#anyway. i wanted to prove to myself i could still draw her

[mikunology]

Out of the panels and into your heart, it's Hatsune Miku!

it's been a while

[galaxiasgreen]

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-rated, 12.4k]

You threw yourself in a hug, and he didn't know what to do with himself. You'd grown in places he shouldn't have noticed. You smelt good. You felt good. Everything about you – good. He would bottle your essence and drown in it, if he could.

In which, with the betrothal hanging over him, Ominis pushes you away to keep you safe.

Tags: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, pure-blood culture, canon rewrite, book!canon compliant, comas, mild sexual references, secret betrothals, Gift Giving as a love language, recognising her scent, touching, sad pining, Something Blue.

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | NEXT AO3 | Wattpad

9. It was Always You

When the tears left him, the first emotion that filled the void was rage.

No matter how many times Ominis tried to stop trembling, reality did not change. He was still hiding in the Ellingboe drawing room, still suffocating beneath people he did not call family, still condemned to a future that no longer felt like his own. He was betrothed. To his cousin. And it had been all planned before tonight, agreed upon by his parents over candlelight and whispers, puppeteering him like a piece on a game board, securing the bloodline's future above all else. A shaken hand had sealed his fate.

You ought to not to bite a hand that feeds you. Mrs Ellingboe's warning from Christmas pierced him sharply, and he seethed, dawning on her meaning too late. The Gaunts were poor now, yes, and the Ellingboes modestly wealthy – but his family possessed something hers did not: Slytherin's rare ability of Parseltongue, and Ominis, being closest to Dorothy's age, was the most ideal candidate for a match.

Foolish boy, not to see this coming. Perhaps he was blind in more than his eyes.

Someone knocked at the door. Ominis sat up, quickly wiped his face.

"I'll be out momentarily."

The door opened anyway.

"Look who's facing the consequences of his own actions."

Ominis snatched his wand, furious. "I don't have the patience to deal with you right now—"

"Then you'd better find it, Gaunt," Peregrine laughed softly. "I may not be able to speak Parseltongue, but I can read you like a first year textbook. I know exactly why you don't want to go through with the match."

He stood, trying not to let the boy rattle him nor err too close to the truth. "Your obsession with me is disconcerting. Flattered as I am, I don't think about you nearly as much as you seem to think about me."

"You give yourself too much credit. Proves you're blind when you fancy yourself that stupid, ugly Hufflepuff over anyone else."

He clutched his wand so tightly it could've snapped, but Peregrine came closer.

"You ought to thank me, actually. You were about to make the worst mistake of your life."

"I assure you, I'm very capable of deciding that for myself."

Peregrine sneered. "Did you know I have an aunt, Gaunt?"

I couldn't give a Doxy's nip about your family. "No."

"When she was twenty-two, she ran away to elope – with a filthy Muggle. Guess what happened to her? Face destroyed from the family tree. No inheritance. Barely enough money to scrape by. All of the important families shun her and their pathetic whelp of a daughter Daphne."

He vaguely recalled a Daphne Lovelace in one of the below years. "What does this have to do with me?"

"What do you think, moonmind? I set up the match."

Ominis couldn't hide his shock. "You?"

"Dorothy is my friend. Only took a little convincing to make her believe you would be ideal. And now that you're as poor as the Stone-Brokes, you have no choice but marriage."

"But why? If you believe I'm a blood traitor, why would you bind your precious friend to me?"

"Because it's a waste," Peregrine snarled. "It's one thing to squander the Malfoy name, but Slytherin's bloodline? You'd turn your back on centuries of legacy for a filthy Mudblood?" He clucked when Ominis raised his wand. "Go on, I dare you. You won't do anything with our parents next door."

Ominis knew he'd been had.

"You're going to marry Dorothy, Gaunt," Peregrine turned back to the door, "in return for keeping your dirty secret. And if you think about doing anything funny, if you think about running away with that silly Mudblood bitch," he grinned, "she'll pay for it."

When he left, Ominis sank back into the chair, too emotionally spent to cry anymore. His body rebelled against the idea, as if such a marriage innately opposed his very being. He could say no. Turn away. Free himself of these restraints that had been cuffed to him his whole life. But what sort of punishment did defiance of this level warrant? Peregrine's aunt may have been cast out, shunned, burnt from the family tree, but the Gaunts were far less forgiving. If he were to refuse Dorothy's hand...

Would they kill him?

That he had to ask himself such a question tore through him anew. They were capable of it, and frankly he suspected they would be more than happy to purge the weak link, the blind runt, from their supposedly magnificent house. If he wouldn't marry and continue the Slytherin bloodline, after all, what use would he have in living?

And then, of course, he had to worry if they would stop at him. Peregrine could tattle regardless of whether Ominis kept up the bargain, and his parents would consider all those who opposed their views as their enemies. Would they go after his friends?

Would they go after you?

No. He couldn't let such a thing happen. He palmed the lingering wetness around his eyes. He would marry Dorothy Ellingboe if he could spare the people he truly loved. There were worse fates than a poor marriage, and Ominis was happy to acquiesce as long as his friends, and you, were safe.

It would be painful. It would be the most painful thing he would ever do. But he would do it. For his friends. For you.

His thoughts turned back to that moment with you on the balcony.

He wished he could take it all back.

So he returned to the dining room, smile plastered on his face. He endured the well-wishes and congratulations, and agreed to a quiet engagement, so Dorothy could make a grandiose announcement at the Fawley Christmas soirée later that year. For now the betrothal was a secret, one that burrowed beneath his skin like maggots, feasting on his decaying insides. It didn't seem to matter what he wanted, how much he pleaded, nor to whom, be it the strings of fate or some higher power. Something, somewhere had already ordained that you and he were the sun and the moon, arcing in different directions, never meant to cross. Never meant to meet at all.

And it seemed pointless anymore to try.

He returned for seventh year without a strategy. On the train up he was reluctantly roped into a compartment with Imelda and Nerida, and eventually Missy. They shared the excitement of their summers, their career plans, their apprenticeships, their worries about the final year workload. But he was quiet, unresponsive to questions. With Missy the most trustworthy of his companions, he should've told her about the betrothal – but it seemed whenever he tried, the words were lodged in his throat, and he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Speaking it aloud made it real. It scribed it into the chapters of his future, as permanent as ink.

At Hogsmeade station, when he gathered his things to go, Missy tapped his shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine."

"I can see something is bothering you."

"Another time." She seemed to want to argue, but he said, as politely as he could muster, "If I want to tell you, I will."

She didn't persist, but no doubt she didn't let the subject drop, either.

By dinner, he found the parchment in his pocket.

Undercroft, 8pm.

<3

His heart raced. If he struggled to tell Missy the truth, how the hell was he going to tell you?

Still, at 8pm sharp, he was in the Undercroft, waiting. Typically you were late, hauling something scratchy that made clinking sounds. A... basket?

Your voice was suffused with joy. "Hello!"

His heart gave in instantly, but the rational part of him, whatever was left of it, forced him to take a step back. "Gibby, wait—"

You threw yourself in a hug, and he didn't know what to do with himself. You'd grown in places he shouldn't have noticed. You smelt good. You felt good. Everything about you – good. He would bottle your essence and drown in it, if he could. Instead he pulled himself away, and a flutter of panic tinged your voice.

"Sorry, sorry, too much? I just missed you. A lot."

"I— missed you too." You'd left him breathless, as you always did.

"And I— well, I brought some wine. You still like wine, right? Of course you do." You reached for the tinkling bottles from the basket. "Connor's more a connaisseur than I am, so I had him choose something that I thought you might like. It's from Italy, Muggle-made, sorry to disappoint your noble and most eminent bloodline—"

Bloodline. The betrothal.

"— but you don't have to drink it. If you don't like it, just say. I won't mind, promise. I tried to like it over summer so I can drink with you, but it was too sour for me, so I can have juice instead, no harm. I thought today we could catch up over a glass, or— or do things that would make both our families blow a gasket."

A blush swept over him. "Gibby—"

"Like— holding hands. Or we could... cuddle. I like cuddling." You laughed suddenly. "Golly, I'm rambling. Sorry. I'm just— nervous. Because— because of what you said. To me. Before we left for summer."

"Wait, please—"

"The curse still affects me, obviously, but it's been over a year now, and my mama said that I should just thrust myself into the action and get back into the swing of things that way. And I-I sort of realised I couldn't keep you waiting. I know you said you would wait, but, you know, it's not really fair on you, when you— when you confessed so sweetly—"

"Gibby," he barked, a command. "Stop."

You cut off as if someone had cast Silencio. He couldn't handle this, handle you.

"I'm sorry... I'm afraid things are different now."

"Different? How do you mean?"

He felt like the worst man in the world.

"I— I don't love you anymore."

You went utterly still.

"What?"

He'd promised never to cause you pain, but the betrothal haunted him. Remember why you're doing this.

This was the easiest way, the best way.

"I said those things in— in a thrall."

"You were bewitched?"

Only by you. "I mean I was being fanciful and silly, and I spoke out of turn."

"You are the last person to say things fanciful and silly, Ominis," you said with an edge. "You're also the last person I know to speak out of turn."

"This time I made a foolish error in judgement. I'm sorry, but— this ends here."

He thought you'd start sobbing. The last time he broke your heart, after all, was in this very place.

Instead you rose up. You closed the gap and grasped his arm.

"You're lying."

"No—"

"You are." He heard the lump in your throat. "You don't tell me you love me and then go back on your word, Ominis Gaunt. What's brought this on? Your family again?"

It's always them. It must've shown in his expression, because your grip softened.

"I can hide it. I know I'm a terrible liar, but I can keep this between us—"

"I'm tired of it," he relented. "I'm tired of hiding you."

"So that's it? I'm not worth it?"

He couldn't say no. It would be another lie.

"I will happily endure all the horrible looks and snide remarks and silly insults for you, because you're worth it to me." You drew yourself ever closer, sealing the gap. "You're tired of hiding? I'm tired of being afraid for myself. I told you I'd never leave you again. I meant it."

You were distractingly close. He had to compose himself before his attentions wandered.

"I won't have you hurt."

"Oh please, I've been cursed. What's the worst they can do after four months of torture?"

"They can and will find worse things. Much worse. A torture curse to them would be child's play."

"And I'm a very competent witch who can fight them off."

"This isn't Defence Against the Dark Arts classes," he snapped. "They could kill you. They would not hesitate."

"I don't fear them, Ominis."

Stubborn, loyal...! "What part of this do you not understand?" he said desperately. "It's death, Gibby! Do you know how much you'd be risking?"

"I can handle whatever they throw at me!"

"But I can't!"

At your abrupt silence, his hands trembled.

"Four months I sat at your bedside, wondering if you were ever going to wake up, and I will not put myself nor you through that again. I will not."

Your breath caught. He could almost swear he felt your heartbeat, too, ramping up a notch.

"I've made up my mind." He took a step back, lengthening the gap between you. "You will not change it."

He turned to the grille, but you called out.

"I will change it, Ominis," you said with fierce determination, enough to make him want. "You spent all of last year making me fall in love with you. So I'm going to return the favour!"

As the lift ascended upwards, he pressed his forehead to the criss-crossed bars. Merlin, if what you said was true, he would not be able to escape. You knew, of course, that even though he claimed he didn't love you anymore, it was a bold-faced lie. That he was already helplessly yours, and it didn't seem possible he could fall any harder.

There'd never been a grand moment of clarity when he realised. It was a build-up, little things upon little things, small flickers of his feelings, gentle nudges towards the turning of his thoughts from fondness to affection. To choose a singular point would be impossible, but even now he remembers the first time he noticed, at the end of third year aboard the Hogwarts Express. As the train approached London, you were scrabbling through your bag to hand him something small and squishy, wrapped in paper.

"What's this?"

"A gift," you said cheerfully.

"What is the occasion?"

"Does it have to be an occasion?" You sank back into the seat opposite, sheepish suddenly. "I can't send you owls over the summer, so... I thought you might like this instead. So you don't forget me."

Rather impossible for forget you, but he unwrapped the package, apprehensive. His brow furrowed as he skimmed the fabric – linen, about a ruler square of it. Unevenly cut, and the hemmed edges were already fraying.

"Is this... a handkerchief?"

"Yes," you said. "You should, erm, feel the corner..."

So he drew his thumb across until he grazed the bump of beads. Seven, in a precise format. Three like an arrow pointing right, and four forming a square.

OG

His breath caught, his heart thumped. "Where did you get this?"

"I made it."

"You made this?"

"Well, the linen I didn't make, obviously." And you were blathering again. "I bought that in Hogsmeade. Cut a little square and did the edges myself. It's... not very good, I know. I'm still learning, and my arm still hurts after the fall. Mama says I'll get better with practice. I tried using magic too, a little Wingardium Leviosa to hem, but, erm, let's just say I poked myself more with the needle than the fabric, so I did the rest by hand."

By hand. This must've taken you a few hours, at least. For a gift with no occasion attached. Just because you wanted to, just because you could. You rendered him so touched that for a long moment, he said nothing, simply drew his thumb across the braille of his initials like it might dissolve at any moment.

His silence was a mistake, in hindsight.

"You don't like it."

"What? No—"

"You probably have fifty million silk handkerchiefs at home that feel like Jesus kissed your skin, so you don't have to keep mine, I just thought of the idea the other day, it's stupid really—"

He reached forwards and grabbed your shoulders, staying your tongue.

"None of my other handkerchiefs have anything monogrammed in a language I can read. This is... very thoughtful of you." Another thump of his heart – how strange. "Thank you."

He heard that smile slowly growing on your face.

"I'm glad."

He'd tucked that little handkerchief into his drawer at home, using it sparingly so the fabric didn't wear. It was more than a gift to him – it was a symbol that your friendship was everlasting. No matter what society dictated, a working-class Muggle-born and a high society pure-blood could find companionship with one another, could earnestly enjoy time spent together. Occasionally over that summer, he pulled it out just to feel those beads again. Just to feel the way he'd felt when you first gave it to him.

Of course, after the incident in the cellar, he pushed it to the back of his drawer and didn't dare to think on it again. But it was there, always. Consistent and refusing to budge.

A little like you.

He made a pact on that first day of seventh year. He didn't like to lose, but that rule had always been flexible with you. No more. He would not bow to your charms, your laugh, your sweetness. He would not let himself succumb, and though you would not either, an impasse was better than the alternative.

When he thinks about it now, he knows he should've told you about the betrothal at once, but what he lacked in self-reflection, he made up in vigilance.

He kept his distance, ignored your attempts to get him alone. Dorothy came to bother him more often, the secret weighing swollen between them. He sated her neediness for company outside her friendship group, showing him off to Peregrine like a new teddy bear, chattily expressing her plans for the future – children, mostly, which made Ominis queasy. He spent as little time in the common room as possible if only to avoid her.

Peregrine, likewise, was more than delighted to take advantage of his blackmail, as Ominis discovered one evening in October, reluctantly heading back towards the common room before curfew.

When he overheard him speaking on the Great Staircase.

With you.

"— know your little secret," he was jeering. "You've got Gaunt lapping at your feet like a starving Puffskein. You and your filthy Muggle blood."

That little maggot. He'd all but promised he wouldn't deign to speak to you if Ominis kept his word. The only thing that stopped him from stepping out, hexing Peregrine into next week... was how utterly unbothered you were.

"Do you have anything new to say, Perry?" You sounded tired, bored. "Because we've done this faff a thousand times before. It's old hat."

Old hat? For once he knew what that meant. What did you mean by that?

The boy hissed. "You know full well it's Peregrine, you common blood wretch—"

"So original."

"— and I know you fancy him too. You don't deserve him. You're a disgusting low breed—"

"Third time this week."

"— who would sully the great Slytherin bloodline, defile it like dirt—"

"Redundant, but good effort—"

"Shut up!" And he hoicked and spat. "You're a stupid Mudblood and you're lower class than my saliva on your shoe."

But you were icy cool in your composure.

"If you say that word again," you said, "I'll hex you."

Peregrine laughed. "You won't. Hufflepuffs have no spines, and my father is friends with the headmaster, and he doesn't care about the sad, wimpy woes of Mudbloods like—"

"Oscausi!"

He made a garbled noise before— nothing. His feet stomped, his hands banged against the bannister in fists, but he couldn't say a word.

"Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Oh wait, you can't. You have no mouth."

You left him there, raging, and Ominis caught up to you on the basement stairs. He shouldn't have talked to you – not with Peregrine was so close, not with you meddling with his feelings – but he needed to know the truth.

"People have said that to you before? Old hat, you called it. I remember you saying that it means something is tediously familiar."

"Of course people have said it to me before." At his bewilderment, you scoffed. "Come on, Ominis. Do you really think you were the first person to call me a Mudblood?"

A new wave of rage seared through him. "Who?"

"One of the shopkeepers when my parents pulled out Muggle currency. Some Ravenclaw who saw me accidentally drop my books with my wand. Random students, portraits, ghosts... Violet McDowell said it to me and Mahendra Pehlwaan on the train up to school before first year, for crying out loud."

It was a horrible realisation to know that he'd been so privileged to avoid such disdain, and that he'd been totally ignorant to how others treated you.

"The magical world has been rotten in this way for a long time," you continued. "It's why people keeps worshipping their family bloodlines, why all you funny pure-bloods keep marrying your cousins."

His chest lurched. He should've said it then. Should've confessed that he was one of those funny pure-bloods now. But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Instead the thought retreated, far back into the safety of his mind, and he mumbled a non-committal, "You'll get in trouble for doing that."

"Oh well."

"Gibby..."

"Suppose I kept a little of your Slytherin for myself, too."

His face bloomed, but Merlin, he was not going to give in.

"If he says that to you again—"

"It's just a silly word to me," you reminded him. "He might as well call me a biscuit-eating-balloon-popper for as nonsensical as it is."

Still, the next time he saw Violet McDowell, he made sure to cast a subtle Trip jinx when she was going down the common room stairs, and it brought him endless satisfaction when she was carted to the hospital wing with a bloody nose and twisted ankle. Was it spiteful? Yes. Was it unjust retribution? It didn't feel like it. You had long since proved to him, to everyone around you, that you weren't incompetent, that you had an affinity with magic as much as the next pure-blood.

"How does it work? Your wand?"

In first year, you were waiting for Sebastian and Anne together by the Quidditch fields. The air was parched, as if about to rain, but still you had spread your robes on the grass, he upright and leaning against an astronomy table.

"Like a dolphin, remember?" he said, recalling the conversation you had on the first day outside Charms.

"I know, but do you tell it to do that? Or does it just... do it?"

"It just does it."

"Wow! Can I do it too? Go around the world without sight?"

"I would assume so."

He heard a rattle. You'd removed your spectacles. "I'll try it then, no cheating! Tell me how you do it."

This would certainly prove interesting. "All right then. Reach out. Sense your surroundings. What do you smell?"

"Grass," you murmured. "Trees. Mud."

"What do you hear?"

"The wind. Some people, in the distance. Brooms shooting through the air. You."

"What do you taste?"

"All the chocolate I just ate."

He smiled at that. "What do you feel?"

"My wand. The air. My robes."

"Can you sense it all, through your wand?"

"... Not a winkle."

He leant back. "I suppose you're reliant on your sight. It would make sense that it wouldn't come naturally to you."

"Oh, I have an idea," you said, plucky again. "Can I try with your wand?"

"I doubt it'll work. The wand chooses the wizard."

But he relented, because he always did, handing it over to you with a smirk. You were strangely reverent.

"Nice to meet you, Ominis' wand. Promise I'll give you back to him."

"It's black pine, supposedly one of the better ones for non-verbal magic," he explained, "and dragon heartstring core. From the same Hebridean Black as my entire family's wands."

A fact that royally depressed him, but he needn't say it aloud.

"Wowee! So it's like this was made for you." You held it up. "Okay. I've closed my eyes. Now. Sense the world!"

Silence.

"Did it work?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Well, am I supposed to feel something? I can't see anything different, since my eyes are closed."

"That's the point," he said, exasperated. "Why not walk around?"

"All right then." You stood. "I'm going to walk to the arches and back—"

You made not one step before he heard a thud and a yelping oof, and he was striding over at once, coming to stand over you.

"Ouch."

"You... tripped."

"Yeah. I don't think your wand likes me very much."

He laughed. "I think that was entirely you, Gibberish."

"Meanie."

He offered his hand, and you got to your feet and swept grass off your skirt.

"All right," you said, determined, "for real this time! Show me the way, Ominis' wand!"

So off you went, huffing and puffing with determination, boots squelching through mud that muffled the further away you walked. He stood there, waiting for the inevitable moment where you stumbled over your own feet, or knocked your knees into stone, or trod on a critter, but by some marvel, you managed to reach the stone follies without incident.

"I did it!" you called. "I walked all the way!"

"And you didn't fall? That is quite the miracle."

"I can still hex you from a distance, you know!"

He grinned. "You didn't cheat at all?"

