#also I learned I can white balance against my own skin so that was fun

[sithfoot]

It’s pumpkin spice season which means it’s also bath season

Time for me to thrive

[blossom-hwa]

so I joined an ateez collab yesterday and was yelling to mai about a possible elemental kingdom au kind of like avatar but also not really anyway it doesn’t fucking matter mai was yelling back and now we have this. you have been warned

(I have bigger plans for seonghwa mostly because he’s the one I'm writing for this collab.............. seonghwa brainrot commence)

tagging: @applejongho @mangomingki @wingkkun because all of you need to see this SUFFER

anyway without further ado

ATEEZ ELEMENTAL KINGDOM AU OR WHATEVER IDK WHAT TO CALL THIS

tw: cursing

seonghwa

magma prince, born of an earth/water dalliance gone too far :/

lives in the water but is an outcast, so he’s forced to live on his own by the underwater volcanoes except when he has to come to the palace for ceremonies and such

doesn’t really manipulate water specifically but can control magma hence why I'm calling him a magma prince

he’s a prince because his mom was ocean royalty, anyway she disowned him so we don’t really care about her (fuck everyone who made seonghwa feel like an outcast :/)

has scales on parts of his body like the rest of the ocean dwellers because they descended from sea serpents, his range from black to deep royal blue which INFURIATES the court because those colors are the purest meant for ROYALTY like even his mom’s scales aren’t as deep/pure as seonghwa’s so ha in your FACE

except seonghwa isn’t a fan of the scales because it just makes him feel even more like he doesn’t belong in his own skin :///

friends with fire prince hongjoong and ocean prince san, both of whom are some of the few who treat seonghwa like an actual person and not just an outcast :/

takes very good care of the animals who live around the volcanic vents! a lot of the other ocean dwellers are scared of them because they look so different but seonghwa knows what it’s like to be an outcast so he keeps his little area as clean and welcoming as possible :)

it gets lonely around the volcanoes but honestly seonghwa prefers that over when he has to be at court for ceremonies n stuff. like yeah there might be water snakes around his place but they’re nothing compared to the snakes in the palace badum tss

hongjoong

fire prince of the dragon clan

there are two clans of the fire kingdom, one descended from dragons and the other descended from phoenixes, and they’re Rivals

dragon clan is allied with the ocean dwellers since sea serpents are related to dragons, phoenix clan is allied with the air dwellers because they all can fly n stuff

but anyway more on phoenix stuff in mingi’s part

has scales too, though his are more on the neck while seonghwa’s around around his ribs/waist, also they’re bright red/orange not blue

can produce and control dragon fire, which is destructive and primarily used for offense, so hongjoong’s been trained for an early age how to use it for max power/destruction

meets seonghwa on one of the few times hwa comes to the surface to chill in the sun and he’d just accidentally set fire to a small part of the beach and when he sees hwa he’s like HELP ME PUT THIS OUT

except hwa can’t control water he can only do magma so. yeah

san was nearby though and helped deal with it and later joong was like what the fuck kind of ocean dweller can’t control water and seonghwa was like. I'm half you dickwad

obviously they become friends after that. if they didn’t I'd give you permission to slap my face

but also after that hongjoong learns to keep a much tighter rein on his powers, like yes he’s being trained for destruction but he has masterful control over his abilities

could be considered a fire prodigy in all honesty

yunho

earth boy!! very powerful earth bender

can definitely do a lot of destruction with his powers but prefers to help things grow instead! talks to his garden and swears up and down that his plants grow bigger and taller when he does

good friends with both mingi of the phoenix clan and hongjoong of the dragon clan

earth dwellers aren’t allied with any side of the fire rivalry so they serve as the arbiters/judges when disputes come into place which is fair because earth is solid and stable and just (most of the time)

which is why yunho is able to balance this sort of friendship between the two boys :) does NOT meet with them together though that would be a recipe for disaster (not necessarily because of hongjoong/mingi themselves, they know how to behave, but the neurotic clan elders would throw a hissy fit)

runs a small restaurant in the capital that mostly caters to the working class, people always ask why yunho doesn’t try to do “more” with himself, that he’s wasted potential running a restaurant when he could potentially be a general or something in the army because of his earth bending prowess

but yunho doesn’t care, he’s happy where he is and he develops his bending as a way to protect and help himself and others, and from his friendship with hongjoong/mingi he’s pretty sure he wants to avoid clashing with earth royalty at all costs ksjndksjh

yeosang

air prince :) also he’s blond in this au you can’t change my mind

not particularly one of the strongest benders, but he’s very intelligent and wise which people value a little less than they should but yeosang doesn’t really care, he’s just going with it

imagine! yeosang in flows white robes!! floating on the wind!!!

yes air dwellers can fly sobs because they control the wind

and while yeosang isn’t necessarily the greatest at using his powers for fighting or whatever, he’s very good at flying and has a lot of fun with it along with air noble wooyoung

best friends with wooyoung by the way, no one really gets it because yeosang is quieter and doesn’t yell as much while wooyoung is the definition of Chaos

but wooyoung brings out the rowdy side in yeosang and their screams/yells echo in the air when they get together

a little wary of wooyoung’s friendship with san mostly because he’s a prince and understands the consequences of wooyoung, an air noble, being friends with the allies of their supposed enemy (water is allied with the dragon clan)

(maybe he’s a little jealous too)

but in the end it’s always still woo + yeosang against the world, floating in the sky and doing what they can for their people <3

san

WATER PRINCE WATER PRINCE WATER PRINCE

he’s actually the reason I birthed this au I couldn’t get ocean prince san out of my mind

flowy clothes and a crown of shells and pearls! likes shiny things and will trade with earth dweller merchants for new bits of crystal and jewelry!! tell me he isn’t a dream!!!

one of the beloved princes of the ocean, honestly probably the most loved because he’s so smiley and handsome and all around a very good boy until it’s his turn to perform the ceremonial dances and he turns into a demon

the brightest blue scales run up from his waist to his ribs, another one of the purest colors of royalty

uses his status to get away with being friends with seonghwa (aka people won’t yell at him if it’s obvious he disappeared for a while to the volcanic vents) but keeps their friendship kind of under wraps because hwa is afraid of retaliation when he has to visit the court :/

truly does not give a shit about hwa being half earth, if anything kind of envies it because he’s always curious to explore the volcanic trenches but as a normal ocean dweller the heat would be too much for him if he stayed too long

kinda scared of the animals near the trenches but he warms up to them after some periodic visits

friends with air noble wooyoung! even though it’s kind of (?) breaking alliances but neither of them really cares because they’re so much fun together :D

mingi

phoenix nobility, not quite a prince but close 

phoenix fire has defensive and healing properties, so it can’t actually burn people but it can heal and protect from dragon fire/regular fire!

mingi is well-versed in the art of healing even though he’s a little clumsy sometimes :/ luckily phoenix fire doesn’t burn or there’d be major issues skjnsdkjh

can fly! phoenix descendants have a limited ability to fly, not as much as the air dwellers who can literally control the wind to help them, but it’s often enough to get them out of tight spots

only problem is mingi doesn’t like to fly very much skjndgjhn heights kinda suck

but when he does it’s fucking majestic, these orange flaming wings extending from his arms that clash beautifully with his red/orange hair

imagine seeing it at sunset oh my god that’s a dream

the phoenix and dragon clans are in negotiation with each other most of the time because ~hostilities~ but mingi doesn’t often participate in the direct talking because he’s better at working behind the scenes

ridiculously smart and likes to debate with yunho over things because seeing issues from a neutral perspective is very helpful and something mingi doesn’t think people do enough

what he’d really love to do is talk to hongjoong because an opposite perspective would be even better, but people don’t like that happening :/

secretly admires dragon fire because it’s so cool how dragon descendants can control so much destructive power with such ease

(he doesn’t know it but hongjoong admires phoenix fire just as much because god damn sometimes he wishes he was born to heal rather than destroy)

wooyoung

air noble!!!!! bitch if you thought I was making this man ANYTHING but an air dweller you do not know me

likes to watch the sunrise from his vantage point in the mountains :) sometimes wakes yeosang up to watch with him but only when he’s certain yeo won’t cut off a limb if he does skndjsgh

if yeosang is like the soft sea breeze against your face in the summer, wooyoung is the biting, almost playful nip of wind against your nose and cheeks in the winter

very playful! loves to make collect friends!!

can play the flute and absolutely 100% uses it to annoy said friends

you can often hear his screeching laughter and the yells of yeosang + others bouncing off the mountains skjdnsgk

is always on duty for patrolling the mountains because he’s one of the best at flying, but it’s fine because wooyoung enjoys being able to make his rounds and talk to people along the way

sometimes gets a little sidetracked with talking (and maybe eating the food people sometimes give him) but wooyoung is a lovable person no one can get mad at him for too long (which is a problem because he knows it)

thinks the rivalries between elements is dumb af, is literally friends with ocean prince san and earth dwellers 2ho and would like to make friends with mingi (yunho has mentioned him before) if he could just stop being in twenty places all at once

(mingi’s a busy guy wooyoung give him a break)

almost lost his shit when san told him he knew a magma controller, but hasn’t met seonghwa yet because hwa is shy and not very open to strangers

anyway I just think wooyoung air noble who has a personal mission to make as many inter-elemental friends as possible. shrugs

jongho

IF YOU TRY AND TELL ME THIS BOY ISN’T EARTH I WILL CLOCK YOU

earth boy and a prodigy at that! his bending is more advanced than some people twice his age

originally got stuck in training for the army because his bending was just that good, however he really hated having to use his powers solely for fighting so he left and became a blacksmith instead

why a blacksmith? here’s a secret

jongho can metalbend

which is why he sort of has this very good touch with metals and which types to use with which sorts of crafts

in very high demand for weapons like swords and such, but also makes jewelry and toys and pots and pans for regular day to day life

he also gets the “wasted potential” thing that yunho deals with a lot, but jongho has thick skin and those sorts of comments roll of his (broad) shoulders very quickly

LOATHES IT when generals and officials come to him with commissions and expect them to be done first and foremost like jongho doesn’t have around ten other projects hanging out in the background, but he just has to receive them with a smile

(maybe leaves a tiny unnoticeable dent in a general’s sword or something bc even if it’s unnoticeable, jongho knows it’s there and there’s some satisfaction in that)

friends with air noble wooyoung mostly because he is able to deal with woo’s bs, air prince yeosang is always asking for tips

meets yunho through wooyoung and 2ho strike up a nice friendship!

really just jongho stronk boy who can move the earth and will not hesitate to cause a subtle earthquake if some official gets uppity with him <3

[p1nkfr1day]

blow

eren x black reader

summary: when a rocky start of date night with eren ends well.

warnings: light smut, cursing, use of n word, aave, fingering, happy couple, a little arguing, that’s it I think.

word count: 1.6k

he’s supposed to be taking you on a date and he making y’all late with his unorganized ass. he won’t tell you where you guys are going so therefore it’s a ‘surprise’ date. but it’s not anything too special because you’re wearing casual closing.

he’s supposed to be taking you on a date and he making y’all late with his unorganized ass. he won’t tell you where you guys are going so therefore it’s a ‘surprise’ date. but it’s not anything too special because you’re wearing casual closing.

you were wearing a cute off the shoulder white blouse, some regular dark jeans, with some blue one’s. and you made sure to ask him multiple times if this was good enough for where you were going. eren wore a regular white tee with a brown plaid flannel, some jeans and brown one’s. so you didn’t have to change this time.

he came down the stairs and kissed you on the forehead while pulling you out the door. “wait nigga, let me at least lock my damn door first!” you yelled at him.

“babe stop. you know momma don’t play that.” he looked at you from leaning on the car.

“I told you so many times about calling my momma your momma. she don’t like you fool.”

“she do.”

“she don’t.” you kept going back and forth with him until you got the door locked and walked to the passenger side of the door, getting in and sitting down. seem like every time you wanna go somewhere you gotta wait for eren big nasty ass.

“how you supposed to be taking me on a date but taking forever to get in the car.” you complained from inside the car while eren got in.

“shut up, _____. my god. we not gonna be late, it opens at 9:00” he calmly told you. but you could tell he was getting frustrated with all your complaining.

“boy don’t tell me to shut up. I don’t know what type of hood hooligans you been messing with before me, but you know I don’t play that,” you paused and thought for a second until you continued. “and if it start at nine why the hell you had me getting ready to go at seven.” you asked looking at him crazy.

“calm down baby. and because you know how long you take.” he said smoothly. it instantly gave you butterflies. his voice was soft but stern at the same time.

the time was 8:13 so it probably wouldn’t take you guys long to get there. the drive there was silent, but you guys were both comfortable. he kept his eyes on the road, occasionally looking at you every time he got to a red light, and he would squeeze your thigh with his hand just a little to make you look up at him from your phone.

“we’re here.” he stopped the car in front of the skating rink. you looked up from your phone to the building that had the big words “skating rink” painted on the side and then to eren. you smiled. “baby, can you even skate?” you asked him while interlocking your fingers with his on the arm rest.

“let’s find out.” he said back, kissing your hand.

that’s how you ended up here. in the dim building with fluorescent lights flashing everywhere and skating to ‘can we talk’ with a bounce beat in the back. (sorry y’all, I’m from New Orleans and our staking rink play old school bounce.😭) eren was behind you, holding your hand as you went around the rink trying not to laugh at him.

he looks like a lost puppy following behind you, almost falling many times but balancing himself out and pushing forward. it took him a good hour to learn how to skate right. “baby slow down, I just got the hang of it.” he yelled over the music. you only giggled and kept skating.

the place smelled like cologne (axe), fabric freshener and feet. but it was still fun and you were glad eren brought you here and tried to skate even when he couldn’t. it made you feel bad for starting with him in the car and in the house before you got here. you wanted to take a break so you led him off the floor to an empty table.

“you having fun?” you asked looking at him sitting across from you.

“I’m having fun anytime I’m with you, _____.” not eren being sweet you thought.

“I’m sorry I was bitching in the car.” you apologized to him.

“you good babe. I know you don’t like last minute stuff, but I felt like we needed this time to ourselves.” he explained while getting up to sit on the side of you.

he wrapped his arm around you and laid his head on top of yours. “uhn uhn boy. I love you and all, but I just got my hair done and I can’t have no fly aways, imma look crazy.” you pushed him off playfully.

“bet.” he said laughing. he got up and went to the dj booth and told the dj to play your favorite song and you jumped up to grab him and skate while singing to him.

“don’t be all under me now, you can’t have fly aways remember?” he says skating away from you. you go after him and grab his arm. “stop playing with me eren.” and you started singing to him. he only laughed, but started singing with you.

after about two hours of skating eren took you to Buffalo Wild Wings to eat, because lord knows the food at the skating rink was too high to be so nasty.

he took a couple of pictures at the skating rink, and had other people that pictures of you guys together. there was one where you were sitting on his lap and smiling at the camera but he was looking at you, another one where he was looking at you and you looked back at him smiling, another one where you guys were in the rink holding hands skating and you guys also took pictures in the photo booth they had there.

he posted them all on his Instagram in a thread and captioned it date night. little did everyone know that skating and dining in a restaurant wasn’t the only thing you guys did.

once you guys finished eating, he took you to his house where zeke was out of town and it would be just you and him.

he kissed you as soon as you got into the door and started to feel on your body. he took his flannel off, then his shirt. eren picked you up and brought you over to the sofa still kissing you.

“you taste like ranch.” eren commented, then went back to kissing you.

“then stop kissing me nigga.” you pushed him off and he laughed.

“I didn’t say that I didn’t like it.” he whispered into your ear. it gave you chills. (ms. kitty was most definitely purring.) you kicked your shoes off and unbuttoned your jeans still kissing eren losing your breath. he pulled the jeans off of you and cupped your heat.

“shit.” he sighed almost happily. he knew what he was doing to you and it made yours face heat up. lucky he couldn’t see that shit, thank melanin.

“‘ren stop teasing me please.” you begged and led his hand to your clit. before you knew it, his hand was already inside your underwear.

“you’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, palming your soaking folds before moving two fingers to play with your clit. His fingers, covered in your slick allowed him to move against the sensitive bud with delicate, circular strokes.

you were gripping his forearm with your nails digging into his skin as you tried to hold back your moans. it was hard. it was so hard. you found it hard to stop your moans because when he suddenly sunk two fingers inside without warning, you lost it.

your whimpers echoed through eren’s apartment while he slipped his fingers in and out of you. he only buried half, until he had his two whole fingers reaching your most sensitive spot. your eyes were half-lidded but he enjoyed the look on your face as he toyed with your tight cunt.

with every passing second you got closer and closer to your high. your toes were curling and your eyes were in the back of your head, you started shaking and before you knew it your juices were all over him. he looked a little surprised because you weren’t a squirter but he definitely made you one.

“since when did you start sq-“ he started but you cut him off with a groan.

“eren shut up.” the couch was soaked in your slick and god you were lucky that it’s leather or zeke and eren would literally kill you. he laughed a little and told you to get up and get over it. you didnt move so he picked you up and slung you over his shoulder and carried you to his room. that was not the last time you made a mess everywhere.

——————————————————————————

do not claim my work as your own, do not repost as your own, all reblogs are encouraged and greatly appreciated.

[thesoftrainbows]

You're one of the first people I've seen who write a HP rewrite with an Indian James Potter and specify where he's from in India. You said you headcanon him from Gujarat. I'm Gujarati and am interested in knowing why you headcanon him as so and if you have any specific headcanons

Hi Anon,

It’s such a shame that there’s not many people writing James Potter as Indian, I believe it opens the door to so many wholesome opportunities. However, I’m happy to be one of the few.

There’s no real reason why I headcanon him as Gujarati. I was sleep-deprived and already overwhelmed because I was studying like 5 different cultures, disabilities, and religions when I decided that I wanted James to be Indian. I think I just googled a map of Indian and blindly picked a place — which was Gujarat — and decided to do research on it to see if it fit my metal image of him. As I learned more and more about Gujarat, though, I fell in love and made it a permanent fact for my James.

I can’t, for the life of me, find the document on the Potter history I know I made. It’s been a while since I last touched it because I’ve been focusing a lot of disabilities as of late. But here are some headcanons I’ve developed, they might be vague or not specific to Gujarat. I’ll make another post once I find my doc.

JAMES POTTER HEADCANONS.

Fleamont Potter’s birth name was Pavalan Kashyap.

Euphemia Potter’s birth name was Thanya Gill.

They moved to England when Thanya was around six months pregnant due to a dangerous war happening all over India where hybrids (such as werewolves, harpies, fauns, centaurs, etc.) rebel against the Ministry as an attempt to get equal rights. Pavalan was afraid that the stress as well as the physical danger of the war would cause another miscarriage, so he contacted a former mentor (Giri Amin) to help him leave the country with his wife.

It was through Giri that they met Albus Dumbledore, who provided them with new identities (Fleamont and Euphemia Potter) as well as money and a home where they could live. They were now forever indebted to Dumbledore.

Their son was born, and they named him James Pavalan Potter — his official birth name — but they called him Jigishu (which was the name they had originally wanted to give him) at home because they wanted to raised their son to be in touch with his roots.

That didn’t go as planned, though. The racism against Indian people in England was strong. And poor James grew up surrounded by white kids who made fun of him for the way he smelled, his food, his skin color, etc. It grew to the point where James rejected his Indian side. It broke his parents’ hearts.

Throughout James’s school years at Hogwarts, James was always dealing with the constant need for approval. He needed to prove that he was equal to his white classmates.

It’s not until his 6th or 7th year that he finally accepts himself completely, and attempts to learn as much as he can about his culture and about his parents’ lives back home and such.

The rest of the Marauders & Co. were also thrilled to be included in the journey of learning about Gujarat, India.

When Lily and James marry, they have a big wedding, highly influenced by Gujarati traditions.

When Lily and James have their child, they name him Hari Pavalan Potter.

Hari, because it’s one of the names Vishnu used when he came to earth to restore the balance of the world. Pavalan, to keep his own father’s name in the family.

Those are the headcanons that come to mind at the moment. I apologize if it’s messy, it’s super late here and I’ve got a long day tomorrow. I’m gonna make a better post with my headcanons more organized and detailed.

Either way, thank you, Anon, for the message. If you’d like to help me out a bit, I’d really appreciate it!

[aquaticstyles]

unchained

A while ago I was asked for a “Have You Ever Been In Love” sequel, and while this is probably not the direction you guys were expecting, this is what I came up with. Also, this one’s (loosely) inspired by the song “Scott Street” by the lovely Phoebe Bridgers (highly recommend listening to the spotify sessions version while listening). Fun fact, for forever I misheard the lyrics, thinking she was saying “unchained” instead of “ashamed.” After noticing that I have, in fact, been wrong this entire time, I realized I kinda liked my version better (sorry Phoebe). And, me being me, I ran with it and it spun into this quick, 1.4k part two. Reblogs + feedback help so much! Enjoy!! xx, Jane 

“Have you ever been in love?”

Harry’s heart stops.

The question catches him off guard, and not just because he’s not used to interviewers asking such personal ones (he guesses this is what he signed up for when he agreed to be the first male flying solo on the cover of Vogue). It makes his heart stop because of his answer, because of the woman that had once asked him the same exact question.

Harry has never been one to linger in his sadness; he finds it unproductive, and quite honestly, completely depressing. After a break up, one can find the caramel-colored curls belonging to the world’s latest phenomenon sweating out his sorrow, or frustration, at the gym, pounding the boxing bag again and again and again. “Nothing another set can’t fix,” his trainer, Mike, would often tease the man in denial, knowing good and well by his posture upon entering the ring, slumped shoulders and an ever-present crease between his eyebrows, that another one had bit the dust the night prior. Mike had learned fairly quickly to never ask questions, to simply let Harry work out his emotions as he pleases, even if that means letting him walk out with wrapped fists masking throbbing, crimson knuckles.

Harry has never been one to talk about his sadness either; he finds it prolongs the pain rather than diminishing it, an annoying gnat swarming around an abnormally large bite from a crisp apple, halting his progression in enjoying his afternoon snack because he just can’t catch the bloody thing. His sister has tried to break him from his stubborn ways, even resulting to getting the lanky man drunk off tequila in hopes of him finally opening up about his incessant missed targets; however, that only ever ends up with Gemma’s arms holding up the giggling teddy bear and folding his bulky body into a taxi, mimicking cramming a cotton ball into a straw. Therapy was suggested and waved off with an inked palm, because if he doesn’t want to talk to his sister about it, how on earth is he supposed to talk to a stranger?

Never-ending claims of “I’m fine,” and “It just didn’t work out,” and “Don’t worry ‘bout me,” and “It wasn’t even that serious.” Sure, each breakup took a little something out of the man that insisted he was “fine,” but eventually, a couple dozen inked journal pages later, Harry would be back to his normal, happy-go-lucky, perfectly-kind self.

All of these rang true for most of Harry’s young adulthood.

All of these were common occurrences, that is, until Harry met you.

You were unlike anyone he had ever met. Selfless, but not in an over-bearing, walk-all-over-me kind of way. Funny, but not in an underlying-hatred, fake-laugh kind of way. Genuine, but not in a look-at-me, fake kind of way. Honest, in a I-want-to-know-everything-that-makes-you-you, ask-you-questions-until-the-sun-rises kind of way. Drop-dead-gorgeous in the most unbelievable, glowing, ethereal, kind of way that he constantly reminded you of. You were the perfect balance, the missing diamond to even out the coal on the other end of the scale.

Loving you felt like the ocean.

In the morning when there’s a hazy screen covering your lenses, clouding the soft sunlight in a muted, white-washed filter. It’s more gray, yet still golden as the shining mass of fire lazily rises from its slumber. It’s calm, clouds stretched apart like cobwebs in the faded blue sky above, waves leisurely, almost too relaxed, crashing along the bleached shore then disappearing back into the horizon. Still sleepy, still new, an entire day ahead of you.

In the afternoon when the sun is at its highest and hottest, radiating down ultraviolet rays that burn your skin, causing alarmingly red shoulders in need of aloe that soon progressively heal and turn into a bronzed exterior. Speckles of light dancing upon excited waves, similar to a neighborhood of children dressed in pink polka dots and orange overalls running towards the ice cream truck filled to the brim with dreams of sugary stomachaches. It’s saturated, every color its brightest and loudest, pops of cerulean and coral. It’s a blanket of comfort, a suffocating scarf. It’s sweet. It’s sour. A cool glass of lemonade sinking into a bed of quicksand. Annoying and astonishing.

In the night, when the yellowing presence is long gone in the awakening of the moon, the deepest indigo swirling in between pockets of stars dotted and flecked into the atmosphere like freckles. It’s black and blue. You don’t know where the earth stopss and the water begins, familiarity lost as the waves erase each new footprint in the sand. The tide is an abuser, sweet as it sings you in, terrifying as it pulls you under. Skinny dipping, vulnerable, exciting, adrenaline, heart thumping, diving, sinking, drowning.

