justifiable, if the alternative is starving to death.”

“I am not sure how long this might continue for. Maybe years. Maybe forever.”

“Maybe. But right now, you need to take it one step at a time. You’re getting ready to hurl yourself into danger. You should be at full strength for that. If you aren’t going to sleep, you at least need to eat something.”

She has a point. There is one other concern, though.

“It seems I cannot avoid the ceaseless gaze of – Jonah –”

“– still there, still watching me –”

“– eyes were always focused on something, always watching. And – I always felt afraid –”

“– being under constant scrutiny and observation –”

“– it may be worth your while to keep an eye on the statements – in case he finds his way here –”

“– my mind has always been receptive to the thoughts that lurk in the written page –”

“– that throw out strange or sometimes even dangerous things –”

“– a simple ruse or deception –”

“– quietly waiting for you to lose your footing, to slip up and fall.”

“You’re afraid of getting tricked into reading the wrong statement again.”

Jon nods, not quite meeting her eye. All of the statements housed here are already catalogued in the Archive. He can recall them on his own word for word, if he concentrates. But something about that doesn’t feel right. Physically reading the statement, speaking it into the tape recorder… it’s like its own little ritual – like there’s an order of operations that has to be followed or it doesn’t count, somehow.

“…I outlined basic checks in due diligence –”

“– checking and double checking –”

“– before I finally felt safe enough –”

“– to read a statement – hitting record and speaking it aloud.”

“Well… we can probably vet them before giving them to you?”

“…they were also there as a backup in case something went horribly wrong – in case –”

“– it tried to read me back.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll let Basira know.”

Her expression is concerned, but there’s something else underneath it. It doesn’t seem like judgment, or suspicion, or any of the other reactions he’s come to expect when discussing his reliance on the statements. It’s definitely not fear; this is Georgie. Pity, maybe?

Whatever it is, it makes him feel small and exposed and uncomfortably seen.

“Jon, look at me.” He does, with hesitation. “I know things are bad, and I’ll admit I was skeptical when you first said you wanted to change, but based on what I’ve seen over the past few months? I believe in you. It’s okay to have a little faith in yourself, too. I think you’ll need to, if you want to get through this.”

His gaze drifts to the floor, self-conscious.

“Anyway, it's probably best that Elias doesn’t see us pre-screening statements for you, right? Might make him suspicious. I can just gather a box of them and bring them down here. I’ll bring Basira with me, and we can explain the situation.” She stands and starts to walk toward the ladder, then stops abruptly. “Wait.”

She does a half-turn, not quite facing him, watching the floor pensively.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for. Is there something particular – like, do you have preferences, or – are there… nutritional requirements or something?” Jon can’t help it; he smiles at the absurdity of it all. “Do you need variety? Does a balanced diet even apply in this –”

Realizing he isn’t replying to any of her questions, she finally looks up, sees his amused smirk, and pauses mid-flustered gesture. He chuckles softly and shakes his head, mortified by the idea of cultivating a preference for statements as if choosing from a menu, but also just a bit shamefully, morbidly endeared at her thoughtfulness.

“Well, I don’t know!” she says indignantly, but she grins back. “Fine. I’ll grab a bunch at random then, and you can just deal. Ass.”

God, he missed this easy, playful banter even more than he had realized.

Jon watches as she climbs the ladder, preparing for the customary anxiety that tends to hit him whenever she leaves his presence – that conviction that it will be the last he sees of her.

When she pulls herself up through the trapdoor, though, he’s pleasantly surprised to note that the fear doesn’t come. He’s even more surprised that a half-hour later, when Georgie sends Basira with a box of statements but doesn’t accompany her, the fear still doesn’t overwhelm him. It shouldn’t be that surprising – he does trust Georgie – but intellectually understanding something isn’t the same as emotionally assimilating it. It seems that for once, his emotions have caught up with reality.

“Melanie needs company right now, so Georgie couldn’t come with. She didn't say exactly what you needed help with, but I think I have an idea.”

“…to keep an eye on the statements –”

“– they were also there as a backup in case something went horribly wrong.”

“Figured as much. Anyway, Georgie said she’ll come see you before she goes home today.” Basira drops the box on the floor in front of him. “I told her you probably wouldn’t want her present for the statements anyway. No need to expose more people to them if we can help it. I thought you’d agree.”

Jon nods, thankful that Basira is on the same page and he didn’t have to bother explaining it himself.

“So, any stand out to you?”

May as well get it over with, Jon thinks with a heavy sigh.

He leans over the box and sifts through them, eyes skimming over the case numbers until one catches his eye. CASE #0020312, the label reads. Figures, he thinks to himself with a grim, humorless smile, and he hands it over to Basira for her to inspect.

She skims through it quickly – she’s a fast reader, Jon notes – and at several points her eyebrows raise and furrow.

“Seems normal enough – for a statement, anyway,” she says, handing it back to him. Then, meeting his eyes: “A bit on the nose, though.” Jon shrugs. “You want me to stay while you read it, right? Go on, then.”

The tape recorder clicks on in his pocket, as if to voice its agreement. Jon removes it and takes a moment to glare at it before turning his eyes to the statement, clearing his throat, and beginning his monologue.

“Statement of Tova McHugh, regarding their string of near-death experiences. Original statement given December 3rd, 2002. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins…”

The Coffin sits where Breekon dropped it, hungry and waiting. It’s the densest, most solid thing in the room, as if it has its own gravity, a sort of metaphysical black hole. It’s not as bad as the rift at Hill Top Road, but it has a similar feel to it: oppressive, wrong, its existence impossible but unavoidably present all the same.

Jon stands at the threshold, blocking the entrance, Basira and Georgie standing behind him.

“So this is it, then,” Georgie says. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

“…as you can imagine, getting out of there proved – difficult –”

“– but they did return.”

She still looks uncertain, watching the Coffin as if it might move on its own.

“…try to keep you far away –”

“– didn’t want a good look inside that room – stopped at the threshold –”

“– make it very little distance over the threshold before – swallowed –”

“– you must trust me on that and not come looking –”

“– supervise from a distance –”

“Jon,” Basira says, cutting him off, “we get it. It’s dangerous, stay away, et cetera. I can feel the compulsion from here; you really don’t need to tell me twice, let alone five times.”

Jon barely hears her, his mind already entirely occupied with what he’s about to do. He stands paralyzed, knees locked, hands trembling just slightly, pulse thundering in his throat. Already his breath feels constricted, and he hasn’t even opened the thing yet.

“Do you need more time?” Georgie asks gently.

Jon shuts his eyes, swallows around the lump in his throat, and shakes his head no. The longer he puts it off, the harder it will be to take the plunge. And Daisy has waited long enough.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Jon breathes out, opens his eyes, and turns to face her. She opens her arms slightly, offering an embrace – but he shakes his head, giving her an apologetic look. Pressure is usually good, grounding him, but right now – well, he’s about to have all of creation pressing in on him, and any reminder of that is only going to send him spiraling.

“Okay. You have everything you need?”

He nods, trying to project whatever thin veneer of confidence he can muster – more for himself than the others, really. He holds up the tape recorder with Daisy’s statement tape in it, then gestures vaguely at the tape recorders littering his desk.

“…like breadcrumbs taking us home. Home, in this case, was –”

“Martin,” Georgie says with a knowing smile. “I’ll make sure he gets your message – and yes,” she says, seeing him about to interject, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t read it outside the tunnels. And I’ll explain… the situation. Don’t worry about things over here. Just focus on what you need to do on your end.”

Jon nods again, clenching and unclenching his fist at his side, stuffing the tape recorder back into his pocket with the other hand.

Time to stop dithering, he tells himself firmly.

“Tell Daisy I –” Basira blurts out, then pauses, struggling for words. “Tell her…”

She breathes out a short exhale and looks up at Jon. He nods at her: I understand.

“Tell her I’m waiting.” She pauses, biting her lip. “And Jon?” He makes a questioning noise. “Come back safe,” she says, then turns on her heel and walks briskly away down the hall.

“We’ll see you home soon, Jon,” Georgie says. She pours every ounce of reassurance into it that she can manage, but he can feel that she’s still apprehensive. “Don’t get lost.”

“…I’d – get out of there as soon as possible,” he says, trying to mirror her composure.

“You’d better. I doubt I’ll be the only one cross with you if you stay away too long.”

The tape recorders fill the room with a low, static-leaden murmuring – dozens of overlapping tones, unbroken streams of phonemes rendered nearly incomprehensible, discrete parts unable to compete against the cacophony of the whole. Although it sounds like the background noise of a crowd to Jon, he Knows every word being said: a litany of horror and dread unspooling in the air around him.

He also Knows that they will continue running, replaying each statement on a loop until he returns, no batteries required.

A notebook sits on his desk, battered and careworn. It’s Martin’s, half-filled with poems and works-in-progress, many of them from the weeks he was living in the Archives. He left it here when he went to work for Peter. Whether it was meant as a deliberate symbolic gesture – leaving the past behind him, sacrificing this sentimental part of himself in order to become what Peter’s plan required him to be – or was simply an oversight after months of having no time or mind for writing, Jon still doesn’t Know. He never asked. In the future, after Martin started writing again, Jon felt it was best not to reopen old wounds for the sake of satiating his own curiosity.

If only he could have learned that lesson earlier in life.

Jon has never been a fan of poetry. It’s never really resonated with him; he’s never understood it, and he… doesn’t have much patience for things he cannot understand. But then, Martin went to work for Peter Lukas – and the last time Jon was here, he had burned every other bridge between himself and humanity.

When he was a child, he had convinced himself that he didn’t need friends, didn’t need affection. He found human connection in books, and he told himself that it was enough. It wasn’t, in retrospect: he entered adolescence and then adulthood with stunted social skills, and practicing didn't seem worth the risk of failure. Between that and being the Archivist, it was no wonder he had chased everyone away.

By the time he woke up from his first coma, he knew that books would be no replacement for actual companionship, but he thought it might at least take the edge off, like it used to when he was a child. It backfired terribly. He would always Know how the story ended before even finishing the first chapter, and it would demolish any motivation to continue reading. It wasn’t just that his reading habits now tend to be as particular as they were when he was young, having little patience for anything that felt like he had read it before. It was that he couldn’t have a moment of peace from the knowledge of what he had become.

One day he stumbled across Martin’s notebook in Document Storage, along with some spoken word recordings that Martin had made while living in the Archives. At first, Jon didn’t know what the tapes were, and listening to any tapes that turned up had long since become automatic for him. Once he realized what was on them, he probably should have stopped, but he listened to every second of that handful of tapes, over and over and over again. He felt guilty – he had already violated Martin’s privacy once before, when he was deep in the throes of paranoia – but he justified it to himself because he… well, he'd needed to hear Martin’s voice.

The poetry was… well, Jon still didn’t get it, not really. But he found himself liking it anyway, because it was Martin’s voice and Martin’s words and Martin’s story, and Jon didn’t have to understand it for it to have meaning and value and warmth. He should have been content with the tapes, but he kept stealing glances at the notebook, itching to open it and start reading. Part of it was that simple curiosity that was always leading him astray, but for once, that wasn’t the loudest part of him.

It wasn’t a need to Know. It was a need for closeness.

So, he pushed that guilty voice in his head aside and… he read. Unlike the fiction stories he had been trying to lose himself in, he never once Knew anything about a poem before he finished reading it. He rarely Knew anything about it even after reading it, and then rereading it, and then rereading it again. For the first time in his life, not having answers was… refreshing. Freeing, even.

It didn’t take long for Jon to memorize every word, cover to cover – and he never grew bored of them, despite their familiarity.

Gingerly, almost reverently, Jon turns the pages. There are a handful of poems in here about him, and even now, indelibly etched into his memory, reading them on the page still makes him feel seen in a way that is all at once terrifying and comforting. Affecting, certainly, but in a way he could appreciate, once he gave it a chance.

You’re stalling, Jon tells himself, closing the notebook and placing one last tape on top of it.

He closes his eyes and forces himself to take several deep breaths – it’s the last chance he’ll have for the next few days – and he checks his pocket for the tape recorder with Daisy’s statement in it. Pointless, really; he already Knows it’s there, same as it was the last dozen times he checked.

Swallowing hard, he finally turns to look at the Coffin. The moment he lays eyes on it, the static rises in his mind.

Oh, shut up, Jon thinks tiredly. The Dread Powers are like cats yowling at overflowing food bowls, insisting that they haven’t had supper yet. At least cats are endearing. The Fears are noisy and intrusive with none of the charm. You’re all so goddamn needy, you know that?

The Coffin carries on, and Jon rolls his eyes. Wrapping himself in annoyance does little to drown out the fear, but it offers a slight buffer. He’ll take it.

You’re still stalling, he reprimands himself.

With trembling hands he picks up the key, fits it into the lock… and he opens the lid. It lifts easily with only a slight creak, no heft or resistance to it: it wants to be opened, like so many of the other hungry doors lurking around this world, bear traps and snares and spiderwebs all lying in wait for somebody foolish and curious enough to ignore all the alarm bells for just one… peek… inside.

Knock-knock, comes the intrusive thought.

Shut up, Jon shoots back.

The tape recorder clicks on, whirring impatiently in his pocket, as if to urge him onward.

You too, he snaps – but as much as his knee-jerk impulse is to be contrary, he has put this off long enough.

Jon steels himself, takes one last deep breath – savoring fresh air, full lungs, airways clear of dirt and grime and debris – and he begins his descent.

Martin is in Peter’s office, tending to some tedious administrative tasks. His brain feels fuzzy, thoughts sluggish and stunted from the lack of stimulation. The tick-tock of the wall clock drones on and on. He’s considered removing the batteries, but it’s the only company he’s had in days. Complete silence might be worse. Besides, the longer he sits here, the less and less the noise scrapes against the edges of his consciousness – and even when it does penetrate the fog filling his head, he can’t bring himself to care.

If Peter intends for the monotony to highlight his isolation and desensitize him to the absence of… well, everything, it’s working.

Then, between one moment and the next, there’s a shift. It crashes into him, tears through the quiet, and the world around him comes rushing back in, a sharp and blinding and cacophonous flood of sensory input.

There’s a palpable void where one shouldn’t be, and he knows with certainty that it’s distinct from the general sense of absence that he’s grown accustomed to over the past few months. The Lonely feels soft, quiet, gentle – natural, like a cocoon tailored specifically for him. This feels like a knife to the gut, a gaping wound, alarm bells screaming in his mind that something is wrong, wrong, wrong –

“Something’s happened,” he says to himself. He flinches at the sound. It’s jarring, hearing his own voice, raspy as it is with disuse.

Before he even realizes that he’s moving, he’s out of the office and hurrying down the hallway, not bothering to close the door behind him.

“Jon,” he whispers with a passion and urgency that feels alien to him now, thoughts no longer muffled and detached. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he does: Jon’s done something drastic, and given his track record, it can’t be good.

The only thought running through his mind is Jon, playing on a loop like a stuck tape; like the nervous stammering of the person he used to be, intimidated by and enamored with the man in equal measure; like a – like a prayer: Jon.

Martin picks up his pace, making a beeline for the Archives.

End Notes:

The Buried, Round Two: BEGIN.

I might not have much free time to write this weekend, so the next chapter probably won't be ready until next weekend at least. It will have some Martin POV though, FINALLY. This story hasn't had enough Martin screentime yet and that is entirely a hell of my own making, but I WILL remedy it. Also: ACTUAL DAISY CONTENT SOON, I SWEAR.

Citations for Jon's letter to Martin are as follows: MAG 040; 112/007/029/102; 007/150; 020/019; 150; 013; 135; 048/144/007/021; 021; 013/002/032/147/153/013; 161/091/101/089/135; 048/028/067/013; 143/150/008/013; 135/048/009; 013; 150; 013/117; 085/052; 063/124; 123; 011; 123/133; 070/154/123; 133/019/036/011; 094/088; 075; 135; 127; 124/157/050/157/130; 143/107/012/056; 122/012/057; 013; 145/121; 150; 042; 042; 032; 037/136/110; 152/008/101/153/032/129/153; 117/155/013/155; 133/112/152/154/013/051/049.

Citations for Jon's dialogue are as follows, broken down by section: Section 1: MAG 064; 019; 138/139; 019; 058; 148; 121/014/089; 066/135; 043; 096; 138/060/154/060/113/017/005/116/121; 054/022/054/147; 057/091; 155. Section 2: 150/096; 095/006/023/157/139; 125; 047. Section 3: None. Section 4: None.

The cited dialogue between Peter and Martin is from MAG 126. And it probably goes without saying but the Jonah/Elias statement quote is from MAG 160.

As always, you can also just ask if you want to know where a particular line comes from. c:

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

book blogging #1: Dr. Tatiana’s Sex Advice to All Creation

by Olivia Judson, published 2002

Question: what do you think of when you think of books that are “fun” to read?

For me, a lot of speculative fiction comes to mind. Recent books that I found fun include Space Opera (Catherynne M. Valente), The Beautiful Ones (Silvia Moreno-Garcia), and everything by Sarah Gailey that I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. Though I haven’t gotten ahold of it yet, I’m pretty sure Gideon the Ninth (Tamsyn Muir) is going to be spectacularly fun as well. 

These are books that aren’t necessarily my favorite stories of all time, but they have been some of my favorites to read. They’re all propelled by zany premises and whirlwind plots, enjoying themselves way too much for anyone to ever stop and worry about the parts that don’t make that much sense. When Sarah Gailey says “I have a crew committing a heist while riding hippopotamuses, do you want in?” I don’t ask questions. I just say yes and go along for the ride.

But there’s one major anomaly that always comes to mind when I think of books that I’ve had fun reading, and that’s David Sax’s The Tastemakers: Why We’re Crazy for Cupcakes but Fed Up with Fondue. It’s a 2014 work of nonfiction, and as the title suggests it’s an analysis of popular food trends and the forces that power them. The Tastemakers isn’t what this blog post is actually supposed to be about, so I won’t go into too many details, but suffice to say that I was engrossed despite the fact that I know pretty much nothing about the world of culinary trends or foodie fads - or cooking in general, if I’m being totally honest. But there’s something really delightful about learning things that are entirely outside your wheelhouse without having to worry about the material showing up on a test later. 

Given that I’m posting this on a blog with relatively few followers and that this is a write-up of a very niche book that was published eighteen years ago and could not be further from trendy, I’m well aware that anyone reading this is probably already at least passing familiar with me and what I do, so you folks might be saying, “Hang on, Makenzie. Are you seriously trying to say that this is outside your wheelhouse? The title on your Tumblr has been “Ask The Sex Witch” since 2015. You’re a whole sex educator, for fuck’s sake!”

Well, yes and no. Judson is a real-deal evolutionary biologist and gets into some pretty serious science in this book, which is pretty wildly different from what I usually do. I talk to people about sorting out their likes and dislikes, their boundaries, their sense of personal sexual autonomy, and so on. Although I definitely advocate for introspection and self-examination, I rarely go looking for answers far beyond the individual level. Judson asks big biological questions to figure out how some truly peculiar-looking behavior evolves: Why is it worthwhile for some animals to fight to the death trying to fuck? What’s up with some species of insects eating their mates? And who, pray tell, is engaging in the noble art of penis-fencing? Clearly, this is a totally different ball game on many levels.

(Speaking of ball games, did you know that the male shiner perch’s testes completely shrivel up over the winter? That’s rough, buddy.)

Offering sex advice to humans is hard enough, but Judson - writing as chipper sex advice columnist Dr. Tatiana - easily offers education to an impressively vast variety of species. The framing device of the book is a charmingly weird one. Each segment opening Dear Prudence-style, with a short letter from an animal badly in need of advice. The first chapter, for instance, begins with a query written by a stick bug called Twiggy (aww) wondering how to get her boyfriend to stop having sex with her after ten continuous weeks of intercourse. (Answer: Girl, he’s not gonna. Apparently that’s how he stops any other stick bugs from getting it in.) For the final chapter Judson mixes it up by formatting a discussion about the pros and cons of asexual reproduction as a hectic daytime talk show, complete with microscopes to view the tiniest guests and seating that offers both saltwater and freshwater tanks for aquatic audience members to sit in, like something out of Zootopia. 

(I haven’t seen Zootopia and the only thing I know about it for sure is that in one scene there’s a DILF-looking tiger, but I’m pretty confident in the assumption I’m making here.) 

Judson does an admirable job of providing pretty comprehensible explanations for a lot of evolutionary science, and while I did have to power skim through a few segments that were really beyond my grasp, it did make a pretty lively read out of the biological pros and cons of producing sperm bigger than your own body. It’s not exactly a book that’s difficult to put down, but I had a perfectly pleasant time reading it in the moments between doing anything else - eating a meal, resting in bed, getting some sun in my backyard - and even learning a little while I did so. I fully intended to use Dr. Tatiana as a break between the two installments of N.K. Jemisin’s Dreamblood duology, and it has served that role magnificently.  

Am I recommending this book to you? Not exactly, unless you’re extremely interested in evolutionary theories that are nearly two decades old or a science fiction writer looking to give your non-human characters some thoroughly non-human sexual habits. I’m not supremely interested in making recommendations with the blog in general, unless someone specifically asks for them; I’m hoping this will be more like writing up my personal thoughts about books and then hurling them into the virtual void like messages in bottles. If they wash up on your shore and you read them and come to the conclusion that this is something you, too, would like to read, that’s pretty rad. I love that for you! But it wasn’t necessarily my intent.

Strictly speaking, I didn’t even recommend this book to myself. In 2019 I tried to stay pretty intentional about my to-read list, really whittling it down to stuff that I actively wanted to engage with rather than anything that sounded vaguely not awful. I was hoping to keep that trend up in 2020, but like many other things that are much more serious, this whole pandemic situation has scuppered those plans a bit. I get most of my books by borrowing them from the public library where I work, and that’s been closed for nearly two months. Unlike many book bloggers I’ve observed I don’t keep a massive stack of unread books around at all times, so I’ve really been relying on the kindness of friends to keep me supplied in these trying times.

My friend Paige slipped me Dr. Tatiana’s (along with the aforementioned Dreamblood books and several volumes of Kurtis J. Weibe’s comic series Rat Queens) in exchange for some books I lent to her, because we all have to look out for each other in These Trying Times. I trusted her good taste, despite having no idea what the book was about and more than a few reservations. 

At other times I think this book might have sailed right over my head - not to sneer at the so-called soft sciences, but there’s a reason I gave up on my childhood dream of marine biology and got a sociology degree instead - but right now, as I’m finally adjusting to the slower pace of life in quarantine and remembering how to focus, I’m finding that it fits my needs. It’s unlikely to live on as an all-time favorite, but it’s something to do and gives me an occasional excuse to gasp and tell my roommate something absolutely wild, like the fact that spiders have two penises and that the dual arachnodicks are located on their faces, on either side of their mouths.

My basic understanding of evolution is that change rarely happens based on logic or reason, but by finding something that works and then sticking to it, no matter how improbable it may seem. When male elephants get horny they apparently develop an insatiable bloodlust and piss so constantly their penises turn green (yikes!), which is definitely not the most practical way to do things, but evidently it’s been getting the job done. Getting through quarantine has been sort of like that, has it not? A lot of behavior that might not be the most intuitive but is somehow enabling ongoing survival, like occupying myself with books that I might not have given a second glance in the halcyon before times.