"No!"

"And my wand?"

"It must like me!"

He doubted it was all his wand showing you the way – and more you relying on your memory of the area. Still, you hurried back over with a swagger to your step.

"Now if I lose my glasses, I can just do a you and walk around without looking! I'll be totally unstoppable—" His wand let out spark; you yelped. "Okay, okay! I'm giving you back! Please don't kill me!"

You shoved it into his hands. It was a testament to your charm, though. He'd never known it to be so acquiescing in another person's hand, nor so... playful.

Perhaps it was fond of you, too.

That won't do anymore. There could be no fondness, no weakness in the chain. Even if magic itself decreed you a good match, you were not meant to be.

Though you continued to try your hardest to prove him wrong.

You'd started to sit at the Slytherin table at lunch. The house boundaries weren't so strict during the day, and ostensibly you liked to sit next to him to sit opposite Missy. The first time you did it, a boy further down the table yelled at you.

"Mudbloods aren't welcome here!"

Ominis shot to his feet at the same time Missy did, but you didn't care. You simply continued to eat your chicken pie like he was no more than a paperboy hawking newspapers. Ominis knew what you were doing. He ignored your attempts at conversation, giving stilted one-word answers when Missy prompted him instead.

On your most daring days, you'd drape your hand over his thigh. The first time, he'd almost choked on his drink. You giggled softly as he tried, in vain, to cull the heat that exploded through him. There was something tantalising about keeping such intimate touches a secret, and you took full advantage of it, of his stony façade, trying in vain to keep you out of his thoughts. Missy must've been in on the joke, perhaps even encouraged it.

At one point, he'd sat at the Gryffindor table with Garreth Weasley to avoid you. And you still found an excuse to sit next to him.

Stubborn, meddlesome girl. But it was admirable, your relentlessness.

And maddeningly attractive.

In November, he sought solitude from the rising workload and went down to the Undercroft to think.

Only to find you there, and Missy.

Duelling.

Drunk.

He ducked when a hex blasted the wall to his left.

"Stop dodging!" Missy said through a wheezed giggle. "Flipendo!"

"Protego!" The spell crashed into the ceiling. "Oops-a-daisy, that's left a mark!"

"Ominis is going to kill us."

"We'll repair it! It'll be fine!"

"Will it now?"

Both of you went dead silent at his voice, carrying across the room.

"Oh," said Missy. "Bugger."

To hear her swear without abandon was actually rather funny, but Ominis stifled his amusement.

"Why are you two duelling?"

"Missy's testing me! She – hic – got us some gin." He heard your shoes clack erratically. "It's a girls' night! Want to join?"

"You just said it was girls' night."

"You can be an honorary girl!"

"I don't think that's how that works."

You hiccoughed in response, and it broke his composure.

"Join us, Ominis," Missy said. "I brought wine!"

"Yeah!" You snatched your glass from the ground, slurped noisily and yelled, "Let's have a three way – hic – duel!"

"I think that's enough for you, Gibby."

"I've only had... four glasses!"

"Four glasses too many."

"I'm fine, promi— hic." When he reached to take the glass from your hands, you scampered away. "Try and stop me!"

"I'm not chasing after you," he said, frustrated. "I'll leave you to it."

"Levioso!"

He barely had enough time to throw himself out the way. "Merlin, Gibby!"

"Unless you're chicken? Bawk – hic – bawk? Stupefy!"

He threw off the spell, not even needing to vocalise.

"We're not duelling, Gibby," he said, serious now. "Now put the glass down before you destroy my Undercroft."

"No!"

"You're either going to hurt yourself or be sick."

"I'm a big girl, Ominis. I can handle my alcohic."

"I'm warning you—"

"Are you my mother now?"

Merlin, who knew you could be so brash? Missy was laughing now.

"Last chance," he said, and raised his wand. "Put the glass down, or I'll make you."

And oh could he hear you grin.

"Make me then."

He sent the first spell, which you ricocheted into the wall, but he didn't relent, switching from verbal to non-verbal to confuse you. The blows beat between you, an endless, unyielding rain of magic. In a moment of hesitation, you levitated the glass, freeing your hand to spit hexes as hard as you were giggling in-between.

"Stupefy!"

He dodged. "Impedimenta!"

"Protego!" Zing. "Accio!"

He was yanked forwards – but you held the spell, and he kept coming, crashing right into you, spinning, toppling to the ground. He ended up on top of you, and you wheezed with laughter, vibrating right through to his chest.

"I win!"

He braced himself on his arms and knees, breathless. "Did you?"

"You haven't got my drink!"

He shot a basic cast to his right; the glass exploded, and a self-satisfied grin curled on his lips when you gasped.

"Cheater!"

"What rule says I couldn't do that?"

"I say you couldn't do that."

"You didn't establish anything before we started."

"It was obviously gentlemen's rules!"

"Who said I'm a gentleman?"

But you replied, with no small amount of coyness:

"Suppose you can't be, on top of me like this..."

It took him a second to recognise that this position was highly compromising, and his mirth fell away. He could smell your sweat, which should've been disgusting but was actually exhilarating, could feel your breath on his face, hard and panting. Your scent, like a drug.

Merlin.

He wrenched himself to his feet, cheeks blooming with heat, with need. Stop this. He forced himself to think of Dorothy, of Peregrine, their sneering voices eclipsing yours, to remember why he had to rebuild the walls. What would happen if he failed to.

This is the easiest way, he reminded himself. The best way.

"You," he muttered, "are a troublesome rascal, and I know exactly what you are doing—"

Then Missy screeched.

He'd almost forgotten she was here, watching – oh Merlin, she'd seen that entire ordeal! – but this unholy cry was completely unlike any sound he'd heard before. Her knees hit the ground, nails scratching stone.

"Missy!" you cried, staggering towards her. "Missy, what's going on?"

He followed on unsteady legs too, but for entirely different reasons. He approached Missy, curling up the ground, you shaking her.

"Missy? Talk to us!"

"Get out!" she screamed. "Get out, get out, get out!"

"Of the Undercroft?" you said, panicking. "Ominis, what's happening?"

"I don't know." He felt along her head, but there was no wound, no blood. "Missy, can you hear us—?"

"Get out!" she shrieked again. "Leave me alone!"

"Is it a curse?" you asked.

"No, there wasn't anything to curse her!"

"Then what's wrong? Can we use a spell? A potion?"

"I don't know—"

His blood ran cold. Suddenly he had a feeling he knew exactly what was wrong.

You were undeterred, and you rolled up your sleeves. "Okay, then I'm sorry in advance, Missy! Time for some tough Muggle love!"

Thwack. It took a second for him to realise you'd slapped her, palm to cheek. The most uncouth way to express violence.

... And it worked.

Missy stopped trembling. Her breath evened.

"Thank you," she said hoarsely. "Thank you. That— helped. I just... lost myself, for a moment."

"Lost yourself?" said Ominis, suddenly furious. "You and I both know what that was."

"It's fine."

"It is very clearly not fine."

"What's going on?" you asked, bewildered. "Not some ancient magic balderdash, is it?"

Missy must've told you the truth during your convalescence. "Missy," Ominis said, crossing his arms, "has been seeing visions—"

"Ominis," Missy snarled in warning.

"— of the pain that Isidora Morganach stole."

Her voice went cold. "You said you wouldn't tell anyone."

"That was before you had a screaming fit! If you're not careful, it's going to completely overwhelm—"

"I am fine," she barked, getting to her feet, though she wobbled. "Leave it alone, Ominis."

She staggered to the grille as you stood. "Missy, wait."

She didn't.

You stood there a moment. "I think... I-I think..."

"We should leave her, Gibby." He didn't bother to hide his resentment. "If she wants to let it burn her from the inside, so be it."

His callousness wasn't true. He cared, of course he cared, but he was also so tired of everything breaking down around him, and in spite resolved to let it, to embrace annihilation.

"No, it's not that," you said, shaking, "I... I think I'm going to be sick."

You ran to the nearest crate and retched, and Ominis, holding your hair back, wondered how the hell he got himself into these situations. If he could say I told you so to both you and Missy and get away with it, he would.

As if the roles had been switched, Missy was colder to you both now as you prodded about the ancient magic issue. It had been manageable before, but it seemed it was turning inwards, feeding off her, siphoning from her. To what end, he didn't know. Perhaps she would succumb to madness.

Perhaps she would die.

When asked these rather necessary questions, however, Missy brushed them off like lint. She did continue, however, to let you sit next to him at lunch. He couldn't talk about ancient magic in public, after all – he'd sworn it in his Unbreakable Vow.

But you hadn't.

"The Daily Prophet?" you asked her one lunchtime in early December, as a mist floated down from the icicle-laden ceiling. You were next to him, opposite her, as always. "Why are you reading that drivel? It's all ancient news. Like a repository of gossip."

"I like to read the curse-breaker news," Missy said, nonchalant.

"I guess if it helps you get a vision of your potential career."

"Gibby."

"Is there an article about Isidora Morganach?"

"That's not even subtle."

"I'm trying to help."

"Well, don't," snapped Missy. "And let me read in peace."

You grumbled, he nursed his soup, and when your hand brushed along his inner thigh, higher than usual, his blood rushed to places it should not have rushed.

"Anything interesting?" he rasped, trying to distract himself. "In the column?"

"Not yet," said Missy. She flicked a page. "I suppose anything making headway in breaking curses would be front page—"

She stopped abruptly.

"Something the matter?" you asked. "What's with the face?"

Missy was silent for a beat. Two.

"You're betrothed?"

The words didn't register at first.

"Ominis," Missy repeated, no longer a question, "you're betrothed."

"What?" you snapped – your hand slid away as you grabbed the paper.

Too late did he think to take it from you. Too late did he realise what this meant. This was too sudden. He wasn't prepared— didn't think about what to say—

You shot to stand and flounced from the hall. No, no. He immediately ran after you.

"Gibby, wait!" You were a little spitfire, but he still had height, and caught up to you outside the basement stairs. "Gibby, please—"

"You're betrothed?"

Tears swallowed you up, and yet you whispered as delicately as a flower. His heart broke.

"I— it's not what you think—"

"It says it right here!" you snapped, paper trembling. "You and— and Dorothy Ellingboe, on her seventeenth birthday!"

His shock plunged beneath regret. He could blame a number of people for this. Peregrine. Dorothy. His parents, or hers. In the end, it didn't matter who sent the information to the papers. Only that someone had before he'd plucked up the courage to tell you himself.

"It's arranged," he said quickly. "I didn't plan it— it doesn't mean anything—"

"You're getting married, Ominis," you said. "You knew, and didn't tell me."

"I wanted to—"

"That's why you've been so determined to break it off, isn't it? You knew I would find out. You just wanted to spare yourself telling me the truth." You flung the paper at his feet. "Why am I even bothering? Dorothy is a fancy pure-blood, and I— I'm nothing."

How could you say something so untrue?

You ran passed him, not giving him the opportunity to defend himself. Down the spiral stairs, towards the Hufflepuff common room. He sprinted after you, calling your name, but you didn't listen. By the time he skirted around the corridor of the kitchens, you'd already tapped the code for the entrance, the barrels groaning as they unfurled.

"Leave me alone, Ominis."

"Gibby, wait, I'm sorry."

Before you stepped inside, however, you knocked your hand against a barrel – the wrong one. Vinegar spewed out as you stole inside the safety of the tunnel, and he yelped, too slow to dodge the spray catching most of his arm. It reeked sharply as he ran to the sealed door.

"Gibby," he begged. "Gibby, please."

He tapped the barrel in perfect timing to Helga Hufflepuff, but vinegar soaked him again – likely the common room looking out for you – and this time he let it.

He deserved it, and worse.

He waited, scourging the vinegar from his clothes, until someone else from his year group left the common room – who just so happened to be your other best friend, Adelaide. She let out a sad noise when she stepped out.

"You've really hurt her, Ominis. She's sobbing her eyes out in there."

That sundered him a little more. "Will you ask her to come out, please? So I can explain?"

"What's there to explain? Imagine it was the other way around. How would you feel if you found out she was betrothed through the paper?"

Enraged. Resentful. Heartbroken.

All things he already was.

"Give her time," said Adelaide, but she was devoid of sympathy. "It's the least you could do."

So he'd loped back to his common room, numb. Missy eventually returned, but said nothing, allowing him room to breathe in his mistake. She didn't know either, after all – he'd kept this from her as equally as he'd kept it from you, and he wasn't stupid enough to miss the hurt that radiated from his friend, too.

By not telling anyone, he could pretend it wasn't real. By keeping it a secret, he kept you free of the burden. For you. He was doing this for you.

So he told himself, over and over.

Despite this setback, he was determined not to let this be the end of your relationship together, so as you had done for the whole first three months of term, he chased you. Tagged you after class, asked to speak to you in private. For two weeks you didn't give him the time of day.

"Gibby," he said one evening after dinner, so worn down by your cold shoulder that he would resort to begging if he had to. "Please talk to me."

"Why?" you dug with sharpness. "So you can keep secrets again?"

"If you would let me explain—"

"Are you going to marry her?" When he was silent, stunned, you repeated more forcefully, "Are you going to marry her, Ominis?"

"I-I don't have a choice."

"What was it you said, back in the Scriptorium? Before Sebastian used Crucio on me?"

He remembered. We always have a choice. He'd been so sure back then.

So naïve.

"He threatened you." He blurted it. Foolish boy, yet he couldn't stop. "Malfoy threatened to hurt you if I didn't go through with the marriage. And my family—"

"I can take care of myself," you snarled.

"I know," he mumbled. "But I will marry her, to be certain. I'm sorry."

"So what else is there to be said?" Your pitch squealed in hurt. "I'm not going to be your mistress."

"I don't love her, Gibby," he said, but the rest lodged in his throat. I love you.

You were unmoved. "You've taken me for a fool. Don't talk to me again."

Christmas came. You returned home, and Dorothy stayed, and as she paraded him around with Hector Fawley and Antares Black it was the worst holidays he'd ever had. Missy refused his ideas for help since her episode, even though with everything else going on, he worried deeply for her.

When the new term started, he went to Apparition classes with the rest of the seventh years, though his were conducted in private, with a special instructor by the name Perdita Ruthven. Apparition didn't work for him like it did others, they'd discovered, when he struggled to pop between one end of the room to the other. It was his smell and hearing that was intimately intertwined to places he knew, so it took only the reminder of honeysuckle to drop him right in the middle of Feldcroft, and the ripple of pondwater to take him to the far end of the Great Lake. He reckoned he could appear right in Gaunt Manor, if only he thought of those damp walls and stale air.

You, on the other hand, excelled. Before long you were Apparating and Disapparating with ease, all without splinching yourself once. Not even Missy was that skilled, having left half her pinkie nail behind at one point.

"I saw Gibby today," said Missy after one class, "holding hands with Leander."

He was supposed to be beyond jealousy, but it reared up inside him again, terrible and tumultuous.

"Good for her."

"That's not all. Natty told me they've been snogging in the hallways. Leander's been boasting about it."

He inhaled a long breath to control his rising temper. "I'm happy for them."

"Oh, please. You can't even fool yourself."

"That's rich, coming from you," he barked. "Stop trying to interfere and leave me be."

"To make the stupidest mistake of your life?"

A faint echo of Peregrine's words. "I am betrothed."

"Only because you will it."

"You think I want this?"

"No, Ominis. I think you're afraid of change. I think you're afraid of standing up despite the consequences." She was blunt, frosty. "I tell people I'm hallucinating, I might as well check myself into a lifetime in St Mungo's myself. My excuse is self-preservation. Your excuse... is cowardice."

There were moments of defiance peppered throughout the years, moments when he lashed out against his family – refusing to cast the Cruciatus Curse the biggest, and condoning Sebastian's character at the trial the most recent, but other times too. Biting back at their cruelty, expressing disdain at their actions, speaking English when the native language was Parseltongue. But there was one thing that connected them all: these acts were small, never disturbing the peace, never truly facing a consequence harsh enough that it could not be smoothed back over.

Missy had hit a nerve deep in his chest. Cowardice. He'd never truly known what the consequences were if he never dared to test the status quo. But there was prodding at what was, and there was upending the table – and being with you was the latter.

For you. He repeated it constantly. He was doing this for you. No one and nothing could convince him otherwise.

The year wore on, and the gap between you swelled. You continued to date Leander – numerous times he'd walked passed you whispering in his ear, cuddling him, kissing. Traitorous songs chanted in his mind. How he wished he could take Leander's place. Be the one to hold you, kiss you.

It had come to a point where he'd started thinking about you in ways that were... inappropriate. He couldn't help it. The boys in his dorm spoke of girls like conquests, won after long, hard battles of dominance and attrition. It was sickening but impossible not to listen to, when it seemed it was all Augustus Tukesbury and Evander Sweeney would talk about when Ominis was trying to sleep.

"You and Wakefield?" Evander scoffed. "Thought you fancied McDowell?"

"Nah. Wakefield's got bigger knockers. Knows how to use her tongue, too."

"As if you've tumbled her!"

"The Prefect's bathroom isn't only for washing. The only thing better would be both of them at once."

Merlin. Ominis yanked his duvet over his ears.

"Oi, Gaunt," called Evander, and Ominis pried his eyes open in irritation. "You dallied with Ellingboe? That why you're marrying her so young?"

"No," he grounded out. The very thought was utterly revolting.

Augustus scoffed. "Come on, Evander. Gaunt's more prudish than all the first years put together. Bet he wants to wait for marriage like a good boy. Probably thinks a tumble is when you fall off your broom."

His parents had given him the talk a few years ago, a horribly awkward conversation he wished he could purge from his brain. Sebastian was also completely unabashed when he described the sordid diagrams in some books he'd stolen from the Restricted Section.

"I know what sex is, Tukesbury," he snapped. "Now would you two shut up so I can sleep?"

"Who'd you rather shag, then? Missy or Dorothy?"

You. Your skin on his, your lips on him, your legs intertwined, night young. His face instantly flamed when it brought back your hands on his thigh, the feel of you beneath him in the Undercroft, all your hugs and touches, fantasies he'd desperately tried to eschew.

Stop. He crumpled the thought like parchment. Do not bend. In no universe would he allow himself to think about doing any such thing with you.

Even if the rest of his body craved it.

"I know which I'd rather," said Evander. "Merlin, is Missy gorgeous."

"I'd let her tussle with my goblin, you know?"

"You're disgusting," muttered Ominis.

"Oh, get off your high horse, Gaunt," Augustus replied. "Just because you can't appreciate her looks doesn't mean the rest of us can't."

In what he considered a small peace offering, he shared to Missy, in less grotesque language, what Augustus had said – and the boy ended up in the hospital wing next day, though Missy swore she had nothing to do with it, all with that placid, pleasant tone.

"It looks like both of us have our humps to overcome," she told him quietly. "The question is, how?"

How, indeed.

The situation only muddled his feelings further when, in March, he was on his way from Charms when he heard you in the hallway ahead.

Instinct pressed him flush to the wall, ear tilted towards you. The enchanting notes of your voice were a flute on a dawn-swathed tide, but something was fraying. The beats of frustration, anger. He'd heard that plenty of times too, but this was... different.

"Why?" Your accusation was frontal. "Did I do something wrong? Was I too forward?"

Then Leander's baritone voice came, and it stoked Ominis' jealousy once more.

"Merlin, no. You being forward is really attractive."

"So what, then?"

To his credit, Leander didn't match your clear annoyance. "Look, I'm the last person that will say you're not heaps of fun, and you're cute and sweet. But it's pretty clear you don't feel the same way."

"Of course I do—"

"No, you don't. I was stupid not to see it before. The only reason you're with me is because you can't have him."

Ominis stilled.

"That— that's not true."

But your tone warbled. A lie.

"I know when we're cuddling or holding hands or kissing, you're thinking about him, Gibs. Don't try to deny it. It's why you don't want to commit."

Hurt flecked through you now. "H-He's not part of the picture anymore. He's getting married!"

"Yeah," Leander said quietly, "but emotionally, he's all you're thinking about. You're just using me to get over him."

That rendered you speechless.

"I'm not even mad. Just... disappointed, I guess."

"No, Leander—"

"I'll see you around."

His footsteps came Ominis' way, and it was too late for Ominis to even pretend he was doing anything other than eavesdropping, so he stood his ground in silence. Leander stopped short.

"Figures," he muttered. "Marriage be damned, if you want her, Gaunt, go for it. Stop wasting everyone's time. Especially mine."

He walked off as you rounded the corner, piqued by the voices. You inhaled sharply.

"Happy now?"

"Don't blame me," he snapped. "That was all you."

"Was it?"

You stormed off, leaving him in a state of frustration. It was a cruel way to move on, even for you, but perhaps he'd underestimated how deeply hurt ran through your veins, how you could turn elsewhere in an irrational bout to satisfy your cravings for affection. Hufflepuffs were known for their compassion, and you certainly possessed it in spades, but it wasn't your only trait. He tended to put you on a pedestal sometimes, but this was a bare-faced reminder that you were human, rounded and flawed, yoked on your feelings as much as anyone was.