The morning, the afternoon, the night. The happening, the honeymoon, the heartbreak.

Ever since it ended, everything Harry had ever known was cast aside, thrown out like a Gucci jumper from last season. For the first time in his twenty-six years of living, fourteen of those juggling the obstacles that relationships can and will bring, Harry was irreversibly numb, a pair of frozen, gloveless fingertips blue from the icy wind. Not only did he linger in the gut-wrenching grief, he was absorbed by it. Instead of waking up each morning tucked into the bare side of your body diffusing innocent warmth, sipping a steaming cup of black coffee received by hands much smaller than his own, he woke up with a stranger laying on his chest, cold, with a pounding headache the bottle of whiskey had gladly supplied from the night before. The days felt as if they lasted an eternity, time stuck in slow-motion, tick, tick, ticking, one second, one and a half, one and three quarters, two. He watched the seasons pass, the grass dying and regenerating into its natural emerald shade from his bedroom, dust pocketing in the corners of a picture frame containing two pairs of sparkling eyes and genuine, toothy grins sitting on the windowsill. Nights consisted of him lying sleepless on his back, eyes wide awake, thumbs twiddling as the echoes of helicopters overhead drone in and out. Dozens of missed calls remained unanswered: Mum, Gem, Mitch, Mike, Adam, Sarah, Mum, Mum, Gem, Mum, Mike, Mitch, Gem, Mitch, Mum…

He was stuck, a pancake glued to an ungreased pan, charred. It was when this melancholy had prolonged for nearly its sixth month, and all at home remedies (which included drinking, writing, drinking because he was writing, and writing because he was drinking) failed to provide any peace that he decided to give in to the recommendations from almost every single one of his friends: therapy. After the first session, he was ready to book it and sprint off to a deserted island with nothing but a coconut filled with rum to accompany his solitude. Turns out that one session was the mento to his coca cola of bottled-up emotions, exploding months’ worth of buried feelings and memories in an hour. It took the will of God (and Gemma purposefully lying and telling him they were going to get lunch) to get Harry back in the baby-pink-painted interior of his therapist’s office. After months of talking, sorting, compartmentalizing, yelling, crying, healing, unpacking, and reflecting, Harry tackled down the closure he had been chasing. A year and an album later, when he heard your name, he no longer felt trapped, heart beating rapidly, trying desperately to break apart his ribcage, he felt unchained—a prisoner uncaged, pounds and pounds of metal unlocked from his wrists, free.

Before, your name was paired with a colorless photo album, snapshots of vibrancy draining into black and white, frozen, lifeless, still.

Now, your name resembled a film reel of the best moments, your sweater hanging in his closet, your arm thrown around his mother’s shoulder in a polaroid candid, your laugh echoing in the acoustics of his shower after you nearly slipped on the lavender bubbles coating sudsy toes, your hands massaging his scalp, twisting curls into detailed plaits, your foamy lips smushing against a stubbled cheek, leaving remnants of peppermint mocha in the winter air, your satin skirt contrasting from his purple flares in his backyard, playing thumb war and whispering confessions in the moonlight. The good memories built a brick wall to block out the bad, dimming the light of your downfall.

“Have you ever been in love?” The question echoes again in Harry’s ears, causing a grin and a dimple to pop into his cheek. The fuzzies. Once, twice, three times. Click, shake, tape.

“Yeah, I have.”

[absinthemind3d]

Bend and Snap

Written for @jurdannetrevels​ Jurdan Smut Week Day 3: Orgasm Delay/Begging/Overstimulation. My first fic in at least six years. Also posted on AO3 here. Snippet: I had been watching him at these events too, saw him trying not to look at me too frequently so his silk pants wouldn’t betray his thoughts. I had been watching, and I had been planning. Tonight, I intended to make the High King of Elfhame beg. 

Content Warning: E for there is some e x p l i c i t stuff

Word count: 3583

🗡--I’ll show you how a real queen behaves--🗡

“Jude.” Cardan snaps my name like a command—and a caress. Despite my feigned boredom, a shiver runs through me. 

“Cardan.” I answer back, arching an eyebrow as I toy with the knots of wood in my twisting, high-backed chair. 

“My darling queen,” he leans toward me, looking for all the world like a doting husband, “You’re being rude.” 

“And you—” I draw closer to him, hand flying instinctively to the dagger on my thigh. Are being a tease. I hated sitting through the hours of feasting, restrained to sitting by my husband’s side when all I really wanted was to fuck him for hours instead. Leaning back in my chair, I let loose a repressed sigh, smiling for the crowd around us and muttering instead, “—Know how good you look tonight, don’t you?” 

I hated it, this wanting—it came at the most damnedly inconvenient of times. Worse still was that I had to wait to satisfy my desires—not that I would ask. Even though I knew he loved waiting for me to beg. My hands shake imperceptibly, I hope, as I bring one to his cheek and the other to my own lips. They still feel bruised from his ministrations the night prior; what I wouldn’t give to be back in that moment… 

“Sweet Jude,” Cardan chuckles; noting the hand on his cheek had moved from where my knife was hidden, he gives me an infinitesimal eyebrow raise before continuing, turning his head so his lips brush my palm, “When don’t I look like a feast in my own right?” Leaning closer again, forcing myself to press my skull against the back of my chair, he whispers, “You know very well how this night will go if you refuse to play along.” He smirks, and I redden despite myself. I knew he watched me at events such as this, like a snake waiting to strike, waiting for any sign of weakness, that I might give in. That I might ask. 

He hadn’t bothered to factor in that I might not need to ask. 

I had been watching him at these events too, saw him trying not to look at me too frequently so his silk pants wouldn’t betray his thoughts. I had been watching, and I had been planning. Tonight, I intended to make the High King of Elfhame beg.

Fairies were, as a rule, less conservative than mortals. I had seen Cardan lose himself in such revels, drunk, lips and skin glittering with sweat and the nectar of various imbibements. Yet, as High King, he has been showing restraint. He touched me as we danced, of course, and there was the odd leg squeeze under the table, but he’d never let go with me the way he had before. Perhaps it was because he was High King now. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to share me. Or—and this was an idea I was very curious to entertain—perhaps he didn’t want anyone to see how absolutely wild I could drive him. I was getting braver, sexually, to put it bluntly, and tonight—Oh, I would have fun tonight. 

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he begins to draw back, threading his hand through mine as it drops from his cheek. I pull him back with that hand, perhaps with more force than necessary. “And you,” I whisper in response, “Have no idea how this night is going to go, whether I play along or not.” 

He raises his eyebrows obviously now and shock flits, briefly, across his face. He knows I am brazen, but this is new. Unexpected. Good. I don’t want him thinking he knows everything I am capable of.

“High King,” I place each of my hands on either arm of my chair and cross my legs casually, refusing to let him know I am already burning, “Let us enjoy the night’s festivities.” He leans back when I do, and as he crosses his ankle over one knee I can imagine we make a formidable looking pair, observing those who have already given over to the drinking and dancing portion of the evening. I can spot Nicasia with her admirers, and it seems a long time ago that she saw me as a threat. I am far away from those petty power struggles; I have something much grander in mind right now, anyway.

I can feel Cardan giving me a sidelong glance, but I do not move my gaze from those dancing. I will not give him the satisfaction of learning what I have planned before I choose to reveal it. Once again, I slip a mask of boredom onto my face and reach forward to take my goblet into my left hand. As I do so, I slide my right over Cardan’s thigh. This is nothing new for us, though it is usually he who instigates such affections beneath the feast table; they are also usually quick, passing, perhaps enough to arouse for a moment. He remains very still beneath my hand, and I resist the urge to laugh. Less than thirty seconds after my initial graze across his thigh, I lean back with the goblet in my hand and allow gravity to pull my hand squarely into his lap. I am silently grateful our chairs are close enough for me to accomplish this, my first task of the evening. 

A sharp intake of breath from beside me. I arrange my skirts, kicking at them with my crossed leg until most of their bulk is on my right side, shielding half of my arm from view so to any passersby it might appear my hand is resting anywhere innocently on my husband’s leg. Again, fairies need not have such actions concealed, but I am not a fairy, and the clandestine element is crucial to my plan. The mix of public and so, so private thrills me in a way I haven’t yet fully allowed myself to contemplate. “Is this not,” I trill, a bit unnaturally, glancing at the High King, “The most delightful of our recent celebrations?” As I speak, I apply the barest amount of pressure, running my thumb up his length. His cock, already hardening under my touch, reacts instantly. Soon, I have him halfway to where I want him, but I am still expecting an answer. My hand stills, waiting, and his bent knee smacks the underside of the table, rattling his own goblet and spilling some of the wine in it. 

Recovering quickly, he snatches up his goblet and runs his finger idly around the rim, then looks directly at me and licks his finger in such a way that has my core threatening to betray me. I clench my thighs together harder. “It is the most… surprising one as of late, my dearest weapon.”

“Well I grow tired of only observing,” I sigh, probably too dramatically, as I resume my strokes. Then I smile brightly and stand, moving my hand to linger on his arm just as he becomes fully erect. “Shall we partake of the dancing?” 

He looks at me as though I’ve struck him, then manages to splutter “Jude” before raising his glass to his lips. I gaze down at his lap and smirk at how little the thin fabric there hides. I chuckle, perhaps a little darkly, but I am deeply enjoying this new thrum of power humming in my veins. I drink deeply and set my glass down, never taking my eyes from his even as I lean forward and place the goblet. My loose hair brushes against his hand, then his arm, and as my body moves I sink my lips to his ear and whisper, “Or is there anything else you require, my king?” The knuckles of his free hand turn stark white as he grips his chair, though his face has recovered and betrays nothing.

I glance around nonchalantly, as if curious. No one is paying us particular attention; everyone knows the king and queen will soon make their way from the dais and join the throng. At this stage in the night, we meld with our subjects—Cardan maintaining more control than he did as prince, but still playing the part of spontaneous host to a tee. Tonight, I am more grateful than most that his demeanour as ruler allows folk to relax at such events. This next phase requires that fine balance. I smile at Cardan once again, and allow the thrill of my previous action to course through my body, still fresh. I turn as if to walk away from my chair, my hand once again moving to the dagger on my thigh. With my back to him, through my dress I flick open the final buckle holding the weapon in place and it clangs to my feet. I kick it behind me, under the table, and turn on my heel. 

“Oh!” I exclaim, simultaneously aware I am a poor actress yet not caring a whit. For a moment I am reminded of the mortal movie Vivi made us watch recently, something about a lawyer. “That’s my favourite dagger,” I mutter as I move swiftly to duck under the table. Cardan’s face is agape and he hasn’t moved a muscle. Good.

Now on my knees, I pick up the knife and sheath it—it is my favourite, and I will not lose it—before turning my attention to the task at hand. Slowly, I take Cardan’s leg, the one crossed over the other, and gently lower his boot to the floor. Idly I wonder if he has any idea what I am about to do. I chance a look up his body, taking a moment to appreciate the view before reaching his face. He’s staring right at me, and when we lock eyes his breath hitches. Realization dawns on his face as I make short work of unlacing his pants, eyes locked with his the entire time. A slow smile makes its way across his lips and he looks away from me, lifting his chin and suddenly finding what is left of the fare on the table extremely interesting. A dare, then. I knew he would take this as a challenge—to maintain control as I pleasure him. I laugh softly despite myself.

Taking his length in my hands, I raise it to my lips and barely kiss it, running my tongue over his head with deliberate slowness. His left ankle jerks beside me and I hear a soft clatter from above, as though he has idly discarded a piece of cutlery on the table. Oh, he was going to put on a good show. I lower one hand to the base of his erection, savouring both the warmth and the size of it. When I take all of him into my mouth, I can feel a similar thrum of pleasure winding through his veins that matches my own. My free hand makes its way to his hip, pressing him back into his chair as I begin a rhythm. I’m savouring this feeling of complete control; his hips are threatening to buck upward off the chair, begging me to increase the pace. But I will not. Instead, I slow as his hands fly to my hair, another desperate attempt to get what he wants. Just as I’ve restrained his hip, he has my head locked squarely in his lap, but that doesn’t mean I am forced to provide complete satisfaction.

Slowly, painfully slowly, I move my mouth up and down his cock and move both of my hands to the base of it, devoting all that is in my power to driving him wild. I let his hips thrust upward and match the increased pace, relishing the way I can feel his body react to my actions. 

Deliciously, I feel pleasure pulse up his length, and I know he’s close. Much as I am enjoying this display of my newfound talents, I’m not done with him yet. I slow my hands and mouth and sit back on my heels; the silver and quartz threaded through the train of my dress now dig into my ass. If any break, it will be a small price to pay. As soon as I sit back, I hear a sharp intake of breath from above, and his hands fall from my head, pulling strands of my hair through his fingers as he moves them to his knees. His knuckles are still standing out, pale as bone. Then, “Jude,” he announces loudly, bending sideways to stare right at me under the table, “Did you find your dagger, my sweet villain?” His voice is like honey, and his finger swirls gently over a strand of my hair that still floats over his knee, but his eyes—were I someone else, in another lifetime, I would have shrank back from that stare. 

But I am High Queen of Elfhame, and I have not finished my quest. Resting one hand idly on my thigh, I stare right back at his black eyes as I reply, “My mortal eyes made the task difficult, but it is right here, my king.” 

“I’m surprised you found it at all,” he mutters, voice dripping venom now, “Since you seem so terrible at finishing what you start.” 

“If you knew me at all, darling Cardan,” I shoot back, voice equally poisonous as I attempt to gracefully rise, dusting off my knees conspicuously, “You would know that once I am committed to a task, I see it through.” 

His face is a delightful mixture of pain, desire, and shock, and I can tell he is trying very, very hard not to take me in his lap and fuck me here. If he wants me, he will have to be on his best behaviour now. I take my seat beside him, thrill and arousal still coursing through me. Weaving my hand through his own, I raise it to my lips and smile over our clasped fingers, being sure he has noted my thoroughly smeared lipstick before I swipe it off my chin with a napkin. “What,” he grinds out, stabbing an errant piece of fruit with his fork, “the fuck,” he spits, running a hand through his hair, knocking his crown further askew, “was that?”

“That,” I spear a grape with my knife and bring it to my lips, running my tongue over my teeth before I take it into my mouth, “was only the appetizer.”

I can feel his knees pressing together and his feet pushing into the floor in his attempts to not carry through with his desires, yet I school my features to appear unmoved. I suddenly become very interested in the candles lining the table, watching the wax drip down their columns… 

I swallow hard; perhaps candles weren’t the most benign of objects to coolly observe. I glance sideways at my husband, and see he is trying hard to stay in his chair. I’m good at action. I’m not so skilled at this: the slow dance between pleasure and release. And, I find as I stand and begin to walk away from the table, sure he will follow, I want to finish him off. My feet threaten to once again turn and take my back under the table, but the finale to this evening relies on Cardan being as riled as possible.

I make sure to swing my hips so that the crystals throughout the fabric in my dress glitter to the movement, drawing attention to my curves. I glance around as I walk: some folk incline their heads toward me as I pass, but most are too lost to their own pleasures to acknowledge even their queen, as I’d expected. As I’d hoped. I cross the dance floor deliberately slowly, refusing to turn and look back at Cardan, though I can feel his eyes boring holes in my exposed back. I arrive at my target: a dark alcove with a single green velvet chair. It is too dark for my human eyes to know it is green, of course; I had it placed there earlier today. Another deep ripple of pleasure runs up my spine, and I lick my bottom lip, envisioning, as I had hours before, my plans for that chair.

I turn as slowly as I dare, stepping back so I am against the wall, which curves inward toward the chair. I have chosen this alcove as it offers the most privacy in the entire room, even away from immortal eyes, yet it amplifies the volume of the crowd. My delicious mix of public and private.

As I suspected, his eyes are piercing through the crowd right to me. He maintains that laser focus as he walks, also slowly, towards me. I am still against the wall when he reaches me; I glance down as he approaches, making sure he knows I am looking him over. His arousal is still evident, at least to me, and he moves to kiss me but I step quickly to the side, gesturing instead at the chair. He looks murderous, but acquiesces and sits in a flurry of black fabric. His tail catches my wrist and begins to snake its way up my arm. I move closer, knowing that is what he wants, and hitch my skirts. 

As I do so, his breath hitches, and I smile fiendishly before turning my back on him. His tail drops from my arm and I move, heart hammering in my chest. Holding my skirts in one hand, I sit back onto his legs and wind my other hand up his thigh. Slowly, I find one end of the tie keeping me from his cock—which I note he has hastily strung together after my last attentions—and tug; soon, his hand is on my hip and he is eagerly helping me as I move to ride him. I gasp as he enters me; from this position, I can feel everything—including his breath, hot on my neck as he pulls my hair away from us, keeping some of it bunched in his fingers. “Jude,” he pants against my back as he runs kisses down my spine, and I move experimentally, pleased when he gasps in reply, “Jude, you have orchestrated my undoing.” I smile smugly at that and gaze at him over my shoulder, rocking a bit, splaying a hand on his knee as I do so.

Through it all, the music plays, the folk dance, and the divine mixture of pleasure and power now pulse at their highest in my veins. There is something in me that loves chaos, that thrives on the inexplicable high I am experiencing from this most private of pleasures and this most public of venues. I feel as though I have never felt power such as this, never had such control during such sensation.

Yet still, I do not move as much as I could. I am still waiting. 

“And how,” I purr, still watching him over my shoulder, “would you like to be undone, Cardan?” 

At his name, I rock faster, and the hand on my hip threatens to rip my gown. I know I am driving him crazy, but I need him to show me just how crazy he can be. I arch my back and begin moving my hips in circles, mimicking my earlier work with my tongue. I know I have him in a position where he can’t control the pace, and I know, after what I have put him through, that this will madden him. I am waiting until he cannot take it any longer, but as I move, I get caught up in my own pleasure.

The heat spreading through my core and down my legs is threatening to be my undoing, and I begin to increase my pace as I find myself teetering on the edge of release. I am lost in what I can feel: Cardan’s hand in my hair, Cardan’s hand on my hip, Cardan’s lips against my neck, Cardan’s length sweetly, deliciously filling me so much so that I can’t think or feel anything that is not this moment.

I am so lost in this that the moment I was waiting for, the moment Cardan begs—”Jude, please, Jude, fuck, Jude”—falls away like all the rest and becomes a background chorus to the main verse as we both gasp our release, as the torrent of pleasure spills over for us both and we both whisper each other’s names as we come.

My eyes slowly flutter open and I lean back into my husband, sounds of the revel around us returning to my ears. No one has noticed their monarchs in this corner, slipping out of reality and into each other, at least as far as I can tell. “Learning new tricks, have we been?” Cardan whispers into my ear, nipping the lobe for emphasis. 

“All the time,” I toss my hair over one shoulder and press my lips to his cheek. 

“You can lose your knife under the table anytime,” he murmurs, voice gravelly. Gently, he lifts me enough so he can string his pants back together. I settle myself onto the edge of his lap. “And Jude,” he catches my wrist with his hand this time as I move to stand, his eyes glittering with conspiratorial delight, “Let’s make this chair a permanent fixture here, shall we?”

[eryiss]

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Teen

Prompt: Two Bros Chilling in A Hot Tub/Lightning Struck

Summary: Freed knew he had a lot to learn about being a professional wizard, and when he was paired up with Laxus for a mission he expected to learn a lot. He didn't expect to spend a day with him in a hot tub, and he certainly didn't expect to get an entirely unrelated education about life and about love.

Notes: Hi everyone. Fraxus Week is at an end, and I really enjoyed writing everything this year. The AU's were a lot of fun and canon writing it always enjoyable, I hope you liked what I've written, and make sure to look at @fuckyeahfraxus to see everyone else has made.

Links: Chapter One ||| Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

Chapter Two

Laxus was many things, but patient wasn't one of them. Honestly, it was miraculous he'd lasted a week before it had come to this.

He stormed into the apartment building that Freed lived in, walked to the address Makarov had given him, and slammed his hand against it three times; loudly. He was bouncing from foot to foot slightly, hearing the shifting of movements from behind the door as Freed walked towards it. He was taking his time, and Laxus felt the urge to slam his hand on the door again a few times to make him hurry the hell up.

For a week, Laxus had wanted to do this. He'd stopped himself for seven long, long days, but it was getting too much. Laxus couldn't go to sleep another night knowing that Freed was living twenty minutes away. That if the rune mage stopped with this shit, they could be repeating that kiss.

That fucking kiss!

He'd never been kissed like that. He doubted that anyone had been kissed like that. It had been so… so… The words couldn't come to Lauxs. It was all encompassing. Overwhelming. It was like standing in the centre of a thunder storm, letting the lightning burn across his skin and explode in his throat as he consumed it. Freed had been against him, attached to him, but battling him in a way Laxus couldn't understand.

Realistically, he knew it was for the mission, but he couldn't help but think there was more to the kiss. He'd caught a few of Freed's glances at his body – how Freed hadn't noticed Laxus doing the same thing was miraculous – and the reactions throughout the day seemed to suggest Freed had been just as affected as Laxus had.

But then the rune mage had just shut off. Any semblance of relaxation was gone the moment they pulled apart, and all Freed seemed capable of thinking of and speaking about was their mission. He spent the next hour avoiding Laxus, stating that they'd spent enough time together for plausibility and that it would be better to spread out. Laxus had agreed because he wasn't going to push things if Freed wanted to focus on his work then he could understand it, but for the rest of the afternoon he'd found his gaze drifting to him whenever his mind wandered. The press of the man's lips against his was like a haunting: inescapable and unforgettable. Laxus had wanted to storm over to the man, kiss him properly and say 'to hell' with the mission.

He'd never felt like this before. It was exhilarating.

But when the mission had ended, and Freed fell back on his habit of taking missions and spending no time in the guildhall, Laxus realised that Freed was avoiding him. Laxus was damn insulted by that.

Freed was into him, Laxus knew that, and he hoped that the passion with which he'd kissed Freed and the many times he'd lost focus because he was checking Freed out was enough for Freed to know the attraction was reciprocated. Freed didn't, for a second, seem to be a coward. Not about fighting and not about his own feelings, so why the hell was he avoiding Laxus? It took Laxus a full week of thinking over the situation for him to realise what was actually happening.

Laxus was an old hand at wizardry, and knew how to have a life outside of work. Freed didn't. Hell: when Laxus had reported the mission's success to Makarov, he'd asked the old man why he'd chosen Freed to spy on him, and he'd been told Freed needed to balance his work and life better, and Laxus was meant to help him.

So, as he stood at Freed's door, Laxus was going to do that.

The door opened, and Freed was revealed. He was wearing nothing but his white shirt, unbuttoned and sightly ruffled, and the trousers he'd worn during work. For a moment, Laxus allowed himself to relish in the sight off the man in a rumpled and domestic state, with his hair tied up high and his eyes still sleep worn because of the early morning. He shook his focus and met Freed's eyes.

"Laxus," Freed said with a frown. "What are you doing here?"

"Bored of this whole avoiding me shit," Laxus grunted, placing a hand on the wall to lean against it. "Pack a bag, we're going on a mission for the weekend."

"Excuse me?" Freed said, almost laughing. Laxus understood that – coming to the man's house unannounced and demanding his presence for a weekend was pretty arrogant – but he wasn't going to let that be an excuse. "What makes you think I'll do that simply because you tell me?"

"Because I haven't finished the paper work from that spa mission, and since I was meant to teach ya how to be a mage during the mission and it's not over, I have authority over you," Laxus grinned, knowing that Freed was not going to take that level of bullshit. He smirked when Freed went to argue back, and cut in before he could. "Besides, if you don't come with me, I won't be going on any missions with you, and all that S-Class money goes away. Wouldn't want that, huh?"

It was a dick move, but a means to an end. Freed glared at him, and that was all the agreement Laxus needed.

"Train station at nine AM," He informed Freed, turning, and walking down the hall. He spoke without looking back. "See ya there."

---

The train juddered to a stop, and Laxus felt his stomach settle almost instantly. He closes his eyes, swallowed down the small rising of bile that crept up his throat, and ignored the amused expression that Freed was looking at him with.

"Feeling a little sick, Laxus?" He taunted gently, and Laxus faux glared.

"Peachy," He grumbled.

Any lingering annoyance from earlier in the morning had gone when Freed had reached the train station. Laxus had brought him a coffee, bagel, and pastry as a peace offering. He'd been forceful about getting Freed to leave with him - he felt like it was necessary to kick Freed into action - but he couldn't have Freed pissed at him. If Laxus was right, and played his cards well, he might end up with Freed before the weekend was over. He wanted to do it properly.

