#anyways if you want to join to a platform that is standing up against generative ai pillowfort is free just saying

[pillowfort-social]

[bookworm551]

Take the Edge Off | Part 6 | The Bet (1/2)

When you want to join Miguel for a mission, he places a bet with vague and undoubtedly devious stakes against you.

A/N: I am alive!!!! And I am so sorry this to forever to get done. I had to cut this part in half bc it was fixin to be 12k words long 😅 but the good news is that the next part is practically done and should be posted within a day. Anyways enjoy. If it feels rushed, that’s bc it is.

Warnings: full disclosure, there is no smut in this part (boooooooo) but! The next part is like 90% smut to make up for it :)

5.1k words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9

The loss of Earth-2319 changed the atmosphere of the compound. Everyone mourned together in their own ways, and everyone was itching to help catch the anomaly that had caused such massive destruction. Initially, you had been willing to honor Miguel's boundary of not going on missions together. However, when you had seen the recorded simulation of Earth-2319's demise, you felt sick to your stomach.

It had started as one person glitching. Soon after, another glitched, and then another, until everybody was was writhing on the ground in pain and one-by-one all began disappearing. All of the colors contorted in sharp flashes all across the cityscape. You had to look away as confused and terrorized screams tore through the air until there was nothing left except a black screen.

After that, you were determined to be on the team to take down the anomaly. He was smart and elusive, and Spider-Byte and Lyla were both working constantly to track him down, and once they could isolate his location, Miguel and his selection of Spiders would pounce.

Still, it was going to be a challenge getting Miguel to change his mind about letting you come. The day after watching the horrifying footage of Earth-2319, you found him in the control room alone and decided it was the best chance you were going to get to convince him.

He was busy typing away at his monitors when you slung yourself up onto the platform. "Always working," you commented as you approached him from behind. He didn't stop his work to acknowledge your presence. "What do you want?" He asked in a short tone. He had been sharper in his words and attitude to everyone after the incident, even you.

"I just want to talk," you told him casually. His fingers never stilled, and he grunted in response. "I'm working," he told you flatly. You sighed dramatically. "You're always working," you repeated. "When was the last time you slept?"

He didn't answer you for a moment. "None of your concern," he said finally. You raised an eyebrow at him. "That answer is concerning," you said skeptically. "It's starting to get late, why don't you get some rest or take a break?"

He huffed in irritation. "And do what? Sit around and chat with you?" He asked sarcastically. That stung a little bit. "Don't be mean," you told him as you crossed your arms defensively. "I know you have a lot on your plate, but that doesn't mean you can snap at me."

He didn't reply, and his fingers still worked tirelessly at his keyboards. You sighed again. He didn't seem to be in a very generous mood, but you were still determined to be on the team.

You moved to sit on the space next to his keyboard. Though his eyes never moved away from his screen, you could tell he was watching you from his peripheral vision. "We don't have to talk," you told him with in a mischievous tone. "We could do other things instead." Maybe that would soften his resolve. Maybe he just needed to release some tension before he would be receptive to your request.

His fingers finally paused, and though he still didn't look at you, you knew you had his attention. Slowly, as if not to startled him, you reached over and grabbed him by the arm. He let you pull him away from the screens to stand in front of you. He finally raised his eyes to meet yours as you slowly ran your hands up and down his forearms.

"It's okay to give yourself some rest," you told him quietly. "We can go back to mine." His face remained neutral, but he let out a deep sigh. "I'm trying to formulate a plan and a team for the anomaly," he stated, and you noted how exhausted he sounded.

"I could help with that," you offered smoothly, a sly smile spreading across your face. You could see the interest in his eyes at your statement. "Oh, really?" He asked, a barely-perceptible smirk pulling at his lips. "And how's that?"

You bit your lip for a second as you steeled yourself to say what you wanted to say. Given how touchy he had been lately, you weren't sure how he was going to react to you. "You could add me to the team," you finally offered.

Any hint of softness immediately evaporated from his face. "No," he said sternly. "I told you before that you're not allowed to come on missions with me anymore." You let out a disappointed sigh as he pulled his arms away from your hands. "This is different," you insisted. "Everyone wants in on this mission, and so do I."

"And I should let you because we sleep together?" He guessed flatly. You rolled your eyes with an annoyed huff. "No, you should let me because I'm good," you countered. "A lot of them are good," he argued, "and I'm not letting most of them join."

"No, you know I'm good," you countered. "You're going to need me." His eyes narrowed marginally. "I don't need anyone," he shot back. "I could do this alone, but it's smarter to take more people and only the best." He turned away from you to resume his work on his monitor again with a sour expression.

"I am one of the best," you insisted stubbornly. "You know that, too. I've got one of the highest mission success rates, and my stealth is unmatched." It was true. There may be other Spiders who have unique abilities, but you boasted some of the best work out of all of them.

"I could match you," Miguel stated arrogantly. You raised an eyebrow at his remark and said, "No, I don't think even the great Miguel O'Hara could find me if I didn't want to be found." Miguel's working fingers paused, and his head tilted just barely as a thought occurred to him.

"Care to find out?" He asked, his eyes sliding over to your face.

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you mean?" You asked slowly. He studied your face for a moment, and you noticed the corner of his lips quirk upward ever so subtly. "You think you can hide from me?" He questioned. "How about we put it to the test."

Your eyes lit up as you understood his challenge. "You want to try to find me?" You asked. "Like hide and seek?" He looked down at you with a disapproving furrow of his brow. "That's a childish comparison," he remarked. You smirked and replied, "But in essence, it's like hide and seek." He held your gaze for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh and admitting, "Fine, like hide and seek but with stakes."

You couldn't resist the smile growing on your face. "If you can't find me, I get to go on the mission," you assumed. Miguel gave a slow nod. "Yes," he conceded, earning an eager grin from you. "Alright," you accepted, "and what's in it for you?" Miguel tilted his head as he looked down at you with a smirk.

"When I find you," he began in a low voice, "I get to do whatever I want to you."

You felt a little thrill flutter up in your stomach. Staring up at him, you could see in his eyes that he was imagining you in a hundred different ways of submission. What sort of things did he have in his mind to do to you? As much as you wanted to be on the anomaly operation, a part of you wanted to find out what would happened if you lost the bet.

"Deal."

Miguel's smirk grew fractionally as he gazed down at you quietly for a moment. "What happened to being busy?" You asked playfully. He gave a small shrug. "You wanted me to take a break," he pointed out. "We better make it worth it."

You smirked at his response as he turned away after a moment to look at his dimensional watch. "Pick a universe," he told you. You raised an eyebrow at him. "Any universe?" You clarified. He nodded and explained, "So you don't accuse me of cheating when I find you."

You rolled your eyes at his comment and thought back to all the different Earths you had been to. After a moment of contemplation, you said, "Earth-57218." It had been the universe you had traveled to on your very first mission, and it's strange beauty left you with a feeling of awe that had yet to be replicated.

Miguel typed in the code for Earth-57218, and the portal appeared before you both. "I'll give you 15 minutes," he said. "Then I'm going in after you." "15 minutes?" You repeated apprehensively. You had been expecting a little more of a head start than that.

He raised an eyebrow at you. "Is that too difficult?" He asked smugly.

Oh, he knew how to get to you, and you lifted your chin defiantly and shot back, "Please, if anything, that's too easy." You immediately regretted saying it because you knew exactly what he was going to say back. "Too easy?" He repeated, feigning surprise. "We'll make it 10 minutes, then."

Dammit.

"Fine," you said, trying to hide the regret behind your stubborn pride. Now, you were going to have to be smart about how to moved through the city. No sightseeing, you had to focus on beating Miguel. You typed in a 10-minute timer onto your gizmo before looking back up at Miguel. "And how long do you have to look before you lose?" You questioned.

He seemed amused by your question. "I won't lose," he responded confidently. "But if it makes you happy, then you'll have until dark." You quickly judged how long until it was dark and figured you had a little more than 2 hours to avoid being found.

"Alright," you agreed. "I'll see you then."

Miguel only watched with a smug grin as you started your timer, and with a quick wink, you stepped into the portal.

Earth-57218 was just as stunning as you remembered. The sky there was almost lilac in color, and the buildings seemed almost like paintings that covered the city. Even the sounds of traffic were almost musical. It was truly a beautiful world.

It took all of your concentration to keep from using up your 10-minute head start to just stare at the city. You immediately began swinging through the air, desperate to put as much distance between you and that portal. Miguel was undeniably good at finding his targets, and you wished again that you hadn't let your pride lessen the time you had to hide from him.

Something you had to keep in mind was the advantages that Miguel had over you. He had a keen sense of smell and a killer intuition, and while you were good at blending in, you were going to need to surround yourself with as many people as possible. Not a problem in a city like this.

Even in the early evening, the streets were packed full of people. You soared above them as you swung from building to building, thinking of places you could go to better conceal yourself from him. Beneath you, the pedestrians seemed like trails of ants all bustling about. Where could you go to hide yourself?

You paused your swinging as you perched at the edge of a building to think. There were 8 minutes left on your timer, and you felt the pressure to win weigh down on you. Even from the great height you were at, the sounds of the city filled the air—people, sirens, horns, performers. You wished you could just spend some time exploring the city without the pressure of your bet.

With that thought, an idea occurred to you. "Hey, Lyla?" You called out, not sure if Miguel included the AI program in your new suit. To your surprise and relief, Lyla's yellow form appeared in front of you. "What can I do you for?" She asked cheerfully, looking at you through her heart-shaped glasses.

"I need to blend in," you told her. "Can I modify the suit for civilian wear?" Lyla shrugged. "Sure," she said causally. "What's your style? We have preppy, athletic, business, punk, even gothic." As she spoke, your suit disappeared and was replaced by several different outfits that matched the styles that Lyla had offered.

"Uh, athletic is good," you decided quickly, still conscious of the time ticking away on your watch. Your image flickered until you found yourself wearing what looked like leggings and a dry-fit shirt. Perfect. "Thanks, Lyla," you said gratefully. "Not a problem," she replied with a salute before disappearing.

You dropped down from the edge of the building, catching yourself at the last second before hitting the ground. When you landed in the streets, you immediately joined the current of people who didn't seem to pay you any mind. Keeping a watchful eye on your surroundings, you finally found what you were looking for.

Just like in your own city, there were stairs that descended into what you hoped would be a complex subway system. There was already a massive amount of people bustling about trying to get to their lines, and you noted with pleasant surprise that there were no turnstiles or payment stations. Completely free public transportation, just another reason to love Earth-57218.

You had no real destination in mind, so you just followed the crowd around you and stepped aboard the first train that arrived. Once the doors had closed, you checked your watch. 1:09 and counting. Now, you could only hope that this would work.

Looking up from your watch, you took in the sight of the people on the subway with you. A sea of faces filled the space around you, and you observed each and every one of them with interest. There was a girl across from you reading a book with long pink braids that contrasted sharply with her dark skin. Sitting next to her was an old woman with her large purse resting on her lap, her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun. A business man stood to your left, his clothes pressed and clean as he spoke on the phone in Mandarin. On your right, a young man and woman stood together. You noticed how the girl showed him something on her phone, and together, they started laughing quietly. The woman took her phone back, but the man was still staring at her face with a warm smile, and the love he felt for her was painfully evident in his eyes.

Seeing such a wide diversity of people all around all at different points in their life filled you with a strange sort of nostalgia. You felt like an imposter sitting amongst these normal civilians simply going about their lives. How different would your life be had you not been bitten by that spider all those years ago? Would you be in a successful career by now, not hindered by the endless fatigue that plagued you from your late-night hero work? Would you be carefree and fun if not for the responsibility that came with your power?

Looking back at the young couple, you felt a pang of longing in your chest. You had never been able to settle into a long-term relationship since becoming Spider-woman. The secrets, the late nights, the missed dates, it was all too much for any relationship to survive. Many times, you wondered how you would look at the end of your life—old, gray, and alone. Sometimes, you wondered if you would even make it that far, or if maybe one day, there would be a villain you just couldn't beat. All of these thoughts were like an ever-present cloud in your mind, and there was no way for you to ever communicate it to anyone else. There was nobody who understood what it meant to be you.

But Miguel did.

The thought was like a whisper in your ear. Miguel knew what you had sacrificed. He felt the suffocating weight of being a hero, too. He understood the loneliness that consumed you every day. You could tell yourself that you had only started this undefined, physical relationship out of boredom, that it was just because he was hot and you were horny, but deep down, at the bottom of that calloused thing you called a heart, you knew you longed for a sense of companionship with him.

But what could you have with him beyond the occasional late-night liaison? His work was just as important to him as yours was to you, and neither of you had the time to give to each other the way you wished you could. Besides, Miguel was even more guarded than you were, and other than the brief moments laying on the pillows together as your bodies were buzzing with endorphins, he never seemed willing to let down that guard for you.

You were startled out of your thoughts by the swell of people leaving the subway. Looking around, you realized you had passed all the stops and reached the end of the line, and it was about to start heading back down again. You quickly stood, still reeling from the disconcerting thoughts, and exited onto the platform.

You moved through the crowd as fast as you could without drawing unnecessary attention to yourself. Miguel was undoubtedly somewhere in the city looking for you, and you felt the pressure of his pursuit in your mind. You really wanted to go on that mission.

Now, you had maybe an hour and a half to kill before it was completely dark. What to do, oh what to do. Emerging from the subway stairs, you were immediately swept away by the bustling crowd. You followed down the sidewalk of a busy street full of honking cars. You were tempted to find a way to swing up to the top of the buildings, but you reasoned that Miguel would be looking for you there. On the ground, you were practically invisible.

