#I just read the newest chapter and completely blanked out

[robiinurheart33]

CHAPTER 22 SPOILERS FOR THE NEON VOID‼️‼️

Haha wdym no I didn’t read the chapter almost one month after it came out wdym that’s crazy haha

ANYWAYS NEON VOID BRAINROT ANYONE?? As usual a magnificent read what can I say @sugarpasteltmnt is SO SO talented after I read this chapter I stared off into space for like a solid minute before laughing hysterically like Leo because MY GOD the adrenaline rush is so real. What compliment can I say that hasn’t been said about this fic. It gives me such goosebumps and the action sequences are just. Muah. Breathtaking. I cannot wait to read the next chapter and keep up the good work!! /lh /all pos

(Clicks for Palestine!!!)

[beneathsakurashade]

why did my favorite game turn into a dating sim? twst x gen reader (crack fic) CH 1: Bro got half a braincell

Intro CH:2 CH: 3

You were bored, like really bored.     So now you were sitting on the mattress that you called a bed while reading fanfics that hadn’t been touched by their authors after almost five years.  Scrolling absentmindedly through A03 you stumbled upon a new fic that somehow escaped your search.  It was titled 𝕋𝕨𝕤𝕥: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕊𝕚𝕞, in that font, just published mere minutes ago.  “Well, there’s nothing else that I want to read” you shrug and tap to open your newest discovery.  You’re greeted by a page that is blank, completely barren of words, “Is my wifi bad?” You mutter and reload the page. The page remains blank, “Wait no summary? No chapter title? Nothing?” You stare confused at your screen Did someone forget to write anything and just press post? you think attempting to exit out of the fic.  You feel nothing but a sudden fear as you shut your eyes and feel a rush of cold air and cobblestone as you hit the ground.  "Ow...the hell?" you cry and step up "Ah, good you're here!"

     An unfamiliar voice calls out and you hear someone walking over to you.  You look up to face a man wearing a bird-like mask and dressed in rich attire.  “And you are?” You ask unamused.  “I am Dire Crowley, headmage of Night Raven College!” He smiles “All I heard was that I’m a stranger and I brought you here” you retort.  “That is correct! I brought you here from your world for a once in a lifetime opportunity!” Not convinced you continue “If that once in a lifetime opportunity doesn’t include free food and housing I don’t want it-” Crowley interrupts your comment “Trust me, your food and housing will be completely covered! For I am so gracious! Now follow me, for I shall tell you why I brought you here on the way to my office”.  I don’t suppose that I have much of a choice… you think to yourself “Alright bird man, let’s get going”.  You follow this Dire Crowley through what appears to be a school, there’s people your age walking around in uniforms of various colors.  Some are holding textbooks, some are discussing yesterday’s homework and some are using their movement time to nap on the benches. 

You both arrive at his office and he opens the door, you sit yourself down at the chair in front of his desk.  “Now explain why I’m here” You start and watch as he summons papers into his hand and places them on his desk.  “You are to be part of a special program here at Night Raven College, a program which includes teaching our students about the married life.  If they so desire to partake in it later in life” Crowley explains.  You nod and pause “Wait…so what does teaching your students about being married have to do with me?” inwardly you think Okay...this is definitely not the NRC I'm used to, there's no such thing as a marriage program.  He explains further “Well you see, I have contacted your siblings, and they say that this experiment would do good for you! So this is a win win situation for us yes?” nodding slowly you pause and mutter "Wait...why does this feel familiar?"  Stiffening you realize that you were summoned into the world of Twisted Wonderland, right in the middle of Night Raven College, a school full of cute guys...and a deadbeat principal...

    You gaze at the first page in the small stack that you were given, at the top there’s a section for your basic info.  Filling the first page out you flip over to the back, there are a few more basic questions, like what’s your best subject, your hobbies, and your likes and dislikes.  After filling out the first page you turn to the second, which has information about a young man named Riddle Rosehearts, there’s no photo set for either of you.  You knew a lot about Riddle, Twisted Wonderland was your current hyperfixation, so you knew damn well about everything for every character, you could probably be like Azul and blackmail everyone at school with the dirt you had on them.  Still, it was strange having their info presented to you on a sheet of paper, you usually used the wiki to get your info, wait...what if you get your own twst wiki page?  What if someone is studying your page like you studied your favorite boys'?  Shuddering at the thought you look through the what was written on the pages, Age 20...wait wasn't he seventeen in the original game? Is this an au or something? Birthday is August 24th, homeland is Queendom of Roses, man I wish my homeland was called that tbh... Best subject is practical magic…whatever that is.  He’s in the Equestrian club, righttt, I forgot that NRC is a rich kid school, ain't no way my school has the budget for horses.  Ughhh my sister was a horse girl, I do not wanna handle more seasons of Heartland.  Hobby is hedgehog tending? That sounds awfully cute, bro better share them hedgehog tending responsibilities.  Pet peeve is rulebreaking? I mean it depends I guess, like some rules are dumb, and some aren’t so… Favorite food is strawberry tarts, sounds yummy, least fave food is junk food, oop bro is gonna hate my fave foods.  Talent is being fast at solving crossword puzzles? Mine is probably being fast at Fruit Ninja-. 

Crowley snaps and breaks you out of your thoughts, “So what do you think of your first partner Mx. L/N?” you try to keep as calm as possible (as one can when they get the news that they're going to be marrying a character from their favorite game) and cough.  "He seems interesting, so when do I get to meet him?”     “Quite soon Mx. L/N, after school today you both will meet.  Then tomorrow you will both attend classes together, and share a dorm room”.  “You want me to share a room with a stranger?” “Fear not Mx. L/N, there will be separate beds, and our students are very respectful.  If anything arises please report to Mr. Crewel, he will deal with such things swiftly”.  "Sure whatever you say..." you mutter and ask what happens now, trying to meet Riddle as soon as possible.  You walk alongside Crowley as he leads you to an empty classroom with a single student inside.  Sitting down at a desk with his head buried deep within a book, the only thing that you can see is two strands of strawberry red hair.  Sits the familiar sight of a particular rule obsessed student.  “Uh, Riddle, right?” You peep up and he looks up at you “Oh hello, you must be the student that the Headmage told me about” you nod in response.  “Yea I am, so uh…what do we do now?” You look behind you and notice that Crowley is gone, “Did he just leave? Bruh, guys always do this…” you remark sighing.  "Shall we introduce each other properly?" Riddle suggests and you shrug.  He stands up from his seat "My name is Riddle Rosehearts, Housewarden of Heartslabyul, it is an honor to meet you.  I do hope that our partnership shall be enjoyable".  You smile "I'm Y/N L/N, uhhh, an average college student.  It's nice to meet you".  

A/N: guys this is a cringey I know lol, this is basically for me to practice my writing. also fun fact the chapter titles r from wattpad comments. ok I'll go now bye :>

[gravitycavity]

Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 2 - Lifeline

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

Cover art by @sunification

Pomni wrinkled her nose. Somehow, the air in her room smelled even staler than yesterday.

Balancing on a wobbly pile of letter blocks, she stretched to reach the sole remaining object atop her cleaned-out dresser. Surely, at least one of the books up there had to be actually readable. Right?

Snatching it, she hopped to the floor and slid her hand across the smooth, untextured cover. She prayed that the pages wouldn’t be blank, torn to shreds, or hollowed out and filled with eldritch sludge like the others. Swallowing, she turned the cover, and…

…wingdings. A complete novel written entirely in Wingdings.

Pomni’s eye twitched. She’d turned her entire bedroom upside-down in search of something to occupy her unraveling mind — but the living space was, in practice, just a padded cell with a touch of extra flair. The books were only for show. The assortment of toddler toys scattered on the floor seemed to have been placed there just to mock her. The tacky chandelier hurt to look at, and window-bare walls were a silent reminder: No way out.

The sole object that had a practical use was the standing mirror by her bed — and Pomni much preferred that it didn’t. Each day, the mirror confronted her with her obnoxious new body. She was a jester. A fool. An entertainer, devoid of wit or talent, whose inherent patheticness was considered a punchline in itself.

Pomni snarled at her reflection; her reflection snarled back. Was that what they thought of her? Pomni the jester: a sad, helpless idiot to be pointed and laughed at? Was that why it was so important for her to smile?

It didn’t matter how she really felt, who she really was, or what she really wanted. Like it or not, Pomni was the Amazing Digital Circus’ newest wacky character — she was expected to just forget her feelings and play her part, lest she rain on everyone else’s parade.

She gripped the novel tightly.

All out of tears, Pomni screamed, hurling the useless book at the mirror with all the force she could muster. The mirror shattered with a tremendous crack, scattering countless shards of polished glass all across the room.

…And for what? She still felt just as terrible.

“I want to go home…” Pomni crumpled breathlessly to the floor, gripping the sides of her head. “Let me out of here! Let me OUT!”

This couldn’t be forever. It just couldn’t. The exit. She had to find it. The exit. She had to escape. She knew it existed. It had to. Caine was lying. Everyone was. Everyone. There had to be an exit. She saw it. The void. She did. What was on the other side? What was Caine trying to hide from her? He knew something. They all knew something, and she wasn’t going to stop until she—

A horrible, biting pain stabbed the tips of Pomni’s fingers, breaking her out of her vicious thought loop. Her twitching gaze leapt to the source.

Black. Her fingers had turned completely black.

“What…?” Pomni whimpered, watching the darkness creep across her trembling palms. The pain was unbearable — but Pomni forgot all about it once a large eye sprouted in the center of her palm, its pupil twitching erratically against a flashing neon white.

“No…” Pomni recoiled. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. "No, no, no!”

She swore to herself that this couldn’t be happening, but even she didn’t believe it. Kaufmo had been just like her — driven to madness by the same kafkaesque horror she now found herself trapped in. Just like her, he had holed himself up in his room for days on end. Just like her, he’d searched tirelessly for a way out of the circus.

And the reward for his efforts? He now languished with the other forsaken souls in the cellar, condemned for all time without even his own mind for comfort.

And Pomni was next.

“Calm down! Please! Just…” Warm tears streamed down Pomni’s cheeks as the creeping black crested her shoulders. It couldn’t end like this. It just couldn’t. The abyss of insanity stretched infinitely below her, and Pomni’s mind grasped desperately for something — anything — to prove to herself that this new life was one worth living.

Her eyes squeezed shut.

Her breathing slowed.

The thought of the softhearted soul who had listened to Pomni’s cry for help — who had told her it was okay to feel, whose kind words had numbed the pain — speared through the dark clouds like golden rays of light.

Ragatha. Again and again, the woman’s soothing voice sounded within Pomni’s psyche, and little by little, the burden of eternity was lifted from her shoulders. The abstraction retreated back toward Pomni’s fingers, and the screaming pain it wrought muted into a quiet purr.

Deep breath in, deeper breath out.

In and out.

In, and…

The clock ticked softly. Pomni cracked open a single eye, one hand cradling her thumping chest. Her gaze shined brightly, sweeping across her arms, wrists, and hands.

She was safe.

Besides the few seconds it took to swipe the tears off of her face, Pomni didn’t waste any time. Though her wobbly legs could barely carry her, she fought to stand anyway, pointing her head toward the one thing in her room that she’d never bothered to look at until now.

The door.

🎪 🎪 🎪

Gangle let out a squeal of pure joy. “Today’s going to be a good day. I can feel it!”

“Gee,” Ragatha’s head tilted aside, “you’re awfully chipper today, Gangle.”

The mirthful smile on Gangle’s mask added a drop of life to the big top’s otherwise-sterile atmosphere. “Of course! I get so lonely when the day is over, you know? I’d much rather be here with you guys!”

Ragatha smiled. “I couldn’t possibly agree more.”

Neither Zooble nor Kinger bothered to weigh in on the conversation, but Ragatha figured that Kinger, at the very least, would share Gangle’s sentiments. The walking paradox often kept to himself, but he never went as far as to shut out the rest of the world. He could set up his pillow forts anywhere, after all, yet he always did so in close proximity to others.

If only a certain someone was the same.

Ragatha toyed with the fabric of her dress. No matter what she did, she just couldn’t get that new girl out of her head.

Other than yesterday’s disastrous filming session — which a kicking and screaming Pomni had been forced to attend — the poor thing had done nothing but languish in her room since her arrival. Clearly, she was in desperate need of a soft shoulder to cry on, but given how hard she was taking things, getting close enough to form any sort of friendship would be easier said than done.

But it wasn’t all doom and gloom. Yesterday, Ragatha had seen for herself that it was possible to break through. Pomni had hidden it quickly, but Ragatha swore she had seen her smiling. And what a lovely smile it was.

A three-second daydream ended with Ragatha’s gaze turning inward. What was she thinking? She was only setting herself up for disappointment. Unless Caine forced her out again, Pomni would probably never—

Ragatha perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned on a dime — but her face fell once she saw who was behind her.

“What’s the matter, Buttons?” Jax’s slick stride didn’t falter for even a second. “Was it something I said?”

Ugh. Two sentences in, and Ragatha was already exhausted. “I have one button on my face, Jax. One. That name doesn’t even make sense. Try harder.” She huffed, closing her posture, “Or — here’s an idea — you could try using my actual name for once.”

“Yeesh. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed…”

“No, Jax.” Zooble rolled their eyes, “You’re just an &$#hole.”

Gangle held in a giggle.

Jax scowled. He opened his mouth to fire back, but the sudden pomp and circumstance that filled the big top made his fur stand on end. Floating bugles sang with regal fanfare. Rainbow confetti rained from above. An invisible percussionist pounded on a timpani, building up to the final, dramatic climax:

With a precise flourish, Caine made his grand entrance. “Good morning, my cute little clique of carnies—”

“Ew. Nope. Start over.” Zooble crossed their arms. “We’re not your cute little anything, Caine.”

Just like that, the ringmaster disappeared, only to reappear a half-second later with the exact same routine. “Good morning, my sophisticated society of sagacious sausage-sizzlers!”

“The #@$& does that mean!?”

Disappear, reappear. “Good morning…” Caine hesitated, “…everyone!”

Zooble sighed. “How is this my life…?”

“Good to see you too, Zooble.” Caine lifted his tophat to let Bubble out — and the little gremlin immediately started running his mouth.

“Oh, oh! I just thought of something fun, Caine! Let’s go on an adventure today!” Bubble flew in tight circles around his master. “C’mon, let’s go! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s g—”

Caine popped Bubble with a well-placed poke. “What a novel idea!” He snapped his fingers, and an enormous, hand-painted backdrop of a spooky forest dropped in from who-knows-where. “Somewhere in the dark, dismal depths of the digital forest, an old mansion sleeps, undisturbed for eons…”

“Oh, this sounds fun!” Gangle clasped her ribbons together. “I love it when there’s lore!”

Jax rolled his eyes. “Oh, good. Gangle thinks it’s important, which means we can safely skip over it.”

Caine cleared his throat, despite not really having one to speak of. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to venture inside this spooktacular chateau and secure the precious heirloom hidden within — the brilliant bronze brooch of the manor’s malevolent matriarch, Margarethe MacGuffin!”

Somehow, Bubble was already back. “Vroom, vroom!” he chirped, “There she goes, driving the plot!”

“But don’t expect it to be a simple walk in the park, my valiant vegetables! You’ll need to keep your wits about you to navigate a lengthy labyrinth of tricky traps and perplexing puzzles — not to mention a scintillating suite of supernatural sentries!”

🎪

Pomni shook her head, ducking back behind one of the huge, garish stacking blocks scattered beneath the big top. A haunted house…? Ragatha or not, this particular adventure didn’t exactly sound like it would do wonders for her mental health. They weren’t all this stressful…were they?

She glanced back toward the way she came. Perhaps leaving her room was a lousy idea after all.

“No, no! What are you saying?” Pomni slapped her cheeks, “You can’t go back. If you keep isolating yourself, you’ll end up just like…”

Pomni looked over her shoulder. The damage done during Kaufmo’s rampage had already been repaired, but the barrel of monkeys she had been forced to cower behind that day was still in the exact same spot.

The memory sent a cold shiver down her spine.

“I’ll just, um…” Pomni sighed, plopping herself onto one of the circus’s childish set pieces. Fingers drumming idly upon the surface, her gaze wandered upward. “I’ll just wait here! Yeah! And meet everyone for dinner after the adventure is — Holy $#&% !”

Pomni slapped her hands over her mouth, jerking away from the trio of floating eyeballs lingering above her. Their cold, unflinching stares bore holes through her very soul. How long had those been there!?

Had Pomni held her breath waiting for the revolting specimens to blink, she would have asphyxiated by now. “C-C-Caine? Is that you…?”

🎪

“Zooble…” the ringmaster swirled his magician’s cane, “…you’re adventuring with Kinger today!”

Kinger emerged from his pillow fort. Smiling with his eyes, he looked at his partner-du-jour. Zooble shrugged.

“Gangle, your faithful companion will be…”

Gangle shivered. “Please don’t say Jax. Please don’t say Jax. Please don’t say—’

“…your best friend Jax, of course!”

“Like two peas in a pod!” Jax slapped Gangle twice on the back. Gangle’s mirthful mask shattered to pieces, and her subsequent whimper was as pitiful as usual.

Ragatha sighed, glancing sadly toward the dormitory hall. She should have known better than to get her hopes up. “I guess that means I’m the one stuck by myself this time…?”

“Of course not!” Caine replied, “Ragatha, your partner-in-crime for today’s heart-throbbing adventure is the one, the only…Pomni!”

Ragatha squinted. “But she isn’t even—”

Caine curled his finger inward, and a high-pitched yelp sounded in the distance. All turned to watch as a panicking Pomni was forced out of her hiding spot and dragged towards the rest of the group. Bubble, for his part, immediately got to work lapping up the blue-and-red skid marks left behind by her shoes.

Pomni's surprise trip stopped just as abruptly as it had started, and the inertia sent her careening toward the floor. Just before her face met the tile, however, a pair of soft hands caught her by the waist.

“Caine! What is wrong with you?” Ragatha scolded. She held Pomni against her chest like the world’s biggest, saddest teddy bear. “You could have hurt her!”

Jax pointed with a grin. “Careful, Dollface. She bites.”

“Oh, hush up.” Ragatha narrowed her eyes. Her gaze flicked down. Pomni stared back like a deer in headlights — and Ragatha could feel for herself how quickly the little jester’s heart was beating.

“You alright, Sweetheart?” Ragatha set Pomni back down, making sure the younger woman was on stable footing before fully letting go.

Pomni squeaked, turning away with her face buried in her hands. “Uh-huh! R-Right as rain!”

Ragatha hid her bemused smirk fairly well. What a dork.

“Pomni?!” Kinger flinched. It was anyone’s guess as to where his mind had been during the entire previous exchange. “What in the world?! I…I thought you abstracted!”

Gangle shook her head. “That was Kaufmo.”

“…Oh. Right.”

Jax slipped his hands into his pockets. He slid toward Pomni, showing off his golden teeth like a hungry shark ready to feed. “Hey, what’s the big idea? After your little tantrum yesterday, we thought you wouldn’t care if we all got run over by a train. Isn’t that what you said?”

“I, uh…” Pomni shrank away. “N-No! Well, yes, but…but I didn’t mean—”

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, Jax?” Ragatha placed her hands on Pomni’s shoulders. “Ignore him, Pomni. It’s a new day — we’re glad you’re here.”

The look on Pomni’s face was hopelessly awkward, but Ragatha didn’t mind — it still looked better than the jester’s usual pout.

Zooble groaned. “Okay, we get it! The resident wet kitten dragged herself out of her room to show her face again. Whoop-dee-#$%&ing-do. Can we get this adventure over with already!?”

“That’s the spirit! Sort of!” Caine rested his arm on the hypotenuse of Zooble’s head, peering expectantly at the rest of the group. “Any last burning questions before the fantastic funtivities commence?”

“…Stop touching me.” Zooble growled.

“That’s not a question!”

Kinger shook his head. “Did you learn nothing from your time inside the Gloink Queen?” He stepped between them and Caine. “Repeat after me, Zooble. ‘What is stop touching me?’”

“So close, yet so far away!” Caine leapt high into the air. “Well then, if there’s nothing more to discuss…”

“Wait a minute!” Pomni’s hand shot into the air. “I never agreed to—”

Caine snapped his fingers, and the group disappeared in a flash.

---

@sunification was kind enough to illustrate a scene from this chapter! You can find it here. Don't forget to check out their other art, as well!

My Ko-fi - Tips are very much appreciated! :)

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[tianasficrecs168]

Naruto SI OC fic recs

Fair warming: since this fandom is aprox as old as time, a large amount of these are abandoned, and will remain that way possibly indefinetly.

However! This doesn't mean that they aren't delightful to read, regardless. Give 'em a chance, won't you?

Another thing: a significant portion is from fanfiction.net - this doesn't mean they're garbage!! It just means this fandom is old as shit. I have taste.

This is how it works:

A black dot • means it’s a one-shot

Brackets (…) means it's still being updated/not done/WIP – and I'm paying close attention to it

Izaranna: “Welcome to Tomorrow” (...) (general) last update: 2018 In which a plot is demolished because a dimple-cheeked baby gave Obito a gummy smile, and then proceeded to raise a minion army with hugs, cuddles and an assortment of saccharine treats. 

KannaKyomu: “It Ends at Dawn” (...) (general) last update: 2019 She couldn't remember if she was a little girl, a grown woman, or some kind of wild beast. All she wants is what everyone wants- a purpose, a reason to be. The day she meets the man who embodies the ocean, is the day she chooses the path she will take in this life. Because it wasn't about her. Maybe it never was. 

Phoenixyfriend: “The Universe’s Newest Puppet” (...) (general) last update: 2017 Fate's strings are really more of a garotte at this point. - In which an SI OC ends up as Uchiha Sasuke's twin sister, and commences planning because this is either a seriously entertaining coma or her unfortunately permanent new reality.

Joyous Flamboyancy: “Blank Space” (...) (Itachi/OC) last update: 2017 It's been said that when you die you'll see your past, present, and your supposed future. Well, no one said anything about seeing my sorry ass in a finished manga. Seriously, this sucks.

Artsome: “Clockwork and a Teacup” (...) (general) last update: 2020 What if you woke up to a role so completely unfitting and with a future already made? With a contrasting mindset, knowledge in a convoluted mess and ambitions steered a different direction, this only completed the odd assembly that was the new Haruno Sakura. Welcome to her life.

Shadownumera: “Clearing Mist” (Kisame/OC) I have the worst luck ever. First off, I die. Then I get reborn into the Naruto universe. Yay right? WRONG. Nobody ever said you get to be reborn into Konoha. Which makes finding out where I am in the story line that much harder. I don't know if I can change anything, or if the bloodbath is far behind me. One thing's official though. I'm screwed.

Strawberry and creme: “Whispered Nothings” (...) (general) last update: 2019 In which a sick little girl changes absolutely everything and nothing. *this was was re-written with one chapter, the rest was deleted, here's the google doc for the original version (21 chapters)

Iaso:  “On Freedom and Other Formalities” (...)(Genma/OC)              last update: 2020 When push comes to shove, Hiwa Inuzuka doesn't go down easy. Reborn into a new, dangerous world? She puts her past life as a spy to work. Thrown into a war? Hiwa does her duty, for Konoha. And when she's forced into an arranged marriage? All there is to do is beat them to the punch and get married first. Thankfully, Genma Shiranui is willing to lend a hand. Literally.

Vixen Tail: “108 Earthly Temptations” (Tobirama/OC)               A character study into why the older generations of shinobi are harsher and less inclined to compromise. SI/OC Pre-Konoha, Warring States Period. Post-Founding. Part One, the beginnings of Sekanji Terazawa. Poison Mistress, occasional kunoichi Lady, and the aunt of Orochimaru. Part Two, the establishment of Konoha and the character of the village Founders. Part Three, the end.

Erimies: “The Clan of Samsara” (...) (Madara/SI-OC)                    last update: 2015 They were the clan everyone avoided, for a good reason. But Hashirama wasn't like other people and Karma ended up tangling in the ninja world revolution anyway. What he didn't know was that she knew the script of the story. 

DianaMoth: - “The Yondaime’s Assistant” (Genma/OC/Kakashi) part of a series, one of three (unconnected) When I reincarnated in the world of Naruto, I was lucky enough to live in Konoha but not lucky enough to get all the superpowers you could hope for. I failed my jounin-sensei test and ended up in the Genin Corps. Bye-bye jounin rank! However, considering it also meant avoiding the battlefield, that was fine with me. Now I just had to get a position allowing me to change History...

DianaMoth: “Guardian Angel of Trouble Twins” (general) Reincarnating as a crow was nicer than you would think... until the Trouble Twins found the summoning scroll for the Karasu. Then they grew on her, and she had to save their lives. How annoying. They better gave her lots of almonds or she would elope with the ninken summoner! Uchiha Massacre Fix-it DianaMoth: “Guardian Angel of a Troubled Man” (Kakashi/OC) Reincarnating as a crow was nicer than you would think... until the Trouble Twins found the summoning scroll for the Karasu, and she failed to save Number One. Now that only Itachi was left, she would do anything to protect him... no matter how many almonds it took. *This is an AU of the 1st part of this series. You have to read it to understand this, as this differs starting from the end of the first chapter of Guardian Angel of Trouble Twins. In short: this is what would happen if Shisui died like in canon.

Masqvia: “Fatespinner” (...) (general)                                       last update: 2017 The ability to speak to ghosts sounded like a joke—at least it did, until it put a target on my back. Survival was at the top of the list and changing the future was laughable at best. Then I got attached, and the whole game changed. 

RosesToPaint: “Of Bonds and Hugs like Chokeholds” (general) The ultimate dream: being born into your favorite manga. But the ninja life is in no way as romantic as it looks. But it's also not all that terrible. Hisana is fervently working on keeping it that way. RosesToPaint: “Of Cutting Cords and Forging Chains” (...) (general)      last update: 2018 The Chuunin Exams are almost in sight and Hisana is faced with her biggest challenge yet: Keeping Sasuke in Konoha and Orochimaru out of it! And then there's Itachi, who's a class all of his own. *Part II of "Of Bonds and Hugs like Chokeholds".