"You look it," Freed taunted, taking his bag from the overhead rack and handing Laxus his rucksack. "May I know what the mission is now?"

"Not yet," Laxus dismissed the request.

They climbed off the train, and Laxus was thankful to be on solid ground again. The town they'd arrived in was a small one, tucked away high in the mountains; something that had not helped Laxus' motion sickness. He'd looked the town up on one of the guild's many maps before leaving, so knew exactly where to go and started following the roads without hesitation. Freed kept in step with him, clearly waiting for Laxus to offer some explanation.

He wouldn't get it. Laxus had spoken with Makarov about Freed once the mission had finished. The main thing he'd learned was that Freed needed to sort his shit out, because he was damn near hitting his limit. He also seemed like the kind of guy to refuse help, so Laxus was going to make sure he couldn't.

Once they got to the hotel, Laxus would confess. Until then, they were on a 'mission'.

"Could you at least tell me the type of mission?" Freed pushed the matter because the smartass needed to know everything. It was kinda funny seeing him getting pissy about it. "Eradication, interrogation, reconnaissance or escort?"

"You actually use those terms?" Laxus quirked an eyebrow as he chuckled, and subsequently walked into a wall of runes. He stumbled back, and rubbed his nose as he mumbled "You quick castes that? Damn."

"Why are we here Laxus," Freed insisted

"Who trained you how to cast, because that was impressive," Laxus ignored the question, walking forward when the wall dissipated. "You're gonna be a damn powerhouse in a few years."

"Answer the-" Freed cut himself off. "What do you mean 'going to be'?"

"You think you're powerful now?" Laxus taunted.

"I know that I am," Freed narrowed his eyes for a moment, before laughing at himself. "You're rather good at distracting people, aren't you? Perhaps you're smarter than I thought you'd be."

"You thought I'd be dumb?" Laxus asked.

"Yes," Freed said unflinchingly, and Laxus barked out a laugh.

"You should spend more time with the rest of the people in the guild," He smiled. "You're as much an asshole as the rest of 'em."

"How flattering," Freed said, voice droll. "You still haven't answered my question though. Why are we here?"

Laxus could see the hotel, and decided that it would be best to not push his luck with Freed. He thought about how he'd say it, and decided that he might as well jump into it rather than pissing around and avoiding the issue. Hell, if he couldn't be honest he'd be a damn hypocrite.

"I lied about the mission," He admitted, and Freed frowned. "We're here for a weekend break."

"A what?" Freed asked as if the concept was foreign to him. Given how much he worked, it might be.

"A weekend break. The place we did the mission for has a branch out here, and as a thank you for our work they gave up some coupons that we can use here," Laxus explained, reaching into his coat pocket, and pulling out the two tickets, handing one to Freed. "You clearly need a break from the work before you get sloppy on a mission and it ends up getting you hurt, and I'm not gonna turn down a free weekend in a luxury resort."

"And why didn't you tell me this from the beginning?" Freed demanded, clearly irritated.

"Because you wouldn't have come if you didn't think you'd make any money from it," Laxus shrugged as they walked into the lobby of the reception. "Like I said this morning, until the paper work's done, I'm meant to be teachin' you how to be a mage. Biggest obstacle for that right now is you not treating yourself right. Until you do it on your own, I'm gonna force you to do it."

They were at the front desk, and Laxus was speaking with the receptionist, before Freed could get a word in. Laxus made sure to confirm that both rooms would be required, and the receptionist assured him that their cleaning staff would have them prepared as quickly as they could, telling them both that they had access to all the amenities and facilities the resort had to offer in the meantime. Laxus thanked him, signed the book to confirm his booking, and stepped back to look at Freed. Again, he spoke before Freed had the chance.

"You don't need to live mission to mission anymore," His voice was softer now. "If you don't give yourself a break, you burn out. I'm sorry I lied, I'll make it up to you somehow, but enjoy this place while you're here. You put in a lot of effort since you joined the guild, treat this as your reward."

Freed looked like he wanted to argue, but halted. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair and nodded. "I would enjoy a break."

"I know," Laxus said bluntly, placing a hand on Freed's shoulder. "And when you're ready, we're gonna talk about what happened on the mission. Because I don't wanna forget it ever happened, or push past it, or do whatever it is you thought could happen when you were ignoring me."

"I wasn't-" Freed began, but Laxus stopped him.

"We'll talk later," He said softly, before grinning. "I'm gonna take a swim. You can come with me if you wanna ogle me again, but I think a massage would do you good. You look really tired, basically dead to the world."

Laxus was walking away with a grin before Freed could respond to the teasing, and when he came face to face with another runic wall, he simply laughed. His stomach did a little flip when he heard Freed laughing too.

---

"I'm ready to talk now," Freed said, and Laxus nodded.

It was the evening now, and the two men had spent the day in different parts of the resort. Sometimes apart, sometimes together, Laxus had underwent almost all of the treatments available, as well as spending a good few hours in the pool, sauna, and hot springs. He'd retreated to his room when the relaxation had brought on a bout of tiredness, and had been napping until Freed's knocking on the door woke him. He'd adorned a robe and answered it, feeling weirdly excited when he'd seen it was Freed.

He looked good. Obviously, he had made use of the facilities, as he looked well rested, without the stress marks that bordered his eyes, and was holding himself looser. His hair was damp and tied up high, perhaps from a recent shower, and Laxus again revelled in the sight of a domestic version of Freed Justine.

"Take a seat," Laxus said, motioning to the chair as he sat on the foot of the bed.

"Thank you," Freed said, voice relaxed and without fear. Good. "When you said we needed to talk, I assume you meant about the kiss."

"I did," Laxus agreed. "But before you start, I wanna say something. Give you a piece of advice about being a mage that it takes a lot of time for most people to get," Freed thought for a moment, but made a gesture for Laxus to continue. "When you become a mage, you give up your safety, your stability, and your time. Sometimes you don't know when you'll next be paid, and sometimes you don't know if you'll make it out of a mission alive. When you get into wizardry you have to change how you live, act fast and do what your gut's telling you. Your instincts aren't just important in the mission, they're important in your personal life too. Sometimes you just have to follow them."

"And this relates to the kiss how?"

"If you don't want to be with me, then go with that. Don't worry about offending me, or pissing me off, or me stopping the missions together, or anything. If that kiss was just for the missions, and I've misread things, then don't fuck around being polite. Rip the band aid off and tell me straight."

"And if you didn't misread things?"

Laxus grinned, leaning back slightly. "Then follow your instincts."

Freed did just that, by standing up, tipping Laxus chin upwards, and bringing him into another earth shatteringly perfect kiss. And this time, there was no doubt. The kiss was for him, and there would be many others.

---

Ten Years Later

Laxus groaned as he submerged himself into the bubbling warm water. It was late at night in the early spring, and the hot tub he submerged his body into was in beautifully warm contrast with the cold evening air around him. The feeling of half-healed injuries and tense muscles seemed to weep for the hot water, and he closed his eyes in relaxation.

He needed this. He'd needed it for weeks, and now it was finally happening.

Obviously, taking over as guild-master would lead to an adjustment in his life, and teething troubles had occurred. There were more responsibilities than he had expected, everything from paperwork to ensure the building was fixed every time one of the brats damaged it, to arguing with the local councilmembers about how the good that Fairy Tail did greatly outweighed the bad. Honestly, trying to explain that an idiotic fire mage had literally saved their lives multiple times and therefore had earned the right to blow up the occasional fountain or set fire to a random ornamental tree was not a fun task to take.

Admittedly, he didn't make life easier for himself. He insisted on taking at least one mission a week, something that almost everyone in the guild deemed to be idiotic. But he was only thirties, he was an incredibly strong mage, and couldn't simply just hang up his profession because he was in charge of the guild.

"You're back then?" Freed asked amusedly from the patio.

"Yeah," Laxus nodded, opening his eyes, and smiling at his husband. "Wanna join me?"

"Sure," Freed nodded, and made work on removing his clothes.

The hot tub was something they'd brought three years prior, two years after they'd brought their marital home. After the odd inclusion of spas at the start of their relationships, they'd become reliant on their facilities after a hard mission to relax and untense their bodies. When they'd moved, the distance from their house to the nearest spa had been too long, so they'd invested in a hot tub of their own and learned how to massage one another. The latter advancement in the relationship had been a fun, fun few weeks for them both.

Laxus grinned a little as he saw Freed remove his underwear, and he raised an eyebrow at the man. Freed noticed, laughed a little and playfully kicked the man's thigh as he climbed into the tub, sitting beside him. Laxus raised his arm slightly to wrap it around his shoulders, pulling him close.

"The mission went well, I assume?" Freed asked, idly playing with the surface of the water.

Laxus halted, before looking down at Freed and speaking slowly. "Was fine, no problems."

"No problems at all?" Freed probed.

"Not one."

"You are aware that you are my husband and Bickslow is one of my best friends," Freed continued playing with the water, voice equally annoyed and amused. It was a tone only Freed could manage. "And if my husband collapses in the middle of a fight due to exhaustion, my best friend is going to tell me."

"Fucking traitor," He muttered, before sighing and looking to Freed. "I'm fine. I'm back here, so no problem."

"Laxus, you passed out because you're overworking yourself," Freed chastised, placing a hand on Laxus' thigh and stroking it softly. "You can't keep doing this to yourself."

Laxus knew he couldn't, of course, but it wasn't that easy. "I know," He admitted, sighing. "But I just can't give up working as a mage, not yet. I always thought it'd be what I do, y'know. I thought I'd always be the guy who goes to a town, fixed their problems, burns through my magic, and that's all. And I knew that eventually it was gonna end, but, well, I've been a mage for twelve years. It went by too fucking quickly and it feels…" He thought for a moment. "Being a mage is all I have, and I don't wanna let myself slip if I ever need to fall back on it."

"I do understand that, Laxus," Freed sighed. "But as you are now, you're losing you're edge not because you've dropped the sword, but you've used it so much that it's starting to shatter."

"I get that," Laxus whispered, nodding. Freed hand clasped on his thigh and patted him. "I'll stop going on 'em, it's time. I know that."

"You don't need to stop altogether, I've no doubt your grandfather didn't when he was young," Freed smiled, resting his head on Laxus' shoulder. "Perhaps you take it down to one mission a month, maybe not always go on S-Class missions. Only allow yourself to take what you can handle with your new responsibilities, not what you were able to do ten years ago."

"You're right," Laxus nodded, pulling Freed closer and kissing him on the top of his head. "When d'you get so smart about this shit?"

"I had a good teacher," Freed chuckled.

It was almost ironic. Almost exactly ten years to the day, here they both were again. Sat together in a hot tub, side by side, one of them struggling with the responsibilities of their new life while the other tried to advise them on how to deal with it. Laxus could almost laugh at the cyclical nature of it, but was distracted when Freed's roaming hand slid up his stomach and his husband moved closer to him.

"You know," Freed began, voice a little naughty now. "If you ever need to burn off some energy, I could teach you a few techniques that have proven useful in the past."

"Oh really?" Laxus quirked a brow, hand roaming down Freed's back, stroking his spine.

"Indeed," Freed nodded. "I'm sure you'll become quite the addict though."

"I can risk that," Laxus smirked.

And when Freed shifted so he was straddling Laxus, the blonde grinned. He leant up and pulled Freed into a passionate, explosive, lightning-filled kiss. A kiss he would indulge in anytime, anyplace.

[cellsshapedlikestars]

jonsa prompt: adventures in dorne ☀️

hi anon! Thanks for the prompt! ❤️❤️

(once again this turned out longer than the ‘drabble’ it’s supposed to be but oh well)

xx

Dorne is not going to plan.

Sure, they'd spent weeks and weeks talking excitedly about it, their post-grad trip to the southern coast: the sun, the sand, the ocean. It had all sounded delightful to her Northern ears.

But the reality is that she's spent nearly every moment on the beach under an umbrella, having learned a painful lesson in just the first few hours that her complexion was not meant to handle this much sun. How she had managed to burn in the time it took for them to unload their bags from the rental car into the rental house, she has no idea - it had to have been fifteen minutes, tops, and yet there she was with reddened cheeks, nose, and shoulders. In her audacity, she had slapped some sunscreen on and they'd gone to the beach and she'd learned the hard way that you need to reapply sunscreen, especially after going into the water.

So now her nose is peeling and every bit of exposed skin is tender and red and she's miserable under this umbrella. Next to her, Jeyne is so hungover she can barely move, and Beth managed to twist her ankle on the way back from the bar last night. They're a sad bunch.

All in all, Dorne is not turning out the way she wanted it to.

“I need a drink,” she tells Jeyne, who groans in response and turns over onto her stomach. Out near the ocean, Beth is limping around on her bad ankle, but at least it looks like she's flirting with some cute Dornish boy.

Good, maybe one of us will have some fun on this trip, Sansa thinks bitterly. Back in Winterfell, they'd giggled over finding some cute Dornish boys to show them around the town. It had been a lovely, stupid dream.

She heads up towards the line of bars at the edge of the beach, giant hat on her head to provide at least a little shelter (she had just reapplied her sunscreen, but she's not taking any chances. She'd spent all night researching sun poisoning and she is not going to risk it).

On her way, she eyes up the resort down the beach. She and Jeyne and Beth had decided to go as cheap as they could – the plane tickets were crazy expensive this time of year and the tiny little rental house they'd managed to snag was criminally overpriced. But she knew staying at The Black Dragon would have been much more expensive (she had researched it, though, sighing wistfully at the state of the art spa and the luxurious suites. The Targaryens ran the finest hotels, though she'd only ever been in one once, with Joffrey last year. The hotel had been wonderful, Joffrey not so much).

Instead of going to a beautiful beachside resort bar with free drinks included in some package, she instead heads to a much less fancy one open to the public.

The bar is crowded with people just like her – the recently graduated, ready to celebrate their last bits of freedom before succumbing to finding a job and becoming an Adult. She has to push her way through the throng of people, wincing as her burnt arms and shoulders scrape against bodies. The air is thick and hot under the canopy, despite the open sides. When she manages to push her way to the front, she can see three bartenders all busy but she can't manage to get close enough to flag one down.

Some girl pushes forward and knocks Sansa back and she hisses in pain as her burned shoulder strikes a solid mass behind her.

“Whoa,” a voice says and hands come up to brace her arms as she regains her balance – a kind gesture, but one that is causing her even more pain and she pulls away from the grip with a grimace. “Sorry,” the voice says and when she turns, she finds some guy standing and staring at her shoulder. When she looks down, she can see the white imprints of his hands slowly fading back to red. “Looks painful,” he nods at her arm and she rolls her eyes at how obvious that is.

“Turns out, I'm not exactly made for the sun,” she says and he lets out a small laugh and that's when she really gets a good look at him.

Well, she thinks, perhaps this trip wasn't going to be a total loss.

“Need a drink?” he asks and nods at the bar. In their short time talking, she has somehow managed to get pushed even further away from the bar and she nods. “What do you want?”

“Honestly? Just water,” she decides. She had been coming for a real drink, but now that she's in this mass of bodies, all she can think is how dehydrated she must be. “I was also gonna get one for my friend.”

He nods and then moves and she watches in confusion as he slides behind the bar and leans down and grabs two water bottles from out of nowhere. She opens her mouth to protest – sure the lines are long but stealing isn't the option – when she sees one of the bartenders give him a nod and her savior nods back before coming back over to her.

“Impressive,” she says over the din of the crowd and if she leans a little closer than necessary for him to hear, well, he doesn't seem to mind.

“I know the owner,” he shrugs but she thinks he looks proud of himself. “Wanna get out of here?”

She can't decide if this is a cheesy pickup line or not but she doesn't really care because she does want to get out of here. She follows him out and back onto the beach.

“Jon,” he holds out his hand and she maneuvers the water bottle she's holding into the crook of her arm, wipes the condensation off her hand onto her wrap, and takes his hand.

“Sansa.”

Gods, what did all those romance stories she used to read talk about? Sparks flying at the first touch? An immediate connection? Nonsense, she would have told anyone just thirty seconds prior.

“You're far from home,” he says and now that they're out of the crowd, she can hear the slight Northern accent in his own voice, though it's much less pronounced than her own.

“Winterfell,” she explains and he nods. “You?”

“I used to live in White Harbor with my mom when I was a kid,” he explains. “Moved around a lot after that.”

“And now you live here?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Mostly just working here for the summer,” he says, but doesn't elaborate.

“And when it's not the summer?”

She's not sure why she's prying. It's rude and she and Jeyne and Beth had been talking about finding summer flings. Flings do not need a background. In fact, she's pretty sure the whole point of a fling is to not know that much about the other person, to not get involved.

“Move around a lot,” he says again. “For work.”

“You're a spy,” she jokes and that makes him break out into a smile and oh, he looks very nice when he smiles.

“You caught me,” he laughs.

“Not a very good one if I was able to figure it out.”

She expects him to make some sort of joke about killing her now that she knows his secret, but just as he's opening his mouth to say something, a boy with nearly white blonde hair sidles up next to Jon and, without acknowledging Jon's presence, gives her a once over.

“Well hello,” he drawls with a blinding smile that might have been charming if it weren't for the fact that she was clearly talking to Jon. “Who might you be?”

“None of your business,” she snaps (her mother would probably be appalled at her manners but really, how rude is it to interrupt a conversation to hit on her?)

The blonde doesn't seem shaken at all, he just grins.

“I'm Aegon,” he extends a hand that she does not take. His clothes are expensive and well tailored and she wants to cry at the fact that he's in those shoes in the sand. They'll be ruined forever and he doesn't seem to care. He's clearly some rich asshole from the resort.

“I'm not interested.”

Instead of being put off, he laughs and then turns to look at Jon with a raised eyebrow.

“But you're interested in this guy?” he points at Jon with a shit eating grin as Jon glares back. “I didn't mention my last name, it's Aegon Targaryen.”

Honestly, if it hadn't been for Joffrey, if she was still the girl she was in high school, she might have swooned at that. Might have thought he was some prince just because he had money and a name. As it is, she's had just about enough of lazy, arrogant heirs.

Instead of responding to him, she turns back to Jon and says “sorry, people with money seem to think they can get away with anything. You were about to say something?”

If Aegon Targaryen is insulted that she's ignoring him, he doesn't show it. In fact, he looks downright gleeful, which is actually more worrying.

“Fine,” Aegon interrupts again, sighing wistfully, like his fun is ruined. “I'll go. But before I do-” he turns to Jon and claps him on the shoulder, “dad's looking for you.”

For a moment she is frozen to the spot as Jon groans.

Dad?

They are not brothers, she thinks, looking between them for any resemblance – Aegon is all pale hair and pale skin and pale eyes and expensive clothing and Jon is dark hair and tanned skin and jeans and a t-shirt.

When Jon doesn't argue, she realizes it must be true and when she looks a bit harder, she thinks maybe the nose is the same, but that's all she can really see.

“Sorry to interrupt your flirting,” Aegon grins, “but there's some issue and dad wants you to sort it out.”

“You sure he asked for me and you're not just trying to get out of doing it yourself?”

Sansa has known these men for all of five minutes but she can already sense this is a common argument from the easy smile on Aegon's face and the exhausted tone of Jon's voice.

“East wing,” the blonde says, giving Jon, then her, one last smile before he walks off.

“Sorry,” Jon mutters and throws a look over his shoulder, down the beach, and when she follows his gaze, she finds herself looking straight at The Black Dragon.

“It's ok,” she tries not to let her disappointment (and, honestly, surprised confusion) show in her voice. “I should get this to my friend and make sure she's still alive,” she indicates the water bottles in her hand and when she looks out onto the beach, she can see Beth is back at their blanket and chatting to a Jeyne who has her head buried in her arms.

“Maybe I could see you later?” The words rush out of him and she thinks he wasn't really planning to say them and her heart gives a wild leap in her chest.

Her mind is screaming at her to stay away if he's a Targaryen. Look how terrible Joffrey had been; the Targaryens are an even older name, even wealthier. Old, old money.

“Even though I insulted your brother?” she manages to get out.

“Half brother,” he shrugs. “Plus, he deserves it.” She can't think of a single thing to say and she watches him shove his hands into his pockets and she realizes she never answered his question.

“Later?”

“If you want,” he's quick to add, like he can tell his half brother has thrown her for a loop. “I could take you to dinner? Somewhere maybe that isn't...” he gestures back towards the resort. “Unless that's where you want to go?”

“No, somewhere else is fine,” she finds herself agreeing without really realizing the words are coming out of her. And then suddenly she's handing over her phone and he's giving her his and she's putting her number into it and she tries to calm her racing heart.

He hands her back her phone with a smile that isn't nearly as smooth and charming as Aegon's had been, but is somehow much more endearing.

“I'll call you,” he promises before taking off in the direction of The Black Dragon.

A fling, that's all this needs to be. If he's anything like Joffrey, she can be rid of him easily, no harm, no foul. And even if he's not a monster like Joffrey but was still an entitled rich kid, that doesn't mean she can't have some fun with him. Just a nice, casual, summer fling.

As he's walking away, he turns to look back over his shoulder and he gives her another smile that crinkles up the corners of his eyes and she takes a deep breath to calm herself.

Just a summer fling, she tells herself. Definitely just a summer fling.

[barnesandco]

Icy Haloes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: brief mention of pneumonia and death in the first paragraph, excessive use of commas.

A/N: I’ve been suffering the worst writer’s block, but I think I’m starting to shake it off with this work, so finger’s crossed we get an update on one of my WIPs soon! Big thanks to @nacho-bucky and @captain-kelli for the extremely helpful advice that allowed me to produce a half-decent piece of writing after who-knows-how-long. It’s also hotter than Hell right now, and it was soothing to escape into a NYC winter while writing this, if you’re wondering where the inspiration came from.

Bucky hates the cold. He detests the way it bites into his bones, abhors the reminders of the graves he used to help dig every time another person in the neighborhood died of pneumonia, loathes remembering how the rattle in Steve’s lungs made him worry that his would be the next. But you, unlike Steve and possibly Sam and Nat, don’t know that. The new cook hired when a spike in missions made it increasingly more difficult for the Avengers to prepare their own meals, you have been here for all of three weeks when you appear in the living room requesting assistance with grocery shopping. 

Sam and Nat got back from a mission just yesterday and are still nursing their wounds splayed across multiple bean bags, Tony has Steve tied to the sofa by the latter’s promise to watch Star Wars, and while Wanda and Vision are available, Bucky stands at attention when you enter before you have even completed your sentence. Steve snickers, and Bucky would cuff him if he wasn’t two couches over and preoccupied with stifling a rising blush. As it is, he sends a discreet glare his best friend’s way, and volunteers to brave New York’s snow-clad streets with you instead, only because he’s a gentleman and definitely not to see the resounding smile in thanks that sends his heart racing.

“Let me go grab a jacket first,” he says, passing by you where you stand wearing a hand-knitted scarf under your jacket and a worn hat on your head, none of it able to suppress the scent of gingerbread on your person. 

“I’ll wait by the car,” you call from behind him, and he grins to himself when he hears Tony say not the Audi! as the elevator doors close. 

Five minutes later, you’re both in the garage, trying to determine which car to take if Tony’s precious Audi is unavailable, and since you’re going to be driving, he sees no reason to suggest otherwise when you head for the Tesla. Although Bucky is slowly catching up with the times, between frequent trips to the local library, the ever-so-helpful internet under F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s guidance, and the miracle of history documentaries, driving a car is one thing he still has not learnt. 

However, you were born and raised in Arlington, Texas, a city with a negligible public transport system, and therefore know how to drive. How you’ll fare on frosty streets remains to be seen. Now, he realizes neither of you really thought this trip through much beyond the date and time of the event, but you’re an experienced driver, and he has faith that you’ll adapt just fine. Besides, it’s not like it’s your first time out. 

The silence in the car is calm, warm, the gentle hum of the radiator only audible to Bucky beneath the still quieter murmur of the electric engine, and you nod your head to an invisible tune as the car speeds down country roads, towards the cluster of skyscrapers in the distance, made cloudy by winter haze. 

He’s so focused on the city ahead that he nearly jumps out of his skin when you speak for the first time since you got in the car. “Is there anywhere you’d like to go besides the supermarket?” You ask, and he sees that you think you’ve bothered him, that you’ve dragged him out against his will, and he doesn’t want to let you believe that.

“I’m happy to go wherever you like,” is his answer, with a smile that he hopes is more placating than nervous, because who knows what it’s like to be the newest part of a well-oiled machine that you think doesn’t need you. While you aren’t with them in the field, you live with them and have, in this short time, endeared yourself to each Avenger in a unique way. Recalling watching Peter do his homework a couple of months back, he thinks of nuclei and electrons, and how you seem to be an example of the first particle. Not only because he is attracted to you, but also because of how you pull people into your circle. Bucky hopes he can be granted the same joy.