That thought allowed you to relax somewhat. You had wanted to peruse the city to enjoy the unique beauty it possessed, and now, you allowed yourself to do so. You soaked in the vibrant colors and loud noises all around you. There were performers, tourists, residents, vendors, and many other different types of people everywhere. In many ways, it was like your city, but the subtle differences all around made it still feel like a new world.

You walked for what felt like miles. Though you enjoyed the sights of the city, you still kept a watchful eye on the skyscrapers around for any sight of Miguel. A part of you wished he was there with you just to enjoy the city alongside you, but you knew that was ridiculous. Miguel didn't do fun things, and to do them with you would be too close to having an actual relationship, something he had reminded you several times he did not have time for.

You shook yourself from your thoughts with a sigh. You seriously needed to get a grip. You had been perfectly fine with just hooking up before. Why were you all of a sudden plagued with these thoughts of Miguel?

You answered yourself silently by glancing down at the web shooters, now disguised as thick bracelets, that he had given you. His gift to you had been so generous and unexpected that it made you think that perhaps he saw you as more than just a fuck buddy. In fact, something about your last encounter in general made you rethink everything.

Maybe it was the vulnerability he showed you after the loss of Earth-2319. He had come straight to you for comfort, and even if it was through sex, you still felt that it had meant something. Additionally, he had gotten a glimpse into your personal life by seeing your home, sleeping in your actual bed, not just your little standard-issue apartment at HQ.

And the looks—the softening of his eyes, the subtle smiles on his lips, the one laugh he had given you—each one was tucked away in your memory like a collection of rare, sacred artifacts. Each was made precious through the knowledge that he wasn't like that with anyone else, and you never wanted to stop collecting them.

No, you shouldn't be thinking things like that. You needed to stop. You needed to escape from him, and not just in the way you were doing now by hiding, but also in your mind. There was something about the mundane that made you yearn for a simple life, and you realized how much you would like to live it with him. Surrounding yourself with these blissfully ignorant people was seriously infecting you with this inexplainable melancholy. You needed to get your mind off of these brooding thoughts, and you knew just the way.

The sun was dwindling towards the horizon now, and still, there was no Miguel in sight. You had wandered around the city for a surprising amount of time, though to you, it seemed only a brief few minutes. If you could avoid him for maybe 30 more minutes, you would win the bet. You reasoned that 30 minutes was hardly enough time for Miguel to find you now that you had taken the subway to the other end of the city and wandered around for over an hour and a half.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, you slipped into a side alley. You were about to call for Lyla again to change your suit, but as you thought about what you wanted, the suit itself took the initiative to change for you. You stood in awe for a second as your whole body transformed from athletic wear to your spider suit, and you wondered again for the millionth time why Miguel thought to give you such an amazing piece of technology.

Shaking yourself from your thoughts of Miguel again, you scaled the side of the building all the way to the top. From there, you leapt off and began swinging with no particular direction in mind. Up here, you were able to forget about those thoughts that plagued you down below. The wind rushing around you freed your mind of all concerns for Miguel and gave you a sense of confidence that only swinging from building to building could give you.

You finally pulled yourself up to the top of the highest building you could see. You settled down on the edge with your legs dangling over the side of the building. The sun was halfway set already, and the sky was painted brilliantly with pinks, violets, and orange.

It was incredible, truly incredible that you were able to be there, to be in another dimension. You didn't ever express your gratitude to Miguel for letting you join the Spider Society and allowing you to access places like this. Lately, you had been taking it for granted, but as you watched the sun dwindle beneath the horizon, you were filled with a deep sense of gratefulness.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and your premonitory senses screamed at you to jump. Without a second thought, you quickly pushed yourself off the building, and right where you had been sitting, a bright orange web appeared.

As you twisted through the air, you caught Miguel's large figure leaping after you. "Sight seeing?” He called out to you as he shot another web at your figure. “Shit," you cursed quietly to yourself. You had been so close to winning. How had he found you out here?

You didn't let yourself dwell on the thought for too long since Miguel was swinging towards you with all of the focused determination of a predatory animal. You let your instincts take over as you hurdled through the air, narrowly avoiding his webs. You tried using your surroundings to your advantage—swinging around halfway-built buildings, turning at the last second through a construction zone, crawling up glass windows you knew he couldn't stick to. Nothing worked, though, and he stayed close behind you.

In that moment, your heart was pounding with the thrill of his chase, and you felt almost giddy at being able to swinging around the city like this without the danger of fighting someone. Miguel of all people was the one who reminded you of how much fun it was to be Spider-woman sometimes.

You saw a bridge ahead that crossed over one of the many channels in the city. Back on your world, you loved perching atop the numerous, large bridges to watch the sunset, so it shouldn't have surprised you that you instinctively webbed over to it, swinging underneath where countless cars were crossing over the water.

"You can't run forever," Miguel shouted behind you. Under your mask, you smiled. He was right. He had found you, and even though the sun had receded behind the horizon, the brilliant twilight still lit up the city, and you recognized that he had won the bet. You sighed in resignation, wishing that you could've gone on the mission to capture the anomaly. Still, you were going to honor your agreement, so instead of releasing your web to continue fleeing from Miguel, you let yourself swing back towards him.

Miguel was still quickly hurdling towards you. With you falling backwards and him moving forward, your webs actually caught together, and your bodies began circling around each other as your webs twisted around like a rope.

You stared at him as you spun around each other, and he stared back at you wordlessly. As your webs wrapped around each other, your bodies grew closer together until Miguel caught you around your waist and pulled you to him. There was a moment of stillness between you as your webs had now wrapped all the way down to your wrists, and you allowed your suit to retract enough to reveal your half-smirking face.

You wanted Miguel to show his face, too, but he just stared at yours for a few quiet seconds before your webs slowly began unraveling. Instead of continuing to let himself spin away from you, Miguel dropped down to the ground below right next to the channel. His suit retracted away from his face as well, and he was looking up at you with a triumphant expression.

Instead of releasing your web to fall down beside him, you pulled your lower body up above your head so that you were upside-down in a characteristic Spider pose. Slowly, you slid down your web until your upside-down face was level with his right-side-up one.

"I won," he told you in a low voice, a faint smile on his lips. You hummed quietly in response. "Really, I surrendered," you argued cheekily. You knew that he had you beat, but you couldn't let him know that. "The conditions were if I found you," he explained, and you could tell he was amused by your attempts to rationalize losing. "And I found you."

"Mmmm, I think they were if you caught me," you countered. "Which you didn't. I surrendered." Miguel raised his eyebrows as he pretended to entertain your argument. "Oh, really?" He said, and you nodded solemnly at him. He took a step forward and gently grabbed your head in his hands. "I caught you now," he murmured quietly, his smirking lips appearing like they were turned downward due to you looking at him upside-down.

"Damn," you whispered, "I guess you did." His thumbs brushed across your cheeks for a second as he studied your face quietly. As the two of you stared at each other, the bustling noises of the city seemed to fade away. The only thing you could hear now was your heartbeat in your ears. You could feel your face growing warm, and you didn't know if it was from being upside-down or from the way his fingers traced over your skin. Finally, in the dying violet light around you, Miguel kissed you.

His lips were a familiar feeling, yet your body reacted like it was the first time. Maybe it was the effects of the adrenaline from his chase, or maybe it was your own stupid emotions getting the better of you. Either way, you felt a fluttering in your chest that was hard to ignore.

As Miguel kissed you, you forgot all about the thoughts that had plagued you earlier. You didn't think about the fears you had with living a double life. You didn't think about the yearning you felt for a connection. You didn't even think about how impossible it was for you to be with him. All of your attention was focused on the way his lips moved against yours.

Finally, he broke away from you, leaving a pleasant hum running through your body. "How did you find me?" You asked quietly, breaking the charged silence between you. One corner of his lips quirked upward. "I'm the best," he replied in an arrogant tone, causing you to scoff and roll your eyes.

His thumbs were still brushing across your skin, and softly, he added, "It's easy when it's you. I could find you anywhere."

His words knocked out any capacity you had to think. You hung there in a flustered stupor, unable to come up with any response to him. Despite your lack of rational thought, you still felt a vague nagging in the back of your mind reminding you that this couldn't last. Why did it have to be him out of all the people in the multiverse for you to feel this way toward?

However, your apprehensive feeling disappeared again when he pressed another soft kiss to your lips. It was shorter this time, but it still left you smiling like a fool. "I still think I should go on the mission," you told him. Miguel gave a small huff of amusement. "Nice try," he replied. "You lost. Now, enough stalling."

You felt a nervous thrill flutter in your stomach as you remembered his conditions of the bet. I get to do whatever I want to you. He stepped away from you to type in his home world into his gizmo while you sighed in resignation. Turning over, you dropped down to the ground beside him as the portal appeared in front of you.

"After you," he said smugly. You rolled your eyes. "Such a gentleman," you huffed under your breath as you stepped into the portal with him following closely behind you.

[messers-moony]

Annotated Books & Sleek Hardcovers | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Fem!Lupin!Reader

Summary: Everything told them to be apart, but they said fuck the world.

Inspiration: Click

People would describe the younger Lupin sibling as warm and bright. She shined like the sun and was warm like a sunny summer day. She was the breeze on a warm summer day and the sun on a chilly autumn morning. She was worn books with annotations in the margins, highlighting, and scribbles. She was dependable, sweet, kind, and loving. 

Dependable like a best friend. Sweet like Honeydukes chocolate. Kind of like a puppy dog who had been just adopted and as lovable as soft blankets. Her brother was no different. He oozed shyness, charisma, and intelligence. His tousled sandy hair and gleaming green eyes made everyone bend to his will. He didn’t even know that he was doing it. 

But by fifth year, Remus Lupin had come out as gay. A month later, Sirius Black was on top of the Gryffindor table with a blushing Remus announcing their relationship. Remus had given his sister a sheepish look as he sat back down. Y/n had just kissed his cheek and smiled. 

Y/n and Regulus had been sitting beside each other when Sirius had taken the Great Hall by storm. Instinctively, Regulus tightened his grip on her hand, and Y/n allowed her thumb to run along his. She watched as his shoulders relaxed a prominent amount. 

“Well,” Regulus whispered, “I wasn’t expecting that. Did you know?”

Y/n shook her head, “No, but I’m happy for them. Are you?”

“I ‘spose.” Regulus shrugged, “When do you think they’ll find out about us?”

“Remus is a bit oblivious.” Y/n replied, “Sirius doesn’t really turn his head in your direction.”

Regulus looked down at his lap, “So if anything, we’ll have to tell them.”

“Do you think,” His voice was lower than a whisper, “That he’ll ever be my brother again?”

“I do.” Y/n leaned her head on his shoulder, “Siblings have a special bond.”

“I hope you’re right.”

She snorted, “I’m always right.”

At that, he cracked a smile. 

Maybe it was her warmth that melted the ice surrounding Regulus’ heart. The icy, cold, Regulus Black. It wasn’t like they were hiding their relationship, but people were terrified to talk about it. They didn’t want to face the wrath of the young Black brother. 

Regulus was described as the dark, cold winter nights people despised. The winter nights that were so low in temperature that even staying inside with the heat on, blankets on, and layers of clothes couldn’t warm. He was sleek, hardcover books and soggy leaves in the fall that left you disappointed when the satisfying crunch didn’t echo through your ears. 

Regulus Black was everything but warm. He was your least favorite color. Your least favorite food. He was everything you hated. Perhaps it was Y/n’s sweetness that brought some of the crunchiness back to his leaf, the pen to his book, and the folded pages. 

They were star-crossed lovers. Everything in the universe was trying to keep them apart from the colors of their robes and the clashing of their personalities. Regulus was the dry autumn and brash winter. Y/n was the prospering spring and hopeful summer. Perhaps they were the best of both worlds, and that’s why they worked together so well. 

It wasn’t until their sixth year when their relationship had become the talk of the school. Regulus had begun wearing long sleeves even in the hot months, and people grew suspicious. Only he and she knew what laid beneath that crisp white button-up. Beneath the cold ice he kept around his heart. 

Y/n looked around Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for her raven-haired boyfriend as Remus joined his friends on the train. When she did find him, it wasn’t pleasant. Walburga had been fussing with his sleeve, making sure it stayed down, and she had slapped the back of his head for slouching over. Regulus had rolled his shoulders to stand up straight. Orion didn’t look impressed, and Walburga murmured something along the lines of, “Good enough.”

“Now, what do we say, Regulus?”

Regulus caught Y/n’s eyes for just a split second, and he looked away hastily, “Toujours Pur.”

“Good.” Walburga stated, “Now go.”

He nodded and began walking toward Y/n’s general direction. Regulus took her hand in his directing her on another path, “Meet at our usual compartment.”

Y/n gave him a smile in response as she walked away. It left Regulus with a pink hue coating his usually pale skin. His stomach fluttered, and his heart palpitated. They entered the train on opposite sides and met in the middle at their compartment. She was already sitting down when he plopped down beside her. His head was leaning on her shoulder. 

“Missed you.” Regulus slurred, sleep evident in his tone, “Wish I could’ve escaped.”

“I missed you too, Reggie.” Y/n took his left hand in hers, “But I know that we have a lot to talk about.”

He tensed, “I suppose we do.” 

“Things like what’s on your left forearm?”

“Y/n, please-“

“I’m not mad.”

“But you’re disappointed.”

Her light laugh confused him, “I’m not either, actually.”

Regulus lifted his head to look at her, “You aren’t?”

“I just want to know what you plan on doing with that mark.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Regulus stated, slumping down again, “I have to serve him.”

Y/n hesitated, “You have choices.”

“What are they?”

“Be a spy.” 