A flicker of regret went through him. Sebastian wasn't there – loath as Ominis was to admit it, his friend was more in tune with such things than he ever was. Very often Sebastian told Ominis plainly about things he missed. He'd have probably known you'd run to Leander for distraction, and Ominis wondered how he was faring in Azkaban, whether the Dementors had taken that part of his goodness yet.

He could imagine what he'd say about this. Stuff your family, and Dorothy too. Come live with me as an honorary Sallow, denounce your bloodline and marry Gibby. That'll show them.

A silly notion, really, to think reality could be as easy as Sebastian often made it out to be.

In his dorm room alone, he tried everything he could to stop thinking about you. He remembered your arguments. He remembered the names you'd called him. He remembered you vomiting, or your embarrassing moments, or that one time in Beasts that you fell into Dugbog dung and couldn't purge the smell from your robes for two weeks. But though his head steeled, his heart resisted. With all your faults you were still too lovable, cemented in his life too thoroughly to be so easily expelled with tricks and deceit.

A moment in first year only brought his attachment to you into full comprehension.

It was the first time he didn't recognise you.

What is that? Apple blossom? The scent came accompanied with your voice, and it was jarring, when so long had you smelt the same, those strawberry laces, once saccharine, now a gentle welcome. It was almost wrong, like a flame that soothed instead of burned, or water rough on skin. His nose wrinkled when you greeted him and Sebastian that morning on the incline to the Owlery.

"I can't believe you're scared of owls," Sebastian was laughing, ignorant of Ominis' plight. "You can't be a witch if you're scared of owls. That's how we send all our post!"

"I just find them eerie, okay?" you were saying, clearly perturbed. "When they're all flying around during breakfast, how d'you know one won't poo on your kippers?"

"Because they're trained?"

"It only takes one accident! Then, bam, brown porridge! And not the yum yum chocolate kind!"

Ominis was silent as you and Sebastian bickered. Apple blossom, and something tart as well... rhubarb, maybe? What was this strange concoction you were wearing? At the top of the steps you hovered at the door, skittish.

"Seriously, Gibby?"

"Just— give me a chance to prepare myself." When Sebastian groaned, you huffed. "They have massive eyes! It's like they're staring into my soul!"

"Merlin's flabby arms, give me the letter. I'll post it." He took it and marched inside. "But next time you're going to do it yourself, even if I have to drag you."

"Thanks Sebastian!" you called to his back. "Honestly, Ominis, if you could see them you'd definitely agree! Maybe it's a Muggle-born thing? Mahendra doesn't like them either."

"You changed your soap."

Oh. He hadn't meant to say that aloud.

You seemed dumbfounded, then said quietly, "I thought I might try something different. You noticed?"

"It caught me unawares, is all. Your scent has always been strawberry laces."

"Red liquorice, you mean?"

He smiled. "Never mind me. It's nice."

But a few days later, there it was, that familiar sweetness a miasma, like it'd never left. He asked after it.

"Oh, well," you squeaked, "I wanted you to know when I was around."

"If you want to change it, Gibberish, you can."

But you said, "No. It helps you, and I like it. That's good enough for me."

And ever since, you'd been the same, and the scent of that little Muggle sweet had embossed into his heart.

It was the first sweet he associated with you, but it wasn't the last.

To distract himself from the betrothal, Missy's issues, and you, he threw himself into revision – proving a worthy use of his time when he excelled at his N.E.W.T.s, even his worst subject of Potions. After Hogwarts he would be expected to get a job, start his career as a graduating adult, and he wished then, more desperately than he had all year, that Sebastian and Anne were still there to embrace the future together, as they'd always wanted.

The End of School party happened in the Great Hall. All seventh years were present, dressed up, teary-eyed, exchanging contact details, promising meet-ups over the summer, in the future. It was customary to wear a school shirt over your garb and have others sign it, and with a spell he learnt he had the words Transfigured into braille, surprised at the kindness of the messages.

Don't be a stranger, wrote Garreth. I'm going to miss seeing your grumpy face every day.

We weren't ever close friends, but I always admired you, wrote Nerida. Good luck to you in whatever you do!

I am so thankful to have met you, was Missy's message. This isn't goodbye, because I intend to keep in touch whether you like it or not.

They'd argued over the year, but he was thankful to have met her, too.

As the party wound to a close, he felt a tug on his arm. Strawberry laces.

"Can I sign your shirt too?"

He quashed his longing, deep, deep down.

"Of course."

You flattened his arm and scribbled. You dotted too, as if writing in braille, but when you Transfigured the text it was two simple words. Good luck. Nothing else.

He wrote on your blouse in his best penmanship. Good luck. Nothing else.

"Wait."

He stalled before taking off, and you inhaled a long, regal breath.

"In the Muggle world, there's a saying for brides when they marry. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in her shoe. It's for what to wear when they walk down the aisle. Brings luck, and I thought... even though you're the bridegroom, it could be applied to you."

He swallowed, but his throat was still sticky.

"I don't want to say goodbye on a sour note, so... here."

He reached forwards, hands grasping something small, the size of a Sickle, wrapped in paper packaging. He unfolded it, fingers caressing the rough surface... of a sweet.

"You probably have old and new stuff in abundance," you said, "and borrowing usually implies you intend to give it back. A Muggle coin is too risky, so I thought, for irony's sake, you could have this. Something blue."

"A boiled sweet?"

"Strawberry flavour. I made it myself in the kitchens last week with blue food dye, and, well... keep it on you, during the wedding. It will bring you luck on the day, and... in the future."

He brought the sweet to his nose and inhaled. Strawberry, as you said, but sweeter. His heart thrashed.

"Gibby..."

"I hope you find happiness, Ominis," you said quietly. "I truly mean that."

Then you turned to go, and he couldn't bear to know this was the last time you'd see each other ever again. But you walked away, and his jaw clenched, and he gripped that little sweet, his last reminder of you.

He'd have the memories. That should've been enough.

But he was foolish to think it would.

He'd taken his last ride on the Hogwarts Express with Missy, but it was a sombre occasion – the last time they'd see each other before he was married, forever trapped, and despite her heroics in fifth year she wasn't on the invite list for the wedding.

"You're welcome to visit me at any time in York."

"Thank you."

"And you will visit," she said, a soft command. "I don't care if Dorothy disapproves."

"I will try."

The train shuddered to a stop in York Railway Station. Missy gathered her belongings and they exchanged a brief, but meaningful hug.

"Highgate," she said then, a total non-sequitur. "Highgate high street. There's a confectionary there. Visit there too, if you cannot come to me."

The summer brought the wedding preparations into sharp clarity. The house was cleaned, furniture repurchased, clothes fitted, garden groomed for the ceremony. The house-elves worked tirelessly to please the Gaunts and the Ellingboes, no matter how high or impossible their expectations. Everything had to be perfect. A week before, his father, Marvolo, Grimsley and Mr Ellingboe forced Ominis to endure a banquet together in lieu of the stag night. They overindulged in fine food and expensive wine, financial cares forgotten as they rode the high of the incoming union of the families.

"This marriage is only the beginning," his father purred into his glass. "This alliance is securing matches for you all. They laughed at us, scorned our instable family line, and now look! Raven's already had offers from the Yaxleys and the Greengrasses, and the Malfoys have expressed interest in wedding Lenore to Peregrine."

Ominis didn't drink any wine, and barely ate. Every day, every moment of every hour, he wished for this nightmare to end. He wished he could face death like an old friend. He wished he could swap places with Sebastian, as surely a Dementor's Kiss was far more bearable than this.

He would marry Dorothy. To protect you, he would do anything. He said it to himself, over and over, to convince himself of this truth. For you, for you, for you.

Yet the closer the days got to the wedding, the less he believed.

On the night before, his mother escorted him to one of the master suites, what would be his new quarters post-marriage. He scented incense, candles of rose, fresh linen and jasmine soap.

"You must consummate the marriage on the wedding night. There are two potions in the bedside drawer, both to promote fertility. Take one before you begin the marital act, the second if you wish to try again in the morning."

He bit his tongue to control his disgust.

"For many generations, it has been... difficult, for us Gaunts to conceive, and when we did, many did not survive to the birthing stage." For the first time ever, he detected humility, loss, in her voice. "I fear this issue may have passed down to you. I was very lucky to be blessed with you and your siblings, however. So do your duty to this family, Ominis."

Duty. At the end of the day, that was all that mattered. Even for something as sacred as making love.

He numbly made his way back to his own quarters. It was dark now, the heavy pall of night like a bolt of silk on skin. It was a reckless thing to do, to drift over to his drawers, to reach into the back. He felt the scrap of linen and tugged, finding your handkerchief there, and the beading work, unsullied by the events of the last few years.

OG

For you. It was a barely audible bleat at the back of his mind. It flickered a curious memory of the End of School party back to him, and weakened to his whims, he found the shirt he'd tossed aside, fingers skimming the linen until he found your message. Good luck. He nocked his wand – you'd Transfigured your own message, but he remembered now that you'd written something in braille too. He adjusted the Transcription charm and drew his wand across the fabric.

His breath caught when a new message emerged beneath his fingertips.

I love you. I always will.

It felt like his chest was caving in, so sudden did breath rush in. He listened out, checking, double-checking for sounds outside the door, in case someone would enter and interrupt this divine moment. But no one did, and he read the words, again and again, over and over and over.

For you.

With piercing awareness, Sebastian's voice filled his head, as if they'd only been speaking yesterday.

Your family – they don't know the real you, that you're loyal and kind and wise and great. Don't ever let them make you think otherwise.

When had he forgotten this wisdom? When had he let himself be eroded down until he was only pieces of himself, a tangle of threads knotted together to their liking? A pawn of a son, strutted around to further political alliances and strengthen the bloodline?

Sometimes family isn't blood. Sometimes family is heart. And she is as much a part of yours as the rest of us are.

Anne had realised, so long before him, that you'd always be there for him, even if the world determined you shouldn't. Anne had seen how you had taken root within his life, changed it so fundamentally for the better. How good you were together. How you belonged to one another, you, a piece of his heart.

It is a constant battle to fight for what you love, who you love. There is no end to it. Missy's advice, whispered at your bedside so many years ago. But that doesn't mean you lay down your weapon. It means you keep swinging, no matter how hard fatigue tries to hold you down.

Was this it? Would he lay down his weapon and yield for the last time? Give up the last sacred part of himself?

At the start of his seventh year, perhaps he would have. His matrimony was practically written into his destiny from the moment he first emerged into the world, as it had been for all the Gaunts before him, and terrified for you, fearing one way or another you would meet demise by his carelessness, he gave up himself to make sure you were safe.

This was the easiest way, the best way.

But it was also the coward's way.

Instead of fighting for you, he'd chosen to stuff cotton in his ears, to ignore his own feelings, to squash them down into specks. But those specks were seeds, and they had long since grown wild.

Because the stark truth was, it was you. It was always you.

He wanted you more than anything and anyone.

The thought punched him worse than any offensive hex. Dizzy, he reached for the wall. Suddenly that thought was all that ensconced him – that going through with this would lose you forever. That this was a betrayal that ran deeper than bones and blood. He turned sharply, too sharply, almost hitting the vanity, and gripped his bedposts before allowing himself to shut his eyes, to block himself from the world around him.

This couldn't go on anymore. To shackle himself to Dorothy and the Gaunt line was to forever lose grasp on his soul.

When it was already tethered to yours.

You filled his mind, every moment of you. When he first met you, all of your joy and teasing and silliness between. The way you taught him to smile and laugh and find goodness in everything.

The argument that changed you, and the year that changed everything else.

And when the last of his memories unfurl before him, he stands from the bed and wanders to the window, where the slip beneath draws a sharp draught across his face, drying the tears that have leaked.

If he goes through with this wedding, he loses you forever.

But... it's not too late.

He has to escape. He has to find you, his rock, his world. Gibberish. He smiles. The words you speak, the phrases you use. He doesn't understand you sometimes – but you always understood him, when no one in this wretched family ever did.

For his entire life, Ominis has lived to serve his bloodline.

Now it is time he serves himself.

The plan cobbles together hastily. He casts an Extension charm on his bag and stuffs it full with as many clothes as he can muster. He doesn't have many left, most of it sold off, but there's enough. Then he finds another bag, putting his more valuable resources inside. What possessions he wishes to keep, which isn't much, frankly, a few bottles of Wiggenweld, and the little money he has – he will need to make a trip to Gringotts.

He uses the embroidered handkerchief to wrap the sweet you gave him, tucking it into his pocket next to his wand. For luck.

Then, under the cover of a nightfall, as the house rests in preparation for tomorrow, Ominis tosses the bags outside, and leaps from the window.

"Arresto Momentum!"

He lands quietly on the front lawn. The air is balmy, rent with the sounds of nocturnal critters, crickets that buzz, owls that twitter. He casts the Revealing charm to gather his bearings and check he is alone, then he twists right, with barely a thought to the place he once called home.

Before he can Apparate away, he must do one last thing. One last goodbye to his family.

The Gaunt estate is needlessly large. His steps are furtive, hurried against the gravel path, taking him deep into the wood that surrounds the estate, the bag a leaden weight in his arm. His family are too proud, too sentimental, to sell, but where he's going will be the last to get seized in potential takeover. He wends up the lopsided stones, brushing his hand against the damp stone wall, the thicket vast enough that nothing pierces through, and when it rains, it soaks the ground for days, the air sour with the stench of it.

Eventually, when even the noise of the village cannot penetrate the trees, his foot knocks a shallow set of stone steps, and he knows he has arrived.

The shack.

Rarely does he come here, a ramshackle excuse of a building, built shoddily together with planks of wood and brittle thatching. Sometimes his father took him as a child, imparting his idea of a moral lesson. This place is beneath you, boy. Only come here to bestow punishment. Yet it is with reverence that Ominis knocks on the door.

A house-elf responds with a squeak in surprise – immediately he recognises his mother's personal attendant, Thimble.

"M-Master Gaunt! You should not be so far from the house!"

"I'm sorry to intrude," he says by way of greeting. "Please may I come in?"

The door croaks as Thimble opens it wider, allowing him entrance. He ducks beneath the door – the kitchen is not very tall, and it reeks of mildew and rotten wood, but a hearth blazes in the corner, and a pot lid trembles in near-boil.

"I need to speak with everyone. Will you rouse them all?"

"Right away, master." She disappears with the snap of her fingers.

A little envy pierces him. How easy it is to Apparate wherever they desire. One by one, they magically appear in the room, eager to please, and when all fourteen bodies stand nervously before him, he drops the massive bag by his feet.

"Master Gaunt," says Pip, Ominis' personal house-elf. "Can Pip assist with anything? Pip can assure master, the wedding preparations are ahead as scheduled—"

"I'm not getting married."

This stuns Pip and the others into silence.

"Not... getting married, master?"

"No. I'm leaving. Tonight." For some reason he feels like he can trust them with his elusive mission. "I'm done being a puppet for this family."

One of the older house-elves, Ratch, ruffles his head. "Ratch thinks Master Gaunt must think wisely before doing anything rash."

"I have thought about this for years." He crouches, untying the bag. "My parents and siblings have dictated what I should do, where I should go, and who I should socialise with for my entire life. Now I am taking it into my own hands, as I should've done a long time ago."

"By jilting Miss Ellingboe?" asks Gobble, a kitchen house-elf. "But Master Gaunt, without the wedding, the magnificent Gaunt family will not receive the sizable dowry."

"I'm counting on it."

He pulls the last tie of his bag, and it flowers open, revealing his clothes. A palpable hush falls on the house-elves as he plucks from the top a double-breasted frock coat. Part of his wedding apparel.

"Pip," he says, "this is my last command to you. You take this coat and never return. You leave the Gaunt family behind forever."

Pip lets out a shaky gasp. "M-Master Gaunt—"

"I'm releasing you from our service. You have been good to me. Thank you."

He offers the coat.

A shaky hand takes it from him. The coat is much too big to fit, but the fabric squeezes in a hopeful grip.

"Ominis has always been Pip's favourite of the Gaunts."

Ominis smiles. "I don't deserve that."

"Pip believes Ominis will go far," he says, "and that he is right to follow his heart. Pip wishes Ominis luck."

Crack. He disappears.

"M-Master Gaunt," stammers Thimble. "What if— what if we do not wish to leave?"

There is security under a wizard's serfdom, and he knows house-elves subscribe to different rules entirely, but he struggles to understand in this instance; his mother has never been kind to her. Rooms away he could hear the punishments enforced for tasks impossible to complete. Sometimes he heard crying in the depths of the night, too – and knew, this time, it was not the Muggles.

Nonetheless, he reaches into the bag and takes the next item, a grey waistcoat.

"Then to you, Thimble, I order this: take this and head to Hogwarts. Speak to Professor Weasley or Gladwin Moon. They will offer you sanctuary and work, if you desire it."

She blubbers as she takes the waistcoat, and Disapparates at once. To each house-elf, he dispenses the last of his clothing, sometimes a hand-stitched shirt, or a pair of tweed breeches, from as large as an embroidered winter cloak to as small as a school tie. He gives out his entire wedding outfit and then some, until each house-elf disappears, and he is left with one.

Ratch hesitates.

"Is Master Gaunt so certain about this? About abandoning master's family? Everything master knows?"

"They're not everything I know," Ominis says. "My family has quite a narrow view on the world."

"But to risk poverty and isolation? For a Mu— Muggle-born?"

He nearly says it. Mudblood.

"How did you know?"

"Master had Ratch check on you occasionally, since two summers ago." After the trial. "Master had Ratch report on you whenever Ratch saw you were with the girl."

Wretched Father. "How often did you see us together?"

"Not often," says Ratch, and he hesitates. "But master... did not believe it when Ratch told him so."

The implication is clear.

"I know you're loyal to him," says Ominis gently, "but he wouldn't hesitate to toss you aside whenever it suited him. Do not mistake the length of your service as mutual loyalty."

He holds out a belt. It's unfortunate that this is the last article, as he assumes Ratch is too familiar with them. Still, it pulls from Ominis' hands like a snake, writhing to be free.

"They will chase you," Ratch says quietly. "They will find you. They will brand you a blood traitor, and hunt you and the Muggle-born until you are dead."

It is a heavy burden to bear.

"I know."

But he is no longer afraid.

Ratch clears his throat. "Then Ratch wishes you good fortune, Ominis Gaunt. You will need it."

Crack. He disappears.

Ominis stands and heads to the door. He doesn't bother taking the bag – it is empty anyway.

When he steps back into the open air and Disapparates, the last he hears of the Gaunt shack is the pot boiling over.

Please like/ reblog/ comment/ share if you enjoyed <3

MASTERLIST | NEXT <3

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[victoria-daydreams]

The Winner Takes It All || Challengers

Part III: The First Crack

AN: Guys, I'm not going to lie this is the most chaotic posting schedule known to man and I'm so sorry. Parts of this chapter got deleted not once, but TWICE! I had to walk away from this story before I did something I would regret, but I'm back again. I know for sure the engagement for this story will have decreased significantly, but I don't care. I've put too much time and brain power into this, so I'm seeing it through until the end, there's probably only three or four parts left anyways. A lot of song references sprinkled throughout and I took some minor inspiration from certain movies, I wonder if you’ll be able to guess it.

Trigger warnings: emotional cheating (Art and Gianna truly embodying the song B.A.S. in this one), slight manipulation

Word Count: 7.0k

Taglist: @seriousaliysa @hopeless-y @malscorner @miximora @urfavesim @mmmunson @jackierose902109 @youngestxhearts @blkdivinefeminine @kalikailz @lottiematthewsceo @lonnie2390147 @begoniaespresso @everydayimagineer @pnkstali @softimgyu @amethystwonders11 @hazbinh0e @ysuftmikey @summerssover @hummusxx @callumturnerwife23 @whitewashedghanian @brunettegirl @igotmajordaddyissues @soldesole

Part IV: Cocky Af

SIX YEARS LATER - US OPEN, AUGUST 2012

With a powerful forehand, Gianna hit the return back over the net, her muscles rippling with the effort. The neon green ball whizzed across the other side and straight down the court, just out of her opponent's reach. Immediately, Gianna felt her knees buckle and she fell back onto the court, letting out a cry. The thunderous applause and screams are instant, vibrating the hard court beneath her. She had did it, Gianna had did it. She was now the US Open Women's Champion.

Her hands covered her face, tears pricking in her eyes as Gianna's shoulders shook with soft sobs. All the sacrifices she made, every argument she had with her dad, the blood, sweat, and tears she shed had culminated to this very moment. Her crowning achievement, Gianna Langdon was a Grand Slam winner. The media had reported on her every move in the tournament, debating if she possessed the mental toughness to advance in the Open after having a rough start in her first match. Today, she proved her doubters and her most vocal critics wrong.