That’s totally the same thing, right?

Right.

A note about the appearance of this book:

I’ve been talking a fair amount lately about my dislike for what I see as pretty transparently romanticized materialism in a lot of book blogging spaces, with an emphasis placed on acquiring and showing off as many pristine books as possible. I don’t own this book, and it looks like ass. It looks like Paige stole it from a library in North Carolina, which would not be shocking. When I noticed the large brown stain in the corner I jokingly asked if she’d dropped it in coffee, and she unflinchingly confirmed that yes, she had.

[eryiss]

Request: A Pattern of Dots and Dashes

Summary: Laxus has always been good at seeing patterns. So when Freed starts to tap out a pattern, Laxus can't help but pick up on it. The more he thinks about it, the more it drives him crazy. But as he looks into what this pattern means, he starts to realise just how romantic his boyfriend can be. [Fraxus One Shot]

This was part of a prompt based request thing I'm doing, based off of a request focused around sweet gestures and subtle touches, made by Tumblr user: @fairiesherefairiesthere. I went a bit off the prompt, but I'm happy with how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy and if you have a request please leave a comment or maybe talk to me Tumblr.

You can read this on FanFiction, Archive of our Own, or under the cut. Hope you enjoy it ^.^

A Pattern of Dots and Dashes.

Laxus had always been good at recognising patterns.

It was an odd little talent, one that was very rarely useful in his line of work, but it was one he had non the less. He didn't know where this talent had come from, but it seemed that whenever some kind of pattern was in place, he could find it relatively easy. It could be something visual, something he heard, or even something he smelt.

He had a few ideas as to what might have caused it. It could have been that his dragon senses made it easier to pick up on things. It could be that, after having the dragon lacrima forced into him, he focused on anything that could distract him from the pain and looking for patterns helped in some way. Or maybe he was just the kind of person who looked out for patterns in the world and there was no greater reason for it.

It didn't matter, really.

What did matter was a certain pattern Laxus had picked up on. A pattern that Freed Justine was responsible for.

Freed and Laxus had been dating for months now. It was a private thing, neither wanting to deal with the hassle of their guildmates finding out and jumping to conclusions about their future. Perhaps Bickslow and Evergreen knew, the two knew Freed and Laxus better than anyone else after all. But for all it was important, their relationship was private to the two of them and nobody else needed to be involved.

Something that had shocked Laxus was how intimate Freed could be. He wasn't interested in public displays of affection, but he did small things that made Laxus smile. It was little actions, like a firm pat on the shoulder if Freed walked behind him in the guild, or a quick glance and smirk when something happened that Freed knew would amuse Laxus. Just small things.

Even thinking about him made Laxus feel warm inside.

But recently something new had happened. Laxus had no idea if it was related to their relationship, but he felt that it must. Because Freed had repeated this little pattern multiple times over the last few weeks, and it was always in a way that Laxus would be aware of. It felt like a message, but Laxus didn't know what it was.

The first time, it was when they woke up side by side. They had been kissing, waking themselves up properly, when Freed's fingernail scraped across the back of Laxus' neck. This wasn't abnormal, but the pattern in which he did it stayed in Laxus' mind.

Tap. Scrape. Tap. Tap.

Laxus had dismissed it immediately, his boyfriend was in his bed and kissing him after all, and for the rest of the day it had been forgotten. However, when they went to the market the next day, as Freed was looking over a fruit vendors stock, he made a clicking noise with his tongue.

Click. A click with a pause. Then two more quick clicks.

It was the same pattern, and Laxus immediately recognised it. He couldn't remember where from exactly, but he knew for sure that he had heard it before. For a few minutes he tried to think where it had come from, but then Freed suggested that maybe they get something to eat at one of the hot food stores and the appeal of cooked pork overthrew most of Laxus' senses.

The next time it happened was on a mission. They had been called in to see the mayor of a small town who was having issues with a group of bandits. They were waiting in the mayor's office and Freed tapped out the same pattern again on the desk.

Tap. Tap and pause. Tap. Tap.

Throughout the rest of the week, he heard it again and again. When they were walking together, Freed patted his finger against his thigh to the pattern. When playing his violin, Freed had begun a song with that pattern. Even when he was cooking, Freed had removed residual soup from the wooden spoon by tapping it on the ridge of the pot in the pattern.

It seemed to be a thing Freed did now, and Laxus didn't understand why.

Furthermore, he had gotten so used to it that he felt as though the pattern was missing now. Freed and the Raijinshuu had gone on a mission and had been gone for two days, leaving Laxus alone. This wasn't an unusual occurrence, and normally Laxus wouldn't have cared, but he now found himself expecting the pattern to appear. The fact that it didn't felt as if he was missing something. It wasn't bothering him, exactly, but he couldn't exactly think of anything else. So, as he sat at the bar and nursed a tankard of beer, he found himself questioning what the sound was. And where had it come from.

His immediate thought was that Freed had a song stuck in his head, but it didn't make sense. The pattern wasn't a rhythm – not a good one anyway – and surely he wouldn't have fixated on a song for weeks.

For a second, he had considered maybe Freed had some kind of spell put on him. But again, it made no sense. What kind of spell advertised itself so obviously? And Laxus knew Freed's magic, he could tell if something new had been added to it. A long-lasting spell would have been obvious.

Other than that, no explanations had come to mind. Which was annoying.

Not quite as annoying as the fact that he was now tapping his tankard in the same damn pattern.

Clink. Clink and a pause. Clink. Clink.

Maybe that was why Freed was doing it, just to be an asshole and get the stupid little chime stuck in his head as some sort of weird prank. Laxus wouldn't put it past him; Freed had a mischievous side, as subtle as it may be. He also had a weird sense of humour, so perhaps this really was him. Laxus smiled a little at the thought.

He probably should stop thinking about it. There was no reason to, it wasn't as if he could get a definitive answer without Freed being there. All he was doing now was-

"Okay, you seriously need to fucking stop that."

Laxus looked up from his beer at the sound of Gajeel's raspy voice. The other dragon slayer was looking at him with an expression of annoyance, his ridiculous metal eyebrow twitching a little as he did so. Laxus at up a little straighter, putting on an equally annoyed expression. Couldn't a man drink in peace?

"The hell d'you mean?"

"The fucking tapping you've been doing for like twenty minutes," Gajeel continued, apparently not put off by Laxus' stature. "It's fucking annoying, so cut it out or fuck off and do it somewhere else."

He'd been doing it for that long? He hadn't realised it was that bad.

"Why should I move, kid?" Laxus butted back, hoping 'kid' got under Gajeel's skin. Annoyingly, he seemed unaware of it.

"I just fucking said, it's annoying," Gajeel reiterated, turning to face Laxus. "I mean what the hell even is it. Who fucking taps the same damn thing again and again for half an hour?"

So it was half an hour now? Either Gajeel had some time magic nobody knew about or he was just exaggerating to make his pissy attitude seem more justified. Laxus was going to say just as much when another voice spoke up.

"Sounds like Morse Code," The voice said, and Gajeel turned to show Laxus that Levy was sitting on the other side of the iron dragon slayer. Both Laxus and Gajeel looked at her with confusion. "Well, it is Morse Code. I think it's an L, actually."

Morse Code. Laxus knew what it was, of course, but he didn't know how to speak it; well, speak isn't the right word. But it made sense that Freed would know, given that he seemed to know every damn language under the sun. And tapping out secret messages would definitely be the type of thing he would do, the fucking smartass. But why would be just keep saying L over and over again? It didn't really make sense.

But still, it was an explanation. And something he could do to occupy his time alone.

He stood up from the bar, leaving his beer half drunk and making a note to remember Gajeel's comment about him not being smart enough to know what Morse Code was; the iron bastard would regret it later. He stalked past the stairs and towards the Guild's library, an expression of determination painted onto his features.

There would be a book on Morse Code in there somewhere; if there were books on all the random languages Freed wanted to learn about, there would be one on Morse Code. And the time it took to find it gave Laxus some thinking time.

The more he thought about it, the more the repetition of the letter L made sense.

Freed had shown himself to be something of a romantic, in a downplayed way. Knowing that Levy – and perhaps others – knew Morse code meant that messaged told in it wouldn't be private. So maybe it was just a small romantic gesture from Freed. It seemed too coincidental that Freed would be tapping out his first initial whenever they were around each other. Maybe it was something that Freed did to show his feelings; it sort of made sense.

Laxus wished he had a way of communicating his feelings better. Words had never been his strongpoint, and he was even worse at being honest with his feelings. He never could be vulnerable.

But he wanted to be. He really did. Because these few months of dating Freed, it made him realise a lot about himself. Freed was perhaps the most important person in his life, and he wanted to let him know. Let him know that he loved him.

Because he did. He really did.

And as his fingers ran across a book named 'A History of Coded Languages', an idea came to mind.

-~---~-

When Freed returned to his home, he was exhausted.

It was just past midnight, he had been walking for hours in the rain because of a cancelled train journey, and the cuts covering his body from the mission he'd been on were starting to irritate him as they rubbed against his sodden clothes. Needless to say, he was incredibly happy to be back in his home.

He moved without thinking. He went to his bedroom, had a warm shower that was the perfect remedy for the dirty rain that had been beating down on him for hours, treated the wounds that would need to be bandaged when he went to the guild, put on some comfortable clothes, and went to his living room. A fire was roaring within moments and the heat from the open flame was heavenly. As the room started to heat up, Freed walked to the kitchen to make himself a pot of Chamomile tea; he was in an annoying middle ground of being exhausted but not actually tired.

As he waited for his kettle to boil, he saw that Laxus' sound pods resting on the kitchen table. Freed frowned a little; the blonde rarely went anywhere without them. Freed knew that he was on a mission – it was unfortunate that their missions overlapped, but it happened.

The rune mage walked slowly towards them, to see the headphones were resting on a small note written in Laxus' handwriting. He picked it up and smiled a little at what he saw.

'Made a puzzle for ya, see if you can figure it out. Smartass.'

He laughed a little at the note, including the small kiss that had been put at the end that had been crossed out. He slid the headphones over his ears and went to press play, but the kettle started to whistle. He made himself the tea, walked into his sitting room and rested in the large leather chair that he did most of his reading in, and pushed the play button on the side of the headphones. For a second, he heard a small amount of scraping, before the tapping began.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He knew that it was immediately, and he smiled. So Laxus had picked up on his use of Morse Code, and was apparently using it now. The rune mage paused the track, picked up one of the notepads that he had lying around his house. Once he was ready, he restarted to track and began to write out what Laxus had coded.

... . -.- / -. . .-. -..

Hey Nerd.

Freed smirked a little at the nickname Laxus had taken to giving him. While it wasn't exactly flattering, he saw it as a sign of endearment that Laxus had started to use, and the rune mage wasn't bothered by it. It was cute, in a certain way.

.. / .- - / -. - - / -. - - -.. / .- .. - ... / .- - .-. -.. ... / ... - / .. / .- .. .-.. .-.. / .- ..- ... - / ... .- -.- / .. - .-.-.-

I am not good with words so I will just say it.

After translating the second sentence, Freed found a little. The rune mage knew his boyfriend well, even the small sentence told Freed that this was something serious. Laxus had never been good at speaking about his feelings – no doubt the result of his father's bad parenting – but perhaps this was a way of doing it for him.

.. / .-.. - ...- . / -.- - ..- .-.-.- / .. / .- - / .. -. / .-.. - ...- . / .- .. - ... / -.- - ..-

I love you. I am in love with you.

Freed looked down at the words he had written. He re-translated it again, just to be sure, and found himself smiling wide when the same result came out. Laxus had just confessed his love for him, he didn't know how to react to that. But damn was he happy about it, and he felt a fire burning inside of him.

Laxus loved him. Just as much as he loved Laxus. They were in love with each other. The feeling was… euphoric.

But, as much as he wanted to let that feeling sink in, the message wasn't over. He pressed play again.

... - .-. .-. -.- / - ... .. ... / .. ... / -. - - / .- / -.. .. .-. . -.-. - / .- .- -.- / - ..-. / -.. - .. -. -. / .. - .-.-.- / -... ..- - / .. / .-.. - ...- . / -.- - ..- .-.-.-

Sorry this is not a direct way of doing it. But I love you.

Freed felt a small laugh split his lips apart. Of course Laxus would second guess his declaration of love. He didn't need to, though. Because Laxus had learned a language just for the sake of this message, and the effort that he put into this was spectacular. Freed would make sure Laxus knew how much he appreciated what Laxus had done for him when he returned. With a smile on his face, Freed pressed the play button again.

... . . / -.- - ..- / .- ... . -. / .. / -. . - / -... .- -.-. -.- .-.-.- / .-.. - ...- . / -.- - ..- .-.-.-

See you when I get back. Love you.

-~---~-

Upon returning from his mission, Laxus found arms wrapped around his neck. He was pulled into a kiss by his boyfriend, one that he was happy to return. He dropped his bags on the floor of his hallway and wrapped his arms around Freed's waist, leaning down and strengthening the kiss. Returning from a mission to a kiss was something Laxus was very quickly getting used to.

Honestly, he was shocked he had lived without it for so long.

When they pulled apart, Laxus smiled at Freed. "Hey."

"I love you too," Freed said immediately, his smile heavenly. Laxus felt a rush of exhilaration at his words, an equally love-filled smile plastering itself on his face.

"You do?" He asked, voice cracking slightly.

"Of course I do, idiot," Freed whispered, resting his forehead against Laxus' shoulder. Laxus pulled him a little closer. "And before you ask, learning Morse Code to tell me that you love me, perhaps the sexiest thing you – or any man – has ever done."

"Of course you'd think that," Laxus chuckled, before tilting Freed's chin to initiate eye contact. "I do love you, Freed."

"I love you too, Laxus."

And within a moment, they were kissing again. As they did, Laxus felt Freed's finger scraping against his neck again; the same pattern that had been plaguing his mind for weeks. It made the blonde smile and lean further into the kiss. He knew what the pattern meant now; it was Freed's way of saying that he loved him.

Dot. Dash. Dot. Dot.

So, just as Freed would affirm his love for Laxus by tapping out Morse Code for L, Laxus would do the same for Freed by tapping out Morse Code for F.

Dot. Dot. Dash. Dot

[voidlitmoon]

I Would Have Waited Forever if You Needed, But I Would Always Be There for You - part one!

OOOOOOOOOOOOH MY GOSH I'm so sorry this took so long! I've been working hard on it but inspiration seems to hate me.

But @sugarglider9603, its here! And once again the longest oneshot/chapter I've ever written at OVER FREAKING 4.3K WORDS

Alright alright I'm calm.. just happy

Now go enjoy that fluff

 

W-wait theres angst to? WAIT-

IMPORTANT NOTE:

Due to the size of this fic, I have to spit it into two post. As soon as the second part is posted (which will be not long after this goes up) i will put links. Dont panic, Tumblr is just being mean with post length :)

Ao3 link

Ao3 series link

Part 3 Part 4.5

Master post

Words: 4,334

Summery: 'Logan understood why everyone was so quiet as dark grey eyes met violet.'

' Patton's eyes widen with joy, smiling as silver eyes met purple.'

'Roman, who was facing that direction, perked up, his chocolate brown tail swishing with joy as a familiar dark brown Eevee poked his head fully out'

'"Roman, what's going on- buddy.."

Thomas has successfully befriended the Eevee, but what about catching him?

Logan

MJ and Thomas watched most of their pokemon play smiling, Logan and Elliott sticking by the trainers sides. Patton leapt around Iris and Issac, playing a small game of tag with the Vulpix and Prinplup as Roman faced Linda in a mock battle, Eevee slipping between the Scyther’s sharp claws.

Logan pawed at the page as he sat in MJ’s lap, staring in awe at the stars. It had become a tradition MJ would show Logan a book on space and assist him on learning how to read when the two groups collided, the trainer borrowing most of them from libraries or his mother. All but the first one he had shown the dark silver Eevee, “A Magnus Quantity of Space” which was currently open as Logan drank up the knowledge for the infinite time. He was happy.

“Logan! Looooooogan! Logan Logan Logan Logay-” “what” Logan snapped, lifting his head as the smug faced Roman grinned back.

“Come on, join us!” Logan rolled his eyes and just wanted to ignore him, but Patton looked over, hope and joy sparkling in his shiny grey eyes. Logan sighed but stood, sending an annoyed stare at Elliott as the shy Absol snickered.

The dark silver pokemon let out a huff, joining the other five as they set up game rules for tag. Logan half listened, half stared at a nearby wind-rustled Pecha bush. The berries were much too sweet for his taste, having always been ‘up Patton’s alley’ as Thomas and Roman would say. Though the berries did hold a memory in his heart from long ago, because-

“Boop, your it!” Logan jolted as Patton tapped his nose before dashing off. The game had begun.

Logan was surprisingly fast for an Eevee, tagging Linda before she even knew he was next to her. They continued their game, the speedy pokemon darting away without getting tagged again.

Logan carefully pawed forward, looking around as to make sure no one was there. He calmed his spiked fur from his last dodge, glancing ahead. There was that Pecha bush once again, shaking as if “tag!”

Roman crashed into him having lept from the bushes, sending both suddenly tumbling forwards. Logan fell right into the Pecha bush, hitting something inside before continuing his roll until both beings were out before Thomas, MJ, and Elliott.

“Ow..” Logan groaned, Roman’s ‘Mysterious One AM Disappearance’ plan already half done as he stood up, looking around to see what had rolled with him-

Logan understood why everyone was so quiet as dark grey eyes met violet.

Virgil scrambled up, fur on end as his eyes darted around. He squeaked when his vision caught MJ, turning to run off when Issac and Roman came out of the Pecha bush, confused by the lack of noise.

The dark furred Eevee looked for a non existent escape as Linda and Iris emerged, Patton squealing with joy as he spotted the wild pokemon. Virgil pressed up against Logan’s chest, fear most likely figuratively ripping his mind apart.

Logan tucked a paw around the smaller Eevee, sitting as he flicked his tail around him protectively. They were thankfully not near the center, though far enough the bushes looked miles away.

Thomas, who had watched the entire scenario, slowly stood up and made his to Logan and Virgil, before settling down about two feet away.

“Hey Virgil” The trainer couldn't help but smile, happy he was seeing the anxious Eevee once again. After leaving the field of flowers, he was scared that fate would not be kind and their paths wouldn't cross again. MJ, recognizing Thomas’ caution from when he himself first approached Elliott, joined a few inches behind the other.

Roman and Patton bounded up “Virgil!” Roman cried happily as Patton nuzzled their cheeks in greeting. He flinched, startled, but calmed with Patton's very soft fur.

"So.." MJ turned away from the chattering pile of Eevees to Thomas, who stared back confused

"You have attracted another Eevee" Thomas ducked his face into his hands, blushing.

Patton

Patton watched the sun set, Logan not that farther down the hill watching the rapidly darkening sky with excitement, a few bright stars already shining. The gang was taking a night in rolling open hills, soft grass and flowers lay blowing in a warm wind, one of the few trees around them shadowing Thomas as the trainer set up the tent, Roman some feet away scratching out a wide circle for a fire.

Patton tilted his head as the wind ruffled his fur, purring in the setting sun's warmth. These last few days had been so calm and nice. He approved of taking a break, they had been training hard for so long, a few days off wouldn't set them back.

He flicked his tail in content, listening to the flying types chirp their last goodbyes to the day, a few nocturnal pokemon already waking the night with quiet music of hoots and song-like whistles.

Somewhere near him, soft brushing of grass on fur caused him to open his eyes, glancing around. Logan was back with Roman and Thomas, the trainer  poking at the now lit fire. If it wasn't them, then who..

The light silver furred Eevee turned his head the other direction, his eyes catching another of special fur slightly crouching in the grass some distance away. Patton's eyes widen with joy, smiling as silver eyes met purple.

"Hey kiddo!" he cheered, Virgil hesitantly looked up at the rest of the group before making his way to Patton, flopping down next to, but not touching, the other Eevee.

It had been some time since they found that the dark furred Eevee ended up following them, a few more interactions strung between then and the current moment. Virgil had gotten a bit closer with the others, but was always gone before next sunrise, watching once again from the shadows.

Patton, knowing Vigil's shyness with engaging contact, flipped his over tail over the smaller and pulled him close, nuzzling the other's cheek. The Eevee shuffled in slight embarrassment but in the end cuddled back.

The two laid under the rapidly appearing stars, Patton feeling Virgil shift a bit away at one point but said nothing, just kept their tails intertwined. Logan had joined them at one point, cuddling up to Patton's side as stars reflected off his eyes, making no comment as the sky stole once more his star transfixed gaze.

A shuffle of feet made Patton tiredly blink, slowly turning his head as Roman and a pajama wearing Thomas approached the trio.

The trainer softly chuckled "c'mon guys, time for bed" Logan sent a death glare his was but Thomas just shook his head with more chuckling.

Patton turned his head to the darker Eevee "want to *yawn* join us kiddo?" the shiny Eevee stood, only to realize the other had been asleep as Virgil jolted awake, blinking tiredly at Patton.

Patton barely held in a squeal. Virgil was asleep! Next to him! He trusted Patton! The light silver Eevee frowned as the kiddo started to droop once more, before light grey ears perked up as he whipped around to Thomas, chirping a few times.

It took the trainer only a moment to understand before giggling. He kneeled slightly and picked up the limp Eevee, Virgil only whining a bit and pawing toward the ground. Thomas looked concerned before looking were Virgil was pointing, smiling.

"Hey Patt, I think Virgil was trying to make you a gift" Patton looked and sure enough, a half built blue, pink, and white flower crown lay in the grass, one of the end flowers squished as Virgil fell asleep on top.

Patton grinned with joy and carefully picked the strand up, walking back up to the campsite.

The fire was now extinguished, water and burnt wood mush stood in its place. Patton laid the half finished flower crown near the stick Thomas used to poke at it before following the trainer in the tent.

Thomas held Virgil close as he scooted into his sleeping bag, Eevees flopping on top almost immediately.

Roman curled up next to his left ear, shoulder now his pillow. Logan settled down on Thomas' waist, Patton curling up with him as his tail tip brushed Virgil's, the dark Eevee laying right in the center of Thomas' chest.

Thomas smiled as purrs erupted in his ear from his Eevees (thanks Roman, that's quite LOUD) hugging Virgil a little closer before sleep fell upon the human.

Thomas blinked awake, finding some weight off his chest.. literally.

He sat up, Eevees already fallen to the ground in vibrating puddles that night, and stood, carefully making his way out of the tent.

He emerged in the early dawn light, blinking away the tiredness as the sun rose above the horizon. Early bird pokemon unknowingly chirped a morning greeting, bushes rusted in the not to far off forest as pokemon skittered for food. Though that wasn't what grabbed the trainer's attention.

Virgil lay bathed in morning sunlight, tying the final blue flower into last night's flower crown. The Eevee glanced up startled but hesitant, purple eyes worried as he stood, a paw stepping back. Thomas understood, not yet.

He smiled at the Eevee "I'll make sure Patton gets it" Virgil stood frozen before relaxing, hesitantly letting out a "thank you" and "goodbye" chirp, before dashing off, fur at ease.