“A spy?” Regulus queried incredulously, “Are you serious?”

A silly smile graced her features, “Actually. Forget I asked that. Are you daft?”

“No.” Y/n replied, “I’m actually top of our class, so.”

“If he finds out I’m a spy. Then I’d be killed, Y/n.” Regulus said softly, “It’d be different if I didn’t care about anyone. If I had nothing to lose, but I do, and I don’t want to lose a chance at a future with you because of it.”

Y/n took his face into her hands, “You can’t do this. You can’t work for him. You’ll kill yourself slowly anyway.”

“I don’t have a choice.” He wiped a tear from her cheek, “This was bound to happen. This was my fate.”

“Who gives a shit about fate.” Y/n chuckled tearfully, “Professor Trelawney always said that you could change fate.”

Regulus cracked a tiny smile, “You would pay attention in Divination, wouldn’t you.”

“Someone’s gotta give Sirius the notes.” 

“Sirius… I didn’t even think about-“ Regulus stopped, “He’s- He’s gonna hate me.”

“Hey, Regulus, look at me.” His breathing sped up, and his hands began to tremble, “Sirius isn’t going to hate you.”

He shook his head, “No, he’s- he’s gonna- I’m gonna-“

Y/n wrapped her arms around him. Regulus nosed at the crook of her neck, breathing in the sweet perfume. The fragrance smelt of crisp apples mixed along with her scent of caramel, chocolate, and marshmallow. It gave him something to focus on, and with his muddled mind, Regulus fell asleep. 

Regulus was still asleep three hours later when Sirius came barging into the compartment stopping in his tracks. Y/n brought her index finger to her lips, ordering him to be quiet. Sirius shut the door and sat in front of them. Regulus’ face was out of view from his older brother's. His nose was nuzzled in Y/n’s neck, and his hair hid his face. 

“So,” Sirius began quietly, the atmosphere had never been so thick, “How long?”

“Fourth year.” Y/n thought Sirius’ eyes were going to bulge out of his head. 

“But you- and him- you don’t-“

“Don’t belong together?”

Sirius nodded, “Who are you to say? Technically I could say the same about you and my brother.”

“Fair point.” Sirius muttered. 

It was quiet again, and all that was heard was the slashing of rain on the window of the train, “How- How is he?” Sirius’ voice had never been so quiet before. 

“He’ll be okay.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

Before Y/n could respond, Regulus began to tremble again. He was trying to dig his nose deeper into her neck and reaching desperately for something to hold onto. Y/n allowed his hand to grasp hers tightly. His trembling subsided, and Y/n gently kissed the crown of his head, allowing him to relax finally. 

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“I never-“ Sirius looked shocked, “I could never calm his nightmares….”

Y/n gave him a soft smile, “Perhaps it’s a Lupin talent.”

“Perhaps.” Sirius replied, “But, is he okay?”

“He will be.”

“What does that mean?” Sirius questioned loudly, and Y/n hushed him, “They didn’t- did they?”

She nodded solemnly, “We’re gonna- We’re gonna work through it together.” 

Sirius could see her swallowing the lump in her throat. Sirius could see the dullness in her eyes, the same dull that Remus’ eyes got after the full moon. Sirius could always read Remus through his eyes. They were a tell-tale of his emotions. It seemed that he could do the same with Y/n. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, untold trauma, and unspoken words. 

“Take care of him, yeah?” Sirius requested quietly as he stood up to leave the compartment. 

She nodded, “Yeah.”

He closed the sliding door quietly. It was a quiet walk back to his own compartment with the Marauders. The task of getting the summer homework to copy turned into an entirely new adventure. Sirius opened the door to his compartment to find James and Peter talking animately. Remus sat with his head against the glass and head in a book. He had some muggle markers beside him that Sirius liked to draw with. 

Sirius slumped beside Remus putting space between them. That was the first tell. The second tell was that Sirius didn’t speak, and he stared out to the train's hallway. Remus closed his book, placing it back beside him, and wrapped his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low and hot in Sirius’ ear. 

“Nothing.” Sirius replied, still not looking into Remus’ eyes, “Your sister was no help. Said I needed to do the homework on my own. Said I was a tosser for not doing it.”

Remus snorted and nuzzled his nose into Sirius’ cheek, “Well, perhaps I ought to tell her that’s not how she should speak to my boyfriend.” 

“No.” Sirius hated how distant he sounded, “She’s got other things to worry about.”

The lycanthrope furrowed his eyebrows, “Like what?”

“Like you.” Sirius lied like it was nothing, “Who do you think puts hot cocoa and Honeydukes chocolate at your bedside after the full?”

“Then I should give her a sister of the year award.” Remus corrected, and Sirius nodded, “Perhaps you should.”

If only I could get a best brother award, Sirius thought. It was selfish. He knew that. It was wrong to envy Y/n and Remus’ relationship. Unfit to be jealous of his brothers relationship, but he couldn’t help it. Sirius wanted to be the one to chase all of Regulus’ demons away. Sirius wanted to hold him during every thunderstorm as he used to as children. Sirius should be happy for Regulus even if it weren’t because of him. 

It took a month before Remus was storming into the common room and yelled insanities at his sister. Remus wasn’t thinking, words fell from his mouth so carelessly, and the entire common room stared as Remus had his sister pushed against a wall, hands holding her up from the collar on her shirt, seething at her. 

“You must be one of the stupidest people I’ve ever met.” Remus seethed, and Y/n flinched, “You must be fucking insane.”

Sirius could do nothing but stare, “Maybe I should’ve disowned you as my sister the minute I saw you hanging out with him.”

Tears ebbed at Y/n’s eyes, “But I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I trusted you, and you betrayed me.”

James couldn’t tell what was worse, the fact that Remus was so calm and his voice was so low or when Remus yelled, “You were my everything. My sister, my partner in crime, my other half, and you fucking destroyed it.”

“Mate, stop.” James tried to interject, but Remus just shoved her against the wall harder, and streaks of silver appeared on her cheeks. 

“Wonder what dad would do if he found out.” Remus taunted, and Y/n shook her head, “You know how much dad despises them.”

Y/n choked, “Remus-“

“Don’t.” He snarled, “My name isn’t allowed to fall from your mouth. Fucking traitor.”

Sirius had enough, “Remus, stop. That’s enough.”

Remus whirled around, Y/n sliding to the floor, knees to her chest, “Who are you talk? You did the same thing back in fifth year.”

“I’m not your bloody sister.” Sirius snapped, “She’s been there with you through everything. Maybe if you let her explain, then you could understand.”

Remus pointed at her and looked at Sirius with fire in his eyes, “She isn’t my sister. She’ll never be my sister again.”

Sirius could remember the exact same words falling from his mouth only a year earlier, and it crushed him. Y/n was sobbing, and her knees were pulled tightly under her chin. James was trying to console her, but it wasn’t working as Remus and Sirius went toe to toe. Y/n didn’t deserve this for loving who she loved. 

Remus scoffed when Sirius wouldn’t back down and stormed up to the boy's dormitory. Sirius knelt before her and lifted her head from her lap. His thumbs wiped away the tears, and he took her into his arms. So much built-up pain, built-up trauma, built-up lies. She was finally crumbling like a tower on an unsteady foundation. Y/n was a one-hundred-story tower that was collapsing from the bottom up. 

Debris falling everywhere and soot clouding the atmosphere. He could see the smog slipping in her mind, clouding up her judgment and thoughts. Sirius could see the debris cluttering and scraping away at her heart. With every scrap and every tear, her heart began to give out. It felt like being crushed in an elevator, with no room to breathe and no room for moving. She was stuck, and that was it. 

Y/n couldn’t remember much after feeling Sirius’ lips on the top of her head. But she woke up on the plush of the common room couch. The rough maroon fabric was felt beneath her fingertips. Beside her was a boy in an armchair. He was curled up, and a black fleece blanket covered his body from the coldness of the Gryffindor common room. 

Beside her was a glass of water and a note. She picked up the water and allowed it to glide down her throat, soothing the ache from her earlier crying. Her nose still felt stuffy, and she willed herself to sniffle quietly, trying not to wake the boy beside her. The parchment was ripped at the edges and was written in beautiful calligraphy. 

"Il y a toujours des ténèbres avant que la lumière brille."

She folded the note and placed it back on the side table with the empty glass. The fire had gone out fully in the common room, allowing the temperature in the room to fall. It was cold, dry, and dark. Y/n had never seen the common room so dark. Not a candle was lit, and no light was shining from the windows. Just the slightest bit of moonlight. Gently she stood up and reached for the boy's hand in the armchair. 

“Reggie.” Her voice was smooth and soft, “Reg.”

He stirred and opened his eyes to meet his girlfriend's warm ones. Sirius had rushed to the Slytherin common room despite all prejudice. Some of the Slytherins spat at him when he asked for the password. It took ten people before Regulus finally answered to the incessant knocking. He was shocked to be met with his older brother. 

There Sirius had told him what happened, how Remus had shoved his sister against the wall accusing her of betraying him for dating him. Regulus felt ashamed. He didn’t want to be the reason they didn’t get to be civil with each other. Sirius even uttered the exact words Remus had, “She isn’t my sister. She’ll never be my sister again.” Regulus had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying anything. 

People stared at the younger Black brother as he walked into the Gryffindor common room. The Gryffindor’s glared, spat, and insulted, but he didn’t care. He found his girlfriend lying on the couch with a thick red blanket surrounding her. Sirius had claimed that Marlene had brought it for her, and Sirius had been the one to move her to the couch. Regulus saw the dried tear stains, the swollen eyes, and the bruised lip. 

“It wasn’t pretty.” Sirius had muttered, “Remus isn’t one to hold back.”

Regulus smoothed her hair back, “This is because of me….”

“Reg, no.” Sirius had replied, “Remus will come around. He just doesn’t know how to digest this.”

The common room was silent, and Regulus just held her hand. His thumb stroked the back of her hand softly. Sirius watched as Regulus went through a wave of emotions. He was hurt, confused, concerned, and terrified. It was like watching the seasons go by. Watching everything welt, die, grow back and prosper just to repeat the cycle. It was like watching a new book turn into an old one as the ink was embedded onto the pages, the papers getting folded, tabs being placed, and the spine being cracked. 

Regulus appeared to be a sleek hardcover book, but she was his person. She turned him into a used paperback. One with highlighting, tabs, folded pages, a cracked spine, and a loved cover. His heart beat for her. She was the reason he woke up every morning, the reason he ate, the reason he got good marks. She was his reason. 

“I tried talking sense into him.” Sirius confessed quietly, “He just brought up the incident in fifth year.”

Regulus closed his eyes tightly and tried to withhold his tears, “Maybe I should talk to him.”

“No.” Sirius said sternly, “You’ll be asking for death.”

“What do I do, Sirius?” 

His blue-grey eyes were glittering with desperation, “Nothing… Take care of her.” 

With that, Sirius left a kiss on his younger brother's head and left the common room, retreating to the dormitory. Regulus sighed and placed his forehead on the back of her hand. Tears slipped from his eyes and onto the material of the couch. Everyone was gone at that point. The common room wholly cleared and the fire slowly decaying in the fireplace as Regulus Black finally allowed himself to break. 

He woke up on an armchair with a soft thick black blanket covering his limbs. Red rimmed e/c eyes met his blue-grey ones, and he felt a wave of relief. Y/n reached her hand out, and Regulus took it, keeping the blanket around his shoulders as she brought him to her dormitory. The girls were sleeping, and Y/n sat down on her bed, Regulus doing the same. She drew the curtains and muttered a silencing spell. 

Regulus laid with his head on her pillow, pulling her to lay on his chest. He wrapped the fuzzy black blanket around them. Y/n nuzzled into his side, and he placed a kiss on the top of her head. They didn’t need to exchange words for expressing how they felt. They knew how the other felt. There was no need on elaborating. She fell asleep not too long after, and Regulus laid awake trying of solutions. 

Even when the sun broke the horizon, Regulus still had nothing. 

They continued the year like this. Remus and Y/n didn’t speak at all anymore. Remus went as far as to change his schedule and ignore the sweets left on his bedside after the full moons. Sirius would pretend it came from him, but Remus still would budge. He would chuck the chocolate in the trash even though he knew that Y/n barely had money in the first place to buy it. He’d dump the hot chocolate in the waste bin and smash the mug to get out any frustration. 

Sirius thought that the worst part was Remus never grieved for his sister. He never saw Remus cry or get upset about what he did. It was like Remus had no remorse for what he did. Sirius had grieved. He had sobbed in the midst of twilight with shit silencing charms. Sirius had wailed and clutched his blanket close to his chest, hoping it would soothe the aching of his heart. 

When they graduated, Remus didn’t look for his sister in the crowd. He didn’t care if she was there or not, but she was. Y/n was there holding Regulus’ hand tightly, watching her brother shake Dumbledore’s hand. She watched as Sirius embraced Regulus in a tight hug in the shadows. Y/n smiled bittersweetly at their embrace as Regulus took her hand back in his. 

Sirius began to open his mouth, “No need to lie. I know he doesn’t care if I was here or not.”

Y/n shuffled on her feet, and Sirius took her into his arms. Sirius was shorter than Regulus, and he didn’t smell the same, but his hugs were just as comforting in a brotherly way. His hand caressed her hair, and Sirius couldn’t help the way his heart ached. He shouldn’t be the one hugging her, Remus should, but he isn’t. Sirius kissed her forehead and released her from his hug. 

“I’ll write to you guys.” 

“Don’t get into too much trouble.” Y/n replied with tear-filled eyes, “I can’t imagine you gone.”

Sirius smirked, “Yes, ma’am. Don’t you know I always obey the rules?”