“Okay,” you say softly, as if only to yourself, but he catches it and nods reassuringly. “You know, when Sam came with me last week, he actually said that you’re a lot more fun while grocery shopping.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “I’m more fun to be with while shopping than at home, or I’m more fun to go shopping with than Sam?” He asks, turning in his seat.

“The second one.”

“Did he say why?”

A thoughtful hum, and you bite the inside of your cheek while formulating an appropriate answer. “Something about your old-fashioned sensibilities being offended by the prices nowadays--”

“I am not old-fashioned--”

“-- and he warned me to keep you away from the snack aisle because you, and I quote, lose it at the sight of all those Doritos flavors,” you finish with a teasing smile, directed at the road. With no response to that, he resigns himself to sink back into his seat while crossing his arms and grumbling his displeasure, only to perk up with the sound of your laugh, just as you swing into the parking lot of Trader Joe’s.

One successful grocery round later, and Bucky’s closing the lid on a trunk full of grocery bags, one of which consists only of Doritos. He’s going to open the door for you when you stop him and gesture to the cafe across the street with a sheepish look on your face.

“Hot chocolate?” ¨

“Sure,” he answers, and you lock the door. The place is almost empty, what with it being a couple of hours before lunch on a workday, and you order to hot chocolates to go, explaining that you’re just a few minutes away from Central Park and you wanted to go for a brief walk, if that was okay with him, of course.

The hot chocolates arrive, both with every imaginable topping on them, and Bucky hurries to pull out his wallet despite your protests. “Let’s go,” he says, handing you your cup and praying that he can balance his without spilling over, and holding the door for you as you exit. 

New York’s boisterous bustle is dulled by the quiet of winter, the pulsing life of the city hushed as snow starts falling, this November precipitation hopefully a good omen for a white Christmas. This part of town seems to fall silent, and he relishes the peace, the rustle of your jackets as shoulders brush when a rare stranger passes by. 

Soon, the city falls away to the expanse of what used to be green but is now just a domesticated snowy tundra -- Central Park. A lone runner sprints across a pathway a hundred yards away, and you sit down on a bench.

“I love New York,” you say with a smile, and Bucky can see the enchantment of this city falling over you as you close your eyes. Less than a month, most of it spent outside the city lines, and you’re falling for the place he knows as home, and it makes him fall in love with it all over again. To see a familiar place through fresh and wondrous eyes is like getting to read a favorite book for the first time -- a privelege few are afforded, but he is fortunate to be amongst them. The way your eyes flit across the sky following a flock of pigeons, the way you inhale the scent of hot chocolate like no place else in the world can produce, and then how your gaze falls to the untouched, sacred blanket of snow in front of you. The ensuing gasp is one he cannot decipher, and so he asks.

“What is it?”

“I just realized I’ve never made snow angels,” you answer, trembling with childish epiphany, and he looks at you like you’ve grown another head. It’s been almost a century since he made his last one, too, at the age of 12, before he had to resist in order to avoid bringing Steve down with him lest the skinny rascal die from the cold.

“Do you,” he begins hesitantly, “do you want to, right now?” The expression on your face is one of barely controlled want and bashfulness at the desire. 

“Yeah,” you say after a full minute’s consideration. That’s how Bucky finds himself, despite his issues with the cold, on the ground in a field of snow like a starfish against the ground and waving his arms and legs wildly. Your giggles float to him on a cloud of air, breathless, shaking, and he stops after a while to lay there next to you, the silver bond of a new friendship glowing in the gray daylight. 

He’s the first to rise, carefully so as to not disturb the pattern, and he pulls you up after, watches the smile split your face into the fullest crescent moon, warming his insides more than the hot chocolate did. The cold is starting to soak through his clothes, but the pins and needles prickling at his skin soon start to sear with that white heat that comes after touching snow, and he’s warm all over. When you turn to look at him with a thank you on the tip of your tongue, his cheeks pink and eyes icy blue, he smiles back. Thinks he could learn to love the cold, if it comes with companionship like this.

[mamabearcatfanfics]

Be My Baby

Was going through AO3 to see if there were any new comments I hadn’t answered, and I came across this, which I wrote way back in March 2019. Doesn’t that seem like forever ago? I need to get back into writing for Fairy Tail. I miss Natsu and Lucy. And even though I don’t know if I’ll ever write this Dirty Dancing AU, which is still at the scribbly planning stage, I still loved writing this. Mutual pining rich girl Lucy and rough around the edges dancer Natsu - what’s not to like? I’m tempted to do a piece of art to go with this.

If you prefer, you can read this on AO3

Natsu stood straight and poised, his arms stretched outwards. “Now, the most important thing to remember in lifts… is balance.” He rose up onto his toes and jumped straight up suddenly, the fallen tree trunk they were both standing on shuddering under the sudden pressure as he landed. Lucy squeaked, immediately dropping to grab onto a convenient branch, giggling as she sat down and watched Natsu shuffling around to regain his balance.

“I got it now”, he grinned.

She watched as he walked gracefully along the fallen tree spanning the stream underneath them, the dappled sunlight highlighting his tanned skin, almost sighing at the smoothness of his movements. It seemed unfair that any one person could be so attractive and at ease in his own skin. A sudden thought struck her. “Where’d you learn to be a dancer Natsu?”

“Well, this guy came into this luncheonette one day, an’ ya know, we were all sittin’ around doin’ nothin”, he shrugged, sitting down on the log, ruffling his rose-pink hair nonchalantly with one hand, watching her interested expression as he answered her question. “He said that Fairytail was givin’ a test for instructors. So, if ya passed they’d teach ya all these different kinds of dances, show ya how ta break ‘em down, how ta teach ‘em, ya know?” He placed his hands in front of him and jumped back to his feet in one fluid movement.

Lucy’s eyes widened as he bent his knee, lunging forwards in a fencing pose and flicked his finger towards her with a smirk and a glint in his eye.

“What?”

He grinned at her, his finger beckoning first to her and then to the spot right in front of him.

“No”, she said, without hesitation, shaking her head at him so her blonde hair tumbled around her shoulders. Was he insane? She had trouble doing the dance steps on level ground, let alone standing on a tree trunk thinner than a balance beam.

Ignoring her protests, he strode forward and reached down to grab her hands, helping to balance her as she wobbled, looking down with trepidation at the drop below them. She suddenly realised that the water in the stream below them really wasn’t very deep, and those rocks looked bone-breakingly jagged. Why on earth were they up here again? Oh, that’s right, because Natsu had absolutely no concept of how normal awkward people tended to fall off things and hurt themselves.

“Good – don’t look down, look here.” She felt gentle fingers brush her chin momentarily as he tilted her face upwards and gestured towards his own eyes. “Right here.”

Swallowing nervously, she placed her hand on his bare muscular shoulder, left uncovered by his black singlet top, trying to remain outwardly calm, but internally blushing up a storm. Out here, away from the pressure of the dance studio, it felt different. The warmth of his slightly damp skin under her nervous fingers made her heart ricochet in her chest, and the warmth in his dark green eyes seemed to pull her in... She wondered, not for the first time, if she had been temporarily insane when she had agreed to do this.

Arms locked in the correct position, she grinned up at him as he began moving, and couldn’t help cackling as she lost her balance almost immediately, breaking her dance frame and clutching onto his shoulders. He steadied her, grinning like a Cheshire cat, guiding her forwards until they were almost at the centre of the trunk bridge. He let go of her arms, and then winked at her roguishly, standing with his feet together.

She nodded, placing her own feet together, the base steps of the mambo chanting through her head. “Left forward, together, right backward, together”, she muttered under her breath, arms held out to keep her balance, beginning the steps, her head watching her feet for a moment until she figured out exactly where the edges of the log were. She still felt a little bad about losing her temper with him before in the studio, even though he had kinda deserved it.

She had to remember she wasn’t doing this just for Natsu. She was learning this dance for Lisanna too, taking Lisanna’s place so she could make it to that appointment at the abortion clinic. Her heart still burned at the injustice of it. She knew she was naïve, a doctor’s daughter who had lived a privileged life, but she also understood that it took two people to get a girl pregnant and couldn’t understand how Dan could put a girl he’d been intimate with in that position and not take responsibility for it. Noticing her serious expression, Natsu tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

“Hey, lighten up Luce. We came out here to make this fun, remember?”

She smiled at him, watching as his usual graceful movements became silly as he wiggled his hips, rolling his fists and then doing the monkey. She giggled, doing her best to dance alongside him on the narrow trunk, her heart warming as he steadied her wobbles with his strong hand yet again.

She tried to lose herself in the moment, but she just couldn’t. She needed to know this dance in two days, not only know the steps, but look professional while doing it. She didn’t know if she could pull this off. If she didn’t deliver this could cost Natsu and Lisanna their job; it was her first look at how the real world worked and it wasn’t pretty. Natsu’s voice snapped her out of her reverie.

“You’ve got that look on your face again, you weirdo.”

She sighed. “It’s just… there’s only two days left Natsu”, she said quietly, looking down at her bare feet again. “Two days. I don’t want to let you down. I know how important this is for Lisanna, and I know I’m clumsy and awkward and probably the last person you would ever choose to do this with, and we haven’t even tried doing the lifts yet and it’s… it’s freaking me out.”

Natsu’s gaze softened, and he rubbed her upper arm in a comforting way, making her raise her eyes to his. “That’s not true Luce. I’m sorry if I’ve given you the impression that you’re not good at this. You’re doing really well for someone who hasn’t danced like this before.” He sighed. “Even though Lisanna and I haven’t been a couple since we were in school, I still care about her, ya know? I want to make this right for her, and it’s not somethin’ I can fix by myself.” He swallowed, looking away from her as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, a dull flush rising in his tanned cheeks. “I don’t like feelin’… powerless. I’m sorry if I’m puttin’ that pressure onto you. The fact that you’re willing to help us like this, it’s… you’re… amazing.”

A fiery blush tinted Lucy’s cheeks and she squeaked as Natsu took her hands. “Right. We can’t practice the lift here, let’s go back over to that field where I parked the truck.” Lucy nodded, still speechless, carefully following him off the log and back down the slope to the soft grass.

_________________

Lucy stood poised, ready to run at Natsu, wiping her sweaty hands on her white jeans. She was never going to be able to do this! She was gonna fall on her arse, and quite possibly crush Natsu in the process. She forced herself to try and concentrate, listening to Natsu’s last instructions.

“Now, bend your knees, and go up. Go, go.” His arms were held out for her and she ran towards him and jolted to a stop as his hands went to her hips. She heard his grunt as he half raised her in the air, and then lowered her down again. “Good try.”

Lucy shook her head as he backed away to put some space between them, biting her lip. She just knew this wasn’t going to work. Natsu took in her worried expression and smiled encouragingly at her.

“Hey, it’s okay. That was just the first try. But you’ll hurt me if you don’t trust me, all right?”

Lucy breathed out in a big whoosh, but nodded her head, ready to try again.

“Now, go, go. Go.”

She ran again, jumping at the correct time and he lifted her a bit higher, grinning at her. He lowered her back down and backed away again, giving her a longer run up this time.

“Good job, Luce. Now, I’m gonna go up.”

He nodded at her encouragingly and she ran towards him again, feeling his strong fingers digging into her hip bones as he lifted. All of a sudden she felt her centre of gravity change and she instinctively fought it, screeching as she tipped forwards, landing on Natsu’s chest with a thump, as they crashed to the ground, leaving him momentarily winded.

She rolled off him, giggling uncontrollably, her legs flailing, trying to apologise but unable to speak for laughing.

Natsu propped himself up on one elbow and sighed at her, a mock serious expression on his face at the laughter at his expense, but after a moment he couldn’t help breaking into a smile.

“You know, the best place to practice lifts is in the water.”

That stopped Lucy’s giggles. “What do you mean, in the water?” she said, looking at him nervously.

“You’re worried about falling right? You don’t trust me to catch you. Practicing this in the water should take away that fear.”

All of a sudden a very different type of fear hit her in the gut. Her and Natsu, alone in the water. She licked her lips nervously. Her thoughts flicked back to that first night she had met him, when he had beckoned her out onto the dance floor of the party in the staff quarters, all raw masculinity, wrapping her arms around his neck and rolling his hips against hers, showing her a world she’d never known to exist.

She realised she was moving further and further away from her original reason for doing this. It was no longer only to be helpful. Her innate need to see a problem and find a solution, to fight against injustice, was being replaced by a growing hunger to be near Natsu, wanting to feel the heat of his hand on her back as he moved her body around the dance floor, wanting to earn those small words of praise when she did well.

She flopped back against the grass, feeling like her well-ordered world had just been turned upside down. This was getting more than a little out of control. What would happen after the dance at the hotel was over? Where would all these feelings go then? She was pretty sure Natsu considered her a child, not a potential romantic partner. What would happen when her family went home? She could feel her heart cracking a little already.

Natsu dragged her up, pulling her to her feet. “C’mon Luce, I know just where we can go.”

__________________

Natsu pulled off his black singlet and dropped it onto the bank, wading barefoot out into the cool dark water of the lake until he was waist deep. His black jeans dragged on his hips, pulled down by the weight of water. He turned back just in time to see Lucy sliding in, squealing and almost slipping a little as her feet hit the sludge near the edge. She’d taken off her flowy button up shirt and was now only dressed in a white singlet and white jeans. Taking a breath, she held her nose and ducked her head underneath the water.

“Fuck.” Natsu held his breath. When her head had broken through the water when she came up for air, he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Water dripped down the now darkened blonde hair, falling in rivulets over her shoulders and down into the valley between her breasts, now clearly defined as her drenched singlet clung to her like a second skin. He could see her lace bra through the wet white fabric, her hardened nipples pushing against it. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to mentally erase the image, but it only seemed to make it more ingrained. Probably because every ounce of blood and willpower he possessed was making its way southward.

He’d been fighting this attraction for a while now. He’d only dragged her out onto the dance floor that first night to tease Sting for bringing a guest back to the staff party. He’d thought she was cute and that was as far as it went. But then when she’d agreed to help them, had committed time and effort to help his friend even though she could have just turned her back and returned to the safety of the world she had always known, his esteem had skyrocketed.

She was pretty, sure, but it was her soft heart, her sense of humour, her willingness to work hard and treat him like any other guy she might have met in the rich boy circles her family moved in, even though he was a nothin’ whose skill at dancing was the only thing he had going for him. She was a guest, one of those people with time and money to selfishly spend on themselves, but here she was, sweating alongside him, throwing everything into learning a dance that was gonna save his job and Lisanna’s career. He was so close to breaking that cardinal rule of not falling for guests, in fact he was pretty sure he was careening down the slippery slope with no hope of stopping. This was going to end badly for him if he didn’t nip these feelings in the bud right now.

“Natsu? Are you okay?”

He opened his eyes and forced a grin onto his lips. “Sure thing. You ready?”

She bit her lip, then nodded determinedly.

“Just bend your knees.” His hands moved towards her hips, wanting to linger on her curves of her waist but forcing himself to be all business. “And… go.” He lifted her up into the air as he felt her push upwards, raising her up above his head. “Good, good. Now, hold the position. Hold it. Good. Don’t break! Don’t break!” He felt Lucy’s centre of gravity slip behind him and they both splashed into the dark water, falling down into the chill.

Lucy spluttered back to the surface, laughing and shivering. Natsu reached out his arm, dragging her back to where it wasn’t too deep for her to stand and she clasped both arms around his neck, giggling, her eyes bright with laughter, smiling at him. It suddenly struck him that today was the first time he’d ever seen her laugh like this. He wanted more of it. Her fingers around his shoulder were cool, chilled by the water, but he felt a warmth in his heart that he couldn’t remember feeling for a long time. He helped her stand up, swiping his wet fringe out of his eyes, watching her do the same. He nodded at her, placing his hands back on her hips.

“Let’s do it again. One, two, three…”

He lifted, and she straightened her legs and arms, wobbling a little as she found her balance. “Oh, sorry…”, she murmured, struggling to hold the position.

He squeezed her hips a little as he held her above his head, trying to convey that she was doing well. “Good.” Then she shifted a little too far one way. “Keep… no, don’t…” And they splashed into the water again.

He watched her push up out of the water again, already smiling. Tugging her towards him, listening to her laughter as she hung one arm around his neck, he realised it was already too late for him. He’d fallen for her, wanted nothing more to be part of her life, be by her side. He didn’t know how the fuck that was gonna work, but he was gonna try. He was gonna risk his heart, because she was worth fighting for.

She stood in front of him, grinning, wet hair plastered over her face, singlet and bra falling off one shoulder, teeth chattering slightly in the cold. His hand moved without thinking to slide her shoulder straps back up her arm just as her own hand moved to fix it herself. And then the look she gave him. He realised it wasn’t only his heart on the line, and he was simultaneously elated and terrified.

She smiled softly at him. “One more time, Natsu?”

Reaching out his hand, he tucked a wet chunk of hair behind her ear, feeling her head tilt its weight into his hand. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, right now, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop at just a kiss. They would work this out, somehow. They just needed to get this dance over with first.

“Okay Luce.” He placed his hands on her hips again as she straightened herself, ready to work with him. “Over my head. Go.”

[the-edge-of-great]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ JATP WEEK - DAY ONE: FAVORITE CHARACTER(S) ♥

(i don’t have one favorite character, so i wrote something from different POVs of my main five :)) @jatp-week 

also i forgot ghosts don’t sleep. we’re pretending like they do today

––––––

FLYNN

“Flynn, no pressure, but I’m performing tonight,” Julie says while Flynn is dipping her brush into the black paint. “So, you know, make me look pretty.”

Flynn gasps, almost jerking her hand when she looks back at Julie. Julie catches her wrist before she can fling paint everywhere. “You didn’t tell me you were performing tonight!” She pauses, looking over her current progress. “Now I’m nervous.”

“I have total faith in you.” Julie’s eyes dart between the paint brush and Flynn. “But show me how it looks so far?”

Pursing her lips, Flynn shakes her head, grabs Julie’s shoulder, and aims the paintbrush at her cheek. “No way. You didn’t let me see until you were finished.”

“But—” Julie freezes when the brush touches the corner of her mouth, and her eyes quickly move to something behind Flynn. Her lips begin to twitch into a smile.

“Hey, hey!” Flynn cries. “No moving.”

“The guys are confused.”

“I’ll explain. You stay quiet.” Flynn gives her a second to stop laughing before continuing the delicate line she’s trying to curve across her cheek. She takes it slow—agonizingly, if Julie’s eyes are anything to go by. “So,” Flynn begins loudly to the dense air around her, “we’re getting ready for Day of the Dead, which is a holiday Julie’s family celebrates. I’m trying to draw a sugar skull design on her, like she did for me.”

Julie has always been the residential sugar skull designer in the house. She always drew Carlos’ face, her mom’s, and Flynn and Carrie’s. Usually, she does herself too, but this is their first Day of the Dead without her mom, so Flynn has decided to take the paintbrush into her own hands and surprise Julie with something beautiful—or try to, anyway.

Flynn’s face looks awesome. Julie painted only half in white with a fissured edge down the center of her face. From her eyebrow to her cheekbone, her eye is circled in green and lined with black. Half of Flynn’s mouth stretching to the middle of her cheek has been transformed into skeletal teeth with a vibrant green glow. Her dimple has layers upon layers of dark and light green paint, carefully blended to look like a real skull indentation. Small black circles line the top of her eyebrow, and thin black lines curve across the empty space of her cheek.

For Julie, Flynn is going for a more simplistic look—all of the drawing talent in the friendship seems to have been swallowed up by Julie. Right now, she’s focused on a curved black mouth stretching from one ear to another, adding extra detail to her lips to create a stitched effect, and then? She’ll figure it out from there.

“And I’m not taking any opinions from them,” Flynn declares. She holds her breath until the second line finally meets her ear and she’s finished with the mouth base. “They’re probably biased.”

Julie smiles as Flynn grabs her paint cup. “Actually, Alex says he likes what you’re doing so far.”

“… I’m only taking feedback from Alex.”

Julie laughs. Flynn can’t fight back her smile. “Reggie and Luke like it too,” she adds, smiling up at the space behind the couch. “They think I look scary.”

“How do I look?” Flynn asks, brushing her hair out of her face and looking up at the air, as if she can really see them. She wishes she could.

“They say you look amazing,” Julie translates. “I did that, by the way, so thank you.” She grins at them. Someone must reach for a fist bump, cause she moves her fist across the couch.

“Okay, if you’re going to stay, you can’t make her laugh.” Flynn leans forward, carefully painting over the tip of her nose. “She has a performance tonight, and if I mess up, you can’t fix it. I forbid it.”

“No—” Julie whines.

“You knew the risks when you agreed to let me do this!”

“You didn’t give me a choice!”

Flynn smacks her. “Stop smiling!” But she’s grinning too. It’s hard—how can you look at your best friend and not smile? Flynn waves a hand between them. “Okay, okay, we have to get this done. My hand is tired.”

Julie chuckles. “Okay.” She glances to her left. “No, I didn’t tell anyone I’m performing tonight. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Then why’d you tell me?” Flynn demands.

“To make sure you don’t make me look bad!”

Flynn scoffs. Her finger lifts Julie’s chin to make their eyes meet. “Girl, it’ll take a lot of paint to make you look bad.”

Julie grins.

“And Luke better not have said something equally as cute just then.”

“No—” Julie says it like the idea is overly ridiculous, and Flynn wants to roll her eyes. “Of course not.”

“Mmhm. Hold still.”

Julie and Luke are dating. Flynn isn’t sure how that works—him being a ghost and everything—but Julie makes it make sense. And what can Flynn say? As long as Julie’s happy…

Forty-five minutes later, she sits back with a sigh to admire her work. One of the guys poofed into Julie’s room to grab her makeup bag, so Julie’s eyes are shining with pink and purple eyeshadow to match the pink patch surrounding her right eye. Flynn finished Julie’s eye with a thin black ring and pink and purple circles curved halfway around the top and bottom of her eye. Her nose is black—Flynn’s sure she’ll add more detail in her room later. Then Flynn will complain that she messed with a masterpiece, even though she’ll love whatever additions Julie draws in.

“Wow, okay,” Julie says, looking at herself in her phone’s camera. “This looks so good. Way to pop off, Flynn.”

Flynn waves herself. “Thank you, thank you. It’s my hidden talent.”

Julie grins over her phone. They share a beat of silence before bursting into laughter. Julie leans forward, throwing an arm around Flynn’s shoulders and holding her phone above their heads. They take bursts of pictures, some serious, most silly. They play with Snapchat filters, film TikToks. It’s fun—Day of the Dead is always fun. Especially this year: the year Julie found her music again.

–––––

LUKE

He knocks before entering her room. As he passes through the door, he can hear Flynn and Carlos arguing about what color icing should go on the cupcakes. Alex and Reggie are down there too; he hopes Alex doesn’t let Reggie do anything crazy tonight.

Julie’s sitting in front of her mirror, humming and painting over her eye. She glances at him as she walks in.

Luke chuckles. “Flynn’s not going to be happy you’re changing her design.” He pulls her desk chair over and takes a seat next to her.

“I’m not changing it.” Julie dips her brush into pink paint. “I’m just… adding some stuff. I had an idea.”

“Flowers?”

“Dahlias.” She side eyes him and smiles. “My mom loved dahlias.” She balances her palette on her knees, steadying it with one hand while leaning forward to paint a second flower at the corner of her eyebrow.

“Here,” Luke offers, reaching under her arm to grab the paint. He holds the palette next to her, and when she reaches over to dip her brush, she smiles in thanks. “So, what exactly is Day of the Dead?”

“First of all, it’s usually pronounced Día de los Muertos,” she begins. Oh God, he loves when she speaks Spanish. “It’s a three day festival where we celebrate the lives of those we’ve lost. My dad’s side is coming over—we always celebrate with the Molinas. My mom was Puerto Rican; they don’t really observe this holiday. But she celebrated with my dad when they first started dating, and she fell in love with the holiday.”

“What’s so great about it?”

Julie waves a hand at her face. “The makeup. The costumes. The music, dancing, food… Just having family around. Being completely immersed in our culture.” She shrugs at him. “We speak Spanish sometimes around the house, but it’s my grandparents’ first language. They had to learn English when they first came to America, but they prefer Spanish.”

“Where’d they come from?”

“Panama.” Julie pauses, carefully painting leaves around the base of her dahlia. “My grandparents have ofrendas set up at their house—ofrendas are altars where we leave offerings for those who have passed. Tonight, we’re going to the cemetery to visit Mom’s grave.”

He notices the way she falters when she mentions her mom. He hates when that happens; always wants to kiss away the sadness. When Julie puts down her paintbrush, he takes her hand in his.

“Hey,” he whispers, running his thumb over her knuckles.