Sage Thrasher: “Sanitize” (...) (general) last update: 2023 Basic medicine and sanitation are simple. During the Warring Clans era, they become revolutionary.

Sage Thrasher: “An Eye for an Eye” (...) (general)                          last update: 2019 Reincarnation. In an anime. As a blind Uchiha. You've gotta be kidding me.

Yuuki no Yuki: - “Bee’s Purple” (...) (general)                        last update: 2020 People always talk about how great the Sharingan is, 'it can see through any genjutsu' 'It can recreate any ninjutsu' 'It can predict the future.' But I never really believed them. Not until I unlocked my own pair, and made a startling discovery, "Itachi-nii I can see new colors!" Yeah, I may not have been the most noble of Uchiha, but hey, at least I was having fun?

The-world-builder: - „This Transient, Floating World“ (...) (general)       last update: 2019 Due to a paperwork mistake in God's waiting room, I was reincarnated with my memories intact. No pain, no gain, or so they say. But with a bit of luck, this might just turn out alright.

Snow-Nightshade: “Living in a Really, Really Weird World” (...) (general) last update: 2019 Her name is Kazeshini Uzumaki and she was born even before Madara Uchiha was around, she doesn't want to fight head on and so fights as an assassin, she's a dauntless sword user who carries a nodachi a few inches taller than her, and she's a girl who really just wants to bear hug the ever adorable Naruto and he isn't even around yet.

FlitterFlutterFly: “True to Myself” (...) (Skikamaru/OC)     last update: 2016 I never expected to die young, but if I had I would have probably thought something normal like a car accident. I wasn’t given a peaceful death though. Maybe the trauma I went through on that night, the same night as the Uchiha massacre, is the reason I found myself in the Naruto world. I was far from happy about any of it, but I’d always been a determined person and I learned to make the best of the situation.

Fishebake: “Moonflower” (...) (general)                                     last update: 2020 They say that destiny is set in stone. Most people are willing to accept this and move on - Yamanaka Inoko is not most people. Her father's life is on the line, and she knows that if she wants to keep him safe, she's going to need a seriously big sledgehammer.

Shanatical: - “Addendum” (...) (general)                                    last update: 2018 Or, 'How I Learned to Stress Out and Ruin Everything': a gripping tale of tears, danger, tender hearts and derring-do, in which I take on a world that isn't as made-up as I thought it was and my choices really, really matter.

Chadsuke: - “Crying is alright” (...) (general)                             last update: 2020 “-in its way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later, and then you still have to decide what to do.” - C.S. Lewis Waking up from the death of your entire family with memories of a past life isn’t something that happens to most people - especially when that past life includes visions of your own future.

LadyNyxRavus: - “An SI's Guide to Surviving the Shinobi World without Dying Tragically” (...) (general)                                                         last update: 2024-01-11 Honestly, I just want to make it past thirty this go-around. Contending with Uchiha Clan Nonsense, an Orochimaru still convinced he needs my baby cousin's eyes, and the knowledge of precisely how bad all this can go, that's looking more and more out of reach by the day.

infraredphaeton: - “Morpheme” (...) (general) last update: 2024-04-02 A morpheme is the smallest part of a word that still has meaning. If you take away everything else, you still know what it means. When you take away everything else of me, this is what remains. ...It's mostly good hair and a love of language. Everything else is take it or leave it, really. (In which a very sarcastic guy gets reborn into a small poisoner's clan in Konoha, and accidentally saves a life. Things change.)

Authorship: “Yeah, Kunai are cool but have you had dessert?“ (Shisui/OC) Easy, I thought, like the idiot I still was. Open a bakery and try not to die (again). Seemed pretty simple...until you factor in that I, a civilian, have the last Big Cat Summon. And Ino, Shika and Chouji think I'm their nee-chan. ...I didn't think to factor in the overwhelming force of Shisui's puppy eyes either. Some - rather large - oversights then. SI/OC Patissier and Baker...."What do you mean you don't know what fucking caramel is?!" OR Okay, I'll admit seeing my new dad's Hitai-ate was a massive kick in the (thankfully metaphorical) balls. Sorry, but I don't kill people! AKA an SI/OC fic where the girl is more concerned with the alarming lack of pastries...and appropriate female role models...and adopting misfits and cinnamon rolls...err, oops? At least, I get to troll people! *This work is unfinished and will remain so. A rewrite, including nonessential plot points, is currently in the works until the title "Let Them Eat Cake". right below  Authorship: “Let Them Eat Cake” (...) (Shisui/OC)                            last update: 2020 Whatever I had imagined the afterlife to look like- It was not this. I'd ask for a refund but, in all honesty, I was going to milk this second chance as much as I could. Amazing what a suddenly callous attitude to death could do to someone's decorum.

Araceil: “Thanatophobia” (...) (Shisui/OC)                             last update: 2019 Komuro Ietsuna was a timid boy from a different world, but still, despite this world of Ninja and Gods, he's determined to survive the odds. Even if this means abandoning his Village. But you know what they say about Mice and Men, and all the best laid plans between them.

PRETTYHEART: “Pyromaniac” (...) (Naruto/SI!Sasuke/Sakura) last update: 2022 In which Uchiha Sasuke wasn't always Uchiha Sasuke - but that's okay. Somewhat. It's somewhat okay. He's dealing with it. The only thing that could make the whole situation better is if Sakura would let him light the Hokage monument on fire. Something that ugly has to be destroyed. (Featuring a pyromaniac tomato crazy Uchiha Sasuke, a morally exasperated Haruno Sakura, and a completely confused Hatake Kakashi. As for Uzumaki Naruto, well, he's just happy to be there. You see, he plans on painting the new monument Sasuke wants to build.)

Coal: - “Echo” (...) (Naruto/SI!Sasuke/Sakura)                            last update: 2016 When undergoing Tsukuyomi the night Itachi slaughtered the Uchiha clan, Sasuke is made privy to a former life. He subsequently decides that revenge is stupid and he's going to try to make the most of his second life. He's too used to having a crazy and/or dead family. A sort of self-insert as Sasuke in which he thinks education is important to becoming a good killer and that dish soap is a wondrous thing.

[dojunie]

ITWD [CH 1]; Wolves? Not as ravenous as one may think.

[★]; TWO BOYS. TWO UNIVERSITIES. TWO RIVALING TEAMS. And then there’s you, stuck weightlessly in the middle of it. The time left on the clock is running out— and soon, you’re going to have to pick a side.

[itwd masterlist] [next part]

sneak peek; You'd caught him staring at you quite a few times during warm up. Eyebrows always furrowed and bottom lip pulled perpetually between his teeth, watching you unreadably like he was deliberating something very hard. Had he just been oogling, you would have simply ignored it— but for some reason, you felt like whatever was running through his brain was a little more weighted than just stealing glances. "Hey you," you whisper. "01. I never got your name." The unclear look in his eyes doesn't waver when he glances at you. "...Jeno. Lee Jeno."

wc; 7.7k

warnings; none!

a/n: here's the first chapter of INTO THE WOLVES DEN! it's finally here! im probably going to make a separate post talking about update schedules and whatnot, so look out for that! thanks for reading!

taglist; @aedreamzy @grassbutneo

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YOU AWAKEN TO NOISE. NOISY NOISE.

Not normal, expected sounds, like someone tromping around in the dorm above yours, or the early-bird tennis player that lives two doors down thwacking a ball around in the confines of their own room— because you can sleep through that no problem now, after all, since you've been living here for an entire week— but something closer. Something urgent and unyielding, thudding in your ears even after you roll over and pull your pillow desperately over your head.

The sun is still rising and someone is pounding on your bedroom door.

"What?" you cry. It comes out a tad ragged, like the last thing you’d done before you went to sleep last night was eat shards of glass. "What is it?"

The door squeaks on its hinges as it swings open, and your roommate Yooyoung pokes her head in with a pout so big that it can be seen even in the early morning light. What time is it?

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You told me to wake you up when I got up for practice.”

“Prac…tice?”

Being awoken so suddenly is wreaking havoc on your brain power. Practice, she’d said. Practice? Yooyoung played volleyball. You did not play volleyball. You haven’t had to wake up for practice in months. Why the hell would you—

“The basketball thing, remember? With your dad?”

She rolls her eyes after a moment, sounding exasperated. “Do not tell me you forgot today was the first day of classes, Y/N-ah. It's Monday. Are you serious right now?” And then, under her breath, “What am I going to do with you…?”

You mutter something rude in response, but now that she’s mentioned your father, the reason why you needed her to essentially beat your door down begins to form in murky clarity. First day of classes? (What an understatement. First day of your new life, more like it.)

White sunlight streams through the window of your dorm. Despite how short of a time you’ve been here, the room is already a mirror image of your personality: all your sneakers lined up messily against the closet, the signed Larry Bird jersey frame hanging behind your door (courtesy of Chenle’s incredibly expensive and completely bonkers idea of a ‘gag gift’), and a few of your favorite trophies scattered on various shelves; a dozen little peeks into your inner workings with the music posters on your walls and the pictures of your friends splattered on every blank surface.

You gaze over the photos, lingering on the newest addition— a shitty, half blurred, off-center photo Chenle took of you and Jaemin at Han River a few months ago— before turning to your dorm mate and rubbing the crusties out of your eyes.

“Maybe you should’ve woken me up with a soft, Baekhyun ballad or something then. Not your hulky volleyball punches. I thought we were being raided.”

Yooyoung just laughs a tinkling sound, blonde pony swinging as she disappears from behind the white oak.

Having succeeded in her mission of waking you up, you assume she’s off to clean up for her own early morning activities— varsity captain things that you do not envy— which leaves you to grumble and stew in the terribly bright sunlight of 8AM by yourself.

You should probably follow in her footsteps and go wash your face.

It would wake you up a little faster. It would give you something to do that isn’t sitting around and moping for the next hour before you’re actually obligated to get ready.

Washing your face would also rid you of any morning crusties that linger. It’s a good, formidable, and responsible idea…

…Which means that you only consider it for a second or two, max, before you flop back down into your mattress, kicking around until you’re completely resituated back under the duvet.

The magnetic pull of screwing around on your phone wins out over being a productive human being for a whopping thirty minutes. You spend that time scrolling through Instagram, texting stupid memes to your friends even though they’re definitely not awake yet, shouting goodbye to Yooyoung when she leaves for practice, and eventually end up succumbing to one of those stupid ads that show someone playing a mobile game just terribly enough to piss you off and make you download it out of spite.

It's right as you’re about to angrily sink five dollars into said game (cutting pixelated soap with a boxcutter), that a text swoops down from the top of the screen and allows your bank account a few more seconds to live.

[PapaPointGuard, 8:49AM] Hey, Kiddo. You mind coming into the practice court at 9:30 instead of 10? I'm in an emergency meeting w dean about scheduling. Need someone to set up drills and make sure everything is good just in case it goes over. [PapaPointGuard, 8:50AM] You sure you remember how to place the cones for through-backs? Ha Ha Ha

Very funny. You’d roll your eyes if you knew anyone besides you could see it.

[You 8:50AM] haha yourself, old man. It’s been six months, not a hundred years. i could probably set up tb's in my sleep. [You 8:51AM] i oughta report u to the labor board though for having me up at the asscrack of dawn [PapaPointGuard, 8:51AM] Language, Ace [PapaPointGuard, 8:51AM] And wear something nice, please [PapaPointGuard, 8:51AM] That means no basketball shorts or hoodies. I want the team to think of you like an extension of me, and to take you seriously as an aide to them this season. [PapaPointGuard, 8:52AM] And I know you’d never do anything to jeopardize your health, but remember our talk, yeah? Love you.

Your eyes trail over the last text one, two, and then three times, and your smile slips a little bit more with every iteration.

Of course, you think bitterly, climbing mood instantly taking a blow. Wouldn’t be a conversation with him without that, huh?

Shaking your head, you're about to petulantly toss your phone aside when the sudden ringtone makes you jump— Day 1, by Honne— and your dour mood stops right in its tracks.

Accept call from... 'Na Nana'?

Your frown slowly melts into a smile. He always has had inhumanly perfect timing.

“Oof,” Jaemin laughs. His voice is faint from how far he’d pulled the speaker from his ear after you squealed into the receiver, and you hear the distant chatter of other guys in the background too— was he at the practice gym already? “How are you so giddy this early?” he asks sleazily, a smile obvious in his voice. “It’s because it’s me calling, right? Right?”

“You wish,” you grin. “Gamdogja’s first official practice is today, so I was already awake. You’re calling me from practice too?”

“Yes ma’am. Got a few minutes before we warm up, so I thought I’d bother you. What are you doing?”

“Uhhhh. Good question?”

Putting on the clothes you piled up on your desk last night is what you’re supposed to be doing right now, considering that you’ve now got half an hour less to get ready to leave, but you’d forgotten about that instantly when the phone rang. Oops.

“I’m gonna put you on speaker so I can change, cool?”

“Icy cool. Actually, that reminds me of what Mark and I were talking about last night— we were saying how funny it would be if you wore a Yonsei Basketball shirt to their practice. Like, the brightest, bluest jersey you own, just to really rub it into those guys where your loyalties lay, y’know?”

You roll your eyes at how he cackles. “That sounds suspiciously like something you’d come up with without Mark’s help. You want me to get jumped, is that it? So I’ll come crying back to Yonsei?”

“Jumped isn’t the word for it, but you know if it meant you’d come back…”

“You’re sick, Na.”

Flinging the phone onto your pillow, you rush through tugging the GDSC Basketball shirt over your head and wiggling into your jeans. Before you can ask where Chenle is, belatedly surprised that your phone call with Jaemin hasn’t been interrupted yet by the screechy shooting guard, the universe answers that question for you.

“Noonaaaaa!” His high tone cuts through the air and makes you wince even from halfway across your room. There he is.

“Thought you could escape me, huh, traitor? Are you feeling bad yet?”

There’s a sharp smack on the line. Then the sound of muffled bickering. All you catch is Jaemin’s ‘If you wanna talk, call her yourself!’ before he’s back, huffing into the receiver.

“Anyway! Before I was so rudely cut off, I was going to ask why you're getting ready so early. I thought the wolves were on a mid-start schedule?”

“They are,” you explain as you lace your sneakers. (Do you have to start saying ‘we’ from now on, since you're technically a Timberwolf now…? Ugh. Identity politics.) “But Coach needs me to come in earlier today and set up drills because he’s talking to the dean about something or other.”

“Oh. So your official first day of coaching those brats is about to begin, then?”

“You know I’m not allowed to call them that, Jaem, and I’m not coaching them. I’m doing the same thing I used to do with you guys: Setting up drills, going over movebooks, conditioning, strategy talks…”

You easily list off all the tasks you’d had a hand in helping with when your dad coached Jaemin and the others at Yonsei. “All the regular stuff.”

“The ‘regular stuff’ for you is basically a coach’s salary worth of work, you know. Man, maybe Chenle was right— you’re totally a traitor, Y/N-ah. How are we supposed to compete when they’ve got your big brain behind their plays?”

You’re done getting ready. Realistically, you actually needed to go now if you wanted to get to the court for 9AM, but the last thing you wanted to do was tell Jaemin that. Even if it was through the phone, his voice was the most familiar thing you’ve had the luxury of bringing with you from Yonsei to GDSC— and it’s also the only thing keeping you from thinking about the fact that, in a few hours, you were going to be standing in front of a whole team of Gamdogja Timberwolves basketball players, alone— and the idea of being without him so soon brings a pit to your stomach.

So, instead of telling Jaemin you need to hang up like a normal person: you plop down on your bed and bring the phone back to your ear.

“I’m not a traitor,” you mutter tersely after a moment. “You guys act like I wanted this. To transfer here and leave all my friends behind. I didn’t.”

Even behind your half joking tone, Jaemin must sense the truth in your voice because he only makes a soft hum. “...Yeah. Yeah, I know. I said something stupid, right? I’m sorry. It’s just… weird not having you here.”

“Imagine how weird I feel. It’s like everyone here at Gamdogja is some walking, talking, sports anime caricature, Jaem. No one is allowed to just like soccer passively, or screw around with tennis for fun on the weekends— every student here is the absolute best at whatever they play. I tried to join a pick-up game of badminton yesterday and almost got laughed out of the park.”

“...Badminton? Wow. Don’t you know those freaks will take that game to the death? You should have known better, Y/N-ah, than to try—”

A whistle in the background of Jaemin’s call drags his attention, snapping you out of your grin as well. Shit. You’d gotten kind of carried away again.

Your wall clock now reads an unforgiving, blinking 9:02AM, and the reality of your situation once again hits you with unforgiving speed. You really needed to get going.

“Hold on,” Jaemin says, voice quickly solidifying, taking on a more distracted edge. From the sounds of it he must have to go too. “Coach Hyo is about to start conditioning so I’ve got to hang up soon— But before I go, you’re still coming to our first game on Friday right? The, uh… the team was asking me last night. I mean I don’t know if you remember but it’s on my birthday, so you’re kind of obligated—”

“Na Jaemin I cannot believe you just said that.”

“What! I don’t know, maybe you’ve already gone and made a bunch of cool, know-it-all private school friends. With all the new birthdays you might’ve put in your planner, who knows if you’ll remember mine.”

“You are such a baby. First of all, you know I don’t use a planner. And second of all, I’ve had your birthday basically tattooed in my calendar since we were eleven! I’ve been gone barely a week, and you’re already starting to doubt me? And you say I’m the traitor?”

He only giggles at your indignancy. Brat.

“Mmm… fine. I guess I’ll believe you, Ace. And I’ll call you tonight, alright? Don’t— Jesus, Chenle, I’m coming! You go start the relay if you care so much!— Uh… yeah, don’t let any of those snotty Wolves get you down, okay? Later!”

And without a moment for you to give him your goodbye, the line goes dead and your best friend drifts back into his own world.

Much like you should be, you suppose. But instead, for the third time this morning, you neglect being responsible and flop back onto your duvet for a moment of silence.

Just a week, right? Just a week. Actually, if you wanted to get specific, it was more like five days. You just had to get through five days before you could see him and all your friends again. It feels like endless forever right now, but that was probably because not being pasted to Jaemin's side for longer than a few days practically is forever to you. He's been your other half for half your life.

When you were sulking about the transfer a few weeks ago, your dad had tried to cheer you up by mentioning that it might be a good thing to separate you two for a little while.

"Maybe you guys need this," he'd said. "You both rarely talk to or about anyone else but each other, Ace. New perspectives is never a bad thing, and hell, maybe not being stuck to each other for 23 hours a day will teach you something new about yourselves. Try new things. Meet new people."

To which you'd so quickly replied with, "I know other people!" before he said the rest of the basketball team didn't count, and then... well.

He'd won the debate pretty quickly after that.

You look at the clock on your desk. 9:06, now. With a sigh, you finally force yourself to your feet.

Sitting around in here reminiscing surely wouldn't help your mood; and your first day in the wolves den wouldn’t start itself.

The TB is set up so quickly and so easily, that at first, you're sure you've done something wrong.

Orange cones on the half court line, white cones on the two. Three black and red, brand new basketballs on the half for whoever started the TB. That’s it, right? You'd gone over it twice to make sure you wouldn't get shunned out of the gymnasium for setting up the wrong drill or something stupid like that, but it was good. Perfectly placed.

They're all there, sitting pretty on their points for the team, but... it was only 9:35. You were already done.

And practice didn't start until 10:30.

You really didn’t think this through, and it seems like your dad didn’t either: What the hell were you supposed to do in here for an hour?

Sitting and just waiting was out of the question. All the good that would do is give your thoughts free reign. You look around listlessly and are only met with boring red stadium seats, an empty press box, and vast… silent gymnasium.

(With hindsight being what it is, it should have probably been around this exact point where your brain rumbled to life; where it realized where exactly these thoughts were going to lead. Where the brakes should have been pulled.

But, while regret is a constant in your life, common sense is not— and it should have been a surprise to absolutely nobody what you did next.)

Your hips creak as you bend over to scoop up one of the basketballs.

The dotted leather is firm against your fingertips when you spin it innocently between your palms a few times.

Truly, there’s no reason to pretend. If someone were to see you right now there’s no way they wouldn’t know what was about to happen, but feigning vague interest in the chemical make-up of a basketball makes you feel a little less guilty.

You turn and gauge the distance from here to the other backboard. It’s a little less than half court. 30 feet maybe, and you can practically hear Jaemin in your ear clicking his tongue at you in that way he knows you hate when you hesitate to bring the ball above your head.

'You know better," he'd scold. 'Your heart is pounding because you know you shouldn't be doing this.'

'One free throw has literally never killed anybody,' you think back bitterly.

Ugh. Almost out of spite now, you bend your knees and leap, watching with squinted eyes as it sinks through the net.

Swish!

Well...Alright. You guess you've still got it.

Half court has never been anything crazy to you, so you're not sure why you're so pleased that it went in; but it has been a few months after all. You hesitate a little before you retrieve the basketball, feeling like your lungs are taking up your whole chest when you walk it back a little further than halfway.

Just to see, of course, and what do you know. You make that basket too. But it could have been a fluke! A product of the wind... although you're inside a closed gymnasium, but who knows?

You'll only be sure if you do a few more test shots.

The minutes tick by without your knowledge and you lose count of how many baskets you make.

The intensity grows as well, your silent steps evolving into sharp thuds as you mindlessly go from easy free-throws to full solo attack plays... and fortunately for you, messing around like this is a great cure for boredom.

Unfortunately for you, it turns out to be a great cure for everything else, too— including self awareness.

So it's no surprise that you don't hear the sound of the double doors clicking open.

You only stop when you miss for the very first time. The luck had to run out eventually; you toss the ball wildly at the last second of your imaginary buzzer, and the warble of it cracking off the rim and off the court entirely rings out like a curse. The ball goes completely left field and at this you actually curse; breathing a little hard, you lazily watch it bounce off towards the sidelines forlornly.

Damn.

That’s about as bold a sign to cut it out as any, you think. God, you’re even sweating a little when you jog off to get the ball, returning it to it’s spot on the TB while you wipe your forehead with your wrist.

What time is it? It couldn’t have been that long, you barely—

“That last one was pretty close.”

Your eyes fly open.

Instantly, the gym shrinks. The pleasant warmth in your body turns ice cold.

You would have probably been embarrassed about the wail that came out of your mouth if you weren’t so, so startled; and when you instinctually whirl around to the source of the voice, you're not sure what you're expecting to see.

A murderer, maybe; Possibly a demon. Both would be pretty bad.

A vengeful basketball ghost might be the worst of all.

But of all the things you're expecting to be there when you turn, a boy standing on the other side of the court isn't one of them.

Just... a boy.

He’s dressed head to toe in red Timberwolf gear, but that’s the last thing you take care to notice.

"If you pull in your elbows," he starts, completely unfazed by your scream, "It’ll give you a little more accuracy—"

"What the hell, dude?!"

It comes out a little harsher than you'd intended, cardiac arrest and all, but all he does is blink. The pause gives you enough time to calm your pounding heart and drop back to reality. You’d been about to check the time before he materialized and more urgently than ever, your eyes fly to the scoreboard clock on the wall behind his head.

10:15, it reads.

But... that can’t be right, right? 40 minutes have passed?

“Oh," the boy says suddenly, slowly, and you snap back to him. “Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, I thought you heard me come in."

You didn’t. At all. How your howl of absolute terror didn’t tip him off to that you have no clue.

He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, and the movement drags you to his attire again. There’s a white ‘01’ stitched onto his sleeve under the tiny Timberwolf mascot and your eyes zero in on it. That’s a jersey number, isn’t it? That’s… a jersey number.

Oh, God. Wait.

"You’re on the basketball team?"

"Yeah,” 01 says. You hope he can’t see how you grimace.

A brief silence falls. You'd thought a lot about how your first interaction with a Timberwolf would go, and whatever was happening right now was not one of them. You stand there are stare at him for what feels like years, half embarrassed you'd been caught running around in here by yourself, and half mortified it was a Timberwolf of all people who'd caught you doing it.

You're expecting him to leave, or go sit down. Maybe even just stand there like he'd no doubt been doing for however long before he decided to say something.

None of those things is what he actually does, though, which is continue to talk to you.

“What about you?"

“What?”

"The girls basketball team," he clarifies.

“Oh, no— No. I’m not an athlete here,” you explain hastily. “I was just, uh. Screwing around. Shouldn't there be more of you?"

"They're outside," he responds simply. "One of the vending machines in the quad broke and it's spitting things out for 100 won instead of a thousand. They're trying to drain it before campus security finds out and fixes it."

"Oh," you say. That sounds like something Jaemin and Chenle would do. "You don't like vending machine snacks...?"

"More like I have no interest in getting arrested over a melted bag of Skittles."

01 doesn't say anything else after this, only pushes his hands deeper into his pants pockets.

Now is a better time than any to introduce yourself properly, right? But before you can tell him who you are, you're interrupted by the sound of an explosion. Or, wait. Scratch that— when you startle for the second time in five minutes (which cannot be good for your heart) you realize that it was not an explosion, but the sound of one of the double doors swinging open at mach speed and slamming into the solid wall behind it. Then, before you even have time to be worried about it, things get a lot more crowded.

Explaining yourself to 01 suddenly seems like the least of your problems.

Sneakers squeak onto the glaze without a care in the world. Bubbling chatter fills the air, player names and numbers flashing on the back of jackets like an out of control score keeper; The rest of the Timberwolves basketball team finally make their awaited appearance. They move in one rolling mass, a compact sea of red tracksuits and surprisingly shiny hair, nice wide smiles and boyish laughter.

The only thing that keeps your stomach from twisting into nervous knots is the fact that your father is in the group too, smiling warmly when he sees you.

"Ace!" he calls out. "There you are!"

Shit. Shit, okay. No more fun, casual conversation. It's time.

"Here I am," you call back. Coach points at his clipboard beckons you over but before you go, movement over by 01 catches your eye.