Thomas smiled and delicately picked up the small crown, inspecting the colors. Patton would absolutely adore it.

Though as Thomas went back to the tent, he could of sworn somewhere he read Eevee had an evolution with these colors..

Roman

 

Thomas flopped onto the soft grass, staring at the small fire as flicks of flame disappeared off into the night. Roman laid dramatically over the trainers outstretched legs, mumbling tiredly in Eevee. Thomas couldn't blame him though, same going for the two shinies who joined Roman, sprawling across his kneecaps.

 

They had been training hard all day, exhaustion had been inevitable. From wild pokemon battles, to targets and even between each other, the three Eevees had pushed far into training mode for their next challenge, their next adventure.

 

The next town was about half a day away, so camping out was the best option. With the low energy though, Thomas could probably lay down right here in the grass and pass out with ease.

 

A rustle in the bushes made him look up, confused. A smile overtook his face though, as familiar violet eyes poked through. Roman, who was facing that direction, perked up, his chocolate brown tail swishing with joy as a familiar dark brown Eevee poked his head fully out carefully, inspecting the clearing they picked.

 

"Hey kiddo" Thomas murmured sleepily, failing to stiffen a yawn. "Wanna join the cuddle pile?" he offered.

 

Virgil looked curiously at their pile as though considering, before ducking back into the bush. Thomas slightly frowned sadly, Roman's tail slowly drooping in disappointment as Patton let out a chirp.

 

Thomas sighed, about to turn back to the burning wood when the bush shook once more, catching all their attention. 

 

Virgil's tail came into view first as the Eevee back tracked, pulling something by his teeth. Thomas stared, eyes wide.

 

The Eevee pulled the huge leaf a couple of feet away from the gang, turning his back to enormous pile of Oran berries.

 

"Did.. did you pick these for us?" Thomas asked, amazed.

 

Virgil ducked his head in embarrassment as he nodded, chirping something to the other Eevees. Roman suddenly sprang up and chipped something back, walking up to the darker furred pokemon, placing a small lick on Virgil's head before moving to drag the Oran berry pile closer.

 

Patton and Logan chirped gratefully as they grabbed two, Thomas smiling as he poked one on a stick to toast over the fire.

 

 

Roman watched Virgil shuffle his paws awkwardly, glancing curiously with those wonderful eyes.

 

"Hey Virgil, you can have one if you want" Roman offered, only for the Eevee's ears to droop.

 

"I've already eaten" he murmured, only to be betrayed by a quiet gurgle from his stomach. Roman hesitated, not wanting to discomfort the other.

 

".. I ate a bit earlier myself, we could possibly split and share one?" Roman shyly offered, causing the violet eyes to widen.

 

"I couldn't, it's your.." he hesitantly looked down for a moment, before lifting his head up a bit, looking right into Roman rich brown eyes "are you sure?"

 

Roman grinned, picking up the largest Oran berry before carefully draping his tail over the others back, leading him a bit closer to the fire. As they settled Roman used his claws, slicing their berry in half (and perhaps giving Virgil the larger piece).

 

And if anyone noticed Virgil cuddling Roman as the night wore on, only waking and leaving when the lighter of the pair stirred at sunrise, no one said a thing.

 

FamILY

 

Water droplets sparkled as they dripped off the leaves above, soaking up into the group's hair and fur. The early morning sky drifted blue with scattered clouds, hints of the rain showers from last night only shown by the damp plants around and slightly muddy earth.

Thomas laughed as Roman froze, water once again dripping onto his chocolate fur. The Eevee whined, only for Logan to lean on his back feet, standing up from where he lay on Thomas' messenger bag and slap Roman in the face, effectively shutting the other up with a splutter.

They stayed the night in a cave, setting up the tent inside as it started to show signs of a heavy storm approaching by sunset, the light sprinkle from earlier growing heavier as the clouds darkened.

The cave wasn't the biggest, more of a deep hole as it only fit the tent with two feet of coverage before rain splattered in your face, but it's entrance raised a few inches off the ground, giving them safety from a wet tent. They didn't need to stay that long anyways,only staying the night to escape being wet, the next town merely an hour or two journey.

Thomas smiled, but a dark hint shown through as something bothered him. He had called out several times before bed, informing Virgil he could join the warm cuddles inside, but the Eevee never showed. Worry traced his mind, only hoping he found a sheltered enough spot.

He brushed Patton's fur, the Eevee chirping with a nuzzle to the cheek. The trainer giggled, Logan shifting back to laying down, content. Virgil would be alright, he was wild. The Eevee must have gone through this kind of experience befo-

Roman sat up on Thomas' shoulder, startling him. The Eevee's ears were pricked, nose twitching as he caught something.

"Roman, what- hey!" Thomas spluttered as a tail smacked his face, Roman ignoring the wet grass and mud as he leapt off Thomas without warning, bolting off back in the directions they just came from.

Thomas secured a hand on both remaining Eevee's backs to enforce they didn't fall with the sudden change, before turning and rushing after his starter.

They didn't have to go far before spotting the Eevee anxiously pacing circles, perking up at the sight of Thomas before diving into the bushes, chirping from the other side.

"Roman, what's going on- buddy.." he fought through the bushes, Patton and Logan calling out in distress as Thomas sucked in a harsh breath, kneeling down next to the grounded Eevee's.

Roman licked Virgil's forehead, the smaller barely opening his eyes in pain and exhaustion before closing, letting out a relieved huff and relaxing as if only now feeling safe.

The dark furred Eevee's fur was dirty, his limbs weak and thoroughly soaked to the bone. Scratches were in several places as though he recently fought in a battle, the latest being from yesterday.

Thomas' didn't hesitate to check and sure enough his forehead was warm, to warm. Glazed eyes stared up as raspy breaths labored from his mouth, trust within exhaustion.

"I-I'm sorry Virge, I need to get you straight to a Pokemon Center" he lifted the Eevee, Roman leaping forwards to get scooped up as well, cuddling up to the sick pokemon.

He felt Logan move up to where Roman sat before, nodding in the corner of Thomas' vision. They were ready to set off.

And with that, Thomas ran.

Thomas speed walked through the streets, nearly bumping into others as he kept glancing down at Virgil. The Eevee had curled up against Thomas chest, Roman curling around the other giving occasional comforting licks.

"Hey!" Thomas stumbled as he nearly crashed into someone turning a corner, the other jumping to the side before collision.

"Sorry!" He called back half turning around to the girl, the Fraxure in her arms wide eyed. He only saw her and the pokemon give a started look at the Eevees in his arms before Thomas turned back around and dashed off, Pokecenter now in sight.

The automatic doors nearly caught his arm as he entered, rushing through the mostly empty entrance up to the Nurse Joy.

"Please help" he gasped having not stopped once, carefully setting Virgil down. Joy's eyes widened before calling out a stroller, two Chansey pushing it out.

"Don't worry, we'll take good care of Eevee" the Joy comforted, joining her pokemon by the ER door. "Virgil" Thomas managed, voice a somewhat raspy whisper "his name is Virgil." The Nurse nodded.

"Virgil will be fine" she smiled, turning away and closing the door, a bright neon red "Do Not Enter" lighting up above the doorway. Thomas took in a shuddering breath, the Eevees each nuzzling Thomas' face from their spot.

Thomas gave out a small, strangled laugh "thanks guys."

______________________________

Part two link here!

[beautifulpaxielreads]

June Wrap Up

Books completed (ratings out of five stars)

Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe #2) by Neal Shusterman (★★★★)

The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) by Neal Shusterman (★★★1/2)

Green Valentine by Lili Wilkinson* (★★★★)

Harley in the Sky by Akemi Dawn Bowman (★★★1/2)

The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon (★★★★)

Books currently in progress

Saga Land by Richard Fidler* and Kári Gíslason*

Thorn by Intisar Khanani

*Australian author

Challenges, Games, and other Booklr interactions

Posted a photograph of Onyx & Ivory (Rime Chronicles #1) by Mindee Arnett for @myownlittlebookcorner’s monthly Shelf-Confidence Book Photography Challenge (June 10th)

Good Reads/Storygraph 2020 Reading Challenge: 31 books out of 70. I’m a bit behind!

Finished 1 book on my backlist, unofficially as part of @bookbandit​’s Beat the Backlist challenge

Original Posts on Tumblr

Posted photograph of my copy of The Priory of the Orange Tree to celebrate my completion of it (June 26th)

Posted quote by Samantha Shannon about libraries (June 26th)

Posted update of my initial experience using Storygraph (June 24th)

Posted a notice regarding the creation of my new user account on Storygraph (June 18th)

Posted a photograph of my then-current library haul (June 2nd)

Reflections on June’s Reading Goals

I finished The Priory of the Orange Tree! I know I said I was going to take my time over it, but the last 200 pages or so set such a cracking pace that I had no choice but to read it to the end. I’m proud of myself for finishing this one, more so than anything else I’ve read so far this year.

Finished Harley in the Sky and Green Valentine. I DNF’d Onyx & Ivory in the end because I felt the plot was too familiar and was riddled with cliched tropes. Or maybe the Throne of Glass series ruined me for books of this nature.

Still did not start any e-books, and to be honest, I’m not sure if I’m going to get to them anytime soon. I still prefer the feel of physical books. But the e-books aren’t going away so I will get to them. Eventually.

Finished The Toll. Overall I enjoyed it, although I felt like it was a bit long, and the ending felt rushed. I also feel like the villain of the story did not get a satisfying comeuppance for all his acts of evil. I think Shusterman perhaps tried to cram too many ideas into this one, and it confirmed what I’d initially thought about these books – the romance did not need to be there!

Didn’t reread The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, but TBH I pretty much expected that. My heart isn’t ready yet!

Not as much Booklr interaction this month – but I think it’s always going to be a bit up and down, so I’m not TOO worried. Yet.

Still behind on my reading goal for 2020. I’m getting there though!

Started Saga Land (see above). I’m finding it a little difficult to get into fully, but I’m going to persevere with it for now. I suspect it’s one of those books that works well if you read it slowly, so that’s what I plan to do.

No more moodboards for now. I’m not so motivated to do them, especially as the first one I did received literally no attention.

As for reading authors of colour, see my notes under “Interesting observations” and “reading goals for July”.

New followers

66 FOLLOWERS! HOLY -! I have no words. Seriously, you are all amazing.

On a side note, I’m now less than 70 followers away from reaching that big old 1K mark. Think I can get there?

Interesting observations

I signed up for Storygraph this month. I read raves on Tumblr about how good it was (especially as compared with Good Reads), so I decided to give it a go. It’s got some neat features and I’m looking forward to seeing what the developers bring to it in the future. I’m keeping my Good Reads account for now, mainly because it lets me update my progress which Storygraph doesn’t yet (although here’s hoping they’ll do it in future).

The Black Lives Matter movement had a definite (and positive impact) on my reading and book blogging this month. For the time being, I’ve decided to focus on reading books specifically by Indigenous Australian authors because I want to relate to the BLM movement as it exists here. I plan to read more books by non-Australian authors of colour in the future for sure though!

Reading (and reading-related) Goals for July

Read more books by authors of colour, particularly those by Indigenous Australians. I just finished (as of July 1st) Catching Teller Crow but I also have Growing Up Aboriginal (edited by Anita Heiss), The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf (The Tribe #1) by Ambelin Kwaymullina, and Grace Beside Me by Sue McPherson on my TBR shelf.

Finish my current reads, Saga Land and Thorn.

Make a start on the other books on my TBR shelf (besides  the ones I mentioned in my first point on this list): The Midnight Lie (The Midnight Lie #1) by Marie Rutkoski, Dark of the West (Glass Alliance #1) by Joanna Hathaway, Caesar’s Women (Masters of Rome #4) by Colleen McCullough, and Please Don’t Hug Me by Kay Kerr.

Participate in more book photography challenges – I felt this month was a bit lacking.

Catch up with my goal of reading 70 books in 2020 – I’m up to 32, so I want to reach at least the halfway point this month (I’ve been a bit behind lately).

I think I have a habit of setting myself too many goals with my reading and end up falling short, so this is where I’ll leave things for now. Hopefully, these July goals will be a bit more manageable.

See you all in August for my July wrap-up!

[ask-de-writer]

WEREWOLVE'S WEDDING : MLP Fan Fiction : Tales to read AFTER the lights are OUT!

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WEREWOLVE'S WEDDING

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

2678 words

© 2019 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 10/21/19

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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Nightmare Night was fast approaching.  Blue Bell and her mother Shooting Star were busy preparing for their celebration, two days before that special night.  They were not alone in their preparations, either. Ponyville's open thestrals, Sugar Maple and her Grandmare had come to their cottage in the edge of the Everfree, just past the banks of Falmire creek.  They did not bother with using the stepping stones, though.  They simply glided down into the yard and folded their bat like wings.

As they entered the cottage they called happily, “We brought spreads and preserves for your breads and buns!”

Sugar Maple joked, “It was easy to find your cottage!  We just followed the wonderful scent of baking breads and pies!”

She looked about and asked, “I thought that there were going to be more here.  Where are they?”

Shooting Star replied indulgently, “There will be!  I had word by Magic Net that Caramel and Fangrin are bringing ice cream and some other treats!  They may be bringing some other guests, too!  If rumor is right, they have got the Stone Ridge Pack to accept Fangrin back and they may be here for the wedding!  In any case, they are bringing Grumpeter Goat!”

True to her prediction, the huge Everfree Ridgeback wolf that was Caramel Treat and a second, only slightly smaller one, that was Fangrin, came trotting up the path from Ponyville.  Each had bulging saddlebags! They also did not bother with the stepping stones.  They simply leaped across the creek!

The rest of the party goers gleefully stripped them of the panniers and started laying out the contents along big trestle tables, to join all the rest of the assorted goodies already there!

Caramel, in high good spirits, told the others, “They are coming!  The Stone Ridge pack is just waiting for our howl.  Fangrin and I have been looking forward to this day since we met!  Shooting Star, I am so happy that you have agreed to officiate our wedding.  I know that Reverend Smallflower would have been happy to do it, because I asked him.

“With all of those fool Celestian Church idiots around bothering everypony, and accusing us of being vile creatures of Luna and worse, I just could not resist having you do it.  I mean, you are a direct descendant in unbroken line from General Dark Star of the Nightmare's Witch brigade!  I had that Rom donkey, Marchhare, look it up.  His library has original documents from the Fortress of Nightmare!”

“I am more than happy to do it for you.  I do have Princess Luna's formal commission as a Nightmare's Witch Brigade officer.  Please invite your guests.”

Caramel and Fangrin sat and, tails wagging, lifted their muzzles to the sky and set free a melodious howl.  The howl was answered from different points all about the cleared area around the cottage.  That was followed by a nearly continuous soft rustle of leaves as big Everfree Ridgeback wolves converged on the clearing openly, not attempting to be stealthy.

From across the stream came a polite call of, “I heard that there was a wedding here.  Am I welcome?”  All eyes turned to the spare white pegasus in a flat black hat.

Caramel replied, “Of course, Reverend Smallflower, but the ceremony is to be officiated by Lieutenant Major Shooting Star, of the Nightmare's Witch Brigade.”

He nodded agreeably, “Such was my understanding.  I came to watch, congratulate the happy couple and partake of the feast.  I brought a small contribution.  I have two substantial slices of cured ham for the celebrants and a pair of frostberry pies for the rest.”

Shooting Star invited, “Be welcome, Reverend!  Are you afraid of the wolves?”

“Should I be?  None of the rest of you seem to be.”

“Not really.  Most ponies are anyway.”

With that, Reverend Smallflower simply walked across on the stepping stones and surveyed the table.  He set two packages at one end and a large package at the other.

A second late comer called out, “Hi, Caramel!  Hi, Fangrin!  Sorry that I'm late.  Ran into three Celestian priests on the road.  That's where I left them.  On the road, I mean.  I had to dodge into the brush and work my way around them.  They were spewing their usual garbage about me being a Lesser Sort, and a Vile Creature of the Accursed Evil Twin.

“Anyway, I brought a big clover top scramble for us and a big omelet.  Hope that it will do for the carnivore side of this feast.”

Fangrin romped over to the piebald black, tan, and white goat.  “Grumpy! We were waiting for you!  Did the Celestians give you some more trouble? How are your studies going?  Can we have another checkers tournament soon?”

Grumpy giggled under the physical and verbal assault!  Gently pushing away the big werewolf, he replied, “No, the Celestians really didn't give me much trouble.  Just blocked the road so that I had to go into the brush to get around them.  Other than that it was just the usual verbal idiocy that their so called faith requires of them.

“As for my studies, they are going great!  I finally qualified for Abnormal Psych 666!  Only one more semester to go and I have my degree!  I can't wait for the Non-Equine University to send me my text books.

“Is Wednesday next good for you?  I can have the checker board and refreshments out.”

Fangrin happily helped Grumpy to set out his dishes.  “This all looks so good, Grumpy!  I can't wait for our wedding to be over and the party starts!”

Shooting Star emerged from her cottage, wearing a dark blue uniform with a polished silver emblem of a thestral with spread wings clutching a pair of bars mounted to each shoulder.  Floating in air to the right of  her head was a stout and intricately carved wand of dark wood with silver tips.  It was being casually held at the moment.

Grumpy blinked about three times when he saw her.  Turning to Caramel, disbelief in his voice, he asked, “A Lieutenant-Major in Nightmare's Witch Brigade?  Really?  In this day and age?  I thought that they were disbanded at the end of the Second Nightmare War.”

With a twinkle in her eye, Caramel replied, “Yes she is, and a direct descendant of General Dark Star of the Nightmare's Council and battle leader of the Witch Brigade.  As for being disbanded, they turned in false wands for destruction and went right on meeting and training in secret.”

Grumpy chuckled at the thought and then pointed excitedly.  “She is starting!”

Indeed, Shooting Star had gone to a formal parade stance and her wand was now being held at a still and formal position, tilted slightly toward her guests.  She paced forward and stopped halfway to Falmire Creek.  She raised her wand and, chanting, swept it in a circle three times.  As it swept about, it trailed a tenuous looking glowing sheet the color of thin cirrus clouds lit by moonlight.  The sheets settled into a visible circle, encompassing the house and the party, reaching across the creek at the stepping stones.  The circle faded from visibility.

She ended by pronouncing, “The Circle of the Moon protects all within from any harm by deed or intent.  The wedding parties will now take their places.”

Caramel took a place to the right end of the feasting table, Fangrin to the left.  The Stone Ridge pack formed two rows parallel to the table, with Shooting Star at the center.  They added another aisle from her down to the creek.  The rest of the guests were divided into two groups by the formation.

Loud stomping announced the arrival of the same three Celestian priests that Grumpy had run into earlier.  The one in the lead bawled, “This blasphemous gathering of the vile creatures of the Evil Luna must disperse at once, by the order of High Priest Hortimer!”

Shooting Star sauntered insultingly slowly down the aisle of wolves toward the creek.  At the bank, by her stepping stones, she replied, “No.  We will not disburse.  

“Equestria is not a theocracy run by that worthless high priest Hortimer or any other.  Our gathering is specifically allowed by the same religious freedom law that allows your so called church to exist.  You claim to worship Celestia but you ignore what she herself writes about you and your church.  She detests you and all that you stand for, especially your vile doctrine of Unicorn Supremacy.

“You are trespassing on my property.  It is properly fenced and posted private, so you know that you are trespassing.  Go.”

They responded by rearing up, gathering magic about their horns impressively.  Shooting Star casually covered her yawn with a hoof as they let fly.

Their powerful magic hit the presently invisible ward!  There was a flare of light from each place that the ward was hit!  Their magic rebounded straight back at each of them, knocking them from their hind hooves, right onto their backs and shoving them about five meters across the ground in a wild tangle of hooves and priestly robes!

As they scrambled to their hooves, their leader demanded, “What did you do to us!?  Just for that insolence, we are going to use far greater force!”

Shooting Star replied mildly, “I did nothing to you.  According to the law of WHATSO YOU DO COMES BACK TO YOU, your own evil returned to you. What you gave, you got.  I repeat, you are trespassing.  Go.  Leave my land, home and guests.”

Grumpy confided his worry to Grandmare, the black thestral, “Shouldn't she be doing something to run them off?”

Grandmare replied with some humor, “She is.  She is being a focus to draw their attacks.  That invisible ward?  Not weak at all and carefully tuned to unicorn magic.  Right now, she is trying to get rid of them by using non-equine magic to turn their own magic against them.  She does not want bloodshed to mar the wedding.”

“Non-equine magic?  I thought that the secret of that was lost when Baratted the Goat disappeared at the end of the Second Nightmare War.”

“No, Grumpy.  There are many kinds of magic in the world besides the Equine magic of unicorns.  That is what they are learning right now, if they are smart enough to learn, that is.”

A large flash of light from another frustrated attack interrupted their conversation!  Excited, Grumpy exclaimed, “Look at them flop back! That must have been a real strong try!”

Chuckling, Grandmare pointed out, “Their pretty white robes are getting all stained and torn!  They need to quit while they are still able to walk!”

They heard Shooting Star say, “You have been repeatedly told to leave. Your persistent attacks leave me no choice.  Go, or I shall be violent to you.”

Scrambling to his feet, one of the junior priests demanded, “Violent?  What do you call this?  You have been striking us down!  Our robes are ruined!”

She sighed.  “If you listened at all, you know why that all happened. Your own evil has been returning to you, that is all.  Now, GO.”

Their leader reared up defiant.  Before he could do anything, Shooting Star's wand leveled at him!  His big priest's Celestian medallion suddenly glowed red and fell from the ornate chain, a molten glob of metal!  The chain, no longer a loop, slithered off his neck and fell in an untidy heap beside the congealing remains of the medallion.

While he was screaming his pain at the burned fur and skin on his chest, the same happened to the other two!  Their screams joined his!  One of them panicked and started to run for the gate!  That triggered the stampede!  In only moments, all that was left of their presence was trampled and torn sod and the remains of their necklaces.

Shooting Star paced quietly back up the aisle of wolves to her place. Glancing about to be sure that all were where they needed to be, she began in a calm voice, “We are here to wed two excellent Werewolf ponies, Fangrin and Caramel Treat.  

“In Ponyville, mostly as ponies, they run a well received restaurant. Rarely turning away any in need, they are a refuge for the needy and hungry.  More, they defend any who come to them from all sorts of persecution.  They feed all sorts, whether vegetarian, omnivore or carnivore.

“Besides this goodness, they also hunt with the Stone Ridge pack of Everfree Ridgeback wolves.  By helping the hunt and freely sharing the kill, they assist their friends of the forest.  Through their good offices, peace and friendship have grown between those who live in or close to the Everfree forest and the Stone Ridge pack.

“In that regard, the Duchess of Red Hoof and her heart kept husband the Baron of Drandale, send their warmest regards but Royal obligations have required their presence in Canterlot.

“Caramel and Fangrin now seek to complete a long standing promise and, as the culmination of their goodness and generosity, marry each other and live mated for life.

“Caramel, Fangrin, come before me now.”

As Ponies, both came forward through an aisle of wolves, and met in front of Shooting Star.  “If you both still wish to be joined in marriage, mated for life, please raise your left forehooves so that they touch side by side, neither one higher than the other.”