Julie takes a deep breath. “We didn’t celebrate last year; it was too close to Mom passing away.” She shrugs. “We didn’t have it in us.”

“This is your first year without her,” Luke realizes quietly.

“We have an ofrenda downstairs for her. Dad and Carlos did most of it. I was supposed to find some stuff in the studio, but—” She shakes her head. “It’s just weird. This was her favorite holiday, and now she’s—” Julie rolls her eyes. “I know it’s been a year, but—”

“Hey,” Luke interrupts. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers linger against her skin, cupping her cheek, mindful of the paint. “This is your first year without her. It’s okay to still be sad, Jules.”

Julie’s next breath is shaky; her eyes are glossy as she looks away. “Can’t cry,” she mumbles, shaking her head. “Flynn will kill me.”

Luke laughs. Behind him, he hears the whoosh of Alex and Reggie poofing in her room. Julie smiles weakly at them.

“Were we interrupting?” Reggie asks, raising his eyebrows knowingly.

Alex shakes his head. “Sorry. He kept stealing Flynn’s cupcakes to give to Carlos, and I knew he’d either scare your tía or Flynn would hit him with a spatula if we didn’t get out of there.”

“Carlos deserved to win—”

Julie laughs out loud. She wipes at her eyes carefully; Luke hopes she’s forgotten her grief for now. Luke grins at her. He loves her laugh. Have I mentioned he’s kinda just in love with her?

“We have a little bit before my family arrives,” Julie says, checking her phone. She tugs her lip between her teeth. “And I have extra paint…?”

Reggie bounces on his feet. “Yes!” he cries. “I want a face painting!”

As soon as Luke steps away from the chair, Reggie is there, knees bumping against Julie’s. “Make me look cool.”

Alex lays across her bed, resting his chin in his hands as he watches them. Luke hands the palette to Julie and steps out of her way. While she works on pouring more paint out, he dips his head and presses a soft kiss to her hair. Then he takes a seat next to Alex.

Luke grins. “I want next!”

–––––

REGGIE

He knows the party is really in full swing when the sugar skulls are beginning to set in and the children running around are almost as loud as Julie’s cousins playing music in the living room. Carlos’ real teeth are black; they match the set Julie painted on him. It looks a little creepy; his tía Victoria demands he go brush every time he grins at her in passing.

Reggie ducks past people as if they won’t pass through him; it’s still weird to him, and he knows they feel the same way. At some point, he was separated from his friends. He sees Luke and Julie every now and then—Julie’s making her rounds with her family, and Luke is by her side, always—but he hasn’t seen Alex in a while. He wonders, in the back of his mind, if Alex is even still around. Would he leave a party? He’s done it before. If there’s a chance he can hangout with Willie? No doubt. But would he leave Julie’s party to hangout with Willie? Hm… nah.

His favorite thing, he thinks as he walks through the house, is the atmosphere. There are so many people around—and most are Ray’s siblings! Julie mentioned in the middle of face painting that Latino families are often big, but he wasn’t expecting this! He loves it, though. Sometimes he lingers in a room before moving on, and he hears stories about Ray from his siblings: childhood mishaps and teenage antics.

And with so many siblings comes cousins. They range in age, from Carlos’ to Reggie’s. He overhears Carlos tell the other kids about the ghosts that haunt their house—Reggie leaves with a personal promise to prove him right later.

On his second walk through the living room, he finally spots his friends: Alex is sitting on the arm of the couch next to Flynn with Luke next to him. Julie stands beside an older man with a long beard and a guitar on his lap. Just as Reggie’s about to cross the room to them, something catches his eye.

It’s a shelf to his left, spotted with candles, photos, and flowers. He steps closer, curious. There’s a picture of Julie’s mom in a frame on top, he thinks. She looks… familiar. On the first shelf down is a pair of drumsticks and guitar picks. Reggie frowns. Why are there… drumsticks? He reaches for them. They couldn’t be Alex’s… could they? Why would his drumsticks be—

“I told you our house is haunted!” Carlos cries, and that’s when Reggie notices how quiet everything is suddenly. The drumsticks bounce against his fingers and roll back against the shelf wall.

“Reggie,” Alex hisses behind him.

“Dude, your drumsticks are up here!” Reggie cries.

“My—What?”

Julie moves when no one else does. She’s not looking at Reggie, but he begins apologizing anyway, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare everyone.”

“It’s okay,” she says quietly, reaching for the sticks. “Whose are…?”

“I found them in a box of your mother’s things in the studio,” Ray explains, walking over.

Reggie throws a knowing look at Alex. Alex frowns and summons his drumsticks. They appear in his hand in a flash, and when Reggie turns back, there’s still a pair in Julie’s hand.

“Oh,” she says. “I didn’t know she played.”

Ray chuckles. “Your mother played every instrument she could. Now, there’s a difference in playing and actually sounding good… Drumming is not something she excelled at.”

This earns a round of laughter from their family. From Julie, who’s beaming under her makeup at the new information. From Alex, who adds a “If that isn’t a mood” under his breath.

“What—” Luke argues. “Dude, you’re literally a drummer.”

“I make it look easy.”

Luke rolls his eyes.

“The guitar picks are hers too,” Ray adds, pushing them into his hand. “Look, they have the logos from each of the bands she was in.”

Julie looks them over. “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. “I should’ve grabbed these from the studio. You told me to find things for her ofrenda, but I—”

“Hey, it’s okay mija,” Ray interrupts. He squeezes her shoulder. “It was actually fun going through her old stuff again. I, personally, haven’t seen these in years.”

Reggie realizes he’s smiling long before Julie finds her strength again. He loves the father-daughter moments they have, even though he has a nagging feeling that he should be over by Luke and Alex and not intruding. Their relationship is addicting, though. He’s never had that with his father.

Maybe… that’s a can of worms to open on another day.

“Speaking of talent,” the man with the guitar says, “Julie? Cantar para nosotros?”

Reggie doesn’t know what he said, but Julie does. She nods. As they part ways—Ray moving past to fix the ofrenda, Reggie walking toward his friends, and Julie heading for the front of the room—Reggie squeezes Julie’s shoulder in passing. They share a quick smile.

“Good luck,” he says. She can’t respond, but he knows her smile is for him.

–––––

ALEX

Alex has never experienced this type of music live. They have a whole band up there—two guitarists, a woman sitting on a cajón box, and Julie with vocals in the center.

“And now you see Julie’s other band,” Flynn whispers to them. “The Molinas.”

The song begins softly. Alex can’t understand anything Julie’s singing, but he doesn’t have to know the words to hear her voice. As the beat picks up, so does her volume. He can see the moment she loses herself completely to the music; it’s the same at their own concerts: her eyes squeezing shut, one hand pressed in front of her and the other at her side. She can’t stand still, either. Julie steps over her younger siblings sitting on the ground carefully, but she’s bouncing on the soles of her feet. The music’s contagious—by the time she’s danced around the room and made it back to where she started, the whole room is clapping on beat. They’re grinning at each other, some singing along, some cheering.

Alex can’t fight a smile. It’s impossible. He looks at Luke and Reggie—they mirror him. The energy Julie and her family has created is infectious, as music should be; even if he still doesn’t know what she’s saying.

Julie ends the song on her own with a stretched out note, instruments falling away with each beat she holds in a breath he can’t believe is possible. Everyone watches with bated breath, anticipation, building excitement for this girl. Julie Molina—Alex shakes his head in disbelief. What a damn star.

Flynn leaps to her feet when Julie finally takes a breath. “WOO!” she shouts. “Go off girl!”

Alex finds himself laughing when the room erupts into cheers. Luke is practically vibrating with excitement. Reggie shouts with Flynn.

Julie takes a bow, shoulders bouncing with quickened breath and eyes shining under the dark makeup.

Flynn yanks her into a tight hug. “Oh my gosh, that was incredible!” she cries.

“Seriously,” Alex agrees. “You killed it.” He fist bumps her, hidden from the rest of the room in front of Flynn.

“I have no idea what you said, but it was beautiful,” Reggie adds, starstruck.

Luke grins at her. “You never cease to amaze me, Jules.”

As the excitement dies down, so does the party. The family disperses in groups until Carlos and Julie are hugging tía Victoria goodbye, and Ray is closing the door to a finally quiet home.

“So,” Ray says, turning to his kids. “One last thing to do tonight.”

Carlos nods. “I’ll grab the candles.”

"And I'll get… everything else," Julie adds. She glances at Alex and the others on her way up the stairs.

They meet her in her room. Alex sits on her bed. "So, what's next?"

"We're going to the cemetery to visit Mom's grave," Julie explains, opening her closet. She grabs a bag and joins Alex on the bed. "You guys can come if you want. People light up the graves with candles and lights—it's beautiful."

Sounds beautiful, but—Alex looks over at Luke and Reggie. They meet his gaze with as much hesitation as he feels.

"I think we're going to hang back," Luke admits softly. "It's, um… I think it's kind of weird for us, you know? Since we're…"

Julie blinks. "Oh, right. Duh. Of course." She shakes her head. "That's okay."

Alex smiles. "But we'll be here when you get home."

She nods, returning his smile. Her eyes flicker to something behind him, and she hurries around the bed. Alex is just turning to her when Reggie gasps.

“The box," he whispers, eyes wide.

"Don't act like at least one of you hasn't been in here already," Julie mutters, opening the box on her bed.

Alex and Reggie throw a look at Luke, who's chewing his lip sheepishly.

"What're you doing?" Luke asks, moving to her side.

"I—" Julie quickly tucks a piece of paper into her pocket. "I'm just… It's an offering for her."

Luke frowns. "Okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's—"

"Julie!" Ray calls up the stairs. "You ready?"

Julie sighs. "Yeah, dad!" She shifts her weight, glancing between them. "I'll tell you guys later, okay?"

Reggie nods. "Yeah, of course."

She takes two steps toward the door before turning back to them. "Group hug?" she asks hopefully. "Real quick?"

Reggie immediately wraps his arms around her. "Like you even have to ask," he mutters. They chuckle. Alex rolls off the bed, and he and Luke join in. They've been doing this a lot more: hugging. Ever since they've been able to touch each other, this has become their thing. Not that Alex is complaining.

When Julie pulls away, she's smiling so wide. Alex smiles back, but he can't help thinking there's something behind that skeletal grin. He doesn't ask; none of them do. They let her go, despite the feeling gnawing at him. Later, he decides. Hopefully they can figure it out later.

–––––

JULIE

The cemetery was always Julie’s mom’s favorite part of Día de los Muertos. There’s a chilling beauty in a sea of lights across acres of land, crowded with people who can all relate on some level.

Rose Molina’s grave is lined with white and blue candles—she always loved the ones that smelled like the ocean. There are guitar picks scattered across the stone, most of which didn’t come from them. Ray suggested previous bandmates; Julie has never met the previous bandmates. She wants to one day; hopes to.

They stay with her for a while. She doesn’t know how long they sit by her, telling her stories about what’s happening in the past year. They have a lot to catch up on—Julie’s sure this is Carlos’ first visit since she died. It’s definitely Julie’s. Her dad’s been here a few times, only once or twice. She wonders if there have been any recent visits.

There are tears in her eyes when they finally stand to leave. Her dad catches it somehow—she’s sure her dark makeup shadowed by the dim light would’ve covered her—and before she can blink, he’s wrapping his arms around her in a tight hold. She would’ve buried her face in his chest if she had washed her paint off. But she didn’t, so she doesn’t hug as tight as she wants, and she pulls away too soon.

As they’re leaving, Julie remembers the note in her pocket. “Wait,” she says, falling out of step with them. “I forgot something.” She lingers, shifting her weight. “Can I meet you in the car?”

Carlos frowns. Dad nods. “Of course,” he says softly.

Julie watches them go, disappearing in the crowd. In just a blink, she’s alone. The note is heavy in her chest. With a deep breath, she turns back to her mom.

“Hey,” she says, sinking to her knees. “I have something I want to show you.” She crosses her legs under her and unfolds the note in her hands. “Remember that song we started writing while you were in the hospital? Stand Tall? We never… got to finish it…” With trembling hands, Julie slips the note beneath a picture frame Carlos left at the base of the stone. It’s a moment captured after Julie’s performance at The Orpheum: her, Carlos, Dad, and tía Victoria, posing under the Julie and the Phantoms sign.

“Well, my friend Luke helped me write that second verse,” she continues. “He’s—He’s kind of more than my friend. You know who he is, and what he is.” She laughs. “Don’t judge me too hard for this relationship, okay? He’s really… a great guy. They all are: Alex, Luke, and Reggie. They’ve helped me in… more ways that I can put into words.” The next time she laughs, her voice is shaking. She sniffs; the black on her nose smears across her hand when she rubs her face. “Anyway, um, I just wanted to give you this. And I wanted to tell you thanks. Thanks for sending the guys to me. Thanks for giving me the courage to get back into music. Thanks for…”

Julie shakes her head. The tears are back—she tries swallowing them back. Maybe if she can just hold it in for a little bit longer, at least until she takes the paint off—

“I really miss you, Mom,” she says carefully, slowly, like every word takes all of her strength. “A lot. Every day. I miss you. I miss you. I love you.”

Someone stops behind her stone. Two people, actually. Julie sniffs. She wipes at her nose again; she doesn’t care what she looks like now.

“Julie?”

That’s weird. Sounds almost like—

“Carrie?”

Julie brushes off her pants when she climbs to her feet. She sniffs again, eyeing the pair across from her: Carrie and Trevor Wilson. Trevor is holding a bouquet of flowers; it takes her breath away—dahlias.

“We were just coming out to pay our respects,” Trevor says. He separates a dahlia and hands it to her.

“Nice makeup,” Carrie says, not unkindly. She’s actually smiling, kind of like she used to when they were friends.

“Thanks, I—Flynn did it. Well, not…” Julie gestures to the smudged paint.

“Right.” Carrie reaches into her bag and offers a wad of tissues. Julie takes them with a smile. They share a nod, Julie thanks Trevor for the flower, and they go their separate ways. At least Julie doesn’t feel as heavy as usual when she walks away from Carrie.

At home, when her face is clean of any paint and she can see herself again, she steps into her animal slippers and makes her way down to the studio. The guys are waiting, just like they said they would. They smile when they see her, and she smiles back, but her gaze settles on the piano, and then she can’t look away from the piano.

Two years ago, she played a song while her mom strutted around the studio, pretending to sing terribly and still managing to sound like an angel. The year before that, Julie and her family sat on the floor surrounded by candles and told ghost stories because an earthquake knocked out their electricity (that’s where Carlos’ fascination comes from). The year before that, they—

Julie’s lip quivers. Her fingers curl around the arm of the couch, her vision blurs, and everything hurts. Someone’s in front of her in seconds—it’s Luke. He’s holding her close, tight against him, fingers in her hair, and she just breaks.

Her hands tighten into fists around his shirt. She buries her face in his shoulder; now that she’s started, she can’t stop. She tries to speak, to explain, but—

“Shh,” he whispers. He rubs circles into her back. “I know. I know, baby.” He kisses her hair. “It’s okay, Jules.”

She doesn’t try speaking again, and when Alex and Reggie join the hug, she just cries harder.

When she wakes the next morning, she’s on the couch. Luke’s behind her, an arm around her waist, legs tangled. Alex is in front of her, sitting against the couch with his cheek pressed against the cushion. She grimaces for him; that can’t be comfortable. On the floor, with his head in Alex’s lap is Reggie, curled in a ball against the couch. They never left her side last night.

With a heart swelling with warmth, Julie snuggles closer to Luke. Her movement causes him to hold tighter, which takes her breath away.

Julie smiles at something across from her before going back to sleep.

Laying on the coffee table in front of Alex, at the edge, as if it doesn’t want to leave her side either, is the dahlia.

[claudiasjeancregg]

also, 48 for joshdonna? for the intimacy prompts? <3

48. offering the other your coat

Josh Lyman/Donna Moss (2.1k words) 

posted on ao3 here

engraved upon my heart (in letters deeply worn)

Donna can feel the bitter chill against her skin as she slips out of the house. She presses the phone to her ear, waiting for Josh to pick up.

She wouldn’t usually go outside to talk on the phone- it’s D.C. in February, and she’d rather not catch a cold for no reason. But Noah’s already asleep and Jo has a geometry test tomorrow, so she’s trying not to make too much noise. Not that they’re disturbed very easily- especially not Jo. Once she gets started with something, it’s almost impossible to pull her away from it. Donna and Noah call it “laser focus.” She gets it from Josh, though he claims to have perfected the whole “work life balance” thing. It doesn't surprise Donna in the least- the list of traits the two of them share is a mile long. And having such a good work ethic has always helped her, especially now that she’s in 8th grade.

Damn.

She feels old all of a sudden, wishing Josh would pick up so she has someone to complain to.

The repetitive ringing drones on in her ear for a long moment before he answers and it stops. Donna has to hide her smile at the noises coming from Josh’s end- he sounds out of breath, like he’s on a jog or something. But it’s 9 P.M., and he’s on the campaign trail, so it’s most definitely not that.

“Wait-”

Something, probably the phone, crashes to the ground. She can hear him cursing under his breath. After a moment, he picks it back up.

“Are the kids okay? Are you okay?”

“What?”  She looks around for a place to sit, settling on the front porch step. She can hear him moving around, probably on the bus or in his office. She has no idea where they are today- maybe Maryland? California? She remembers Josh talking about touching base at home states, but she doesn’t have the energy to figure out what exactly he was saying.

“It’s late. You’re usually in bed by now, all cozied up with a book and a little fluffy robe.”

“A robe?” she teases.

“Well, you know,” he amends. “My sweatshirt and a pile of briefing memos.”

She shakes her head fondly before remembering he can’t see her.

“The kids are- I’m- we’re all fine. And it’s 9, Josh. I’m never in bed by now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He pauses, and all of the movement on his end stops too.

“Hi,” he says.

She can hear his smile, and can’t help but smile back. “Hey.”

Donna huffs out a laugh at the absurdity of it all- they’re married, for God’s sakes, but he can still make her smile like an idiot for no reason. It still shakes her to her core, everytime they say “I love you” or they talk about the kids.

This is her life. Their life. They’ve built a life together, a far cry from the too-long glances and energetic banter of the White House days. They’re calmer, now- older and wiser and steady. But she loves him just as much as she ever has.

He used to be a whirlwind of motion that she couldn’t help but get sucked into, constantly talking and working and creating and never standing still. But somewhere along the line, between the hushed conversations in hospital rooms and the way his hand molded to the small of her back, he became her home. His love is the feeling in her chest when she watches him with the kids, the weight of a hand in hers whenever she has a nightmare about Gaza, the constant support when she talks about a new project she’s working on.

And he’s a jackass sometimes, obviously, but he never does anything to hurt her on purpose. And when he says something that makes her want to slap him, his eyes get wide and he frantically apologizes, begging her not to cry.

One of the things she’s learned since they first started dating is that her tears are his worst nightmare. She asked him why, once. “It feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest,” he said. She almost stopped breathing. He turned bright red as soon as he said it, but still. They’ve settled into this thing, this domestic life that she never imagined he would want. Or that she would, honestly.

“Donna? You there?”

She snaps back to the present- “Yeah. Sorry. How’s it going? You guys are in Maryland now, right?”

He updates her on how their polls have been looking since they got to the state and she listens intently.

“How are Andy’s approval ratings? You’re right to keep Toby behind the scenes- I bet he’s going crazy.”

Josh relays a story from earlier that day about Toby throwing a fit because Andy refuses to let him write for her. He can barely stop laughing long enough to tell her, but she doesn’t mind.

“I should call her,” she muses.

The two of them grew closer after Gaza- once Andy got over the guilt and the absurd worry that Donna blamed her for the accident, they became fast friends. She’d always admired Andy- the woman had made driving Toby out of his mind into an art form, not to mention how damn good she was at her job. And as soon as they had been tasked with finding possible VPs, Andy was Donna’s first call.

“Yeah, I think she’s a bit tired of all the testosterone here now that you’ve gone.”

He laughs, and Donna can feel the ache in her stomach. She wishes he was here, or that she was there- it’s nice to have a break from work for a while, but she’d grown used to the pace of the campaign trail. There’s so much to do all the time, and so much to learn. Donna knows how to run a campaign, of course, but re-election was nothing like this campaign. This is new, and fun and exciting- and extremely hard. Putting a young, up-and-coming candidate in office is a whole different ball game, and she has a front row seat. She still misses the frantic pace of the White House from time to time, but what she’s doing now is so much more fulfilling. She has the power to change the country- or to give them a President who could, at least.

It’s the kind of job Donna from twenty years ago didn't know existed, and the kind of job Donna from ten years ago wouldn't dream of.

She’s no longer an also-dead- she’ll get her own damn obituary. She’s gotten past all of the struggles and the self-doubt, and now she’s putting one of her best friends in the White House.

Sam Seaborn as President.

The victory is a long time away, she knows- both Toby and Josh would make her go outside, turn around, and spit if they knew she was thinking about it, but she can’t help it. President Sam Seaborn. It’s a bright, shining light at the end of the tunnel. That’s why she’s doing this- for Sam, for her friends, for her country. For anyone and everyone who deserves a President that cares about them- she’s working her hardest to make sure they get him. That’s what makes this all worth it.

That thought reminds her why she called in the first place- she waits for Josh to finish what he’s telling her about Andy’s speech today.

“Have the results come in yet?”

“No, and you know what I was thinking?”

“Josh, I’m not going to talk to the Flenders again.”

“Donna!”

She can picture him vividly- pacing around his office, the same pouting look on his face that he always gets when he whines.

“I’m not your assistant anymore, Josh. I’m your wife- and your co-campaign manager. Get someone else to do your illegal activities.”

She expects him to complain some more, but instead his voice grows soft.

“I can’t,” he says.

She lets out a breathy laugh, trying to hide her reaction at the tone of his voice.

“Josh, I’m serious. I have enough work to do.”

Her stomach is on a roller coaster ride as his voice fills her ear. She’s taken back to Inauguration Day, years ago- sitting on his lap as they both tried to keep the inevitable from happening. He had whispered in her ear the entire cab ride from her apartment, hands resting on her waist in a manner that wasn’t remotely professional. The way his touch had felt that night- and later, when they danced together- had filled her thoughts for weeks after.

“No, I mean-” he laughs sheepishly and she can picture exactly how he looks on the other side of the phone.

“No one’s here to ask. Or, I’m not there to ask them, I guess.”

Donna’s eyebrows knit together.

“What do you-”

“Turn around.”

He interrupts her, the big smile on his face easy to hear.

She does, still confused, and drops the phone. Josh is leaning against the porch column, exactly how she had pictured him. Donna stands there for a minute, dumbstruck. Then she races over to him, enveloping him in a hug.

God, she’s missed this- the way his body instantly reacts to hers, the way he can’t seem to hold her tight enough. She can’t believe he just showed up here. She pulls out from the hug and he groans, like a five year old who just got his toy taken away. She would know- that’s exactly what Noah looked like whenever that happened to him.

“Joshua!!”

His pout turns into a wide-eyed expression immediately.

“How are you mad at me for this?” Josh asks incredulously, ducking to avoid the punch on the arm he knows is coming his way.

“It’s the first day of the primaries! You shouldn’t be here, you should be having a panic attack in your office over the Hartsfield’s Landing results!”

He reaches his hands out for her waist.

“I wanted to have a panic attack here.”

She gives into his touch, wrapping herself in Josh’s arms like a blanket.

“Okay,” she smiles.

He does not. “Jesus, Donna, you’re freezing!”

He rubs his hands up and down her arms, like he thinks he can warm her entire body up himself. He probably does- knowing Josh, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. She places her hands on his like an anchor, calming him.

“I’m fine!”

The goosebumps on her arms betray her, though, and Josh barely hesitates before whipping off his coat and handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she whispers as he wraps it around her tightly. It still catches her by surprise, sometimes. He knows her, inside and out- like the map of her heart was given to him long ago, and he’s memorized in by now.. He can always see right through her lies or false reassurances, like no one else can. Somehow, he always knows what she needs- even when she’s too stubborn to ask.

He buries his head in the nape of her neck, his arms secure around her waist. She laughs at how affectionate he’s being- before they started dating, she would have never guessed how much he loves to touch her. Gently touching her knee on the bus, squeezing her hand as they walk, holding her in his arms every night- he always wants to know she’s there, that she’s still with him. It’s one of her favorite things about him.

Donna leans into his arms and takes a deep breath, savoring the cold air. She’s always loved this time of year. It always used to remind her of growing up, of playing in the snow with her older sister while their parents watched in the back. But now it reminds her of winter at the White House, too- of thoughtful gifts and failed vacations and Josh, and Josh, and Josh.

She had always been with him when it was coldest. Somehow, it felt right that he was standing next to her now.