There are three others with him now. Two of them are oddly lumpy in the stomach area. The taller lumpy one, a boy with dirty blonde hair and possibly the most adorable baby-bird pout in the world, looks around suspiciously before tugging a bag of candy from the collar of his jacket and stuffing it into 01's hand like it's contraband and not... a bag of candy.

You already find the sight kind of curious before you recognize the red and rainbow packaging— it's Skittles the boy has given him— and the coincidence makes your smile only grow.

At least he won't have to go to jail over it, you think to yourself.

After Coach goes over the practice schedule with you, the sections he would have you run while he monitored other things, you’re actually feeling pretty good about everything.

(Good enough to plaster a convincingly relaxed smile on your face, at least.)

You stand behind your father when he blows his whistle to start practice officially and try to look pleasant as the Timberwolves all shuffle from their respective little groups and corners into a half circle around your dad, and consequently, you.

“Good morning, team!” Coach bellows.

A cacophony of deep, still-tired timbres croon back something illegible.

“Ah… Nothing like a bunch of babies crying to liven up my morning, huh? How about we try that again?”

Some of them snicker. “Good morning, Coach!” they shout back, much more lively.

“That’s more like it! So! As you all already know from last week’s briefing, Mr.Woobin, our beloved co-coach, had a… homely event come up recently. One that rendered him unable to participate with us for a while. On such short notice, getting a coach before the season starts tomorrow night—"

At this a few players whoop and holler, and you’re a little surprised when quiet 01 is one of them.

“Yeah, yeah. I wouldn’t be hooting if I had averages like yours, Choi.”

A few ‘Ooh’s join the mix.

“Anyhow. Like I was saying…”

Your dad turns to you expectantly, and you take this as a silent cue to walk forward until you’re line to line with him.

“I’d like to introduce you all to my daughter, Y/N. She’s going to be my co-coach until Woobin returns from his leave. Y/N?”

Showtime.

You scan over their faces as you greet them as lively as they greeted Coach— many eyebrows furrow in curiosity, and a few of the bolder ones even wink when your eyes meet theirs. You fold your arms over your chest to mirror the stance of most of the men in front of you, straightening your posture so you look a little bigger as they quite obviously size you up.

“Like my dad said, you all can call me Y/N. While this is my first official week at GDSC, Coach has told me many good things about this team over the summer. I’m excited to see it first hand, if you’ll have me.”

Unsure of what else to add, you decide to open up the floor for the inquiries they no doubt have. “Any questions…?”

Multiple hands shoot up.

Your eyes land on the same tall, lumpy blonde from earlier, though he’s now mysteriously lacking any extra curves. “You, uh… 05.”

“Hi,” the boy says hesitantly. His voice is much deeper than you’d been expecting by the innocence of his face. “I’m, uh… Jisung. Park Jisung… I’m usually small forward, but sometimes I do other stuff. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-one years old, Jisung-Who-Plays-Forward. But I don’t care all that much about honorifics and all that, so you can call me whatever you want. Just Y/N is cool with me.”

He smiles slowly and nods like he’s satiated, so you move on to the others.

“06?”

“Hey,” Number 6 says, voice a little smoother, almost melodious. “My name is Donghyuck, but everyone just calls me Hyuck. I cover power forward. Where’d you go before this?”

… Ah. Shit. There’s the first dreaded question. You hope the way your smile falters isn’t too obvious.

“I transferred here from Yonsei.”

This phrase causes exactly the ripple you’d expected it to. A handful of eyebrows shoot up. One person ‘boooo’s playfully. A few members even glance at each other, but thankfully no one outwardly scowls or spits on you or anything.

06, or ‘Donghyuck’ now, merely grins amongst his curious friends.

Tongue poking out from between his teeth, he tilts his head in innocent question. “Did you transfer here cause we’re better?”

A snort nearly rips it’s way out of your throat. Jaemin would get a kick out of that for sure.

“You can prove to me just how good this team is at the first game, yeah, 06?”

A few more ‘Oooh’s, but Donghyuck just grins even wider like the teasing has only energized him. So far, gaining their respect or appreciation or whatever seemed to be going easier than you thought it would be. You’re admittedly feeling a little giddy at how smoothly this is going until your eyes land on the less than pleased gaze of a shorter one in the front… and then to the hand he’s got up by his head. Yikes.

“…10?”

“Liu Yangyang,” he says simply. “Captain. Center. Do you even play?”

And there it is. The second dreaded question.

The obvious reluctance in your response doesn’t matter though. Because before you can even think of what to say, wanting nothing more than to shut down his obvious disbelief with a resounding ‘Yes’, your father is butting in for you.

“No,” he says factually, and you freeze.

Liu Yangyang’s eyes slide between you and your dad like he isn’t sure who to look at— and 01, who’d basically caught you pretending to be Stephen Curry in this gym not even ten minutes ago, is just straight up staring at you.

“Y/N doesn’t play. She can, however, coach the hell out of a few meatheads like you lot; which is why she’s going to run you all through a few warm-up rotations while I get the projector up for the season schedule.”

You can only blink before he wanders off towards the press box, completely absorbed in looking over the sheets on his clipboard and not at all noticing the stunned look on your face.

“What Coach means," you start, rerouting quickly to fill the awkward silence, "Is that you don’t have to worry that I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve been around this sport since before I could walk, and I’ve had years of experience with coaching and game strategy.”

Most of them merely nod.

“So!” you continue with a smile, clapping your hands together, “Uh, anyway! Until I’m more familiar with you guys I’ll probably just be referring to you by number. Is that cool?”

“You remember mine, don’t you?” Donghyuck asks sweetly, and you falter at the sudden gooey look he’s sending you. What’s with that tone?

“Yeah. Do…Hyung, right?”

He immediately looks so scandalized that you lose the façade and laugh.

“Kidding! I know you, Donghyuck. Go warm up.”

He pouts at your teasing, but he goes.

You didn’t enlist anything too cruel off the bat; just the regular gamut of jumping jacks, joint rolling and high-knees before pushing for the more taxing things like holding stretches and quick-pulls. They listen surprisingly well, which is a plus they’ve got on Yonsei; those white and blue punks couldn’t follow instructions if their lives depended on it. The projector finally descends from the ceiling right as the warm up ends.

You clap your hands proudly and direct them over to the stadium seats when you’re finished terrorizing their muscles.

You’re the last one over to the benches because you’re too busy turning the gym lights off and by the time you get there, the only space left is between Donghyuck and 01. Hyuck scoots over and pats the empty seat right between him proudly. It’s cute— so you laugh and indulge him.

Despite his obvious show of interest, though: it’s the guy on the other side of you that you find yourself curious about as you sit down.

01. Skittles, as you’d taken to calling him in your head.

You’d caught him staring at you quite a few times during warm up. Eyebrows always furrowed and bottom lip pulled perpetually between his teeth, watching you unreadably like he was deliberating something very hard. Had he just been oogling, you would have simply ignored it— but for some reason, you felt like whatever was running through his brain was a little more weighted than just stealing glances.

“Hey you,” you whisper. “I never got your name.”

The unclear look in his eyes doesn’t disappear when he looks at you.

“Jeno. Lee Jeno.”

And then almost as an afterthought, he adds, “Shooting guard. And my question is… My question is if I shouldn’t mention the basketball thing to anyone. From before practice.”

What? At first you have no idea what he’s talking about, too caught up on how cute it is that he’s still referring to the Q&A format from earlier, but then he glances over your dad up in the press booth and it hits you.

“Oh. Oh.” You feel your eye twitch. “I mean. I would really appreciate that, actually. Yeah. Thanks.”

“Okay.”

Jeno turns back to the projector screen like he’d never been talking to you in the first place, still gnawing at his bottom lip, but you can’t help but ask.

“Is that what had your mind so preoccupied during the warm-up?”

A very long second passes before he speaks again.

“Was it that noticeable?”

“A little. I could feel the heat on the back of my neck.”

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“Sorry? It was really smart of you to pick up on that, though. Why sorry?”

“In case you thought it was weird.”

Jesus. Were you talking to a saint? For him to be as tough looking as he is and still apologize to someone he just met for maybe possibly being weird…

The slides on the schedule reel are ticking by and you’re sure Jeno is only half paying attention because he’s busy talking to you, so you just smile at him and turn back to the front.

“You weren’t being weird. It was nice. Watch the video.”

“Okay,” he says again.

It’s the last thing of substance that you say to him for the next few hours, being that immediately after the slideshow ends, Coach reappears on the court to whip them into the first run of practice practice— a 5v5 on the court with five off conditioning, rotating every twenty minutes.

You’re in charge of running the conditioning and very quickly you deem your first set of players ‘The Troublemakers’.

The leader of which is a mischievous Lee Donghyuck, who you become well acquainted with through the fact that he’s probably the cheesiest, touchiest, most giggly college basketball starter you’ve ever met.

At one point the shifty bunch managed to swindle you into a deal; they'd finish the rest of conditioning without complaining or messing around if you just answered each of their curiosities about your life, to which you'd begrudgingly agreed. It was how they found out you were an avid Chicago Bulls fan (Moonbin), allergic to lemons and oranges (Sanha), loved all colors too much to pick a favorite (Felix, though he'd called you a hack for not choosing one), listened to mainly R&B (Hyunjin), and, finally, that you were single (to the smug, pleased grin of one Lee Donghyuck).

After your playful bunch get rotated out, you receive ‘The Flirts’. Choi Beomgyu, who you learn wears his emotions on his sleeve… also apparently says them outright because not even five minutes in he verbally declares his love for you. His reaction to your slack-jawed stare is a sly smile, and a shrugged ‘What? I just wanted to be the first.’

Choi Soobin bickers with him, Kang Taehyun, and Choi Yeonjun for the rest of the session on who has the better chance of winning your heart, even though you’re literally right there.

The last group you get are the quiet ones. You don’t even have to nickname them because they’re simply that easy.

Jung Sungchan is here, who utters not a word to anyone except to shyly tell you your shoe is untied at the 25 minute mark. There’s Huang Renjun, who you’re sure is some other sort of demon on the court because he’s naturally very angry looking and positively tiny, and from experience you’ve learned to recognize the type.

Park Sunghoon is here too, who you actually have to beg to do the conditioning (he gives in once you weaponize your pout though, so you know he has a heart somewhere under those long legs of his), and finally, your introspective friend comes along too. 01.

Lee Jeno merely nods when he approaches, sweaty and heavy footed, and drops into his conditioning before you even need to bug him about it.

“Don’t push too hard, kid,” you mumble to Jeno when he just blows past the fifty calf lifts with no intention of stopping. “You’ve got a game next week, remember? Sore legs last forever.”

He slows to a stop, eyeing you silently before pressing his back flat against the wall to sink into a wall-sit.

“We’re the same age, you know.”

“We are?”

He only nods. He’s still looking at you, though, so you take that as an invitation to keep the conversation going.

“You look young. What’s your major, 01?”

“Audio engineering.”

You raise an eyebrow, and his gaze slides from you to something behind your head— probably the clock to see how long he has left. Once he’s not boring two holes in your face, you find yourself finally able to get a good look at him from closer than an entire basketball court away.

Maybe you hadn’t noticed it when he’d almost scared you to death earlier, but now that he was here in front of you, it was actually almost ridiculous how statuesque the guy was. Short, neatly cut, ink black hair. A jawline that could probably shatter stone. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a mouth like his either, bow-shaped lips that naturally curled up at the edges even when the boy was completely straight faced like he was right now— and a strong, straight nose right above it.

Dark eyes that eventually found yours as you stood there and oogled him monitored his wall sit.

“You play any instruments?” you continue curiously.

“Three.”

“Cool. Which ones?”

“Guitar, piano and bass.”

You could definitely see guitar and bass, but piano? You wouldn't peg him for a sonata-type.

“Do you?” he adds.

“Do I what? Play any instruments?”

He nods and you shrug. “Played drums in my high school pep band, but I was pretty terrible at it.”

“You were a band kid?”

“Yep. And an emo one at that. Just imagine me but in all black and all tired looking, with bleached, spiked hair. I looked insane.”

He gives you a look. “So now, without the bleach?”

What. Jeno’s face cracks into a big, adorable lopsided grin when your eyes go wide— and you almost reach over to swat him before you remember that 1. you’ve known him for like two hours, and 2. You are currently kind of his coach and that’s a little weird. So you settle with gasping scandalously and kicking the side of his sneaker with your own.

“I’m kidding, by the way,” he says a moment later when he eases down out of the wall-sit. “I mean… I bet you looked pretty cool. Carrying a guitar case on campus makes me look like a douche. Drumsticks would be so much easier.”

“I always assumed people who lugged guitars around were usually super-assholes or the coolest folk around. You don’t seem like the first type.”

You’re not looking at him as you say it, you’re picking at your nails, but the steadiness of his stare tells you he’s watching you anyway.

He sure is rather bold about the staring, you think. Even when you look up he doesn’t waver.

“Are you coming to the barbeque tonight?”

It’s obvious the question catches you off guard by the way your eyebrows jump.

“It’s tradition to get BBQ on the first day of practice,“ he elaborates. "It’s not a school event, so it’s not mandatory or anything. Just a thing the team does every season. Are you coming?”

“Ah…That’s just for team members, isn’t it?”

“You’re our coach now though.”

Oh. “Okay… well, assistant coach, firstly, and I don’t know if I’d go that far—”

“You have to come!” a voice behind you shouts suddenly, and the startled sound you make is nearly inhuman. Donghyuck is there when you turn, your apparent new shadow, looking chipper and happy and completely undeterred by the sea of sweat running down his face. He plucks up the water bottle at your feet without a word and you don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s yours, not Jeno’s like you’re assuming he thinks it is, when he downs the whole thing in one go.

“No-Jam is right, you’re one of us now. Us wolves stick together. How are we gonna get to synergize with you or whatever if you don’t come and hang out with us…?”

“I mean…”

Man. Well. There’s nothing wrong with going, you suppose, but it feels a little overwhelming to be invited so easily. Ah, what are you doing? Isn’t this a good thing? You’re being invited out! Sure, the Gamdogja Timberwolves aren’t the exact type of friends you’d been intending to make today, but hell. It wasn’t like you knew anybody else yet.

And, even if most of your Yonsei friends thought they were all just stuck-up, arrogant private college kids— they’d been pretty damn nice to you so far.

“…Yeah. Yeah, okay sure. I’ll come. Where is this fabled BBQ place?”

Donghyuck whoops. Before he can answer, Coaches whistle blows from the court again, and a sea of groans and sneaker squeaking and bumbling bodies fills the air.

“Nevermind,” you laugh. “Off to the court with you two. Go. I’ll find you later.”

“Promise?” Donghyuck coos.

“Yes, Hyuck-ah, I promise. Begone.”

“Since you said it so sweetly~”

What a ham. You’re grinning as they leave though, oddly chipper, and wander over to where your father is standing when the rest of the boys reach the court. He hands you another clipboard when you get to him, 8 names listed next to a spreadsheet of sorts. He quickly goes over the plan for the last hour: splitting the team between your hoop and for 4v4s.

“How was the conditioning, by the way?” Coach asks. “I saw you got Sunghoon to do the wall sit. You’re performing miracles already.”

“Not many can say no to this face and live to tell the tale.”

He makes a knowing grunt of agreement and your groups separate. You’ve got Jeno, Donghyuck, Soobin and Yukhei, Yeonjun, Renjun, Sanha, and Sungchan in your half of the gym.

“What do you say we try a five minute scramble first, huh? First to 21 just to get the blood pumping?”

“My blood is already pumping,” Yukhei whines at you, bent over, hands on his knees. “What it needs to do is stop pumping. Be nice to me.”

“If your blood wasn’t pumping you’d be dead,” Sungchan says.

“So?”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes so hard that for a moment, you’re scared they won’t come back.

“Just get the damn basketball, pumper.”

Once they get into the groove, bickering and bantering and teasing fading into position call-outs and good-natured ribbing, you finally get your first glimpse at the true Timberwolf potential. And they’re all good. You come into this having no doubt about that, honestly.

Their technique is great, passing between each other with barely a second between one person and the next, the perfect balance of defense, offense, and speed. Even baby Sungchan, who you’d been sure was one of the tamer of the bunch, is throwing clutches and between-the-legs like it’s nothing.

They’re all ridiculously good.

But once Jeno gets to that ball, it’s like no one else is in the room.

You watch almost in a trance as he just… goes through people. He’s like a mirage when he gets the ball, and he gets the ball often— his teammates lobbing it to him at a milliseconds notice, to where he always just seems to be perpetually ready— and it’s like magic. He has the basketball for a moment, then he doesn’t, then it’s in the net and a bunch of people either groan or cheer and the game goes on.

With Jeno doing what he’s doing, his team gets to 21 points in about five minutes flat. Holy shit.

You send them off for a three minute break and try not to look appalled.

“Yeah,” someone says beside you, and you blink yourself out of your stupor.

Donghyuck is standing next to you looking smug. For what, you have no clue, until he juts his chin in the direction you were just staring as a hint— and you catch an eyeful of Jeno guzzling a water bottle down on the opposite sideline with a few of the other guys when you follow his gaze.

“He’s a monster, right? Injun and I think he used to eat basketballs when he was younger.”

You’re still too stunned to even laugh. “I mean all of you were… wow. For lack of a cooler phrase. You’re really goddamn good. I’m impressed.”

“Better than your Yonsei folk?”

This instantly gets you to break your reverie and Donghyuck howls with laughter at the sour face you pull. You're already so comfortable with this crew that you don't think twice before shoving him away from the sidelines with your elbow.

“Yeah alright, Hyuck. Way to ruin it for your buddies. Break over! Set up for lay-up drills!”

A chorus of groans meets you and you simply nod, accepting your whining and bereavement easily from your half of the squad as they shuttle back onto the court. You don’t notice the lack of one particular voice in the mix at first, the matching sharp black eyes watching you silently from the other end of the baseline— but by the time you glance in his direction, feeling the heat of someone’s gaze on your back, Jeno’s already looking away.

The rest of practice goes by pretty quickly after that and with the lot of them cracking jokes with you and actually listening to your advice and obsservations, it's actually pretty fun.

Maybe... Maybe this whole coaching thing wouldn't as dreadful as you'd presumed after all.

[itwd masterlist] [next part]

[morganayenneferburnham]

Have I Known You 20 Seconds or 20 Years? – Nikolai Lantsov Series

Chapter 1: Devils Roll the Dice, Angel Roll their Eyes

Chapter 2: You Did a Number on Me

Chapter 3: You Could Call Me Babe for the Weekend

A very short summary: Y/N has been working with the crows for a few years. Her life feels complete until she meets the insufferable Nikolai Lantsov. She finds herself forced to work with the King of Ravka on one of Kaz Brekker’s crazy schemes.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Finally starting to get somewhere!! I just started writing chapter 4, so it might take a bit longer before I upload again. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter in the meanwhile.

Thank you for reading! Just send me an ask if you want to be added to my taglist :) 

Chapter 3: You Could Call Me Babe for the Weekend

The next morning went by in a blur. They had moved everything to Wylan’s house on Geldstraat. Kaz was right. It would’ve been too suspicious if they had left for the party from the barrel. Questions about the job were being thrown from one person to the next. Various answers about cues and schedules flying in every direction.

“Wait, what time are we supposed to get to the party again?”

“Quarter after 6 bells, Jesper!” Yelled Wylan running by with an armful of party clothes.

“Nikolai and I are getting there at 6 bells. That way it won’t look like we know each other.” Y/N had been heading off in the opposing direction.

“Wylan! You forgot your jacket in the music room” Kaz’s raspy voice was easily recognizable above the others.

“I’ll go ahead and scout for the best location for you to hide to summon the storm. I’ll come get you at a quarter to 8 bells.”

Nikolai had to admire the crows’ ability to understand each other and get the job done in such chaos. They were running back and forth in every direction trying to get everything ready. Even Zoya seemed at ease discussing the plan with Inej. He needed this job to succeed. He needed to guarantee his country’s future. Once he was done dealing with this newest threat from Fjerda…? He’d like to work with the crows again. He felt much freer. Maybe it could become a side hustle for him and Zoya. It would give them a nice break from ruling a country.

He felt a soft hand rest on his arm. “Hey, we should probably go get ready for the party. We’ll meet here at 5 bells? That way we can go over last-minute details and head over.” She was smiling up at him. Her smile was soft as if she could tell he was anxious. He let his eyes trail over her tailored face and couldn’t help but miss her true features once more.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then, my darling.” He pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles and watched her disappear up the vast staircase.

---

Nikolai made his way to the room Wylan had so graciously offered him that morning. It was not his room at the Grand Palace, but it was much nicer than the one he’d had at the slat. He took his time putting on the rich merch’s clothes Kaz had picked out for him. He was still in awe of the work Y/N had done on him. The young king found himself unavoidably staring at himself in the mirror mounted to his wall. He finished buttoning up his shirt and folded his suit jacket on his arm. It was almost 5 bells. He knew he should make his way back to the mansion’s parlor.

Nikolai had barely sat in one of the large armchairs when an appreciative whistle sounded on his left. He followed Jesper’s gaze to the stairs. Y/N’s dress accentuated her new body in all the right places. Nikolai couldn’t help but think it would’ve suited her even better before the tailoring.

“No one warned me I’d have to fight off every man who lays eyes on my wife.” He complained.

He watched as Inej and Zoya approached Y/N. The women shared a few whispered comments before they lead Y/N to him. He could’ve sworn he saw the girl’s cheeks turn red. He had to put up a lot more effort than he was used to in schooling his own features. The way the dress moved along to the sway of her hips, with every step she took, made his brain go blank. He imagined the way it would’ve been even more sensual with her natural curves. Maybe he could convince her to wear the gown again once she’d tailored them both back to normal. His mind was racing with images of her, twirling in his arms, wearing that damned dress.

“Anything you want to go over before we get going?” She was looking at him expectantly, her eyes bright, her tailored lips stretched in a small smile.

His mouth felt dry. All eyes were on him. He had to fight to kick start his brain again. “Nope, I think we’re ready.” He offered her a hand, his natural charm coming back to him. “Shall we, my darling wife?”

She took his hand and they headed for the door leading to the elegant boathouse. “No mourners” she called over her shoulder.

A unified “No funerals” rang out behind them. Nikolai made a mental note to ask them what the saying meant, at some point, when he wasn’t so distracted by the beautiful Grisha on his arm.

---

They’d taken a small, polished boat to make their way to councilman Van Verent’s house. It had only taken a few minutes for them to reach the sophisticated boathouse on the councilman’s property. A Stadwatch officer had taken their invitation before guiding them to the stylishly decorated mansion. Flowers from every guest’s country were arranged in beautiful crystal vases matching the colourful silk ribbons adorning the banister. As they entered the main hall, they were stunned by the sheer number of guests already in attendance. The main floor was filled with dignitaries from Kerch, Novyi Zem, Shu Han, Fjerda, and the Wandering Isle. Nikolai noticed the absence of anyone representing his country. Good, he thought, it’ll make the job easier.

To his dismay, Y/N was already catching the eye of a few men standing off to the sides of the room. He wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, pulling her closer, sending the interested parties a nasty look. He felt her breath hitch but didn’t release his hold on her body. She was his wife. Anyone who wanted to get to her would have to go through him. Nikolai was surprised by the jealousy he felt. He was usually in control of his feelings, always choosing to be pragmatic rather than emotional. He knew they had to put on a convincing act. He still wasn’t supposed to be this possessive of a girl he’d only met a few days ago, right? All the Saints and their mothers, Zoya will murder me if she finds out about this.

Y/N had maneuvered them towards a group of Zemeni dignitaries, quickly engaging in easy conversation with one of the wives. Nikolai used the opportunity to present their made-up business proposal to a few interested parties, promising to send them more information as soon as they went back home to the Wandering Isle.

They navigated group after group of foreign and domestic dignitaries for about an hour. He had to admit Kaz had done a wonderful job when creating their false identities, but he was tired of the constant mindless chattering. How lucky, he thought, the dance floor seems very appealing right about now.

He leaned in close, letting his lips brush against Y/N’s ear, interrupting her conversation. “You are doing a fantastic job, my love.” He felt her shiver against him. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of business partners once you’re done here. Now, however, I would very much like to dance with my beautiful wife.” She looked at him, surprise evident in her deep brown eyes. Nikolai smirked; he could get used to this. He offered her a hand before guiding her swiftly to the dance floor.

He felt men staring, once again, at ‘his wife’ as they graciously made their way to the middle of the floor. The small orchestra started playing a beautiful soft song, perfect for a romantic moment between lovers. Nikolai rested his right hand on the small of Y/N’s back, pulling her close, keeping her hand tightly in his own. He felt her free hand gently come to rest on his shoulder. His heart beating more quickly than he would’ve liked. Why am I so nervous? She was gazing up at him, a gentle smile gracing her lips. He swallowed hard. Nikolai had never felt more grateful for the dance lessons he’d taken as a child. He’d only done it to please his mother. He had to admit he was glad they were paying off now. To anyone watching them, they simply looked like newlyweds, madly in love, eager to share a dance.

They turned elegantly, in time with the slow music, their bodies completely in sync. Their breathing even, their steps well-balanced. The deep green skirts of her dress following every graceful movement they made. She followed his lead perfectly as if they’d been partners for years. She seemed to trust him completely, showing him how safe she felt in his arms. Time slowed for a moment. Nikolai found himself forgetting all about the job, about the plans they had to steal, even about his country. He wanted to stay in this moment, holding the talented Grisha against him, forever.

The sound of applause brought him out of his reverie. He took in their surroundings. Y/N looked as surprised as he felt. Her eyes wide, cheeks flushed. He had no idea how long they had been dancing, how many songs had been played. It dawned on him that they were the cause of the applause. People had stopped dancing and talking to watch the young couple, completely lost in each other, moving elegantly across the floor. He saw Jesper and Wylan, wide grins plastered on their faces, in the far corner of the room. They looked way too pleased. Saints, I hope they won’t tell Brekker about this.