“She’s being real, Sirius.” Regulus didn’t crack a smile, “This war isn’t a joke, and I’d- I’d like to see you next year when I graduate.”

“I’ll be there.” Sirius said solemnly, “I won’t leave you guys. They won’t take me alive.”

Y/n cracked a smile, “Good.”

Regulus nudged his girlfriend, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks, “Protect him. He gets reckless and forgets about himself. Don’t let him do anything stupid.” 

Sirius could still hear Remus’ voice in their first Order meeting, “I swear on all Merlin if they touch her, they’ll be sorry.” 

“‘Course. Don’t forget he’s still my boyfriend.” Sirius replied, and Y/n smiled, “‘S why I’m asking you and not James. Keep- Keep my brother safe, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They joined the Order of the Phoenix without looking back. Remus, James, Sirius, and Peter quickly became some of the best Aurors of the Ministry of Magic. Sirius had made the Daily Prophet multiple for putting Death Eaters in Azkaban. Many citizens of the Wizarding community thought of him as the next Alastor Moody. 

Seventh year was the worst one yet. Most of the Slytherin Death Eaters were attacking the younger kids. Most of the older Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs had to defend them from the unforgivable curses. It seemed normal to hear the crucio curse being thrown away and seeing green flashes. It made Y/n sick to her stomach. 

It got so surreal that Y/n and Regulus had begun sleeping behind tapestries or hidden tunnels. Dormitories and common rooms were no longer safe. Their backs ached, and body’s sore from lying on concrete, but it was better than dying. Graduation was not a celebration, and no one from outside was allowed in, but Sirius waited for them at Kings Cross. 

The next time Y/n saw Remus was when she was being sworn into the Order, and he barely spared her a glance. Not long after the speech was being spoken, another person entered the meeting point. He was shockingly familiar with wavy black hair and blue-grey eyes. Remus jumped out of his seat, and James had to hold him back. Regulus released a breath and stood beside his girlfriend. 

“Now. I’m sure there’s a lot of confusion.” Dumbledore began calmly, “Regulus has sworn to be our spy.”

Remus growled, “He’s a Death Eater.”

“Exactly.” Remus glared at the old Professor, “Therefore, he can enter and participate in their meetings. Then he can come back here and report what he knows.” 

“I don’t like it any more than you do.” Regulus said, “I don’t want to put anyone in danger, but someone needs to do it.”

Remus went to speak, but Regulus cut him off, “Someone needs to protect your sister.”

Everyone stared in shock at the bold statement that came from the young Black brother's mouth, and Remus leaped from his seat, “She is a traitor. Just like you.”

Instinctively Regulus moved her behind him as Remus was now face to face with him, “She’s everything but. Wasn’t she the one who stopped Fenrir Greyback from killing you?”

“Shut up.”

“Wasn’t she the one who cleaned your wounds after the full moons before the Marauders?” 

“I’m warning you.”

“Wasn’t she the one who used to make you hot chocolate when the nightmares got too bad that you couldn’t sleep?”

Remus snapped, and Sirius pulled him away from Regulus. But they all saw how Y/n cowered when he lunged forward, how she flinched back, covering her face with her hands. Regulus kept a tight hold on her hand, and they watched as Sirius calmed Remus down, bringing him upstairs. When Remus was gone, Dumbledore spoke again. 

“Well, the first Order meeting will be announced in just a couple of days. It allows Y/n and Regulus to get in their positions.” Dumbledore announced, “It allows Y/n to get some training and Regulus to get Voldemort’s trust.”

Everyone dispersed. Y/n and Regulus apparated to a flat they had bought in London. It was relatively modern for the time and had everything they needed. The place was clean and brand new. When they landed in the living room, she went straight to the bedroom. Regulus prepared her a hot drink and set it at her bedside table with a warming charm. He laid beside her, placing her head on his heart. 

“Je Vous Aime.” His french accent was so smooth and gentle, like a baby blanket, “Je t'aime aussi.”

Everything just got more stressful as time passed. Regulus’ job got more and more dangerous, making Y/n worry profusely. It got to times where they had to pretend to throw curses back and forth so he could prove that he was loyal to them. It wasn’t until a rumor of a spy for the Death Eaters came out that Regulus’ job became crucial. It took three more meetings, and on October 15th Regulus knew who it was. 

He could remember the day vividly how Voldemort welcomed Peter Pettigrew to the Death Eaters with open arms. Regulus had stared in mock happiness but, in reality, had been shocked. Someone so close to the Potters had gone and betrayed him. So when Peter was absent from one meeting, Regulus brought it up. 

“They spy is Pettigrew.”

“No.” James chuckled, “You’re lying, right?”

Regulus shook his head, “He plans to kill you, Lily, and Harry on Halloween.”

Everyone stiffened. The air was tense, but Dumbledore smiled victoriously, “Beautiful work, Regulus. We’ll apprehend Pettigrew when he’s seen again.”

They had set up a false meeting where Peter got sent to Azkaban only two days later after Regulus announced he was the traitor. That sparked the war between them, and this time, Regulus was on the right side, the side he always wanted to be on. A week later, and on Halloween, Voldemort was dead. Many people's lives were lost, but many were saved. 

After the war, Remus had proposed to Sirius, and yet Y/n was still not invited to the wedding. Sirius had begged Remus to make amends with her. The war was over. This nonsense was not needed anymore. But Remus was stubborn, and Y/n was too afraid to approach him, so James gave her the invisibility cloak to watch her brother marry. Not the ideal way she planned on watching her brother and his love get married. 

A couple of months later, Regulus and Y/n did the same. Except they did it alone, with Sirius being their only witness and the person marrying them. Sirius couldn’t help but feel awful for Remus not being able to walk her down the aisle, not to see her in the pretty dress she had picked out. It wasn’t until fifteen years later when Y/n had two teenage boys, and a little girl did someone came knocking on her door during the winter holidays. 

Both boys were running around the house, and their little sister was trying to keep up. Two twin boys who were fifteen - Romeo and Romulus. A little girl who was just about ten named Ascella. Romulus was a carbon copy of Sirius. Romeo had the Lupin sandy hair and the Black family eyes with the Black family defined face. He was the best of both worlds. Ascella looked like a female Regulus. 

Romeo was the Keeper of the Slytherin house for Quidditch. Romulus played Beater for Gryffindor, and little Ascella would get her Hogwarts letter in just about a year. Regulus and Y/n both predicted she’d be in Gryffindor with her brave, mischievous nature. Y/n was the one to get the door with her two boys behind her. Ascella had been called into the living room by her father. 

Y/n was shocked to meet familiar green eyes, “Um- hi.”

“Hey.” Remus said nervously, scratching the back of his head, “I hope I’m not intruding.”

Both boys behind her looked confused, “Mum, who is this?”

A pang of hurt hit Remus, “This- This is my brother.”

“Brother?” Romulus questioned, “Like he’s our uncle?”

“Yes.” Y/n retorted, “Now you boys grab your sister. Go do something upstairs while we talk, yeah?” 

Romeo looked crestfallen, “Mum, we aren’t five.”

“I know, but we have a lot of talking to do.”

Romeo sighed, “Fine but be safe.” 

She kissed the tops of their heads, “Of course.”

Ascella was running to her brothers within seconds after Romulus called for her. Remus saw her black hair flutter around as she followed her brothers up the steps. Y/n smiled and motioned for Remus to come inside. The house was lovely and decorated for the holidays. Y/n walked through the hallway to the living room, and Remus followed. 

“I apologize for the mess.” She chuckled, “Having the boys home makes the house messy.”

Remus saw the pictures on the wall, “A Slytherin and a Gryffindor.”

Y/n smiled, “Yep. Romeos the Slytherin, and Romulus is the Gryffindor. We have a feeling Ascella will be in Gryffindor too.”

He placed the picture back down and sighed, “Merlin, what did I miss?”

Regulus was still stiff and stern, “A lot if you couldn’t tell already. That’s what happens when you call your sister a traitor and decide to disown her.”

All three children were listening secretly and grimaced at their father's words, “But don’t worry. I’ve done your job. I’ve been there for her, protected her, and made sure she was happy.” Regulus snapped, “And Sirius did your job of being the children’s uncle.”

“He didn’t even tell me you guys had kids.” Remus muttered, “‘Course he didn’t. In case you don’t remember, you didn’t want anything to do with us.” Regulus retorted. 

The children had never heard their father speak this way with so much ice in his words. Regulus was blunt and unapologetic, “We wanted you to be a part of our family, Remus, we really did. But we didn’t know how you’d feel.” Y/n informed. 

“Plus, the last time you saw us, you tried to kill Regulus.” Ascella covered her ears, and Romeo ushered them to his room to stop listening, “Yeah, so forgive us for not inviting you to be a part of our family.”

Regulus punctuated his statement by putting his arm around Y/n’s waist, “I’m sorry.” Remus murmured. 

“I’m really sorry for how I acted. It was immature and stupid of me.” He continued, “I didn’t know how to feel when I heard my sister was with a Death Eater at the time, and I was just scared.”

Y/n stood up and hugged him, “Remus. What you did isn’t going to be forgiven. I’m sorry.”

He had tears glazing in his emerald green eyes that dulled with age, “I know we were young, but that doesn’t excuse the words you said or how you acted. Trying to kill my husband and saying god awful things about me.”

Y/n took her seat beside Regulus, and Remus sniffled, “You did this. Not us.” Regulus reminded, and Remus nodded. 

“Okay, I just- I’ll go.” Remus stood up from his seat and walked down the hallway to the front door; he took in every family portrait. 

When he got to the door, Y/n opened it for him, and he walked out, “Remus.”

He turned, and Y/n hugged him one last time. His chin rested on top of her head, breathing in her shampoo that still hadn’t changed since third year. The same perfume from fourth year. Her arms fit around him just the same way as they had when they were little children running around the lake. Y/n kissed his cheek and released herself from his embrace. 

“I may not be your sister.” Y/n repeated with tear-filled eyes, and Remus allowed the tears to fall; her two boys were standing beside her, “But you’ll always be my brother.”

The door had closed, and Remus decided that that was the end of his chapter. He had underlined, circled, highlighted, and folded every significant page, but this was the end of the chapter. He was flipping to the next page, where the new chapter began. The new chapter where he had to live without his sister or his niece and nephews. 

Remus always loved fragile, cracked paperbacks. 

[brightjimini]

Messing with the reporter (1/2)

Request: Hi, I wanted to request an Iroh II x reader one shot or imagine or whatever you feel like writing where they pretend to be dating just to mess with a gossip writer who seems to know everything that's going on in Fire Nation high society. Basically the plot of Shonda Rhimes' Bridgerton series.

General Iroh II x Fem!pro-bending!Firebender reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: pro-bending?, fake relationship 

A/N:  I know not many people will read this fic, but I just love Iroh and think he deserves more attention from the ATLA and LOK fandom.. just look at him. (side note can yall see I have a type? firebenders, dark hair, most of the time mommy and daddy issues.) anyway, my little fireflies tell me what you thought of this.

- 

Being the daughter of one of the Fire nation’s best advisors was kind of boring. I loved my people but after years of living in the same house and not being allowed to have a job. Because my father thought it was “too dangerous” I was done. I had said goodbye to my best friend Iroh who had just been promoted to the position of a general. Meaning that I would see even less of him. And left to look for something more exciting in Republic city. 

I immediately loved the city. There were so many different cultures and people. You could get any type of food and it was one of the cities with the most advanced technology. 

Right now I was dodging a disk of stone and sent a blast of fire towards one of the two opponents that were still left. See I had joined a pro-bending team. We were great, one of the best. My teammates were: Ila, who was a water bender, and Hisa, who was the earth bender of the team. We were the flying dragons. We have been playing for almost one and a half years. 

Anyway, I quickly sent another blast of fire to the water bender of the opposite team that was balancing on the edge of the platform. She tried to block my attack with a swipe of water but it was not strong enough. She fell off the platform. I did not have much time to focus on the win as another disk of stone was hurled at me. I did not have much time to dive out of the way and it painfully hit my arm. I groaned and focused on the man standing in the second ring. This game would be even. One against one and we both stood in the second ring. 

I raised my fist and he adjusted his footing. I glanced behind him into the audience. There in the seat assigned for people who knew the players sat Iroh. I had a crush on him for years but I was too afraid to say anything about it so I tried to suppress my feelings. Firebending was a way for me to release those emotions. I took a deep breath and sent blasts of fire to the earth bender. 

He immediately tried to dodge them and send a few disks flying my way, but because he was trying to get away he wasn't really aiming them in the right direction. I kept firing and finally, a horn sounded, signaling that he had put his foot over or on the line behind him. If I won now my team would go to the finals and I couldn't help but want to impress Iroh. I had not seen him in a few months, we called sometimes but actually seeing him was different. He supported my pro-bending career but always told me to be careful and not overwork myself. 

I lowered my arms and took a few deep breaths waiting for the next signal for the round to start. I could hear the commentator yell from his seat at my right. I kept my gaze on my opponent, drops of sweat were rolling down my neck. I could feel a few of my muscles aching but I ignored it. I could relax after I won this. Finally, another blare sounded through the stadium and I moved. Blocking the disk with a gust of orange flames. The next one hit me against the side of my thigh. I groaned. I could hear the crowd take a gulp of air. Meaning that I was probably close to section 3 of the platform. Annoyed, I clenched my fists and blasted flames after flames at him. He took a step backward, now he was just a few centimeters away from falling off the platform. Jumping up I swung my leg in the air and sent a giant blast of fire towards him. He tumbled down into the water below.