Fangrin's gray and black hoof was raised beside Caramel's candy tan one. Shooting Star's wand, acting like it had a life of its own, laid across both hooves.  The same moonlight colored magic that had created such a solid defensive circle, flowed from its tip and enmeshed both hooves.

Leaving her wand in place, Shooting Star quietly commanded, “Now, leaving your feet together, transform before us all to show that no matter the form, you twain are together as one.”

The wand balanced between the two did not move in the slightest as the couple transformed into the physically largest wolves there.  

Shooting Star recovered her wand to what Grumpy now recognized as a formal parade rest position.  “Now, side by side, neither leading or following, go to the pool of the stream and there drink the water of life together.”

They paced down the aisle of their friends, the Stone Ridge pack, to the pool and, lowering their heads together, lapped up some of the water. Shooting Star's wand shot up a big starburst of moonlike light. Joyously, she called, “By the authority granted me by Luna, the Nightmare, I pronounce you mated for life!”

Caramel and Fangrin made their way back to the table, surrounded by cavorting wolves.  They lifted a sheet off of a large haunch that still had coarse yellow fur on part of it.  The haunch ended in a heavily clawed paw.  Each of them took one end of the big hindquarter and lifted it down to the ground for the pack!  While the wolves closed in on it, they did no fighting or squabbling, but took turns grabbing a chunk and making room for the next.

Caramel and Fangrin opened the box that Reverand Smallflower had brought and helped themselves to the ham slices in it.  Grumpy, watching the carnivores go for their part of the feast, was a bit green around the gills, as they say.  Nevertheless, he was pleased to see Grandmare and Sugar Maple, the thestrals, happily eating up his big omelet.

Blue Bell, Shooting Star's filly, noticed his condition and suggested, “Just come down here, Mister Goat, and concentrate on the pies, cakes and that lovely clover top scramble that you made.”

As he was nibbling up his second slice, Grumpy commented, “Thanks, Blue Bell.  Got to admit that this is the first wedding done by witch ponies that I have ever been to.  It has been fascinating.  And you are right, frostberry pie seems to cure almost anything!

~THE END~

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[cinnamaldeide]

#Hannigraham Meet-Cute Challenge

There’s just barely enough air to breath lately, summer has finally hit us in full force and all that is left for us... is fun. Fun at the seaside, fun with our psycho friends, fun with our precious, scruffy partners, and @funwithtyler​ fun reading lovely stories. Some of us have to combat this torrid heat to approach one very hot computer to type their very beautiful fanfictions and creations, but luckily for us we get to reap the benefits!

#29: Welcome to Widdershins Close by @zigzag-wanderer #110: Fancy meeting you by @mazephoenix #74: Going My Way by @fragile-teacup #55: A Face Like Yours by @hannibalsimago (now with fanart by @bayobayo) #13: Admirable Deceit by @cinnamaldeide​ #248: The night shift customer by @niceven-silace​ #3: You don’t see enough, you see too much by @fhimechan​ #1: Nigel’s Books by @murderfriesandgayguys {fanart} #186: Hello Gorgeous, Love Your Left Hook by @ishxallxgood #230: the aesthetics of pleasure by @exarite​ #116: Speed Dating by @ishxallxgood​ and @stratumgermanitivum #50: Evening Wedding by @emergencytrap {gifset}

You see our list of contributions is growing steadily and inexorably, but in this update I have the pleasure of including not only an incredible cooperation between our unstoppable @ishxallxgood and @stratumgermanitivum, but also an entirely new form of art, which is @emergencytrap’s nsfw gifset where the film Evening meets After the wedding.

As we had announced months ago, despite the name of our challenge, we’re allowing both Hannibal and HEU character, which means EveningWedding and Spacedogs, like in the case of our gifset and fanart, but also RoyalInstincts, DogsDogs, LucAdam, Kaisergram, whatever crosses your mind.

I’ll seize the opportunity and remind you of the #RareMeat fest, mostly on Twitter by now, which is exactly about these pairings. If you’re eager to write something involving Overgård and Galahad, for example, but you don’t know how or where they meet, only that a lot of snow is involved, consider selecting one of the prompts you see here (ง ื▿ ื)ว

#22: A is having a quiet night at home – that is, until A’s apartment neighbour begins blasting music. Frustration levels rising, A goes to knock on the neighbour’s door to ask them to keep it down… at the same time B, the resident on the other side, is about to. Need more detail? Click on the post.

#32: A checks into a cozy inn while on a cross-country road trip, beyond tired and ready to collapse. When A gets to the assigned room, he or she is in for a surprise! Someone else, B, is already in the room. Uh-oh.

#117: A is a professional assassin hired to take out a client’s cheating husband. But the client also spoke to B, a close friend, who has made it his/her’s own mission to also kill the husband. Unfortunately, both A and B have chosen the same night to do so, and it just so happens that B is a bit clumsy… and keeps getting in A’s way.

#143: A’s blind date just left, mumbling some sort of excuse about leaving the stove on. Confused and feeling rejected, A sits orders another beer at the bar, wondering where s/he went wrong. B, who had witnessed the situation, goes over and says sympathetically, “I think I know what went wrong… there’s something in your teeth.”

#162: A is interviewing potential roommates and is having very little luck. When it comes to B, A says, “I’m so sorry, I don’t think this is going to work. I can’t live with someone that I’d like to ask out.”

#166: A is at a coffee shop and sits down at a table, only to find a book on the chair. Intrigued, A starts flipping through it, and realizes it’s actually someone’s journal that had been left behind! And it’s fascinating. Unfortunately, B, the journal’s author, rushes back to retrieve it… and is horrified to see A reading it. But A, having gotten a feel for this person through his/her writing, asks if they want to go out sometime.

#176: A works at a pet store and is utterly surprised when B bursts through the door in a hurry and walks up to the cash without looking around. Out of breath, A says, “Please don’t ask why, but what do capybaras eat?”

#180: There has been a series of recent break-ins in A’s neighbourhood. B, a cop, knocks on A’s door to recommend safety measures and to ask if A has noticed anything peculiar — A hasn’t really seen anything, but invites the cop and his/her charming smile inside for coffee and a bit of false information so s/he might stay a while.

#207: A meets B and falls immediately for them, but B clearly doesn’t feel the same. After being rejected, A calls on Anteros, the avenger of unrequited love, to exact vengeance on B.

#210: A is a writer struggling to find inspiration for their next book. The publishers are breathing down their neck and the pressure is almost more than A can take. When A comes across an old Greek book in a thrift store, A brings it home and flips through the pages…. only to come across an old chant that was supposed to bring inspiration to those who read it out loud. A gives it a shot and… oh dear. Oh, oh dear. Somehow that summoned B, one of the Muses, to A’s living room.

#215: A is brought in to the police station for questioning about a crime they know nothing about and is put in an interrogation room… with B, who is another suspect in this particular case.

#231: A is hanging out with a friend but ends up stopping to look at some lingerie in a shop window. A is still chatting away, thinking that their friend has stopped with them also, and turns to where they assume their friend is to jokingly ask: “Wouldn’t I look sexy in that?” But it turns out that the friend had kept walking and it was B, a total stranger, who A had spoken to.

#232: A is in a public place and temporarily leaves their things where they are seated so that they can use the bathroom. When A returns, A notices B, the person sitting at the next table, putting A’s phone back on the table. A demands to know what they were doing with their phone, and B tells them that the phone was ringing non-stop and it was bothering everyone. Also… “Your friend is drunk and I think they want to sleep with you.”

#239: A is sitting in a cafe trying to casually read their book, but is distracted by B’s loud phone conversation at the table over. B tells a joke over the phone, which makes A crack up unexpectedly – B looks over at A, annoyed that they were eavesdropping, but also appreciative that at least someone liked their joke! B hangs up and offers to tell A another.

#240: A stops at the pub near their house to pick up some food on the way home (they make the best fries in the neighbourhood) when A receives a phone call – and some terrible news. A starts crying and B, the bartender, asks A what’s wrong. As A opens up to them, B gives A a drink on the house, and helps talk them through it.

#246: A was fatally wounded in an accident and suddenly finds themself looking down at their own lifeless body in confusion. B is a reaper and offers A guidance… but A doesn’t want to do the whole follow the light bullshit. A wants to flirt with the cute reaper.

#252: A is in the public library and notices a strange book that looks like it doesn’t belong in this section. A moves along to another genre, but it seems that this book is in every section… almost like it’s following A. How peculiar! When A finally picks it up to see what exactly it is, B appears out of thin air, and simply says, “I’ve been waiting fifty years for you.”

You may have noticed the lack of line breaks in this post. Well, it’s not the only thing I cannot do anymore on this platform, and it would be a big leap to say I’m more or less leaving Tumblr because I can’t do anymore what I previosly did, but that’s exactly what I’m doing. And I’m not alone, apparently.

This challenge, as well as the Accidental Sex initiative, could go on only thanks to those who so kindly kept the word spread for @fhimechan​ and myself. This time, I really thank @zigzag-wanderer​, @mistikfir​, @diemetzgermeisterin​, @cassraven​, @ishxallxgood​, @tiggymalvern​, @crisisoninfintefandoms​, @dyggyd​, @evakkorotta​, @thatthreetoedsloth​, @hannibalsimago​, @xchrysaliswhispersx, @bonesandscales​, @fragile-teacup​, @psychoheu​ and @cinelitchick​, you’ve all helped us keeping this well into Tumblrgeddon, but I’m sad to say this platform is not helping anymore. We’ll have to close this challenge before we had planned and hope the next one will be more fruitful.

In short, hereby starts your last month to choose one of those fantastic prompts and fill it, in whatever capacity you like: fanfiction, fanart, gifset, smoke signals, Hannigraham or RareMeat, whatever crosses your mind. We’re here to reap and to include in our collection, we appreciate your commitment and hope you won’t be mad at us for letting go of this challenge before due time.

[aroworlds]

Those With More, Part Two

When Mara Hill's magic results in her brother's impossible, wondrous transition, of course Suki wants to know how she did it! What if Sirenne's magic workers can help others find euphoria? What if this magic can heal Suki's hands—or at least lessen her pain? But Mara, distrustful of priests after their failure in protecting Esher, won't share her power.

A senior priest must bear responsibility, but Suki suspects her problems lie deeper than lack of oversight, and her reluctance to discuss her aromanticism with a woman who needs support only proves it. Would she have preserved Mara's faith and Esher's health if she hadn't first avoided revealing herself to her aromantic kin? If she'd faced their expectations that she shoulder their pain and grief as well as her own?

Suki has lived her life by the Sojourner's second precept, but how does she serve when she doesn't have more to give—and never will?

Contains: A disabled, non-partnering allo-aro woman struggling with the expectations of her young, fledgling aromantic community; an autistic, aromantic priest reconsidering their expectations of their community's leader; and an allo-aro woman in need of support as she struggles with her non-partnering, aro-ace brother's illness.

Content Advisory: Please expect many references to or depictions of aro antagonism, allo-aro antagonism, amatonormativity, familial abuse, mental illness, suicidal ideation, death, gender dysphoria, chronic pain, ableism and ageism. This piece contains non-detailed, non-specific reference to a character's past suicide attempts. This section includes characters embracing and touching.

Length: 4, 691 words (part two of two).

Note: This is the last story in my Suki mini-series, but it refers to characters introduced in The Sorcerous Compendium of Postmortem Query and is best read following the stand-alone story What Makes Us Human. You can find links to all on my pinned post or on this Tumblr master post.

Some scars are long years in the fading, if at all. 

***

She isn’t surprised when Moll strides, their braid and girdle book swinging with each step, down the path to her garden. Sirenne rarely leaves its rules unsaid, an admirable quality to Suki’s way of thinking, but one needn’t long elaborate to impart the expectation that junior priests arrive promptly when summoned. Moll, despite the lifetime of alienation that leads to questioning rules and a habit of interaction best described as “restrained”, hasn’t dawdled upon hearing her request. A problem, that.

She understands, though, in the way of a woman once a girl who couldn’t have understood at all.

Obedience to conformity isn’t something she feels in the heart; Suki responds to being haltered with sharp words and loud arguments. Amadi, knowing this, kept her with em for a year before taking her to Sirenne, a year of learning to accept reasonable restrictions before facing the greater challenge of an acolyte’s service. That bitter, aching, defiant Suki would have scorned Moll’s flushed face and hurried pace, not seeing that she reacted to the same set of weighty, dehumanising beliefs and demands.

Submission and rebellion are just two sides of the same coin.

She doesn’t approve, but she understands.

“Don’t you even think about it,” she says, gleefully irascible, as Moll opens their mouth. “No clucking allowed. Sit down. The food’s safe, but it’s been half an hour. The tea’s probably cold.”

Moll nods and settles themself on Mara’s recently-vacated bench, the tea tray resting between them and Suki’s chair. As always, they move slowly, carefully, cautiously—like a wolfhound sniffing a newborn kitten or a man allowing a butterfly to alight on his finger. Like a tall, broad, boulder-shaped priest attempting to avoid threatening or scaring, however inadvertently, those around them. Like a puppy lying on its back, belly bared and paws tucked under its chin, its defencelessness a performance made before all would-be predators.

I won’t hurt you, so don’t hurt me.

They look more like a fig tree towering over the world’s seedlings than a puppy, but while a fig possesses an ancient, confident majesty in its quest to subsume another life in its great roots, Moll is … Moll. Shy, awkward, hesitant, uncertain. Rarely does she see them widen their arms or roll their hips, as if forever working to make their immense body appear smaller, softer, lighter. Just as a fig, for all its grandeur, lies vulnerable to any woman wielding an axe, Moll lies vulnerable to the wounds wrought by tongue, expression and gesture.

She wants to, simultaneously, swathe that nervous puppy in a warm blanket while taking a sharp blade to that fig’s trunk and daring Moll to defend themself.

Some scars are long years in the fading, if at all.

“Do you … mind, if I heat the tea?”

“Clucking,” she says, fighting to bite back her impatience. She doesn’t want to be the kind of old woman who moans about the young’s blathering, but sometimes they make her silence difficult! “If I objected, couldn’t you cool it down? Or tell me to pour a cup and let time have its way? I’d tell me, personally, to stick my head where the sun never shines. Try, if you want.”

Moll’s deep-set brown eyes put her in mind of shadowed pools—their fathomless serenity now disturbed by a crotchety priest’s thrown rock. Wordlessly, they pour a small amount of tea into a saucer before resting one hand on the teapot’s handle. The other guides a finger to the saucer, dampens a fingertip and traces, with careful delicacy, evaporating glyphs atop the tan glaze.

Many magicians speak loudly or write in great looping script, their magic become another performance of wordplay and artistry—as if, Suki always thinks, they find adoration for their art more useful than magic itself. Moll works in gestures and murmurs, collected and subtle. Everything must be reduced, depressed and lessened for safety, and she sighs, for even she recognises that they’re no casual magician. Why shouldn’t the world outside a small, backcountry monastery welcome or accommodate such ability?

Why shouldn’t Freehome welcome Suki’s free, unrestrained, honest self?

Such pondering, when she knows the answers to both questions, provides only one thing: delay.

“How old were you,” she asks, “when you learnt the word for your aromanticism?”

A slight frown, more the suggestion of expression than the actuality, shifts Moll’s brow. “I know exactly,” they say in their slow, deep voice, “because I learnt five weeks and two days after my acceptance as acolyte.” They purse their lips, studying the movement of their finger across the teapot. When a breath of steam issues from the spout, they pull back their hand. “I knew what I was since childhood, but knowing that I am loveless isn’t the same as a more … academic term. Loveless … people have other ideas about what that means.”

She always knew whom and what she was, clinging to a truth so obvious part of Suki still finds it absurd that Mama Lewis persisted in her stubborn obliviousness. Knowing, though, isn’t recognition, isn’t identification and permission; knowing isn’t the certain categorisation of the self as a different, acknowledged, communicable manner of ordinary.

Knowing isn’t pride.

“When do you think I found the word?”

Moll shakes their head, pouring now-steaming tea into a clay mug, the glaze chipped about the rim from years of use, the handle too small to fit all of Moll’s fingers. Their expression shows not the slightest hint of curiosity towards her questions. “I wouldn’t begin to guess, sir.”

Given Moll’s newness to the red, they can easily rough-reckon the numbers, so she answers as they did. “One and a half years before you, and leave off the ‘sir’! What are we, Astreuch?” Suki draws a shaking breath, her voice undeservedly sharp, but how can she fight both her acid tongue and the awful surge of hurt? How can she fight both her acid tongue and a nebulous tension that only fuels and strengthens her aching joints? “I was accepted, in a ‘some people don’t like relationships’ way. My mentor, Amadi, was like us. But the word? I didn’t know words until a cluster of young priests brought books from Khaloun. I found it, unexpectedly, while reading. So I made it my life’s work to have, here, our library.” She pauses, rueful. “Or the rest of my life’s work, since…”

Moll has given only patient, considered answers. Moll hasn’t asked questions coated in that dread mingling of need, hope and dismissal. Moll has done nothing to deserve her mood beyond asking one question, in the vegetable garden, that they had and have every right to voice.

Anticipatory fear and aching memory, poisonously entwined, have ever raised her hackles.

Suki counts backwards from ten, breathing long and slow, before realising that the Stormcoast’s culture of tiptoeing around advancing age—one daren’t observe that another approaches a state of “elderly” or “ancient”—has left Moll dwelling in a stone-faced, finger-entwining, staring-at-the-ferns silence.

“Which relative told you off as a child for calling another relative ‘old’?” she asks, grinning. “You think I don’t know I’m over the bloody hill and rolling down the other side? Yes, it’s the rest of my life’s work, because most of my life happened beforehand! Why pretend otherwise?”

“Many.” Moll rolls their shoulders back, softening. “How old were you?”

“Seventy-nine.” Suki silently applauds them for avoiding the tired “may I ask how old were you” approach and leaves the rest of the reckoning to Moll, carefully shifting her hands. Too often, these days, she earns nothing for her restful efforts but more time yearning for the work around which she has anchored her life. “Sometimes I feel like I was alive when the Sojourner supposedly lead hir band of survivors from the Change-ravaged North. Sometimes the world feels impossibly different, from then to now. Mostly, I feel the same as I always was, and the world's less different than people think, but people treat me like a ... a relic. Fancy attempting to educate me about theories I promoted because the old can’t understand the new!” She sighs. “Pour me a cup of plain tea, please, and put a pill on the saucer. The rats are gnawing today. Bloody rats.”

If her pain becomes unbearable, she’ll ask Thanh for hir set of nerve-blocking spells. She won’t be able to move or feel much of her body, but since she’s already remaining still, the real difference lies in consideration for Thanh. Ze’s had enough on hir metaphorical plate over the last week without Suki’s adding to hir work—and she hates to call on hir when she unnecessarily provoked at least half the throb in her hands, knees and ankles. Thanh has never made her feel as though she shouldn’t, but she does nonetheless.

She’s learnt the hard way how much her mood, and her guilt over wishing for relief, stokes and banks her pain.

Moll sets down their mug and pours another. “Can I do anything for you?”

Suki laughs. “I don’t suppose there’s the slightest chance you’ve figured out Thanh’s nerve blockers?”

They shake their head with speed enough that she guesses this a source of some frustration. “I don’t know how! There’s so much grafting onto nerve points, and in trying to describe it all and then shell … I make too many mistakes in the spell compression. It isn’t something in which you want mistakes.” They stop, breathing out long and slow. “I’m sorry, s—I’m sorry.”

Suki considers asking why, since she can’t expect a former quartermaster to reveal mastery of an art for which Thanh spent years studying at Eastern universities, but isn’t all this another distraction? “Don’t be. Thank you. Can you put the tray, just the cup and saucer, on my lap?”

Moll shifts the teapot and plate of corn muffins onto the bench before, as carefully as if handling fragile porcelain, arranging the rest of the tray on Suki’s lap. “Do you want to eat?”

“No.” Once, she could clasp a cup without provoking or worsening the pulling, throbbing pain in her wrist and fingers. So simple a thing to hold a cup, to drink, to return it to her tray! The tea’s heat doesn’t ease her pain, but the warm, tingling sensation distracts her somewhat, so she cradles the cup in both hands before raising them to her face. Now, at least, she needn’t waste her time in hope. As much as she yearns for Mara’s unlooked-for shape of witchcraft, there’s no reason to think her magic anything but sorcery, distant and unattainable. So be it.

She has blessings to count: a home, acolytes to help her wash and dress, purpose.

The bitter pill sticks to her tongue before she swallows it down.

“I can imagine,” Moll says, settling themself back onto the bench, “but in that way of theory. I can’t know, in the heart, the longest rhythms of time unknowing or half-knowing, given all denied us because we lack comprehension’s authority and…” They trail off, taking up their mug and, likely unconsciously, mirroring the position of her hands. “Place. That sense of place in time, in space, in community, in family, that … existential assuredness. Place. I know separation, distance, but I won’t pretend that I know that deeper shape.”

That Moll thinks their service should encompass only the safety of the vegetable garden is both tragedy and metaphor, but their still face suggests they don’t realise the contradictory echo of old words behind the new.

Mara wanted her kindred’s acknowledgement of her pain, someone to help her shoulder the weight of her agony in the validation and sympathy offered only by one who understands. Was Suki wrong to think, for so long, that she can’t risk seeking comfort? Does Moll’s rare consideration, offered unprompted no less, betoken safety enough for her to try?

“Do you have place, now?”

Moll cocks their head to the side, tapping one finger against the mug’s brown handle.

Suki waits.

“I don’t know that I will ever have that … neat, puzzle-piece sense of fitting into any time or space shared with others. Just autism alone, just aromanticism alone, just genderlessness alone … possibly. But they can’t stand alone, even if others want them to.” Moll exhales, hissing their breath over their lips in the loud, habitual easing of a priest performing and, through performance, encouraging the behaviour. “Sometimes … I want, so much, the ease of that fit, the confidence of an unquestioned place. And always … not, never, at that price.”

It shames her that, for all she has long held Moll at arm’s length, they are so willing to share.

“Burn the whole damn puzzle,” Suki says through a terrible, crooked grin.

Moll nods, a slight frown creasing their lips.

Do they realise? The shock of their first conversation in the vegetable garden, followed by an induction into the events surrounding the Hill siblings, may have seen them miss or put aside the obvious, for all that they touched upon it in their question of her. Moll owns too much perception to remain in acceptance of the thick paint covering the wallpaper beneath, and priests must do just that: question.

No thought or word can be worth anything if crumpling under curious, inquisitive challenge, so the question remains: have they the courage to ask?

“Do you know,” she says in a would-be conversational voice, “that the best thing about being a priest is that you can, amongst other priests, speak your mind? The trick lies in only having something worth speaking. Try it.”

With the speed and presence of a glacier, Moll turns their head to look Suki in the eyes. Their brow sits low and heavy, their controlled voice too tense for indifference: “What is this, then?”

Suki shakes her head. “No, try again.”

Moll’s lips shift, as if they mean to mouth a word before deciding otherwise. “Do you want honesty?”

“Your own mind will tear you apart if you say anything less, so why should I expect otherwise?”