He bowed, Y/N following his lead once again, before walking off the dance floor, towards the grand staircase. They had to stop drawing so much attention to themselves. He wished he could have a moment to talk to Y/N, alone, away from the prying eyes of the crowd. She was playing her role to perfection, all smiles, as couples complimented them on their dancing for the next few minutes.

The ornate wall-mounted clock chimed. Zoya, Wylan, and Jesper would create the distraction in 15 minutes. Wylan subtly nodded to him, indicating he had already placed the small incendiary charge in the dining room. He had developed this newest marvel by studying and modifying one of David Kostyk’s discoveries. It seemed the boy truly was a genius. Jesper would detonate the charge at 8 bells, the sound of his shot covered by the storm Zoya would summon. The fire would require all-hands-on-deck to be put out, leaving the office unguarded. If everything went according to Kaz’s plan, it would give him and Y/N about 30 minutes to pick the lock of Van Verent’s office, crack the safe and make their way back to the party with the blueprints safely tucked in the sheath hidden beneath Y/N’s dress.

They came to a halt in the shadow of the staircase, ready to spring to action at their cue. Nikolai made sure to pull Y/N close, slipping an arm around her waist.

“I didn’t know you were such a good dancer, my love.” He murmured. Better keep up the act. She makes it easy, though. I don’t even have to lie.

She laughed softly and turned in his arms, snaking her own arm around his neck, pressing her lips quickly against his cheek. “Thank you, darling. I am full of hidden talents, you know...” the raise of her eyebrow and her tone so suggestive Nikolai had to fight to keep a straight face. She’s only doing her job. She’s supposed to be my wife. It’s only normal that a young wife should flirt with her delightfully handsome husband. He was trying to convince himself but the playful look in her eyes told him otherwise. She spun around once more, keeping his hand on her waist, leaving him to observe the guests enjoying the party.

The clock chimed once more. 8 bells. Thunder boomed outside, rain battering the windows. A high-pitched scream sounded to his right, coming from the dining room. Other screams quickly followed. Guests ran past them, fleeing the room. Guards came rushing down the stairs, towards the fire. It was complete chaos. Nikolai found himself impressed, once again, by how brilliant the crows were. Maybe I could convince Kaz to help me plan my next military campaign? Or get Wylan to come work with David. I should at least sail with the Wraith and her crew.

Y/N’s fingers closed around his wrist. “That’s our cue.” She said with a sly grin on her lips.

---

Taglist: @power-of-words23

[ladynestaarcheron]

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter One

ao3 - masterpost

back on my bullshit, y'all! as i have chattered about, this is my fix it for acosf. we've established that because acosf ignores canon from the original trilogy and is so poorly edited that emerie has two--count 'em, two--on-page tragic backstories...i am completely at liberty to ignore what I please, and so are you. i'll let you know chapter by chapter what you should keep in mind.

this one's not critically important, but I just want to say it: in acosf, nesta's revealed to be taller than average, and two inches taller than feyre. wrong. nesta's short. feyre's the tallest and she's only 5'6", elain's an inch shorter, and nesta's 5'3" on a good day.

anyway. enjoy!

---

There's nothing quite like stepping into Feyre's beautiful new home to remind Nesta just how truly ugly she is. The literary part of her, dulled by the wine from last night and the downward spiral of the past year, appreciates the contrast. Sometimes she still likes to narrate her life in her head as though it were a book. What would she write here? The woman curves her foot inside her boot, as if that would stop her from dirtying the marble. That's a nice line, isn't it? A good hook. But she isn't a woman anymore, so it wouldn't work.

"This way," Cassian says, unnecessarily waving his hand behind him.

It's probably supposed to be insulting, that Feyre has sent him to fetch her. But she doesn't care. Feyre can do what she likes. Just as Nesta will do what she likes. She'll sit through this scolding, turn down the invitation to stay for lunch, go home and sleep until she wakes up and has another night like last.

Although perhaps she'll spend less this time. If only to avoid this headache again.

"They're waiting in here," he says, stopping in front of one of the doors. How many rooms are there in this mansion, anyway? Feyre might've mentioned it on the tour, but she doesn't remember. Only remembers that decorating the walls are dozens, maybe hundreds of pictures of Feyre and Rhysand and Morrigan and Cassian and Azriel and Amren and Elain and their father, and none of Nesta. Or their mother, for that matter. She remembers that very well.

"Wait," Cassian blurts out as she lays a hand on the doorknob.

Nesta angles her head slightly. Not a full turn, not to look at him.

"Do you want your tea?"

Rolling her eyes, Nesta opens the door and shuts it--pointedly, she hopes--behind her.

Her sisters look up from the couch where they sit, heads close together. Little cakes and sandwiches and tea are arranged prettily on the glass table.

"Nesta!" Elain says, leaping up."You're here early!"

Nesta bites her tongue to keep from answering Five whole minutes. No use snapping at Elain before they've even begun, is there?

"Let me take your coat," Feyre says, standing up too.

Ah. So this would be this sort of meeting, then. These...luncheons, that they sometimes try to have with her. But it's nine in the morning.

It pulls at her heart, that they still try. And makes her sick to her stomach. She winces as she feels it. Too much alcohol and not enough food to add any extra queasiness. This will not be easy for her.

"Heard you had quite the night," Feyre says, voice bright and cheery in a way that does not quite match her eyes. "Sit down, sit down."

She does, opposite them. They take note.

"Do you want to try these macarons, Nesta? Raspberry. I made them."

"We got this new cinnamon tea...from the Continent. I think you'll like it."

Her sisters try again a few times, and eventually she says, "I'll take tea."

"I'll pour it," Feyre says quickly.

Great. Wonderful.

This isn't so bad, though, she thinks as she sipped her tea. She'll get through this...whatever it is. Force herself to make some conversation, say Feyre's newest art project is pretty, force down half a cookie and tell Elain it tastes good. Then she'll agree to see them for lunch in a week. And that will be all.

How long can they possibly keep her for? An hour? Two hours? She can do that.

And then Feyre clears her throat. "Nesta," she begins. "Elain and I...have something we want to say to you."

Here it is. She should've known better. Tea and macarons, at nine in the morning? Of course not.

"And we're only saying this because we care about you," Elain adds quickly.

"Yes. Yes, right. We are. And...well...what we want to say is..." Feyre looks to Elain, who nods encouragingly.

Good grief. Will this never end?

"We know that...all of this...has been...difficult...for you to adjust to."

Nesta's heart stutters. They wouldn't. This--this isn't happening.

She keeps it off her face, though. She is cool, impassive. Blank. Nothing.

It doesn't make Feyre give up, but it does make her duck her head. "We...understand. But we think...we know that because we love you we can't allow this to go on any longer." Feyre clamps her mouth shut as she finishes, appearing to be holding her breath.

Nesta only raises an eyebrow slightly. Inside, she is not nearly as calm.

"All of the...drinking, Nesta," Elain says, lips beginning to tremble. Oh, no, not this. Anything but this. "And the m-males." She cringes as she said the words.

The color leachees from her face. She wants to die. There is no Mother, she knows, because if there were any being with mercy, they would surely split the earth beneath her feet and take her down.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Feyre says, now the one hurrying to add on to the other. Elain nods, but she looks sick. "Just that--you hadn't really...there was Tomas, but other than that--"

Nesta flinches violently when Feyre says his name. She still isn't making eye contact, though, so she doesn't notice, and continues.

"--so the--switch. From not being with anyone, and then...and these males don't care about you. And I wouldn't--I would never judge you, Nesta, really, but it doesn't appear as though you're...enjoying...yourself." She shrinks back.

"So then," Nesta says, proud of herself for keeping her voice even, "you are judging me."

"We're just noting facts," Elain says.

"And...all right, let's take a step back," Feyre says, swallowing. "We're not here to criticize you. We only want to offer a solution."

"A solution," Nesta repeats flatly. To her problem. To her.

"A--not a solution. Help. We want to help."

Elain clenches her hands into fists in front of her. Feyre stills as she visibly holds her breath.

"Well?" Nesta says after half a minute of this, voice still deadly calm. "What is your solution?"

Who will be the one to say it, she wonders? Elain, frightened as a mouse already, or Feyre, ill at the sight of her?

It's Feyre. Perhaps being High Lady makes her feel responsible. But she exhales sharply, picks up her head, and says, "We think it would be beneficial for you to spend some time in the library."

Nesta blinks. A library? That...doesn't sound--

And then she realizes. Not a library. The library. The one off the side of that mountain, where Hybern had attacked...where Bryaxis had lived...where all those priestesses...those priestesses...

"Are you out of your mind?" she blurts out, losing grip on her faux calm completely. "You want me to go to that library? Are you insane? How is that possibly supposed to help?"

"Nesta--"

"With those--those sycophants? Who worship that thing?" The thundering of her heart blocks the sounds from her sisters' protests. "Is that what you want me to be? Some acolyte of that--you want me to pray to that--how can--how dare--"

"Nesta, please!" Feyre cries, hands thrown up in front of her.

"We don't mean that at all!" Elain says, tears in her eyes.

Nesta's chest heaves as she struggles to catch her breath, her mind too full of that...Cauldron. That thing they all worship--that thing that did this to her--to Elain--to Father--

"Please hear us out," Feyre says. "Sit back down, please."

Nesta falters. She hadn't even realized she had jumped up. She fights to keep her cheeks from reddening in shame. Stupid--she shouldn't have lost control like that--and what if something had happened? Shattered a window, shattered one of her sisters' bones?

"Thank you," Feyre says as she sits. "What we mean is...to spend time at the library during the day...working on entirely secular things. Nothing to do with any worship at all. Not reading those books, not participating in any prayer, not even wearing their robes."

"We would never suggest you do that, Nesta." Elain's voice is tight. Feyre reaches out and holds her hand.

"Just during the day," Feyre continues, "and then at night staying in the House of Wind."

"So you don't even have to share a room with any of them," Elain is quick to clarify. "Or eat with them. And you could go to that private library, too, remember?" She still fights back tears, but her voice takes a hopeful turn upwards.

Nesta latches onto everything inside her and holds it down tightly. "What would I even be doing there?"

Elain and Feyre exchange a look. Was that excitement? They probably take it as her willingness to go. That is not what this is.

"So, day to day, it would involve librarian duties. Reshelving books and such. And over time, if you find something you're interested in, aiding a senior librarian with her research. Or perhaps doing some of your own, if you'd like. But...the real purpose, Nesta..." Feyre sneaks another look at Elain before saying to her, "is for you to heal."

"We're not saying there's anything the matter with you," Elain says, jumping in before she can respond. "Just that...you've been hurt. And w-we take responsibility for not being by your side all this time. That was obviously wrong. We thought...well...we know you've always preferred to be on your own. But you're--you're hurting yourself too much. We can't just let you do that anymore. We love you," she finishes, choking back a sob. Her tears start falling from her eyes, but she does her best to keep quiet.

Feyre squeezes her hand, but doesn't turn to look at her. She keeps her eyes focused on Nesta. "Look, we know...it'd be a big change. But just...give it a few weeks. Get a feel for it. And if it's really not working...and you don't like it..."

"Then what?" Nesta asks, hollow.

"Don't worry about that," Feyre answers, firm. "We'll think of something else."

She's going to be sick right here. She cannot handle this...concern. Their trying. It's too much.

And now she has to say no. And Elain will cry--maybe Feyre, too. And then she'll have the rest of them upon her; Rhysand leading them to storm down her apartment, probably. It'll drive her down further, and perhaps be the last snip needed to finally sever the frayed, sole remaining string tied between herself and her sisters. Goodness knows she has ripped apart the tie between her and Amren, had stomped out the one between her and Cassian before it even had a chance to be something--

"Hey," Feyre says, placing a hand on her knee. "Stay with us, please."

"We know it's not easy." Elain speaks slowly, breathing deeply and fighting back her sobs. "But...don't think of it as a big thing. Just one step. One change. And w-we're not abandoning you to do this alone."

Feyre stands up and moves to sit by Nesta's side. Elain takes her other.

"I know how you feel," Feyre says, quiet and calm, squeezing her knee. "I've felt the same. If you can't do this for yourself...that's fine. Just please, please. Do it for us. Please."

Nesta narrows her eyes on Feyre's hand. She doesn't open her mouth for fear of what might come out. She won't give this voice--can't--

"I killed two innocents," Feyre says in that same voice, and suddenly, Nesta forgets her own thoughts as she turns to face her.

"It was my third trial," she continues, meeting Nesta's gaze, "Under the Mountain. Amarantha made me. I could've killed myself...and I was going to. But then it all ended and she died and Tamlin took me back to Spring. And I..." Only now does a tear slide down Feyre's cheek. But she just wipes it away and musters a small smile. "I promise I know how you feel. Please do this for me."

There are some truths Nesta knows. That she is not worth anyone's effort because of who she is, what she is. Which is defiled. And rotted. And small. And ugly. And these are the reasons why people give up; why she deserves that.

And yet, here her sisters sit, quietly crying, begging, beside her, and they are not giving up.

It's not exactly seeing the chance, rather...knowing it's there. In her periphery. Out of reach from where she is now, but...perhaps she can get there.

And Nesta realizes that there is a small, nearly insignificant--except it's the most important, isn't it?--part of her that throughout this whole drowning tempest, remembers what it is like to breathe. And it wants to breathe.

The girl who gave everything she could against the Cauldron may be buried, but she's not dead yet.

So she nods once.

Elain gasps and throws her palm against her mouth. Feyre squeezes her leg so hard she thinks she might draw blood.

"Thank you," Elain chokes out, crashing her head onto Nesta's shoulder.

Feyre doesn't say anything; only leans onto her other side.

Nesta doesn't relax. She sits there stiff and unmoving. But that distant, minuscule thing inside her flickers and breathes.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Winx Club Rewrite Is a Go

I don’t know how I ended up here because I’ve always maintained that rewrites aren’t my thing (and I still kinda do) because it feels a lot like reading the same thing over and over again and to me it can be annoying. Yet, here I am with my very own Winx Club rewrite.

I started writing the first episode today but I have A LOT planned out already. Seasons 1 and 3 are pretty solid already even if there is still a lot of character work to be done and logistics to be figured out. I also have some structure for seasons 2 and 4 and I figured out the backstory of the Wizards of the Black Circle yesterday and that gave me an indescribable feeling which is pretty much what I took as a sign that it’s time to talk about this project.

To explain what I am doing - I am taking everything and changing it while keeping it the same. If that doesn’t make sense, then imagine that I am keeping the major plot points and most of the episodes (I have removed some because they are just irrelevant) have the same starting and ending point as they do on the show but there are big changes between those. Seasons 5, 6 and - you’ll find out in a sec - are going to have a lot more changes. I have removed transformations and switched around some of the transformations so that they are earned at a different point than in canon. I have picked a place to end this already and I have arcs for each season.

Now when it comes to the seasons, I have removed season 7 which will be done as a “movie” and will have additional plot still because there really is THAT little to season 7. Season 8 becomes season 7 in my rewrite and is the last and final season. It is the end of Winx’ journey and I think it is a satisfying end to a pretty long story. I am keeping the movies but:

1) There will probably be “movies” after seasons 1 and 2 as well just to make the structure make sense and because I feel like there is enough to be talked about between the seasons.

2) SotLK is majorly different from canon because there was no sense to that movie and only plot holes instead. I’ve saved what was salvageable from it and mostly put it in season 3 to free the whole movie for more interesting and logical stuff to happen. The end goal is the same, though - bringing Marion and Oritel (and Domino) back.

3) Magical Adventure is the least changed but there will be several changes here as well. The plan is to make the movie relevant on a wider level than just to Winx and the Specialists but I still don’t have that clear a vision of it. Just some things that I want to see but need piecing together.

3) The “movie” after season 5 will deal with the season 7 plot instead. I have switched them around. There will be Kalshara and Griffin and Faragonda and some major Bloom drama as well. I need to make these pieces connect, too, but this one feels almost coherent at the current time.

4) Politea is saved for the last movie that is after season 6. You’ll see why. Anyway, major Daphne and Bloom feelings are planned for that movie... and I don’t know what else yet. We’ll see.

I am currently working on all of the seasons and all of the movies at once so it is a bit of a mess. I write down and rewrite ideas. Everything is one big map in my head that isn’t completely translatable to someone else. Anyway, you can find everything I have posted about this in the “wc rewrite” tag. You can ask me questions if you have them and I’ll see how much I’ll share while trying to resist the urge to spoil everything because I have been at this for about 5 months now and I have so many ideas that I adore and want to talk about. Despite that I have no idea how quickly I can work on it. This is bound to take years which was the hardest part of this project for me to reconcile with but I really want to do it. So let’s see how that goes.

I want to say that I am planning on doing one episode a chapter but because I have decided to both develop the characters and be self-indulgent, that will make the chapters long. I don’t think that they are devoid of tension or action, however, because this thing is packed with so much stuff happening. Here’s a little sneak peak from the first episode:

“Bloom, honey, wake up,“ Vanessa’s mellow voice reached her through the colorful explosion into which her dream was retreating.

“Just five more minutes, mom,” Bloom mumbled as she wormed her head under the pillow to block out the interruption. She reached for the fairy princess in her dream with hair of liquid light and a touch like sinking through the reflective surface of a mirror that showed none of Bloom’s own features to her. She’d lose not just the way but her own self if she let go of the figure in front of her.

“You’ll be late for school, sleepy head.”

The woman evaporated in a heap of steam with a nasty hissing sound that rattled Bloom’s bones as she jumped into bed. Vanessa’s apologetic smile came into focus to draw a groan out of Bloom’s parched throat as she threw her head back.

“Not funny, mom,” Bloom grabbed her fallen pillow from the floor and plopped herself back down on her mattress, eyes wide open as the image of the fairy burned in her mind. “I wanted to see where she’d lead me!”

“Who?” Vanessa sat down on the edge of the bed.

“The fairy from my dream,” Bloom covered her eyes with her free hand to narrow her focus to the woman. “I’ve seen her before, I just...” she threw the pillow next to her on the mattress. “I can’t remember where.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. You’ve read every book on fairies that you could get your hands on. It’s only natural that they’ve started blurring together,” Vanessa chuckled.

“Yeah, but it’s not that.” Bloom shot up once again, her vision spinning for a moment from the sudden action. “She’s not a character. She’s something... someone else.” She twisted a strand of hair around her finger looking for the warmth enveloping her at the presence of the mystery fairy. It couldn’t be the first time she’d dreamed about her but she couldn’t recall more than that. “Grandma always said that dreams are important.” Another reason not to let go of the fleeting imagery in her head.

“I’m pretty sure she meant the other kind of dreams,” Vanessa’s amusement was more of a ghost itself now that Bloom had mentioned the newest loss in their family. It was her who had to stay open and talk to Bloom about Mike’s mother when he froze every time the topic was brought up until Bloom could no longer bear to cause him that. “Did you finish your art project last night? I sure hope it was inspiration that kept you up so late and not the lack of it.”

Bloom beamed despite the deflection. “I did!” She jumped out of bed as her mom made space for her to launch herself at her desk where her masterpiece was covered by stray sheets to keep her parents from peeking without her there to see the reactions. Finals had really inserted themselves in all areas of her life–including dreams–to throw a wrench in her works. Finishing a drawing she’d been sitting on for over a month had let her breathe fresh air again. “Here it is.” She pulled two sheets from the pile. “This is the sketch I did during spring break.” She’d spent a whole day wandering Gardenia looking for the building to put her vision into. “And here is the one I’ve reimagined.”

Vanessa gasped, hands flying to her mouth as her eyes gleamed with unformed tears. Not unlike her response to Bloom’s first steps in art back when she’d been three but, somehow, her reactions had developed to match Bloom’s growing skillset without giving undue credit.

Bloom’s heart swelled in her chest with pride boosted by the trust she had in her mom. Her work was almost complete now that it’d accomplished the desired effect with one parent. She’d been in awe herself by the alterations she’d made to Earth architecture to make it elaborate and alien enough for a fantasy... something. She still couldn’t decide what format she wanted to create her world in. Comics were a handy option but a vision of an elusive deal for a TV show still reared its head every time she reached for a pencil and a blank sheet of paper. And there was, of course, the popularity of video games accompanied by her lack of skills or contacts when it came to coding. There was always one more step to the door of her fairy utopia but she had to focus on the art for now.

“I hope that keeping this up will be easier after school is done stifling my inspiration,” Bloom chewed on her lip as she waited for her mom to collect herself enough to give the verdict of whether a summer job was about to take over that function now.

“Uninspired? You?” Vanessa shook her head in disbelief. “Honey, you have the imagination to create worlds and I am sure that one day you will,” Vanessa reached out cautiously towards the museum Bloom had created for her fantasy world. Her fingers barely brushed the paper to leave no traces of their presence and the bittersweet look on her face was too much for Bloom to stand. Her art was not meant to be an untouchable monument. It was supposed to be a temple, a home. Maybe her yearning had come through too well.

[deepdonutkid]

Gambling man

Warnings: swearing, smoking, drinking, dirty talk (starting soft here)

A/N: This is the first chapter of my newest series: Do you wanna touch ! There is also the summary of the story and the masterlist and the warning for the story as a whole. Have fun reading it and I hope you leave some love here!

There were no words to describe how annoyed he was. Why should he do something for Tommy after the regular work in the betting shop? John was tired and this was an understatement. He was nearly constantly yawning, rubbing his eyes and his head was aching. The kids kept him up all night. One wet the bed. This woke up the others. They wouldn’t go back to sleep that easily, of course and John was already half-dead when he arrived at work. And now he had to go to a swanky bar called “The mockingbird” to pick something up for this brother.

He didn’t even know what it was, but apparently it was expensive. Tommy was god-knows-where and John was sick of being his clown. It was always the same. ‘John do this’ or ‘John do that’ and he couldn’t escape it. Of course he tried, like a million times already. It has been like this since they were kids and even nowadays he couldn’t say no to his family.

After all, family was the most important thing in his life, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t complain while doing the dirty work again. At least he didn’t have to care about his kids for the rest of the night. Polly was watching them. He agreed with Tommy about that. It was his only condition. When the job was said and done, he wanted a good night sleep. John couldn’t remember his last peaceful night, maybe before the war or even before his wedding. He was still a child back then, but he doesn’t really miss this part of his life.

Back then they were poor kids with some knives, robbing some fellows to get some coins. When he was hungry he had to steal, because begging never has been his thing. Looking back wasn’t glorious. It was just sad and nothing more. Now he has the money for food, but nobody will cook for him. Martha died during the war, so when he finally came home, broken and shattered; he was all alone with no one to comfort him. Well, he had the kids, but they behaved just as bad as waifs and strays. They still did. Always jumping around, asking way too many questions, destroying everything that comes to their hands and John just needed a break.

Just one night, was all he was asking for.

But first he had to do his job. Then he could think of all the ways he could spend his free time. So he walked to the pub and grumbled. How fucking garish it looked! Everything was so nice and expensive and everyone acted like they were about humans. John gave a sniff about these posh fuckers. The look in his eyes was dismissive as he entered this fancy place.

Indoors it smelled like wine and cigars. Not bad, he thought as he glanced around. The place was light and warm and full of laughter. Golden ornaments everywhere, he noticed and shook his head about it. This was nothing he cared about. They wouldn’t even serve beer here.

John walked to the bar and ordered a whiskey, Irish of course. Then he waited at the counter, like Tommy had explained to him. A man would walk up to him and asking him how the weather was outside and regardless of the cloud free sky that night, John should answer: “It’s fookin pouring.” What a bloody drama was this anyway? Why he couldn’t pick up the package like a normal person? But with Tommy and his secret plans and all this bullshit he had no other way, but to do as he was commanded.

The Shelby drowned one glass and then next and then the next, still no contact in sight. For the glimpse of a moment he thought he had to wait all night for the man to come. After his fourth glass of whiskey a small man with a bowler, white stubbly hair and a curly moustache arrived. He had an umbrella with him and used it as walking stick. The way he walked looked almost cartoonish. John gave his best not to laugh about this codger, especially when he asked the question. “Oh, young boy, could you please tell me, how is the weather outside?” The voice of the strange man was croaking, which made the whole conversation even more farcical.

Now he really had to bit his lip, so he wouldn’t burst out in laughter. “It’s fooking pouring”, John chuckled and emptied his glass.

“Good”, the old man said: “Just as I expected. Now I don’t need the paper anymore. Take this.” He handed John a newspaper with something inside. John took it and put it in the inside of his jacket. The dossier was safe there.

Instead of saying thanks, John shouted to the bartender: “One drink for him and one for me.” The guy behind the bar rushed to them and poured another drink. John wasn’t drunk yet, but sooner or later the whiskey would do his work.

The job was a simple transaction, but his part of the deal wasn’t done yet. First he paid the barkeeper and waited for him to leave. Then he sat there awhile and drank there quietly. He still didn’t know how he should hand the money discretely… until the man asked: “Boy, please do me another favor. Lend me some money for the cab.”

This had to be a sign, he thought and pulled out a thick wad of money, which he slipped into the wrinkly hands of the geezer. “This would be more than enough. Farewell.” He muttered and stood up from his stool, ready to leave.

Just in this moment he realized nature was calling and he should do that, before walking into the cold night of Birmingham. So he took a little detour to the lavatories.

With steady steps he headed to the exit. One last time he turned around. There was something interesting about this place after all. In the back were four card tables. John liked to play, whenever he was at the garrison, but even if he left right away, the garrison would be closed as soon as he arrived in Small Heath. It was almost midnight by now, but John was now more drunk than tired and he though one or two rounds of cards couldn’t hurt.

So he walked towards the tables and studied them to pick the right one. On the first were just some posh greybeards, which weren’t interesting at all or at least not for John. The second was empty and on the third table were two Chinese men talking in their mother tongue. The last table caught his attention. There sat the croupier, a man with a scar across his face in his forties, a Spanish guy with gelled hair and a lady. She had her hair open, so the blonde locks would reach her tailbone. This seemed by far to be the most interesting table.

Without a second thought he sat down at table number four. The other players nodded slightly, when he arrived. The round wasn’t done yet, but the pot was full of chips and in the middle was a golden hair pin. Now he realized why the woman wore her hair open. She had used her pin as her stake.  