Composing herself a little, she dragged her hands down her face and sat up from the ground. Gianna rose to her feet and jogged her way over to Irina who was at the net patiently waiting there. Her head hung dejectedly, but she offered her hand to Gianna's shake which she accepted. The handshake was brief and Gianna released her hand to turn her attention to the umpire to thank them before facing the roaring crowd who maintained their rapturous applause.

With a grin that could rival the sun, Gianna began clapping herself before bowing several times to thank her fans and supporters. Staring out into the crowd, her eyes found her family's, their cheers were the only ones that truly mattered to her. Her brother and sisters were going wild in the stands, jumping up and down before embracing each other. Beside them, her mom and dad were openly crying and clapping harder than everyone else. Their eyes were filled with so much pride and joy that it almost made her want to break down sobbing again.

"What a journey this has been for you Gianna!" the interviewer began. "Tell me, what is going through your head right now?" she asked, before moving the mic over toward Gianna.

"Oh man," Gianna breathed out, still winded from the strenuous match only moments before. "There's not enough words in the dictionary to describe how I'm feeling right now!" she answered, a brilliant smile on her face. "This means the absolute world to me! I was pinching myself after I fell out onto the ground to make sure that this was actually happening," she continued, drawing out some laughter from the crowd.

"This is your first major title win, Gianna. How does it feel to finally hear those words spoken aloud?"

"It's incredible, truly," she replied, nodding her head. "I've been training so hard for this very moment since the day that my daddy put a tennis racket in my hand. And today, I'm finally bearing the fruits of my labor," she went on, resting her hands on her hips. "This title win is as much a dream come true not only for me, but for my dad as well, Maurice Langdon," she informed, and the Jumbotron camera quickly cut to her father in the stands. "Without his tutelage and guidance, I would not be where I am right now. When I left Stanford, I told my dad five words. 'Let's go make some magic'. I think I can safely say, we accomplished that here today," she finished, causing the crowd to aw at her outpouring of love for her father.

Smiling, her dad blew multiple kisses in her direction before placing his hand over his chest, genuinely touched by her praise.

"I did two things today that I previously thought impossible. I won a major title!" Gianna exclaimed excitedly, to which the crowd roared in cheers. "But more importantly, I made the Maurice Langdon shed tears for the first time ever!" she joked, a ripple of laughter echoed from the crowd as they were all probably familiar of her father's renowned stoic nature.

Gianna's on court interview lasted for a few more minutes before finally, it was time for the trophy presentation. She would forever be immortalized in tennis history with a picture of her proudly holding the US Open above her head. With her press conference wrapped up, the toll of the day was beginning to wear on her. Gianna was exhausted. Every bone, every muscle, every part of her.

Walking alone in an empty hallway within the Arthur Ashe Arena, the sound of Gianna's phone chiming echoed in the air. A smile lit up on face at the text she received from a name with snail emojis beside it.

"Can't wait to see you tonight, champ" with a winky face at the end of the message.

Matthias Schnell (snail as she liked to tease him since the words were similar in pronunciation) was a rising German tennis superstar much like herself. The two met at Wimbledon where they were both making eyes at each other during the tournament, but after she won against him and his partner in the mixed doubles semifinal match, Matthias congratulated her and asked her for number, the rest was history. They weren't official yet, but they were well on their way.

"Gianna!" a familiar voice called.

In a blink of the eye, her smile dropped from her face.

"I know that's not who I think it is," she thought.

Gianna clicked her phone back into sleep mode and quickened her pace, ignoring the repeated calls of her name. Until, she felt fingers lightly wrap around her wrist, an action which made her furiously whip around and rip her arm from the grasp of a strawberry blond haired man.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Gianna hissed.

"Gia—" Art began.

"No! You don't get to call me that!" she snapped, stabbing her finger in his direction. "You lost that privilege a long time ago!" she snarled.

"Please, Gianna," he pleaded, taking a step closer to her. "You ducked me in Atlanta," he reminded, only causing Gianna's nostrils to flare.

With a Nike baseball cap tucked low over her brow, Gianna made her way down the hall of the hotel. It was the night before the Atlanta Open, a tournament she usually didn’t pay any attention to, but this year she was here to support an old friend. Max Sullivan, a name she couldn't believe she was saying. After the Juniors Championship, they didn't part on the friendliest of terms and it was all Gianna's fault. She told Max to his face she thought he was a mediocre player and to add insult to injury, she also said she should take his trophy since she's the one who did all the work on the court. It was a mixture of immaturity, cockiness, and a kernel of truth.

Nonetheless, it would seem her words lit a fire under Max's ass, because from college and now as a professional tennis player, his growth had been tremendous. So, the only lesson Gianna took from that was, bullying works. Depending on his performance, she was considering them to be doubles partners again.

Placing her hand on the door handle to the stairwell, Gianna froze. It felt like someone was watching her. Without hesitation she turned her head in the direction of the hotel lobby, her heart all but stopped as her next breath caught in throat. Gianna's vision became similar to the dolly zoom effect at the sight of Art. The two of them were no longer standing on opposite ends of the hallway. By the second, it seemed like the distance between them was rapidly shrinking.

"Gia?"

He barely raised his voice, but it was just loud enough for her to hear as a soft frown creased his brow. Gianna didn't respond, instead choosing to avert her eyes to back to the door. Her breath beginning to quicken while her heart thumped wildly in her chest, the only thing keeping her on her feet was the death grip her fingers had around the door handle. Out of the corner of Gianna's eye, she could see Art slowly approaching towards her. Panic seized her at the thought of them being within arms reach of each other. They haven't spoken to one another in five years, Art's last attempt was rewarded with a swift slap across his cheek after he cornered her in their sophomore year, pleading for her to speak to him again.

"Gia, please, I'm begging you. I don't know how much longer I can take of this," Art pressed, desperation rife in his voice. "I miss you," he added, his voice cracking as he bent down slightly to try and meet her stare.

Gianna remained silent, keeping her gaze fixated on the cement with her arms folded tightly against her chest . A heavy, lingering silence engulfed them when Gianna finally flicked her eyes up to Art's, startling him. She did not mask her rage, Gianna's eyes burned with hatred which caused Art to flinch. Suddenly, her hand flew forward striking Art's cheek, the force of the blow causing his head to whip to the side. Then, she turned on her heel and stormed away.

Art was less than ten feet away from her when Gianna forcefully pulled the open, rushing clumsily up the stairs and almost twisting her ankle in the process.

"Gia wait!"

Art and Gianna had a silent, intense stare off for several moments, before Art cautiously took a step closer towards her with arms raised.

"Gianna, please. I just wanted to tell you congratulations on your first grand slam win," Art explained softly, with a weak smile.

"I don't want it, least of all from you," she spat, looking him up and down with a sneer.

"Will you at least hear me out?" he asked, frustration creeping in his voice. "I only want to talk," he stated.

A deep, scornful laugh bubbled out of Gianna as she slowly closed the gap between them.

"And what the fuck, would we have to talk about Arthur?" she asked icily, the harshness of her tone making Art recoil. "You know I want? I want you to be a good boy and run along," she continued, moving in for the final blow. "A pet should never stray too far from its master, so how about you go fetch the lost dreams of her career and leave me the hell alone!"

With every venomous word Gianna hurled at him, Art withered from the verbal daggers she threw at him until he was left in a state similar to which a dog would’ve been after it had been scolded by its owner. How fitting. If he'd had a tail, he would have tucked it between his legs.

Gianna's lip curled in disgust, "Fucking pathetic," she muttered, stalking away from him and purposefully letting her shoulder bump Art's arm as she left.

~~~x~~~

FIVE YEARS EARLIER — STANFORD UNIVERSITY, 2007

"40-15! Match point!" the chair umpire announced.

Gianna punched her fist in the air as the crowd erupted into applause and loud cheers, the yelling of her name mixed within them. It was only an exhibition match, but the Stanford bleachers were packed full as if it was the Junior's US Open all over again. It was the highly anticipated potential match up that never came to fruition at the tournament. Today, however, spectators could finally behold the athletic spectacle of two titans facing off against each other. More importantly, they wanted to see if Gianna had it in her, to pull off the upset of the day.

Glancing at her opponent on the other side of the net, Gianna watched Tashi shake her head in frustration, a deep scowl marring her pretty features as she picked at the strings of her racket. Behind Tashi, the ball boy bounced a ball to her and smoothly caught the ball with her racket.

Gianna crouched down, a smirk on her lips as she let the rubbery grip of her racket roll back and forth against her palms, rocking from side to side.

"One more point," she thought. "And I will have beaten Tashi two times in a row this week,"

The neon ball bounces softly off the ground and Gianna's grip tightened around the handle, readying herself. The moment Tashi released the ball high in the air and jumped to hit it, Gianna knew it was going to be excellent serve from her friend. Playing against Tashi was a tasking feat in itself, but going against her when she was absolutely livid and frustrated? Most competitors might as well be signing their own death certificates, Gianna however, had Tashi right where she wanted. Off-kilter and playing sloppy.

Whizzing over the net, the ball came flying at Gianna like a heat seeking missile and for a split second she wondered if Tashi had envisioned her face on the ball as she returned the serve. The next hit came in the form of a forehand slice and Gianna sent the ball back across the court with a strong one handed, backhand return. Tashi sprinted over to the ball, but fell a stride short as the ball bounce off the ground with a force that made dirt kick up.

"Game, set and match, Gianna Langdon," the chair umpire announced in a loud voice. "6-3, 6-3".

The crowd erupted in cheers as Gianna herself threw her arms in the air in victory. Jogging to the net, a grumpy Tashi was already waiting for her with her hand extended out. As usual, she still really hadn't gotten around the concept of losing to Gianna and it showed.

"Good game," she muttered.

Gianna, on the other hand, was clearly starting to get the hang of beating Tashi, and boy did she enjoy it.

"I know," Gianna acknowledged, with a smirk.

Instantly, Tashi's face darkened and she yanked back her hand, abruptly breaking the handshake. Tashi's reaction didn't phase Gianna at all, instead, it made her even more smug.

"And so it begins," she thought amusedly.

Walking back to her bench, she grabbed her gear and put it in her sports bag before leaving the court. Gianna had barely gotten far from the tennis court when Art fell in step beside her.

"Great match!" he complimented, with a grin.

A light chuckle left her, "All in a day's work," Gianna replied, lazily looking over at him.

"Everything alright between you and Tashi?" Art wondered. "She looked pissed off when you two were at the net," he remarked.

"She'll be fine," Gianna assured, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You know how Tashi gets when she loses to me," she reminded, briefly looking ahead her. "She hates being humbled," Gianna added, smugness growing within her.

"Do you think she—"

Her head whipped in his direction, "You wanna come with me to dinner with my family?" Gianna asked suddenly, cutting him off mid-sentence.

She's had enough of Tashi for the last hour and a half, it was time to place attention elsewhere.

"Seeing how my best friend is not going to talk to me for the rest of the day," she went on.

"Wouldn't I be intruding?" Art questioned, one of his brows raising.

"No, because I invited you," Gianna answered simply. The two came to a stop on the corner of the sidewalk, facing each other. "Come on, I need to make this dinner somewhat bearable for me," she said, grabbing a hold of his hand with both of hers after seeing the indecision on his face.

Art's eyes flitted down to their hands, his throat bobbing before he swallowed thickly. In the back of her mind, Gianna knew what she was doing wrong, to essentially be toying with his emotions, but she desperately needed a buffer from her dad.

Gianna looked at him from under my lashes, "Pretty please, Art? For me?" she asked, using her thumbs to trace circles on his skin.

Art inhaled deeply, his eyes darting back to hers and he wordlessly nodded his head.

"Yeah, yeah!" he agreed hoarsely, finally finding his voice. "I would love to, Gia,"

"Uhh, you're the best!" Gianna cheered, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Without thinking, she stood on her tip toes and pecked him on the cheek. She pulled back, a grin on her face as she stared at Art who had a smile playing lazily on his lips. Gianna spun around, resuming her path back to her room.

"Meet me at my dorm in an hour," she exclaimed, not bothering to turn around.

Today, it was Gianna’s world and everybody else was living in it.

~~~x~~~

A few hours later

On the floor of Gianna's dorm room, biology notes, index cards, and textbooks were pushed off to the side and strewn about. Her and Art were studying for their upcoming quiz, but Gianna decided she had a better way to occupy their time. With one foot outstretched along the plush rug and the other being held by Art as he blew on it, Gianna let her head bob along to "Sittin' Up In My Room" by Brandy playing on her docking station as her toenails dried.

"When your parents dropped us off before they left your father said 'I'm glad to see developing an identity of your own'," Art quoted, looking over her toes and at her. "Why did he say that?" he questioned curiously.

Gianna let her head fall back letting out a long, dramatic sigh, "It's a long story, but also a short one," she answered, running her fingers through her hair. "My dad and honestly my mom as well, believe that I cannot be my entire self or even unlock my full potential if I'm always attached to Tashi's hip," she explained.

"Wait, they're upset because you're too close to your best friend?" Art asked incredulously.

"I know. Ridiculous, right?" she said, tossing her hand up in the air.

"If that's how your parents think of your friendship with Tashi, that may explain why your mother was giving me the cold shoulder at dinner," Art reasoned, adjusting his grip on her foot.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about," Gianna apologized sheepishly. "I don't what that was about," she said, shaking her head.

"No, it's fine," he assured. "I'm pretty sure Farrah hates me as well, so it balances it out," Art commented, with a chuckle.

Gianna's eyebrow arched, "What makes you say that?" she wondered, chuckling at the thought.

"She said if I do wrong by you, that, and I quote 'your kneecaps are fucking mine, white boy,'" he informed, his warm breath fanning across her toes.

A smile broke out onto her face, "I'm the baby of the family, of course she's going to spout empty threats," Gianna replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

"Didn't sound that empty to me," Art complained.

"Well, we are talking about Farrah here...so you may have a point," she conceded, with a shrug.

The tickling heat of Art's blowing came to an abrupt stop.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, a concerned frown knitting his forehead.

"You know, now that you mentioned it, my ex did break my heart and he came back to school with a limp the next day," she lied.

They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, Art's frown deepening. He opened his mouth to say something and Gianna raised her eyebrows in challenge as realization dawned on his face. Gianna's mouth began to twitch as she fought the urge to smile.

"You liar, he didn't break your heart. You broke his," he remembered, a grin spreading across his lips.

Art and Gianna held each other's stare and after a beat, they both bust out laughing. Three months had passed since their argument at the mini golf course, but they've acted as if it never occurred in the first place. Was it the healthiest way to handle the situation? Probably not. But, in a way, it benefited both of them to ignore it for their own selfish reasons.

For Gianna, her relationship with Tashi was beginning to show all the signs that it would be a stale one. She had remained dead set about not wanting to broaden her horizons for the sake of their relationship, much to Gianna's dismay. At this point, Tashi was more of a girl friend than an actual girlfriend. And Patrick, for as loving and caring as he was, the boy could be inattentive at times. Sometimes he would forget to watch Gianna's matches after she sent him a link that aired them. Or, other times he wouldn't pick up on her tone that she was not in a good mood and continue talking about his adventures as a professional tennis player.

Then, there was Art. He had been her rock whether he realized it or not. Gianna figured he stuck around because he didn't want to give up their friendship entirely, despite the you know, major crush he still harbored for her. Gianna was grateful, honestly. Everything that was transpiring in her relationship with Tashi and Patrick had actually brought them closer. Art filled in the gaps she was desperately craving from her boyfriend and girlfriend, attention and spontaneity.

"Catch," Art called, tossing her jacket towards her.

"Caught," Gianna said, grabbing it from the air with ease. "What are you trying to do? Test my reflexes?" she joked, sliding the jacket onto her arms.

"No, but I'm happy to inform you they're wonderful," he quipped. "We are going to Cantor Arts Center, somewhere I know you've been dying to get to," he informed, moving to stand in front of her.

Gianna let out a little squeal of delight as she sprung off the edge of Art's bed.

"Thank you, thank you!" Gianna exclaimed, throwing her arms around Art and hugging him tightly.

"Anything for you," he breathed, his laughter vibrating through her body.

"I don't know why you're worried about Farrah's threats," Gianna said dismissively. "You would never hurt me," she stated confidently.

"Never!" Art promised. "Out of curiosity, should I expect the same from her?" he asked, flicking his chin at the shirt Gianna had on.

Gianna glanced down at what she was wearing, it was a plain, white tee with the name of the ballet troupe that her sister danced with emblazoned on it.

"Pfft, Alicia is a downright angel compared to Farrah," Gianna assured.

"And Luke?'

"Only dangerous if you let him get close to you with a baseball bat," she warned, smiling at him. "Speaking of my brother, I'm getting tickets for the season opener game for the Dodgers, and you're coming with me," she stated, leaving no room for argument.

One of his brows rose at this, "Just me?"

"I would bring Patrick, of course," Gianna responded, leaning back on her hands. "And Tashi too, if she can squeeze me into her oh so busy schedule," she added, an undercurrent bitterness in her tone.

"I'm sure she would be thrilled to go with both her girlfriend and boyfriend to a Dodgers game," Art said, with a brief, strained smile.

At this, Gianna mentally slapped her forehead.

"Way to go on reminding him of his position in our friend group," Gianna thought.

"Oh my god, I’m so sorry Art," Gianna apologized profusely, covering her mouth with her hand. "I swear, that was not my intention when I brought up us going to the game," she insisted sincerely, reaching out and placing her hand on top of Art's knee.

He shrugged, "No harm done, Gia. I know you well enough to know it wasn't on purpose," he said, a tight smile still drawn across his mouth.

Another annoyed sigh blew past Gianna's lips, "It's so frustrating, you know? Somehow, some way, my relationship manages to find its way into every conversation, she grumbled. "It's annoying to me, I know it's gotta be annoying for you, it's probably the last thing you want to hear actually,"

"Listen, I'm always happy to lend my ear to my friend," Art reassured, his face softening while resting his hand on top of hers. "Seems like you're in need of a shoulder to lean on, I'll gladly fill that for you," he said, squeezing her hand.

She felt comforted, even though all he had offered was the simple gesture.

"I can always count on you, Art," Gianna said, grinning brightly. "Now I know what Patrick means when we talk on the phone," she remarked.

Art seemed to perk up at this, “Oh? What did he mean by that?”

"Just that I’m the easier girlfriend talk to," she revealed, with a small shrug. "Patrick and I are a lot closer than she realizes," she admitted offhandedly.

Gianna didn't miss the way Art's eyes lit up a bit, an unreadable glint in them.

"Is that so?"

"You know Tashi, she's 24/7 about tennis. She's been harping on him about losing and always trying to give him pointers when that’s not what he wants to hear," she explained. "And for him, I'm that person he can turn to talk about anything other than tennis," she continued, with a small reminiscent smile.

Gianna thought back to the time she had Patrick practically doubled over in laughter, recalling all the stupid shenanigans her and her siblings got up to back at their ranch in Louisiana. It delighted Gianna to know she was capable of eliciting that much joy from her boyfriend when he needed it the most after getting practically chewed out by Tashi following a tough loss.

"You and I share that same dynamic," Gianna went on, motioning between them. "It's so much easier talking to you Art, compared to Tashi and even sometimes Patrick. In fact, I always look forward talking to you. You make me feel seen," she confessed, feeling Art's fingers curl around her hand more tightly.

It wasn't uncomfortable nor painful, but a physical reminder that Art seemed to be hanging on her every word.

"You always engage with my interests. Every bio class, you slip a new recipe across our desk that you found on the internet for me to try, more difficult than the last," she said, unconsciously leaning in closer in. "You're even brave enough to try out said recipes, not knowing what the results will be," she joked, chuckling softly. "Anyways, I guess this is my extremely long winded way of saying I'm grateful to call you my friend. And, thank you for being such a trouper and coming to dinner with me and my family," she told him, her mouth shyly curving upwards.

A long moment of silence fell between them, the only sound filling the room was the low instrumentals of "He Loves Me" and both her breathing and his. Art coughed, briefly ducking his head down and trying to keep the blush which Gianna saw was creeping over his cheeks. When Art's eyes finally flicked back to hers, Gianna felt her insides twist. The barely disguised want in his gaze made her warm all over.

This was becoming all too familiar, this careful dance between them balancing on the tightrope of friendship and something more. Gianna's resolve to keep Art at arm's length from months ago was weakening. They both were teetering, another step closer and over, would plummet them into uncharted waters.

"I don't know if I'm deserving of such high praise you, Gia," Art said softly. His eyes darting to her lips, daringly lingering on them and then back to her eyes. "But, I promise I will never break the trust you have within me," he vowed, shifting closer to her.

"You can't tell Tashi or Patrick about this,"

Smoothly, Art's fingers slid around Gianna's hand and went under hers to lift it towards his mouth.