A slight crease of Moll’s brow may suggest amusement—or consternation. Both, perhaps. “You’re discussing,” they say with painful slowness, “aro—” They hold up a hand, stopping her from remarking on their woeful statement of the obvious, and Suki, despite her anxiety-fuelled throbbing, works to hide a smile. “When you’ve had five years to start a conversation, why now?”

Their breath hisses over lips and teeth, one hand sketching lines on the meat of their robe-covered thigh.

Suki nods her encouragement.

“I did think that if this were well-known, I’d have heard. Someone would have said so in explaining to me? I also thought that your answer to my question … undermined your sense of the importance that we guide our own, especially now.”

“Do you feel that with Esher Hill?” Suki asks, wondering if they’ll dare put damning thought to voice. “Importance?”

"Yes." Moll shifts the girdle book and the bunched-up length of brown belt fastening said book to their waist. Their robe spills over thighs and knees, leaving ankles and shoulders bared; unlike Suki, they don’t appear the least bit cold. “He doesn’t trust me, but I think seeing himself reflected in that tangle of sharedness does more to help him survive than anything else. It matters.” They draw a breath, their voice firming and harshening: “So why do you talk sharedness now?”

Good! Only pain and the fear that Moll will take a somewhat-deserved offence keeps her from clapping. If she spends her remaining months or years helping Moll craft a more intentional relationship to obedience, even the Sojourner must reckon this time well served.

Easier to think about that than her own fear of an unvoiced answer.

Easier to frame this as a lesson or a guiding, her conversation possessed of another’s purpose.

Easier to think of anything but guilt and the damning thoughts an old woman must dare speak.

“Why do you?” Moll sips from their mug, their body angled towards her, their soft tone less a question than a prompting. “Isn’t that it?”

Only then does Suki realise that she embodies her own lingering, encloaking silence.

Her eyes rest, fleeing Moll, on the fern-encrusted garden wall and its uneven rows of red and yellow orchids. Her plants, fronds and leaves stirred into bobbing by the evening breeze, appear peaceful and fearless, but even allowing for flora’s unknowable sentience, that can’t be true. What stops a priest from consigning her flowers to the compost heap? A swarm of thrip from devouring the vegetable garden? Ferns, too, live their lives at the whims of the weather, the season, the denizens of the land upon which they take root. Plants grow, flourish, sicken, die. Peaceful?

What is peace but illusion: the hope of a perfect shelter from nature’s whims, ways and hurts?

“It goes the same way,” she says, now staring at her lawn and its mushrooms, those glistening fruits of the fungus conquering the soil beneath. “You learn something you didn’t know existed: the word. Once you find it fits, you feel the betrayal, the ache of once not knowing something fundamental, the deep cuts left by ignorance. You want sympathy, reassurance and validation to heal, and where are they when most don’t understand?”

Deep creases form across Moll’s brow as they thread their fingers together. “Yes. Esher needs it from me.” They hesitate, lips parted. “He needs it. So does Mara.”

“You can say it,” Suki murmurs, wondering the cost of standing, stepping onto the lawn and pulling the closest mushroom … with her back, conveniently, facing the priest beside her. Perhaps she and Moll aren’t so dissimilar if she wants to turn her hurt to fighting fungi. Perhaps this only crosses a mind looking to find a replacement for her knitting. “Please.”

“And I needed it from you.”

They may be referring to that first vegetable garden conversation. They may be referring to the years that passed between Moll’s learning the word “aromantic” as a descriptor and discovering that another priest is also aromantic. Both are truth.

“Nobody but Amadi had anything close.” Suki yawns in the first touch of medicine’s giddiness. Pity, as always, that she feels the effect in her head long before her joints. “Given nameless, remaining nameless with eir last breath.”

Only the stirring of hair and robe by breeze and breath mars Moll’s quiet stillness.

“Those with more,” she says bitterly, “serve to guide those with less. How doesn’t aromanticism apply? But we know the other side of its truth: a priest must have more to serve. More knowledge, more support, more sense of place, more safety, more community. A priest offers sympathy, provides reassurance, validates feeling, illuminates direction. A priest does what the world so often can’t in telling the different that we aren’t wrong to exist as we are.”

Mama Lewis wanted Suki to be safe, happy, loved. Mama Lewis never valued the daughter she had over the image of the daughter she thought herself entitled to have.

The part of Suki still yearning for the promise of her mother’s love can’t surrender one tainted, maggot-ridden idea: that a concept bearing an academic-sounding, official name must have made a difference.

Or will she still exist in this same circumstance, a trailblazer struggling with the full and challenging consequences of being this path’s guide?

“You think that I’ve known our word for years. You think that age means my hurt no longer throbs and I will carry your pain. You think I have more.” She presses her lips together, fearing the tears threatening to burst their dam. No, Suki takes pride in being the human equivalent of a splinter under a fingernail! She doesn’t weep. She rebels. “I have more knowledge only! You’ve … thirty, forty, fifty years of knowing ahead. You won’t find the word when you’re at death’s doorstep. You won’t bear the pain of a word unknown for eight decades. Your guide came delayed, but your guide still came!”

Suki learnt her words from books, not other priests. Moll had Gennifer, who’d learnt of aromanticism from her and affirmed in person the name of their identity and human worth. Moll, now, has Suki, even if five years later than right or deserved. Mara and Esher Hill have the wonder of identified validation provided by other aromantics, but Suki lived in a time when even the best affirmation went unnamed.

She tried openness for a year. She tried talking, despite such guiding never being her strongest art, to those guests who showed signs of aromanticism. She tried to find and connect with her own.

Easier, so much easier, to withdraw, to leave nurturing the younger aromantic starting their novitiate to other priests, to trust that Moll’s future will achieve what hers can’t.

Easier, so much easier, to avoid the young’s self-involved cruelty in relegating her only to their mentorship: the provider of their needed validation and support, the priest with more.

Easier, so much easier, to avoid speaking of her named identity with her aromantic kin … until a man almost died in part because of how he took a priest’s careless words, a situation that may not have existed if everyone knew “aromantic” described her and understood its context. Her failure, her cowardice, her unwillingness to build aromanticism more obviously into all her priests’ knowledge and service. Her inability to survive the bruises dealt her by others in pain. Her rebellion offering no direction or answer.

“You want me to strengthen you, shore you, shelter you. I can’t. I can’t when even thinking of sharing your agony reminds me of mine. I can’t when listening to you…” She sucks in a harsh, shaking breath, her throat tightening like a python’s jaws around a struggling rat. “I don’t have more. I’ll never have more. But acknowledging that isn’t enough!”

No lie slipped from her lips when she spoke to Moll in the vegetable garden, carefully dealing in careless and shallow words: how can a priest best guide someone when that guiding means taking further injury to damaged flesh? How can she serve their guests and her belief when she fights to keep back her screams, when pain and defensiveness sharpen her words to cruelty?

How much did the ostensible Sojourner struggle in leading hir collection of rent and ruined survivors along such a frightening, untrodden road?

She wishes herself able enough to march into the kitchen, grab a stack of the cracked plates she kept aside for such purposes and find a private courtyard where she can hurl them at a particularly offensive wall.

“I’m sorry,” she rasps, “because you needed. Because what happened to Esher wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t retreated. I didn’t question. I didn’t try to find an answer. I used the precept as a shield; I failed it. I’m sorry, I—”

She doesn’t realise she’s weeping until Moll slides towards her, closes their warm hand about her bony shoulders and pulls her into their chest, her tears soaking their red linen robe. They don’t speak. They don’t do anything but sit, awkwardly leaned over the arm of her chair, and hold her like a fresh-hatched chick in a pair of sheltering hands.

Guiding priests don’t, by custom, embrace their guests.

A lifetime’s grief spills from her eyes, stinging creased, dry cheeks. Not until the evening’s chill increases to something unignorable does Suki find again her composure. She sniffs, draws a shaking breath and speaks in her ever-readily barbed tongue: “Ten years ago, before your novitiate, I’d have asked if you were interested in bedding. Or even just sleeping, because you’re better than a dog and a hot brick for keeping an old woman toasty.”

Moll sits upright, only a strained shift of shoulder suggesting any stiffness or discomfort. Their wet eyes glisten even in the dim light, an odd contrast to their twisted lips and crumpled chin—and then a noise between a hoarse laugh and a snort explodes above the breeze’s whisper. “Don’t distract!”

They sound like Suki does when objecting to the young's woeful blathering.

She straightens, wiping her face on a corner of her shawl before smiling in pride. “Yes. I…”

“Thank you for trusting me enough to share.” They’re priestly words, taken right from the instruction manual, but Moll’s following sentences aren’t: “You said my guide came delayed, but she came, she showed herself when needed, she served. She’s here. I don’t know … how people reacted, what was asked, all of what you feel, how you bear the weight. I want to know. Your guide came delayed, so delayed … but they’re here. Even at the last.”

Emotion cracks and shreds her voice: “I’d rather not cry again, thank you very much.”

Moll doesn’t dilute their blank stare with speech or gesture.

“What path, then?” she croaks—tired, giddy, shivering, relieved.

Part of her, the wary woman once a distrustful girl, feels it ludicrous that Moll, so junior a priest, can answer something she can’t. The girl does them no justice: Moll hasn’t asked her to carry their pain. They’ve shared only at her prompting. They’ve treated her with a friend’s warmth and courtesy. If she holds no faith in their sacred service, is there anything left of Suki but damaged bones in an aching body? Isn’t this the same old difficulty: a woman fighting herself to trust another person, simultaneously needing and fearing?

Moll rests a hand on the arm of her chair, fingers half curled in invitation.

Suki nods and rests her stiff hand in their soft one.

“Someday,” they say slowly, “as how it seems incredulous to question one eschewing gender, we will be history. My school, years ago, taught that: the tears and blood spent to make a world where I can shrug at gender. Not just as a past to avoid repeating, but as … respect for the pain that birthed the now.”

They motion with their other hand, fingers curled inwards—the mug and teapot sitting, long abandoned, on the bench.

Suki yawns, presses her trembling lips together and waits.

“We need books of names and definitions, and we need books of stories. Our futures and hopes written on the page. Stories of the past that we’re hoping become … incredulous. We need the stories of those who wept. We can’t forget.” They turn to glance at Suki before speaking in a voice marred by quivering: “May I write down your story? So I can understand—so we can understand, all those who come after?”

They won’t offer power. They can’t violently remake a world so wrought against her. They don’t provide resolution to the ache felt by a woman struggling with the community who need her to help them bear and understand theirs. They haven't a solution.

They offer direction, one balancing their hopes for the future with the harms of the present. A direction that doesn’t make her feel like a relic to be cast aside but a paving stone at the road’s beginning, one small part of ensuring the steady, continuing passing of feet and wheels.

Moll’s suggestion is why she believes in the concept of the Sojourner, even though she can’t make herself ascribe to certainty in god.

“I don’t mean to be impudent—”

“Never cluck when you’re doing a bitchy old woman a kindness.” Suki draws a shaking breath of her own. “I’d … like that. Very much. Thank you.”

At first, she thinks Moll’s expression—a slight curve of lips, only a smile by comparison—speaks more of relief than happiness. No. Don’t they also straddle a complex and confused struggle to build their place? Don’t they also feel the sacred power in their service? Aren’t they also in need of friendship?

“May I ask—” Moll stops themself, raising a palm. “Why did you talk to me, at the beginning, as though guiding a priest? Why didn’t you talk about this straight out?”

Suki grins at both the correction and the question. “I’m the Guide. What else do you think I’m going to do?”

[thebluemartini]

Under Your Spell - Nessian at Hogwarts AU Fanfic

TITILE: Under Your Spell SYNOPSIS: Hogwarts AU. One could say Cassian, a Gryffindor, has had an obsession with Nesta Archeron, a Slytherin, since their fourth year at Hogwarts. But as they enter their seventh and final year, Cassian realizes he has feelings for her and is determined to ask her out on a date before he runs out of time. He can only hope she'll agree to go out with him, considering they've spent the past few years bickering at each other. RATING: T FIC LENGTH: oneshot, 15K+ words SLIGHT WARNING: Tomas makes an appearance in this story, but when Nesta tells him to stop kissing and touching her, he does...he's just a royal jerk about it. *This fic is also posted on AO3 and FF. A/N: I was in the midst of drafting a post-ACOFAS Nessian multi-chapter fic when I got a bit of writer's block, then had read a tumblr post about what Hogwarts houses would the ACOTAR characters be in. A plot bunny was then born and I had to write this (despite not being one for AUs really...) because the thought of Nesta and Cassian at Hogwarts was SO CUTE to me!I just figured this oneshot would be around 5K words and not 15K words (!!!). I hope you enjoy it!

TAGGING some folks who have expressed interest in reading my Nessian fics in the past/Nessian-related blogs that may want to reblog :) (but I understand if a Hogwarts AU is not your thing!): @dreaming-of-bohemian-nights @queenofillea1@trash-for-nessian @nestaarcheronwillkillme @my-fan-side @strangeenemy @maastrash @cageddovepoetry

One could say Cassian has had an obsession with Nesta Archeron since their fourth year at Hogwarts.

As a Gryffindor, he didn’t pay Nesta much attention before then. She was a Slytherin after all. They surely had classes together, but he typically only hung around with his best friends, fellow Gryffindors Rhysand and Azriel.

But in their fourth year, during a Potions class, Cassian had his first significant interaction with Nesta.

Each student had been required to make a boil cure potion. Cassian had failed to make the potion correctly at first, having added snails instead of horned slugs to his concoction. So toward the end of class, he had to start the potion off from scratch and hurriedly put it together. In his rush, he had plopped the horned slugs into his brew, which happened to splash the unfinished potion onto Nesta’s arm as she walked by. Soon, big, red, pus-filled boils began to form not only on her arm but all over her body as she gave him the most horrifying glare that felt like it pierced his very soul. Then, in a bold move, she reached for the spoon beside him, stuck it into his brew, and purposefully splashed him back. Instantly, the boils covered his own body as he scowled at her.

The two of them had been sent to the hospital wing, where they were placed in beds next to each other. Despite his apology for accidentally splashing her, Nesta sent insults his way the entire afternoon, and Cassian felt compelled to fire back at her.

And ever since that day, they’ve always bickered at and teased each other.

At first, Cassian was truly annoyed with her whenever he saw her. But at some point over the years, he began seeking her out to playfully tease her because he grew to enjoy their interactions.

He wasn’t sure what it was about her. He simply felt drawn to her. Perhaps it was her boldness. Perhaps it was because she didn’t fawn over him and his friends like the other girls at Hogwarts did. Or maybe it was because she could verbally spar with him.

...As well as hold her own in a physical spar with him. In their fifth year, they had to duel each other in a Defense Against the Dark Arts class (using non-injurious spells, of course). With every spell he shot at her, she was always ready to shield herself and shoot one back. Neither of them were able to disarm the other, resulting in a tie.

Not only was she strong in intelligence and her fight, but she was beautiful. Cassian could never ignore that fact. From her high cheekbones to her luscious lips to the wicked amusement that would sometimes flicker in her smoky gray eyes...everything about her physique was alluring.

In fact, it was those captivating eyes of hers that had him beginning to question if he actually had feelings for her. Towards the end of their sixth year, he had been caught after curfew snogging with Hufflepuff Holly Langforden in a broom closet by Nesta. Upon finding them both with tousled hair and disheveled clothes, Nesta’s beautiful eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in irritation as, ever the prefect, she announced she was deducting ten points from both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff before angrily ordering them to return to their dormitories.

And yet, seeing Nesta’s shocked and fury-filled eyes had made him feel...guilty. If it was any other prefect who had caught them, he wouldn’t have felt bad at all. In fact, he’d been caught snogging other girls in broom closets multiple times since his fifth year, and it never bothered him one bit to be breaking the rules. It only bothered him that he couldn’t snog the girls a little while longer.

But Nesta finding him...had brought a weird feeling to his stomach. He didn’t cheerfully return to his dormitory afterwards as he usually would have done, having just made out with a girl. Instead, he walked at a slow pace, head cast down, with his hands in his pockets as he contemplated that strange feeling.

It was as though he felt sorry Nesta had caught him with someone else. That he regretted it instantly upon seeing Nesta open the door.

That he perhaps wished it was her he was actually snogging, untangling the crown braid around her head as he did so.

But he was quick to push that thought away. It had nearly been the summer anyway, and he had been certain he would soon forget all about her.

Well, he went off to Rhys’ home for the summer...and couldn’t forget about her.

All he could seem to think about was her.

The sight of books sprawled about Rhys’ home made him think of all the times he’d seen Nesta at the library. Rhys’ mother’s garden of various flowers had him remembering the one time he witnessed her sister placing flowers within Nesta’s hair as they sat beside the Great Lake. The grayness of the sky on stormy days reminded him of her eyes.  Even in the simple, silly things such as noticing the contrast of silverware at dinner against a green tablecloth brought his favorite Slytherin to mind.

He missed bickering with her. He missed her witty comebacks and her clever insults.

He just missed her.

And that was when he knew that he had to ask her out this year - their final year at Hogwarts. Before they went off to pursue their careers, he had to figure out whatever this thing with Nesta was...and if it was something that could last longer than their time at Hogwarts.

As he boarded the Hogwarts Express, with Rhys and Az following behind him, he searched for a compartment for them to sit. They’d been running pretty late, as usual, and most of the compartments were already full.

But towards the back, upon popping his head in one compartment, Cassian was delighted to find Nesta’s two sisters...with an empty spot next to them that would likely be filled by her.

And space to fit three more passengers across from them.

Cassian’s face beamed, and he felt his heart race as he asked, “Mind if we join you ladies?”

“Oh, please do,” Elain said sweetly with a kind smile, while Feyre nodded in agreement.

Cassian nodded in thanks to them. He had only ever had very brief interactions with Elain. She was a sixth-year Hufflepuff, and he didn’t see her often. He knew Feyre only slightly better since she was a fellow housemate, just two years younger than him.

Rhys and Az followed behind him into the compartment, and he could see the faces of Elain and Feyre brighten as everyone greeted each other.

Cassian plopped down in the seat across from the empty one he had assumed Nesta would soon fill. His heart began to pound at the prospect of seeing her after such a long summer without her.

A summer of dreaming about her and hoping he could go out with her.

Elain seemed to catch him looking at the empty space beside her. “Nesta’s in the prefect’s compartment, but she usually stops by to see us.”

Cassian hoped his disappointment didn’t show on his face. The prefect’s compartment...he had completely forgotten about the special perks of being a prefect.

But that also meant that as a prefect, she would have to patrol the train’s corridor at some point today. The thought brought a slight grin to his face. He could just make...periodic visits to the bathroom, maybe linger a bit in the train corridor, with the hope of seeing Nesta.

So for the following six hours aboard the train, that’s what he did. At the top of each hour, he’d make a leisurely walk to and from the bathroom...and sometimes get scolded by a prefect who wasn’t Nesta.

At one point, Rhys and Az thought something was wrong with him for having to go to the bathroom so many times. Not wanting to admit his true intentions in front of Nesta’s sisters, he simply insisted he was bored of just sitting around and needed to keep moving.

But now he was actually bored of pretending to go to the bathroom with no success of seeing Nesta. Cassian sighed as he stared out the glass window and watched the green scenery roll by as dusk fell. Rhys and Az were still in casual conversation with Feyre and Elain...but Cassian’s anxiousness over seeing Nesta prevented him from paying any attention to them.

Cassian glanced down at his watch. It was nearly an hour since he last left the compartment and probably about two hours until they reached Hogwarts. He supposed he could go ahead and change into his robes now before the mad dash of students going to the bathroom.

Grabbing his robes from his suitcase and stepping out of the compartment, he slowly turned his head from the left to the right, searching for any sign of a prefect.

And there was none. Cassian groaned before turning left and headed to the bathroom.

Once he put on his new robes, he left the bathroom and wandered down the corridor past his compartment. Every prefect had a shift to patrol the corridor. Surely, with two hours to go, Nesta would be out here.

As he casually walked along, he eventually stopped in between two compartments and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms against his chest with the clothes he had just changed out of draped over one of his arms. He might as well just wait for her to show up...and then she could scold him for hanging around in the passageway.

And so he waited.

And waited.

And then finally…

“Get back in your compartment!” a familiar voice reprimanded him from his right. Cassian turned up his head at her and smiled brightly. There Nesta stood, with her familiar stormy eyes and her stern expression. Her light pink lips glowed against her sun-kissed skin, and her braid crown made her seem angelic despite her irritated expression. Had she somehow become more beautiful over the summer or had he simply misremembered her beauty?

Nesta held up her wand and directed it at him.

“But I’m rather enjoying this view,” Cassian said with a smirk as he stared at her intently.

“Go back to your compartment and look at the scenery outside the window if you’re looking for a view,” Nesta suggested in a steely tone.

“But this view is so much prettier,” he said, still grinning and still intently staring at her. He could count the few small freckles on her nose.

(There were seven.)

A light pink blush briefly covered Nesta’s cheeks, and upon seeing it, Cassian longed to have many opportunities where he could make her blush.

“Is that the same line you used to get Holly Langforden to jump in a broom closet with you?” Nesta asked drily.

At first, Cassian frowned. But the fact that she even remembered who she caught him in a broom closet with…

“No. But does it make you want to jump in a broom closet with me?”

“Absolutely not,” she answered coldly. “Why don’t you go find her compartment anyway and see if that line works? Isn’t she your girlfriend?”

“You sure seem interested in my love life. Are you jealous?” he smirked at her.

“Any woman that takes your attention away from me has both my gratitude and my sympathy,” she stated snobbily.

Cassian frowned again. “Well, for your information, I broke up with her before the summer,” he replied.

“What a shame for me. But a relief for her at least.”

“You know you missed me this summer, Archeron. Admit it,” he teased her, but secretly hoped she actually did miss him as much as he missed her.

“I did not miss being annoyed by you one bit. Now get back to your compartment,” Nesta prodded his upper arm with her wand, gesturing for him to get a move on.

Cassian gradually started moving, and Nesta followed him to ensure he returned to his compartment.

As Cassian slid open the door to his compartment, he heard Nesta let out a small gasp behind him.

“Nesta!” Elain shouted upon seeing her behind him.

Cassian took his seat and looked back to Nesta to find her frowning more deeply at him as well as Rhys and Az.

“What are you doing sharing a compartment with my sisters?” she asked in an annoyed tone.

“Nesta, they needed a place to sit!” Elain tried to explain, but Nesta just continued to stare intently at Cassian.

Stars, he loved her eyes even when they glowered at him.

“Nes, there was nowhere else for us to sit, except for the aisle, where I would’ve gotten run over by the trolley,” Cassian stated.

“That sounds like it would’ve been the perfect place for you to sit,” Nesta spat. “And don’t call me Nes!”

“Well, maybe it would’ve been the perfect spot because you could’ve found me in the aisle and scolded me for being there, and I could’ve seen your beautiful face much sooner,” Cassian said as he winked at her.

Elain and Feyre giggled at his comment and looked up at Nesta expectantly, wanting to see how she would respond. Rhys and Az’s eyes widened in amusement at his comment.

The seam of Nesta’s lips remained in a straight line across her face, clearly unimpressed with his reply. “You better not have corrupted my sisters.”

“Nesta!” Feyre exclaimed. “They have done no such thing.”

“You’ve brain-washed them already, I see,” Nesta said, still not removing her eyes from Cassian’s. Feyre sighed out of frustration.