John decided to take a closer look at his fellow players. The two men were exactly what he thought they would be… greasy, compulsive gamblers. Nothing more to say.

But the lady… Well, there was something about her. John couldn’t point it out yet, but he was eager to find out. Everything from her golden shiny hair to that arrogant grin on face was capturing. She had a fierce look on her face as if she knew something everyone else didn’t. Every little detail like her dominant cheekbones or tilted chin seemed to add to the impression how privileged and entitled she was. Yet, she was quite charming in her pink dress. Her clothing seemed to be expensive, but it completed her appearance.

John was so caught by her presence; he didn’t recognized when the round ended. The other player with the scar and the hat folded, so she won. As she revealed her hand, her opponent groaned and slapped his fist on the table. Apparently she had nothing, but a good poker face. The Shelby was pretty impressed. He had played cards with some girls before, but none of them were really good at it. They just tried to flirt with him, while playing.

So he leaned closer to her and whispered: “Any luck today?” She gave him a dismissive glare and then collected her stake.

While she twirled her hair around and put the pin back in place, the croupier asked John, if he wants to join for the next round. He nodded, pulled some bills out of his pocket and gave it to the dealer. In return the dealer handed him some chips and started riffle the cards.

The man who just lost the last round stood up and left the table grunting. Then the lady declared in a dry tone: “At least more than him.” John let out a little laugh. Obviously she was funny too. He already took the bait and was curious to get more information about her.

The Shelby slid closer to her and smiled at her, but that didn’t seem to please her. “Don’t fucking look at my cards.” She growled, raising an eyebrow. John bit his lip, glaring at her with amusement. Then he noticed, he didn’t even check his hand, so he did that- a jack and a five- and then placed a bet.

After he had done that, he started staring again and couldn’t stop until she nagged: “What exactly do you want from me?” He chuckled. As if he would know that?

“Whatever you want to give me”, he grinned and leaned forwards as he tried to get in a more comfortable position on his chair. While talking he noticed her smell. It was a combination of roses, vanilla and oranges. What a great contrast to the people he usually talked to. He wanted to ensure, that this wasn’t an illusion, but sniffing on woman wasn’t a publicly accepted thing to do. Even he knew and heeded that.

With widened eyes she gazed back at him. “So… you want to get slapped?” she answered, with blank eyes. The woman was quite serious, but John couldn’t help but smirk at her. He liked her fervor.

John smothered to say a little delinquent ‘Maybe’ and placed another bet as it was his turn again. His cards weren’t the best, but he wanted to keep playing.

They played for a while. Then out of the blue the lady asked: “Should I take you silence as a yes? Or did you swallow your tongue?” He didn’t expect her to insist on an answer.

His hand scratched the back of his head as he searched for words to say. “No, I just…”

“Just what?” she interrupted him, before he could even finish his sentence. Now she seemed to sneer.

Her laugh made him laugh too. It was contagious and he always had a thing for fierce women. “I just want to know you name at least” he added.

“Does this matter?” she responded while fumbling with her chips: “Aren’t we here to play cards, ey?”

The Shelby nodded. She was probably right. He shouldn’t care about this, but yet he still had the desire to know more about this mysterious creature in front of him. “To the game… no” he murmured: “To me, yes.”

She looked down at her cards, as she raised the stake. He didn’t know, if she would ignore him again, so he introduced himself first: “I’m John.” He raised her by two more chips.

The blond groaned as if she was almost disappointed. Then in the next round she called and said with the most Russian accent he could imagine: “I’m Darja, but you can call me Dascha.” Now he was surprised again. He didn’t expect that. From first sight she didn’t seemed to be Russian… but who would have guessed he was Romani. They would have thrown him out, if they knew.

“It’s a pleasure” he nodded and waited for the other player at the table to end his turn. That slickly guy folded and now it was just the two of them in the game. John decided to call and as he placed another red casino chip in the pot he whispered to himself: “Dascha”

Her name was like a sweet melody to him and fitted her image as an entitled little madam. They moaned the loudest though, when they get a good fuck. The picture of them doing it in the lavatories wouldn’t leave his head as he peered into the distance. How he would shag her, grabbing her tiny little butt, while she begged for more.

This little though brought him unholy amounts of pleasure. With a grin on his face he finally arrived back in reality, just to notice that he should shut his cards down. She waited patiently and then showed her hand.

The two of them starred at the cards. He had won with just a three of a kind. That was luck indeed. She had a pair of queens.

“Seems like you’re lucky tonight”, she mumbled as she took a sip from a colorful drink.

His eyes widened from surprise and amusement. Grinning at her he asked: “Oh, is that so?”

The blonde woman clucked her tongue and gave him a dismissive stare. “Don’t get cocky after just one round.”

So the next round started. They played for a while. Sometimes she had won and sometimes he did.

Now his cards were even better than the last time. John had to bit his lip to hide his smile. Soon after he placed a bet, he got an idea. The guy on the other side of the table was nearly out of money and so it was clear it was a race between them now.

When the other guy reached his limit, John put three of his red chips in the middle of the table and said to the croupier: “Open a side pot, please.” Then he slowly turned to the woman. She hasn’t changed mimic or position, almost statuesque. There was still this mysterious smile on her face. But then she moved her hand to call.

“Shall we make this more interesting?”, he purposed and flicked a coin in his hands.

She glared at him for a while, completely silent, as if she tried to read his thoughts. Very quietly she hummed. John had to focus on the melody to even hear it, so it wouldn’t get lost in the surroundings. Finally she tilted her head and inquired: “What do you have in mind?”

It seemed like the Shelby had caught her interest as well and he was ready to play with her. John licked his lips and laughed. “Just a little bet. If I win this round, we’ll meet again… on a date.” He knew just too well, that if he mentioned something more sexual, this little lady would run away. But as his grandfather used to say, he had to think of the long game.

The Russian nodded. “But what if I win? What do I get? Do you even have something interesting for me?”

Now he was a little lost. He thought he’d never get this far. What could she want was the question in mind. Well, he couldn’t give up his pocket watch and he didn’t have anything else expensive with him. But on the other hand she seemed to be rich enough to deny his offer.

John was desperate, not completely, just a little. This might be his only chance with a woman like her. So he did what he could do best- be an arrogant asshole! He looked at her the whole time until he made his move. His eyes wandered from her to his manhood and then back to her. With a cocky smile on his face he underlined his wager.

And she burst out in laughter: “Hell no!” It took almost a minute until she calmed down again. She was still giggling like a five-year-old, when she added: “This is not going to happen, but I’m going to take your ring as a stake. So you’ll learn your lesson.”

At first he didn’t know what she meant. Then he looked at his hands. Like other Romani he wore at least five of them. Most were family heirloom, but his wedding ring wasn’t. All his other rings were luxuriant. His wedding ring was simple golden and had no ornaments like the others. Until now he had completely forgot about this. Of course he was still wearing it. He never took it off. Not during the war and not after Martha had died.

John had never questioned it, but now he had to. If he wasn’t so sure, he would win, he would have never agreed to this. It was a weird feeling to take it off, after all those years.  He turned the ring in his hand, still worried if he would get it back. Then he heard her giggle again. She felt confident, John wouldn’t cross this line, but because she was so convinced, he finally put the ring on the table. “Then teach me”, he grunted.

Once again it was time to turn the cards. His heartbeat was going crazy as his fingers reached for the two cards in front of him again. He flipped them as quickly as possible. There was no chance, she would win. John had a fucking flush on his hand.

He was watching her closely, as she played with one lose streak of her blond hair. One moment she was laughing, and then she hung her head. Suddenly he would realize the bittersweet nuance in her smile, as she had shown her cards. The Russian had lost again. “My luck ended, when you came to this table, I guess”, she mumbled.

On the other hand John couldn’t feel luckier. He took his bet back, put his ring back on and piled up his chips gleefully. “Oh, you shouldn’t be sad. You just won a date with me”, he joked knowing he was just rubbed salt in her wounds.

Amused he watched her as she pouted her lips. She stood up from her stool, stretched herself and declared: “I better get going, before I lose the rest of my dignity.” A nod to the croupier was enough to tell him to change the chips back into money.

John did the same, when he had put his money away, he ran after her. “Wait, darling”, he said under his breath: “You don’t get away this easily. You still owe me something… Let me walk you home, so I know where I can pick you up for our date.”

She chose to ignore him, so he grabbed her wrist to stop her from going away. Then she turned around to him and raised her eyebrow. “Do I?”, she asked: “I thought this was a joke or would you really gamble away your wedding ring? What would your wife say about this?”

Before he could even answer, she added: “I mean I feel very flattered by your attention, since you’re somehow good looking or whatever, but I don’t fuck married man.”

“Stop right there”, he replied: “Yes, I was serious and don’t bring my wife into this discussion. The date doesn’t mean we have to have sex… I mean it would be nice, but that’s not my point. I want to get to know you… and I won.” Somehow he couldn’t tell her the truth. He was a widower with four children and he didn’t want her to pity him. Actually that was the last thing he wanted right now. In his opinion it was better if she thought he was a married asshole, than a poor, sad widower.

With a straight face she wrest herself free, just to offer her arm, so he could link in. Her cheeks were gleaming red as she moaned: “Let’s just get out of here.” Gladly he would take her hand and guide her outside.

It was still warm outside and it would be one of the last pleasant evenings in Birmingham for the next time. Fall was coming soon and it would get way colder. Right now, he and the lady to his right could walk down the street without a coat. John was mentally prepared to give her his jacket, if she would need it, but she was silent as they left the nightclub.

“Why do you want to walk with me? I don’t live so far from here”, she asked and looked the other way.

It was so dark outside; he could barely see his own hands in front of him. Yet he knew that her face was still flushed with shame. His smile was undeniable. “Well”, he explained: “You don’t come from Birmingham and so you might not know, it’s a dangerous town for a woman like you.”

He could see the silhouette of her head nod. Then he heard her laughter. “And you are here to save me?”

Of course, it wasn’t his job to bring her home, but it felt like the right thing to do and after all, he wanted to spend more time with her. It was a weird thing, yes, since he had only known her for maybe an hour or less, but there was something about her, something captivating and he thought that eventually- if he could get to know her better- he could figure out why she was so fascinating to him. There was something in her eyes, something he had never seen before and he was keen to know, what it was. Or maybe he was just needy and an idiot to fall for the first pretty woman he had seen for months. After a while he answered: “Yes, I do.” His voice was soft, when he spoke, it sounded so unfamiliar.

“What make you think I need a savior?” was her next question. Somehow he got the idea, that she would never stop asking things. The way she said it seemed so innocent to him. He had seen war and violence en masse and he knew his city well enough to predict something bad, without having any second Romani sense like his aunt.

“Nah, I just think it’s better to be safe than to be sorry”, he responded and caressed her arm with his thumb. Usually he wasn’t so sweet, when it came to woman, but he still tried to charm her. And it somehow worked, at least she giggled again.

Then she joked: “So what? You’re going to heroically fight them off with your fists? Is this what you want me to believe?” Suddenly she stopped walking and just stood there, staring at him.

John chuckled and stopped as well. “No, I have a gun.” He didn’t want to scare her, so he just said it very calmly. And well, there was no need to show his Webley to her, right?

The Russian laughed even louder. Somehow she managed to say: “Excuse me… English is not my first language… Is gun another jargon for cock?”

Another time this would make him laugh as well, but now he thought she was not taking him seriously, which hurt his big male ego. After all, he was a goddamn Shelby, a King of Small Heath, a gangster or whatever people liked to call him… and yet the little lady in front of him was twitting about him.

So he opened his jacket and his gun shimmered in the light of the nearest lantern. “See? I’m not joking, honey”, he grunted. Others would fear him now, but she looked very unbothered right now. She wasn’t impressed or scared, she hid all her emotions beneath her brilliant poker face again.

They stood there in silence for quite a while. John wasn’t sure how to proceed and he was still waiting for her reaction.

All the sudden a big smile from one ear to the other was carved into her skin. Her eyes seemed so lost, like she wasn’t mentally here anymore, when she lifted her hand to his head, or to his cap to be precise. She snorted as she hovered with her finger over the edge of his flat cap. He was about to tell her about the razor blades he had sewn in there, when she presented the blood on her index finger. “You are one of these Peaky Blinders. Am I right, John?”

He felt caught, even though this wasn’t actually a secret. It was more like everybody knew who he was. So why couldn’t he say something now? All those words were stuck in his thought and he couldn’t break nor speak. His head was all blank and he still wanted to turn this conversation around. The only thing he could do was to nod.

“Good”, she whispered and came close to him: “I like when someone doesn’t play by the rules, because neither do I.” The Russian moved away and her cheek briefly brushed against his.  A shiver ran down his spine. Her voice was electrifying and he wanted her to moan his name over and over again.

She was so mean, when she teased him like this, but he couldn’t deny that this was appealing to him. “Fuck”, he groaned and put his hand on her waist to pull her closer. Now he could see her face in the light of street lantern again. To his pleasure he noticed that she seemed at least a little scared. “Following the rules is just so tiring and on top of that also boring. Why should I keep playing by the book, when is so much more fun, just to break some shit?” Under his fingertips he felt the fabric of her dress and how she trembled.

Just like he thought it was getting to cold for just a summer dress like hers. “Do you want my jacket?”, he offered with a smile and moved his hand to her cheek to caress it gently.

Slowly she shook her head and refused his kind gesture. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.” They were still close and she hasn’t hurried away, which was a good sign for him.  He liked to feel her warm body against his. The last time he had felt something like this was so long ago.

A small, but very vulnerable smile graced his lips. “Dascha?” Calling her name like was oddly intense, but his heart jumped when she squeaked. He hadn’t imagine her to be so soft all the sudden as if she was melting in his hands. And the look in her eyes gave him the rest. It was like the world had stopped for a second. There was no sound, no other smell and no other visual sensation. Everything else became so blurry. Now there was just her. Maybe it wasn’t even his action, maybe the whiskey had made him to it, but he leaned in to kiss her.

Their lips met a lot sooner than he thought. John was so relieved, she didn’t push him away and seconds later he was surprised how soft and sweet her lips tasted. He couldn’t get enough of this. His hands were all on her body. Right now everything else that happened this night was irrelevant. This was worth all the stress. And he was glad, he had enough courage to do it.

Even when they parted, they were still strangers to each other, but John was sure he felt a connection. Heavily breathing he couldn’t take his eyes of her. She was still panting. Her lips were swollen and her whole face was heading a shade of red unknown to mankind, but fuck, she was beautiful.

“You stole a kiss from me?” It sounded more like statement than a question, but John nodded in agreement. Yes, he did that and he was so proud he did. It was the most interesting thing, that has happened to him in months and he would do it again, if he had to.

The blond bid her lip and moaned: “Now I have to steal it back.” He hadn’t even realized what she just said, when he felt her lips on his again. She had caught him in surprise and he got the idea how she must have felt, when he attacked her like this. It was rushed and yet perplexing good.

They only stopped, because the bell announced the next hour. She looked up at the sky as if she could she the clock tower from this dark alley. “I have to go now”, she explained: “But let’s meet here again next week. Same spot at eight.” Then she pointed above them. Only now he noticed they were standing at the corner of St. James and George Road.

“Can’t wait”, he replied and smiled. There was no point in asking her again, if he should walk her home. She seemed to be sure to go home alone. The Russian nodded and hurried away. He kept eying her until she disappeared behind the next corner. This whole encounter was so surreal.

On the way back home he thought about her and hoped he wouldn’t forget their next meeting. Now he just had to figure out, how he would convince Polly to take care of his kids. When he got home everything was silent. The kids were asleep and he would go straight to bed to. As he stumbled out of his clothes and into his bed, he still could feel the touch of her lips. Needless to say, he had a wonderful sleep that night.

tagging: @theshelbyclan​ @justalonelyslytherin​ @bonniesgoldengirl​

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.11 (spicyhoney)

Summary:  Stretch finally has Edge's address, but as always seems to happen in this town, answering one question only makes two more spring up to take its place.

Read ‘Unconventional Wisdom’ on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

The dog spent all morning napping behind the counter, not rising for broom bristles nudging him nor Stretch stepping over him awkwardly so he could grab a few boxes from the top shelf to fill up the front racks. He did snore loud enough to be heard over the radio, but eh, so did Red so Stretch was used to it.

It wasn’t until the jangling cowbell over the door heralded the arrival of a group of kids that the pup gave up on his snoring and wandering out to inspect the new arrivals, tail already happily wagging. Predictably, the kiddos were enamored of their newest employee, although guard dog might be overstating things a bit. Okay, maybe a lot; it looked like Red hadn’t been able to get back to sleep last night because the once-filthy dog with a mess of tangled fur was now freshly washed and brushed, and he smelled a lot like the shower gel from Red’s bathroom. Cleaned up, he was a handsome dog, looking as fluffy as an enormous toasted marshmallow. Not exactly threatening, fluffykins here was probably gonna spend most of his shift on moral support duty.

The little girl who was currently the main recipient of the dog’s enthusiastic face licking giggled and asked, “What’s his name?”

“uh.” That gave Stretch a pause. He shrugged. “doesn’t have a name yet, i’ll have to ask red what he thinks.”

“Should name him Rover,” one boy put in helpfully.

Another boy chimed in, “Or Bingo!”

“Cheeseburger!” A little gal firmly declared as though no other name would do and Stretch couldn’t help laughing.

“is that a name suggestion or a lunch request?” he teased. All the kids giggled, including the one who’d suggested the name and Stretch gave one of her pigtails a gentle tug. “tell you what, here.” He pulled out a pad of paper from under the counter, flipped past the pages filled with inventory lists and cribbage scores to a blank one and wrote carefully at the top, ‘Name Our Dog’. He set it in one corner of the counter triumphantly, “there! now anyone can suggest a name and red can choose the best one.”

All the kids seemed in agreement that this was the best course of action, each taking a turn to scribble their suggestion on the sheet. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if ‘Cheeseburger’ was at the top of Red’s picks.

The kids eventually abandoned the dog and started a round of intense negotiations over what penny treats to buy today. Stretch left them to it, settling to sit on the stool to wait for them to bring up their selections to the register. His mind wandered idly back to newest side quest: getting to 637 Wood’s End Drive.

He’d already tried to look the address up on his phone’s GPS and wasn’t too surprised to see that it didn’t come up, naw, that would be too easy. So, first was figuring out how to get there and second would be figuring out how to get there. Not like he had a car and somehow, he doubted that Backwater had a thriving Uber economy. Maybe he could hitch a lift with someone? People were always coming into town in those big ol’ pickup trucks and the folks around here were pretty friendly, plus Edge seemed to be pretty well known. They all probably knew exactly where Edge lived and stopped by for pie and tea all the time. Surely someone would be delighted to help out, particularly if they were one of the lookie-loos from Mama’s who wanted to see Stretch and Edge on another man date, thank-you-but-no-thank-you.

That would probably be the easiest way to go about it, but Stretch found he was strangely reluctant to take that route. It felt a little like cheating, considering the roundabout way Edge went about handed out his address.

Anyway, if he’d wanted to go down that path, he could’ve simply asked Red days ago, but that right there was an entirely different can of worms that he didn’t want to share with any of the early birds. Red never forbade him from hanging out with Edge, but he’d been pretty clear time and again that he wasn’t too keen on it, either. Might be best if he kept any mentions of Edge to a minimum unless Red brought him up first.

He’d just figure it out himself, thanks, and he wasn’t any puzzle master, not like his bro was, but he had a little pride buried around here somewhere. Edge set him a challenge, damn it, and he was gonna see it through.

His absent gaze strayed down to the pile of bicycles outside the store, kid-sized, sure, but hey, wait a second—

“hey, guys,” Stretch said slowly, and the debate on whether to get two packs of everlasting gobstoppers or three paused as a half-dozen heads perked up like prairie dogs from a sugary plain. “if i wanted to buy a bicycle around here, where would i go?”

Heads ducked down again in a hastily whispered conversation, then the spokeskid popped up again and said, decisively, “Try over at the thrift shop. Miss Maggie always has old bikes for sale.”

“thanks.” He should’ve known. The only other option right in town was the tractor supply shop and while driving up on a John Deere would make a hell of an impression, it was probably well out of his price range. The kids crowded over with their handfuls of spoils and Stretch dutifully rang them up and if he tossed in a dime of his own to cover them, eh, wasn’t like they’d ever know. He handed over a paper sack of treats to a chorus of thank yous and the divvying began before the kiddos even got out of the shop.

“Oh, Edgar Allen said to tell you hi!” One little girl called back to him. She was gone out of the door before he could even think of a reply, all of them clamoring onto their bikes, their faces chipmunk-cheeked with their spoils.

Edgar Allen, shit, yeah, that was right. He’d pretty much been the first stop on this questline and Stretch’d been meaning to do something for him. He’d already rethought the magazine idea; what if it turned out that scarecrows couldn’t read, kinda insensitive there. He’d have to think of something, though, owing someone didn’t sit well with him even if that person didn’t qualify for traditionally alive.

In the meantime, the dog, bereft of childish companionship, wandered back behind the counter and flopped down with a huff, sighing deeply.

“yeah, go on and take a break,” Stretch told him, “you were working pretty hard there.” He stretched out a leg to pet the dog carefully with his foot and wasn’t too surprised that it didn’t care one bit about his shoe, only pliantly rolled over to give him better access to the belly region.

Stretch obediently kept petting, hell, he obeyed better than the dog. But his thoughts were still on the upcoming journey to 637 Wood’s End Drive.

~~*~~

Red relieved him in the shop a little later than normal, looking a lot like he’d just hauled ass out of bed. His shirt was the same one as earlier, only with a fresh crop of wrinkles and his eye lights were still bleary with exhaustion.

Almost, Stretch offered to stay later and let Red get a little more sleep, considering it was his fault Red got woken up in the middle of night. But the baleful glare Red sent his way was an unspoken warning that such an offer probably wasn’t gonna go over well. He kept his jaw shut tight and took the paper sandwich bag Red handed over before heading out the door. Time to get this side quest rolling, literally, he hoped.

The few times he’d met Magdalen May he’d figured right from the get-go that she, like Red, was a partaker of the Sheriff’s son’s prize cannabis crop. Not only because of her dreamy demeanor but also whenever she came into the store, she was surrounded by an almost visible cloud of pot stank so strong that Stretch got a contact buzz while she was shopping through the meagre selection of yarn that Red kept. By the time she left, Stretch would have a craving for Cheetos so strong he’d be ready to start gnawing on his fingerbones for a cronch.

Stepping into the thrift shop was a little like hot boxing in a hoarder’s closet but Stretch soldiered on, squinting as his vision adjusted from the bright light of day to a dimness barely above attic-levels. He went past shelves of gewgaws and boxes of dusty records, old clothes hanging from racks that looked like they’d been commandeered from a lot of remaindered furniture. There were tables piled high with ancient radios, cameras, electronics that Stretch didn’t know the name of and surely didn’t work, existing only to be parted out by an amateur scientist or an electrician in search of cheap parts. Antique glass was set high on the shelves, catching dusty light and sending a kaleidoscope of color to scatter over the room, freckling it in greens, reds, and yellows.

The entire store radiated a glorious sort of chaos and if it weren’t for the fact that he already felt a little woozy, he would’ve stayed for a while and poked through some of the wares. Maybe even find a new book for Red buried in the nearby piles, see if he’d be willing branch out into cowboy romance for a change.

He heading to the back of the shop where Miss Maggie was sitting in a rocking chair surrounded by boxes and shelves, knitting with flashing speed despite the foggy miasma hanging in the air. Her long white hair was smoothly braided and pinned up on top of her head, her weathered skin tanned dark and leathery. The weave of bright yellow yarn trailing from her needles was spread across her lap in an incongruous contrast to her dark, billowing skirt and the light sweater she wore against the chill of the air conditioning.

“Hello, Papyrus,” she greeted him with the sort of rough, croaky voice made over the years by a thousand packs of Marlboros. She didn’t look up, her attention completely focused on her knit and purl.

That gave him one hell of a pause. “how did you—” Stretch stopped. Great, he was in the soothsayer chapter and hadn’t even had time to prep. Yeah, okay, he didn’t really have any room in his life for another side quest, maybe let this one go. He didn’t actually want to know where she got her intel, not really, especially not with his head already spinning a little. He stuck his hands in his pockets to hide the way they wanted to curl into fists, rocking back and forth on his heels. “heya. i haven’t gone by papyrus in years, it’s stretch, thanks.”

“A wise choice,” Miss Maggie said. She sounded…different, somehow. He’d talked to her a few times now and strangely, today he couldn’t seem to place her accent. It wasn’t like the other townsfolk, all of them had a certain warm, down-homey charm, and usually so did she. Her words today were crisp, sharp-edged, nothing like the dreamy peace he was familiar with when she came into the store for coffee creamer and vanilla wafers. She glanced up at him over the wire rims of her glasses, her gaze as sharp as her tongue. “Names have power. A wise man keeps his true name to himself.”

“um. sure,” Stretch couldn’t stop himself from giving the door a longing glance. This was starting to seem like a bad idea, Miss Maggie seemed to be having a personality crisis, maybe he should come back after lunch. “that’s some very handy wisdom, but i’m here about a bike?”

She ignored that. “You have issues with names,” Miss Maggie told him. She kept knitting, needles flashing furiously in a rhythmic clickity-clack as steady as a metronome. “don’t you.”

“huh?” Stretch didn’t exactly have any flesh to get goosebumps with, but he felt a chill nonetheless, prickling maddeningly over his bones. His head was whirling, everything around him seemed to blur except the old woman in front of him. His tongue felt strangely thick as he whispered a question he didn’t want to ask, “i don’t…what do you mean?”

“Mmm, yes,” Miss Maggie sighed out, “so many names you’ve had and rejected. Had and left behind when you ran away, far, far away.”

“stop,” Stretch said weakly. His soul was starting to pulse with aching intensity behind his breastbone. The room filled with an electric heaviness like a coming storm, the rich green smell filling the room suddenly nauseating. “please, don’t.”