Art didn't take his gaze off of her, "It will be our little secret," he whispered, sealing his promise with a kiss to each knuckle more lingering than the one before.

~~~x~~~

Staring at her reflection, Gianna vigorously dabbed her sponge all over her face to blend her foundation evenly across her skin.

"Between the two of us, whoever gets the makeup deal first, can we please for the love of god make sure the foundation range goes beyond the color of a paper bag?" Gianna yelled, with a huff before finally placing the sponge onto the bathroom counter.

If she had to keep mixing two foundations just to get the correct shade for her skin any longer Gianna was going to lose her mind.

"Babe, you are the color of a paper bag," Tashi quipped, from within her room.

Gianna playfully rolled her eyes, "Yeah, only in the winter," Gianna pointed out, exiting Tashi's bathroom. "I still have a bit of my summer tan left," she said crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame.

Pushing herself off her bed, Tashi walked over to Gianna and her hands instantly found themselves attached to her hips.

"Regardless, you look amazing Juliet," Tashi teased, letting her eyes trail down Gianna's costume.

It was Halloweekend at Stanford which meant only one thing to all students across campus, three days packed full of partying. Gianna, was one of those students who was thoroughly looking forward to the festivities with a costume planned for each night. Tonight, she was dressed up in a white dress, a cross necklace, and a pair of feathered angel wings inspired by Baz Luhrmann's iconic rendition of Romeo and Juliet. It was simple, elegant and the pure white fabric of the dress against her skin made her appear ethereal.

"You’re looking fantastic yourself, Josie," Gianna complimented, noting her girlfriend's leopard print bodysuit and cat ears. "And I didn't even have to twist your arm to go out tonight," she joked, placing her hand at the back of her neck.

A faux pout found its way on Tashi's lips, "Hey, I can be fun," she said, before placing a chaste kiss on Gianna's lips.

Gianna raised an eyebrow, "Oh? This is certainly news to me," she responded, laughing a little.

"Ha-ha very funny," Tashi replied dryly, before moving down Gianna's to jaw and pressing her lips against her skin. "Excuse me for embracing the festive spirit," she deadpanned, her breath tickling her ear.

"I am not complaining one bit," Gianna clarified, with a blissful smile while Tashi kissed down her neck. "You're going to ruin my makeup," she complained, her eyes falling close and her breathing becomes ragged as Tashi found the sensitive spot on her neck.

"You're fucking hot without it," Tashi murmured, nipping at her collarbone.

A sharp series of knocks startled the two of them, breaking apart from each other in quiet laughter.

"Must be Art," Tashi guessed, fixing Gianna's hair.

"Gotta be," Gianna agreed, releasing her grip on the back of her girlfriend's neck.

Pushing herself off the door frame, Gianna took a couple, deep breathes in effort to calm her body down. With a hand on her hip, Gianna's finger wrapped themselves around the doorknob and swung open the door.

"Why the hell are you knocking like the police?" Gianna scolded warmly, staring at Art who was dressed up as Waldo with round glasses perched at the end of his nose.

Art opened his mouth to respond which Gianna assumed would be a witty one. Instead his mouth remained stuck in the same position while his eyes looked her up and down.

"You look amazing, Gia," he blurted, his mouth still open in awe.

Gianna placed her hand on her chest, "Aww really?" she asked, with a knowing smile.

"Yeah," he said, nodding his head vigorously. "You look like…well you like angelic," he breathed, flashing her a sheepish grin.

"Corny!" Tashi yelled from behind her. "Seriously Art? You couldn't have chosen the most obvious word?" she questioned, putting her arm around Gianna’s shoulder.

"It's the first word that came to mind!" he cried playfully, looking at Tashi.

"It's not Art's fault, that I'm just that breathtaking," Gianna said, placing the back of her hand to her forehead and swooning dramatically.

"Ugh, you see what you started Art?" Tashi joked, shaking her head with a smile.

Gianna turned to Tashi and they broke into a fit of laughter.

"You're gorgeous, really,"

The girls' laughing came to abrupt stop as Gianna paused, her eyes locking with Art's. She felt herself lean back, shocked by his soft utterance causing her face to heat up massively.

"Oh," Gianna breathed, still stunned. "Thank you Art, that's very sweet of you," she said, tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

Gianna wondered it was possible to get a high off of words, because she was experiencing it. From beside her, Tashi loudly cleared her throat as her hand slid down Gianna's back.

"We should get going, don't want to be late for the party," Tashi suggested, her hand curling itself around Gianna’s waist.

Gianna felt herself be tugged her ever-so-slightly closer to Tashi's side, a wordless warning to Art to watch himself. If the message was received or not, Gianna had no way of knowing, but it was from that point on there was a noticeable shift in Tashi's demeanor. And Gianna was doing everything in her power to pretend that there wasn't. She tried to defuse the subtle tension between all of them by talking about the latest horror movies released in theaters, only Art engaged in the conversation while Tashi remained uncharacteristically quiet.

With her arm wrapped still wrapped fairly tightly around Gianna's shoulder, Tashi led her to the porch of the house. Already she could feel the bass pumping from the inside and it became more intense when they entered. "Disturbia" was blasting from the speakers and cheers swept the room at the song playing. The three of them are immediately pressed together in the crowd. Gianna couldn't believe how many people had shown up to this party. The place was packed with students in all sorts of costumes, ranging from serious dedication to hilarious ones clearly thrown together at the last minute. Gianna turned her head to say something to Art, Tashi had other plans, however.

"Let's go dance!" she yelled, in order to be heard over the music.

Allowing herself to be dragged towards the center of the room, Gianna looked back at Art and flashed him an apologetic smile coupled with a half shrug before being swallowed up within the throng of partygoers. The two danced facing each other, their movements loose and carefree while their bodies swayed to the beat of the music. With every song they danced along to, Gianna watched as Tashi’s mood brighten until there was a wide smile plastered on her face as they sung along with "Everybody (Backstreet's Back)" at the top of their lungs. Their laughter filled the air and Gianna spun herself around, her hair whipping across her face while kicking up the fog lingering in the atmosphere from a fog machine set the spooky season mood.

Facing away from her girlfriend, Gianna spotted Art across the room dancing with a tipsy blonde haired girl who appeared to be having the time of her life, but Art looked completely out it and was seemingly just going through the motions in a halfhearted dance.

Gianna turned back towards Tashi, "I'm going to step out for a bit for some air!" she shouted over the music.

"Don't be too long!"

"I won't!"

Pushing her way through people, Gianna made way to the back door quickly opening and shutting it behind her. Immediately, she’s struck by the autumn air crisp and cool, leaving goosebumps on her arms. She didn’t mind it however, it was refreshing after being in a packed living room. Gianna moved across the backyard deck before finally coming to a stop at the railing and bending over to rest her arms against metal surface. Casting her glance upwards, she admired the full moon lighting up the dark sky, the stars faint due to the lights of the city in the distance.

"You're doing on that purpose,"

Gianna's face scrunched in confusion, she looked over her shoulder to see Art standing not too far behind her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, shaking her head in confusion.

"Isn't there an identical shot like this in Luhrmann's version of Romeo and Juliet?" he pointed out, making a finger frame and observing her through it.

A small laugh left her as she remembered the specific scene he was talking about; it was when Juliet was watching fireworks going off from the balcony.

"Perfect," Art said softly, angling his fingers so she was precisely aligned in the square shape of his fingers.

Gianna scoffed and rolled her eyes, "Shut up," she said, a smile on her lips.

He mirrored her expression, dropping his hands and made his way closer to her.

"Why did you come out here?" Art asked curiously, using the side of him to lean against the railing.

"It was a fucking sauna in there," she answered, which Art chuckled at. "I needed air," she added. "What about you?" she asked, flicking her chin at him. "Why are you out here? I thought you and that blonde girl were really hitting it off," she joked, with a knowing smirk.

Art let out a scoff of his own, "Shut up," he laughed, echoing her own words a minute ago.

"What? I don't want her getting jealous—"

"Jealous?" he repeated incredulously. "Even if she was, wouldn't matter," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "She doesn't compare…" he trailed off, and a breathy chuckle passed his lips.

"To me," Gianna thought, finishing his sentence.

"So no point of competing," he finished, with another small shrug.

"You never did answer my question," Gianna remarked, tilting her head to the side. "Why did you come out here?" she asked again, pushing herself up from her position and turning to fully face him.

"Seizing the opportunity to dance with you," he answered bluntly, causing Gianna's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. "If that's alright with you?" he questioned, his voice softer in tone than before.

Inside, the speakers began playing "Time of the the Season" as Gianna mulled over his offer.

It's the time of the season

When love runs high

"It's harmless, a lot of friends dance with each other," she thought.

Her lips curved, "I suppose one dance couldn't hurt, I don't think it's going to cause a bloody feud between families," Gianna quipped, making Art smile warmly at her.

Looping her hands around his shoulders, Art's palms found themselves on the sides of her abdomen as they began to dance to the music. Then again, Gianna wasn't quite sure if she should call it that, it was more of them gently swaying back and forth. Neither of them spoke, as neither of them knew what to say. They only turned away from each other with shy smiles, both releasing quiet laughs which slightly eased the palpable tension lingering in the air between them.

"You know, back in Louisiana I used to love stargazing with my siblings on our family ranch," Gianna mentioned, breaking the silence that fell between them. "It's one of the few perks of living in the countryside. There's not any light pollution, so you're able to see the stars in their full glory unlike cities," she went on, lifting her head up at the moon and the starry sky above him. "You have to visit me in Louisiana this summer. It's a breathtaking sight honestly, their beauty is unmatched," she said wistfully, their swaying coming to a stop.

"It truly is," Art agreed softly.

Beaming, Gianna looked back down at Art to see him already staring back at her. Her breath hitched ever so slightly. There was not a trace of doubt in Gianna's mind that Art hadn't looked at a single star and was solely looking at her this whole time. His eyes traveled the length of her face before moving back to her own. All the while, Gianna mentally noted Art's hands were sliding down her sides and onto her hips, pulling their bodies closer together. A shuddering breath left Gianna feeling her heart begin to race with anticipation, a mix of want and uncertainty coursing through her.

Art leaned in towards her, "Gia," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Holding his stare, Gianna leaned in closer causing their noses to just barely brush against one another before she pulled away at the last minute in hesitation. She knew the implications of crossing this line, the risks it carried. But the warmth of Art hands seeping through the material her dress was dizzying and actively drowning out all logical reasoning from her, it just all felt too good. So natural. Slowly, Gianna moved back in as Art dipped his head down, their lips a hair's breadth apart.

An ear splitting shriek jolted the two apart and Gianna felt herself sag back against the railing, gripping it for dear life because it was damn near the only thing keeping her on her feet. Fireworks shot up into the air from the front of the house, exploding into a dazzling sight of red, green, purple, and orange. The raucous cheering of partygoers followed soon after. The frat boys must have brought the fireworks and are now setting them off in their drunken state. Gianna covered her mouth with her hand, inhaling shakily.

That was too damn close, she should have never even allowed it get that far.

Art's back was still facing her when she managed to stand at her full height. Gianna’s hand dropped down to her chest, her breathing slightly erratic and her racing just as Art turned around with a dopey smile on his face. Once he saw her expression, his smile vanished.

"Gia?" Art called, concern written all over his features. He a took step closer to her, reaching his hand out toward her. "Gia, are you alright?" he asked again.

His fingers had barely grazed hers when Gianna rushed past him and back towards the backdoor to the house.

"Gianna? Gianna what did I do? Come on, Gianna, speak to me, please!"

Art's questions and pleas were tuned out by her own voice repeatedly saying one word.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

[coolmiaw]

The only Student he ever taught

Drawing not over but I have other pieces I would like to finish :)

Little illustration of my fic (I find myself spending more time on illustrating it than finishing it nowadays XD)

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

‘You’re not focused tonight.’

The cold voice cut through the air and Alienor turned her tired gaze towards the Headmaster, biting back her retort.

‘I… - don’t snap, don’t snap – am sorry. ’ Seeing the way Black’s eyebrow shot up, she could tell he was as surprised as she was. ‘It’s just that with the coming Task, I have a bit too much on my mind …’ The eyebrow arched a bit higher in a more interrogative way. ‘Well this isn’t exactly the training I should be doing to survive the Task, is it?’ she clarified a bit annoyed.

‘Is it?’  The Headmaster repeated flatly. His face remained impassive, but the brief flare of his nostril told her everything she needed to know regarding her ability to choose her words.

As in poorly. Very poorly.

‘What was it then?’ Black insisted. ‘I think we covered lengthily the importance of intention so what was it this time? Did you forget the instructions?’

There was no correct answer to this question, was it?

In any case, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to provide one. For a moment everything had been going smoothly and the next, a thought had arisen, and she had lost her concentration. So technically, she hadn’t forgotten the instructions…

‘I just got distracted,’ was her weak defence.

Usually, the hint of a sneer that played about the Headmaster’s lips would have ignited her anger or stung her pride. It would have done something, making her double her efforts just to prove him wrong. But this time, her shoulders swiftly dropped, like sails suddenly starved of wind.

‘You’re still wary of your power.’ Black’s voice pierced through the wall of her thoughts, but she didn’t raise her head to meet his gaze. What for anyway? There was nothing to challenge. He was right. ‘Being distracted is not the issue here. But caging your ancient magic away at every shift of attention won’t get you far.’

But at least, it would prevent any accident.

‘Miss Lecomte, look at me.’

From his contemptuous look to his sly smile, she had been prepared for anything.

The softness in his eyes caught her off guard.

In disbelief, she watched him cover the distance separating them until he stood right before her. Slowly, he raised his arm and quietly snapped his fingers which started to glow with a faint light.

Ancient magic.

‘As I explained to you,’ he said eventually, barely loud enough for her to hear, ‘I am not a wielder of ancient magic. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I am merely the school’s vessel.’ He slightly rotated his hand, and the light grew into a wisp that gently swirled around his fingers as if it was playing with Black’s gaze. ‘The day I accepted this position, it became a part of me.’ He tore his eyes off the wisp and waited for Alienor’s eyes to meet his own. ‘But you, it’s not only part of you. You are a natural wielder.’

‘I know that.’

‘Well then, are your distractions so demanding of your attention they make you forget even your own identity?’

‘I am not following you,’ she said with a light frown. She braced for the coming part as on the list of reasons why Professor Black had never taught, impatience was most certainly on top of it.

In lieu of a snide remark, she got a smile. A genuine, understanding smile that made her question everything she thought she knew about him.

‘Ancient magic,’ he said softly, ‘is not a part of you. You are ancient magic.’

Last time she checked she was human.

She must have looked as puzzled as she felt for The Headmaster went on before waiting her reaction: ‘Who are you?’

Which didn’t really help.

‘Don’t tell me,’ he quickly added as she was opening her mouth to reply. ‘I don’t want you to talk, I want you to think.’ He joined his index and middle finger together and pointed them at her.

‘Who – if she didn’t back down as he moved his hand closer to her, it was because he must have petrified her… right? –

Are – his fingertips were so close to her forehead, she could feel the light warmth emanating from the wisp –

You?’ -  she couldn’t remember when she had ordered her head to move and yet, she felt it push into the Headmaster’s touch as if it was acting on its own.

First she felt the lukewarm sensation of his fingertip on her forehead and then, the caress of ancient magic. Black had conjured it and yet, it felt just like the traces she had tracked in her fifth year, or the calm swirls of the repository as she had set it free. Flowing within and around, dizzying. She felt herself falter but, as if he had sensed her discomfort, Black slightly increased he pressure against her forehead, grounding her. As if his magic was holding her steady.

A familiar, curious, lively and formidable magic.

Not his, nor hers.

Her.

[lenainris]

Art Break

That's not a break from socio media, that's just some break from making art. I don't know how long that's gonna be. Maybe a week or a month or more. Anyway, today I'll post some art work that I'm proud of how it turned out. And I'll post something else on November 1st for Roxy. I don't know what happened to her, if you know it would be nice if I found out. I hope she's okay. I'll post my present for her anyway, and it'll stay here till she gets back. (I hope she comes back by then. I'm a little sad that I did something for her and she can't see it.) Why am I taking this break? Besides that something has come up in my life, I still want to write fanfiction. And my hyperfixation won't let me write fanfiction and make art at the same time. I said I could write fanfiction and do art, just to prove to myself how delusional I am.

If I decide to draw something in the future, this will be the comic I haven't finished drawing yet.

Have a nice day. ^^

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fallen {Chapter Twenty Nine}

Alastor x (fem)Reader

I was left in the dark room, for I don't know how long. My anxiety and fear had taken over all rational thinking. I was fully vulnerable like this, if anyone else other than Vox were to show up, they'd know that I wasn't a demon like themself.

But an angel. I didn't want to think about what would happen then, what Vox might do with me...

The only reason he hasn't told anyone else, is because he's waiting for Alastor to arrive. A part of me wished that Alastor wouldn't come. But I knew that wouldn't be the case. I just didn't want him possibly getting hurt or worse...

I began to tear up just thinking about it, I hung my head low as I sniveled. If God was listening at all, if God was still willing to grant me one last wish...Is that for Alastor to walk away from this unharmed.

And If I could be so selfish, I'd want to leave this terrible place with him. I'm not ready to give up the best thing that's happened to me. I wasn't willing to loose Alastor.

That was my wish, my prayer. I could only hope that God would just hear me out...

Suddenly, the sound of muffled screaming could be heard from the other side of the door in front of me. My crying paused as I realized just who was the cause of those screams, that grew ever louder by the second.

I lift my head just in time for the door to slam open, revealing Alastor in the entry way. His suit was covered in blood, his antlers extended outward, and his eyes darkened black with red radio dials replacing his pupils.

His smile, was not one of joy, as it strained and twitched. Though, as he saw me, his blind fury began to settle.

He slowly returned to his natural state, his eyes back to normal as they fell upon me. "Y/n..." He exhaled. Alastor hurried to me, and looked me over. I look up at him with tear filled eyes, only for my attention to be caught by someone slowly approaching us.

My yell was muffled, Alastor snapped his fingers and the cloth and chains disappeared.

"Behind you!" I barely got the warning out, before thick wires were being shot towards Alastor. He turned to dodge them, but unfortunately he was not quick enough. Two of the wires stabbed into his side, and let out a wave of electricity.

My heart sank at the sound of Alastor's pained cries. The light from the voltage lit up the room with a blinding blue color, only to settle down after a few seconds. Alastor just barely caught himself as he slumped to the ground.

His breaths left him in heavy and ragged draws. He looked up to see Vox, standing over him with a wide smirk.

"Alastor." He jerks the wires from Alastor's body. Another yell left Alastor as they were roughly removed. "About time you showed up."

Alastor glared at Vox, his voice cracking and breaking with distortion. "You have some nerve..." He stood tall, a low growl left him as he continued. "You dare take away my darling, and lay your filthy hands on her...You're just begging for me to tear your soul from you and broadcast your agony for all to hear!"

"I have some nerve?" Vox raises an eyebrow. "Says the guy who's been hiding an angel this whole time! How exactly did you find her anyway?"

"That is the least of your concerns right now." Alastor says lowly before his antlers begin to extend, his claws growing and sharpening. Cracking of bones could be heard as his body grew to an intimidating height. His eyes darken, bright red pinpricks for pupils.

"I'm gonna finally put an end to your pitiful, overhyped, existence once and for all!"

Vox chuckles. "I'd love to see you try." Multiple wires, as if tendrils, sprout from his back, each one sparking with electricity and perfectly aimed for Alastor. 

I made sure to keep my distance, knowing if I were to get caught up in their fight, I'd just get myself hurt. Or killed. I trusted that Alastor could handle himself, but it pained me to watch whenever he took a hit from Vox.

Though, Alastor proved to be at the top of his game. Either avoiding or taking every throw from Vox like it was nothing. And Vox was only slowing down, where Alastor was beating him.

He knew he wouldn't be able to last much longer...

Suddenly, when he got the chance to avoid Alastor, he turned to me. And just like that, I was hypnotized once again. I blacked out, unable to control myself as I rushed straight into the middle of the scrap.

Alastor just barely managed to avoid striking me with one of the tendrils. With every hit he tried to land, Vox had controlled me to take if for him.

Luckily, Alastor would not allow any of them to hit me.

"I knew you had a weakness." Vox began. "Turns out it's just some woman. How pathetic."

"I'll tell you what's pathetic." Alastor growled. "Not fighting me yourself!"

"I never claimed to be a fair man." Vox shrugs. As Alastor was distracted, he didn't see the wire that Vox had snuck up behind him. With a quickness, Vox shot the wire deep into Alastor's back, before sending a large volt of electricity into him. Vox tossed me aside, to revel in Alastor's pain.

I groaned, slowly gaining my awareness back, only to look on in horror at the sight before me.

"You should had stayed gone Alastor! Because now, I'm about to put an end to radio for good!" Vox howled with laughter. He then lifted Alastor up into the air by the wire, and slammed him against the window, shattering it.