“Nesta, here’s your book. It was in my bag,” Elain said, changing the subject as she dug through her sack and pulled out a book to give to Nesta.

As Nesta accepted the book, Cassian noticed it was a Potions textbook.

And that could mean…

“Nesta, are you taking Potions this year?”

Nesta didn’t deign to verbally respond to him. Instead, she just firmly nodded.

“Perhaps, we’ll share a Potions class then,” Cassian added. 

Nesta let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll see you two later,” Nesta said with a look to her sisters. Then turning to him, Rhy and Az, she gave them a cold look. “Don’t you dare corrupt them.”

Nesta turned and left the compartment, ignoring her sisters’ protests at her statement.

Cassian could only sigh contentedly at having seen Nesta. Despite her insults, his heart was pumping wildly within him.

He’d never had such a reaction over simply talking to a girl before.

If his summer of daydreaming of her wasn’t enough, this was further proof that Nesta was...different. Special. Someone he wanted to spend time with and not just snog in broom closets like some of the other girls.

Cassian suddenly discovered Rhys and Az staring at him.

“What?”

“That look on your face...I’ve never seen that look on your face before,” Rhys said.

“What look?”

“Like you’re hopelessly in love,” Az piped in.

Elain and Feyre squealed with delight hearing this.

Well, he wasn’t sure if he was in love with her, but he certainly wanted to get to know her better.

“Are you going to ask her out?” Elain asked excitedly.

“Soon. But please don’t say anything to her,” Cassian coolly replied before turning to stare out the window, thinking about possible ideas for what he and Nesta could do for their first date.

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

It took Cassian three weeks to figure out what he and Nesta could do for their date.

The date of the first Hogsmeade trip had been announced, which was a little less than two weeks from now. It was the perfect place for a first date, considering there were plenty of shops to explore as well as places to eat together. It was an excellent opportunity for them to really get to know each other.

Now he just actually had to ask her to go with him and hope she would accept.

The two of them indeed ended up having the same Potions class, which occurred twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And every class, Cassian made sure to talk to her and always slip in some sort of comment about how beautiful she was, causing her to blush each time before she told him she had to get to working on the assigned potion and suggested he go do the same.

At least she didn’t angrily tell him to go away. And to Cassian, that was progress. Perhaps she was slowly succumbing to his charm.

But today was the day he would finally ask her to go out with him.

And as luck would have it, their Potions professor announced he did not have enough ingredients for everyone to make an individual potion that day and they would all have to work with a partner instead. Typically, students worked with a fellow housemate, but this class just so happened to have an odd number of Gryffindors and an odd number of Slytherins….

Cassian couldn’t help but grin to himself as he dashed over to the table Nesta was standing at.

“Nesta, will you be my partner?” Cassian asked casually.

Nesta quickly scanned the room and saw everyone else had paired off already. “Well I guess I have no other choice.” She immediately opened up the textbook to the page that listed the potion directions and began walking around the room to gather all the ingredients.

She didn’t get angry or upset over being his partner.

Progress.

But now...Cassian had to do the actual asking her out on a date part, and that sent his heart racing.

This never happened with any of the other girls he’d asked out...except for maybe the first time he ever asked a girl out. But ever since then, asking girls out came easily to him and he never got worked up over it.

But now…

Cassian didn’t understand what was wrong with him.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Nesta reprimanded him as she appeared at his side and set down a multitude of vials and jars. “Be useful.”

Cassian immediately picked up the textbook and read aloud the first instruction to her. Nesta listened to his words, picking up the jar of powdered moonstone and dumping it into the cauldron that sat on the table before them.

“What next?” Nesta asked.

“Uh, then add three spoonfuls of honeywater,” he said a bit shakily. His nerves were getting to him.

Nesta eyed him suspiciously. “Are you sure that’s what it says? You don’t sound confident.”

He just needed to ask her out and get this over with.

“Yes, three spoonfuls of honeywater,” he reiterated.

Nesta pulled the cork out of the vial of honeywater, then picked up the spoon and began pouring the honeywater onto it, hovering over the top of the cauldron before adding the first spoonful to their concoction.

“Uh, Nesta…” Cassian began, his heart feeling like it would burst through his chest at any moment. He wondered if she could hear it.

“Hmm?” Nesta was focused on putting the second spoonful into their potion and began working on the third.

“Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?”

Nesta’s eyes widened and she immediately looked away from her spoon to look up at him. “Excuse me?”

“Would you like to go on the Hogsmeade trip that’s coming up...with me ?” he said, not really sure what else she was looking for him to say.

“Like a date?”

“Yes.”

“Are you serious?” she questioned him incredulously. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Yes, I’m serious. No, it’s not a joke,” Cassian instantly insisted. “I honestly want to take you out on a date.”

“Darn it,” Nesta exclaimed upon realizing she had still been pouring honeywater onto the spoon, causing it to overflow and spill into their cauldron. “Look what you made me do! Now our potion will probably come out wrong,” she said in a frustrated tone as she put down the vial and the spoon. “You and your games,” she muttered.

“Nesta, I’m sorry. This isn’t a game. I truly want to go with you to Hogsmeade,” Cassian explained.

“Why?”

“Because I want to spend time with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you, and I want to get to know you better.”

Nesta’s eyes widened even more at his confession, and she said nothing as she fumbled around for something, anything it seemed, on the table.

“So will you honor me with your presence and go to Hogsmeade with me?” Cassian asked again.

“I can’t. Someone else already asked me to go with him,” Nesta explained softly.

Her response brought Cassian a flood of emotions. First, fury because who in the world dared to ask Nesta to Hogsmeade before him? Second, sadness because he wasn’t going to be able to go to Hogsmeade with her. Third, hope...because Nesta didn’t outright deny wanting to go out with him. She simply said she could not go because of another date…

“Who?” Cassian wondered.

“Tomas Mandray.”

“Tomas Mandray?” Cassian exclaimed in disgust, his mouth dropping open. “That piece of Slytherin scum?!”

“He is not a piece of scum,” Nesta stated sternly. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m a Slytherin too.”

“I know. I didn’t mean you were scum...just that he himself was the Slytherin type of scum,” Cassian explained awkwardly.

Nesta simply shook her head, completely perplexed. “Let’s get back to the potion,” she said.

“Will you go out with me some other time then?” Cassian blurted out, ignoring her request.

“Did you make some bet that you could get me to go on a date with you or what?” Nesta questioned him, her voice quickly returning to its irritated tone. “Or maybe you just wanted to see if you could get my hopes up by asking me on a date and then stand me up for fun.”

“No, Nesta,” Cassian said urgently as he put down the textbook on the table. He grabbed her hands and stared into her eyes. “This isn’t a game or a joke or a bet. I honestly want to go out with you.”

Nesta took a deep breath as she stared back at him. “I don’t believe you,” she said softly.

“What can I do to prove it to you?” Cassian pleaded quietly.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? I’m going out with Tomas and who knows...Maybe it will lead to more dates,” Nesta said simply as she pulled her hands out of his grasp.

How could he not have asked soon enough? The Hogsmeade date was only announced just the day before...

Damn Tomas Mandray.

The man was a complete and utter dolt and a total snob. Him and Cassian had never gotten along, so they’d always kept their distance from each other.

Crestfallen, Cassian simply lifted up the textbook once more and began to read off the directions in a monotone voice.

Nesta followed his instructions perfectly.

But there was no teasing, no playful bickering, no insults.

They didn’t say anything to each other with the exception of the reading of the instructions.

And it just didn’t feel...right to him. For them to be like this.

After having gotten his hopes up about a date with Nesta...he felt so disappointed. What was he supposed to do now?

At the end of class, they parted ways without a word to each other.

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

Cassian spent the days leading up to the Hogsmeade trip moping around. Even Rhys and Az called him out in it.

“You’re seriously this depressed that a Slytherin can’t go out with you? Let alone one who’s been moody and vicious to you?” Rhys had asked him one afternoon upon seeing him just lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling instead of venturing outside like he usually would have done.

“There’s more to her than that cold exterior,” Cassian had told him calmly.

When he had seen Nesta during their next few Potions classes, he still acknowledged her...he just didn’t really talk to her or tease her like he would’ve done previously.

And it just felt...strange. Like the joy of going to class was gone.

He’d been rejected before. That was nothing new.

But he had spent so many months longing for a date with Nesta...that for it to not happen was...heartbreaking.

And now the day of the Hogsmeade trip was here, and he still felt grumpy over the whole thing. He didn’t bother trying to find another date. He considered no longer going, but Rhys and Az managed to drag him along anyway.

They found themselves a table at the Three Broomsticks, and each had a pint of butterbeer before them.

“Do you think he’s going to take her Madam Puddifoot’s?” Cassian suddenly wondered aloud.

Az and Rhys gave him a bewildered look. “What are you talking about?” Rhys asked.

“Tomas and Nesta. Do you think he’s going to take her to Madam Puddifoot’s?” Cassian replied. “He probably is...he would do something completely unoriginal,” he muttered bitterly.

Az and Rhys sighed. “Cassian, you’ve got to stop thinking about this,” Az said.

“I can’t.”

“This isn’t even a breakup,” Rhys stated. “Just let it go.”

Cassian ran a hand through his hair. “It isn’t that simple.”

“What kind of hold does this girl have on you? You’ve never had this problem before with other girls.”

Cassian sighed as he slumped in his seat. “I don’t know.”

As he took another sip of butterbeer, he couldn’t help but wonder if Nesta was sipping a beverage just as sweet at the tea shop.

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

Today marked an important day for Nesta.

It was not only her first date with Tomas Mandray, but her first date...ever.

During her years at Hogwarts, she mostly kept to herself, not really wanting to deal with anyone else...or having the patience to really. She preferred the company of books over others, so she didn’t exactly have friends...just her sisters.

At times she felt perfectly content to spend most of her time alone and independently.

But there were times where she felt...utterly alone. Like no one cared or noticed her.

She was shocked when Tomas approached her in the Slytherin common room the other week to ask her to go to Hogsmeade with him. For once, someone actually noticed her…

Tomas was handsome and of good breeding. He came from a wealthy and highly-regarded family. His father worked in the Ministry of Magic...a connection that could potentially benefit Nesta in her future dream career, considering she wanted to work in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Tomas was also intelligent and cunning...Overall, very respectable.

And the complete opposite of the long, dark-haired Gryffindor who had spent the past few years annoying her and teasing her.

Nesta shook her head. She shouldn’t be wasting time thinking about him.

Especially when she was currently trying to listen to Tomas rattle about his quidditch accomplishments from across the table.

From her walk with Tomas to Hogsmeade to their arrival at Madam Puddifoot’s, they shared light conversation. Even though they were in the same year and same house, they didn’t know each other too well.

...Yet Tomas seemed to only really care that she get to know him well. He hardly asked anything about her.

But she continued to listen. She figured he probably was just nervous.

As soon as she took her last sip of tea, Tomas abruptly grabbed hold of her hand. “Let’s get out of here.” Pulling her away from the table, he whisked her out of the tea shop.

When they stepped outside, Tomas wrapped his arm around her, letting his hand rest at her waist and pulled her closer to him.

Nesta’s body tensed as he did so, feeling slightly alarmed that such touching was happening so soon, so quickly. She wasn’t used to affection from family to begin with, let alone with someone she didn’t know terribly well.

He led her through the crowds, then turned down an alleyway that was between Madam Puddifoot’s and another shop. It was empty, but the hustle and bustle of the students could still be heard. Opening up a door at the back of Madam Puddifoots, Tomas pulled her inside, where there were shelves of various teas. Clearly, it was a storage room for the tea shop.

As soon as he closed the door behind them, Tomas yanked her close to him. “Nesta, you are...so beautiful,” he remarked huskily as he cupped her face and quickly tilted his head down to capture her lips in a fierce kiss.

Stunned, Nesta could not move away. This wasn’t how it happened in the books she read. Usually, the characters knew each other at least a bit before they kissed. She wasn’t ready for this. She hardly knew him.

Her heart was pounding as he leaned in for another kiss, moving one of his hands to her thigh against her leggings beneath the fabric of her skirt. When his other hand started playing with the waistband of her skirt, threatening to tug it down, the movement startled her enough that she no longer felt frozen. Regaining her senses, she firmly stepped away from him before he could kiss her once more. “No,” she stated forcefully.

Tomas gave her a peculiar look, but then a grin spread across his face. “Oh, you want to find a place that’s more comfortable? I know a spot…” he remarked as he reached to grab her hand.

But Nesta quickly stepped back once more so she was out of his reach. “No,” she reiterated emphatically as she crossed her arms. She wished she’d brought her wand with her so she could blast him away from her. “I don’t want to snog you, nor do I want to sleep with you, you disgusting pig.”

Tomas’ eyes narrowed at her and stared at her for a moment, taking a few deep breaths as he did so. Then, he suddenly started towards the door, roughly brushing against her shoulder as he passed. “Then what else are you fuckin’ mudbloods even good for?” he angrily remarked before leaving the room and rejoining the crowds of students.

Nesta watched him through the open door as he left the alleyway.

Fury raged through her at the words he just said, at him being an egotistical jerk, at herself for not recognizing him as the jerk he was and for foolishly believing that he could ever honestly like a girl like her. She’d been so terribly stupid and felt so...used.

But part of her believed the words he said of her. What else was she good for? She’d never been the friendliest or the kindest person. She kept to herself most of the time and came from a family of no special importance. She was a nobody...someone who wasn’t worth caring about.

And even though she strived to become someone more, someone worthy of admiration...there was always something that pulled her back from such delusions.

Before she could stop them, tears slowly started to fall from her eyes.

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

After Cassian sipped his last bit of butterbeer, he looked up at his friends with a miserable expression. “I think I’m going to head back to the castle. I’m not in the mood to walk around.”

“No, Cassian, we’ll head to Zonko’s,” Rhys said. “You always have fun looking around there.”

Cassian sighed. It was true. He always enjoyed seeing the many prankster items at Zonko’s...but he simply was not in the mood for it this time.

“Not today,” he replied. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Rhys and Az looked at him with concern as he got up from the table and walked out of the Three Broomsticks.

Upon stepping outside into the cool autumn air, he took a deep breath. He wished he could enjoy the day with his friends...but he just...couldn’t.

As he weaved his way through the many gleeful students, his mind wandered, causing him to lose focus on his surroundings. In his daze, he accidentally bumped into one student’s shoulder, nearly knocking her to the ground.

When he turned his head to look at the girl, he realized it was none other than Nesta.

...who happened to be alone.

“Nesta!” Cassian exclaimed, and she tilted her head up to look at him. “I’m so sorry!”

Her eyes widened upon seeing him, and Cassian could see they were red-rimmed...as if she had been crying.

“You should...watch where you’re going,” Nesta remarked weakly. There was no sharp bite to her reprimand.

It was so unlike her.

She turned to walk away, but Cassian was quick to reach out and grab her hand, stopping her in her tracks. “Nesta, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said without looking at him. Instead, she continued to stand still with her eyes focused on the ground. “May I go now?” she asked, feeling annoyed.

He felt she would’ve yanked her hand out of his grip by now, but she didn’t.

“Did Tomas hurt you?” he asked, his voice tinged with anger. “Do I need to hex him?”

“If you do, I’ll have to deduct points from Gryffindor.”

Cassian released a frustrated sigh. “If he hurt you, then that doesn’t matter to me. What happened?”

“Nothing,” she replied. “Let go of my hand.”

Cassian immediately released her hand. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the castle,” she said as she began to walk away from him.

Cassian started to follow her, quickening his pace to catch up to her. He said nothing when he reached her side, instead choosing to simply match her stride.

With a quick glance to him beside her, she frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Going back to the castle,” he answered.

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m not. I was already on my way back to the castle when I bumped into you,” he stated. “So we might as well walk back together.”

Nesta said nothing in response to that. Instead, she pointed her head forward and continued along the path.

They walked in silence for a little while, but that was beginning to drive Cassian crazy. First of all, she didn’t seem herself. He thought for sure she would put up a fight to him walking with her. Something was off, and he needed her to return to her true self.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out some goodies he had purchased at Honeydukes before he had gone to the Three Broomsticks. “Do you want a chocolate frog? They’re your favorite, right?”

Nesta crossed her arms across her chest as she walked. “And how would you know they’re my favorite?”

Cassian held out a chocolate frog as he shoved the other candies back into his pocket. “Last year, after a Defense Against the Dark Arts class where we faced boggarts, Elain brought chocolate frogs over to you at lunch to help you feel...less spooked.”

Nesta turned her head slightly to the side, and one of her eyebrows rose into an arch. “Have you been stalking me?”

Cassian shook his head. “That day, you just seemed so horrified by your boggart that I...just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Except you chose to do so from afar, instead of coming up to me yourself,” Nesta stated.

“As if you would have accepted any help from me,” Cassian insisted. “You probably would’ve insisted you were fine and then would announce you were deducting five points from Gryffindor for me thinking otherwise.”

After that comment, he could see the corners of her mouth threatening to twitch upwards, but she fought the smile. The near-smile made Cassian grin.

“It would have been ten points,” she admitted.

Cassian chuckled and stuck out his hand again, motioning for her to accept the chocolate frog.

Nesta eyed it warily. “Is this another one of your ways of trying to get girls to jump in a broom closet with you? Find them when they’re down, then offer them chocolate?”

“Do you think all I do everyday is try to convince girls to snog me?” he asked, offended that she thought of him this way.

“Considering how many times prefects find you snogging a girl in a broom closet, yes,” she answered firmly, still not taking the chocolate frog.

“So you’ve talked about me with the other prefects?” he said with a smirk.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “We always have to go over how we’re deducting points and who the biggest culprits are.”

“You’ve still talked about me,” he said with a smirk.

“Only about what a pain in the ass you are.”

“And yet who’s the one offering you some chocolate and being insulted?”

“I’m not in the mood for chocolate. Especially if it was rejected by all the other girls you probably tried to charm today,” Nesta sneered as they approached the Hogwarts castle.

This time, Cassian rolled his eyes. “It really is no surprise that you’re patronus is a puma. Always ready to pounce on my ego.”

Nesta stopped and faced him, her arms still crossed against her chest. Her eyes softened. “You remember what my patronus is?” she asked quietly.

Cassian halted and simply nodded back at her. “It’s pretty impressive. Its form is more distinct than anyone else in our year.” He watched as her face turned a light pink.

After a brief moment of silence, Cassian spoke again. “So if you aren’t in the mood for chocolate, what are you in the mood for?”

“Lunch,” she said with a sigh as she glanced down at her watch. “But it looks like we’re past the lunch service time in the Great Hall.”

“What do you want for lunch?”

Nesta eyed him skeptically. “What does it matter? We’ve missed lunch.”

Cassian nearly sighed. She always had to make things difficult. “What do you wish you could have had for lunch?”

Nesta shrugged. “Pancakes.”

“Then let’s go get you pancakes,” Cassian said eagerly.

“What are you talking about? Lunch is over. Plus, Hogwarts hardly even makes pancakes.”

“Please just trust me for once,” he said as he began walking to a castle entryway at a slow pace. He paused at the door and turned his head back toward Nesta, waiting for her to follow him.

Nesta stared at him for a minute. Her eyes were curious and unsure. But eventually she put her arms down at her sides and her feet inched forward to follow after him.

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

“I’ve never been here before,” Nesta commented as she stared at the room around her, filled with house elves wandering about with pots and pans.

“I’m usually starving after Quidditch practice, so I was determined to find the kitchens so I could come get a snack,” Cassian said.

One house elf ambled up to Cassian, lifting up a large plate of pancakes drizzled with syrup as far as she could reach, which was up to Cassian’s waist.

Cassian bent over to take the plate from her hands. “Thank you, Ollie,” he said graciously, then grabbed some utensils off a nearby counter. 

Beaming, Cassian looked over at Nesta. “Let’s go eat,” he announced before turning to leave the kitchens.

“We’re leaving?”

“Yes. This isn’t a proper place for us to eat.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a secret,” Cassian said, then turned back to her and found her looking quite annoyed and perplexed. “Just trust me again. I haven’t let you down yet,” he added as he waved the plate of pancakes around.

Again, she seemed hesitant, but resigned herself to follow him again.

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

The two of them headed to the staircase and kept walking further and further up. Nesta wondered if Cassian even had a set spot in mind to eat or if he was just on some hunt to find an area to sit. It wasn’t until they had reached the seventh floor that they got off the stairs and headed down a corridor.

Suddenly, Cassian stopped in front of a wall tapestry that depicted some wizard and trolls wearing ballet shoes. There weren’t any places to sit, nor were there any rooms nearby, causing Nesta to wonder...what the hell were they doing here.

Cassian turned to her and handed her the plate of pancakes and utensils. “Hold this for a minute.”

Nesta’s eyebrow rose out of curiosity as Cassian began to walk a few paces, then turned around to walk a few more paces, then turned around again to walk a bit more.

When she was about to question aloud what he was doing, a door suddenly appeared in the wall across from the tapestry.

What the…

Her eyes grew big when Cassian opened the door and gestured for her to enter before him. “After you.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, she slowly walked towards the door. Without stepping inside, she peeked her head into the room and found multiple shelves of books, a small table with two chairs, and a few couches. “What is this place?”

“It’s called the Room of Requirement. It only appears if someone has great need of it. And we are in great need of an area to sit and eat and enjoy ourselves.”

Carefully, Nesta stepped inside the room. There were so many shelves of books in the room, it looked like it was a library. She longed to see what books were there, but she knew her stomach was getting ready to growl any moment now. She needed to eat.

As she set the plate of pancakes down on the small table in the center of the room and sat down, Cassian took the seat across from her.

“So you just...picture the room you need as you walk back and forth in the corridor and then it will appear?” Nesta asked him.

“Basically,” Cassian answered, picking up the fork and digging into the pancakes.

Nesta picked up the other fork and took a stab into a fluffy flat cake. “Why did you want this type of room?”

Cassian swallowed the piece of food he was chewing, then opened his mouth to speak. “Well, you love libraries, don’t you? That’s where I always seem to find you outside of class.”

How was it that this boy before her seemed to know her so well? This boy that she always treated as if he was a pestering pixie?

Thinking back to the past few years, it was true that he occasionally found her at the Hogwarts library. He always had to come by her and caused some kind of commotion, either commenting on the book she was reading or the faces she was making as she was reading or some other inane topic. His talking with her always sent Madam Pince scurrying over to them to reprimand them and threaten to kick them out.

Nesta nodded in response to Cassian’s question as she took another bite of her pancake. “How did you did you discover this place?”

At her question, Cassian’s cheeks turned slightly pink and Nesta knew immediately that she had to know the answer to this question.

When Cassian remained silent, Nesta prodded him. “How?”

“Because I needed a broom closet,” he muttered.

Amusement flowed through her at his words. She smirked. “And why did you need a broom closet?” she asked. “Especially since there are so many others in the castle you could have used.”

“When I was in fifth year, there was this seventh-year girl from Ravenclaw who didn’t want to be caught by her friends snogging a fifth-year, and so I happened to talk to Ollie about it and she told me about this room.”

For some reason, the thought of Cassian bringing another girl here didn’t sit well with her.