The crowd went crazy. My chest heaved up and down but I could not stop smiling. My teammates were lifted up on the platform where their clothes were still soaked. We embraced each other jumping up and down from happiness. We were going to the finals.

-

After packing our things we were still not allowed to see our family and friends. Friends in my case. We were led to a room full of reporters. The flashes of their cameras hurt my eyes. Each of us sat behind a long table with three microphones on it. Most of the time we were just asked questions outside when we walked to the car to go home. 

The questions were about how we felt about going to the finales and other stuff. They were beginning to sound the same after twenty minutes. I kinda dozed off thinking about what I would do later this night. I would meet up with Iroh, Korra, Mako, Asami, and Bolin. I knew that the kids of Tenzin wanted to be here but his father had refused. 

“Y/N.” 

My head snapped up at the sound of my name. I looked into the crowd of reporters, but could not guess where the voice came from. 

“We have seen that General Iroh II from the fire nation attended the game tonight. Can you share with us why he’s here tonight?” The same voice asked. I tried not to roll my eyes. They did not know much about me only that my family had a bond with the Royal family and was from the fire nation. I tried not to roll my eyes. Iroh had told me recently that a few reporters were trying to gain information from his family. So I needed to be careful with my words, which was kind of difficult for me sometimes.

“He is a friend of mine.” Without replying any further I looked at the side of the little stage we were on. I locked eyes with our coach and she nodded. Recognizing the look in my eyes that said. “I wanna go home.” My eyes were probably pleading because she walked on the stage and ended our interview. With a sigh of relief, I stood up and followed Ila and Hisa off stage. I could hear some journalists still screaming questions, but I ignored them. 

I said goodbye to Ila and Hisa because we all had plans to celebrate with different groups. And we would see each other in a few days to practice for the finals. Finally, I met my friends in one of the hallways to the main entrance. I heard Bolins shouts before I saw one of them. They all congratulated me. I gave each one of them a hug, Iroh was the last one. I wrapped my arms around him. “You were great out there.” He said in my ear. 

My heart swelled, but I just let out a “thank you.” I let go of him and he smiled at me. Korra was already pulling me towards the end of the hall to the exit. “You have to teach me that move you did at the end of the first half. Like damn.. Oh God, I'm starving by the way. Can't imagine how hungry you must be-” Her words went to the back of my head when Iroh started walking next to me. We now stood in the main meeting room, finally, we could go home. But I could already hear the loud voices of reporters behind the door of the entrance. I sighed.

_

I was sitting between Iroh and Asami. We all sat at a table that was packed with different dishes. Tenzin’s family, Mako, Bolin, Korra, Bumi, and Kya. Everyone was chatting happily but I could tell that something was bothering Iroh. He had his famous thinking face on. He tried to hide it by replying with short sentences but that did not fool me. 

After everyone had eaten their tummies full the children (with complaints) Bumi, Pema and Tenzin went to bed. The rest of us helped clean the table and went outside to sit around a campfire. Mako told us stories about chasing criminals around the city, Bolin was telling things about his new Naktak episodes that were coming up. 

One by one people went inside to sleep. Leaving just Iroh and me around the campfire. His eyes looked golden in the light of the fire. He had discarded his uniform and had a white shirt with his usual pants on.

“What is wrong?” I asked. His eyes flickered to mine that had been observing him. He sighed and let his head hang between his shoulders. “It- It’s just this reporter. He won’t get off my back.”  I could hear the annoyance in his voice. And that surprised me because most of the time I was the one who got annoyed. 

“How?” 

“He keeps trying to guess and speculate how I live and if I have a wife or something.” My eyes widened. He looked back up at me and I immediately tried to not show my thoughts on my face. I could tell that he was out of options. But I still needed to ask. “Why not shut him up?” He chuckled. 

“No, Y/N I cant hire an assasin.” 

I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop smiling. “No of course not general” I said. Knowing how much he hated that. “Mess with him. Like I don't know get a fake girlfriend or boyfriend-”

Out of nowhere, he sprung up. I almost fell back on the sand. “That is genius! Spirits.” His expression was excited he looked like a little boy again. “But..” his voice trailed off and he sat back down. I did not know what to say. I actually had been joking. Of course, I did not want to see him dating someone.. But if it really made him happy.. 

It was silent again. I stared up at the stars and listened to the ocean waves lapping against the shore. I had not expected what was coming next.

“Would you be my girlfriend?”

-

Let me know what you thought about it

[harrysweasleys]

save me a dance // n.l.

summary: Hi!! Could I please request a Neville x Slytherin! Reader? She has a kind soul and became friends with Hermione (who’s the only person that knows about her crush on Neville), but she kept her distance because she knew about what happened to his parents. She goes to the Yule ball with another Slytherin that eventually ditched her, so she sneaks into the kitchens and hangs out with house elves until Neville comes by (knowing that she always hung out with them when she felt sad) and he confesses ^^

warnings: very brief mention of unwanted sexual advances if you squint, mentions of food

word count: 5k

a/n: my first neville fic!!! i’m so excited for you all to read it, i had so much fun writing it :)

[i do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other platform]

For what felt like the hundredth time, you woke up to the same view; your Yule Ball dress hanging loosely over the four poster bed, the sunlight streaming through the fabric and onto your chunky bed sheets.

The dress was quite stunning, but Godric, did you dread wearing it. You didn’t exactly feel like dancing the night away alongside some Slytherin bloke while you looked around at all the happy couples, wishing ever so desperately that that could have been you. That you could be the one dancing the night away with the person who had captured your heart effortlessly.

Unfortunately, that plan hadn’t exactly fallen into place. Hermione had done her best to help you out in getting him to ask you, but you ended up being put on the spot when a Slytherin boy named Jasper had asked you during Transfigurations. So, you had said yes, but deep down, that regret was starting to multiply by the second.

You let out a groan, tossed your head back against the pillow, and lifted the warm comforter off of your body. The fireplace in the centre of the room was still crackling away, but within the stone walls of the castle, the cold seemed to never fully fade.

So you threw on your house sweater, your scarf, robe, and a pair of trousers, before heading down to start the day. The snow was accumulating rather quickly outside as Christmas drew nearer, rendering you quite glad that you brought your scarf.

“At least you’re prepared,” Hermione mumbled as the two of you made your way to Divinations, “It’s always freezing in Professor Trewlaney’s room! Oh, how I wish I could have brought mine. Rather silly of me.”

You chuckled, keeping your eyes on the long winding staircase as you responded to her, “Not to worry, I’m sure Ron has a sweater you can borrow.”

Though you weren’t facing her, you could practically feel her eye roll as she scoffed, “Very funny. Such a clever idea. You really are filled with those.”

“I’m just saying,” you turned back to face her quickly before pulling down the ladder to the Divination classroom, “I’m sure he’d think you look amazing in it. Isn’t that what guys like? When their girlfriends wear their clothing?”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” she shushed you as you climbed up, “Be quiet!”

You apologized with a laugh as you climbed into the classroom and made your way to your usual seat at the front by the window, Hermione coming over to join you. Harry and Ron were seated not too far away, but that didn’t really matter to you. From across the class, you spotted Neville.

He was accompanied by Seamus — who seemed quite interested in the tablecloth at the moment — but you so wished that you could be the one sitting across from him.

His vest hung loosely against his body and his dark hair was littering his forehead, eyes scrunched shut as he let out a yawn. As he opened them, you noticed they darted in your direction before snapping away.

You felt a frown form on your lips. Why did he look away so fast? Instinctively, you raised a hand to the top of your head to check if there was anything in your hair.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked as she dug through her bag, placing the heavy Divinations book on top of the circular table. The book, with its golden lettering, seemed to twinkle under the pink hues of the morning sky.

You shrugged, “Nothing.”

Her eyes followed to where you had previously been looking, and she let out a sigh, “Relax. You look wonderful. There’s nothing to fix.”

You sulked back into your chair, “Hermione, he asked Ginny to the ball. Don’t try to continue your matchmaking.”

She leaned forward on the table, pushing her thick hair behind her shoulder, “Doesn’t mean you don’t stand a chance. Look, I like Ginny, but maybe they’re going as friends. Like you and Jasper.”

“I think Jasper has more than friendship on his mind,” you muttered under your breath, thinking back to the way his hands lingered on your lower back a little too long after you agreed to be his date.

She gave you a sympathetic glance, opening her mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by Trewlaney announcing her presence. The class began shortly after, and you spent the time reading Hermione’s palm and deciphering what your own dreams meant.

According to the textbook, you were going to stumble upon a lot of money as well as possibly fall down a sewer within the next week. Nothing new, really. It was better than Harry’s, who once again, was told he was doomed for death in the coming months.

As the class ended, you stuffed the books and parchment into your backpack and thanked Trelawney for the lesson, following Hermione out of the room. As you made your way to the ladder, you spotted a little red ball on the ground.

You crouched to pick it up, immediately recognizing it as Neville’s remembrall. How oddly convenient that it land right at your feet.

“Oh, thanks,” he muttered as you turned to hand it to him, fingers brushing against his as you placed it in his palm, “This thing likes to try and escape.”

You grinned at him, “You should keep it safe in your dorm.” You tried your best to keep your voice steady as you spoke to him, which was odd, really. Why did you always become so nervous around Neville, who was one of the shyest, kindest people you’d ever met? Crushes were quite strange.

He gave you a small smile and a shrug, “I like to carry it on me. It’s from my nan. I don’t want to leave it behind.”

Your chest felt like it was going to swell at his words, “That’s really sweet. I’m sure she appreciates that you care for it so much.”

As you turned back to face the ladder, Hermione gave you a quick wink and a thumbs up before darting away with Harry and Ron, clearly insinuating that you should walk with Neville. You mentally scolded her before making your way to it, Neville not far behind.

“She does,” he said, fondness clear in his voice, “It’s not like I get anything from my parents, so I cherish anything I get from my family in general.”

Your heart sunk in your chest. Neville had always been very closed off when talking about his family — especially his parents — so the way he mentioned them so casually had you doubting what to say next. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by continuing the topic, nor did you want to brush it off like it was nothing.

“I’m sorry,” you said, facing him once the two of you began going down the spiral staircase, “I can imagine it’s difficult. But your nan clearly cares a lot, and she’s lucky to have you.”

His ears turned slightly pink at your words and you had to fight a grin.

The next few minutes were silent until Neville once again turned to face you. There was something about him that always seemed optimistic, despite the fact that he had just spoken a bit about the difficult situation with his parents. Whether it be the smile on his face or the sparkle in his eye, you couldn’t be sure what it was. But Merlin, did you ever adore it.

“She sent me my suit for the Yule Ball, actually,” he said, a bit of a hop in his step as he said the words, “It doesn’t fit perfectly but I’m sure it’ll last the night.”

You let out a small laugh, “That’s awfully sweet of her. I’m sure you’ll look dashing.”

As you said the words, you regretted them instantly. Well, not so much regretted — you meant every syllable — but more so, you wished you could currently fall into the sewer that Trelawney had predicted you’d stumble into.

Throwing out a compliment like that was quite possibly the last thing you wanted to do. Would he react badly? Would he think you were coming onto him? Would this change things?

Were you overthinking?

The corners of his lips curled up into a shy smile and he gave you a nod and cut you short of your internal rambling, “Are you excited?”

Yeah, definitely overthinking.

You let out a sigh, trying to move past your embarrassment and continue your walk to your next class, dodging a few passing students, “Kind of. I’m excited for the music. Not so much the dancing. I’m not very good at that.”

He chuckled, “I wasn’t either. I taught myself, actually. In my room. The lads loved to make fun of that.”

The image of Neville dancing away in the cramped boys’ dorm brought a smile to your face.

“You’ve already got a step up on me, then,” you faced him, “Get ready to watch me humiliate myself on the dance floor.”

You stepped a little closer to him as a group of Ravenclaw pushed past in a rush, and Neville’s hand reached for your arm to help steady you.

“Sorry,” he muttered, pulling away and avoiding your gaze, “But anyways, I’m sure you’re not as bad as you think. Ginny has never danced either, so you won’t be the only one.”

You tried your best to push past the surge of jealousy that washed over you. You already knew he was going with Ginny — hell, you’d know for a while now — but it did not make it any easier to hear. Especially coming from him.

“I didn’t expect you’d ask her,” you admitted, “but I’m sure you’ll both have a wonderful time. She’ll have a good leader to help her maneuver the moves.”

You gave his shoulder a small nudge, trying to act like you weren’t drowning in your own feelings. The thought of Neville holding Ginny close to his body as they swayed to the romantic music nearly made you sick. You liked Ginny a great deal, she was such a sweet girl with a fierce attitude that you admired, but you really wished Neville had asked you instead.

“We’re just going as friends,” he said, “I was going to ask someone else but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And I’m pretty sure Ginny was also interested in another person in the first place.”

You tried your best to hold back a sigh of relief. They were going as friends. That didn’t mean it would make it easier to see them together, but maybe you could push past the jealousy you felt about seeing them as a couple.

But then the next thing he said hit you; he wanted to ask someone else. Someone he was interested in romantically? Perhaps he actually did like someone, even if that someone wasn’t Ginny. Who could it be? And why were you so irritated? You didn’t even know them.

“Well,” you said, unsure of how to change the topic, “I’ll be looking out for you two on the dance floor.” You wanted so desperately to no longer speak of the Yule Ball. The thought of the night was now dizzying and had you feeling a little faint, to be completely honest.

It was going to be a long day.

— —

You were honestly quite surprised by the appearance of the Great Hall. Usually filled with long tables, chairs, and candles, it was now glistening like a winter wonderland. There was fake snow falling from the ceiling, but it never touched the ground. The room smelled faintly of pine trees and sweets, and you figured that there had to be at least seven Christmas trees littering the room.