My heart pounded in my chest, my head was screaming with panic. Alastor fell to the ground, the voltage only increasing by the second.

I could only watch as he writhed in pain, and Vox stood victoriously. I looked for something, anything that would help Alastor.

That's when my eyes landed on a large stray shard of glass. My eyes darted between the glass shard and Vox. My heart rate growing faster, if possible. Could I really do that?

I'd get myself killed trying, I know I would but...

I can't stand this anymore!

I picked up the glass and rushed towards Vox, he turned to me just as I stabbed the broken shard into his gut. He cried out in pain and anger before swatting me away. I fell back into a near by wall, my head making contact before my body.

I slid down the wall, blood dripping from my nose where I was hit, and my head throbbing with pain.

"You little bitch!" Vox hissed as he removed the glass. Figures. It would take a lot more than that to take down an overlord. He began to make his way towards me, I was barely holding on, whimpering as the ringing in my ears began to grow louder.

Alastor tried to move, yell for Vox to stop, or something. But he was unable.

Just as Vox reached me, the door to the room swung open.

In the doorway, was a demon, who I assumed work for VoxTek. He looked panic, his voice trembling as he spoke.

"Lucifer is here!"

All three of of froze, the electricity holding Alastor back finally subsided. Without wasting another second, Alastor sunk into the ground with in shadow form before reaching me. He quickly grabs hold of me and uses what little energy he had to teleport us out of there.

"Fuck!" Vox exclaimed. "God damn it, I had him! And now his royal highness is here!? What the fuck!?"

"What the fuck indeed!"

Vox felt his stomach drop at the sound of "his royal highness'" voice. He turned to see Lucifer standing before him. His grin growing at the sight of Vox's shock.

"U-Uh, Lucifer!" Vox smiled awkwardly. "What brings you by?"

"The sound of two overlords tussling." Lucifer shrugs. "The radio demon vs the video star! I just had to see it." His eyes trailed to Vox's hand, where there was a smudge gold. He then looks up at Vox.

"Tell me, just where did that radio demon go?"

Tags-

@krak-jj

@martinys-world

@cherry-cola-100

@wonderlandangelsposts

[acheronist]

how did you start learning tattooing? what made you want to try it?

ohh... hm. Well. Okay to be so honest and short and easy with you I was really depressed and having my quarter life crisis and so I picked it up as a way to try and get myself back on track with like. being alive + doing something semi-meaningful with my life lol

here's the longer detail stuff that I fear is a bit too tenderhearted to just have out in the open

💌

near the end of last year (november-ish) I was yapping with a friend of mine from art school who ended up getting into tattooing after we had graduated, and explaining that i didn't like how publishing illustration was treating me and i felt like i was spinning my wheels and going nowhere. so she really encouraged me to give tattooing a shot? because I needed to do something different and she thought my art style could be really well suited for tattooing... and ofc i've been tangentially aware of tattoo culture but i was always kind of too scared that I wasn't like........ GOOD OR COOL ENOUGH? FOR IT? it seemed very intense and like there wasn't going to be room for me yknow. but anyways after talking with my friend i started doing a lot of research about like.. the history of tattoo culture and how techniques developed over the centuries and what are the popular styles now and what modern health/safety expectations of tat artists are now etc. just kind of taking it all in. following a lot of artists on social media etc and talking to my friend about what her apprenticeship entailed... but I bought myself a shitty cheap tattoo kit online in december and spent most of december-february just trying to teach myself how to handle a rotary pen machine and get a feel for it? and basically spent all of my time either playing around with my machine and fake practice skins or drawing or researching about tattoo history. and then in february/march I redid my whole portfolio with some neo trad designs + my other illust work and started visiting some local shops and basically just begging for 15 minutes to talk to someone in the industry and figure out if I was hopeless or not lmaooo. I went to about five shops and got soundly rejected / turned down from all of them, so I was really taking it as a sign that I should give up? but then the last shop I was going to try was like. idk it felt different and way more optimistic than everywhere else I'd tried at.... the artists on break at the time all took a chance to look thru my portfolio and talk to me, the shop owner is an angel, and so we went from "can I just ask for your professional opinion on if I suck at this or not" to getting introduced to everyone as they were working like "this is isabel she's gonna be our new apprentice!😊" which was!!!!!! CRAZY.

and so it took about two weeks after that before one of the more experienced artists in the shop was like 🙄 Fine I will teach another fucking apprentice I guess. Whatever. and I was like oh no he hates me. (turns out there's some shop lore about how awful the last apprentice was and everyone was kind of waiting to see if I'd turn out the same way) so I've just been working really hard ever since to prove I'm serious and now I'm everyone's favorite little idiot in my shop eheheh

but yeah! so I've been apprenticing officially in my shop since the end of march!!! just learning and trying to be helpful for my artists and trying to take it on the chin that I'm brand new and still learning and have a long way to go yet without getting miserable about it... but I feel very optimistic and way better now than I did in december, and everyone in my shop is soooo so kind and encouraging of my progress it really does feel like... Oh there is hope for me after all!

but yeah anyways. I just wanted to have an archive of my work as I progress and improve? so now everyone who follows my stupid ass blog has to bear witness to me being slightly bad at tattooing for months yet xoxoxo

[wandafiction]

Selachimorpha - Just Us Chapter 68

Warnings: Mostly Fluff, Slightly Suggestive Theme

Word Count: 4841

Series List | Chapter 67 | Chapter 69

================================

"Where are the boys anyway?" I turn to Wanda once I've helped her out of the car and closed the door.

"With Hope." Wanda slowly snakes her arm around the back of my waist, obviously afraid of my reaction so when I wrap my arm around her shoulder to pull her close I feel her body relax. 

"Ho- oh- you met Hope?"

"Mhmm, I did. She is giving the boys a behind the scenes tour of the sharks. Or so she said she would." 

"I always find it funny that Hope ended up working in the aquarium." I lock the car, and me and Wanda start to walk back to the entrance as we continue to chat.

"Why?"

"Well because she majored in Entomology. Officially she is Dr Hope Pym. But of course being a Pym she couldn't have just one major so she also majored in marine biology."

Wanda hums as she moves her head to rest against the side of my chest. Her hands seem to be gripping a little tightly to my coat, not that I'm going to question it. I have a feeling she is going to be affectionate or at least more cuddly and touchy for a while. I don't mind as long as she feels safe enough to talk to me. 

I mean maybe it's partially my fault she didn't open up as well, not just her past. I mean I am meant to make her feel safe enough to talk to me, not about everything all at once but little by little. When I realised how much I was opening up, which was a surprise to even myself I knew it was because I felt safe and protected. So I could open up. 

It just makes me think maybe Wanda doesn't feel those things. So if holding on to me, cuddling just something as simple as pecking her lips so she knows I'm there will slowly draw her out of her shell so I can start breaking down her walls then I can wait. But then again, even with all that being safe isn't just about the small affections it's more about what the other person feels when with one another. 

"Do you feel safe with me?" Wanda removes her head from my side to look at me with scrunched brows. 

"Of course I do, baby. You make me feel protected and loved." Her eyes search mine and I think she sees my hesitation about her answer because she lets out a small sigh as we continue walking slowly to the entrance. 

"It's not that I don't feel safe enough to talk to you baby, because I do and I'm so thankful that you care so much. It's just my problems were never the biggest in the room, so I learnt to push it down...hide it away from others and myself. I don't even know how my emotions boiled over today, I have a lot going on up here." She taps her head as she presses her lips together, looking at the surrounding area as we show our re-entry bands and get in without a fuss.

"There's a few things that I need to talk about, it's nothing about you and not about me and you. It's all on me, and I know I'm not very good at the talking, and the being open. It's all new to me. The fact you had to drag it out of me this morning proves that point. I went from 0 to 100 in seconds and in no way is it your fault. I need you to know it's not your fault. So tonight, once the boys are asleep we can talk. Properly. I am still learning things about myself, more and more since being with you and I'm still learning to be okay with all this change." 

"Then we can learn and grow together." I stop us just outside of the ocean wonders building so we are not talking about this when we find the boys. "I don't need you to tell me every little thing as soon as it happens, I don't ever want to make you feel like I am forcing you to do something you don't want to do. Apart from today where I felt that I desperately needed something just as much as you needed to release something. I just want you to tell me when you're stressed or something is playing on your mind, nagging you from the deep dark and scary. Because I don't want to be on the other end of it when it all boils over." 

"I really am sorry baby, I just let my emotions get the best of me. I didn't mean a thing that came out of my mouth, I was so lost in my own mind at that moment, I have never even thought about those things. So please believe me when I say not a single thing I said is true, you would have been a great mother had you been given a proper chance to watch your baby girl grow up." Wanda's hands cupping my face, my eyes flutter closed and I lean into her touch. 

I may be hurt by her words, but I do believe her when she says she doesn't mean it. I've been there, I said a lot worse in fact but she is apologising and making sure I have some understanding of why. It shows how remorseful she actually is. I turn my head to the side kissing the palm of her hand, a soft smile grows on my face and I see a lot of Wanda's worries wash away for just a moment. 

"I'm going to have to do a lot of pining and wooing to try and make this whole day up to you." I huff out a small laugh kissing her hand a few more times.

"I would say yes, but just you being open with me is showing me that we can get past this. This doesn't mean I can forgive you straight away and I mean maybe a little pining over me wouldn't cause a great deal of harm, but just know. We are going to be okay, I want us to work and this is just a bump in the road that we have to smooth over before we can move forward." 

"You are wise beyond your years Y/n, and it makes me fall in love with you even more with the way you see things in life. You have an extraordinary way of looking about things and your outlook on life is so fundamentally positive it truly astounds me." Her hands move from my face to hold the lapels of my coat pulling them across my body a bit more. "So tonight, how about we all have a nice family meal. We can have a small movie with the boys. Then once they have gone to sleep we can talk, really talk. About everything." 

"That sounds lovely princess. We can stay up as long as you need to and we can speak about anything you need to. I love you Wanda."

"I love you too Y/n." 

I wrap my arms around Wanda's neck pulling her into me, her arms wrap around my waist underneath my coat as her head rests on my chest. One of my hands moves to scratch at her scalp, and her hot breath warms my shirt when she lets out a content sigh. I rest my chin on the top of her head, my eyes scanning the surrounding area to see the world outside of our little  bubble that we once again create. I squeeze my hand against Wanda's shoulder and lean back to look down at her, putting some hair behind her ear.

"Let's go find the boys."

I wrap my arm around Wanda's shoulder pulling her into my right side, and her hands grab onto the front and back of my coat; her head resting back on the side of my chest. I text Hope as we walk in asking where to meet her and she gives me the code for the door to get through the back and meet them at the top of the shark tanks. 

Wanda gives me a confused look when I drag her away from the main attraction and down an unlit hallway, and to a door that says do not enter in big red letters. Wanda pulls on my hand, gaining my attention before I can start putting the door pin in.

"What are you doing?" Wanda whispers as her head tilts back to look back down the hallway, obviously making sure no one sees us.

"Nothing." I shrug nonchalantly as I go to the keypad.

"Y/n we can't be here."

"Says who?" 

"The big red sign right there." She whisper shouts as she points at the warning sign. 

"Do you trust me?" 

"Of course I do." I smirk as she sees where this is going.

"Then trust me with this."

"Fine but if we get arrested for trespassing I'm throwing you under the bus and you can stay the night in a cell." She says half seriously but with a joking tone.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take." I turn to the pad and start to input the code.

844339277777#

I hear the door click and smile at my success, trying to keep the act up that me and Wanda are breaking into the backroom. I turn to look at Wanda as I push the door open, and her jaw drops a little, her eyes flicking to me then the lock.

"That's a long as fuck pin. How did you even guess it?" 

"It's Hope's favourite insect, so I thought it was worth trying." 

"Of course you did." 

I roll my eyes as I pull Wanda through the open door and down another dark hallway and up a flight of stairs. Her grip in my hand tightens when she hears voices ahead trying to pull me back and away from them.

"Wanda, it's just the boys and Hope. She gave me the code for the door and we are heading to meet them."

"Meany pants."

"Scaredy pants."

"I wasn't scared, I was just being...overly cautious."

"Sure Jan." 

I pull her back under my arm now she knows my true intentions and allows me to lead her to the top of the shark tanks. The boys are too busy pointing out everything they see and getting excited at the smallest thing. Hope looks up from her spot next to the boys, smiling happily when she sees both of us walking toward the three of them. Standing up and making her way towards us, the boy's eyes not even looking up from the tank.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up." 

"Well we are here now." I let go of Wanda so I can hug Hope, before letting go and wrapping my arm around Wanda's shoulders again. "Hope this is Wanda, Wanda Hope. I heard you two met already but I thought I would introduce you properly."

"It's lovely to officially meet you Wanda, I would say I have heard lots about you but this one has been keeping you a secret from me." 

"Oh has she now?" Wanda turns to me as Hope hums out a yes. "And why is that baby?" Wanda's tone is playful.

"Because the last person I introduced her to, she ended up whooping his ass." Hope laughs out holding her hands in fake surrender.

"Hey if you bring me a dumbass named Scott who thinks he can just pry his way into my life because my father and you like him then think again. He deserved getting his ass whooped a little."

"Maybe but aren't you giving it a real go now?" 

"Enough about me. Wanda, your boys are so adorable and amazing. They really find this stuff interesting which is pretty cool actually, not many teenagers think looking at sharks is cool. They take a picture and leave, but your boys have a keen interest." 

I let out a small laugh at the change of conversation knowing full well that Hope and Scott are most definitely together.

"Thank you. Yeah they have always been very adventurous and inquisitive. They love exploring and finding out new things to learn. They definitely got that from me." 

"Well not that they have spotted you guys, too busy looking at the sharks but do you want to join them in looking in the tank?" 

"When have I ever said no?" 

"When you were with bitch face."

"Okay, no need to call me out on my shit." I laugh so she knows I have taken no offense and I see Wanda smiling between me and Hope at our banter.

"Mom, Y/n come look. This is so cool." Tommy calls us over finally spotting us. 

"I will leave you guys to it. I have a few talks around the building so just come find me before you leave so I can say bye." She gives both me and Wanda a hug before disappearing down the stairs.

Me and Wanda don't wait another second before sitting down either side of the boys as their eyes scan the water, but I can't look at anything but Wanda. The way the reflection of the water and light dances across her face creating these amazing patterns that show her in all her beauty. I get lost in all that she is, it's like she is enchanting me to never look away, a strong force not letting me leave until I've remembered every little detail that magically seems to appear under the reflection of the world around us. I didn't know such beauty could exist, but she is a goddess in human form. In another world she may be known as Aphrodite or Venus, but in this world she is Wanda. My Wanda. I am so happy I get to spend everyday with someone only most people could ever dream of just meeting. 

I don't realise I am still staring until I feel a tap on my shoulder, my eyes flicking to the culprit who is a very worried looking Billy. 

"You okay Y/n? I've been trying to get your attention for a while." His voice quiet, keeping the conversation between us. I give him a soft smile, looking back at Wanda who is already looking at me, a light blush covers her cheeks as a fuzzy smile is painted on her face.

"I'm more than okay Billy. Just lost in a world of my own creation and coming out on the other side." 

"Hmm, what's it like on the other side of your mind's world?" 

"It's scary some of the time, it's like I have a ticking time bomb waiting to implode on everything good that I have built on the other side. All the good, all the bad and everything in-between the two exists on the other side. But in the inner world there is nothing but darkness which is scarier than anything on the other side of the world that has been crossed." 

"I want to go to the other side, it sounds like a very interesting place."

"You are already on the other side Billy, it is our reality, our present, it is what we call home. It's full of hope and wonder. It's a truly amazing place to finally be." I don't know if my rambling of other worlds and other sides makes sense to Billy, but he nods his head a couple of times thinking over my words. 

"So the world in your mind is like, uh, your mental health and the other side is you finally seeing a way out of it. Or a way of dealing with it." 

"You are very smart for your age Billy, very mature to understand what it was I was on about." 

"Thank you." It's quiet for a few beats. "I'm proud of you for pulling through whatever it is you are or we're going through." 

"I am too." 

"Hey you two, stop whispering to one another and come join us." Me and Billy got so lost in conversation we hadn't even noticed Wanda and Tommy move to sit on the opposite side of the tank.

"Yes come here Y/n, please, Hope said you have some really cool shark facts or know a lot about sharks. And I have SO many questions." Tommy waves his hand over frantically trying to get me to hurry up.

I give in, rolling my eyes as I stand up holding a hand out to hoist Billy off the floor. He jumps to his feet and to my surprise pulls me into a hug, his arms wrapping around my neck as he rests his chin on my shoulder. 

"I love Y/n." I wrap my arms around his shoulders and give him a small squeeze.

"Love you too Billy." I pull away. "Now! Let's geek out about sharks." 

I drag him over to where Tommy and Wanda are and as we go to sit down Wanda pulls me down next to her, landing with a small thump on the ground I huff of air escaping my lungs. She gives me a small apologetic look but doesn't say anything. Instead she moves her legs from underneath her laying on her side with her head in my lap. Like I said, extra cuddly. I weave my hands through her hair, every now and again scratching her head. 

"So boys, what do you want to know?" I turn my attention away from Wanda, but make sure my hands keep messing with her hair. 

"Everything!" They both wiggle excitedly on their butt's.

"Okay well let's start with the scientific name for sharks."

"There's another name for sharks?" Billy raises a brow in question.

"Oh yeah, don't they give them like Latin names or something?" Tommy looks at me in excitement at his fact.

"They do. So sharks are also known as Selachimorpha. "

"That sounds fancy?" Wanda laughs against my lap. 

"It is very fancy. So. What's the coolest shark in the tank to you boys?" 

"The tiger shark there. The one with the jagged teeth and looks like it could eat you alive." Tommy points out the shark he is on about.

"So that is a sand tiger shark. Also known as Carcharias taurus . False to the beliefs of many people the sand tiger shark is not actually that closely related to tiger sharks themselves. They are also very harmless to humans, never has there been a fatality at the hands -or rather teeth - of these sharks." 

"So it's not that deadly?" Billy asks as his eyes follow the slow moving beast around the tank.

"Not to us no, but if you are a squid, some bony fish or even some types of shark then they would most definitely be deadly."

"So it's called a sand tiger shark, but isn't actually a tiger shark?" Wanda speaks quietly from my lap.

"No, not at all. But it isn't just known as a sand tiger shark either. In the UK it's known as a grey nurse shark, which is a common name in other places too. The funniest name, and I would say the most descriptive yet least helpful is what they say in South Africa." 

"What do they call it?" Tommy leans forward slightly to see past Billy to me.

"It's called the spotted ragged-tooth shark."

"Wow, that's such a creative name." Billy's voice is full of sarcasm. 

"That's what everyone says. Anything else you want to know?"

"What about that one that's got the really flat head." Wanda asks, taking a peek into the tank.

"The one resting on the bottom?"

"Yeah." Wanda settles her head back into my lap and I swear I almost hear her purr when I start scratching at her scalp.

"Do you boys know what that one is?" 

"I think I saw the sign downstairs that said it was a nurse shark." Billy informs us.

"That's correct. Did you catch the scientific name?" 

"No but I know it was long and complicated." I laugh at his confession.

"It is. But the scientific name for a nurse shark is Ginglymostoma cirratum. "

"How do you know this stuff?" Tommy asks, stunned at my knowledge.

"I like to read, and my friend studied this for like 4 years in college. I helped her study, these sort of things stick with you." 

"Fair enough. So tell us about the Gin...Gingly…. What is is again?" Tommy asks, frustrated he can't get it the first time. 

" Ginglymostoma cirratum. "

"Okay, so tell us more about the Ginglymostoma cirratum. "

"Okay where to start? Oh so these sharks have had more attacks on humans than the sand tiger shark. There have been plenty of nurse sharks that have attacked humans, but I blame the humans not the sharks."

"Why the humans when it's the shark that attacks." Wanda turns her head to look up at me in question.

"Because a lot of divers disturb them and try to touch them. They aren't very cautious probably because of how lazy and slow the shark looks, but in reality it will bite you. So don't be fooled." 

"Why is the nurse shark the only shark who is laying still? Is it dead?" I giggle at Tommy's question, shaking my head.

"No, not at all. It's probably asleep." 

"But I read somewhere that sharks don't stop moving even when asleep." Tommy now turns to me slightly confused at the discovery of the nurse shark's habits.