But she pushed that hurt to the side and focused on the fact that she was justified in thinking that Cassian was always on the hunt for girls to snog in broom closets.

“Wow, an older woman,” she commented, managing to summon some enthusiasm. “Did you run out of new girls to snog from your own year? Excluding the Slytherins of course,” she was quick to note.

Cassian gave her a look that showed he wasn’t too pleased with her insinuation. “No.”

“Do you just prefer older women then?”

“That depends. When is your birthday?”

“November 1st,” she reluctantly answered in between chewing her pancake.

Cassian’s mouth spread into a wide grin as he stared intently at her. “Considering you’re about two months older than me, then yes, I’d say older women are my preference.”

Her cheeks suddenly felt very warm.

But was this just what Cassian did to all the girls? Make them feel like they were special, kiss them senseless, then drop them as if they were nothing? Was this just part of the usual charm he put on?

Suddenly no longer feeling hungry, Nesta put down her fork and got up to explore the books in the room.

Running her fingers along the spines of the books, she read through the titles. Spellbound After Midnight. Romancing the Womanizing Wizard. Charming the Enchantress.

They all appeared to be romance novels.

Her favorite.

None of the titles seemed familiar. When she was at home, she was only able to read muggle romance novels. The Hogwarts Library only contained a handful of non-school-related books, so to have shelves of unread romance novels written by witches and wizards before her was a complete thrill.

Pulling one book off the shelf, she made her way to the crimson couch on the other side of the room. Sitting down, she opened the book and began reading the first chapter.

A few pages in, she saw Cassian approach her out of the corner of her eye and proceed to plop down in the couch across from her.

When she turned the page, she could feel him staring at her.

A few more page turns later, she could still feel him staring at her.

Putting her book down in her lap, still opened to the page she was on, she looked up at him. “Don’t you want to read a book or something?” she questioned him in an irritated voice.

“I am perfectly content studying and memorizing the features of your face,” he answered.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying,” he said as he continued to stare at her. “You’re beautiful.”

The same words Tomas had said to her earlier that day.

Was Cassian just like him, only more patient? Was he willing to spend more time trying to flatter her to get her to sleep with him?

But the way Cassian said those words was different compared to the way Tomas said them. Tomas’ tone made it sound like he was praising a prized object he was thrilled to have in his possession, while Cassian sounded like he was truly admiring her.

Of course, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was how he treated all the other girls he’d been with.

And yet, she remained here in this room with him, instead of bursting out as soon as she was fed. The fact that he remembered her patronus, her love of chocolates and reading...perhaps that’s what made her stay. What made her want to find out if Cassian spoke truthfully about wanting to get to know her better.

“Well, I can’t read if you’re staring at me.”

“I apologize,” he said, finally shifting his gaze over to a nearby shelf.

Nesta looked over to the shelves too and saw one was filled with games and puzzles instead of books. Closing her book and placing it beside her on the couch cushion, she stood up. “Are you up for a wizard’s chess match?”

Cassian grinned a little too mischievously. “Absolutely. Prepare to be beaten, Archeron.”

“We’ll see about that.”

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

“I demand a rematch,” Cassian insisted after Nesta had just shouted “Checkmate!” and smiled proudly at him. He was too competitive for his own good.

But he was also obsessed with the focus Nesta had during the game. As she analyzed the board and the pieces throughout, he could envision the cogs within her brain clinking together as she determined what to do next. From the way her lips would move slightly to the left when she was deep in thought to the way she would occasionally squint her eyes when looking at the board, Cassian was mesmerized. And then when she would make her move, she did so with such confidence and assuredness, it was captivating.

“We’ve already played three times,” Nesta, sitting on the floor on the opposite side of the chess board from him and completely clueless to the effect she had on him, pointed out. “Can your ego simply not take being beaten by a girl?”

“No. I just want to learn how to play like you. How did you learn to play like that?”

“My father taught me how to play muggle chess when I was young,” Nesta revealed. The expression on Nesta’s face turned glum, causing Cassian to frown.

“What’s wrong? What did I say?” he immediately asked, nervous that he was ruining this moment with her.

Nesta shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s just…” she trailed off.

“Go on,” Cassian encouraged her gently.

“My father...made some bad investments and ran his business into the ground a few years ago. He hasn’t been the same since.”

“How so?”

Nesta took a shaky breath. “It’s like he’s lost the will to live. He hasn’t even bothered trying to find another job. He doesn’t even want to take care of our family, nor does he really care to hear from us. Thankfully, we have Hogwarts to come to for most of the year…”

Cassian’s frown grew deeper. He was aware that their mother had passed away long before she came to Hogwarts. That meant they only had their father to provide for them…

“What does that mean? What happens during the summers?”

“Feyre managed to get lucky this past summer and got a job at a nearby grocery store thanks to a friend. Elain and I have had trouble getting jobs since we can only work during the summers, but sometimes the neighbors will pay for us to do chores for them around the house. We get by,” she shrugged.  

Cassian stopped himself from letting his mouth drop open in shock. “What happens to your father when you’re here at Hogwarts?”

“Our neighbors help take care of him.”

Cassian shook his head. “Nesta, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. If I had known…”

Nesta held up her hand and cut him off. “Stop it, Cassian. There is no need to beat yourself up for it.”

Cassian stared at her, sadness filling his heart. The whole summer, he had been obsessing over her and thinking of her nearly everyday. Meanwhile, she’d been trying to...survive.

“If it’s any consolation...my father walked out on me and my mother shortly after I was born. He went to be someone else’s husband and father. And then my mother passed away a few years later,” Cassian revealed quietly.

Nesta glanced up at him with sympathetic eyes. “I’m sorry, Cassian,” she whispered.

“I didn’t mean for you to feel sorry for me. I just wanted you to know that...you’re aren’t alone in having an...awful dad.”

“It’s nice to know there’s someone...who understands,” she said gently.

Cassian gave her a small smile. “It is,” he agreed. His breathing slowed as he stared into her eyes and Nesta stared back in silence. He wished he could lean forward and kiss her, but he still couldn’t tell just yet if she liked him or not.

Suddenly, Nesta broke their staring contest “Let’s play another game,” she said abruptly as she stood up to walk past him and look at the shelf of games. “How about Exploding Snap?”

“How about Truth or Dare?” Cassian suggested instead, twisting his body to look up at her from his spot on the ground and smirk at her. Maybe he could better figure out Nesta’s feelings during such a game.

Nesta scowled at him.

“Too scared to play?” he teased her.

She crossed her arms against her chest. “Fine. Truth or dare?”

Cassian thought for a moment. “Truth.” Nesta clasped her hands behind her back as she strolled about the room, looking again at all the books that surrounded them. “How many girls have you brought to this room, including me?”

“One.”

Nesta halted her steps to look back at Cassian sitting on the floor. She looked completely bewildered. “I said ‘including me.’”

“I know,” he said. “It’s only been you.”

“But the seventh-year Ravenclaw - ”

“I ended up not bringing her here after realizing I shouldn’t be with someone who’s ashamed to be seen with me.”

“Wow, so you actually have standards,” she remarked.

Choosing to let her comment slide, he resumed their game. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” she instantly said.

There wasn’t much that could be done to embarrass someone when you’re playing in a secret room with no other people around. And he certainly didn’t want to leave the room just yet for risk of ruining this time with Nesta. Just the two of them had been...pleasant. “I dare you to give me a compliment.” He looked at her devilishly.

Nesta took a deep breath and squinted her eyes, while in deep thought.

“Any day now,” Cassian pressed her when she remained quiet for over a minute.

“My apologies. It’s hard to think of something,” she said casually as she sauntered around him.

Looking unimpressed, Cassian crossed his arms against his chest and waited.

And waited.

“I suppose…” Nesta began. “You’re not terrible at Quidditch.”

“That was barely a compliment,” Cassian complained. But the fact she had paid attention to him playing quidditch was...intriguing.

“But a compliment, nonetheless. Truth or dare?” she quickly questioned him.

Cassian pouted. “Truth,” he grunted.

“How many girls have you kissed since being back at school this year?”

Cassian perked up his head. “Why do you care about that?”

“I’m not required to tell you why I’m asking a question.”

Such an infuriating, stubborn girl, this one…

And yet, he knew that was partially why he liked her so much.

“Zero,” he answered emphatically.

Nesta stopped and whipped her head in his direction. “Really?”

Cassian nodded. “Really.”

“I’m shocked. We’ve been back for over a month now, and you haven’t kissed anyone?”

“Nope,” he said as he got up off the floor and started walking towards her.

It had actually been over four months since he’d kissed a girl.

Because there was only one girl he wanted to kiss...

“I figured you would’ve kissed at least one girl a week.”

“Guess you don’t know me as well as you thought,” he stated as he leaned against the bookshelf right beside her.

“Or you’re losing your charm,” she retorted, crossing her arms against herself as she tilted her head up at him.

Dramatically, Cassian put his hand over his heart. “You wound me,” he cried out.

Nesta rolled her eyes.

“But you do admit then that at some point, I was charming?” he eagerly replied.

“No, I misspoke. I think the girls have finally realized you never had charm to begin with.”

Cassian smirked. “You admitted I was charming.”

Nesta groaned. “Stop gloating. I pick ‘dare,’ by the way.”

“I dare you to tell me why you want know how many girls I’ve kissed and how many I’ve brought to this room.”

“That’s not a real dare! That’s a ‘truth’ disguised as a dare,” she yelled at him.

“You didn’t give me a true compliment!” Cassian shouted back.

“Ugh, fine.” Nesta sighed. “I’m just trying to see if…”

“If…?” Cassian encouraged her to go on.

“If I’m just...one of the many,” Nesta finished quietly.

Cassian’s gaze lost its cheeky amusement. “Nesta,” he said as he stood upright and grabbed her hands. “You are not just one of the many. I spent nearly every day of my summer thinking about you. I’ve never brought a girl to the kitchens before. There’s not even a girl I’ve probably talked to as much as you, with all the times we’ve teased each other over the years.”

Nesta stared up at him thoughtfully.

And then Cassian’s stomach chose that precise moment to grumble.

Effectively ruining the moment.

Nesta pulled her hands away from him and looked down at her watch. “I guess it’s already dinnertime…”

“I guess we should head off to eat with the other students in the Great Hall then…” Cassian said, hating himself for saying it, not wanting their time together to end. He’d much rather eat with her alone again.

“I guess we should,” she stated reluctantly.

“But I don’t really want to,” he admitted.

“I don’t...really want to either,” she agreed.

It felt like his stomach did somersaults when he heard her say those words. Beaming, he held out his hand in invitation for her to grab it again. “To the kitchens, then?”

And with a demure smile, she grasped it tightly, permitting him to lead the way. “To the kitchens.”

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

It was when they made their way down the many staircases that an idea came to Cassian for where he and Nesta could eat their dinner. It just required a few more items…

When they had arrived at the kitchens, he had instructed Ollie to prepare two dinner meals to-go and told Nesta to wait for him there while he retrieved a few things from his room.

As he rushed back to the kitchens, he only prayed that she had indeed stayed in the kitchens and wasn’t having seconds thoughts about eating dinner with him.

Finally - finally - he had gotten some sort of sign that maybe - just maybe - she liked him back.

Or could potentially like him.

Or at least liked him enough to spend more time with him.

...If she didn’t back out.

The thought pushed him to move his feet even faster, nearly tripping over himself as he passed all the chattering witches and wizards within the various portraits along the walls.

Out of breath and bearing a blanket and a cloak, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw Nesta still waiting for him, holding a basket that he bet contained the food prepared by the house-elves.

“You have the food?” he asked to confirm.

Nesta gave him a firm nod.

“Let’s go,” he stated, beginning to walk out of the kitchens.

“Is this another secret?” Nesta asked as she followed him.

“You bet,” Cassian exclaimed with a wink back at her.

This time, she didn’t look hesitant and unsure. Instead, she seemed...intrigued and eager.

More progress.

Once they went up the staircase and reached the ground level, Cassian leisurely strolled alongside Nesta and guided her outside through one of the castle’s doors

“We’re going outside?” Nesta wondered. “I don’t have my - ”

“I got you covered,” Cassian cut her off, knowing she was going to say she didn’t have her cloak or jacket. He halted his steps. “Hold this,” he instructed as he handed her the blanket. He then unfurled the cloak within his arms and hooked it around Nesta’s shoulders.

Seeing her wear his cloak made her look even more attractive to him.

Why did he do this to himself…

She seemed grateful for the gesture...until she tilted her head down to look closer at the cloak she was wearing and grimaced.

“What?”

“It has the silly Gryffindor emblem on it,” she noted before looking up at him. “But I suppose I will survive wearing it just for one night…” She finished with a soft smile.

Cassian chuckled as he took the blanket out of her arms. “I sure hope so.”

As they resumed their walk, a gentle, cool breeze blew past them. With his free hand, Cassian grabbed Nesta’s free one and eagerly led her down the slope toward the Great Lake. He beamed when she tightened her grasp on his hand.

The sun was just beginning to set over the lake waters. Once they were near the edge of the lake, Cassian let go of her hand to lay down the blanket. Nesta promptly set down the basket of food and sat down upon the blanket. Cassian followed suit.

Upon opening the basket, they found a delectable meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes, peas, treacle tart for dessert and bottles of pumpkin juice.

As they dug into their meal, they watched the sun descend over the glistening waters.

“It’s beautiful,” Nesta commented softly.

Cassian inclined his head toward hers. “Not as beautiful as you,” he whispered.

Nesta groaned. “You really need some new material.”

“Well everything about you is impossible to properly compliment,” he said in his smooth-talking voice. “You are simply indescribable.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and shook her head back and forth as she swallowed some potatoes. “Good grief, you are so...ridiculous!”

“I think what you meant to say was ‘Cassian, you are so ridiculously handsome, and I can’t imagine spending this beautiful night with anyone else.’”

“‘Can’t imagine spending the beautiful night with anyone else?’”  she exclaimed incredulously. “I certainly can! If I was here with Hugh Grisman from Hufflepuff, he’d be too frightened to talk.”

Despite being thwarted of being given a compliment from Nesta once more, Cassian’s eyes still contained a hint of amusement.

“Or, imagine if I was here with Lawrence Milton from Ravenclaw. He would be going on and on about all the science behind the sun,” Nesta joked as she turned her gaze upward.

“Imagine if you were here with Walton Azley from Gryffindor,” Cassian piped in. “He’d probably try to convince you to go walking through the water with him in search of some obscure magical creature.”

Nesta chuckled, and it was a sound that Cassian wished he could hear over and over again. He started laughing with her.

“If I was with Artemis Braxton, he’d probably charm me with his singing voice and sweep me in arms to -”

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Cassian sternly interjected and stopped laughing. While Artemis Braxton was a famous singer who would likely never be on a date with Nesta, the thought of someone else wooing her and wrapping his arms around her sent jealousy running through him.

From the way Nesta smirked at him, he could tell she was well aware how that image made him feel.

“You have no right to get in a huff about this,” she said rather calmly. “Especially since you’ve probably been here with - ”

“I haven’t been on a picnic with any other girl,” Cassian was quick to reply. “It’s only been you,” he stated earnestly.

The smug grin vanished from her face. Instead, she looked pensively down at her food as she ate.

Cassian let out a slow breath he didn’t realize he was holding and resumed eating his peas, while Nesta continued to pick at her roast beef. The sun’s last remaining rays faded from the sky, and for a short while, they sat in silence and simply listened to the whistling of the wind.

But then, Cassian heard Nesta suddenly put her utensils down on the now empty plate in her lap. In the darkness, she focused her gaze down at the plate.

“Earlier today, Tomas...he just wanted me for sex,” she whispered. “And then when I rejected him, he said he didn’t know what fuckin’ mudbloods were even good for then.”

Rage flowed through Cassian’s body. He was livid, absolutely livid. His hands, which gripped his fork and his plate, began to tremble from his anger. Tossing the plate to the side, he hurriedly stood up off the ground.

He was going to pummel that piece of…

“Lumos,” he somehow heard Nesta say over the sound of his raging heartbeat. “Where are you going?” she asked angrily as she held out her lit wand so she could see him.

“I’m going to murder Mandray,” he stated seriously.

“No, you aren’t. Sit back down,” she ordered sternly. “Now.”

“You don’t deserve to be treated that way!” Cassian cried out, trying to make her understand. But when Nesta’s glare did not disappear, he begrudgingly sat back down on the blanket.

“You don’t need to be causing anymore trouble,” she said as she grabbed hold of his hand and intertwined their fingers. “If you become a murderer, I don’t want to have to see that handsome face of yours hidden behind the bars of Azkaban.”

Cassian suddenly sat up straight. “Did you just willingly compliment me?”

Nesta nodded. “Perhaps you should document this moment since it’s such a rare occurrence and probably won’t happen ever again.”

If he wasn’t so enraged, Cassian would’ve chuckled at her comment. “Can I at least hit him with the bludger multiple times during our next match against Slytherin?” he wondered aloud.

“Sure.”

He stared at her in the glow of her wand for a moment. “You’re really going to let him get away with this?”

“Of course not. In time, I will retaliate,” she remarked with a delighted sneer.

“Good,” he said with a conniving smile. “Let me know if you need any help.”

“You’ve already helped me enough today,” she said seriously and squeezed his hand. Nesta dropped her lit wand onto the picnic blanket, then began shifting her body so she was right beside him, her thigh grazing his. She rested her head on his shoulder. Cassian released her hand and instantly wrapped it around Nesta’s back to pull her closer. He inhaled her lavender scent and tried to calm his heartbeat that was racing from the excitement of being so close to her.

“Thank you, Cassian,” she said softly as she tilted her head up, her nose brushing briefly against his cheek. “For today,” she added.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered back.

Those eyes...they were like magnets. Always pulling him in and making him never want to remove his gaze.

And those luscious lips...they called to him. He wanted to kiss her so badly…

Slowly inching his face toward hers, Cassian took a deep breath, and he could see Nesta doing the same.

But suddenly, her eyes widened in shock and she shot up to her feet. “Oh no,” she gasped.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, feeling alarmed and standing up with her.

She glanced down at her watch. “I have to go. I completely forgot about my shift tonight to patrol some of the corridors.”

Hurriedly, she took the cloak off her body and handed it off to Cassian.

But she couldn’t leave. Not yet...not when they had come so far.

“Just forget about it. Don’t go,” he pleaded as he tossed his cloak to the ground and attempted to grab hold of Nesta’s wrist.

“I have to leave,” she said firmly, dodging his grasp as she picked up her wand. “Goodnight,” she said before rushing off to the castle door.

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

Despite Nesta’s abrupt departure, Cassian was in a state of elation for a while.

He had finally been on a date with Nesta. And now he couldn’t wait to ask her to go out on a second one.

Their time together was so...simple and quaint. But they were alone, and he had felt so relaxed around her. It was just...different from when he’d spent time with other girls. He didn’t have to feel like he was pretending to be someone else. She was someone who could relate to him and just...understand. Someone he could be vulnerable with.

Plus, he finally got to hear her admit he was handsome.

Then there was the fact they they held hands multiple times and she let him wrap his arm around her...signs that she didn’t truly despise his company. That she felt something for him in return.

For the evening after their date and the next couple of days, it was like he was in a daze. Rhys and Az wondered what was wrong with him. He kept humming to himself as he walked through the corridors of the castle, and he could hardly pay attention to what was going on around him. Every time he turned a corner, he kept hoping that Nesta would be there, happening to walk in his direction.

Alas, he wasn’t so lucky.

At meal times, he’d stretch out his neck to take a peek over at the Slytherin table, hoping he’d find her among the crowd and throw a wink her way. Maybe even offer to whisk her off to the kitchens again.

But he never saw her.

But when their Potions class on Tuesday was approaching, Cassian was ecstatic at the thought of finally seeing Nesta and asking her out again...with hopefully more success this time around. He even arrived to class fifteen minutes earlier with the hope that he could talk to her before class. And he never got to class early.

But she never showed up for class...which seemed so unlike her. He’d never known her to miss class.

So that afternoon, he decided to attempt to seek her out. He went to the library for a while, pretending to study as he periodically looked around for Nesta’s head bent over a book as he so often saw in the past.

But there was no sign of her.

On Wednesday afternoon, he hung around outside the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory for a while, thinking he could at some point catch her coming in or out. He ended up receiving a lot of dirty and suspicious looks from various Slytherins...none of them from the one he was looking for. When he saw one seventh-year Slytherin female leaving the dormitory, he blatantly asked her if Nesta was inside. The female frowned at him - seemingly perturbed that a Gryffindor was talking to her - and reluctantly informed him that she hadn’t seen her since that morning.

At least someone had seen her and he knew she was alive.

On Thursday, he was thrilled once more about going to Potions class, again getting to the class early, because surely Nesta wouldn’t miss two classes…

But once again, she never showed up.

And so Cassian’s euphoria began to dampen.

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

The night Nesta patrolled the corridors after her picnic with Cassian, she found it...terribly difficult to keep her mind off of him.

They had almost kissed and...she could not believe herself. If she didn’t remember her patrol shift, she probably would’ve let him.

The thought flustered her.

This was Cassian she was talking about. Cassian!

A boy who took every chance to annoy her, to tease her, to argue with her, to make sarcastic comments and innuendos to her constantly for the past several years.

It was ridiculous.

Her and him together...preposterous!

It simply didn’t make sense. He cared more about quidditch than studying for his N.E.W.T. exams. He didn’t come from a high social standing family that could help advance her career, which is what she had always pictured for herself.

She may have read tons of romance novels with grand gestures and declarations of love, but...she never pictured such things happening to her. Others had always considered her unkind, snobby, and unlikable. It’s what made it so hard for her to make friends.

So she never thought she’d ever be a part of a swoon-worthy scenario where a boy got her pancakes because she was hungry and took her to a room that he had transformed into one of her favorite places and then take her on a picnic by the lake.

Nesta groaned. She had admitted to herself that Cassian’s actions were swoon-worthy.

What had gotten into her? How could she let her barriers come down? She even started telling him about her issues with her father. She hardly even discussed such things with her sisters. And then he even opened up to her about his parents. She had never known that his father walked out on him…

No. She had to stop thinking about this. She needed to forget it. He had his date with her, he got what he wanted. Now, he would probably never want to hang out with her ever again.

To her both her displeasure and her pleasure, a visual of him and his silly smirking face formed in her mind as soon as she awoke Sunday morning.

And then when she went to brush her hair and put it in a braid crown, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have Cassian’s hands run through her hair.

Ugh. Why would she imagine such things?

Things that are not meant to be and should never happen.

She’d need to keep her distance from him for a little while. Give herself space to allow herself to forget about him.

(Even though part of her was also dying to see him again.)

So for the next few days, she spent most of her time in the Room of Requirement, which she figured no one else would be able to enter if it was in use. If she hung out in the library, she knew there was a chance she could run into him. And she certainly couldn’t eat her meals in the Great Hall, or she would see him. Luckily, Cassian had shown her how to get to the kitchens…

But unfortunately in her determination to not see him, she kept being reminded of him because she was going to the places he had introduced her to.

She still attended her classes, but when Tuesday rolled around, she just knew she couldn’t face him yet. She had to get herself together and build up her walls around her once more before she saw him again. So...for once in her life, she skipped class.