“Brother, lover, yes, but never father, not even once.”

“shut up,” Stretch said thickly. Or tried to, the words seemed to clot and stick at the back of his throat, refusing to travel over his useless tongue.

“And now you’re taking on new names,” she raised her head, and here in the dim, her eyes seemed like dark pools of pure blackness that reflected nothing of the flickering overhead lights. Her grin seemed unpleasant and wide, showing pale pink gums in an endless maw. “Is it friend you seek or something else, I wonder?”

As she turned towards him, her sleeve caught on the sugar bowl set on the table next to her, sending it tumbling to the floor. The burst of sound as it shattered pushed through his dazed distance like the snap of dry twig broken over a knee. Stretch jerked, blinking hard, and all the nebulous emotion in him surged forward, gathering and coalescing into real anger. He was starting to get sick of this shit, if everyone in town wanted to act like this place was Sleepy Hollow’s second-cousin, that was fine by him. He was happy to play along, but not if they were gonna keep sticking their shovels into his past to see what other skeletons they could dig up.

“look, fuck you,” Stretch snapped out. He turned back to the door, tossing over his shoulder. “never mind, i’ll figure out something else!”

“Wait!” And he didn’t want to wait, he wanted to push on through the door, but his stubborn feet suddenly refused to move. Miss Maggie clumsily thrust aside her knitting, hardly noticing her teacup wobbling, spilling tea and leaves out into her saucer in a wild splash. That funky weird woman vibe abruptly eased and so did some of the stench in the air, flavored instead with lavender tea. She waddled over to him, her long skirt dragging on the floor. Even bent over with age, she was impressively tall, hardly shorter than Stretch was, and he was a mini-skyscraper to most Humans. She looked up at him, her eyes a watery, pale blue, surrounded by a sea of wrinkles, how could he ever have imagined they were anything else?

Miss Maggie reached up to touch his cheekbone with fingers nearly as thin as his own.

“Oh, sweet child,” she said with mournful gentleness, and her voice was the smoky-sweet, grandmotherly one he recalled. “S’all right. Ain’t nothing wrong with setting aside a name you’ve outgrown, nor in taking on a new one.”

All his bright, burning anger collapsed inwardly, a card house with the center support removed, and hurt welled in him instead. He was crying, he realized distantly, tears stinging in his sockets, running down his cheekbones to gather on wetly his chin. He didn’t realize he was going to speak until he did, choking out, “it feels wrong.”

“How you feel and how things are don’t always match,” she agreed. She held out her arms, her gnarled hands open to him and Stretch leaned into them, burying his face in the soft, knitted shawl draped over her shoulder. She smelled like weed and lavender, a strange, exotic mixture. “i’ll get you all wet,” Stretch mumbled, muffled into the cloth.

She petted his skull gently, “It’s all right, child. I’ll dry.”

He held on tightly for a long time and when she finally drew back, she lightly touched his forehead with the tips of two dry fingers.

“You can get to his home through the forest,” she said, and it seemed to Stretch he could almost see it, clear as a picture someplace behind his sight. “Follow the exchange down about a mile, you’ll see a turnoff on the left. Don’t you stray from the path, you hear me, sonny?” Those pale, rheumy eyes searched his face for understanding. “Easy to get lost out there.”

“i won’t.”

“Good.” She let him go and shuffled back to her chair to picked up her knitting again. “Now, you mentioned something about a bike.”

For a moment, Stretch stood there, practically wobbling on his feet. He felt like he’d woken up from an unexpected nap, still floating in between the sleeping and waking worlds. Then he blinked, snapping awake, and looked around almost wildly. Until his gaze snagging on one of the shelves, or more specifically, something sitting on it, and held.

“a bike, i did.” Stretch walked over to the shelf where a bandana was sitting, a bright turkey-red plaid, and picked it up, holding it out for Miss Maggie to see. “how much for this, too?”

By the time he left the shop, he was in a fine mood despite his savings being a little lighter. He was pushing a rattly old bike with a squeaky chain and a horn that let loose with a hoarse ‘awhooga’ when the dusty rubber bulb was squeezed. The bandana was stuffed into his short’s pocket and the first thing he was gonna do was deal with that, then he’d worry about some maintenance. Probably better to find out if his new bike was streetworthy before taking his act on the road.

He used the walk back to the store to draw in a few deep, refreshing breaths of the heat-smoggy air, letting it clear his head.

“miss maggie sure smokes some strong shit,” Stretch muttered to himself. He left the bike leaning against the porch around back and headed over to the main road, taking his normal walking route down towards the corn. There were no kids on the makeshift baseball diamond today, looked like they’d headed off somewhere else to enjoy their penny candy.

The grass was yellowed and dying under his sneakers as he went off the beaten path, heading towards the rustling corn. Was it his imagination, or did those whispers get louder as he approached, even eager? The corn got lonely sometimes, Edgar Allen had said, but it didn’t mean any harm.

Somehow, he didn’t think the skeleton they’d found in the fields back in Doris’s day would agree.

“um, hi?” Stretch tried. There was no one around to see him and he still felt ridiculous, talking to the damn corn. “look, i dunno if you can understand me, but if you do, could you see that edgar allen gets this? i wanted to thank him for helping me out and i thought it’d look good on him.”

Carefully, he laid the bandana over a crux of green leaves and stalk, tugging to make sure it wouldn’t simply blow away. He left it there and turned back to town, hoping that the scarecrow got the message; as much as he wanted to thank the guy, he really didn’t feel like taking a second go in the corn maze to do it. He didn’t look back until he got back to the side of the road and there he paused, frowning. The splash of red should’ve been vivid against the sea of green but there was nothing, not so much as a glimpse.

He craned his neck, searching, but it hadn’t fallen to the ground and the wind wasn’t strong enough to carry it off. Maybe the corn had gotten the message after all? Yeah, he was going with that, and he headed back to take a look at his new bike, hands in his pockets and whistling cheerfully, which was a heck of a trick for someone without lips.

Yeah, he felt pretty good today and why not? He had a place to stay, a job, someone looking after him, and a dog. And now he had a bike. Things were looking up, Stretch decided.

Things were looking up.

~~*~~

tbc

[colehasapen]

(CHAPTER 6) there's a river full of memory STAR WARS

Previous // First

Two pairs of young eyes lock onto him immediately when Waxer steps into the room, a stubbornly scowling General Skywalker following close enough that the Lieutenant could feel his breath on the back of his neck, and Captain Rex bringing up the rear. Pace and Patchwork, who had been standing stiff and at the ready, hands inching towards their weapons, relax at the sight of them, though the two medical officers do look annoyed at their unannounced arrival. Waxer sends them an apologetic look, eyes slipping pointedly towards General Skywalker with a silent ‘what can you do?’ and a sheepish shrug, before he looks back at the two younglings on the biobed, who were still stiff and untrusting.

“General Skywalker.” Patchwork greets, unimpressed, but Waxer’s attention is on the two chubby-cheeked faces staring back at him, at one familiar face in particular.

Little Force gods - Pace wasn’t lying. Waxer never suspected that the medical officer would lie about the situation they were in, but this was Commander Cody. He’d built the Commander up in his mind as someone untouchable; he’s fierce and fiercely protective, nearly unstoppable in battle. Reasonable and dutiful and loyal, he was everything every clone wanted to be. They’d already lost their General, and Waxer knows that he isn’t the only one looking to their Commander for stability. He’s always been there for them, no matter what, a solid rock in the storm that is their life.

And now he’s a tiny cadet.

Smaller than average, Waxer could tell with just a glance, he had been tucked under General Kenobi’s cloak, fluffy curls sticking up every which way. Paler in the way they all had been before they had left Kamino, having rarely ever seen natural sunlight, and without the characteristic scar that set his face apart physically from every other vod. He’s staring at the newest arrivals with wide dark eyes, peeking over Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

He really is a cadet, all chubby cheeks and innocent eyes, and Waxer wants to tuck them both away, safe and warm and away from the darkness of a Galaxy at war - but he knows both of them have already seen and experienced enough darkness, even at this age. Seeing them makes Waxer think of little Numa, and he wonders how she’s doing, if she’s safe and fed and if her uncle is taking good care of her.

General Skywalker lets out a curse, oblivious of the medics’ annoyance towards him for bursting in instead of waiting in the main bay like the junior medics had requested when they’d entered, but Waxer shies back sheepishly at Pace’s displeasure. Angering Pace never worked out for anyone, and it was even worse when Patchwork was there to add his own bad mood to the miasma.

“They really are little kids.” The General says, stepping around Waxer to move closer, while Captain Rex comes to a stop next to the other trooper, helmet unmoving from where the two younglings sit, body tense. “Wow.”

Little Obi-Wan is stiff, blue eyes darting between General Skywalker’s face and the lightsaber on his hip. Waxer has a moment to wonder if the little Jedi might have been more comfortable with Commander Tano, before General Skywalker reaches the biobed the two younglings are occupying, and Obi-Wan’s fist plants into his face.

Chaos erupts. General Skywalker is stumbling back with a yelp of pain, hand flying up to his nose, right as Captain Rex darts forward to catch his Jedi as he flails. Waxer can only watch in shock as Obi-Wan stretches out a hand, and General Skywalker’s lightsaber answers, leaping away from the Jedi’s belt and into the kid’s curled fingers as he herds Cody back and away.

The snap-hiss of a lightsaber activating fills the room, and everything stops. No one dares to even breathe too loud as blue light illuminates the youngling’s pale, frightened face and glare. “Who are you?!” Obi-Wan demands, voice shrill with fear.

“Woah, hey kid -” Patchwork steps forward, hands spread, grey eyes wide and a bacta patch that Waxer finds suddenly suspect on his nose, but Obi-Wan’s eyes don’t leave General Skywalker’s face, “- you’re okay. That’s just General Skywalker - he’s a Jedi.”

The little Jedi startles, “He can’t be!” The youngling shakes his head frantically, and General Skywalker flinches. “He - there’s so much Darkness now! There’s Darkness in him!” He sounds frantic, like there’s something he’s desperately trying to make them understand, pupils dilated in terror, mere pinpricks in churning gray.

“Not this poodoo again.” General Skywalker hisses bitterly, “Listen kid - I’m a Jedi Knight. Just because I came to the Order a little older -”

“You’ve murdered!” Obi-Wan interrupts furiously, and Waxer startles, watching the small Jedi push Cody even further behind him, protecting someone even now. “Can’t you feel it?!” The hands wrapped around the lit lightsaber shake, and the room feels cold all of a sudden. “You killed innocents - it’s stained you! Filled you with hatred! It’ll grow - and -” the kid gasps like he was running a marathon, “- and then you’ll be just like Xanatos! Dark and angry and - and - and!” He lets out a sob.

Objects not pinned down rattle, and General Skywalker rears back as if Obi-Wan had hit him again, eyes darting around the room to see everyone looking at him. His face is pale, eyes wide, and Pace steps forward, once again putting himself between the kids and General Skywalker, face blank.

“You need to leave, General.” The CMO says quiety, and the Jedi’s shock turns to anger.

“You can’t believe what he’s saying-”

“Don’t care. You weren’t supposed to be in here to begin with.” Pace interrupts, putting his foot down in a way that rarely anyone gets to see, and the General gapes at him. “You’re upsetting my patients. Out.”

“General.” Captain Rex says nervously, stepping forward to grip his General’s elbow. “You’re scaring them.” His voice is quiet, soothing despite his own unease in the way all good commanders learn. “You should go get the men settled.” The Captain’s eyes are darting between the two younglings and the Jedi.

General Skywalker’s shoulders droop after a long moment, and he starts backing away and towards the door. Before he leaves, however, Waxer speaks up, “Sir, maybe you should send Commander Tano in?” He suggests, “Someone closer to their age might help them feel safer.”

“And Kix, Sir.” Patchwork pipes up, “He’s got a gentle touch. Good with cadets.”

General Skywalker nods, eyes lingering on Obi-Wan and his lightsaber in the youngling’s hand, then he turns and flees. It’s a weight off of all of their shoulders, and the sound of a lightsaber deactivating has them all relaxing.

Little Obi-Wan is quiet, still shaking, and he’s watching General Skywalker leave with open confusion, but he doesn’t fight when Captain Rex steps forward to gently pull his General’s lightsaber from the boy’s hands with a few soft murmurs of encouragement.

Waxer’s always been torn about General Skywalker. On one hand, the Jedi treats his men well and allows them more freedom than most clones get; he’s friendly with them, unreserved, and his friendship with the Chancellor means that the 501st always eats well and gets their requisitions filled quickly. But at the same time, Waxer has seen the mission reports. He’s high enough in rank that he can easily access them, and as someone who worries for his vode in the Legion they work with the most, Waxer had made a habit of reading them to take note of who would need a hug the most the next time they managed to meet up. He had seen the numbers, had seen the casualties that followed when the General went off on his own missions and disobeyed orders.

For every time it worked in their favour, there would be five where it didn’t. The mission would always be completed, but at a massive cost, usually paid in the lives of his men.

He respects General Skywalker, likes him even, and he would follow him into battle like he would any Jedi, but Waxer doesn’t trust him, not like he does General Kenobi. Learning that he had killed before isn’t so surprising, and while it doesn’t have the same impact on Waxer, who had been trained by killers to kill, Little Obi-Wan’s fear of him is reasonable. He was fresh from slavery and cruelty, the memory of it fresh in his mind. He had known vode like that, who had been mistreated beyond the norm, and who seemed to have a sixth sense for possible threats because of it.

“Was that really a Jedi ?” Cadet-Cody asks, his high, young voice rising above the tension in the air. He’s watching them all, confused and oblivious to their stress, but his dark eyes are sharp and intelligent. “Why are Jedi here?” His brows are furrowed, so much like Commander Cody’s but also so different. “I didn’t know that Jedi came to watch reconditionings.”

Waxer feels a little gutshot.

No . No - no that couldn’t have happened - not to Commander Cody. Waxer feels like the floor had been ripped out from under him as the breath is stolen from the room. Reconditioning was what every clone feared the most, even more than they feared decommissioning. Being decommissioned just meant death, and every trooper was well aware of their mortality, they all knew that they’d die and march on someday. They had accepted it because it’s just the life of a clone trooper.

Reconditioning though?

It’s a hell none of them want, to have their minds and identities wiped away while their bodies remained, a mocking show of what would happen should they step out of line. For clones, their identity was the only thing they owned and could control, and to have it all wiped away?

It was a horror that haunted them all.

Oblivious to the storm he had just released, the cadet - not Cody, if he had been reconditioned the child isn’t Cody; are they dooming this little one to another fate worse than death if they bring Cody back? - turns his wide eyes onto Obi-Wan in awe. He leans closer to the older youngling, “Are you a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan flinches, finally dragging his eyes away from the door to turn his attention to the boy next to him, “I -” he stutters for a moment, before his expression shutters, and he ducks his head, “- no. I’m not.”

Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent @yellowisharo @spoofymcgee @roseofalderaan

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 48: The Patronus

The place was not even lit, which hadn't boded well the past few times for them, so Remus was quick to wave his wand and light the candles along the wall. It revealed nothing more than a desk with a suitcase on top, the rest of the room was cleared.

At first they all relaxed, recognizing an unused Hogwarts classroom, the view outside a crystal clear night, the moon newly waning. Then they heard the suitcase rattle.

"I swear to Merlin's sack if it's another three headed dog, I am out!" Frank hissed to no one.

"Thankfully we didn't have to deal with that one," Peter tried to offer, his voice too high pitched to convey any real comfort. "Plus, I've got a nice falsetto-"

"Someone summon the damn book and get us out of here before we have to find out!" Lily snarled, their wands all pointed either at the suitcase or at the door for the threat, but none seemed willing to activate anything. Finally Lily took a breath and followed her own advice, the suitcase went sailing into her hand.

She dropped it as if it had burned her.

"Evans?" James at once asked in concern, but too late, it fell open right in front of her.

A new girl now stood before them all, carefully set blond hair and pale fishy eyes in a neat pink dress, her face scrunched up in pure disgust. Eyes locked on Lily and storming even closer with a ranky, perfumed air she sneered, "I can't believe you did that freaky magic again Lily, mum and dad will kick you out for sure this time-"

James froze with no idea of what to make of this, even as the red heads eyes filled with tears and her wand began to lower, but Remus leaped forward and shouted, "Riddikulus!"

The image flickered for a moment, eyes still locked in on Lily. For just a moment, a boy now stood before them with long greasy hair and a hooked nose, but then it changed to a cartoonish looking dog trying to balance a bone on its nose.

Sirius could only muster up a very small laugh in surprise, but that only drew the boggarts attention onto him next, blank eyes focusing in and already beginning to change into a woman, except this time with haughty dark features and claw like hands as she shrieked at her eldest son what a disgrace he was, in a voice they all recognized from frequent Howlers in the Great Hall.

Padfoot blanched in disgust and tried his own form of the banishment, but then it only grew worse again at the weak attempt, flickering to Prongs, then Moony, and then Wormtail all with looks of horror and disgust upon their faces and spewing even worse things of betrayal and a friend they couldn't trust, all words they'd already said to him.

James pushed him out of the way and, ignoring the change to a skeletal snake-like face appearing from nothing, this time said with purpose, "Riddikulus!"

It changed to a yellow balloon and made a farting noise drifting lazily around the room. Peter made a forced attempt at laughter and they all tried to join in this time with understanding. It landed, flickered feebly between a rat, a pool of blood, a griffin, then settled on an erumpent, rearing onto its hind legs and horn pointed at Alice.

She shrieked and backed away in surprise, but gathered her wits back just as quick, all of them on guard now. She repeated the incantation and watched it shrink down to a fuzzy kitten chasing its tail. They all laughed this time with feeling.

It tried one last feeble attempt, rolling onto its back and nearly locking eyes with Regulus who backed quickly away with a truly horrified expression. Lily stormed forward with a vengeance. The image blurred, taking the shape of a person once more before she shouted at the top of her lungs, and then there was a fish flopping on the floor and singing some tune none of them recognized, but they all laughed anyways in surprise.

Finally, it vanished, the silence left behind though labored with still startled breaths was almost calm thanks to the way it had ended.

Lily very cautiously peeked back inside the suitcase, to find the book sitting innocently inside. "Well," she whispered, still breathing the heaviest. "I guess Harry gets those lessons from Professor Lupin."

They all shuffled for a moment back into more casual stances, everyone looking at someone with worry for this experience.

"Err, Evans, you sure you're okay?" Potter still asked her even as he was looking at his best mate, expression sallow to the extreme and twisted up, still glaring where the boggart had vanished.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and scooped the book up without comment to get to her place.

"An erumpent?" Frank put his arm around Alice and politely asked her. "I feel like there's a story there."

She made an awkward attempt at a giggle to fight off the full memory. "My dad took me to a sanctuary once, it did not end well. What's with you and griffins?"

"A wild one went onto our property once," he grimaced. "I'd be cat chow if my mum hadn't stepped in. Needless to say, I'm quite proud I didn't wind up in Gryffindor for that alone."

She did laugh that time, but both were now done soothing each other and watching Lily with still more worry. They wanted to say something to her, find some way to really make her laugh this off like they had, but she'd just found her place and read out the chapter title, causing an inadvertent but welcomed distraction. "That's not really the way Harry's going to stop this dementor problem." She turned accusing eyes on Lupin, who looked politely puzzled himself. "That's a seventh year charm, I only know of it because I accidentally did a practice quiz for a N. E. W. T. instead of an O. W. L last week. You can't expect a third year-"

Three Marauders decided to keep to themselves they did in fact know that charm, even if they weren't dementor tested, because there had been a study done on correlations between the form they took and similar animagus'. One, did not think that through.

"Do you know any other way to make a dementor piss off?" Black snapped at her, visibly swallowing but puffing up and nearly shouting. "You want Harry to be hearing you scream in his head for the rest of his life? At least Moony's trying something, I don't see any other Professor-"

"Padfoot," Potter placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Breathe mate, she didn't sick that boggart on you, or what came out of it, which was complete bollix."

He took a deep breath and blinked a few times, whatever he'd been yelling at in his mind finally being replaced with her vivid red hair. "Right, sorry Evans."

She just nodded without comment and tried to read on, putting the tid-bit away for later on how, interesting, it was Potter always seemed able to calm all his mates down. What would they be like when he wasn't around to do that?

Sirius had even less interest hearing Harry arguing with his friends, as if he hadn't lived through that enough. So he grabbed Regulus by his shoulder and began towing him to the farthest corner away.

He went stumbling along, but willingly, and straightened his robes and drew himself up imperiously when released. "The hell Sirius? You know you can just ask to have a word with me like normal?"

Sirius huffed and muttered for a moment about the kid before he asked in an almost gentle voice, "your class done boggarts yet?"

Regulus sucked on the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering, "no, at least, not like that. None of my Professors have ever mentioned them, certainly not Liz if it was supposed to come up this year, but Dad actually found one in his desk the day before Christmas Holiday ended. Told me I was going to practice on it this summer," he finished in a small voice. "Guess, now I'll be better prepared for it?"

Sirius had only wanted to somehow brush off the horrible things that boggartWalburga had said if his little brother had questions, but now he felt like he should ask more, for once. He'd flat refused anymore lessons like that with his parents after fourth year when they'd given him several dozen different lectures on not just how to do certain spells, but who they should be targeted towards, and that wasn't even getting into how they talked about beasts like trolls, goblins, and werewolves.

He'd tried to convince his little brother to join him and stop going to these as well, but the little brat had refused and told Sirius he wasn't going to disappoint his parents like that, then asked him to go outside and play a game. It was pure insanity! How long did Regulus think he could keep walking the line between appeasing their disturbed parents and keeping whatever moral compass he still claimed he had?

There was a small distraction from the discourse James was serving by Wood trying to work Harry off the team because of this dementor problem, his best friend shouting loud enough for the whole castle to hear, "Moony, if you don't get Harry a solution to those dementors, I'll banish them all from Earth myself!"

Wormtail gave a wild laugh for his usual antics, the both of them discussing loudly how they'd go about doing that when classes swung around to mentioning said professor again. Sirius looked up and around properly in concern when Hermione displayed, well, not a response they appreciated.

Regulus watched his brother eye Lupin with concern when the little Muggleborn girl seemed to know what was wrong with their newest teacher. Regulus felt affronted for a moment, he hadn't a clue if it was some disease he had or he was just consistently under the whether, but he also hadn't spent much time looking into it. Seemed the nosy little girl had done so and was now lording it, typical behavior of those less fortunate. He shifted his weight uncomfortably to the Muggleborn reading all this, the image of her fiery hair jumping to his defense and tackling the creature, and without permission guilt flooded him for the vicious thoughts. He slumped away from Sirius in confusion and sat by the desk as he tried to sort out all these conflictions in him. The boggart's shape for him, everything he'd thought he'd known being a lie, and still who to believe.

Sirius let him, as he didn't have a satisfactory answer for his own problem yet, and turned to enthusiastically egg Evans on with 'interest' of this new spell they clearly hadn't heard of!

Lily ignored their idiocies, but did stop curiously when the name of the incantation was given and how to invoke it. She hesitated, searching through her mind for something that might work.

Frank didn't have to think twice, summoning forth when Alice had agreed to go out with him and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!" A white burst of light did indeed spew forth, but to his disappointment it merely faded away just as fast.

Alice waffled on anything to use. Her life had been quite mellow, nothing would really stand out in her mind that would give her much of anything to work with. She got more frustrated the longer she tried, thinking there must be some high point in her life as she flickered through memories with her parents, friends, and even Frank, but there was no peak producing silver to be found.

The Marauders all, 'gave it a go.' They all had great bruises on their prides to only produce very thick and consistent vapors of smoke without letting their true patronuses take shape, but they'd resisted the urge to brag to the world about their years too early practice in becoming animagus', they could hold off bragging on this too. Sirius turned to Regulus and called, to try and push some attention away, "come on then, give it a go! See if you and Harry are on the same level?"

'I'm nothing like that half-blood' he wanted to snap back, instinctively insulted, but took a deep breath and instead tried to respond to his brothers enthusiasm. He recalled the time he and Sirius had built a fort out of blankets in the study and Kreacher brought them snacks all night, the two whispering about all the adventures of the future, home alone as their parents went to a dinner party all night. A very substantial silver something began to materialize before him, but he was so surprised it faded away just as fast. He looked wildly over to see his brother beaming with pride.

James was watching Evans sadly, advice or something to help on the tip of his tongue. She was red in the face and muttering the enchantment with purpose, but barely a whisp was visible. Usually the ruler of the Charms room, he'd half expected her to be able to flawlessly enact this one, but she was clearly struggling with some aspect. When she opened her eyes and saw him staring, she looked even more angry and frustrated, turning back to the book with a despicable look, muttering about practice later.

She didn't exactly feel better that she was doing worse than Harry, or the fact that the boy had to create a fake memory just to produce results! She flushed with shame as she suddenly realized she may do better trying the same, nothing she'd come up with seemed to be working. Not the earliest ones of the first time she'd done magic, nor the more recent of her and Sev trying to create spells and jotting them down in his mums old potion book. She stamped her foot in frustration of what she was doing wrong.

The lesson was going brutally, and Evans' clear displeasure at her inability to do the spell wasn't helping things along. Constantly having to hear of your last dying words on top of lacking in magic her son was getting only half decent results in this same spell, more than her. At least Harry had an excuse for his lackluster work, his secret desire to hear his mother's voice, the only time in his life he would.

Then Peter fell back against the wall, clutching his ears in pain rather than keep hearing her stutter in surprise over James' last words. You-Know-Who closing in, and his brave, loyal, stupid friend standing his ground against everything. He should have ran, why didn't he run? This wasn't some animal that could so easily be tricked and fooled, this was a tyrant even Prongs couldn't face!

He watched his friend for several long moments, looking as if he were seeing a ghost in Evan's hands, but then his chest puffed up and he drew himself to his full height as if fixing to go ten more rounds with everyone in the castle. "Damned right!" He declared with actual pride.