"That is true for most sharks. If most sharks stop moving they will quite literally drown, because the way their respiratory system works. So sharks don't actually have lungs, like mammals do. So sharks like fish have gills, now the gills are basically like the lungs of these animals. So as they move, they leave a small gap in their mouths and water passes through their gills. There are these teeny tiny blood vessels within these gills which are able to extract oxygen from the water, and also remove carbon dioxide from their blood at the same time. Like all animals, sharks need oxygen to breathe and carbon dioxide is a harmful gas that can kill us and them. So that's why a lot of sharks will swim all day everyday, they even swim when sleeping." 

"Okay so that's why, in those programmes, where sharks are caught in the big shark nets by the beaches are dead. They don't starve like I thought, but instead drown? That's really sad for a creature that swims around its whole life." Tommy's face creases into a sad frown.

"It is, but the shark nets are there to keep people safe from sharks like great whites. But they are not the best solution when they end up killing animals." 

"Okay so how can a nurse shark stay still if they should be drowning?" Billy questions and I smile at how intrigued they are and how happy they are listening to me ramble out my knowledge.

"So it's pretty simple. It's called the buccal pumping system. So the shark will lower what is called the floor of their buccal cavity to pull air into their mouths. Then the floor of the buccal cavity is raised so the water rushes through the gills and the oxygen can be extracted from the water, like normal. They can do this for quite a few hours as well." 

"That's so cool that they have evolved in a way that basically makes them the lazy sharks of the ocean." All 4 of us laugh as Tommy's eyes move left to right as he looks around the tank.

"Or all the other sharks have dumb evolution traits because they can't ever stop moving, which must be pretty tiring." Billy points out. "Sharks are cool."

"They are aren't they?" Both boys hum in agreement and when I look down to Wanda I smile at what I see. "I think it's time to get home boys?" 

They look over to me about to question my reasons when their eyes dart down to see Wanda asleep, with a relaxed smile on her face. I gently dance my finger down the edge of Wanda's face, on the outline of her hair as I quietly whisper her name to try and wake her without starling her. I feel her start to move her head in my lap, I smile as I expect her to look up at me but roll my eyes when she is stubborn and keeps them closed stopping her movements. So I continue to draw along around her jawline, as I whisper to her.

"Wanda." 

Nothing.

"Wanda."

Nothing.

"Princess."

Surprisingly nothing, but smile when I know what will get her to break into a smile.

"Baby." 

And just like that a smile makes its way onto her face as she turns her head to look at me, her eyes fluttering open. When she sees me looking down at her with a warm smile her nose scrunches with her smile only increasing in size.

"Hi princess." 

"Hi baby." She does a small stretch of her arms and legs, but chooses to keep her head in my lap.

"I think it's time to go home. The boys agree. We can always come back another day and explore properly." 

"Okay, let's do that." Her eyes close for a second but shoot open when water ends up on her face. 

She tilts her head backwards to look at the boys upside down who are laughing as they wipe their hands dry. Her back is arched off my legs, her legs slightly bent and it takes a lot of willpower to not say or do anything. In any other environment I would definitely do something, but I can't. Maybe she is doing it on purpose and teasing me because she holds that position much longer than is needed. The boys are already on their feet and ready to go. 

"You guys coming?" Tommy tilts his head in question. 

"You go ahead, and say bye to Hope who should be giving a small talk in front of the shark tank. We will catch up." I'm thankful they don't question further and walk off and towards the stairs. 

Wanda watches them go, her body still in the very compromising position so I move my hand to rest on the inside of her thigh. I bite my bottom lip when she gasps, as I squeeze it gently, her back arching slightly more as her eyes close. 

"You're being naughty babygirl." 

I remove my hand from her thigh as she whines at the loss of contact, but finally relaxes her body. She moves her head back to my lap looking up at me with blown pupils, her lip between her teeth. 

"Behave or no strap." She gasps and sits upright, staring at me with a look of bewilderment. 

"That's rude." She crosses her arms, jutting out her bottom lip to form a pout. "You know how much I love that thing."

"Then be a good girl and behave." I stand up holding my hands out for her to grab, grumbling as I help lift her to her feet. "Come on, the boys are waiting." 

"Uhm, Y/n." I turn to give her my full attention as her voice sounds nervous. "I still want to talk, tonight, before we have sex or anything. I think it's important, I don't want us to be using sex as a distraction from what needs to happen." 

"I agree. We can get lost in the haze quite easily, but tonight's all about us talking and creating an environment where both of us feel safe enough to talk to the other." 

"You're not mad after that little moment?" 

"I won't ever be mad at you for not wanting sex. If you don't feel like it, not in the mood for it or even if we get started and you change your mind. I will never be made." I smile at her as I come to a small realisation.

"What are you smiling at?" 

"You."

"What about me?"

"You just opened up about an insecurity about how you were worried about my reaction to you saying no sex."

"Huh I guess I did. Well look at that I'm making progress."

"We are making progress." She stands on her tiptoes to peck my lips a couple of times and I mumble my words against them as she continues to peck them. "We are also making the boys wait. So come on, let's get home and have a nice meal. Then when the boys are asleep, we can talk." 

"You have to ask me the question first." For a moment I'm confused at what she means but then a smile grows on my face when I realise what she is asking for.

"Yours or mine princess?"

================================

[theskeletonprior]

The ????: I Skipped A Few Days

This is a casual little writing challenge to get myself into a habit, perhaps, or if not, to get some words from the meat of my brain to the pulp of the page. All of my stories for this challenge are set in the world of RAVENOT, and if you’re curious, you can take a look at my WIP intro right here. And if you’re really keen, you can read the first chapter (sort of a pilot as I toil) right here! Now onto the daily ramble.

I didn't get nearly as much writing done in that first week as I hoped. With the work that I do, and the commute that I have to take to get there, it's tough to squeak in the time for a particularly inspiring amount of daily writing. 5k and one completed story per week was ambitious, and not a goal that I think I can attain at this time without taking some heroic measures. And the purpose of this exercise is to be pretty chill. So there will be no heroic measures (at least not on my part!). Instead, I'll reset my expectations, and hope to get this short story completed by the end of the month. On the brighter side, as of this posting, I've clocked about 2k. Not exactly the kind of numbers that would see me pump out 50k in a month, but again... We're being chill, here. I'm still struggling quite a lot with the horrors of my internal world, and occasionally with the horrors of the external world, and whether or not, in the midst of all that, my writing is any good. What am I doing any of this for? The short answer seems to be that I simply don't know how to stop, and I also don't want to stop, or I would. I figure the rest will come on its own time. Anyway, here's an excerpt for today.

Hadan took the arrow back, the shaft already beginning to blacken at Ravenot's touch. "I will not keep thee from thy watch," he said, keenly aware of the sentry's desire to flee. That was good, in its own way. Few were those who ought to linger long beside him, and even they did so at their peril. Hadan looked to Yarrowling, the silent look still so evident in its beseeching that Ravenot could almost hear the plea. The old woman nodded, and Hadan was gone so swiftly he seemed as though he ought to have kicked up dust. "Thanks for bringing that arrow back," Yarrowling said, "those silver tips don't come cheap." She paused then, wrinkled lips puckering as she sucked them in over her gums. "So what's the word, Unmade?" "I will await the dawn here in thy square," Ravenot told her. "I would not cause further unease with my presence here, but I must stay for a time." "I'll have our watch draw lots before I send 'em back to their beds. If one of ours is with you, it'll settle most of the worry what will come of your visit to our town." "For this, I thank you." Ravenot lowered his head. "I won't call you welcome," Yarrowling said, "but I hope you know it ain't personal." "Trouble doth sit astride my very shoulders. I shall fainly bear it elsewhere, should our fortunes prove fair enough." That earned him a taut grimace from Yarrowling, which he took for a semblance of a smile.

Until next time!

Taglist: @rosieartsie @void-botanist @carmillasboywife

As always, let me know if you’d like to join or leave the taglist, and I’ll act accordingly.

[jungkoode]

ok my last one for today bc i feel like this must bother you bc ur so busy but since u updated 25h i HAD to say this.

kiki i am so in love with the way you write! i've said it before but in all seriousness what you do is breathtakingly astounding.

i noticed something, in all of your fics, theres NEVER filler. theres never pointless dialogue made to make the chapter longer for a word count to be met. EVERY. SINGLE. SENTENCE. is beyond relevant. Theres double meanings everywhere waiting to be unfolded. Every sentence can be dissected and analyzed deeper to reveal something that makes the characters more human.

This is what i believe makes your fics SO ADDICTING to the point where i find myself refreshing your page once a day seeing if theres any updates. YOUR CHARACTERS FEEL AUTHENTIC. they're not just shells of people you put two thoughts in and write about. they're people that i can tell you stay up thinking about. they're people that could very well exist in real life and you could 100% have a full on conversation with.

do you know how insane that is? how absolutely fucking impressive? i think you do--you must--because its so in your face how you but all of your blood, sweat, and tears (queue jimin) into every single chapter.

for exampleeeee! 25H10 had barely any interaction between y/n and yoongi. in the last couple chapters, the whole thing has been them together. usually, (if i was reading any other writer) i would probably skip until the characters engage again, because lets face it, were all here for the romance. However, when reading your fics, the thought of skipping even a single line of dialogue was off the table for me. Like you said, the scene with jungkook, tae and yoongi was ANYTHING but filler. so much information came from that interaction alone. The interaction between hoseok, jimin and y/n also proves to be essential, and though yoongi is talked about, we only see dialogue through him in text messages.

My point here is that even in scenes where yoongi and y/n dont interact, the fic is entretaining. you find yourself not wanting to skip no matter whats happening, because every word draws you in. there isnt a boring chapter in any of your literary concoctions.

In ASW, we haven't seen many one on one interactions with y/n and tae. in fact, we haven't even had tae talk to her directly yet apart from basic cashier talk (if i'm not mistaken). Most of the fic has been spent establishing the characters and their day to day lives. these parts are usually the most boring for me while reading, but they're not in your fics. every single word still encapsulates you little by little, staying in your mind.

i think this also draws into the realness aspect of your writing. every character has a life. you make a point to show the deep intricacies of your characters, in how they speak, how the carry themselves, what they do, everything has meaning, and the meaning all relates back to a person. a person people are drawn to, feel seen by, connect with. its all very inspiring. anyways.. ill leave you alone now hehehe

is it super obvious youre such a role model for me, writing-wise? hope not 😖

maybe one day when i am half as talented and creative as you, ill make my own fic.

FIRS ROF ALL—NO THIS DOESN’T BOTHER ME AT ALL??? DO YOU KNOWWWWW how thankful we authors are when we get long messages like these and deep dives??? It’s the biggest honor. Please never ever ever feel discouraged from sending these type of messages. It genuinely makes my day! I smiled all the way throughout reading this like a fool with a silly little grin on my face.

I personally get a huge amount of messages, not only on Tumblr, but also Wattpad and AO3 because my genius goblin brain decided one social media wasn’t enough—I had to manage THREE. So as a one-person army handling all of this, it gets very overwhelming to reply to everything, but I promise you I try my hardest. And if I don’t? I promise I always read your messages!!! I’ve been meaning to find some time to sit down and respond to this because I know it took so much effort and you poured your entire heart into it and I didn’t want to half-ass a reply to something so thoughtful—that’s the only reason I haven’t answered earlier!!

Now to the meat of it—OH MY GODDDDD. Mya. MYA. I don’t think you realize how much this means to me because you picked up on one of the things I care about the most in writing—narrative economy. I hate filler. I don’t believe in filler. If a scene exists, it has to do something. Even if it’s quiet. Even if there’s no romance. Even if it’s just someone making toast—what’s the toast telling us about them?? What’s their mood, what’s their coping, what’s their behavioral pattern?? If I include a sentence, it has a reason to be there. And when readers like you notice it?? When you pick up on the double meanings, the narrative layering, the emotional complexity—I CRY. I SOB. I STARE AT THE CEILING AND KICK MY FEET.

And you’re SO right—Chapter 10 of 25H barely has Yoongi-Noma interaction but it’s still heavy as hell because it had to be. That confrontation scene between Jungkook, Taehyung and Yoongi? It had to breathe. I needed the space to show you what it means to have informational disparity inside a resistance group. What it means to be inexperienced. What it means to have a modded brain that literally can’t register danger the way others do. And the Jimin-Hoseok scene? Necessary. We can’t info-dump who they are, because of Noma’s brain situation. So we weave the lore in gently. Organically. Like a real world. It matters to me that these characters feel like people with histories and quirks and trauma patterns and subtextual dynamics you can feel, even if they’re not explicitly stated yet.

The fact that you saw all of that? That you saw what I was trying to do? That you found engagement and addiction even in scenes where your favorite ship wasn’t front and center??? That’s the highest praise. That’s what I want. That’s what I’m always striving for—storytelling that’s rich and dimensional and gripping in every angle. Not just when people are kissing.

And the way you tied that in with ASW too??? That observation about Taehyung not even speaking much to Y/N yet but still having a gravitational pull because of how the atmosphere and psychological tension has been constructed???? DON’T TOUCH ME I’M CRYING.

Also—don’t you dare say “maybe one day.” If you feel this deeply about character, pacing, and narrative meaning, then you already have the foundation. You can make your own fic. And when you do, Kiki Nation will be seated. I believe in you so much, it’s embarrassing.

Thank you. Truly. For this message. For caring. For noticing the details. For being present as a reader. It means the world. 🫂🥹

[baelpenrose]

Nihilus Rex 27: Mind Games

Nils and Lash have some nice, healthy communication. Also, more jokes about mind games and preparation to deal with their enemy, rival and possible ally. As a behind the scenes note, yes, Ottendorf, Altendorf, and Altdorf are all real variants of the same type of cipher, and me and @canyouhearthelight arguing about which one was most in character to use was actually part of the gag that just went into this chapter. Sometimes it's fun writing hopelessly OP characters where we just get to nod obliquely at all the shit our nerdy asses have picked up over the years.

You better be careful what you do

I wouldn't wanna be in your shoes

If they ever found you out

You better be careful what you say

It never really added up anyway

I got friends in this town

Miranda Lambert, “White Liar” 

Nils

Class was boring - I mean, it would have been interesting, especially the political debate that came inherent in the macroeconomic discussion of regulation - but frankly with everything else going on and the plans Lash and I were hatching it felt almost beneath notice. Like a waste of time before we got to the real action.

Our weeb friend was a smarmy son of a bitch, I had to give him that, and trying to trace him took work -  one of the other reasons that I was just as happy to use the challenge and draw him to us. If it worked, it let us keep flying under the radar and gave us a layer of plausible deniability, and if worst came to worst it handed us a convenient option for another patsy if he proved less than tractable.  Lash and I would have to be careful in our eventual conversation with him in how we phrased everything to make sure statements could be read to assume that he was pissed that we were taking credit for his ideas to set it up properly, but it could be done with good planning. Recruit if we could, cash out the option to get the Feds off our backs if we couldn’t - because we were going to need to deal with the fibbie at some point either way.

I shared the thought with Lash to get her thoughts, and see if we could begin establishing how we wanted to lay in that contingency. “Hey, so it occurs to me, if we can’t recruit this guy, we may want to have some kind of setup to feed him to the feds when we encounter him, let them think we were just doing some dumb, edgy marketing for our totally-legal activism and the actual ‘economic terrorist’ got pissed at us for trying to take the credit. If we can’t get him on our side, better not to have him in the way, right?” 

She looked thoughtful for a moment - or more accurately, like she was plotting - before asking slowly, “How likely would we be to frame him for some of the shit we’ve done? Even just stuff we did before we met?”

“I’d have to look at his profile a little more closely, but bear in mind that the hack itself doesn’t really match the profile of either of our usual patterns, and nothing we did before that rises to the level where the federal government cares enough to pay attention.” 

“I took money from Microsoft and donated it to charity,” she pointed out. “Repeatedly.  That would definitely land on the news, at least.”

“Right,” I said, taking a breath, trying to steady myself, “and let’s not get into my thefts from social media and various databombings on their harvested userdata, BUT that followed a very different profile than the bank job, which is what we knew drew their attention - they’re looking for the people who’d run the bank job, not people who are little more than thieving horseflies buzzing around the heads of corporate titans and taking a few drops here and there that said corporations never notice enough to report.” It was an unpleasant truth - we’d stolen probably tens of thousands between us, but not all at once, and in increments that the corporations we’d robbed could lose to rounding error. 

“Hey, you said you wanted him fed to the Fed, not to go down for the loans,” she shrugged. “Wire fraud across state lines is still FBI-worthy.  Not to mention that many counts.” Lash started silently ticking off on her fingers before staring at them and nodding. “Yeah, plenty of counts, for sure.”

“Fair. I’m worried they’re looking for the bank robbers and we have someone we can give them as a patsy. So when we meet with him, let’s feel him out and make sure any statements we have are set up so they can be misread as him trying to find out if we’re stealing credit for his work, yeah?” 

“Can do.” She snapped off a sarcastic salute before grabbing my elbow and semi-forcing me to slow down. “Either way, our ‘viral marketing campaign’ is ready to go as soon as you set up the location for the final clue.  So, make sure your sandbox is as secure as possible so we don’t get any bugs in there.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll have it ready in an hour. Want me to order some pizza while I do it?”  I had an extra tab open while I was getting the proxy networks set up and sketching out the ciphers for the clues.

“One meat lovers, one spinach and bacon, coming up,” she agreed, pulling out her phone. “Don’t forget to write down the address for me once it’s ready so I can translate it a couple times and hide it in the last clue.”

“Yeah, babe, I know, we’ve been picking at this for a minute.” I said, softly smiling. I wondered if she knew she talked to me the way her mom talked to her dad. I had almost finished the third cipher we were going to be doing it with. “Think three will be enough, or should we do four? At five it feels obnoxious, but if he wasn’t too paranoid to be hooked with fewer than three, he’d be a piece, not a player.” 

“Forty five minutes until food,” Lash announced before looking up. “I’m going to translate it at least twice - once to hex and once to… I dunno, a sound frequency maybe? So four should be fine on your end for the ciphers.”

“You got it. Altdorf code it is.” 

“Altendorf,” she corrected, scrunching her face at what she thought was a deliberate mistake on my part.

“Nope. Altdorf. Right wing computer nut, probably also a gamer. Altdorf code is a memetic variant on the classic Altendorf book cipher, named for a thing in a game franchise popular with that crowd.” I replied, smirking. Dating a girl who knew as much cryptography as I did was a blast, but it was occasionally fun to flex on each other. Loved it when she caught me out, as she often did, but it was sometimes fun to catch her off too. 

“Freaking nerd,” she half-mumbled, knowing good and well I would hear her. “But if it works, it works.  Provided he figures out all the clues I’m laying out.”

“And then we put all this effort into this to show off for each other for nothing…” I muttered, watching her work over what she did as I finished up selecting a handful of games, books, and comics to cipher off of, with arc numbers for each and internally contained clues within the cipher to hint at what the target should be using for the Altdorf code. Nonsensical to anyone who didn’t understand it, but comprehensible to anyone who did - if you understood the rest of the cyphers it was under, of course. 

“Ew, eyewatering,” she grunted before adjusting something. It must have worked, because she was able to actually look at the screen when she was done. “And now for the clouds…”

“Those clouds look awful.” I said, idly thinking out loud. “Really bloated, data-wise.” 

“That would be because they are compressed audio tracks,” she confirmed. “Which, when unzipped and played, give the hex code.  But yeah, they’re ugly, aren’t they?” The door buzzed and she looked at her phone. “Pizza’s here.”

“Ah.” I stood up and got the pizza, tipping the guy. After he left I turned back to Lash. “So, now we wait. Trap is baited and set with a challenge for a new ally or an enemy we can get rid of quickly. Speaking of the question as to what we do if he is a new ally: thoughts on how we get rid of the fed? She’s poking around the white supremacist scene, and stirring them up harder might lead to more of them poking around if she gets shot.” 

Lash rubbed her face before getting up to get plates. “My first instinct is to lay low and monitor.  Right now, there’s no actual evidence tying us to the situation, so monitoring would be the most conservative and safest call in the immediate future.  And it gives us time to plan something in the event we do need to intervene.”

I nodded as I poured drinks for both of us. “Yeah. Fair point. Give him about two days, then we’ll meet him together. Two options, either he thinks the whole made up names thing is actually bullshit, in which case he’ll want to meet both of the people he’s working with and we can establish a triumvirate, or he thinks it’s for real and is playing like he thinks it's dumb, then he’ll want to meet with the heads of both groups, which means we’ll need you there to rep one of them. What angles we play depends on what angle he hits us with.” I was still thinking about the way we could feel that out while also maintaining the option to sacrifice him and dispose of him to the feds if he wasn’t amicable to a team up, but honestly that was mostly just a matter of careful phrasing. 

“If it comes to that, as long as I am repping the Icono-whatsits, I’m good.”