Then skipped for the second time in her life when it was time for Potions class on Thursday.

Because. She. Still. Could. Not. Get. Him. Out. Of. Her. Head.

She wanted to scream.

Every day, she thought of him and wished he was with her.

But then she would get frazzled and wonder why she felt this way.

Was she completely delusional? Was she sick? What was making her feel this way? Why couldn’t she just forget him already?

This was how she envisioned what being under the spell of a love potion would feel like.

A love potion...

Could he have possibly slipped her a love potion at some point?

That had to be it. There was just no way she would feel this way on her own accord.

But now she was fuming...over the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about him on top of the possibility that he had slipped her a love potion.

Now she knew she needed to see him and get to the bottom of this madness once and for all.

She glanced down at her watch. It was roughly an hour before dinner. He could be anywhere...perhaps in his dormitory or at quidditch practice.

Quidditch practice.

Hurriedly, she grabbed her satchel to search for her notebook that contained schedules of classes, quidditch, clubs, and more for prefect purposes. Opening her notebook, she flipped through the pages to the one she was looking for.

Quidditch Practice - Thursdays

4:00pm - Ravenclaw

5:00pm - Gryffindor

Without even a second thought, she departed the Room of Requirement and headed straight to the quidditch pitch.

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

When she arrived, she indeed found the Gryffindor team huddled together on the ground, finishing up their practice.

With her arms crossed, she walked onto the field and leaned back against the barricade that separated the stands from the field. Her eyes found Cassian’s tall form in the distance immediately. His silky, dark hair was pulled back into a bun and his athletic wear made his muscles look more pronounced.

Nesta scolded herself and reminded herself to remain focused. She needed to confront Cassian and find out if he gave her a love potion. She just needed to wait a little bit, since she certainly didn’t want to make a scene in front of everyone else.

The Gryffindor team huddle broke apart, and when Cassian stepped away, his eyes instantly found hers and his face broke out in the widest grin she’d ever seen on anyone.

No, the smile did not make her weak in the knees.

She refused to let it.

...but failed.

Her whole plan had been to stomp over to him and make her frustrations known. Instead, he was now gleefully jogging toward her with his broom in his hand while the rest of the team dispersed, heading to the changing rooms.

Her body refused to move. Too frozen from that damn smile and the way he was currently looking at her.

“Nes,” he said when he approached. “Where have you been? Did something happen?” His voice was filled with concern, and his free hand neared her as if he was about to grab her hand.

She certainly could not allow that to happen. Lifting up her wand in her right hand, she jabbed its tip into the center of his chest to prevent him from going any further. “Stop it right there,” she angrily ordered. “And don’t ever call me Nes.”

Upon hearing her tone, Cassian frowned and outstretched his empty hand in confusion. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Nesta groaned and she jabbed the tip of her wand into his chest again. “I am not your sweetheart.”

“Ok, put your wand down,” Cassian requested, his voice sounding like he was trying really hard to control his temper. “And Nesta, please tell me what’s wrong? I’ve been worried about you. You missed class, and you never miss class -”

“No,” Nesta interrupted him, disregarding his request to put her wand down and instead tapping his chest with it. “No, you don’t get to say these things and act like you know me so well!”

“But I do know you,” Cassian said with traces of frustration and impatience. “At least a little! And I want to get to know you better!”

“Well, giving someone a love potion is a lousy way of showing that!” Nesta shouted back, and a look of complete and utter bewilderment covered Cassian’s face.

“What? You think I gave you a love potion?!” Cassian exclaimed. “I’ve done no such thing.”

“Don’t lie to me! Why else would I be feeling this way and constantly thinking about -” Nesta began to say, but abruptly stopped herself from saying anything more.

“Thinking about what? Me?” he questioned her, infuriated. “Is it so ridiculous to think you might actually like me that you assumed I must have used a love potion on you?”

Nesta slowly pulled her wand away from him and brought it down to her side as she stared at the ground, avoiding his gaze.

Cassian looked down at her peevishly. “I thought you knew me enough to know I would never do such a thing. I want to date you and be with you, but only if you truly want to be with me too. I loved spending time with you on Saturday, and it seemed like you enjoyed it too. But maybe you’re only accusing me of using a potion because you’re ashamed at the thought of liking me?”

Nesta kept staring at the ground beneath her feet, taking slow and steady breaths as she listened to Cassian’s hurt voice.

She gave him no reply.

“No denial, then?” he asked in a pained voice. “Well, I suppose I should at least be flattered that you think I’m smart enough to concoct a love potion that lasts for several days, when most only seem to last for less than twenty-four hours with one dose. Goodnight, Nesta,” he said gruffly before turning around and hurriedly marching off to the quidditch changing rooms.

Nesta lifted her head and watched him walk away.

This all wasn’t some game to him. She should’ve known that just based on all that he did for her on Saturday.

The anguish in his voice just now further proved it.

And hearing that anguish made her feel like she was crumbling on the inside.

Of course he didn’t use a stupid love potion. She had just been searching for any excuse at all to explain these feelings she had for him. Feelings of wanting to be with him and spend time with him and...kiss him.

She wasn’t ashamed to have these feelings. Sure, it was a shock to have them for him. But she was mostly...afraid.

Afraid of being hurt and betrayed because she had these feelings.

Why did she have to be so destructive?

When she saw Cassian enter the changing rooms, Nesta felt compelled to follow after him. She couldn’t leave things like that.

It was time for her to be honest both with him and herself. No more coming up with excuses.

With her robes flowing around her, she ran across the pitch to the changing rooms.

As she rushed toward them, many of the other Gryffindor players were walking out and gave her quizzical looks. But she had no time to care...not that she ever would have cared anyway.

When she burst into the room, out of breath, she was relieved to find Cassian was the only one in there. He stood before a locker, angrily removing his leg and arm guards.

“Cassian,” Nesta called out softly, causing Cassian to briefly glance up at her.

“Coming to get in one more insult because claiming I used a love potion wasn’t enough?” he questioned her bitterly.

“No,” she emphatically replied. “I… What’s wrong with your hand?” she suddenly asked when she noticed his knuckles were completely swelled up.

Cassian just shrugged. “Just...hit a locker,” he muttered before aggressively removing the glove off of his other hand.

Did he...punch a locker out of anger over her stupid words?

“Sit down and let me see it,” Nesta demanded as she gently pushed Cassian down on the bench in front of the locker and quickly grabbed hold of his wrist before he could protest. She sat next to him and lifted his hand to inspect his knuckles, then took out her wand and directed it at the injury.

“Glaciotious,” Nesta said and an icy coolness from her wand settled over the swollen area. “Are there bandages somewhere in here?”

Cassian shook his head. Nesta then took a quick glance around the room before glancing down at her own clothes. Letting go of Cassian’s hand, she untied the tie from around her neck and threw it on the bench beside her. “Linteumos,” Nesta stated as she directed her wand at it.

Before their eyes, her green and silver tie had transfigured into a long green and silver bandage. Picking it up, she brought it toward Cassian and gestured for him to stick out his hand once more.

He reluctantly did so, and Nesta placed her wand down on the bench and went about carefully wrapping the bandage around his knuckles.

“Nesta, what are you doing?” Cassian asked exasperatedly.

“Taking care of you,” she replied.

“Why?”

“Because I care about you,” she answered ardently as her fingertips grazed his skin, the touch sending goosebumps up her arm. “And that scares me,” she added in a whisper.

His eyebrows rose up in arches at her words. “Why does that scare you?”

She tied a knot in the bandage and gently set his arm back at his side. “Because I could get hurt.”

“What do you mean?” he asked as he stared at her intently.

“To care for someone and let them in and grow to love them...there’s the chance that one day they’ll just leave you or betray you or forget about you altogether.”

Just like my father, she nearly added.

But from the way Cassian looked at her sympathetically, she sensed that he knew what she almost said. He swung one of his legs over onto the other side of the bench so he could fully face her. Taking one of her hands within his uninjured one, he rubbed circles with his thumb into the back of it.

“And I know I’m not easy to...care about either. I have a tendency to push people away...so it’s just been easier to...isolate myself,” she added.

“Nesta, I can’t promise right now that we’ll be together forever, and neither can you, but I know that what I feel for you is different from what I’ve felt for any other girl,” Cassian explained fervently. “And I don’t want to waste any time in our final year here if we want to give this a shot. You just need to decide if you’re willing to take the risk.”

Nesta closed her eyes as he spoke, debating and thinking over what she should do.

Mere minutes ago, she nearly became distraught over seeing Cassian walk away from her. It wasn’t something she wanted to experience again. If they were together, there was the risk they would breakup and he would leave her. But if she decided right now not to go out with him again, he’d probably leave her alone completely...

The past few days since their unofficial date, she had missed him. Despite every effort to try to forget about him, she missed him too much. Perhaps, that was the real reason she felt the desire to go storming out onto the quidditch pitch today. She needed to see him.

But then she had cut him down with her insinuation of him using a love potion on her. It was how she shielded herself. Strike others down before they could hurt her.

However, this time, her strike against someone else also hurt her. She was already in too deep, so she might as well...try this out.

But she did so, she needed to apologize.

She opened her eyes and stared back at him. “I’m sorry I accused you of giving me a love potion.”

An amused smile took over Cassian’s face. “I will only accept your apology if you tell me what you meant when you said you were feeling a certain way and constantly thinking about something?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious how I feel at this point?”

“I want to hear you say it. You’ve already heard me tell you a few times how I feel about you. It’s time to return the favor.”

“Fine,” she said dramatically and squeezed his hand. “Despite you being a persistent and arrogant and demanding dolt, I like you and I like spending time with you.”

Cassian gloated and squeezed her hand in return. “And what have you been constantly thinking about?”

Nesta sighed again. “You and how much I want to kiss that stupid grin off of your face.”

Cassian’s eyes grew big and his mouth dropped open.

Good. Just the reaction she was looking for. She smugly smiled at him as she leaned closer to him.

“So does this mean you’ll take the risk and go out with me?” Cassian questioned her, his breath tickling her nose.

Nesta scrunched up her nose upon smelling a foul stench. He still hadn’t cleaned up after practice. “That depends if you plan on showering anytime soon.”

Cassian sighed as she leaned away from him. “I’ll go shower right now. Meet me outside the Great Hall in twenty minutes?”

Nesta nodded in agreement.

“Great,” he said dreamily as he squeezed her hand one more time before releasing it. “I expect a real answer to my question then.”

“Wait,” she said as she grabbed his injured hand. “Plasticus,” she stated when she pointed her wand at his bandage, charming it to turn into plastic. “For your shower,” she explained.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Nesta simply gave him a smile before getting up and heading out of the changing rooms, while he made his way to the shower stall.

On her way to the castle, an idea popped into Nesta’s mind.

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

Following his shower in the quidditch changing rooms, Cassian raced to the Great Hall, eager to hear Nesta finally say that she would go out with him.

...and possibly finally kiss her.

Having heard her say she had been thinking about kissing the grin off of his face had been such a surprise. He never thought he’d ever hear her admit that. Especially when he would have just been satisfied with her saying that she had been constantly thinking of him.

Finally, they seemed to be on the same wavelength.

When the Great Hall entrance was finally in sight, he didn’t see Nesta anywhere.

Was she avoiding him again? Did she freak out again? He had just seen her a mere twenty minutes ago. How could her feelings change so quickly?

Suddenly, a door he passed on his left opened and a hand reached out, grabbing hold of his arm and yanking him into the room…

Which turned out to be a tiny dimly-lit space filled with various broomsticks, mops and buckets.

And none other than Nesta Archeron.

Nesta closed the door behind them and gently pushed him so his back was up against the wall. She wrapped her hands around his neck, bringing his face down to hers to capture his lips in a fervent kiss. Once over the shock of this unexpected event, Cassian placed his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to him, needing to be as close to her as he possibly could.

The taste of her was better than he had envisioned and he couldn’t get enough. When she would hesitantly pull away the slightest bit, he dove right back into the kiss, gently tugging at her lips with his teeth to pull her back in.

At some point, he did remember however that he’d been expecting her to answer his question. Reluctantly, he pulled his lips away from hers, and the two of them stood with their foreheads resting against each other’s. Her heavy breathing matched his own.

“I knew you always wanted to snog me in a broom closet,” he remarked cheekily.

“I needed to see what all the fuss was about,” she replied as she moved her hands up into his unbound hair and ran her fingers through it over and over again. “But if another prefect catches me, you’re dead,” she added rather seriously.

“I’m dead? You’re the one who dragged me in here!”

“But you’re the one who keeps kissing me.”

“Because you started it,” he noted before giving her a quick peck on the lips. “And you’re too intoxicating.”

Her eyes glimmered like the stars as she blushed.

“So Nesta Archeron, will you go out with me?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “Yes,” she breathed.

Cassian beamed as he planted her with a passionate kiss.

“Are you ready to go to the Great Hall?” he asked when he pulled away.

“Not yet,” she said before leaning forward to kiss him again.  

“Maybe we can eat in the kitchens later instead,” he mumbled against her lips.

“I like that plan,” she whispered before wrapping her arms tighter around his neck and kissing him ravenously.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you liked it! I apologize for any errors...I was sick when I edited this! Cassian just seems like he would totally be like a Hogwarts-era Sirius Black to me XD anyone else agree? :) Right now, this is just a oneshot. But do I have ideas for other Nessian dates/issues while at Hogwarts? Yes. Will I ever write them? I have no idea. I kinda want take a break, kinda want to go back to writing my post-ACOFAS fic, haha. So we'll see!

[siarven]

WIP Prep Tag Game

Thank you so much for tagging me @i-belong-in-space <3 Your wip sounds amazing, I’m glad you tagged me so I could learn about it :D

Rules: Answer the questions and then tag as many writers as there are questions answered (or as many as you can) to spread the positivity! Even if these questions are not explicitly brought up in the novel, they are still good to keep in mind when writing.

FIRST LOOK

I’ll be doing this for Like Dragons of Old because it needs development since I only started writing it for NaNoWriMo this year :D

1. Describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch)

The Observer (an immortal) and a phoenix chicken raise two girls among the towering stacks of an ancient, sentient library. Selandri is the first child born in the Library in millennia, and Timbre is the only survivor of a war that destroyed an entire continent and killed (or changed) everything else living on it. 

2. How long do you plan for your novel to be? (Is it a novella, single book, book series, etc.)

Because I’m incapable of doing short things Like Dragons of Old is the first in a trilogy called Song of the Aunae. 

Each book will span about 10 years, from when they’re children to ~18, 18 to around 30, and I guess 30-40? I’m very unsure about that last book. But there’ll be a lot of character development and growing up all in all. 

3. What is your novel’s aesthetic?

see 5 ... sorry, I’m too lazy xD 

4. What other stories inspire your novel?

A non-fiction talk held by Neil Gaiman about him basically raising himself in the library when he was young :P Also a ton of fantasy novels with creative worldbuilding and magic systems.

5. Share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel

the wip-intro-post moodboard :D it’s the aesthetic for the whole story though, not just the first book

MAIN CHARACTER

6. Who is your protagonist?

I have three POV characters/protagonists, but I’m currently thinking that I’ll give each of them their own book in the series.

One is Selandri, she’ll get the first book. She’s the first child born in millennia in the Library, to later fulfill a certain task ( which she knows nothing about, of course). Selandri is ESFP and chaotic neutral. 

Next, Onii. Onii will be the POV character of the second book. She’s also immortal, but that’s mostly because she’s a phoenix. In form of a chicken, by choice (in that universe phoenix can choose their form when they are reborn). Onii is very chaotic neutral. Onii is isfp and very chaotic neutral. 

Finally, Timbre. Timbre will be the POV character of the last book. She’s the only survivor (in the strict sense) of a war that destroyed her whole continent, killed her people and changed nature there forever (think of it as sth like a magical nuclear bomb). She survived for a few months with the help of dubious gods (the aunae) before the Observer found and saved her (despite having other orders). Timbre is INTJ and chaotic good. 

They’re all very chaotic :P

7. Who is their closest ally?

All three are each other’s closest allies, and also the Observer. This will change throughout the series, however, as Selandri and Timbre will go seperate ways and finally see each other again, but on different sides. 

8. Who is their enemy?

I prefer antagonist? In this book, at first it’s mostly the Aeqana/Librarians (Selandri’s parents etc) because they aren’t used to children, and especially not their pranks. Later on some people on a surviving continent from the world Timbre is from, originally. 

9. What do they want more than anything?

On the surface, Timbre strives for knowledge, Selandri for adventure, and Onii for chaos. 

Deep down, though, Timbre and Selandri just want each other, and Onii wants them both to be happy.

10. Why can’t they have it?

Because they only realize that when it’s too late... 

11. What do they wrongly believe about themselves?

Selandri thinks that she’ll always be second choice after Timbre, and Timbre thinks that she’s evil deep down and that everyone close to her gets hurt. Onii thinks she’s a horrible parent. Or something. 

12. Draw your protagonist! (Or share a description)

I will, one day, but today is not that day. I have a wip of Onii, though (sorry instagram crew, I still haven’t gotten further than this :’D but it’s more than what you saw?...), and moodboards (including face-claims) for both Selandri and Timbre.

(it’s far from finished and the bright feather will be somewhat less bright later on, I guess)

PLOT POINTS

13. What is the internal conflict?

Selandri struggles mostly with her self-worth, and Timbre struggles heavily with survivor’s guilt, and feeling as if she should’ve died with everyone else. 

Also both of them feel like they don’t deserve the other.

Onii is generally carefree and loves pranking people (she’s very chaotic neutral) but she struggles with taking care of these two strange children, mostly because they love pranking others as much as she does but now she’s supposed to be the mature one?! After she’s spent the last millennia doing nothing else? Tsk!

14. What is the external conflict?

Librarians who haven’t been children for a long time not understanding that children need free time and having fun, especially not these children. Many raised eyebrows, and many punishments. 

Later on, when they leave the Library for the first time, the people outside, and their strange customs... and what they might have had to do with the Broken Continent’s past. 

15. What is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist?  

To lose each other (for all three)

What they think:

Selandri - to become a Librarian and spend the rest of her days inside, cataloguing and transcribing knowledge collected from outside by other people. 

Timbre - to be forced into some kind of destiny she doesn’t want by the Aunae and/or the Observer. 

Onii - to be responsible for something that hurt Timbre/..., or to be incapable of stopping something like that. Also to never be allowed to prank anyone again.

16. What secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story?

Not telling you anything! Many. ;) Some only in later books. 

17. Do you know how it ends?  

Yesssssssssss but I won’t tell you

BITS AND BOBS

18. What is the theme?  

Trees/plants, dragons, art/music, books/knowledge....

Freedom of choice, survivor’s guilt, the horrors of war, having hope even in the darkest of times (hopepunk), lgbt+, love, friendship, post-apocalyptic setting, the merits and woes of technology (as in, the continent that survived is very futuristic, combination of science and magic), racism, religion(s), nature, exclusionism; ...

....I’ll need to invest more time here :P

19. What is a recurring symbol?  

See above. 

20. Where is the story set? (Share a description!)

There is one world called Ferreske. The Broken Continent exists there, as do the other continents that didn’t get struck during the War. One of those will be visited, and it’s a capitalistic, futuristic hellscape society driven by a mixture of magic and technology. 

The Broken Continent is devoid of human life. The Aunae have taken it over, more or less (they’re sort of tree gods) and they’ve changed the wildlife physically to survive the new conditions. During the War the enemy triggered a sort of “nuclear bomb” that killed everything in a 300 mile radius instantly, and set loose something the Aunae call the Radiancy, which nowadays kills everything else within about eight hours, unless you’re a plant (or the Observer). Which is why the wildlife has changed into a sort of plant/animal hybrid. Timbre’s people (some of them) prayed to the Aunae to save them when they felt the change in the air, so they got turned into trees. All children under a certain age were "protected” by the Aunae, like Timbre...except she escaped while she was still more or less herself, in contrast to everyone else. Also, the radiancy leaches away colours, so the Broken Continent is called the Grey Continent by some people. And Timbre is colourblind because of it. 

Then there’s the Library, which is its own world/realm, and also sentient. In the Library there are all kinds of knowledge. Timbre and Selandri grow up in the book part of it, but there is also an art section, music section, etc. It’s probably endless and holds a huge variety of knowledge, and peoples with different ways of life and clashing viewpoints. It’s a sort of sanctuary, I guess? The Observer is more or less the founder (but she’s lost control over it centuries ago). 

Some people are very angry that not everyone can enter/find the Library. Exclusionism will also be discussed, I guess.. but later on, when the protagonists are older. 

21. Do you have any images or scenes in your mind already?

I’ve planned the first book during NaNo, for the most part. I’m currently at ~60K of usable words (which will still have to be cut drastically), and I haven’t even “really” started :’D But yup, I know a lot of what’s going to happen. Not in detail, but enough. Especially two really mean scenes >:D

22. What excited you about this story?  

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT, IT HAS DRAGONS AND MAGIC AND MUSIC AND TREES AND I LOVE THE CHARACTERS AND THE WORLD(S) AND ALSDKJFSKDJFSLDJFSLDJFSD I can’t wait!!!!!! :’D It’s basically me mashing everything I like into one and then hoping to get a decent story out of it. 

But first I need to finish Dreams and Shadows ;w;

23. Tell us about your usual writing method!  

I spend one NaNoWriMo writing things without knowing anything about the story except for my tumblr into post. Then, halfway during NaNo, I start having some ideas for the rest of the project, I plan some things, change and rewrite some other things, and then NaNo is over when I know roughly what I want to do.

Then I procrastinate far too much, before getting back into it with more of a plan than before. Then I write the first draft/draft zero, which is mostly me trying to find out what works and what doesn’t (and what the characters want/don’t want to do o_O) -- which I then print out, and kill with a red pen. Also I’ll probably give it to some people who don’t mind the rambling and all that. 

Then I rewrite it for the most part, so it’s (1) shorter and (2) better. That is usually the “actual” draft 1, which I’ll spend a lot of time revising and editing, but not rewriting on a large scale. I hope that this time I will finally write it all in one go, and not: write some chapters, rewrite what I’ve already written, add a few more chapters, rewrite everything again, rinse, repeat-- 

I’ve never gotten further than that, yet, but my other wip, Dreams and Shadows, is almost done with the second draft (the first half got revised quite a lot, while the second half didn’t. I’ve also already had people read the first half. Which was actually helpful for that thing as it’s a standalone... I HAVE THREE SCENES LEFT BEFORE THE SECOND DRAFT IS DONE). 

I hope that I can write LDOO in one go, though :’D

I guess I’ll just tag the LDOO crew for this, and maybe some others?? wow, I’ve gotten so lazy :’D 

@dramaticvoiceover @asttralhell @authordai @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad @importance-of-being-crazy @madmoonink @prismalicht @romenna @fynniana @sincerestaffect @writin-maaagic @random-stuff-thrown-into-a-pot @raiswanson @zekethegm @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword @stephrawlingwrites @kittensartsbooks @annelaurant-writing @lady-redshield-writes @wolfdancer333 @bmariewinter

@lynnafred @corishadowfang @writingwordsanddrawingpictures @amongwriters 

I love learning more about wips but this does eat up a lot of time so I totally understand if you don’t want to :’D