To put it simply, the space was beautiful.

Music played softly from the dance floor ahead, and to your right, there was a small table with a few snacks and drinks. There were also quite a few seats around, already occupied by couples and friends.

“What do you want to do?”

You turned to face Jasper, who was waving over at a group of Slytherins further on the left.

“We can go dance,” you suggested, praying he wasn’t going to drag you over to his housemates. Jasper seemed alright enough, but you weren’t a fan of his obnoxious friends. You could very well go the night without hanging around them, thank you very much.

He shrugged, “Sure.”

He linked his hand in yours and tugged you along behind him, bringing you over to the dance floor. Once you got there, you noticed a few familiar faces.

Hermione and Viktor were not far away, and she gave you an excited grin before pointing at her date, who was obviously making love heart eyes in her direction. You couldn’t blame him, honestly. Further along you spotted Fred and Angelina, dancing away as if they were the only two in the room. It caused you to chuckle.

“So do you want to dance, or…?” Jasper asked, placing one of his hands on your waist.

You shivered under his touch. It wasn’t a good shiver, it was discomfort. You wanted more than anything to be dancing with Neville — who you currently spotted over with Ginny, his hands on her waist and hers on his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you squeaked, awkwardly stepping closer to him before putting your arms around his neck. Your throat began to sting as you watched the two of them glide across the floor, laughing as they spoke to each other. It felt quite juxtaposed to the uncomfortable, weird situation that you found yourself currently in.

You began to sway to the music, trying your best not to dart your eyes to Neville every couple of seconds. Jasper was clearly not enjoying this, but you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to care what he wanted. He wasn’t going to get what he came here for and you weren’t going to be guilted into it either.

You honestly couldn’t be thankful enough as the slow song ended. You quickly pulled your arms away from him and you crossed them over your chest.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” you said, not waiting for his response before taking off to the table by the entrance. You heard him call your name as you pushed your way through students, holding the skirt of your dress in your hands to avoid being stepped on, but you didn’t look back.

There was a clearing near the table and you took a deep breath, dropping your skirt and letting out a sigh. Your shoulders slouched as you walked over and grabbed a small glass, not even sure if you were thirsty. The excuse was simply to get away from Jasper. You were regretting your decision to come here more than ever.

“I recommend the punch.”

You spun on your heel, nearly coming in contact with Neville. He was standing behind you, taking a step back after realizing how close he really was.

“Oh—,” you nodded, “Thanks.”

The punch bowl sat in front of you, glistening red under the shimmering lights. You grabbed the spoon and poured yourself a little bit, enjoying the scent of the fruity drink.

You turned back around, giving Neville a forced smile, “I’m sure it’s delicious.”

His eyebrows furrowed and he fiddled with his waistcoat, “Are you alright? I don’t mean to prod or anything.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, “Yeah, I guess I’m alright, really. Just not having a great time.”

Neville’s eyes scanned the dance floor where he spotted Jasper’s familiar blond head scanning the crowd, “I’m guessing it has something to do with your date.”

His eyes found yours again and you nodded, placing the glass down on the table behind you, “My situation is kind of like yours, I guess. You wanted to ask someone else. Well, I wanted someone else to ask me.”

You could see his shoulders sag before he frowned, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I’d say anyone would be lucky to have you as their partner, but something about him tells me he’s not enjoying himself the way he should be, being by your side and all.”

You had to fight a grin at his words. How Neville could be so awkward, yet so effortless in his words, you’d never understand. It was one of the reasons you knew you wouldn’t be getting over your crush anytime soon.

“Thanks,” you gave him a smile, looking down to the ground before meeting his eyes again, “You should go back. I don’t want to keep you from dancing.”

You could see the hesitation in his eyes as he scanned your face, but he gave a slight nod, “If ever you want to get away from him, I’ll be there to help you.”

“Thanks, Neville,” you smiled genuinely, maintaining eye contact. He stood there for a moment, looking into your eyes, and you could practically feel how reluctant he was to walk away.

As cliché and typical as it sounds, it almost felt like you were alone in the room, completely lost in his gaze. His eyes brought you comfort that nothing else could provide, and you only wished you could look into them more often. Like dancing, for example. How easily you’d find yourself lost in his eyes if you were dancing.

“No worries,” he gave you a small smile, scanned your face once more, and took off into the crowd. As you watched his head of dark hair vanish, you let out a deep breath. If life could go your way, he’d have his hand linked with yours as he led you back to the dance floor.

But life wasn’t fair like that, was it?

You completely disregarded the punch behind you, stomach feeling like it was in knots, and made your way back to where you left Jasper. Only, you couldn’t find the familiar mop of blond hair anywhere. He was rather tall, so it wouldn’t be difficult to spot him. And yet, somehow, he was nowhere to be seen.

Until you looked to the entrance door and saw him hand in hand with a ginger Slytherin girl, both of them stumbling over their feet as they made their way out.

“Well, that was fast,” you mumbled, a frown on your face.

You stood alone on the floor, couples swaying to the music around you. It kind of felt like a movie — the kind of movie where the girl gets her heart crushed by a guy, and then is ditched by another guy, and then is left alone in the end. A crappy movie, you thought, but one that seemed to fit really well right now.

The music was practically taunting you, so instead of staying put or going to finish your drink, you once again gathered your dress in your hands, and made your way out of the room.

The hallway felt a lot fresher compared to the Great Hall, but that was understandable. Hundreds of bodies in one room compared to the corridor with an open doorway to the winter air.

Though, that wasn’t where you were going. You decided you’d go down to your usual escape spot, and now that all the teachers were chaperoning the ball, you would make it there with minimal interruption.

You spotted the familiar painting by the kitchen entrance, the bowl of fruits, and raised your hand to tickle the pear. The painting swung open and you crawled through the little stone passage, making sure your dress wasn’t going to get caught, before landing on both feet on the tile floor.

“Oh! Miss Y/N!”

Dobby, donned in a little scarf and hat, waved at you from a tabletop.

“Hey, Dobby,” you grinned, “Sorry to interrupt your quiet evening in here. I didn’t know where else to go.”

He patted the table next to him, “Why did you leave so early? Dobby heard the ball was lasting all night.”

You gave him a little smile, sitting down on the stool in front of him, “Wasn’t as fun as I expected. I’d rather spend my evening here. Where is everyone else?” The stool was rather small for a human being, considering it was most likely made for an elf, but if you leaned forwards against the table and kept your feet plastered to the ground, you managed to balance just fine.

He gave a little smile and looked at you with those big eyes, “They are all tired! We have been putting the ball together for days now! They all went to bed.”

The corner of your lips curved up, “Well, now you have company, Dobby.”

He clapped his hands together and let out a little laugh, “Let me show you what Dobby found today. It was in the Gryffindor common room!”

You nodded, knowing that it was most likely a knitted hat. Hermione had been leaving those scattered around the room for a little while now. Little did she know Dobby was the one collecting them all.

As you watched his little body disappear through a small doorway on the far wall, you took a look around the kitchen. Despite the fact that you were certain they had been working non-stop in here for days on end, it was nearly spotless. Pots and pans shimmered under the candlelight, tabletops were clear, apart from a few fruit bowls and snacks. The counters were clean, as well as the floors.

If this place had windows, or maybe a little more light, you felt it would be quite nice.

You sat there silently for a little while, already beginning to feel the sadness of the evening creep in. It was quite a bummer, really. You didn’t know if you wanted to go back to your own dorm tonight or stay out wandering the halls, mind running through all the scenarios on how tonight could have gone differently, how it could have been better.

The only sound you could hear was a light creak, which you eventually realized was the painting swinging open to let someone in.

Panic began to settle in and you stood off your chair, moving to the other side of the table. You would still be very much visible if you ducked, so there was no point in doing it, but you did it anyways.

The last thing you wanted was for Snape or Moody to catch you where you shouldn’t be.

Except, the person that crawled through and landed sturdily on their feet wasn’t Snape or Moody.

It was Neville.

You popped your head back up, eyes locking with his. He looked a little disheveled in terms of his hair, and his bow tie was slightly off centre, but the smile on his face showed relief.

“Neville?” you asked, already feeling a little less panicked. You only hoped Neville was alone. The last thing you wanted was for a girl to crawl in behind him. He wasn’t that kind of guy, you knew that, but your mind went there anyways.

Thankfully, he was alone. The painting swung closed behind him and he gave you a small smile.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, walking back around to the front of the table, this time deciding not to sit on the stool.

His cheeks turned a little pink but he brushed it off and shrugged, “I saw you rush out of the room. I wanted to see if you were okay. I remember you once told me you come here when you’re upset, so I gave it a shot.”

Your mouth felt like it fell open so you shut it quickly, blinking rapidly, “I’m surprised you remembered. Only you and Hermione know about my little escape spot.”

He gave a small chuckle, stepping a little closer, “Are you alright, though? I saw you leave and I didn’t see your date anywhere.”

You gave a shrug, averting your eyes, “He left. With another girl. I wasn’t interested in him that way, but it still sucks.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and gave a shake of his head, “You’re better off without him,” he stepped a little closer, catching your attention once more, “But I get why you’re upset. Funny story, the same thing happened to me. But not in the same sense. Ginny managed to get a dance with Harry.”

You were close enough to put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

Realization caught up to you and you noticed how stupid this gesture probably was, so you snatched your arm back and held it against you. Neville noticed your quick reaction and you could see his gaze fall down to the ground before meeting yours again.

Just like at the punch table, it felt as if time stood still while you looked into his eyes. You could see he looked like he wanted to say something, his stare darting back and forth between your lips and your eyes, but he didn’t say anything for a good moment.

Until one of his hands reached across and held yours. His skin was warm, and you could feel his pulse against his wrist. His heart was beating fast, and if he could feel your own pulse, he’d say the same about you.

“You look—,” he took a deep breath, “You look beautiful tonight. Well, not just tonight. You look beautiful most of the time. I’m just saying, it’s — never mind.”

Your heart seemed to stutter in your chest, goosebumps rising on your skin at his words. They had caught you so off guard that you couldn’t find a way to respond. No words seemed to find their way into your mind. All you could do was smile. A bright, genuine grin that hurt your cheeks.

“Thanks,” you let out a small laugh, linking your fingers with his, “Also, you look pretty dapper yourself. I told you you would, and I was right.”

He stepped closer, his other hand locking with your free one. It wasn’t an overtly intimate gesture — people held hands all the time — but Merlin, did you ever melt into his touch.

“Do you — Can we have a dance?”

You bit your lip to hold back your smile. How you went from standing alone on the dance floor, starring in the most depressing teen flick you’d ever heard of, to standing alone in the kitchen, your hands locked with Neville’s as the candles flickered around the two of you, you’d never know. But you were so, so grateful. And happier than you can ever remember being.

“I’d love that,” you nodded, stepping closer and resting your head against his shoulder. His hands let go of yours and went to your waist, and it felt so right. So right that you completely forgot about how it felt when Jasper was holding you instead.

Your hands went up to his neck, draping them around him and leaning into his touch. There was no music, but it almost didn’t feel necessary. The two of you began to sway slowly back and forth, the only sound being the click of your shoes as you took your steps. You couldn’t even bring yourself to care about whether Dobby would walk back in any second now.

He rested his head against yours as he led the way. It wasn’t much of a dance, but it was quite possibly the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to you. You wished more than anything that you could freeze this moment and live like this forever.

“A hat! Dobby was left a hat — Oh! Hello!”

Neville pulled away instinctively and grinned awkwardly, taking a second to process what had happened before nodding his head in the direction of the house elf, “Hello, Dobby.”

You fought a grin, turning your head back to face Dobby, who was awkwardly looking between the two of you, a large knitted beanie in his hand.

“Dobby can sense he is intruding,” he muttered, giving a little bow before backing up through the door he left through before, “Good night!”

The moment had sort of been interrupted, but you didn’t move away from Neville’s touch, resting your head against his shoulder once more as your laughter died down. Of course, the curious little elf would walk in at the worst moment.

“I knew that would happen,” you laughed, tightening your grip around him a little more. He chuckled, head falling against yours. You could feel his hair tickling the side of your face, the strands unruly and curly as they brushed against your skin.

The night ended up being way better than you expected.

This one you would never forget.

——

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[smeeboswriting]

Hayloft | Johnny Joestar

❤️| Young lovers with their legs tied up in knots. 

Pairing: Johnny Joestar/Reader. (AFAB, Fem reader | She/Her) I use third person and did not use Y/N in this one-shot. I didn’t beta-read this and I do struggle with english, so I am sorry for any mistakes.(Edited because I got something wrong before I think, please tell me if I get terms wrong)

Warnings: 🔞Adult NSFW content under the cut, read at your own risk. More details below the cut.

Summary: Loosely based off Mother Mother’s hayloft, excluding the part about the gun though. Reader is left alone with Johnny in a hayloft. (Established Relationship, porn with feelings, following my personal headcannon that Johnny is touch starved due to his depression)

Word Count: 7631 words

Quick Note: I haven’t written in several months, and I do struggle with english as a whole so I am sorry if any of this is sloppy. I wanted to get back into writing and this is my first attempt, I’m not very confident, but I figured I’d post this anyway. 

Content Warnings: Risky Situations, Semi-Public Sex(Does Sex in a hayloft out in the open count?), Awkward situations, Use of vulgarity, Vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), handjobs, riding, cowgirl position, mentions of touch starved/depressive episodes. Please tell me if I missed anything that you would like me to tag. Or if I have done something wrong.