Sirius and Remus looked on the verge of tears hearing of this, but then they too threw their shoulders back in pride for such a response. Peter wished the castle would swallow him hole in shame as he couldn't bring himself to do the same. His eyes flickered to where the Boggart had vanished, the tiny little rat that had appeared mocking him. He'd always been weak and small compared to them, even his fears, and the self-loathing only grew stronger for what he was, what his first reaction would always be.

Lily had just been given a whole new perspective of this future smacked into her face. There was still the loathsome image of being married to Potter for all of this to even be occurring, but for once that was the most insignificant bit. She held, in her hands, proof that James Potter, cared for her. Like she'd watched him do for his friends in the past few days alone, like she'd seen him even trying to do for her, now magnified in an action he clearly had no regrets for. For this one second, his last breath, he was not some arrogant prick trying to win her affections.

"Lily?" It was the quietest, most gentle way he'd ever called to get her attention. The reason he called her Evans was too rile her up and see her face him with that challenging look ready to go, but that's not what she needed now. "I don't regret it." The calm he infused into that, spluttered something out of her.

"How do you manage to- I don't even like-"

"That's alright," he actually shrugged, still looking like this of all things was a casual conversation. Not the birk that was blindly defending his friend, the arrogant idiot who couldn't see any opinion but his own, just his declaration this was a satisfying enough end. She didn't understand it one little bit. She turned slowly back to the book, because for once she didn't know what to say to him. Thank you didn't seem proper enough, when she couldn't return she'd do the same.

She almost, sympathized with Harry coming to tears over hearing of this. She'd tried, and failed, to put distance between the idea of this child being hers, and for the first time was again struck by just what the boy would think watching this. The first thing he'd ever heard in his parents voice was their life ending for his, and here the two of them couldn't even hold a civil conversation! The lad would probably cry ten fold if he was forced to hear this instead.

Some of James' confidence wavered when Remus, or Professor Lupin whatever, refused to elaborate on their friendship. He had no idea why his friend had been going out of his way these past thirteen years to not care for Harry, and dancing around the answer now was making him feel sick. Just what had happened?

Sirius and Remus exchanged terrified looks for the same, now watching Prongs as he finally looked worried about this future like hearing his own last words hadn't managed. Sirius roused himself, and in a fit of solidarity to chase that away shouted, "oi, who's up for round two with that Boggart! Professor Lupin's slacking, only letting Harry have three goes!"

Remus swallowed uncomfortably rather than admitting he wanted to quit again from this bloody story, but the other two looked relieved and laughed just like Padfoot had been hoping, even if both sounded extremely forced.

There was rising hope in everyone now as Harry finally got a good attempt off! Professor Lupin still had to step in, and it didn't seem encouraging the man who was teaching this couldn't even produce his own patronus to do it, but they'd take whatever they could get at this point.

Professor Lupin's even more cryptic comments about Sirius had the two shuffling closer to each other with unease, wishing more than ever there was some way to just get an answer already rather than all of this foul run around nonsense. Harry pausing to reflect on all of this was making them sicker by the moment, it took everything they had not to grab each others hands in front of everyone just for some comfort in this dreadful situation.

Thankfully the book lightened up from there and the moment passed without either having to acknowledge it. More chats of Quidditch and fond laughter at the little third year whining about homework between all the OWL students was really what everyone needed.

Time dragged on for Harry, Frank and Alice looked out the window curiously as if they were going to see the sun zipping by along with Lily's words, though thankfully they were saved from that experience. When the book did go back to talking about Harry in those lessons, Lily couldn't help her voice shaking again, not needing a repeat to know how much Harry needed this, and yet finally understanding why he'd never want them to stop. Her dismay at this was nothing to the Blacks reaction of finding out the oldest one was to be Kissed.

Sirius would have fallen if his friends hadn't caught him, his face a silent scream of fright, which set Regulus' blood boiling. No one and nothing made his brother look like that! "They can't do that! It's been outlawed- it's never even been allowed it's so beyond words! Just who the bloody hell is trying to hide what doing this to him!"

Hearing his little brother throwing a fit, over him, snapped Sirius out of it like nothing else could have. He'd stood there and watched in wonderment for a moment like everyone else before finally going over to him and wrapping a reassuring arm around his shoulders. Regulus immediately tried to shake him off, still muttering profane things Sirius was a bit proud to hear coming from his young mouth, but held tight. "I want you to remember this moment Reg," Sirius said with conviction. "Purebloods are not any more safe than anyone else from the bad things they do, or are framed for doing." He'd only been trying to distract the both of them from this future horror, but now his kid brother looked even more aghast.

"-But, Sirius, don't you see! This is why the Dark Lord's plans should be followed! He wouldn't let this happen to you!"

Sirius flushed in anger, his arm tightened painfully around the kid, but he remembered how shocked and afraid he'd been when hearing the news of You-Know-Who's real name and birth and forced himself to keep going reasonably. "No, Regulus, it wouldn't. I'll never follow him or what he wants, and he'd do much worse to me because of it. You've got to stop letting others tell you what to do-"

"Like you're doing!" He snapped, finally pulling away. "Both you and our parents just keep saying things, how about giving me a chance to see it for myself? All I've seen so far is someone deciding you're going to get your soul sucked out because you killed a bunch of Muggles! Who cares about them, but under the-"

"Shut up!" Sirius snapped back before he could say it again. "Do you even hear yourself? Murder's okay now, so long as it's not someone who can do magic? What next then, killing Muggleborn's will be okay because it's not you?" To his surprise, Regulus' eyes flinched to Evans and away, it was the first time Sirius had seen him even acknowledge her. "Then who, hum? Wizards without pure blood lines can go to? Then there will just be You-Know-Who's minions, and even those might some day choose to not agree with who goes next, and there won't be anyone left to stop him!"

He took a deep breath and tried to keep himself calm when Regulus just stood there, pale faced but with that insufferably stubborn look still set. He didn't seem to have a rebuttal for that though, for once. "Fine, think whatever you like," he muttered, stamping back to his friends.

Lily felt like backing slowly out of the room so as not to draw attention towards her and invoke another fight like that, even as she'd been unable to look away from the whole thing, completely riveted. The brothers were much more of a spectacle than her and her sister were, she was sure, but still she couldn't help but find herself sympathizing with Sirius Black of all people. She was full of that today apparently, as she wanted to consul the sibling who couldn't get through to the other. It made going back to reading feel ten times more awkward as she kept shooting him anxious looks, an apology or words of understanding on the tip of her tongue for him that he was clearly ignoring even from his own friends.

They were all so distracted it took a few moments for McGonagall's words to sink about Harry's Firebolt being returned to him, than Lily's good mood vanish as fast as it was back for those Marauders. They were a ball of pure energy and excitement Harry got the broom back while she just wanted to chuck it in the trash, considering Harry and Ron even went so far as to rub it in their friends face they'd been right all along. She still remembered Harry nearly being thrown from a broom once, was it beyond her son to admit it could have happened again and better safe than sorry?

She'd thought they were going to end on that high note for Harry, for once, but then another bomb was thrown into the mix for all parties. Hermione's cat had finally eaten Ron's rat. More than one relationship might be irreparable now.

[ash-etherwood]

Top 5: writing memories, songs, characters that are not blank rune, runes, food

♡

Linda I love you but are you trying to kill me … that’s so many Top 5’s! But alright, I’ll do my best! (Answers will probably switch between German and English RIP to every non-German-speaker who follows me and wants to read this for some reason I swear I’m normal)

WRITING MEMORIES

5.) The entire time I spent finishing my first (second?) longer writing project It was the year 2012 and it was a cyberpunk story about my friends’ and my edgy self inserts riding dinosaurs, fighting aliens and being badass. The plot twist in the end was that my character was secretly evil and wanted to kill everyone. (Things to show your therapist) The final boss fight made zero sense and also everything was incredibly weird and stupid. But sometimes I still think about those times when I sat in my grandma’s living room at night, eating chips and listening to Vocaloid covers while thinking this story was the coolest shit ever. Truly simpler times.

4.) Researching something about universities in Texas for OvF on a rainy Saturday afternoon I have no idea why this memory is still sticking with me to this day (I think it was around 2016 or something?), but I remember that it was just a really nice day and I felt really at peace at that moment?

3.) The entire writing process of Bathroom Blues It was such a spontaneous project and I still have no idea how I managed to power though it in just a little under two months! Also it was just incredibly fun seeing you getting excited over new drafts and I loved coming up with new plot points and Halloween costumes for everyone with you. :-D Truly a summer worth remembering.

2.) FINALLY uploading the prologue and intro chapter of WWBL Not really a writing memory, but that moment was … so sexy and magical. Seriously, you have no idea how long I had been waiting to finally start that story, waiting for the Steckbriefe to roll in and see people react to the prologue and generally the idea … I even made one of those countdown graphic thingies for the designated upload date! 8D At that point I had planned that story for about six months and just … yeah, that felt powerful to me.

1.) Writing the prologue for WWBL When I first started the draft for that prologue I was sitting at the window in my favourite hotel in Winterberg, Sauerland, wore my dark green flannel, had the window wide open breathing in the cool mountain air and allowed myself to listen to my WWBL playlist for the very first time. God, that felt so amazing. I even have a photo of it (which somehow makes it look like I have the biggest football shoulders in the universe) my sister took that night. God I miss Sauerland. )’:

- - - - -

SONGS

My apologies to every favourite song of mine that I forgot about, I have a whole playlist of them, but I think these are some of my oldest faves … (Honorable mentions for Don’t Mess With Me and Not That Big by Temposhark, Goodbye by Apparat, Me And The Devil by Soap&Skin, Heart Heart Head by Meg Myers, Pain and Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace, Beautiful Crime by Tamer, Gravity Of Love by Enigma, In Flames by Digital Daggers [thanks Phi u_u] and Murder Cries by Snow Ghosts AHHH FUCK IT I could’ve just made a playlist,,,)

5.) Vater Unser by E Nomine Starting off with some weird shit, won’t we? I’ve been in love with this song since fifth or sixth grade, when I was just starting to develop an actual music taste and although I have many favourite songs by E Nomine, this one has to be my absolute fave. Every time I can relate it to a character it makes me love said character even more. (Also I think about it every time my mom forces me to go to church for Christmas so … yay? I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t even be able to remember the Vater Unser if it wasn’t for this song. 8D)

4.) Wires by The Neighbourhood I think this is the newest all-time fave on this list, I found it in … 2015? Thank you, Youtube AMVs. Yeah man, this one is just … on so many playlists it’s not even funny anymore.

3.) Heathens by Twenty One Pilots An edgelord classic but like … it’s on EVERY playlist of mine. Every single one. It’s just so good. The first time I heard it was on the radio tho, when I was having breakfast with Jessie and I forced her to shazam it because it immediately stuck with me,,,

2.) Imaginary by Evanescence My first Evanescence song ever and the first step towards becoming who I am today I think. This song has like … such a big history for me, man. It single-handedly turned me goth in 2008 and I have never really thanked it for that.

1.) Eternal by Evanescence Might be my favourite song of all time. The number of dramatic RP scenes I have written with this in the background … man. Oh, also this song is the reason for one of my oldest internet nicknames, ‘eternala’, which subsequently shortened into Etschuh and then Tschuh, my main nickname until 2017, when I came out as trans and finally found an actual name for myself I was comfortable with!

- - - - -

NON BLANK RUNE CHARACTERS

I know this was probably supposed to be about fandom characters but I can literally not come up with a single character right now that I love with a special burning passion and that is not my or one of my friends’ OCs so you’re getting OCs now. u_u And boy do I have a lot of those.

5.) Jackson Tracey from atroCITY (mine) This little piece of shit kept me company for a pretty long time and is still very close to my heart for some reason, although I haven’t drawn him or really thought about him in detail for a while now. My favourite thing is how I only realized what a horrible person he was after I stopped regularly working with him but honestly good for me. 8D His storyline and personality is kinda convoluted and tbh I’m not really sure how much of it is canon anyway (atrc was always a little weird about canon rip) but yeah. He’s an obsessive stalker piece of shit who pities himself way too much and he is also a semi-immortal demigod who likes knives. I hate him but he also helped me a lot with some gender and sexuality stuff so thanks I guess.

4.) Mayoko Imai from Century Riders DXPrototype (Maus’ and mine) Mayoko is a magical girl protagonist with a cool cyborg arm prosthetic and her main character trait was that she was basically a reverse weeaboo, a Japanese girl who was obsessed with American media, culture and comic book heroes! I actually love her concept a lot and she also had a pretty cool character arc in her story (which Maus and I wrote together and actually finished btw!), although it could use a lot more … polishing from today’s point of view. But I love her anyway. She always wanted to do the right thing and be a hero and got broken pretty cruelly and her ending is kinda bittersweet I guess? Ahh there’s just so much nuance to it … anyways, CR3 also stuck with me for a very long time and I enjoyed the time with her a lot. :3 (Her name had a cameo in Another Incident btw heehee)

3.) Tessa *insert extremely long chain of unnecessary first names here* von Lean from Nobody Is Perfect and Infernal Temptation (belongs to one of my old school friends) Tessa is just … a hand full. I love to hate her. She is badly written and developed and just OOZES mentally ill teenage girl’s idealized self-insert power fantasy, but she just … man, she was a big part of one of my most drama-filled high school friendships which I love looking back at so much. Tessa has fucked so many of my characters … good for her tbh! There are actually two versions of her, one is just a ‘normal’ teenage girl and one can shapeshift into a cheetah, but both of them are very close to my heart. I should really adopt and redesign her some day.

2.) Judy Khayat from Original vs. Final (mine) Look, I love all my OvF-characters and every single one of them is special to me in their own way, but Judy is just … the most complex of them all I think? Man, she went through so much … she is actually one of my oldest (semi)-active characters (I created her in 2009) and her latest version is from 2016 but I should really, REALLY revise her again tbh. She has a very complicated backstory that I didn’t handle as carefully as I should have, and anger issues and religious conflict and depression and PTSD and then Vance of all people becomes obsessed with her for no reason and decides to traumatize her even more … yeah. God I really love her but I seriously need to work on her. A LOT. I should also finally rename her tbh … let’s just see where she takes me next.

1.) Okami (I don’t even remember if she has a proper last name rn lol) from Split Realm (mine) Yeah, that bitch is just my favourite OC. She’s also very old, probably from around 2009, and initially was a magical girl with fire powers who I played in an RP with my friend Flauch but boy did she grow up! Holy fuck. Okami is a horrible person but I love her so much. She is so violent and full of anger and pain and sadness and treats everyone around her like shit and she is in love and she is a demon but also apparently the personification of the concept of Chaos but she just wants to be a teenager again and run away with the love of her life and ahhh it’s all so hopeless for her … also she turned out gnc af with time passing and pretty much went through a gender/sexuality crisis in real time with me, her creator, which is always fun. :^D I haven’t drawn her in a while tbh. Should really do that.

- - - - -

RUNES IN BLANK RUNE

I’m just gonna go with the arcs here, okay? Also this entire answer might look completely different if you asked me again tomorrow, you know how indecisive I am with Blank Rune shit ahha,,,

5.) Jera Look. I know I’m boring and stupid. But I just love Tave and Liam having their disgusting little foreshadowing talk, okay? I can read it over and over. I just love my horrible little shit crime boys. Also Rhy and Phillip are there. (’:

4.) Isa This one is here because it was the first arc I witnessed in real time which gives it a very special place in my heart and it also … hit pretty hard at the time. But having read Fehu it’s become even better now! It’s just such a wonderful, tragic romance between two horrible, ruthless boys and I … I’m not immune to Rhy, sadly. :-/ Just like Phillip.

3.) Wunjo We still haven’t seen everything that leads up to Wunjo yet, but we DO know more than we did initially (wow shocker) and it’s just always a fucking blast. Also, it has the first mention of Ash’s real name … the first Rhy POV (which what the fuck!! I always feel like we had one before but we didn’t!! Wild) and it has crazy blood-soaked murder Tave, my beloved. :///3

2.) Eiwaz You guys have heard me fanboy about Eiwaz so many times already. Eiwaz-OT3 (and Kain) my beloved!!! It’s just SUCH an amazing starting point and there are so, so many things that tie back to it and every time we find out about a new one my heart makes a little jump … und es beginnt von Neuem indeed.

1.) Gebo One of the most painful but also the most beautiful arcs yet in my opinion. It’s been hyped up for so long and boy did it deliver. God, my heart still hurts when I think about that last scene. Also all the dialogue … the golden lines we got … and it’s an arc without Rhy! Crazy!! :-D I just love the relationship between Ash, Astrid and Jakob so much. God fuck I want what they have. Just maybe without the murder suicide,,,

- - - - -

FOOD

5.) Diese Sonntagsbrötchen wo die Verpackung so plopp macht, wenn man die Folie abzieht Better than normale Brötchen for some reason. Most of the time. See 2.) Look man, I just really love a good breakfast …

4.) Chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese topping One of the first things from a certain baking book I tried when I was getting into baking back in 2019. God they are so tasty. I don’t make them often so I don’t get used to them too much and eating them still feels special but ahhhh I love them so much!

3.) Grünkohl mit Kartoffelbrei und Mettendchen One of my favourite things about autumn/winter and one of my biggest comfort foods. God I love this shit so much. I just put … mountains of Grünkohl and Kartoffelbrei on my plate every time and I will just warm it up for four days straight until there’s no more left. It turns me into a fucking caveman. I’m not even big on eating meat but … yeah. Everything is different when there’s Grünkohl.

2.) Normales Brötchen mit Butter und Scheibenkäse aber ich bin beim Frühstücksbuffet im Hotel Oddly specific but that’s just how it is. Sorry. Nichts geht über Brötchen mit Käse.

1.) Chilli-Knoblauch-Nudelauflauf My beloved. My comfort food. I eat it literally every second day. At least one hour in the kitchen every time. Fresh ingredients. My only vegetable intake. And I’ve been doing that for three years. I just love it so much, man. I cook it for everyone who visits me. Chilli-Knoblauch-Auflauf cured my depression.

[ahiddenpath]

Life Talk

1.)  I won Nanowrimo

2.)  My house is sold

3.)  I’m tryyyyyyying to taking it easy

More below the cut.

So, I won Nanowrimo.  It’s roughly 30K Four Years and 20K Tri: Integrity Lens.  I feel very... blank about it, though.  In the last few years, I’ve been trying to celebrate when I win Nanowrimo, but...  I don’t have any emotions about it this year, probably even less than usual.

I should probably back up and say that, when I was growing up, I was the type that got all As, won every contest, was the lead in plays and singing events, got the good behavior awards, won state-wide science and poetry contests, was on the select sports teams.  I’m not saying this to brag- I was hyper-involved in school and extracurriculars because it kept me away from home.  

It got to the point at home where, if I won an award, the reaction was, “good.”  If I didn’t, it was, “Why didn’t you win that award?  We don’t have money for tutoring, so you had better figure it out *vague threat* ”  Stuff like that.

Basically, it’s hard for me to feel proud of anything.  If I succeed, that’s “baseline.”  Good, I won’t be scolded.  If I don’t, that’s anxiety- “I will be scolded, I will be punished.”  

I can’t change that concept as an adult- it was cemented into me during my formative years.  But I can see it, and I can tell myself- it’s okay.  Don’t beat yourself up over not feeling a certain way.

The big thing on my mind now, still, is that we sold our first home successfully a few days ago.  It’s the most enormous load off my mind.  This whole time, I’ve been wondering- I keep pinning everything on when the house is sold.  Will it actually be a relief?  Will it actually free up emotional and mental real estate?

SPOILER ALERT: IT DID, I FEEL GREAT!  

I told my therapist that I couldn’t feel “at home” and “settled” until I sold the old house, and she challenged me to not wait for some kind of...  Permission?  Catalyst?  Like, don’t put things off citing “my old home isn’t sold” as a reason, because suddenly, a year will have passed and you still haven’t painted your room or put up photos or turned the house into your home.

I absolutely see her point, but I also see mine.  Frankly, now that I’m not paying for two mortgages, I can afford to do some of that stuff (buy paint and supplies, buy a rug, buy a lamp, etc).  It is true that I could have hung my photos at any time, so that was just a mental/stress block, but I do think that pointing to the money that was tied up in paying the mortgages for both homes, and for repairing things at the old home at the buyer’s demand, was... you know, a valid reason not to be throwing money at our current home.

Right now, my anxiety is free to be directed at the fact that the CDC is forecasting such drastic pandemic leaps.  It’s expected to hit in about 10-ish days after today, 11/29, a Sunday that will likely be the largest single day for travel as people head back home in droves to make it to work on Monday after going away for Thanksgiving.  It’s expected that we’ll be seeing 4,000 covid deaths per day in the states around week 2/3 of December.

I really don’t want to go to work physically, because I know coworkers who travelled.  I wish we could all stay home for two weeks, when the symptoms will show for carriers who are not asymptomatic.  I will definitely be limiting my time in the office to after 3 PM, when a lot of coworkers have gone home.  It’s still a risk that I’m not sure is worthwhile.  

Ah!  I should probably say that my therapist is talking about ending therapy.  I started in... I wanna say March or April of 2019?  Is that right?  So I guess it’s been...  Like, 19-ish months?  I’ve learned so much, but I would say...  The biggest difference is that I can see my behavior patterns for what they are, and then decide what to do with them.  I haven’t “changed” at my core.  I can’t, not in the way people mean when they say “you’ve changed.”  The same learned behaviors, belief systems, and emotions from my childhood are there.  I just recognize them when they pop up and can make informed decisions about how to approach them.  

Which, it turns out, makes a huge difference, even if it isn’t really “change.”  I’m always in danger of being too distraught to see what’s in front of my face, though (thanks, anxiety!).

What else...  My husband and I did cheese fondue and hot pot for Thanksgiving!  It was easily the best holiday I’ve ever had.  Holidays are always... so high pressure, always such events that turn a day off into a giant list of chores that might span weeks to complete beforehand.  Plus, I’m always hoping I’m not about to be dragged into some kind of “trap” conversation by both my family and my husband’s, who have very different political views compared to me.

But on Thanksgiving, my husband and I ate amazing food, spent a lot of time together, and I felt so loved and cared for and valued, because my husband came up with the idea and made it happen, all so we’d have a nice holiday together.  Honestly, I don’t deserve him.  I don’t get it.  He’s so amazing?  I love him so much.

As for my writing, I’ve been feeling...  Bad about it, frankly.  I think it’s partially because it honestly looks like no one is reading Tri: Integrity Lens.  I don’t get it?  It was my most requested story in 2018/2019, and I know people wanted a sequel to Growing Up with You, so why is TIL doing so poorly?  At first, I thought people were going back to read GUWY again first, since I saw a huge surge in hits for it.  Now, I’m not sure?  Like, if I open my stats, some random GUWY chapters will have over 10 times the hits as the newest TIL chapter???  ???? ????  ????  ?????

I’m wondering if it has to do with Tri itself...  I think that, the more time passed, the more people who liked Tri are maybe defensive about how... negative the fandom reaction was, overall.  Meanwhile, people who dislike it, I think, have maybe simply... chucked it out the window, and don’t think about it much.  Whereas, when it was still coming out and directly after it wrapped up, I think people who disliked Tri were more interested in imagining ways they might have personally tweaked it.

That makes things awkward for someone like me, who thinks Tri has amazing moments basically... tacked onto a crumbling base.  

Actually, let me give you my weird metaphor for Tri!

When I am deciding if I’m going to write a new fic, often what happens is...  A few powerful ideas coalesce, a few themes and characterizations.  Some people say they are lead by a few powerful scenes.  I think of these ideas/themes/character ideas (or scenes for other people) as sparkling ornaments on a Christmas tree.

The problem is that...  Ornaments in a box don’t... do much.  You need to display them on a tree, right?  The ornaments need to be connected and supported by a plot (unless you decide to write a focused oneshot, which is my recommendation in most cases).

In short: Tri has amazing ornaments, but the tree is... not... doing that well.  The ideas are there, there are plenty of awesome moments, but something about the actual story/execution just...  Didn’t do it for me.  But dang, those are some nice ornaments!

That was quick and dirty, but hopefully it conveyed the general idea.  

ANYWAY, I’ve been trying to decide if I’m going to continue TIL.  I think right now, I would definitely finish Ketsui, since I have so much material written already.  Why waste it, right?  But I’m not sure what the future of the story will be- not plot wise, but rather, “is my time better spent elsewhere”-wise.

I’m not sure if I need to focus on a new story, if I should take a break, or what.  I need to write for my mental health, but it doesn’t have to be a fanfic.  It can be anything, as long as I explore whatever is eating at me.

And that is where I am!  I hope you’re all staying safe <3

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 63

Jocelyn, Michonne’s friend, has a group with many kids. It seems odd to me, so many children, without as many adults, but who am I to judge? I see their eyes land on my bump, Michonne’s bump, and Daryl’s protective nature. I feel the cold chill I normally get when someone I love is in danger, but they all seem so normal. Survivors, by nature, are watchful. It’s what keeps them alive. At least that’s what I tell myself over and over.

Judith and our other young ones, kids I’ve helped teach and read to, have a bonfire and sleepover with the newcomers. Innocent, or so it seems. Why then, as Daryl sleeps comfortably next to me, can’t I let the chill be overcome by his warm? Why can’t I fall off to sleep too?

I tell myself, as I creep down the hallway and out the front door, that I’m only going to make sure that Judith has fallen asleep in the company of these strangers. It’s when I’m getting closer that I feel a sharp pain in my head and then darkness takes me under.

When I come to, I’m in the infirmary. The pain is terrible. From my head down to my toes and I can’t seem to move. What the literal fuck? And then I realize that I feel no movement from my baby. Nothing. Usually when I first wake up, or when I’m coming awake, the baby is so active that I feel like I’m going to pee myself. Nothing. And I remember going to check on Judith and the world spins and I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“Hey,” I guess I moved, flinched or groaned. It’s Michonne, and she’s holding tight to my hand. “You’re awake.”

“What happened?” My voice is hoarse and dry. “Why am I in the infirmary?”