Donna turns around, framing Josh’s face with her cold hands. She presses her lips to his for a moment. It’s been almost 15 years of moments like this, and she isn’t tired of it. She’s not tired of him, of kissing him and talking to him and waking up next to him every single morning. And she never would.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his lips. She walks to the front door, pulling his coat tighter around her.

“At least this time I didn't have to steal your coat,” she teases.

Josh rolls his eyes, but doesn’t move.

“You didn't steal it,” he says.

She stares at him. He rubs his head awkwardly.

“I, uh- I left it there on purpose. Your coat sucked.”

She can feel her eyes growing wet.

“Donna, please don't-”

“Joshua!!”

She dabs at her eyes, trying not to cry. It isn’t the nicest thing he has ever done for her, not even close. And it was almost twenty years ago, but still. She takes a deep breath and grabs his hand, pulling him inside.

“Come on. Hartsfield votes in a few minutes.”

As they walk towards the house, hand in hand, it starts to snow.

this took a million years and i’m so sorry. this turned into something WAY beyond what i meant it to be lol- but i’m OBSESSED with this universe. and you BET i have ideas for all the other characters. 

so basically- sam is running for president, josh and donna are co-campaign managers bc one of them works in DC and stays with the kids, and then the other one comes back from the campaign trail and they switch off. this takes place on the first night of the primaries- so it’s like “hartsfield’s landing” but 18-ish years later. 

andy wyatt is the VP candidate!! is this extremely random? yes! but i love her to pieces SO. 

what else... cj and toby both work with them on this campaign. there may or may not be some cj/toby in this- or some ot3, i need advice!!! 

oh and before josh decided to run sam’s campaign, he was retired and was living the good life as a stay at home dad. jo and noah (YES FOR JOANIE AND JOSH’S DAD, LET ME HAVE MY ANGST) are 13 and 10, respectively. donna was working somewhere very important- i think she was working as a senator’s COS, then she moved to a policy center that focuses on women’s rights and outreach in foreign countries. 

title from “fair” by the amazing devil: this song is everything good in the universe and i’m obsessed with it. PLEASE everyone- go listen to it and come back and TELL ME it doesn’t give you soft josh/donna feelings. and just... feelings in general.

ANYWAY hope you enjoyed!!! i’m kind of incapable of writing good fluff but i really really really hope this was a good choice for this prompt- it felt fitting with the reunion and all :DDD 

thank you for the prompt!!

[megabees]

no need for proclamation | a beauyasha fic

a what-if look at what would have happened if Beau and Yasha began dating during the harp scene in episode 98

alternate title: 5 times the Mighty Nein didn't know Beau and Yasha were dating, and one time it was literally spelled out for them

find it on ao3 or read below

They have a conversation, out there on the beach. 

Yasha with her harp, and Beau, muscles unfurled, feeling at peace for the first time in a while. 

The ocean brings clarity for them. They who were not raised by the sea find their anxieties pulled out and caught in a riptide, their bodies returned to them smoothed and polished like a piece of glass swept out into the waves. In the dry plains of Kamordah, Beau had never seen the ocean. Its vast blue stares back at her, forcing her to appreciate how big it is, how she is miniscule in comparison. Beau: big and brash, loud and bold, a born leader, finds herself taking peace in the vastness. In the grand scheme of things, the ocean remains the same. She means nothing to the waves. There is peace in this. If nothing matters, she can do what she wants. 

 Similarly, Yasha grows up in the Moorlands, surrounded by hills and grasses, but the rocks don’t best the constance of the waves, crashing and settling on the shore. For her, someone who struggles so much with desire, with understanding that her mind is her own, the waves show an unstoppable force. A small child can try to stop the waves from their end, but they always come to the shore anyway. Her path may deviate, like the waves occasionally fade, but she comes back to the same place. Her harp, calming. The waves, swelling and settling. Her mind is her own, she takes fate by the hand. 

In front of the ocean, two women come to similar conclusions, and they have a conversation. 

They leave the beach holding hands, a new relationship formed. 

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

The Nein catch on far slower than they realistically should. Yasha and Beau aren’t hiding it, per say. They’re just not making a grand announcement. 

That’s how the Nein does things. You keep a secret until someone weasels it out of you, and then it’s known. There’s no need for a proclamation.

Or so Beau and Yasha thought. After the past three weeks, full of longing glances and not hiding the way they act around each other, they’re beginning to doubt the obviousness of their actions. 

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

They tried to hint to Jester, that day on the boat making statues for the Traveler, through subtle flirting and glances, but she never noticed.

“You have really good legs, Yasha”, Jester remarked. 

Beau catches Yasha’s eye as she says it, gives her a little up and down look. Calculating, as if she wants to know each and every inch of Yasha’s legs. 

Heat flashes up Yasha’s face. 

“Yeah, the slit was very, uh, high. Helped with moving around.” 

Another knowing glance from Beau to Yasha. When Beau thinks of that night, she thinks of two things. Firstly, the Ruby’s singing and the hypnotic way the fish moved around her. Secondly, she thinks of the way Yasha looked in that dress, shades of grey, black and white illuminating her eyes and her lips. 

As the conversation gets more intense, Beau can’t help her hand from drifting behind Yasha, using it partly to steady herself on the slow rocking of the boat and partly to just get closer. 

Yasha makes a similar move, placing her hand on Beau’s lower thigh, as she once again apologizes for running Beau through with Skingorger. 

“It just adds to my aesthetic. Makes me look more interesting.” Beau is so focused on the hand, slowly and comfortingly rubbing her thigh that she almost misses Yasha’s flustered compliment towards. 

“You’re already very interesting….You’re both very interesting.” 

It’s Beau’s turn to flush. Don’t think she hasn’t noticed Yasha’s propensity to hide a compliment to her within a compliment to everyone. It’s cute. 

It’s fun to be in those stages of a relationship, learning those new things about each other. 

Jester’s probably too busy thinking of Travelercon, they can keep it lowkey for a little longer. 

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

It turns out though, that neither of them is *great* at keeping things low key. 

If you ask Beau, it’s Yasha’s fault. Yasha’s too beautiful and talented, and she keeps showing it off. That harp haunts a few of Beau’s dreams. 

(Harps require some deft finger skills, if you catch the drift.) 

Yasha gets up to perform for the village of Vo, and she’s surrounded by all these people. Beau watches the way her hands shake, how she searches the crowd for a familiar face, and yells out “Freebird!” so that Yasha can find her. 

For Yasha, Beau’s a grounding face in the crowd of people. Someone who doesn’t care how she does, who just is there to support her. All of the Nein is, but this song is for Beau. 

Caleb lights Yasha up with silent bolts of lightning, mesmerizing the entire village of Vo, illuminating Yasha with her own personal spotlight.

It’s funny, you know. Prior to meeting Yasha, Beau had always hated storms. In the winery, grapes that got too much rain produced thin and watery wine, and when there was a thunderstorm, the workers couldn’t harvest the grapes. It meant her dad was always angry when there was a storm. Loss of profit, and all that. 

Once she met Yasha though, a storm signified Yasha for her. Thunder became part of the comforting rumble of sleeping with the Nein, and lightning illuminated how different her life looked from five years ago. 

Even when Yasha was gone, Beau hoped every night to hear a storm. Maybe it meant Yasha was returning to them. 

So it’s not her fault she’s put in a stupor by Yasha’s performance. That’s her girl. 

It unlocks a deluge of feelings in her chest. Beau’s shell-shocked, as the Nein discusses the performance absent of Yasha. 

She can’t help but allow herself to chime in. 

“That was amazing.” 

She makes sure to tell Yasha how amazing it is later that night, in hushed tones wrapped up together. 

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

After that, they begin to find their stride in how they act around their friends. 

In battle, Yasha has a free pass to be as protective as she wants. Beau’s more fragile than she, and is somehow easily swallowed? Yasha’s confused on how the beasts they keep fighting manage to find Beau in their mouths more than anyone else. 

Either way, Beau usually ends up taking more damage than anyone else notices. 

Nothing against Jester or Cad as healers, but they tend to focus on the group’s overall health levels, and Beau likes to play off her injuries. 

Vulnerability isn’t easy for Beau, so Yasha keeps a watchful eye. 

She’s already lost one partner, she doesn’t need to lose another. 

They’re traipsing through the forest, and Yasha looks away for one moment, and suddenly Beau is on the ground unconscious. 

Nosy Expositor can’t keep her hands to herself, Yasha supposes.

She gets Beau back up, taking lightning damage and healing her.

For Yasha, her healing hands are a way of showing Beau her affection. They symbolize forgiveness, and they symbolize hope. It’s just a way of showing how she cares. Yasha’s not great with words, she speaks through her actions, and she hopes Beau understands. 

That being said, as if she’s gonna let her girlfriend get healed by just Fjord. 

“It’s not a competition, okay!” 

“It’s a competition.” 

Fjord’s got nothing on her. She’s there for Beau. 

This is re-enforced, of course, when Beau asks Yasha to carry her following the fight. There was a time, when Yasha was just regaining her mind, where Beau asked Caleb to carry her following the fight with Obann instead of Yasha, and while Yasha would never admit it to Beau, it hurt a little. 

Carrying Beau is Yasha’s thing. They’ve had this joke running through the time they’ve spent together, and Yasha isn’t a fan of other people trying to butt in on that. 

Perhaps she’s a bit protective, a bit jealous of Beau. How is she to not be, though, when she was gone for so long and Beau got so much closer with everyone else. For Yasha, post-Obann was a new fear. The Nein had pursued her for so long, but they also made new friends, and what if the Nein had liked them more than they liked Yasha? It’s hard to feel like part of a group when you’re never there. Plus, she was helping someone raise a terrible god, and killing Beau’s co-workers, and while none of it was in her control, she did it. 

The fact that the Nein forgave her? That Beau forgave her and still wants to be with her? 

Yasha’s still not sure how she got so lucky. 

This thought is reinforced with Beau in her arms as they walk through the forest to face a false god. Yasha loves to be able to help. Jester and Cad might be the healers, but Yasha loves the feeling of Beau’s small, lithe body in her arms. 

She just wants to hold Beau forever, shelter her from any oncoming attacks. 

It’s with this thought that she misses Beau giving Jester a thumbs up as they venture further into the forest. 

Who needs subtlety? 

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

When Yasha catches Beau in the air with her new wings, part of her is sure it’s gonna tip off the rest of the group. 

It’s so romantic. It was probably a beautiful visual. 

Unfortunately, it seems like the rest of the Nein is either being incredibly dense or incredibly respectful, and Yasha’s too held up in her brand new wings to decide which they are. 

She flies up and over the mountain with Beau swooning in her arms, and it’s perfect. The sun casts a beautiful golden haze over the island, and Beau’s skin shines in the sunlight. 

Yasha might have the wings, but Beau is her angel. 

Then the wings disappear and they plummet into a shallow pond. 

Yasha’s not thrilled the wings last for such little time, but at least she gets to see Beau soaking wet from the pond, giggly and delighted at the flight. 

In that moment, Yasha is overwhelmed with love. It’s too early to say, but she’s been in love before. She knows what that rush feels like, that off balance feeling of “oh shit I’m in deep”. 

A small secret, then. Something to unpack on her own time. There’s no need to speed it up, to burden Beau with this until she’s ready. 

This love, it can be just hers to have for a bit. She’s allowed to want that. 

Beau brings her back to herself, pulling her out of the pond and her own thoughts in one fell swoop. 

Holding hands and giggling, they make their way to the edge of the cliffside, overlooking the mountain awash in sunlight. Looking out, Yasha is overcome and she leans over to give Beau a quick peck on the lips. 

“I’m happy to have you here with me.” 

“Oh? That true, sap?” 

Yasha laughs, nodding her head and breaking eye contact, and leads Beau to the edge to point the way down back to their friends. 

“We should probably head back, they’re gonna think we’re dead.”

They take a little extra time on the way down though since the Nein hasn’t noticed their other hints. It’s put to good use. 

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

The day they visit Molly’s grave is when they give up any attempt to be subtle at all. Throughout Rumblecusp and the days after, their relationship has switched from being a complete secret to being something that they could easily explain if asked, but no one has outright asked them if they’re dating, so it just hasn’t happened. 

Either the Mighty Nein is very dense or very respectful. Yasha’s sensing it might be half and half, because Caduceus had a very meaningful conversation with her about wanting things and patience, but Jester and Veth keep giving Beau looks when they think she should make a move. 

Yasha and Beau talk about it at night. It’s funny to them that everyone keeps dancing around the topic. Neither of them is sure about where they got the idea that they can’t just ask, but it’s fun to just have this to themselves. 

Until they go to visit Molly’s...no..Lucien’s? grave. 

Yasha has a lot of feelings around Molly and his grave, and she’s not exactly thrilled by Caleb’s suggestion that they dig him up to get some answers to questions they don’t even know yet. Feels almost rude, to take a friend out of the ground to inquire about his personal life. 

She mentions it to Beau, in a hushed whisper, and Beau attempts to stop Caleb’s focused energy by hinting heavily at it, but his focus is so intense that he brushes her, and Jester, who picks up on both Beau and Yasha’s discomfort, off. 

He gets like that sometimes. 

They teleport there, and Yasha is struck by how normal it looks. His coat is still there, though it’s blown off the stake they put in to mark his grave, and for a moment, she lets herself hope that he’s still there. 

Beau’s hand finds its way into hers as they watch Veth and Cad dig up the grave, a thread of reality keeping Yasha tethered there, eyes locked onto the now empty grave. 

She removes her hand from Beau’s, and instead moves it to the small of Beau’s back, pulling Beau closer to her for comfort. Beau’s body is tiny, but it’s something to grasp as they both figure out what this means for their future. 

At  one of the lowest moments since she regained her mind, Beau is there with her. 

She squeezes Beau’s hand once. Beau squeezes back. They’re ready to tell everyone now. 

---------------------------------- 

They tell everyone in Caleb’s fancy tower, after Yasha decides to throw caution to the wind and make a joke about Beau’s fancy sex mirror above her bed. 

Jester and Veth are overjoyed, Fjord and Caleb both want to make sure they’re taking care of each other and won’t mess up the group, and Caduceus just nods happily, though they’re sure he knew all along. 

As they sit around the fire, Yasha and Beau link pinkies and bask in the laughter and joy of their family. 

Things will be okay. 

[eagesoldartblog]

Heyooo I guess im posting fics to tumblr again- I hope you enjoy!!! Warning: detailed impalement, massive injuries, I mean MASSIVE, graphic descriptions of violence and near death experinces

Vivi’s Scar

“Hey Vivi,” She perks up, twisting her head away from her beach bag full of towels to Arthur, who was ... staring at her. He palms the back of his neck awkwardly, before pointing at her stomach, “so... sorry if this is weird but... what’s with the tattoo?”

“Tattoo?” Vivi says, raising an eyebrow, before she looks at her arms curiously, taking note of the small decals she dedicated to her two friends, “Which?”

“The one one your .. chest.”

“Huh?” Bewildered, Vivi looks down, before it hits her, “Ohh... I see what you mean.”

“Yea! I figured I - you know what, uh... what’s with it?” Arthur asks, brushing his hair back lamely and shifting on his feet as he comes closer to get a better look.

Vivi snickers, “it’s not a tattoo. It’s a scar.”

“... What?” Arthur lightly touches his own shoulder, which was scarred to hell and back itself, before looking at hers again.

“Yeah!” Vivi stretches her torso, and traces her finger down it, “don’t get me wrong, I get why you think that!”

It’s a large scar full of texture, appearing like a fat slithering snake was making a large S. The edges appeared white while the rest of the body became discolored, edging on gray. It starts around her belly button and then curves up her right breast. It was more than obvious now that she wore a bikini since it revealed the full extent of it. The thought made her grin a little bit. “I got it when I was a kid. Don’t remember how though, if I’m honest.”

“How do you not remember getting a scar?”

She shrugs, “My mom told me that I went missing one day, and when I came back, I had this wacky scar and some broken limbs. Fun stuff!” She laughs lightly, as if it wasn’t a big deal, before she returns to double checking the bag for the sunscreen. 

Arthur appears around her shoulder, craning his neck to look at it. Vivi smirks, and grabs his wrist.

“Wanna touch it?”

“Ah-! I- huh?”

“I mean you keep staring at it! And I’ll tell you what, it does feel kinda weird.”

Arthur jerks his hand away and sputters, blushing lightly, “No-nonono, that’s- uh... it just looks like- I don’t know, a carving? Kinda like when you burn designs into wood.” 

”Pyrography?” Lewis offers, peaking into the room with a cooler. 

Arthur snaps his fingers and nods, “Yes! That. It looks... like that?”

Vivi snickers again, “well thank you for calling me a piece of art~”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself.”

“How can I not?” Vivi bites her lip to avoid laughing more than she wanted to, “I know how much you two look at me~”

”Just as much as you look in the mirror?”

“Okay, fuck you, Lewis.”

The three laugh amongst themselves, Mystery couldn’t help but smile himself. Only for that smile to fade as he averts his gaze.

If only she knew.

-

The trees towered above her head, and the sweet earthy grass beckoned her in. Never willing to miss a chance on adventure, Vivi sprints through the canopy, with her trusty ‘sword’ in hand. It’s wooden bark has long since stripped away, but the stick was as sturdy as can be.

And to prove it, Vivi spots a spindly tree with a burl sticking out, and she wallops its side. The hefty crack vibrating through her arm and sending thrills down her back. How could it not? 

Vivi was a strong, powerful warrior, taking after a legacy of even more powerful warriors. A long list of samurai, rōnin, onna-musha, and yokai hunters. At the very highest, one of the most well known and revered, Mushi Yukino.

Vivi’s heart flutters, her stomach twists, as she imagines the woman, surrounded by hundreds of monsters and serpents, in between her and the legendary kitsune who she dominated and harnessed. So strong and powerful, the kitsune had no choice but to submit. They had to join the yukino family and protect her descendants!

Vivi giggles, abandoning the beaten tree and leaping through another bush. 

I’m going to be the next! Vivi laughs full heartedly, hooking her sword around a tree branch and swinging her feet as she lands. Taking off in a new direction.

As far away as possible from home. Okkasan and Otousan would be furious if they knew she went out this far. Vivi didn’t particularly care. It was her break from her studies, and her otousan let her have some time to play after a lengthy English lesson. 

But why would she just play in the court, when she could train in her natural element? 

A few mountains peak through the trees, and Vivi’s eyes crinkle as the scent of the caves and stones called to her. Only for her to dig her heel into the ground.

The mountain stands before her, tall and unyielding...  She can’t climb! Not yet... Vivi gulps apprehensively, stomach souring as her hands become clammy around her sword. Baba told her time and time again to be wary in the forests.

Pay respect, and it will respect you. But by all means, don’t go on your own.

Vivi shudders lightly, eyebrows furrowing. 

She’ll never become like the greatest monster Hunter of her family if she never learns to climb!

So...! She’ll just have to get over it!

Steeling herself, Vivi turns her head up and stares at the tree beside her.

It’s towering over her, with many branches sticking out from it. Surrounding the tree, was a few considerably smaller ones, with lush greens that nearly made it impossible to see through.

Perfect! She grins, and sets off through the bushes that also surround the tree. One bush was filled with many shiny scarlet berries. 

Vivi paid it no mind. She’s seen weirder.

-

Not far off, a white rabbit watches. The fur along its back prickling, ears straight and alert, and the urge to thump and scream intense. It leaps after her.

-

Balancing her sword against the bark, Vivi stares at the tree and bites her lip. Beads of sweat were already beginning to trace her forehead, even if it was near freezing. There were a few bumps and ridges that jut out. Looking stable. Then again... it could easily drop her if she puts too much trust in it...

Oh well! Vivi sucks in her breath and grasps one of the ridges. Much to her delight, it’s easy to hold onto, and she hurriedly grabs the next.

It scratches her palms and fingers. They're going to be really mad at her when they see her sore palms. Vivi puffs, shooing the thought away as she hooks her foot along the bark and pushes herself up. 

“I-I knew it! This isn’t so hard...!” Vivi hisses through her teeth, biceps trembling as she hangs there and traces her foot for a previous bump to stand on. Then again, and again, and Vivi could see the trees surrounding this one from a brand new angle the higher she got.

-

The rabbit runs faster. Squeaking now. Thumping their hind legs on the ground and jumping against the trees to leap faster and get to her quicker. Vivi doesn’t notice.

-

Vivi climbs another few steps, dragging her front against the harsh bark. It scraps against her harshly. Even if her sweater blocked her skin, pins and needles and a red rash undoubtedly began to form. Vivi shifts uncomfortably, eyebrows furrowing together. 

Is it a poison tree? Is that a thing? Vivi gulps, the sweat along her forehead dampening her hair and her hands became slick with that same anxiety. 

The higher and higher she got, the more the tree felt like it swayed. Vivi took a deep breath, and the tree seemed to breath with her, expanding outward until she was nearly hugging it. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand. A gust of wind pushing past her. Vivi dared a look - and saw that she was now high in the air, above the other surrounding trees and bushes. A sense of terror grew in her stomach as her thoughts filled with the image and sensation of falling-!

“It’s fine... it’s fine...” she hums to herself, forcing her smile to stay put as she reaches for another ridge- one that’s curved and slanted in an odd way that she couldn’t describe at first. 

Just keep climbing. Just keep climbing…

She felt... small. Her limbs start to ache. The air around her seemed to thicken and no matter how much she gasped, the air refused to fill her lungs. None was getting in.

Was something watching her?

”VIVI!”

Otousan? Gasping, Vivi’s entire body seizes up. Her grip on the tree began to wane, but Vivi twists her head around to peer at the ground. The… really far ground... 

No one was there.. Maybe it was just her imagination...?

Ragged, Vivi slows her breathing, and looks back to her hands and the tree.

Only for the curved ridge she was preparing to latch onto pops open. 

Vivi’s heart stops.

An eye. A deep hole like-eye with something red glowing behind the ridges- the eyelids. 

Then several more eyes open. All the other bumps above her opening to reveal angry, intense eyes. 

Vivi didn’t make a sound. 

But that didn’t matter. A creaking, cracking whine fills her ears, all the branches moving like arms. She dares a look as something seems to move in front of her stomach. 

The bark expands- bubbles- in front of her body. A branch shoots out.

Stabbing through her feeble skin. Stabbing past her spine and tearing through her torso like a toothpick. It keeps growing. Despite being impaled, it keeps growing. Sending Vivi out to dangle by her ribs around the wooden arm. Her eyes sting, feeling escaping her as she watches it all in shock. 

The tree holds her at the branch's length. She could only stare in horror as the new branch’s base splinters and creaks. Cracking.

And it snaps off.

A scream fills the air as she and the branch fall.

It’s her own.

The trees spike past her like streamers and fireworks, and as Vivi suddenly slammed against something, they explode in an eruption of different light. All behind her own eyelids. Where tears stung and her body sat numbly.

Numb. For maybe a second. Before she tried to breathe and her lungs constricted around the branch lodged through her. The narrow, bloodsoaked tip had snapped on impact. Her body sagged down on the broken pieces. Shooting pins and needles in every muscle that wasn’t already screaming.

A slickness soaked her belly. Her arms. Vivi couldn’t move. Stuck with the large branch stabbed into her like a knife.

Her throat strains. Rips. She was still screaming. Even as her mouth filled with copper and blood.

Her vision goes dark. She didn’t stop crying.

-

The rabbit races over, a growl ripping from it’s too small body as a new form rips out of its fur. Large fluffy paws become vicious claws, and a pointed mouth of teeth snap threateningly as eight tails thrash out.

“You bastard!” Mystery barks, glaring at the tree mimic with fury burning in every part of him. 

It’s many eyes blink as it unroots it’s many decoy trees, becoming sharp appendages. The scarlet berry bush shifting to his underbelly.

“What?” It hisses, “Angry because I caught your prey? You should know better than to claim what you haven’t properly snatched. This territory is free for all of us to hun-“

Mystery growls, a scream building in his throat. The mimic’s leaves recoil. Before it has the chance to flare out fully and unleash its storm of pine  needles, -Mystery pounces. 

Lunging past the barrage of needles, Mystery dives directly into the berry bush with jagged teeth. Digging his teeth in despite the horrified resound of screeching from the mimic. Mystery clamps his jaw on the one part that mattered most. 

It’s heart.

Lurching back, mystery tears the heart from its roots. The mimic’s life force began to drain instantly into the soil, enriching it with blood. But Mystery doesn’t stop there. He clenches his teeth shut, and the fruity heart bursts down his throat, coating it in a sickly spicy flavor. 

The mimic falls quiet, eyes shutting, and with nothing left to keep it up, the tree whines and creaks.

Crashing down, unrooting the earth where the roots sat.