The ruthless sun peeked its head up above the horizon, standing just beyond the rolling fields of gold wheat and dry dirt until every inch of land was baked under unbearable heat. Johnny bowed his head, face peach pink and flushed with the sun’s burning kisses. He preferred the weather in Kentucky over the weather in Arizona. He huffed as he breathed in stale dry air that burned his lungs, raising his head to the front of his party and catching the tail end of Valkyrie trotting just a few paces in the forefront. 

Gyro sat atop of his saddle with his hat tilted forward, casting a band of shadow across his eyes. “We should set up camp soon,” Gyro announced from the head of the party, riding Valkyrie a few paces beyond the rest. Though he spoke clearly Johnny could tell fatigue and the heat was getting to him as well. He caught sight of the way Gyro grit his teeth and kept his head tilted down to the ground, his shirt becoming damp with sweat at the front until it stuck to his skin. They definitely needed to rest soon. “We’re ahead anyway, we can spare some time.” Johnny grunted in turn, gripping the collar on his hood and fanning himself. 

He checked the rear of the party, seeing her following loyally from the tail end as she sat atop her horse in all of her glory while her body rocked gently on the raised bump of her saddle. The girl caught sight of him and offered him a smile, before Johnny turned back around to face the dry cracked roar ahead of them. 

They tracked further along the dirt road until the horses bowed their heads and huffed with flared nostrils, Johnny briefly wondered if one of them might drop. He pressed a hand against Slow Dancer’s thick neck, even her fur felt hot beneath his palm. He blindly reached down beside his saddle bag, grappling for his canteen until he pried it from its holster and held it up to his ear, shaking it only to find it was hollow on the inside. He cursed, dropping his arm by his side with his throat feeling much drier than before.

“Here,” he heard her voice from behind him, spinning his head around to face her but quickly glancing down when he saw her arm extended out towards him with her half full canteen pressing into his side. He said her name in question, “Are you sure?” he asked her, and she smiled at him with those generous eyes staring back up at him. “I took a drink a while ago, so you can have the rest.” She shook it, the sound of water sloshing inside the leather bound bottle making Johnny’s mouth water. He took it and took a swig, tilting his head back and drinking two big mouthfuls until his dry throat screamed in relief. He wiped his mouth with the back of his palm and handed it back to her, giving her a nod as she grabbed the bottle from his hand. Their fingers brushed against the other, making shivers roll up Johnny’s arm all the way to his shoulder. She put her canteen back into its holster and slipped the cap back on, not minding that it sounded much emptier than before.

She was always kind and giving.

Her touch lingered on Johnny’s hand and he forced himself to focus on anything else but that ache in his fingers. Her name fell from his lips as he thanked her beneath his breath, she only hummed back. He wondered if she was bothered by the heat at all, from first glance she was chipper and bright, but he could see the telltale slack in her shoulders and the way she hunched over to the cap of her hat blocked her eyes from the sun’s rays as her chest rose and fell in large steady breaths. Though it wasn’t obvious she was also experiencing fatigue from the burning hot heat. 

“Look,” Gyro’s voice came from the front, Johnny turning back around and following his pointed digit out into the horizon line, eyes falling on the approaching figure of a large barn just a few yards ahead of them. It stood still in an open clearing where the fields of wheat halted beside a long dilapidated wooden fence. The doors on the withering gate nearly fallen off of its hinges and left wide open, leaving a clear entrance open to any weary traveler. The three came to a stop just beyond the picket and stared forward at the silent building that stood alone. “Wanna bet it’s abandoned?” Gyro hummed, snapping his reins against Valkyrie's back, the horse charging forward and stepping through the decaying fence, picking up pace just as he came to the barn’s near opened doorway. 

Johnny prayed the barn truly was abandoned. It had been so long since they'd slept with a roof over their heads, and he would give anything to have shelter to lay his head down. He stopped at the open gate with Slow Dancer coming to a steady halt. She stood beside him on her own horse, the two waiting just a few feet away as Gyro hopped off of Valkyrie's back and landed on his feet with a huff. He approached the long neglected doors of the barn and pushed the splintering doors open with his palm. Johnny watched as Gyro slipped his head just beyond the open doorway before disappearing inside, there was a moment where neither of them could see their third party before he stepped outside with his thumbs held up. “Ours for the taking, no one’s been in here for years.” He announced with his gold grin, “Lady Luck is shining on us today.” he cheered.

Johnny glanced at the neglected building that showed its age with forsaken wood and withering structure, a part of him wondered if it was safe at all, but beggars could not afford to be choosers. He said her name to catch her attention, gesturing that she follow him, the two waltzing their horses through the degraded fence and joining Gyro’s side. Gyro left the barn door open, Johnny using this to his advantage to explore the uninhibited building. He lead Slow Dancer through the open mouth of the barn, finding himself in a shriveled and abandoned room that hadn’t been cared for in years. There was a ladder by the south wall leading up to a platform where stacks of abandoned hay loomed above the ground floor, there were a few stacks clinging to the walls and corners but there were three bales in the center of the room left all alone. Johnny couldn’t help but to think they conveniently looked like a couch more than anything. 

“Oh, it’s a hayloft.” She said beside him, slipping her boots out of her saddle stirrups and hopping down to the floor. “I remember we had one of these back in Kentucky.” Johnny muttered, as she walked forward. She put her hands on her hips and looked around, “There’s so much, the place is covered in it.” She took three steps forward and kicked her foot out against the ground, bringing up dirt and stray pieces of what was supposed to be animal fodder. Single strands of hay covered the floor like dust. “I think it’s too old to give to the horses,” she sighed as she turned her nose up and sniffed the air, “It’s even lost its nose.” She explained as the scent of staleness filled her nose, unable to smell the sweet scent of hay fresh off the field. That was enough to tell her the age of the bales. 

“It’d be like feeding them dirt.” She walked further into the loft to investigate, finding nothing more than bales and an empty bucket parked beside a broom. She grabbed the broom, inspecting it before sweeping the hay covered floor in an attempt to clean an area for camping. Johnny focused on her striding figure, watching her flutter about the messy barn and sweep with her body slightly bent. His eyes went from her torso down to her waist, lingering a little too long on the curves of her hips. His hands twitched, remembering how her skin felt when she had handed him her canteen and their fingers brushed against the other. She faced him just as he turned his head, eyes shifting to the wall.

Gyro stayed just beyond the loft, eyes facing the horizon “Even if the horses can’t eat any of the hay they got plenty of other options.” he called out to them, “There’s tons of wheat around here, and lots of grass to graze.” He pointed at the rolling fields they had been touring. “If we’re lucky there’s a well somewhere nearby.” He rubbed his hands together before tethering Valkyrie to a fairly sturdy post a few paces away from the shed. “But we can’t pass up shelter like this.” 

Johnny knew Gyro was right, this was a blessing, a barn provided shelter with a roof and shade from the sun. He pressed his heel against Slow Dancer’s side, having the mare trot forward until she was at the edge of the three stacks of hay in the center of the room. Johnny untucked his legs from the saddle, rolling off of his horses back and slowly settling down on the bale below. The stack crunched beneath his weight, a few sticking him in the thighs but he couldn’t feel a thing. He rested his hands on the edge of the stack and found it uncomfortable at first, but the dried pile felt more comfortable than a saddle at the moment.

“Darling,” Her voice brought him back to her, she was standing in front of him with the broom held loosely in one hand and the other one pointing at Slow Dancer behind him. “Want me to tether your mare outside too?” she asked with a smile, “Until nightfall, that is.” Johnny nodded, “Alright.” he relented the reins over to her, letting her grab the leather harness from his hand. “I gotta tether my horse too, I bet they’re excited to get to grazing.” she hummed, tossing the broom aside and holding Slow Dancer’s reins in one hand and her own horses in the other. 

“Oi, you two.” Gyro called from the door, making both of their heads turn to the front. “I’m going to go find some firewood so we can hopefully cook something up for dinner,” he explained, pointing his thumb up and out towards the fields. “You two stay here and watch the horses, and clean the place up a little so we can set up for the night, got it?” He asked. “Yeah, sure.” Johnny replied, settling his weight further down on the stack he had made his seat. “You got it.” she said, pinching her index and thumb together in an “Okay,” gesture. “I won’t be long, unless there’s just no god damn wood out there.” Gyro grumbled, stepping out into the yard and trudging through the fields of tall grass that brushed against his calves. Johnny watched his figure retreat until he could no longer see his silhouette beyond the open barn doors. They were alone now.

Alone together in the hayloft. 

As she took ahold of their horses reins and brought them forward in her hands Johnny’s eyes returned to her figure, his skin itching as that heavy feeling settled into his chest, there was no denying the overwhelming feeling of need biting at his stomach. Suddenly the distance between them felt much greater than before, especially as she opened the barn doors ever so wider with their horses in tow. He felt deprived, yearning for touch now that it was mere inches from his grasp. Cautiously he glanced at her from beyond the open hayloft doors, shamefully imagining what she’d look like bent over a bale of hay with nothing but her shirt clinging to her arms, and he felt disgusted with himself for just a moment even if he was no stranger to her bedside.

He indulged himself a little more, remembering those lonely nights that turned warm and sweet in her arms, just the two of them tangled together in a tent with no one but the other. He wanted to be held by her again, his eyes locking on her soft arms that moved up and down with each knot she made in the leather straps until each horse was secure. He wanted those arms to hold him into her chest again.

She turned and met his eyes, making him tense, but she stared at him with total admiration. Admiration that he wasn’t sure he deserved.

She offered Johnny a smile, tethering their horses to a single post just beyond the barn beside Valkyrie. Johnny didn’t return it, glancing down at the floor with his hands balled into loose fists on his thighs. Would she sneer at him if she knew how badly he wanted to hold her on his lap?

 She tugged the horses reins with one strong pull until she heard the wood creak in protest. “That outta hold ‘em.” She said aloud, stepping back and admiring her work with her hands on her hips. Johnny eyed the way her fingers curled around her waist, until she turned to him with that grin still on her plump lips. The sun had tinted her skin rose red, and pebbles of sweat clung to her round cheeks. “I guess we’re gonna be waiting a while.” She said, though Johnny was hardly paying attention. Instead he favored watching the way her legs moved as she walked towards him, the curves of her thighs felt much more pronounced in those jeans. 

She sat beside Johnny, her thighs itching from the bale of hay sticking her through her chaps. Though it was oddly comfortable. She tilted her cap back and let her head fall forward, brushing the back of her palm against her brow. “Lord, it’s so god damn hot.” She said, reaching up and unfurling the top of her blouse, nimble fingers working on each button until more of her hot skin was exposed to the open air. Johnny swallowed, eyes quickly following the curve of her cleavage that peeked out from the open mouth of her blouse. He could nearly see the valley of her breasts.

He wanted to touch her.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, startling her as he tugged her into his side. She caught a glimpse of his hand just before it squeezed her hip, his fingers sinking into the hard fabric of her chaps. She was stunned before she was as pleased as Punch, leaning into his body with her head falling on his shoulder. He smelled like the sun, but she imagined she shared the same scent after hours of toiling on horseback, baking underneath the heat. “You feeling okay?” She asked, and Johnny felt the corners of his lips tug up into a grin. She was considerate, and kind. Something far too good for this world, and for him.

“Yeah,” He answered, drawing circles on her waist with the pads of his fingertips. “Just fine.” She lifted her head and offered him that sweet smile, and he took it with wide open arms as he hugged her tighter into his body. Now, he was glad that Gyro was nowhere near them, he knew the Italian would have teased him for the sudden display of affection. Yet alone in the hayloft he could freely hold her in his aching arms. She twisted her torso until she was chest to chest with him, her arms wrapping around his firm shoulders and locking behind the nape of his neck. Her fingers brushed against the exposed skin from the low line of his hood, leaving shivers rolling up Johnny’s back. A rush of blood ran down from his chest to the base of his stomach. That was when he glanced down, noticing the obvious bump in the front of his pants making an all too noticeable bump between his legs. 

He was damn near ashamed that all it took was her hands on him to get him this excited, back in the prime of his life he was no stranger to a woman’s touch, sharing his bed with many gorgeous ladies in his life that all eagerly threw themselves at his feet. Sometimes, his bed was open to multiple girls at once, constantly warm and filled. Then the accident happened, and he had grown far too used to cold nights in an empty bed, with no one even so much as batting an eye in his direction. Thinking back on it now any women he had trysts with were obscured, their faces long absent from his mind, he couldn’t even recall their names anymore. He never had deep connections with any of the women he’d slept with, they were only there for a short time, but he didn’t care. He thought he’d never be embraced so sweetly after everyone had abandoned him in the dust.

Until he met her, and she opened her arms to him despite everything that he hated about himself, and he found himself selfishly clinging to her. His grip on her tightened, fingers bunching around tightwads on her shirt. She hummed in response, pressing her cheek against his. “This is a real surprise, you’re never this affectionate.” she teased, making the bridge of his nose burn a brighter hue of red. He responded by shoving his face in between the crook of her neck and shoulders, hiding his bashful expression from her searching eyes. “Shut up.” he muttered, his mouth scraping against her skin. 

“I’m only teasing, but aren’t you hot?” She rubbed circles on his back, fingers dipping beneath the hemline of his shirt, sending blood rushing straight to in between his legs. Fuck, Johnny thought, it hadn’t even been too long since they’ve last had sex but he was acting as if he was a man who was starved. He didn’t answer her, instead favoring to use his maw differently. His lips scraped against her hot flushed skin, and he relished the way it felt against his mouth. He began to pepper hot kisses up and down the arch of her throat, pressing himself against her until the heat made it feel as if he’d melt into her body. She sighed in soft delight at the contact, tilting her head back instinctively and letting him run his soft lips over her arched throat while she tangled her fingers in his thick crop of soft hair. “Johnny,” She practically sang, encouraging him to sink his teeth into the side of her neck. She yelped, practically jumping out of her skin if not for Johnny grounding her by grabbing tight handfuls of her ass and bringing her forward until her thighs were practically draped over his lap. Her face quickly became red as Johnny’s hands slipped beneath the band of her blouse, greedily taking in the feel of her bare hips and back. “Gyro will be back soon, won’t he?” She asked, finally finding words after she caught her stolen breath. 