“No, I thought we’d have the brown, anarchic immigrant’s daughter represent the carefully crafted illusion of the violently traditionalist ones who want to restore ‘traditional values’ because that would totally make the con hold up. Tell you what, when we take it global, and we have to do this in India, THEN we swap roles and you have to play a Hindutava nationalist and pretend to be a Disciple chick. For today, the heel role is mine.” 

She set her plate down with a loud clatter, glaring at me as she stood up. “And on that completely uncalled-for note, I think I need to head home for a few days.  Let me know if he gets in contact, and we’ll go from there.”

I sighed, realizing what I’d done wrong, then felt a surprising flash of irritation - at her, at myself, at the fact that every time we started getting closer I said something obnoxious and that we never just got a few weeks without some shit happening. “You know what? Yeah. I’m sorry. That was unnecessarily rude. If you want to go home, I get it, but please eat first, or at least take some pizza with you. I shouldn’t have been that much of an asshole - I’ve been jittery since the Fed showed up, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. Know you can’t pass yourself off as a white supremacist, I mostly wanted to joke around about the fact that as this goes global, we may have to practice swapping roles for other countries. That’s all.” 

Lash took a deep breath and picked up one of the pizza boxes. “I know it will eventually be necessary for me to be the bad guy, but seriously. What part of this,” she waved a hand over herself, stopping to gesture emphatically at her face, “in any way says I won’t just blow our entire ass cover if I try to be a white supremacist? It’s not like I’m shirking work or something.”  The free hand shoved her hair back and she exhaled. “I think we just need a couple days to get actual sleep and calm down.”

“You aren’t shirking work, I know.” I said, trying to take a breath. “I’ve just been…I’ve been constantly trying to figure out every possible angle we can take this from, because I want to keep us out of trouble and keep the feds away, keep this prick away from your family, keep everything under control. I said something sarcastic that I thought was funny because yeah, obviously this,” I gestured at her, “was not going to be playing the white supremacist, this,” I gestured at my own face, “was. And I wasn’t looking forward to it. And it isn’t your fault I’ve been obsessively plotting, I haven’t been telling you all of it, but it’s been all of the babbling about contingencies I’ve been doing since the fed arrived. Because I’ve been afraid. And I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” True, but I did also want her to see my perspective of how much effort I was putting into this whole thing.  “And if you need me to give you a ride home tonight, I will, but seriously take a pizza. Because it’s too late for you to be walking home.” 

The pizza box in her hand dropped back to the table and she growled in frustration. “UGH! And all the shit with Uber and taxis lately…” She fell back into what had become her seat on the couch. “Fine. But I’m sleeping out here. In clothes, so don’t get any ideas, buster.”

“We didn’t have time to go mattress topper shopping, so you’ll probably sleep better, and I’m insisting on plenty of blankets. And you’re eating your share of pizza.” I shrugged. “And even my Catholic ass won’t feel guilty about you being too damn stubborn to take a ride I’m offering.” 

“No ride. I refuse to owe you,” she spat before biting viciously into a slice of pizza, shoving half of it into her mouth without a trace of grace.

“And thus, couch, blankets, and coping aplenty.” I said, sitting down. “You okay, Lash?”

“I am sleep deprived, stressed about the apartment being ready when my parents are discharged next week despite knowing that Mori has had it ready since the day after she got here, and I’m mad at you for being a jerk.”

“Mori took care of the apartment, you know it, you know you know it. You’re going to sleep better tonight, and I’m sorry for being a dick.” I said, coaxingly. “Things are going to be alright. Let’s eat, brush our teeth, then we can rack out, okay?” 

“Fine,” she muttered, demolishing another slice of pizza.

I wasn’t certain what it said about my life - or life, in general - that “relationship issues” were causing me slightly more confusion and headaches than “FBI investigation” and “rival terrorist” combined. It definitely said something, but I wasn’t entirely certain what. Maybe it was a me problem. Maybe if I wasn’t dating someone who would do terrorism with me I wouldn’t have this problem.

But then it wouldn’t be worth it. 

[endlessdreamworld]

Hi! This is my first time requesting anything on Tumblr, so I apologize in advance if I mess up on anything! I first want to start off by saying that I love your fanfics, and your blog theme is freaking amazing.

Anyway, I was wondering if I could get a romantic matchup for Yu Yu Hakusho?

Here is a bit about me! Sorry if it's a bit long!

Basic Info; I am 23 years old. I am Bi and Ace. She/Her/Hers. And my preference is more male than female, but I love both.

Personality;

I am stubborn, I like having my way, and proving that I am right.

I have ADHD, so I get distracted easily, and I can't sit still.

I also have Autism, I stim a lot and it's hard for me to really bond with people and understand how others are feeling.

I also have RSD, so I also always worry that people hate me, even family.

I am very kind, and generous! I love buying things for my loved ones more than buying things for myself.

I am very shy and awkward, and it's hard for me to make friends (currently have none lol). I will break out of my shell if I get to know someone though! :) It just takes me a bit, so patience.

Also I do need time to myself to recollect after events or outings.

I am chatty though once someone gets me going!

I don't know what else to add here, lol.

Likes; Dreamworks Trolls, rocks, comic books, DC Comics, movies, animals, stuffed animals, cats, Barbie, Faygo pop, music, pink, black, red, candy, bread, true crime, psychological thrillers, fantasy, sci-fi, and thunderstorms

Dislikes; Mean or bigoted people, people who talk in movie theaters, horses (they are cool from afar, but I don't like them near me), eggs, touchy people, know-it-all people?

Hobbies; Drawing (I am an artist), writing, watching movies with family, singing, dancing, reading, watching YouTube, playing video games, listening to music 24/7, and sleeping

Love Language Stuff; Giving - words of affirmation and gift-giving. Receiving - words of affirmation, gift-giving, acts of service, and some physical contact? (hand-holding, hugs, cuddling, and forehead kisses)

Some of my top favorite things;

Movies; Trolls (all movies), TRAP - M. Night, The Emoji Movie, LOTR/Hobbit, The Princess Bride, and Robin Hood: Men In Tights

TV Shows; Futurama and Pride And Prejudice BBC

Books/Authors; Edgar Allen Poe, William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, The Phantom Of The Opera, Beauty And The Beast, and more!

Music Genres; I almost like all genres. Mostly pop, some country, rock, and some indie.

Artists; Backstreet Boys, Justin Timberlake (I love him, currently listening to him rn), NSYNC, Snoop Dogg, Chappell Roan, Cigarettes After Sex, Get Scared, Madonna, Lana del Rey, Troye Sivan, Miranda Lambert, and more!

Songs; Man Of The House by Rachel Zegler, Weekends by Big Time Rush, his land by Paris Paloma, Ballin' by Mustard & Robby Ricch, Don't Wanna Be Yours by Saleka, War In Heaven by keshi, Sounds Of Someday by Radio Company, and more!

Musicals; Wicked, Beetlejuice The Musical, The Phantom Of The Opera, and The Sound Of Music

Video Games; Minecraft, FNAF, Still Wakes The Deep, Ad Infinitum, Uncharted 4, The Last Of Us, Assassin's Creed, Tetris, and more!

Thank you so much for your time, and thank you in advance! You can totally ignore me if this is too much! :)

-B

Ooooo a Yu Yu Hakusho ask? Don't mind if I do! I match you with Jin the Windmaster!

[whynotzoidbergdotorg]

Hi, I was just wondering what are the other reasons you dislike Ali Nahdee. I personally thought she had good point in native rep but she sometimes gets into anti stuff. She acts like seeing abuse relationships on tv will cause people to get into them. I personally didn’t like her but I still thought she had something to say.

she was personally racist to me.

back when all of the marketing around the princesses being in wreck it ralph 2, she had gone to the disney store to “critique” the pocahontas merchandise (totally normal behavior for someone who’s not even powhatan….) and had made a comment that a pocahontas doll was “paler than she was” (and provided an image in poor lighting—I would grab the tweet in question but not only did she block me, but she also nuked the whole thread after blocking me)

now, I didn’t follow her, and I actually had found the tweet in question in early 2019 when I was searching for reference images of disney’s pocahontas (as I had been commissioned to draw all of the disney princesses for someone) and her tweet came up in the results, because i specifically had been looking for the version from that movie (commissioner wanted me to draw those versions of the princesses in specific)

anyways I pointed out that not only was pocahontas not actually that dark skinned in the movie (providing a direct screenshot from the film as proof), but that historically she wouldn’t have been that dark skinned either (because get this, I’m actually part powhatan—and while I am admittedly white passing due to being mixed race, my maternal grandfather, who is native american, isn’t that dark either. he does have copper colored skin, and does tan rather than burn, but he isn’t like. super dark like ali was complaining pocahontas wasn’t on that specific toy.) anywho i prefaced my tweet with my heritage (I’m actually related to the real pocahontas’s family, funfact. not a direct descendant, more like…a distant cousin??? though in the past I have remarked on how in the portraits of her that exist, I look fairly similar in certain facial features, mainly my nose, eyes, hairline, and overall head shape)

anyways, after i pointed this out, and made it clear I didn’t think she was saying this maliciously, I just think she might have had a warped view of how pocahontas is meant to look…she blocked me, and then started subtweeting me…

first, she accused me of using a “poorly photoshopped image” of pocahontas to prove my point (I didn’t, I screenshotted directly from the movie off a cartoon website, so likely the source was a DVD since there was no logo in the corner, and from what I could tell the colors of other characters and scenes looked correct)

THEN she accused me of lying about my heritage—and mind you this was AFTER she blocked me so I couldn’t reply to defend myself or further expand on my native heritage—which anyone who has EVER talked to me for an extended period of time knows I am HAPPY to infodump about. Because both I and my mother have done tons of research about our family tree—and that part of our family in particular (since its one of the few parts of my mothers family thats well documented and in a language we both natively know.) I mean I even know the specific name of a shawnee chief I am directly descended from! (Cornstalk—funfact, the mothman mythos is closely tied with Cornstalk’s curse, which is an alternate belief about the strange events associated with mothman sightings)

Now, again, anyone who knows me knows there are THREE things that really really tick me off in regards to my native heritage—and that is 1) calling me, or any other woman of native descent “pocahontas” (because first of all, her name was actually Matoaka, AND she’s not event the only significant native american woman in history), 2) being asked if I am related to Pocahontas/Matoaka (I actually punched a kid over this once when i was little. ironically I then later found out I actually am distantly related to her. what a small world!), and 3) being accused of lying about my heritage for “oppression points”. (well, there’s more than three, but that would just be getting into a whole other tangent, and I’ve already gone on like, four tangents in this post alone)

This last one makes me absolutely furious because I’ve had people (all white) say I can’t be native because “don’t look native” to them. when like. that’s not even fucking true??? other native american people (specifically other cherokee people—which is one of the tribes I am descended from) have recognized me as looking native american, and like other members of their tribe. I literally have the facial features, I just happen to have fair skin, and lighter hair. I mean hell, if you looked at my baby pictures (which I don’t have any on my device right this moment unfortunately) I did not look like a “white baby”. I didn’t start “looking white” (as in my hair lightening) until I was older. I’ve had white people try to gatekeep and erase my heritage from me because of their own perceptions of my appearance (based solely on my skin-tone).

So yeah, the bitch accused me of lying about a significant part of my heritage, a part that’s very VERY important to me, a part that I refuse to let others erase (especially since I’m SURE the colonists who murdered Cornstalk and his son—both my ancestors—would love to erase that misdeed and bury it).

I mean, imagine claiming to be all about the rights of indigenous women, and then smearing and making sweeping accusations about another queer, indigenous woman! Could never be me.

But I guess I could never understand the brainrot of someone who spends all day complaining about fictional representations made by white people, instead of raising up indigenous creators who worked hard to create their own, better representation instead.

[aceclipse]

a chat (very loosely based off real events ig)

[MikuHolic and Enanan made a chat] [Enanan]: Hello, Ichika. I'm just coming here to say that your posts about Hatsune Miku are pretty cool. [Enanan]: I also noticed you followed me as soon as I followed you, which is even cooler! [MikuHolic]: Thanks, Ena! I've been a fan of Miku for a very long time, so it's not surprising that I post about her so much. [MikuHolic]: I also appreciate your Hatsune Miku fanart a lot! [Enanan]: Thank you, Ichika-chan! I always like seeing people enjoy my art, even if they're not really that great. [MikuHolic]: What do you mean? Your art is great in every way! [Enanan]: Well, most people around me would like to disagree, but I still appreciate that you care. [MikuHolic]: Most people..? [MikuHolic]: Not to get personal all of a sudden, but have you been trying to prove them wrong with your art, if I heard it correctly? [Enanan]: Yes, of course! I'm still doing all I can to do that and establish a place for myself in this world, no matter how much I stumble. [MikuHolic]: I've been dealing with something similar, too. You've probably read my posts about my band's live performances, right? [MikuHolic]: It's been quite rough for me and my bandmates, but we're still trying our best to succeed [Enanan]: And you did! I remember seeing one of your live performances online and you all nailed it! [Enanan]: What I'm saying is, I don't think you and your band would've made it if you were by yourself, of course. [MikuHolic]: I'm glad you shared your support, Ena! Even if we still don't know eachother very much, I'm very happy to see you care about me and my band [Enanan]: You're welcome, Ichika-chan! But I think we got a little off-topic here. [Enanan]: I just want to say that I appreciate you liking Hatsune Miku a lot. I don't know how I really got to enjoy her, considering she's not talked about much from where I'm at. [MikuHolic]: Well, her mission is to spread music everywhere around the world no matter what, so I think she did her job well [MikuHolic]: She's also done a great job at saving me and my friends multiple times, so there's that. [Enanan]: Miku also ended up saving me a lot, too. I don't think me and my friends would have gotten this far without her! [MikuHolic]: I made through life and I resparked my courage to be with my friends again because of her, so we're on the same page with this. [MikuHolic]: Well, now that I think about it, we're a lot like each other despite us being so different. [Enanan]: Anyways, I'm going to draw something for Miku again, just for you. [Enanan]: I'm glad we found ourselves through Miku, Ichika-chan [MikuHolic]: Oh! I didn't realize it was so late already! [MikuHolic]: I'm sorry, but I have to go sleep now! I'm glad we could talk about Miku together. [Enanan]: I'm glad too. I'm just going to stay up a little more late for a project. [MikuHolic]: See you soon, Ena-san! [Enanan]: See you soon too, Ichika-chan.

pings: @attention-k-mart-shoppers @alex-just-vibing @chocolateclover @katsuclove @kur0mizaii @ratsarevalid @starry-sky-orchestra @thecasestudyofmikaela @palacholic

[esta-elavaris]

oh i am SO on this. 13 (i'd love to know what character you most want to write for in the future!), 14 and 15 :D

13. What's a character or ship you haven't written/drawn yet but would like to some day? I'd love to write some Game of Thrones stuff one day (Sandor Clegane or Bronn, probably) but god that's a fucking undertaking. Good news is it'll be a sensible 15.6 years before I can reasonably start another new thing so it gives me time to have a think 🫠

Doesn't help that the idea I have for a Bronn fic is one I'm not even sure I came up with - I have a hunch what I'm the idea I'm thinking of is actually a memory of a Bronn fic I read years ago as a teen, so I'd need to comb through EVERYTHING I can find to make sure that's not the case before I begin, because I refuse to begin without doing that, and even then if I found nothing I'd be worried that I just missed whatever story the idea came from, and uhhhh fuck that. But it's good to have something holding me back from my Fic Aquirement Sickness 😭

I'd also love to write a Phantom of the Opera fic one day. I doubt I could bring anything original to the fandom but I mean, I have the same fear with the Dracula fic and folk are still enjoying it for what it is!

14. Is there a character or ship you were so sure you would never write/draw but now you've changed your mind? It wasn't that long ago on this blog where I was furiously insisting to people that I would never write a Boromir fic, I wouldn't put the stress of tackling Tolkien upon myself, it was too much to attempt, there was no chance.

Anyway, HWFG just cleared the 120k word mark 🤡 (and I'm very grateful to the people who talked me into it!!)

There are other smaller fandoms that I always thought I'd never bother with just because they're so small that I didn't think anybody would read them, but you guys are proving that fear wrong and making my day CONSTANTLY with your willingness to follow me into some truly random bs 💜💜💜💜💜

15. Have you noticed your style change over time?

Absolutely!! Little By Little is my oldest fic that I don't hate, and even then the growing pains within that make me cringe a little (CTW followed it, and that's the earliest one that I still like! It marked the end of me finishing a project and immediately hating it) -- the early chapters in particular are plagued by way too much introspection (listen, I'm an overthinker, I have no concept of how much thinking is too much thinking in general).

It does also change between projects, though, I think, because I try to match the "tone" of the source material to some extent.

I also think it's really cool because most of LBL was written when I began writing daily as a rule, and that's when you really see quick and substantial improvements in my ability, so it's been a great way to measure it all!

Novel work is trickier because I get so nervous when I write it that it impacts the quality, so it's less of a linear thing and more dependent on how I feel on any given day. It's wild going back to chapters I wrote when I was worried about it and editing it from a calm mindset so that it's actually good. That whole process is most of why it's taking me so long 💀. When I finished my first draft and went back to the beginning to read (it was all done by hand, so it was a long time after I'd written the first chapter) I noticed that the first chapter was so bad and then suddenly it just? Got decent? When I found my rhythm and got over the nerves, mostly? That was a nice moment. I promptly worried the pal I was living with at the time by walking laps around her living room because I couldn't believe that it was good and I was too excited to sit down. Good times 😭

Thank you!!! 💜

Fanfic ask game

[abuwritessometimes]

Only 10 of us were subjected to this cure. I look around our small lounge area, 10 small bedrooms down the hall to my left, a communal bathroom to the right, and the most pathetic excuse for a kitchen seperating us from the rest of the facility.

Or so we've been told.

Not that the kitchen would have much use anyway, even if it was more than an ancient microwave and a bar fridge. The first of us came too a little over two weeks ago, the last of us, myself, came too five days ago. But none of us are yet to crave sustinance.

Everyday, we get given an IV of 'required nutrients' supposdly important to keep us going, but we don't yearn for food. Our bodies don't ask for energy.

We aren't gaining any weight, our bodies only slightly less frail than they had been before we got the cure. Our flesh may no longer be rotted, but it's pale. Our bones aren't so dry, or brittle. Our muscles actually function.

But we don't want food.

The scientists who observe us each day wont tell us anything. Is this a point of concern, or did they expect these results? What are they waiting for? Surely keeping us locked up with only other former zombies wont help us reintergrate with soceity. If thats even their plan for us.

At night, I dream of being as i am now, hunting down humans for a bite. My subconcsious either struggling to accept we are once again living, or asking to go back to how we had been.

Life as a zombie is easy. Your only objective is to eat. Nothing else is of concern.

But if we get let back into soceity, we'd have to work and prove ourselves, have hobbies and relationships.

Who are we now? Do they even know who we were? Our names as they stand seem to be little more than numbers. I'm twenty-five.

---

A full week after I opened my eyes, I notice the first… side effect. I walk past a pot plant, and it seems to reach for me. I walk backwards, sure my eyes are tricking me. But there, this little maidenhair fern, shifts around in reacition to my body near by. I wave a hand over the plant, and it follows my hand.

"Twenty-five, what are you doing?"

The clinical tone of the namless scientist standing a few meters away, by the door in the kitchen, turns to me, their shielded eyes no doubt locked on me. I feel my heart rate spike- a new sign of life.

Something tells me not to tell them what I've noticed.

"Nothing in particular. I was just admiring the maidenhair fern."

I hope my voice doesn't give me away. The scientist tilts their head, probably assessing me. I walk back down the hall, but they follow me. Their steps are loud in the quite of the space, the smell of bleach strong.

"You recall the name of the plant?"

The question makes me pause, and i turn back around to look at them.

"Yeah, I do. I must have liked plants in the past."

The scientist writes something down in their notepad, and without another word, turns around and leaves me be.

That night, the eight of us gather- twelve and fifteen no longer here. We talk quietly, sitting still.

"You got a power, didn't you twenty-five?"

I nod sligthly, trying to avoid looking at eighteen.

"Yeah, have you?"

Everyone else hums in confirmation.

"Twelve had one first. She was able to extend her her nails as if they were claws. Fifteen could suddenly see colours we shouldn't. You?"

My stomach churns- the first sign it still exists- and I suddenly feel glad that I didn't mention anything eariler.

"Plants. I know their names and they interact with me."

Seventeen can hear more than they should. Eighteen can see clearly without light. Twenty can smell more, twenty-one has a tail and thicker body hair. Twenty-two has developed scales and can smell with their tongue. Twenty-three and twenty-four both seem to be able to comunicate with sounds in a different frequency.

When I try to sleep, my brain keeps running over all the possibly meanings of this, but my brain draws blanks.

But over the next week, we formulate a plan.

We bust out. we work togehter with our stengths, the scientists not expecting an uprising.

We make it out of the facility, utilising our new found abilities. The first moment I step out into the sun, I feel energiesed- strong.

As we hunker down in an abanonded house we found, we realise the world isn't what we were told. No signs of life anywhere, but the occasional mutter of a zombie nearby.

But it's fine. We get to live how we want.

Scientists have finally discovered the cure for the zombie virus, and you’re one of the first zombies to have recovered. The trouble is, scientists are now discovering some unexpected side effects to the cure…