She sighs, grabbing a cup of water from the side table and helping me sit up. I realize that my bump, usually so full and active is still so horribly quiet. “Jocelyn, her people, they-” She took a deep breath and after I drank helped me lay back down. “They took the children.” I tried to sit back up. “No, Jessi, it’s fine. We got everyone back.” But I can see, in the way she won’t meet my eyes that something is wrong.

“Judith?” My voice broke, my fear so very strong.

“She’s fine, Jessi.” I saw Michonne swallow hard. “They killed one of ours, and left you-” I waited, wondering if-

“Daryl.” My voice was a breath. If it wasn’t Judith, then Daryl. He was one of ours. Did they murder him?

She shook her head and took my hand in hers. “No, honey, not Daryl.” I was confused. Then what was so terrible that she couldn’t look at me? “It’s your baby.” My baby?

I felt my heart clench and I knew. It wasn’t moving. “My baby?” I felt my eyes sting. “Mom?”

Michonne finally looked into my face and I saw it. The pain of loss, a pain she knew. Her eyes were shining with tears. “Siddiq, he realized yesterday, when we brought you in.” Yesterday? Fuck. “He’s going to have to help you-”

I was gasping for air. “Where’s Daryl?” And then I saw him, in the doorway, holding Judith. “I’m sorry.” The tears were blurring my eyes. I was sobbing. I’d done it. I’d failed so terribly at the ONE thing we both wanted. “I’m sorry.”

Daryl handed Judith to Michonne and pulled me upright into his arms. “It’s OK, Jessi, we can try again.” He was kissing my hair, promising me that this wasn’t our only shot at our family.

It was our only shot. If I’d lost my baby during the time before, there would have been a way to induce my labor. I would have been able to give birth, naturally, and no harm no foul. This wasn’t the time before. And Siddiq, while a great medic, was NOT a OB/GYN with a full arsenal of medication at his disposal.

I ended up having a flash of Lori’s fear and death. Somehow, my baby did not turn, perhaps babies are slower in turning? Perhaps I got insanely lucky. What I wasn’t lucky in was having a cesarean that didn’t end in at least partial tragedy. My tragedy wasn’t death. It was simply an end to my ability to have children.

I will not go back through the pain of having that surgery performed. I will not graphically recall the blood and the fear and the pain. I won’t allow myself to remember finding out that Siddiq hadn’t been completely successful and that I would never get to have a child by Daryl, or anyone for that matter.

I survived. My baby didn’t. A tiny girl whose brain had to be pierced just in case. A little girl that would never play in Alexandria, never be given a piggy back ride by me or her daddy, a little girl that I couldn’t even name because my pain was so overwhelming.

Once I was well enough to move, I walked carefully back through Alexandria, a fog of grief and barely noticed anyone or their expressions. I made my way back to the house I shared with Michonne, Daryl, and Judith. I walked to my room, and I tried to focus on Judith’s gift of a painting. Me, Uncle Daryl, Mom, and was that Negan?

“Judith,” I pulled her carefully onto my lap, since I was still in pain. “Who is this?” I pointed to the bearded man that was on the other side of my colorful self.

“Negan.” She said, snuggling into my chest. Which also ached, because my milk hasn't dried up yet. “He make you feel better.”

I closed my eyes and felt my chest tighten. “He does?”

She nodded, and sighed. “Was scared.” She whispered and I kissed her curls. “Mommy was bloody.” Oh God. “All over. You weren’t there.” I felt my eyes start to burn. “Uncle Daryl and Mommy not tell me what happened.”

Damn it. “I’m sorry, baby.” I tried to rock her, but pain flashed through my body. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You were asleep on the road.” Fuck, she’d seen. “I wanted to see you, but they not let me.”

My eyes closed again. “You’re safe now, Jude. You’re safe.”

She tilted her face up to look at me. “You sad. Uncle Daryl said-” I saw her look at where my baby had once cradled inside of me. Her tiny hand touched it gently. “No more baby?”

I was crying and hugging her to me when Michonne and Daryl came to the doorway. “Judith, sweetheart, let’s let Jessi rest?” Mom offered, walking over and picking her up. “We love you, honey.” She was looking at me and I nodded, pushing Judith’s painting onto the side table.

She walked out with Judith blowing me a kiss and telling me she loved me. Daryl was leaning against the wall beside the door. “Get some rest, Jessi.” I sighed, and started to lay down. “I’m gonna go back to searching.” I closed my eyes and knew, even as he was saying it, that he didn’t want to be here with me. Not now. “Maybe I can find-”

I nodded, rolling over so he was confronted with my back. “OK, be safe.” I couldn’t offer more. Not now. Not after failing so spectacularly.

“I love you.” He said quietly and I nodded. If you loved me, I wanted to scream, then you’d stay. But I didn’t. He needed time to grieve in his own way. And being alone was Daryl’s way.

“Me too,” I offered, but I wasn’t sure he’d waited. Or if he’d heard.

I healed. Physically, and as mentally as I could. I had to. Mom was growing closer to her due date, and I had to be there to help. I wanted to be there. I’d watched Judith be born, traumatizing though it was, and I wanted to see my newest sibling come into this world.

Daryl was seen less and less. We drifted further and further apart. And between the grief I felt over the loss of our baby, the excitement I allowed to take its place in part at the impending arrival of Mom’s baby, I didn’t get to visit Negan.

My little brother, Rick Grimes Jr came into this world with a lusty scream and I swore that I could see Dad and Carl in his tiny face. I see Michonne, and my heart nearly explodes with love. He doesn’t replace my little girl, but he’s wonderful.

I’m walking home, after his birth, when I decide that it’s time to see Negan. The guard barely looks at me and I go inside, the darkness of his cell pisses me off. Light isn’t a luxury, so he should have some. I’ll have to talk to Mom about it later.

“Come to show me your little one?” His voice, sounding hoarse from disuse, is quiet. My heart pounds at the reminder of my loss, but I can’t be angry with him for not knowing. I am appreciative that no one told him.

“No.” I answer sadly, taking the single hard chair and moving it closer to his cell. “I don’t think you can see the cemetery from here.”

“Cemetery?” He takes in my appearance in the dimness. “Oh, Jessi, no.” Strange, he sounds like he cares. As though he feels the pain I feel. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He’s moved so he’s standing at the bars, his hands reaching through, but I don’t take them.

“Yeah, I-” I feel a sob building and force it down. Today is a happy day, I remind myself, think of little RJ. “She didn’t make it.” I take a deep breath. “My new baby brother did.” I smile, remembering his tiny fist. “There’s a new Rick Grimes in town.”

Negan kneels on the hard floor and looks up at me. “Sweetheart, let’s go back to the baby.” I shake my head. No, I won’t. “You need to talk about it.” Shit, why? “Tell me.”

And I do. What I’ve pieced together about the night Jocelyn’s people kidnapped Judith and the others. About the head wound they gave me, about being found JUST in time to save me, but not the baby. How my little sister and the other kids, including one of Jocelyn's group was saved. About my cesarean operation and the resulting damage. And how, even after all that, I wanted to just think about RJ and Judith.

“Where’s Daryl?” It was quiet, but loaded. “Why isn’t he here, making sure you’re talking?”

“He suffered a loss too, Negan.” It sounded lame, but it was true. “Daryl does better on his own to process.”

He nodded, sensing no doubt that I wasn’t in the mood to rehash his feelings on Daryl’s failures where I was concerned. “I can’t have kids either.” It was quiet, but just as pained as how I felt when I learned that my hopes were gone. “Lucille and I tried, and tried. Nothing. I shoot blanks.”

“Why did the wife-” It was weird, but I was curious about the pregnancy test I’d seen, which led me to Alexandria’s cache of tests.

“Sherry.” He nodded. “She, before she agreed to-” He sighed. “Her and Dwight-”

“Oh.” They’d run off together, but I’d assumed, god knew what. “Guess we’re a sad pair.” I gave a dark chuckle. “Both genetic dead ends.”

Negan shook his head. “No. We can’t make babies, Jessi, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make an impact.” I snorted. “OK, not necessarily the best fucking impacts in my case, but you, oh, Jessica Grimes, you are more than fucking remarkable.”

I felt better, slightly, by the time I’d kissed him goodbye and walked home. Judith came rushing to greet me, and I told her all about RJ and how she could meet him the next day. Smiling at the woman who’d stayed with her while I was with Michonne, trying hard to ignore the pity I could see in her eyes, I closed the front door and got us both some dinner.

[kayr0ss]

Appointments Chapter 5: Headaches and Some Music

[LWA, Diakko, Small Town AU, Fluff and Slow Romance, Pining™ lol]  

Chapter 1 & Table of Contents AO3 Link

Diana pursed her lips, locked in a heated stare-down against the newest occupant of her apartment.

“Please behave yourself until I return.”

The cat ‘mew’ed’ in reply as though he understood and resumed licking the back of his paw. All things considered, he seemed to be a surprisingly well-behaved cat. Who looked polite. This small comfort was enough to make up for the ridiculousness of having to talk to a cat, and Diana realized that she had never been more excited to return to her clinic as she was now.

The normalcy of work, she thought to herself, is beginning to feel like a comfort versus the absurdity of my home’s current state of affairs.

She stepped through her doorway into a lovely Blytonbury morning. The habitual glance towards her watch read 09:51, urging her to walk at a quicker pace than usual. She regrettably strode right by Jasminka’s café—there was no time to pass by tea, and she hadn’t woken up early enough to make some for herself that morning.

Of course, because of the cat.

The day prior, she’d had to return home later than usual to fetch her feline tenant the basic supplies: a small can of cat-food, a litterbox, and two bowls for food and milk. The real challenge was in the ‘teaching him not to leave any form of excrement where he shouldn’t.’ Pleasant behavior aside, it seemed Toby was actually quite intelligent—although by the time it was two o’clock in the morning, her NewTube suggestions were a peculiar mix of medical lectures and ‘How to Potty Train Your Cat’ videos.

She made her way through the crosswalk—ensuring that no brunettes were running about—and mentally prepared herself for the day she was about to have. There were no scheduled patients before lunch, giving her enough time to review case files for a busy afternoon.

When she stepped through the glass door to her clinic, Barbara was already lounging behind her desk and flipping—as usual—through a novel.

“Good morning,” she peaked out from behind ‘NightFall 12: The Oblivion of Love’. “You’re on the dot today.”

“I always am,” Diana replied lightly. “Good morning to you as well.”

“You’re always at least fifteen minutes early,” Barbara corrected, smiling kindly. Then the nurse leaned forward, scrutinizing Diana with an observant gaze. “You’re…”

The blonde lifted her eyebrow in silent response.

“Something.” Barbara said slowly, as if trying to figure a puzzle out. She waved a hand to dismiss the thought. “Must have been my imagination, just thought there was something off. Anyway, I’ve laid down the patient files for the afternoon. We’ve got ourselves a slow morning.”

“Thank you,” Diana nodded politely, slipping into her whitecoat and thankful that she didn’t have to explain the kind of morning (and evening) she’d had. She settled into her chair, entertaining the thought of going through the documents Barbara had prepared before deciding she wasn’t in the right headspace for that. A headache. Massing her temples, she ascribed her irritability at a lack of sleep and constant worrying over her furniture’s wellbeing. She inwardly cursed her lack of morning tea—and really hoped her furniture were okay.

Learning back with a sigh, her eyes drifted towards a pamphlet at the edge of her table. It was the St. Beatrix MMC residency brochure on Cardiology. She’d probably read its contents nearly ten times over by now. In truth, the hospital had already reached out to her: she was “everything they were looking for”, or so the chief resident had said—a young doctor with an impeccable educational background. Diana had been truly grateful, but she was committed to taking the time she’d need to be absolutely sure. Which she wasn’t. At least, not yet.

There was a knock on her door, and Barbara was peeking through the doorframe. “Water. And an aspirin. Because for some reason you look—uh.”

“Off?” Diana tilted her head.

“Like shit.” Barbara nodded, and Diana would have had something to say about her choice of language if it weren’t for the fact that she was probably right. “Did anything happen?”

“Just a few issues to iron over at home,” she replied cryptically.

Barbara looked like she wanted to ask more, but decided not to prod. “That won’t do. We’re having lunch over at the Russian lady’s and getting those croissants you love so much, but in the meantime drink that Advil because someone’s gotta look after the doctor looking after everyone else.”

Diana smiled and felt a wave of gratitude pour through her over Barbara’s thoughtfulness.

“Which reminds me,” the other woman set the items down to Diana’s desk, “the cat’s gone.”

The blonde immediately looked down at the suddenly-very-interesting-patient-files. “I—Indeed.”

“You know, I think I’ll actually miss him. He was kind of cute.”

Diana was ready to remind her of the importance of workplace cleanliness when the front bell chimed louder than usual. The glass pane of the door practically swung open with force.

“Heya, doc! And miss nurse!”

Oh.

Barbara was the first to recover. “Where did you fall in this time? Was it a ditch? Or did you fly off your bike again?”

Atsuko Kagari-with-blood-ty—Oh, enough of that! She’s just Akko!—had come barging in with a large paper bag, effectively elevating Diana’s headache through several numbers up the VNRS pain scale.

“I—” Akko shot the nurse a smug look “—have yet to experience an accident this week!”

“That’s a first,” Barbara crossed her arms.

“But I’m here for you!”

Those stunning red eyes locked themselves onto Diana, and suddenly she couldn’t speak. Me? The brunette strode into her office. She dropped the paper bag onto her desk.

“I’m not quite sure I follow. What is this?”

“Child support!”

Diana flinched. Barbara blinked. Akko simply nodded to herself in smug satisfaction.

“For Toby. Since we’re co-parents now.” Akko clarified, looking completely serious. “There’s a bunch of cat food that should last a while, a cute mouse squeaky toy, and animal milk.”

The blonde felt her ears redden at the incredulous look Barbara was giving her, and seriously—was this seriously happening right now? “C—Co-parents?”

“Yes.” Akko nodded with a determined glint in her eyes. “And I’m no deadbeat mom!”

“I—I see.”

“Anyway,” Akko took one of the pens from Diana’s stand without asking (“Don’t do that.”), and leaned over to write on the blank prescription pad on the blonde’s desk. “Here’s my number so you can text me about anything he needs and so we can arrange my visitation rights!”

Visitation rights?

“Oh.” Akko paused, lifting her thumb to her chin. “We probably need to schedule a trip to the vet and get him a collar, too.”

We?

Not knowing what else to say and still completely blindsided by Akko’s—well, everything—Diana simply complied. “I… know a veterinarian. He’s a childhood friend.”

“Perfect!” Akko beamed.

Once again, it was disarming. She really had to stop doing that to Diana.

“I’ve got to study for a test so I gotta bounce but I’m so excited to see him again!” Akko leaned across the table, moving around at a pace faster than Diana’s sleep-deprived-due-to-Toby’s mind could follow. The brunette wrapped her hand around her forearm and gave her another smile. It was warm. “But really—thank you Diana! I’ll see you around!”

She turned on her heel like the bundle of energy she was and bolted right out the door with a wave to Barbara.

Barbara—who looked right about ready to explode into laughter in the wake of Akko’s departure.

“You kept him.”

“Please don’t.” Diana pleaded.

The nurse finally caved, leaning against the doorframe to her office for support while she snickered. “That’s why you look completely out of it! You’ve got to tell me everything.”

But then the thudding sound of footsteps interrupted their conversation yet again and the door swung open. Poor thing. Might need to have its hinges checked at this point.

“I almost forgot!” Akko came bursting into the room like a cannon ball. “I got this on my way here for you!”

She slammed a paper take-out cup from Jasminka’s café onto Diana’s desk.

“I have no idea what it is to be honest.” Akko yelled, already rushing back out in a hurry. “I just asked Jas for a cup of whatever your usual is! Okay-bye-for-real!”

She was gone in a flash. Diana could smell tea.

English Breakfast, prepared exactly the way she liked it. The aroma was enough to chase away the tension along her brow, and when she glanced towards Barbara, who looked just as lost as she felt—

—they shared soft laughter.

The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous. Including the fact that her cup was labeled: ‘Dr. Grumpy >:(’

 ---

 It was 5:30PM and Akko was in despair.

“Chikusho! That was a disaster.” Akko banged her head against the lecture room desk. She was reeling from the mental assault that was ‘Applied Physics Examination 1.’ Judging by the scowl on Sucy’s usually nonchalant face, it hit her pretty hard too. “How’d you do?”

“Tanginang test ‘yan.” She glowered in her native language.

“I’m going to assume that was a string of curse words.”

“For once in your idiot life, you are correct.”

“Mou!” Akko huffed.

“I’m out.” Sucy declared, and likewise, every fiber in Akko’s being wanted to get the hell out of this classroom as soon as possible. The purple-haired girl lazily slung her bag over shoulder and looked down at Akko (who was still very much slumped over the desk) through one eye. “So are you coming or should I leave you behind?”

Akko groaned. And then sighed. And then groaned another time while pointing towards the podium because—“First I have to walk over there and ask if she wants to join the running club.”

“The professor?” Sucy blinked.

“Ya, dude.”

Then Sucy was grinning daggers. “I think I’m gonna stick by and see if she’ll actually murder you this time.”

“Not funny!” Akko pouted while finally standing up and cursing the fact that she can no longer exist as a worry-free blob on a desk.

“It is. A little. Now go.” Sucy prodded on, repeatedly poking at her arm.

“Going, going!”

While the students slowly filed out of the room—in despair, mind you—Akko approached Dr. Meridies with Sucy lingering a safe distance behind her.

The lilac-haired professor looked up from a test sheet she was inspecting, looking, as one would say, way too tired for this shit. “No amount of begging is going to convince me to pass you.”

“I wasn’t going to!” Akko crossed her arms defiantly.

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

Well. There wasn’t any other way for this to go down than directly, so it was best to just blurt it out. “Do you want to join the running club?”

Dr. Meridies reeled, squinting. “The running club?”

“Yes.” Akko nodded. “The running club.”

“So many people are asking me to join this running club that I think I’m gonna start declining just out of spite.”

“Ugh!” Akko groaned. “I tried—can’t force you! Maybe Professor du Nord can, Kami-sama, why did I even both—”

“Wait wait wait—” Dr. Meridies raised a hand to shut Akko while scowling. “du Nord?”

“Yeah,” Akko said looked to the side with slumped shoulders, “the club moderator. And I’m here cause Diana asked so now that I’ve done that I’m just gonna boun—”

Oddly enough, the exasperated professor seemed to have tuned out. “Chariot du Nord, from Humanities?”

“Uh, yeah.” The brunette blinked. “Do you know her?”

“O—Of course.” The older woman began stare so hard at the table she could have burned a hole through. “Faculty and all.”

Akko caught on like a wolf, grinning mischievously. “You know her!”

“Like I said we both teach—”

“You know know her.”

“Out!” Dr. Meridies barked, “of my classroom!”

With a devious glint, which Akko swore she could see in Sucy’s eyes too, she waved in exaggerated politeness and made her way to the door.

“Okay, professor!” Oh, she loved this sort of drama! “Just saying—it’s on Monday evenings!”

--

“You should have seen her face!” Akko squealed with almost manic glee. “Oh, Lotte you’re gonna love it—I know you’re a sucker for this kind of stuff.”

“But I can’t imagine it! How does Professor du Nord—” Lotte gestured towards her life with both hands for emphasis “—who seems super sweet and kind of introverted but is generally made of sunshine, find herself with a history of romantic involvement with someone like Dr. Meridies—” she made a quick jerking motion towards the right. “Who I haven’t actually seen in person, and if I were to base my judgments off your descriptions she sounds like some mad-scientist antagonist in an anime who’d wear a cape.”

Akko blinked. “That’s a good one.”

Sucy actually nodded.

“It makes no sense!” Lotte shook her head. And then… she swooned. “But love never does, does it?”

“Makes about as much as sense as this idiot getting that doctor to adopt the cat.”

“’The cat’ is named Toby!” Akko chided, “and you’d be hard-pressed to deny him if you’ve seen that cute little face of his.”

The three women were lazing about Lotte and Sucy’s living-and-dining area, with Akko sprawled across the couch that she’d be sleeping on since the pair—or just Lotte—invited her to stay over. There was take-out and beer (which Sucy and Akko had picked up on their way home), and the mini-get-together served two purposes: to recover from that horrid examination, and to keep Akko company because “tomorrow’s my first day of work and I am way too nervous to fall asleep without beer or Lotte nagging me to!”

There was something deeply comfortable about the small apartment. The furnishing didn’t match up and yet every piece felt like they belonged. Pots and pans hung above the stove, used yet well-maintained. They always had an extra set of everything—as though guests were welcome and often come and go. She loved it. And loved how welcome she felt in it. And though she’d never impose unless invited, Akko felt… cozy. Books, and mushrooms, and odd test-tubes, and literary manuscripts and all.

Lotte was in the middle of sharing the gist of her latest writing exercise when Akko felt her phone buzz.

“Hold on,” she excused herself, “I swear if this is a Canvas notification I’m gonna cut a bi—oh!”

“What is it?” Lotte asked.

-

18:53 Good evening. This Dr. Cavendish’s number – I’ve been able to secure an appointment with Dr. Hanbridge, the veterinarian I had mentioned. I apologize for the short notice but his soonest availability is tomorrow at around 1:30PM. Check-up aside, an agent in his clinic should likewise be able to assist with any documentation that needs sorting out given our arrangement. Your prompt response will be appreciated.

18:54 Heeeya Doc! 😊 u sound like an e-mail. :P

18:54 But sure lol I get off work @ Arcturus school around lunch time

18:55 Is it gonna be far?

18:55 But srsly lighten up abit it’s just me we can me at the bus stop or whrvr

18:56 I’ll be hailing a taxi service from my home and will collect you from your workplace at 12:30PM. Please be on time.

18:56 PLS add me on WhatsUpp through this number PLS omg I want pics of my little bby!!!! DO U FEED HIM and I can send you memes to show him so he’ll laugh LOL

18:56 LOL wtf ‘collect’

-

“It was Diana.”

Sucy cocked an eyebrow, “’Diana’?”

“I have a vet trip with Toby tomorrow!” Akko buzzed. “Oh bother, now I’m never going to get any sleep.”

“Is she for real?” Sucy indifferently pointed towards Akko while speaking to Lotte. “She’s like some ‘instant-friendship’ anomaly. Even I feel personally victimized.”

Lotte only smiled. “You have to sleep lest you subject poor children to a zombie for a teacher tomorrow.”

“That’s mean!”

Akko shared a laugh with Lotte, urging her to carry on with her story. They were getting to the good part—Edmund was about to confess!

One successful synopsis reading and a few topic changes later, Akko’s phone had buzzed once more.

It was a picture.

She squealed so hard her cheeks hurt.

“Akko, down! Yes—I see him—stop screaming or else I’m going to poison your drink.”

 -

 The driver pulled up at Arcturus School’s main driveway at exactly half-past noon.

“Please wait a moment.” Diana politely requested, mildly aware of the fact that she was beginning to miss the luxury of having her own car and service.

“Sure, just don’t leave me alone with that little fella, don’t matter how cute he might be.”

With a sigh—which was one of many at this point—she gently peered over to Toby whose head was poking out of the most comfortable canvas tote bag she could scavenge. It was that or nothing at all, and no, she wasn’t going to carry him in her arms.

‘Mew.’ He stared back up towards her. At least he seemed comfortable—and she tried to fight it but then she gave in and chuckled.

“Oh, come on then.”

Diana stepped out of the vehicle with Toby in tow. She pulled out her phone, putting a call through for the latest addition in her phonebook.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Typical. She wasn’t picking up.

Fortunately she had anticipated this, there was a half-hour allowance in her schedule. Instead of bombarding the brunette with several missed calls, she opted to walk towards what looked like the waiting area where children were fetched. She took a moment to look around, noticing that the school grounds had an abundance of trees—much like the rest of Blytonbury and the campus of LNU. The morning classes were dismissed and children ran about. A few of them began to notice her special baggage, and one little girl ran up to her and nearly hugged her legs.

She had hazel eyes, and big, goofy grin. “You’re so pretty!”

Diana blinked. “Thank you.”

“Is that a cat?”

“Yes.” She lowered the bag a little, appreciating the wonder in the little girl’s voice. “But I can’t let you pet him yet, I’m afraid. He still bites.”

“But I—”

The little girl was cut-off by the sounded children cheering. Diana followed her line of sight and saw…

Akko.

She was playing music. And laughing. But more than that—everyone around her was smiling just as bright. Children sang while they danced in a circle around her, clapping their hands to the beat of what sounded like a ridiculously complicated rendition of the ABCs on the violin. The pace was quick while she played a progression of eight and sixteenth notes. The feel of the song was less classical and more like an upbeat Celtic dance.

And dance they did. Laughing, and clapping, and bouncing around in mirth without a care in the world.

Akko played with such joy and passion that Diana could feel the warmth from several meters away. She kept still—already forgetting her earlier dismay on being behind schedule—and simply watched.

“Do you know her?” The little girl with hazel eyes asked in a small voice.

Diana nodded, smiling to herself while trying to wrap her head around the conundrum that was Atsuko Kagari—who had red eyes, who tripped over nothing and scraped her knee, who could barely make it to her classes on time and yet could bewitch a crowd with a smile and a bit of music.

“She’s…”  

Even Toby looked he was watching.

“…my friend.”

 -

end chapter

-

A/N: Hello everyone! Hope you're doing well, stayin' safe and staying home. So anyway here's another chapter and admittedly I only have a very rough outline of where I want this story to be and well... I like writing one shots because I'm REALLY bad at plotting out longer stuff like seriously, when I started this, I thought it would be 5 chapters long at most and yet here's chapter 5.

So I've decided to just go with it and take the time to explore and narrate the relationships/interactions I've got in my head AND I don't know anything about taking care of cats I AM SORRY IT PROBABLY SHOWS

Hope you're enjoying it so far! (AND I still owe Diana a happy birthday fic that may or may not involve feet due to some shenaginas I've seen on tumblr which I don't know if are jokes or not)