Spitting, Mystery sends one final curse, before quiet sobbing takes hold of his heart.

Horrified, Mystery holds his breath and rushes to Vivi’s side. 

The branch that impaled her was beginning to shrink and curl, but the gaping wound was immeasurable.

Guilt and pain overwhelms his mind. Several apologies drown  his mind. 

“No! Vivi my dear, can you hear me? Please if you can, hold on as long as possible.” He begs, scanning her small, frail body one more time.

The effects of her lineage were already taking effect. Ice particles flaking off her uncovered skin, and frost attempting to stop the flow of steaming blood. Vivi’s eyes were wide open, blackened and becoming blue. The last line of preserving herself, if she knew it or not.

Mystery grits his teeth, and a flicker of a memory fills his mind.

His only daughter.. It worked for her... Yes. Yes, perhaps this may work!

He swallows back the sickly bile, and Mystery twists his head around, teeth catching on one of his eight tails.

And just like the mimic’s heart- Mystery rips the tail from its socket. Despite the pain that already threatened to crumple him, he drapes it against Vivi’s chest.

Dropping his head low, he presses his muzzle to her head, and whispers.

”My dear, Vivi. I swore an oath to do everything I can to protect you. I know we are forbidden to meet, but I care for you like everyone that came previous. I will ensure your safety. That is a promise.”

Her irises begin to glow, deep icy pits shining with golden light.

”Allow me to grant you a second chance, abilities beyond your own. To heal, to hide, and to live. Allow me this, and I promise I’ll ensure you won’t need any more.”

He kisses her head. And her body glows.

-

Katsumi sweeps through the house within minutes, annoyance bubbling in her chest as she clenches her hand. In her grasp and tightly held against her chest, was her granddaughter’s scarf. In the process of being lengthened for her upcoming eleventh birthday.

And just like she feared. Vivi was nowhere to be found. Eyes and nose scrunching with a hate filled grimace, she marches back to the main entrance. 

“Can’t believe this,” she croaks, imagining her son’s face when she undoubtedly wallops him. “Letting her run outside on her own...! Why do I bother helping him when he throws it so far to the wayside..!” 

Her son and his wife, Clara, were out of the house and were searching.

Are they not aware of how she is? Always running amok and getting into trouble with the neighbors and disturbing the guardians and kami who linger.

She nearly growls as the sound of Clara’s wind chimes. The noise breaks her concentration and worsens her growing headache. 

Where on earth was Yatamo? Have they really not found her yet-

There’s a knock at the door. Katsumi freezes, her eyes widening as spiritual energy flows into the home. A familiar one too.

You...

Gripping her staff, Katsumi moves quick and steady, and if she willed it, frost would fill the windows to show that he wasn’t welcome.

But the chance that he has Vivi... she can’t risk it.

Swallowing, Katsumi grabs the doorknob and opens it.

Her glare immediately gives way to horror.

An elderly man in a kimono and haori stood before her. With thin arms and even thinner cheeks. Despite the frail appearance, he cradled Vivi close to his chest, with nothing but sorrow in his face.

His tail peaks out from between his feet, and he bows solemnly.

“I apologize for this meeting, Katsumi.”

“What have you done to her?” Katsumi lunges forward and unhooks Vivi from his grasp. Vivi’s entire body was coated in blood, her skin cold and cracking. “What did you do to her-?” Katsumi demands again, tears welling in her eyes as she glares accusingly at him. The kitsune frowns, and stands straight. 

“I swore an oath to protect my descendants-“

“She isn’t your descendant!” She says, stomping her foot against the ground and mustering all the hate she could. “I told you to leave, and never bother my family ever again. Now my mago is- why would you hurt her?”

“I didn’t. A mimic in the forests did, next to the mountains of Yamo-no-kami.” Katsumi‘s lips twitch, and she turns away from Mystery, instead examining Vivi’s body. Her torn clothing and her shallow breathing. 

“You did something to her.”

“I had to, Katsumi, the mimic tore through her with the intent to kill. It was either this, or her life.” 

Katsumi‘s shoulders begin to tremble, bitter tears slipping down her cheeks and onto Vivi’s neck.

“Leave... leave at once!” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to come to this.”

”Out!”

“As you wish.” 

The wind chimes trill, and the man’s footsteps lightly tap the porch until he vanished from sight.

The chill from the wind seeped in, but Katsumi didn’t tear her eyes away from Vivi as she rushed to the infirmary. The one place she hoped she would never have to utilize. Never this soon.

“Vivi.. why did you let this happen...!” Katsumi asks, but it was more to herself than to Vivi, who slept unconcerned for the sob rising in her grandmother's throat.

-

Her body... hurts. It hurts a lot. She could hardly feel it, but what she could feel ached.

Vivi’s eyes were shut tightly, and every breath made her shudder. Only for her body to ache more and more. 

There's murmuring around her, it’s... somewhat familiar... Okaasan and Otousan...

Maybe she just had a bad dream? Or.. something...

“Vivi, darling?” Okaasan says. 

Crap. They caught her... swallowing thickly, Vivi cracks an eye open. It’s easier than she expects, because the only light is a flickering candle that’s.. somewhere around her. Okaasan and otousan are there, whispering to one another. Immediately to her left, baba is lightly stroking her hair.

“How are you feeling Vivi?” Otousan leans close, cupping her cheek. Breath hitching, Vivi recoils from the pain. 

“Oh- I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

There’s a moment of silence, Vivi feels herself drifting in and out, laying her head back on the considerably more comfortable pillow than the... the ground. 

“Vivi,” Grandma says, voice raspier than usual, “we need you to stay awake. Your Ojisan is coming to visit.”

“...Oji Fumi?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

The adults pause and share a silent glance, before looking down at her sadly. “You got hurt today, and your arm, leg, and ribs are broken. He’s going to come and patch you up.”

“O...okay...”

It hurts.. a lot. But maybe Fumihito will bring her some candy...? 

That would be nice.. the gummies are always nice...

-

The months have become chillier lately. Mystery sits on a tree branch, taking the form of a small bird, and he stares at the house quietly.

Since he brought Vivi home, almost none of the family members have left the house. Some have come and gone, many whom Mystery recognized, but Vivi hadn’t stepped outside once besides for a visit to a shrine. Where she hobbled around in crutches with her arm bound in bandages. 

Mystery remembered wincing, but he knew she was bound to be hurt regardless. It’s fortunate that it was just a few broken bones... It was fortunate that they kept her inside to heal. Who knew what sort of thing she could have done had she had the freedom to leave...

Yip!

Perking up, Mystery hops in place. Tempted to fly and scan the area for any dastardly foxes who may come about...

No. That wouldn’t be the case. Mystery made sure that no creature dared to harass his family... perhaps he’s just imagining things-?

There’s two more yips, and then a howl. 

His feathers ruffle as he launches himself into flight. Gliding toward the home urgently as the fox noises continued.

How is it possible- where is it coming from? Surely Katsumi wouldn’t allow a fox into the home, even if she was begged for it! So then-

Mystery lands on the roof, and quickly, he hops to the edge where the court yard was.

It was fairly sized, with a tree standing tall and filled with bird feeders and chimes. Decorations...

“-Yeah, I went to the Inari shrine for a blessing!”

Mystery would have gasped if he could, his eyes honing in on what was before him. Part of him wanted to pray it wasn’t real.

“...Is that really what you think? You’re weird!”

It was Vivi. 

She was sitting in a chair, her crutches stacked awkwardly beside her, and her leg wrapped in a cast.

No.. that wasn’t supposed to happen!

Her hands were blackened, the nails sharp.

She had fox ears, and a large puffy tail that was a brilliant white color, much like his own...

And before her, a small spirit that resembles a cat sat. The two making small talk.

She never spoke to spirits before... what is the meaning of this? Mystery hops anxiously, coming closer. The tail- the ears, they had to be fake. Yes. Stage make up put on her so that way she can play even while stuck inside-

Her ear twitches on its own. Mystery’s heart stops. Vivi twists her head and their eyes meet.

For a second she looks surprised, only for a smile to come across her now fox-like face.

Mystery turned and flew away as quickly as he could, just as she started to wave to him.

What has he done?

[godsofhumanity]

GODHUNTER by AMY SUMIDA | REVIEW

okiee this was recommended to me by @inkleaves ^-^ uhmm so i have a LOT to say about this book. spoilers under cut.

OVERVIEW: “Godhunter” is the epithet given to a young woman named Vervain who uses witchcraft and magic to go around committing deicide in order to save humanity from gods who drain their energy to gain immortality and other godly attributes. However, when Vervain is recruited by the Norse god Thor, she finds herself in an alliance with the people she originally considered her enemies, as they work together to save the world from the maliciousness of the Aztec god, Huitzilopochtli.

RATING: 2/10. i’m giving it a low rating because it doesn’t really have too much to do with mythology, but i did like its general portrayal of most deities even though this book was insanely cringey and dumb.. now, even though under the cut, i’ve kinda bashed the book quite a bit, i still have to admit that i’d be lying if i said i didn’t have fun reading it. i stayed up to 1 AM trying to finish it because i had to find out what the protag’s next stupid decision would be,, all in all, if you like trash/cringe fiction- this is for you.

WARNING: even though this book is a YA novel, I’d say there’s a definite emphasis on the adult part of “young adult”... Certain scenes and themes are inappropriate for minors.

AVAILABLE ON: pdf link here ^-^ ((i think it downloads immediately if you click))

THINGS I LIKED:

the book is cringe.

great diversity in terms of the god cast. i learned about some new deities that i was previously unfamiliar with, so that was cool

Brahma (Hindu deity) wears a Gucci belt as part of his attire ^-^

whatever Estsanatlehi and Tsohanoai (Native American deities) had going on.... they were really cute and wholesome

THOR-HORUS BROTP AGENDA!!!!!!!! everyone who follows me already knows how keen i am about this idea of all the war deities hanging out together (fite club), and this novel served up exactly that. disappointing that Huitzilopochtli wasn’t a part of it, but i am settling for Thor and Horus’ several centuries old friendship.

Horus’ falcon tattoo detail.. i LOVE the idea of the gods having their sacred animals tattooed,, it’s so awesome!!!

Pan... i liked the way he still had his little horns, and he was kinda chaotic and fun.

in general, the descriptions of the gods were so pleasant and so cool.. i really liked the way that pretty much all the gods were beautiful,, this is very much in line with my own idea of how the gods look, and i think it makes sense, because they’re meant to be charismatic, compelling beings- beings that you worship, beings that you praise- why would they be anything but beautiful? and even if they were considered ugly by other gods, that’s only in comparison to other deities.. from a human perspective,, i just can’t see how any mortal could consider a god to be anything less than perfection,, idk

in particular- i really enjoyed the descriptions of Huitzilopochtli in his debut. i know he’s a piece of shit in the novel, but i LOVED the way he was described with his war-frenzy being triggered by blood, and the way, as god of the sun, his body almost glows, and heats up as though you’re looking into the sun itself, and the only way he can cool it down is by bathing in blood... WOWOWOWOW it’s just such a neat and fantastic visual description. his physical appearance really paid tribute to Huitzilopochtli’s original domain and attributes.

i also liked the linking between Huitzilopochtli being the Father of Vampires.. links between Aztec culture and vampirism is a trope that i didn’t originally suspect, but have become exposed to quite a bit as of late,, and i think that it’s quite a clever little plot. i liked that Huitzilopochtli also debunks superstitions about the sun, garlic, crosses, holy water etc.

Huitzilopochtli as the villain. the man makes a BRILLIANT villain- his motives are very clear and also, i thought, justified, albeit unoriginal. his presence is quite terrifying, and the reader does worry for Vervain’s safety whenever she’s with him- which is good! this means that he fills out his role as a villain well. tbh,, i did love Huitzilopochtli from the moment of his debut, but he got knocked out of my books during a certain temple scene and i have some thoughts about that in the next section.

when Vervain wakes up after the temple dream with Huitzilo, and she relaxes because it was just a dream, but then she looks into the mirror and sees bite marks on her neck!!! CHILLS! now THAT was good writing- it was unexpected, and served well to navigate into the next part of the plot.

Odin and Huitzilopochtli holding a ted talk on “how to create panic and discord among the humans”, and the gods having to bring certain meals depending on what the first letter of their names were.

Vervain’s pop-culture references, and her weaponry- especially the gloves that have blades in them that get released when she swings her hand downwards. very cool, i want them.

casual appearances from Vladimir Putin (yes, i said Vladimir Putin)... i couldn’t stop laughing when i read that Huitzilo was trying to kill Putin’s daughter to instigate a war...... asdhshajdhasdjfhjdhf insane

also i know Vervain was trying to mock Huitzilo when she nicknamed him “Blue”,, but like.. that’s a really cute name and it wasn’t even insulting.. yeah, that one backfired on you Vervain... if anything, that just made it seem like she actually had affections for him and i feel like probably in part is the reason why he felt encouraged to pursue her.

THINGS I DIDN’T LIKE/THINGS THAT DIDN’T MAKE SENSE AND/OR CONFUSED ME:

the book is cringe.

it reads like a 15 year old’s fantasy AU where she’s a humble young woman, unextraordinary- yet somehow, she is the muse of every man’s desire. handsome, ripped gods who never wear clothes are laying themselves down at her feet,, and she is just overwhelmed by the choices before her; and all the while, she has to balance a complicated love life with her duty to save the world (since she’s the only one who can).

Vervain as a protagonist. idk how old she’s meant to be, but since the book is in first-person, and the reader is exposed to her innermost thoughts,, i’ve gotta say- she’s incredibly immature. as a protagonist, i just feel like she’s rude, pretentious, snobby.. she has no idea what “respect” even means. in every scene, she’s either fighting someone, or lusting after them (when Teharon told her off for having lascivious thoughts about him, and she simply responded with “well stop being so sexy then” i wanted to die.... WHAT is wrong with her)

i hate the way she looks down on the gods- even if you didn’t worship them, or even believed in their existence, surely you wouldn’t have the gall to lecture Hades and Persephone on how to be a good couple (especially when your advice is shit). surely you wouldn’t have the gall to say to Thor what Vervain says to him on pg 227, 4th line from the bottom, that i will not repeat here. Vervain is just too self-absorbed. i don’t hate her, but i definitely think her character is a bit,,, iffy.

relating to Vervain as the protagonist- everything just seems to happen to her.. and i know that she’s the protag, and things are meant to happen to her, but it all happens to her one after the other in succession, no breaks. it’s so easy for her... oh? Huitzilopochtli is going to kill Putin’s daughter? no worries, Vervain can read Huitzilopochtli’s thoughts! oh? the gods have never been able to transform more than half their body into their animal form? no worries, Vervain is so powerful she can force a god to change against their will! oh? Vervain is being attacked by blood-thirsty wolves? no worries, she saved the life of one werewolf and now he’s indebted to her and will literally kill himself in order to protect her! everything is easy, and nothing is a problem.

the way every male deity ever sees Vervain once and immediately wants to take her to bed. why was that a necessary aspect of her character? and also, why are the gods portrayed as such lustful beings?? it really wasn’t necessary.

Horus throwing a fit about how December 25 is his birthday and that it was stolen from him by Jesus... to quote:

“No big deal?” Horus puffed up. “I was called the Lamb of God. I had twelve apostles, and my myths spoke of my crucifixion and consequent resurrection in three days. His stories were my stories first!”

it’s fine that Horus is angry about his birthday which was i think, historically celebrated around this date- but the rest of it isn’t even true???? Horus didn’t have 12 apostles, i’m pretty sure he was also not called “Lamb of God”, and he wasn’t crucified!!! aghhhh even Thor says “It’s been so long that even you don’t remember things accurately.”

anyways.. my beef with this is the way it’s phrased so as to imply that “oh christianity just stole everything from the pagans” when this is so incredibly false and sounds like something an ill-informed person would say. you can read more about christianity, paganism and christmas here

kinda related to the previous point- the jokes about Jesus’ skin colour. i quote:

“... when Christ first became a god, he looked Jewish because those were the people he chose to align himself with. However, the Jews didn’t want him, and when Christianity spread, the white people wanted Jesus to look more like them. With the change in belief, Christ’s appearance changed. ... We used to tease him about how he looked whiter every time we saw him... Kind of like Michael Jackson...”

what the FUCK??????? seems like Sumida doesn’t understand that various ethnic groups illustrate Jesus as appearing as the local people do. Yes, obviously in a Western country, Jesus is going to look European, he’s going to look white. If you go to Japan, you will see Jesus and the rest of the gang looking pretty fucking Japanese. the point of this is NOT to erase Jesus’ Jewish ethnicity, and it is certainly not because of something like “the Jews didn’t want him”- it is because it is a way for followers to better relate to the Divine. including Christ in this story isn’t the problem- i’ve seen others do it very well. the problem is how uneducated her writing comes across.

all the gods have human jobs so that they can earn money and stuff,, which is fine- Thor, for example, owns a line of boats, which makes sense. but Pan? his job is making p*rn. now even though it’s true that everyone associates Pan with sexuality and stuff,,, this isn’t his primary role, and making Pan out to be just a playboy who has his mind in the gutter 24/7 i think is a bit of a mockery. Pan is, first and foremost, a god of the Wild. why Sumida elected to make him a p*rn manufacturer and not a wildlife conservationist is beyond me... i’m not even pagan, and i thought this creative decision was distasteful and stupid, especially because his character is actually quite light-hearted and cool.

the temple scene with Huitzilopochtli and Vervain. as i said previously, i really really liked Huitzilo’s character. he made an excellent villain. but this part?? i understand why it was done, but i HATED that it had to happen... not just because it was horrible for Vervain, but Huitzilo seemed so powerful and godly right up to that point- after which he seemed pretty pathetic- going back after Vervain after she’s rejected him countless times. she is JUST a mortal!!! c’mon Huitzilo, give it up!!! you are degrading yourself at the expense of achieving one mortal’s “love”.. the fact that he had to hypnotise her to get what he wanted AND had to achieve it through her dreams (when’s she can’t protect herself) was sooooo pathetic and disgraceful.. IMO, he committed the worst sin any person could ever commit and i just... AGHHHHHHHHH SMH WHY?!

speaking of morons- Thor. Thor just comes across to me as extremely possessive, and over-protective,, and idk how Vervain was NOT creeped out by the fact that Thor had literally been stalking her for two years before she even met him. wtf? god or not- that’s creepy. actually, i think it’s creepier because he is a god. 

Sif. i am still waiting for good media representation of thunder god Thor and his beautiful golden-haired wife Sif- i want them to be HAPPY, and i want them to be in love the way they should be! 

Persephone. i like the idea of Persephone being sweet-tempered, and kind- but in this book, she’s such a wimp??????? she totally just lets Vervain be rude to her, a goddess who’s name means “Bringer of Destruction”. also- her relationship with Hades seems toxic.. i mean,, he like tracks her? she starts stuttering when she talks to him, and gets nervous when people so much as mention his name. not to mention the fact that Persephone says that when she does go back to him, all he demands from her is a certain horizontal dance so much so that she is “sore” (<- quoting from the book here) every time she returns??????? WHAT IS HAPPENING?????????? and no one even questions it. Vervain doesn’t even question it! instead she suggests that Persephone MOVES IN with Hades permanently???? and that Hades should just start verbally saying how much he loves Persephone instead of “showing” her how much he “loves” her.....??? there are SO many issues with this.. i can’t even- *screams*

the Aphrodite-is-madly-in-love-with-Huitzilopochtli side plot. it could have been really good, but then it ends so abruptly,,, i mean.. why’d Aphrodite get done so dirty like that? Also summary of Hephaestus’ first and final scenes:

Hephaestus, entering the room: Right, what’s all this then? Vervain: Your wife is cheating on you (again) Hephaestus: Aight, i’m out *leaves and never comes back for the rest of the book*

what the HECK was the ending with Trevor?? i hate Vervain so much i can’t... okay first of all- WHY did Trevor decide to have a wolf-marriage with Vervain?? he kept on going on about how she’s so beautiful, and kind, and caring... NO SHE ISN’T TREVOR!!! i’m so mad that he would pledge himself for all eternity to this girl who doesn’t even like him in that way!!! you played yourself son

also- Thor accepts the fact that Trevor is going to have to be close by to Vervain because the terms of the marriage state that Trevor will literally die without her touch, which is VERY GENEROUS of Thor... but Vervain?? ooooh i HATE her.. she has the audacity to look at Trevor with her lecherous eyes thinking about lustful things IN THOR’S OWN BED!!!!! and then she thinks to herself “oh whoops i shouldn’t be thinking that”- yeah you’re darn right you shouldn’t be thinking that!!!! whatttt is wrong with her............. 

also- where tf did Huitzilo go??? he just gave up on trying to instigate a war and vanished?? the plot was so unresolved?????? AGH!

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 5 - It Was You

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Just when Hermione thought nothing worse could plague her than her constant nightmare, she has a very different kind of dream. How is she ever going to look Ronald in the face again? All she wanted was to do well in her classes, get S.P.E.W. off the ground, and finally get a good nights sleep.

Fred continues to find himself more than amazed at the infinite facets of Hermione Granger.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note: A second update this week because I like you guys so much! :) 

I will now be updating this story every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<< Chapter 4

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Moments fall like crimson nights Some stick to my skin tonight Take a breath and shake them off Eyes ahead, don't you wait too long

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“If I have to write one more word about the goblin rebellions, I think I might off myself.” Ron threw down his quill, ink splotching across this parchment, and let his head fall into his hands.

“Be careful. If you do, I guarantee Professor Trelawney will say she predicted it all along because Venus was in retrograde and you’re a Pisces,” Harry responded flatly, resulting in a smile from Ron.

Hermione would never admit it, but she secretly agreed with Ron. While not quite as distressed as her ginger friend, she did find the weekly essays assigned by Professor Binns tedious and incredibly lacking in challenge. Perhaps she found the whole thing tiresome because she already knew everything there was to know about the goblin rebellions, but it also didn’t help that the ghostly professor was about as exciting as an old shoe.

“Hermione…” Ron drew out her name like he had just come to an idea. Hermione, very familiar with this tone, knew exactly what his idea was.

“No,” she responded sternly, scribbling away at her own parchment about the various defense tactics utilized by the goblins.

“Pleeeaaase?”

“No.”

“Pleeeeeeaaaaaaase?”

She sighed. “I will edit and revise Ronald Weasley, and nothing more.”

“You’re the best, honestly.” Ron grinned and picked up his quill again, dipping it in his ink and scribbling away with renewed energy. His stupid grin made Hermione smile and roll her eyes before returning to her own essay. While she wished that Ron and Harry could just do their own work themselves, she did realize that not everyone had the discipline that she had. However, that didn’t mean she had to stop trying to get them to work harder. She knew for a fact that their potential far exceeded their marks.

They worked in silence for a while, the scratching of quill on parchment and shuffle of students walking past filling Hermione’s ears as her brain turned over, pulling out fact after fact.

In a blazing sense of pride, she finished her last sentence, tying her conclusion together perfectly, and placed her quill down on the table. At the click, both Ron and Harry looked over to her with wide eyes of disbelief.

“You’re finished already?” gaped Harry.

“I’ve barely gotten three paragraphs written. How can you possibly be finished already?!” exclaimed Ron. Hermione shushed him, glancing over at Madame Pince’s disapproving glare.

“Some of us, Ronald, utilize our time efficiently,” Hermione responded coolly as she placed her things back into her bag. She didn’t bother mentioning that she spent her last three hours in the library as opposed to their meager thirty minutes, or that she took her break after morning Transfiguration to study as well. Her eyes itched from staring at off-white pages and black script and for once she finished all her work and read ahead in all her classes. It probably had something to do with the fact that she was attending five less classes than the previous year.

There was also the small fact that she no longer slept. Nearly a month into school and she still barely slept four hours a night. When panic inducing nightmares weren’t causing her to toss and turn, she was studying. And when she wasn’t studying, she was working on her new endeavor – the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, otherwise known as S.P.E.W. Ever since the Quidditch World Cup and the horrid treatment of Winky, the house elf, she knew she had to do something. This became even more clear when she found out Hogwarts was run almost entirely on house elf labor. In all her years never did she imagine that her beloved school used essentially slavery to cook and clean. It was wrong. It was barbaric. One would assume that in a world filled with magic, where one was only limited to the bounds of one’s imagination, they would be a bit more progressive. Unfortunately, though, it seemed to be the opposite. In fact, Hermione had never met a group of people so routed in their ways as the wizarding world. Of course, it would be foolish to assume that an entire world would be impermeable to prejudices when the muggle world was not.

Therefore, where all of her time was normally spent in the Gryffindor common room with Harry and Ron or watching the Gryffindor quidditch team practice on the pitch, she now spent it nose deep in a book or attempting to recruit new S.P.E.W. members. Her absence had not gone unnoticed – in fact, it became so blatantly clear that Harry confronted her outright between Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures.  

“I don’t understand Hermione, is it something I’ve done?” Harry ran a hand through his unruly locks, distress obvious on his face.

“No, it’s nothing you’ve done Harry,” Hermione picked at her nails, feeling uncomfortable.

“Was it, Ron? I’m sure whatever he said, he didn’t mean it.” Hermione ignored the grating irritation at Harry’s blind defense of Ronald.

“No, it’s not Ron.”

“Then what? Come on Hermione, you know you can tell me anything.”

Hermione looked at her best friend and sighed. His kind eyes shone from behind his round spectacles with sincerity and concern.

“I’m not avoiding you or Ron. I’m just stressed about our O.W.L.s next year—" she paused “—You can never be too prepared, and I need to do well on them.”

Harry looked at her with a confused expression, “Hermione, they’re not for another year! Are you seriously stressing over something so far away?”  

“Yes? No? I guess…I guess I’m just used to studying all the time. You know, what with the time-turner last year and all. And then of course there’s S.P.E.W. No one seems to care at all that these poor elves are being worked day and night without any pay. I mean, it’s horrendous!” Hermione half-lied, feeling stupid as the words left her mouth. She wanted to be honest with Harry, but she didn’t know how. The real reason felt stupid. What was she to say? Sorry I’ve thrust myself into my work more than ever Harry; I just can’t stop having nightmares about something that happened nearly two months ago and I’m trying to distract myself.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, “I get it.”

“You do?” His remark caught her off guard as she wasn’t even sure if she understood it.

“You’re an absolute swot. Don’t get me wrong, we all love that about you, but you need to learn when to relax and have some fun,” Harry finished with a grin.

“You prat—” Hermione hit his arm with the back of her book “—Don’t call me a swot. But you’re right. I need balance.”  

“And I guess as appointed Secretary of S.P.E.W., I could do a bit more for the cause.”

Hermione lit up at the words. “Really? Oh Harry, thank you so much! I’m making more buttons tonight, maybe you could help me? Then tomorrow we can try and canvas some of the other houses for new members!”

“Well, if you’re so efficient, you should be able to help me finish mine!” argued Ron desperately, bringing Hermione back to the present.

“Ronald, I told you before. I’m not doing your assignment for you. You have to learn it on your own,” she whispered.

“When am I ever going to need to know about all the goblin leaders? Besides, you like doing this sort of stuff.”

“Ronald, I said n—”

“Lovers’ quarrel?”

Merlin, Hermione thought at the sound of unified voices. Rolling her eyes, she turned to see Fred and George standing behind her.

“Hey Fred, hey George,” Harry greeted them cheerfully, placing his quill down – happy for an excuse to stop working.

“Hullo Harry,” they responded in unison.

“Any progress on entering our names for the tournament?” Ron asked expectantly. Much to Hermione’s disproval, Fred and George promised him a try at whatever they whipped up as soon as they knew it was successful, and Ron had not stopped talking about it.

“We’re nearly there,” George grinned.

“So, we’ll know in about two days whether it works or not,” said Fred, leaning against a bookshelf casually. Two days? Hermione thought with alarm. Was it really the 29th of October already? That meant the students from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang, the other competing schools, were to arrive tomorrow evening! She needed to go back to her dormitory and rework her schedule. She had no room to pencil in excitement and new student arrival that week. She opened her planner to begin revising.

“How confident are you that it’ll work?” asked Ron, leaning forward in excitement.

“Extremely,” the twins answered.

Hermione let out an indecent snort and rolled her eyes again. Fools.

“Something you’d like to add Granger?” asked George, looking over at her.

“Yes, hullo to you also. So nice of you to acknowledge us in a friendly manner,” accused Fred sarcastically.

“I think some lessons are best learned through experience, rather than lecture,” said Hermione, carefully picking her words before tucking her planner into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

“But you love to lecture us, are you sure you aren’t raring to tell us how wrong we are?” asked Fred, fluttering his eyelashes sweetly.

Hermione gave a short laugh, “Please. I know a lost cause when I see one.”

“A lost cause? You hear that Georgie? We’re a lost cause.”

“I don’t know…sounds to me like she’s just afraid of a challenge Freddie.”

“It’s not a challenge if all I’m doing is slowly melting my brain trying to reason with the pair of you,” scoffed Hermione.

“Oh, I can melt your brain just fine, if that’s what you’d like,” stated Fred, stepping forward cockily.

“Is your wit really so primitive that you have to resort to sexual innuendo all the time?” Hermione asked, her heart rate picking up in her chest as their conversation turned more heated.

“Sexual innuendo? I have no idea what you’re referring to Granger. I was merely saying I might be smarter than you think. Are you sure you aren’t projecting a bit there?”

“You’re a child,” Hermione bit back, feathers ruffled that Fred seemed to be over his initial shock response to her comebacks and instead was meeting her beat for beat. His eyes held a shine to them as he smiled down at her in excitement.

“Resorting to name-calling now? I thought higher of you,” sighed Fred, tapping the end of her nose condescendingly. Hermione batted his hand away, feeling her hair begin to crackle. She was getting too upset. She needed to calm down and show him that she was better than him.

Taking a small, calming breath, she straightened her posture before replying, “That doesn’t surprise me Frederick. I’m sure it’s easy to think highly of me when your potential is so low.”

Hermione took that moment to make her exit. Turning on her heel, she walked out of the library, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. A warm flush covered her face and bled down her neck as she scurried through the halls. Adrenaline pumped through her system. Despite his ample fight, she felt quite confident that she won the battle. His lack of biting response as she left, supported as much. Departing before he could speak might have been a cheap way to go about it, but she reasoned there was no clean way to fight when it came to the Weasley twins. A small giggle bubbled up in her chest as she replayed the conversation in her head. Invigorated by the whole event, she ran the rest of the way to the Gryffindor tower. Rounding corners and sprinting up staircases, exhaustion filled her small frame by the time she came upon the portrait of the Fat Lady. Her lungs ached from the exercise and her shoulder and back ached from the heavy books weighing her bag down. She gasped the password through pants and entered as she tried to catch her breath. Fellow Gryffindors cast odd looks in her direction as she scurried up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories, but she didn’t care. Her room was empty and for that she was grateful. The last thing she wanted was a forced conversation with Lavender or Pavarti. Perhaps the physical exertion would act as a sleeping agent and she would finally fall into a deep and peaceful sleep. Best to ride the wave and go to bed while I’m still tired¸ she thought. Sluggishly, she changed out of her uniform and crawled into bed. Nagging thoughts tugged at the back of her mind, telling her to brush her teeth, but the exhaustion in her body told her to sleep. Ultimately her body won, and sleep took over.

Hermione’s mind swam the next day as she sat in double potions with the Slytherins. It was nearing the end of class and Professor Snape was taking the time to explain to them why their potions had been improperly brewed in one way or another. Hermione’s hadn’t of course, but that didn’t stop him from berating her for being an ‘insufferable little know-it-all’, and then accusing her of helping any student that didn’t manage to burn a hole in their cauldrons. She diligently took notes as Snape droned on and on, but her mind failed to connect to the words she was writing down on the parchment. All thoughts and worries were currently focused on an embarrassing personal crisis. The dream.

While Hermione thought nightmares were the worst thing, she could possibly endure in her sleeping state, she had to admit she had been wrong. No, apparently there was something much, much worse stewing in her brain waiting for vulnerable unconsciousness to leap out and take form.

She had been in the library, wandering through the sections of towering shelves when she appeared in a section, she was unfamiliar with. Turning a corner her eyes grew wide at the sight of two older students locked in an intimate embrace. Her heart started to race, and her breathing began to pick up as she felt a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach. She tried to leave but found herself unable to move – her feet glued to the floor. That’s when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist and a pair of lips kissing up her neck. Her hands went up, one grabbing at the fingers that dug roughly into her flesh and the other threading itself through long thick hair. She turned her head only to see that the hair between her fingers was a brilliant shade of ginger. The realization was so shocking to her that she awoke from her dream, sitting ramrod straight – heart pounding, sweat-slicked, and breathing heavily.

Her face blushed just thinking about it. Turning her head casually to the right, she spied one of her best friends. Ronald Weasley sat next to Harry, slumped forward in his seat, head resting in his hand. His long hair hung way past his eyes, concealing them completely. Hermione, knowing Ron, would bet on her life that they were closed, and he was verging on sleep. She knew he wasn’t fully asleep though, because if he were there would be loud snores coming from his direction. Him. He was the one her mind decided to fantasize about. Why? She studied him, her eyes tracing the freckles on the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t bad looking; she always quite liked his hair and pale complexion. He had a kind heart and could be quite charming when he wanted to be, the problem was that rarely did he want to be. He could be quite cruel and insensitive without knowing it, and he didn’t care for much other than Quidditch. Is that really what she wanted in a partner? Hermione scoffed at her mental ramblings. Here she was, wondering if Ronald Weasley were her potential first love without considering that he would probably never be interested in her. After all, her hair was a bushy, frizzy mess, her teeth were far too big for her mouth, and her otherwise plain features left much to be desired. Not to mention her overall swotty personality. Still, hadn’t he told her that she was ‘the best’? And he certainly didn’t mind being her friend. What if he did like her?

“Miss Granger, is there something on Mr. Weasley’s face that’s so interesting that you cannot be bothered to pay attention?” The sound of Professor Snape’s voice brought Hermione out of her thoughts, and she looked up to find all eyes on her. The Slytherins snickered around her, and Ron and Harry looked at her in surprise. Hermione felt her face flush with embarrassment.

“No Professor, my apologies,” she mumbled, looking down at her notes.

“Five points from Gryffindor for Miss Granger’s lack of interest. Class dismissed,” snipped Professor Snape as he turned towards his office. Hermione packed her bag and exited the classroom as quickly as possible.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked, him and Ron catching up to her with ease.

“Sorry guys, I got lost in thought and didn’t realize where I was looking. I guess I should have been paying attention,” Hermione stammered, readjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“No problem Hermione. Snape’s a git and no one blames you. I was almost asleep near the end there too,” Ron piped in with a friendly smile. Hermione felt her stomach flip.

“Thanks Ronald.” She smiled back.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a couple of love birds, boys,” Draco Malfoy sneered as he came up beside them. “When’s the wedding? I’m sure it’ll be just lovely, or at least as lovely as five knuts’ll get you.”

Hermione scowled at the silver-hair bully, with all his sharp pointed features and disgustingly greasy demeanor, as he laughed along with his goons. She rolled her eyes and grabbed both Harry and Ron by the arm, leading them on towards the front of the castle. Ridiculous. That’s what she was being. It was ridiculous to waste her time worrying about some absurd dream when that’s all it was – a dream. Besides, she didn’t know for certain it was Ron who she dreamed about. There were plenty of red heads in the world.

Outside the main entrance they found Ginny next to Neville in a crowd of students.

“Did we miss anything?” asked Ron, looking excitedly about.

“Nothing yet, you’ve made it just in time I think!” Ginny exclaimed in glee. The castle was in a fit of excitement. Even the Slytherins, who didn’t find much joy in anything school related, seemed to be chomping at the bit for their guests to arrive and the Triwizard Tournament to finally take off. Hermione, too, was excited but more at the thought of getting to meet students from other magical schools. She had taken the liberty of reading as much as she could on the histories of both Durmstrang and Beauxbaton and was informing Ginny on their key similarities and differences when several gasps and shouts erupted around them.

“Look!” Ginny yelled, pointing up at the sky above them. Hermione followed her finger upwards to see a large horse-drawn carriage flying through the clouds, pulled by a dozen flying horses the size of elephants. She watched as they soared through the air, their wings pumping up and down in synchronization. The size of the horses was comparable to what they were pulling, for as it got closer, Hermione estimated the carriage to be at least twice the size of her home back in Hampstead. The carriage floated prettily, a pale cream embellished with pastel blue designs and gold trim. Obviously of French provincial style, she concluded that this was clearly the Beauxbaton students. So enthralled by the ornate and bordering ostentatious carriage and the horses pulling it, Hermione failed to notice heads turning and mouths gaping at the Black Lake. In fact, her gaze only broke away from the magnificent beasts when Ron elbowed her from behind. She turned to scold him, but caught her tongue when she noticed a daunting, black ship floating on the lake. It rocked back and forth, sending large waves crashing away from it on the usually glass-smooth surface. Hermione thought it very much resembled what happened when you dropped a large rock into a pond and wondered how it got there. Someone was sure to tell her later – there were plenty of witnesses.

“Way to make an entrance!” exclaimed Ron, followed by loud whoops and cheers as he clapped.

“A bit flashy, if you ask me,” Pansy Parkinson sniffed from a nearby group of Slytherins.

“She’s one to talk,” Hermione mumbled under her breath.

“Hah!” a boisterous laugh sounded behind her. Hermione swiveled and caught a pair of hazel eyes looking at her.

Fred leaned towards her. “Nice one Granger,” he complimented over the babble of conversation around them. His warm breath fell on her neck, all too reminiscent of her dream. Her body jerked to attention, heat creeping up her face before she smiled politely and turned away from the older boy.

“They’re coming up to the entrance!” Seamus Finnigan announced. Hermione thanked Merlin for the distraction and looked down the path leading to the front of the castle. Sure enough, there was a large group of individuals walking towards them. As they neared, the Hogwarts students cheered and applauded them, trying to welcome the foreign students like Professor Dumbledore advised. Hermione clapped softly as the first students approached. A tall and unsettling man led the group. His dark hair, speckled with bits of silver, sat heavy on his head, slicked back from his angular face. The sharp features and the long, grey goatee gave him an ominous appearance fueled even further by the deep scowl set into his mouth and piercing black eyes. He wore midnight black robes paired with a brilliantly white fur pelt over his shoulders. Igor Karkaroff. Headmaster of Durmstrang. The students behind him wore robes of deep crimson, the color sharing an eerie resemblance to the color of blood. Like their headmaster, they too donned thick furs to fight the crisp cold, only theirs held a rich color of brown. They looked incredibly warm. Subconsciously, Hermione pulled her wool robes closer around her as a strong breeze blew around them.

“Bloody hell! It’s him!” Ron shouted, his voice taking on a hysterical tone.

“Who?” asked Harry.

“Victor Krum! It’s Victor Krum! Right there in the front!” Ron pushed himself forward and past Hermione to get a better look at the famous Quidditch player coming towards them. With Ron’s tall figure in front of her, she failed to confirm whether the Bulgarian seeker truly lead the group of Durmstrang students. Ron’s excitement only increased as the visiting students got closer and then passed them into the castle.

“Ronald! I can’t see!” Hermione pounded lightly on Ron’s back with her fists until he snapped out of his star struck trance. The ginger boy turned around, a sheepish grin across his face.

“Sorry about that Hermione. Here.” Awkwardly, Ron shifted over and led Hermione to the front by her waist. For the second time that afternoon a Weasley boy reminded her of her dream, Ron’s touch all too like the arms that held her sensually the night before. She took a small step forward, putting distance between herself and Ron’s grasp. The students from Beauxbaton were the next to make their way down the path. The crowd gawked at the elegant French students as they walked poised and beautiful down the cobblestone in their blue silk uniforms. Hermione, on the other hand couldn’t help but find them annoying. They shivered and chattered their teeth in such an exaggerated manner and looked up at the castle with such disgust and judgement that she immediately took a disliking to them.

“For Merlin’s sake! It’s not that cold,” Hermione groaned as the boys and girls huddled together for warmth. Hermione thought them incredibly rude and found it idiotic that they did not think to wear warmer robes. However, someone in their party evidently had sense, as their headmistress sauntered up the path in a heavy shawl, completely unbothered by the cold. Although, Hermione wasn’t sure anything could bother the woman as she stood twelve feet tall and sturdy. A neutral expression, bored some might even call it, covered her face and despite her size, she too glided gracefully across the ground. As they walked past, Hermione could hear little bits and pieces of snide remarks from the Beauxbaton students. Apparently, they thought Hogwarts would be much nicer than it was. Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. She assumed that as guests, they would have much better manners.

“Honestly, can you believe that rubbish?” Hermione exclaimed, turning to Ron and Harry behind her. Instead of meeting commiserating sentiments like she expected, the pair continued to stare at the Beauxbaton students until they disappeared completely into the castle. Their mouths hung open widely, making them look quite dumb, and Hermione turned to Ginny with a questioning look. Ginny shrugged, also confused over her brother and Harry’s behavior.

Hermione waved her hand in front of the pairs’ faces.

“Hullo! Are you two listening to me?” she asked, frowning.

“Bloody hell, did you see her?” Ron asked, in more of a trance than when he saw Krum.

“Yeah…” Harry said dreamily.

“See who?” Hermione questioned. What was wrong with them? They hadn’t acted like this since…oh goodness. Not since the Veelas at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Ahhhh it seems our poor baby brother has fallen victim,” George stated woefully, placing a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. She looked up at him and then back down at his hand.

“Why are you fine?” she asked, shrugging off his hand.

“Oh, Alicia and Angelina were sure to snap us out of it,” Fred stated, then placing his hand on her shoulder.

“And how exactly did they do that?” She raised an eyebrow, shrugging off his hand as well.

“Like this!” the twins shouted before reeling back and smacking both Harry and Ron in the back of the head. The two fourth year Gryffindors yelled out in pain, grasping at their heads before spinning around and glaring at Fred and George.

“What the hell was that for?!” Harry barked.

“You were drooling mates,” George smirked.

“And it’s time to go back in,” Fred pointed behind them at the entrance to the castle where most of the students were filing through already.

They followed the crowd back into the castle and through the corridor into the Great Hall. It seemed the Durmstrang students took a special liking to the Slytherins as almost all of them were seated at their table. The Beauxbaton students seated themselves at the Ravenclaw table, much to Ronald’s disdain. And it was Ronald’s unhappiness that also fueled Hermione’s sore mood as well. Silently she ate her dinner and watched as Ron fawned and drooled and ogled the girls from Beauxbaton for the entirety of the night. When a particularly pretty one approached their table asking him for the bouillabaisse, Ron was left speechless.

“Honestly, Ronald. She’s just a girl. You know, like every other girl in this school. Including myself,” Hermione tried to reason with him.

Eyes still trained on the French beauty, Ron responded with incredulity, “That’s ridiculous Hermione. She’s no girl. That right there is a woman. Leagues above any girl here at Hogwarts.”

A woman? What did that even mean? She was only a few years older than Hermione. She didn’t even look that much older. Hermione turned her attention back to the food on her plate and found that she had lost her appetite. So instead, she pulled a book from her bag and buried herself behind it, slowly sinking lower into her seat as the night went on. She missed the moment they revealed the cup that competitors were to put their name in, too engrossed in the words on the page, and when dinner was over, she was the first to leave the Great Hall. Only, she didn’t head straight for the common room like she usually did. Instead, her feet carried her through the castle until she found herself in the library once again. As she seated herself in her favorite corner, she was reminded of something Professor Trelawney had said her third year. ‘Oh you may be young in years, but the heart that beats beneath your bosom is as shriveled as an old maid’s, your soul as dry as the pages of the books to which you so desperately cleave.’

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“Another potion successfully made brother.” Fred grinned, stretching the muscles in his neck and back.

Fred and George Weasley currently sat in an abandoned classroom as they finished the answer to all their problems. Well past curfew, the pair had just filled two vials with the clear aging potion and capped them triumphantly.

“I’d say that one was particularly easy, wouldn’t you?” George replied, standing up.

“As easy as beating Percy in a game of wits.”

“Off to bed then?”

“Actually, I think I may pop down to the kitchen and grab myself a bite to eat. Clean up here?” Fred asked, motioning around the room. The classroom was their own personal haven; tucked away in an old corner of the castle that few ventured it was their go-to space for all their inventing and brewing needs. It was only thanks to their time with the Marauder’s Map that they knew about it.

“Yeah. See you in the morning Freddie.” George waved goodbye as Fred exited the classroom and headed down towards the kitchens. The low light of the hallway candles washed the castle in a soft glow that contrasted with the icy chill of nighttime. The castle was always cold at night. However, the frigid temperature didn’t bother Fred Weasley as much as usual that night. He was far too excited to be bothered by much of anything, really. Tomorrow was the big day. They were going to enter their names into the Goblet of Fire, and it was going to be glorious. Fred had no idea if one of them would even be picked to compete, but just the idea of winning the prize money was enough to keep a spring in his step and a surge of determination coursing through his veins.

He kept quiet as he tip-toed through the halls, just in case Filch was lurking around corners. Turning down the last corridor he was surprised to see, not the scraggly old Mr. Filch, but the familiar figure of a bushy-haired fourth year. Hermione Granger stood in front of a picture on the wall, the torches in front of her illuminating her and making her hair glow like an ethereal halo.

“Hermione?”

She spun around, glancing back and forth, looking like a frightened animal. Fred stepped closer, out of the shadows so she could see him more clearly. He watched her relax, her shoulders dropping from her ears and slumping forward. She laughed lightly.

“Merlin’s beard, Frederick! You scared me!” Hermione exclaimed with an edge of relief in her voice.

“Shhhh!” Fred hushed her, rushing forward, and covering her mouth with his hand. “Do you want to wake the whole castle with your yelling or just Filch in particular?”

Hermione’s eyes widened in alarm. She stiffened beneath him, the two of them silently listening for any signs of Filch or his wretched cat, Mrs. Norris. When Fred failed to hear anything, he let out a breath of relief and looked down at the little witch in his arms. Suddenly he was awash with the memory of the last time the two of them had been that close. The night in the forest when they were hiding for their lives. He removed his hand and stepped back.

“I didn’t realize it was so late. I was coming back from the library and decided to go for a bit of a walk,” whispered Hermione, looking up at him under the glowing light of the torches. “How are we going to get back to the tower without being seen?”  

“Simple. I know a shortcut. Come on.” Fred grabbed Hermione’s hand, pulling her along with him down the corridor. Her hand was small and cold but fit surprisingly well in his own. His stomach growled, and mournfully he thought of the late-night snack he originally set out to get. He continued down the halls at a quick pace until they reached the tapestry he had been looking for. Tapping his wand five times at its center, he pulled back the tapestry to reveal a hidden passageway. He let go of Hermione’s hand and the two slipped behind the tapestry, letting it fall back into place behind them.

“Lumos,” Fred spoke softly, lighting the dark space with the tip of his wand.

“Amazing, this must be one of the secret passageways on the Marauders’ Map,” marveled Hermione.

They made their way down the narrow passage, taking up a leisurely pace, not feeling the pressure of getting caught by Filch or his cat. The shuffling of their feet on the cold stone filled the silent space around them as they climbed up stairways and weaved around corners. As they walked, a nagging thought pricked at the back of Fred’s mind until he couldn’t help but voice it.

“So, walks about the castle past curfew. I didn’t take you for the type Granger,” Fred teased. Hermione let out a loud and vulgar scoff. Fred turned, looking down at her incredulously, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The young witch lifted her chin in indignation, “What sort of type did you take me for?”

Fred shrugged, “You know, the good girl type. Doesn’t get into trouble. Doesn’t break rules. Perfect Prefect material.”

“I’ll have you know I break plenty of rules.”

“Yeah, but only when it’s Harry or Ron’s idea,” pressed Fred, hoping to goad her into revealing something he didn’t already know.

“That’s not true!” She turned her head and glared at him.

“No, don’t believe it.” Fred shook his head.

“Well, believe it because it’s true.”

“Prove it.”

“Prove it?”

“Yeah, tell me one rule that you’ve broken that wasn’t Harry or Ron’s idea.” He glanced at the younger witch out of the corner of his eye. Her brows were scrunched together, her pink lips pouting as she thought. Then her face opened in excitement, eyebrows lifting and mouth opening, revealing her large front teeth below her upper lip.

“In first year, it was my idea for Harry to sneak into the restricted section of the library over Christmas holiday,” she stated proudly.

“That doesn’t count! You only thought of the idea; you made Harry do all the dirty work,” countered Fred.

“Alright, in second year I brewed Polyjuice in the girl’s lavatory and nicked lacewing flies from Professor Snape’s office to do it,” said Hermione triumphantly as they reached the end of the passageway, coming out the other side right next to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Hermione spun around, crossing her arms in front of her as she waited for his response.

“Who’d have thought that the Hermione Granger was such a delinquent,” praised Fred, grinning widely. He was truly impressed. He had no idea that the bright little witch had it in her to steal from a teacher.

Hermione sniffed haughtily. “That’ll teach you to underestimate me, Frederick Weasley,” she stated coolly, but her golden brown eyes shown with flee, like he had just given her the best compliment in the world. He then watched in awe as she turned around, mutter the password, and disappeared through the portrait into Gryffindor tower.

“It sure will Granger, it sure will.”

Chapter 6 >>

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