“Please?” Johnny mumbled, his voice falling into a lower pitch, much softer than before. He planted an especially wet kiss against her sun baked skin, running his fingers from her back to her front and pressing up until he felt his palms brush against her heavy breasts, and it was then he could feel her fall right into his hands. She chewed her bottom lip until it was tucked between her teeth, Johnny’s thumbs running circles over the hardening peaks of her nipples. “Only if we’re real quick,” she stuttered, “I don’t want Gyro catching us.” She moaned as Johnny cupped her through her chaps, palming her through the thick material. Johnny dragged them both to the floor, falling on the ground on his haunches while she sat right beside him. He leaned back against the hefty hay bale that was once their seat, while she scooted over until she was tucked firmly in between his legs. 

She first let her hands roam the slim but firm expanse of his chest, fingers dancing across his broad shoulders and ending at the vee of his stomach. His shirt rode up on his midriff, showing off more of his skin. “You’re so gorgeous, Johnny.” She praised beneath her breath, making the blonde shuffle beneath her and turn his head to the side. “I’m not.” he mumbled, which she responded with pecking his cheek, “You are.” she insisted. Johnny fell silent, closing his eyes and refusing to answer her but shivered and leaned into her touch as she palmed him through his pants. “I can already feel you through these,” she marveled. 

She had only been a virgin before he had gotten his hands on her, but with what little experience she had with him she used to the best of her ability. She wasn’t confident as she began to reach for his slacks. She gripped the hem of his pants and slipped them down the smooth curves of his waist until they wrapped around his slim thighs. His cock sprang forward instantly, half hard but not nearly at full mast. “You were already excited, huh?” She swallowed, wrapping her hand around the thick base and giving him a firm pump. “But we gotta get you ready before we can do anything.” She could feel him becoming bigger in her palm. Johnny gave a hiss, feeling her thumb roll over the weeping head though she wore the same bashful, uncertain gaze as before. 

“Does this feel good?” She asked meekly, jacking him off until he was fully erect in her hand. “Yes,” he tilted his head back into the bale of hay, groaning low in his throat while he admired her in between his lame legs. She had definitely improved since the last time they were intimate, his eyes running from her curled fingers and traveling up her arm, until he focused on her plump pair of lips that pressed down into a fine line with focus. He admired her mouth briefly, watching her gentle expressions as she pleasured him with her hands. He wanted to feel her lips wrapped around his cock. He wondered if he was being selfish, wanting more than what she was giving him now, but he wanted to greedily have every bit of her now that he had her and her alone.

He called her name, making her turn her head up to meet his eyes, still wearing that sweet face of hers as her hand came to a standstill leaving himself twitching in her fingers. “Yes?” she asked, scooting forward on her knees. It took him a moment to build enough courage to open his mouth, his tongue feeling dry as he spoke “Could you use your mouth,” he asked, his voice more timid than before, “On me?” 

If she wasn’t pink before she was now, but oh how he loved the way she looked at him when her face was painted red with blush. She had only pleasured him with her tongue once before, and as inexperienced as she was Johnny remembered how he melted into her mouth. She gave a slow nod, falling into his lap as she bent over and pressed her lips against the head of his length. He was full in her hands, the tip of his cock angry and red, leaking with precum as she cautiously ran her tongue down the throbbing column of flesh. He chewed the inside of lip as she took him into her mouth, giving him an especially hard suck at the head, earning an appreciative groan from Johnny. 

She had already improved from last time. “That feels so good.” He breathlessly said her name as he encouraged her, sweeping the back of his knuckles against her bangs. She hummed against his length, running her tongue over the heavy underside, before bobbing her head down and gagging as the head bumped against the back of her throat. Johnny was a good six inches, but lord was his cock fat. It was enough to fit him in her mouth until her lips were kissing the base of his waist with just the head scraping the back of her throat, but the girth made her tongue flatten against her jaw. She felt him throb, pulling her head up before going back down, coating him with her spit. 

It was sloppy, and inexperienced, but to Johnny it was enough to make him swoon. 

“That’s good, just like that, just like that.” He didn’t care that it was messy, he wanted whatever she gave him. She was learning as she went, bobbing her head and pumping his base all in an effort to please him. Yet he had to remember that time was short, and they had little of it to waste. He caressed her cheek and gently lifted her head off of him, his hard cock falling from her mouth with an especially wet pop. “We still have to get you ready,” He told her, brushing his thumb against her puffy bottom lip before sinking it into her mouth and pressing the pad of his finger against her tongue. “Otherwise it’ll hurt,” and he didn’t want her to bleed like she did when he broke her around his cock. She gave a nod, closing her lips around his thumb, making him shudder as he reached down with his free arm and unbuckled the loops of her belt, her chaps falling off of her hips and puddling around her knees. She sat beside him, giving him easier access as they both leaned their bodies against the hay bale. She kicked her boots off, the pair of shoes landing just a few feet away from them as he worked with the rest of her clothes. He grew annoyed with the pesky layers of her clothing, now having to remove her jeans once her rancher’s chaps were out of the way. She wriggled, kicking her legs out until the pairs of pants she wore joined her boots in a heap. 

He took a second to appreciate her now bare legs, running his palm down her smooth thighs and admiring any imperfections he found in her skin. He traced his fingers against the raised bumps of scratches from the wilderness or cuts from previous fights. Her chemise shorts were the only thing hugging her hips, blocking Johnny from the prize between her thighs, but it too joined their growing heap. He untied her wild rag around her throat, letting it fall to the ground before he quickly worked at the buttons of her blouse, splitting open the fabric all the way down until it opened wide around her chest. Her breasts fell free, not being held by anything else but her shirt prior to Johnny stripping her. He kept the sleeves clinging to her shoulders, the only thing on her back being her open button-down. He tipped her cap back until the hat landed on the hay covered floor, leaving her open and vulnerable beside him. He felt breathless every time he saw her like this, but his greedy hands already began to grab handfuls of her tender flesh, making her hum appreciatively and sigh in bliss as he explored her open body that was reserved for him alone.

“Spread your legs,” he told her, using his upper body strength to switch their positions so that she was pressed back against the bale with him in between her thighs. She looked flustered, with her sweat pebbled skin glistening in the sunlight that poured from the open slots in the roof, but god she was a sight for sore eyes. She glanced back cautiously, peeking over the hay to the still closed barn doors, checking for Gyro as Johnny began to grope the flushed mound of her cunt. Johnny furrowed her brows, he didn’t like that her eyes were anywhere else but him. He responded to this by tugging her down until she was on her back, making her gasp as he delivered an especially sharp bite to her inner thigh. She yelped, her legs twitching while Johnny gave her a pout in between her legs.

 “Look at me,” he muttered, using his thumb to pull her plump labia lips open, making her whimper as he turned his eyes down to her already slick core. He traced two fingers up her wet cunt, eyes narrowing as he gathered her slick “Damn, what made you this wet?” he asked her, rolling the hard button of her clit against his thumb. “Don’t tell me you got this excited while sucking me off,” He teased her, expressing slight vulgarity and making her hide her face in the crook of her arm with a whimper as he continued to toy with the pearl of her clit in gentle circles. He would give an especially hard rub every now and then to get her to buck her hips up into his hand when he wanted to see her squirm. He greedily took in the sight of her as she writhed with his hand pressed against her core. 

He leaned down, mouthing her thick lower lips before tracing his tongue over her puffy clit and making her hips jump. Rusty as Johnny was, he remembered what a lady might’ve liked once, giving her clit an especially hard suck as he slipped two fingers into her tight opening. She moaned into her sleeves, her twitching legs nearly closing on Johnny’s head if not for his free arm gripping one down to the floor. Though he knew he should be rushing he took his time opening her up on his fingers to prepare her, not wanting to repeat any past mistakes and being mindful of her lack of experience. 

As he scissored her open with his index and middle finger she was so soaked he briefly wondered if she even needed him to prepare her anymore, his two digits becoming drenched in her slick. He curled his fingers, searching for that tender spot at the roof of her walls until he bumped against it. She cried into her elbow, her tight walls pulsing around his digits. He relentlessly attacked that spot, with his index and middle finger working her from the inside while his thumb continued to torture her clit. As long as he got his hands on her, he was happy, and if he had the time he’d torture her until she came on his hand. He pulled off her clit with a wet pop, giving her a few tentative licks as she whined when he stopped altogether. He slipped his fingers from her wet core, rubbing her slick off on his cock. “Sorry,” He apologized, giving her an apologetic kiss above her navel for stopping so suddenly, “But you know it makes it easier.”

She gave a nod as she sat up, her thighs still trembling with the pleasant burn between them. She admired him with blown pupils and a smile on her lips, Johnny lifting himself off of the ground and out from the middle of her legs. “Come here,” Johnny said, dragging himself back against the bale of hay while sitting upright, before gingerly grabbing her wrist and tugging her forward. “I want you over me, like before.” She scooted over on her knees and swung one leg over his waist until she had each thigh on either side of his hips. She surmounted him, feeling his cock bump against her bare pussy as she sat on his lap. Johnny twirled a lock of her hair in between forefingers as she was perched on top of him. He continued to idly stroke her sensitive clit while she reached in between their bodies, gripping the base of his hard length and positioning him up until the head bumped against her wet opening. 

She seemed too eager to take him, to care for him like she knew he wanted. She cupped his cheek with her free hand, lifting his head up before taking his lips into a kiss. 

He welcomed the feeling with fervor, kissing her in return and scraping his teeth against her bottom lip. She sank down on his shaft with one smooth stroke of her hips, moaning into his mouth. She pulled off of his lips and separated their kiss with a huff, shifting on top him with the building pressure of being so full settling into her stomach. “I’m still not used to this, so tell me if I’m doing something wrong, alright?” She sweetly asked, Johnny giving her a nod before resting his cheek in the palm of her hand. She shifted back onto her haunches, using her thighs to lift her hips up and bring them down onto his lap with a whimper. The crown of his prick penetrated her, the wide head halting her in place as she huffed. Though Johnny had taken his time to make sure she was fairly prepared, even with their time restraints, he obviously had more girth below the belt than his fingers or tongue. He reassured her, fingers drawing gentle circles in her waist as she sank the rest of the way down until her soaking wet cunt swallowed him down from tip to base. She groaned, feeling full and heavy with him nestled deep inside of her. 

Johnny knew he’s had sex countless times before, but never this intimate, with love in step. Flings and trysts could never amount to the feeling of someone caring for you in bed, and Johnny realized he had never made love to someone before the girl happily sitting on his lap. Everything she did was in devotion to him, and it made him more eager than before. He sighed as her wet heat swallowed him whole, falling back into the bale of hay while she gripped his shoulders for leverage, using him for stability as she raised her hips only to let them fall back down on his lap. Bouncing down on his cock. 

“Does this feel okay?” She whimpered through a moan, rocking her body down as Johnny groaned a low, “Yes.” He only wished she didn’t have to deal with most of the work, if he had half the mobility he had in his prime he would throw her down on the barn floor and show her how badly he wanted her. He could only do with what little he had, such as saddling his hands on her waist and bringing her down to meet his hips. She writhed on top of him, letting him lift her up and down at his own pace. He chose a much rougher pace than hers, but she took it with little protest. She moaned and fell into him, wrapping her arms around his body and hugging him tight into her chest while he used all of his upper body strength to fuck her down onto his cock. Splitting her wide open on his shaft and having her take the shape of him. 

A gnawing, tingling feeling began to pool in her lower waist followed by the feeling of being perfectly full, her already hot skin burning even more so now. The occasional sharp gasp and moan fell from Johnny’s parted lips, mouth open as he gasped for air. The heat from the sun and her body burned his skin and overwhelmed him until he felt dizzy, but he kept his eyes trained on her bouncing body, her hips bobbing up and down while she rutted against him. He moaned her name in her ear, earning a breathless cry of his own in turn. “Johnny,” she stuttered, tossing her head back with an especially sharp inhale as the crying tip of his dick bumped against somewhere deep inside of her that made shocks run through her stomach. Johnny relentlessly targeted that spot, knowing he had found her sweetness.

Her nerves were on fire, fried from their previous foreplay, and Johnny did not let up as his thumb found the hard peak of her clit once more and stroked it in circles. She cried into his shoulder, moaning while getting a mouthful of fabric from his shirt. “Damn,” Johnny murmured, “I’m real close.” he whispered against the shell of her ear as she fell into him. Her bare skin practically melted into his clothes as her skin became tacky with sweat. “Me too,” She mewled, beginning to match Johnny’s pace as she began to ride him with further vigor. 

Johnny moaned with a sigh of fulfillment, feeding off of her excitement and titillation as he sunk his nails into her sides, leaving small crescent shaped craters in her once smooth skin. He leaned forward and scraped his teeth against the ridge of her collarbone, leaving heavy and wet kisses up and down her chest to her throat. Johnny was typically quiet during their love making, but he found himself chanting her name in small whispers that barely reached her ears. 

“Please,” He begged, falling apart in her arms. “Please, almost there. Please.” he babbled and nuzzled his head just above her breast, while he attacked her clit with newfound intensity. Rolling the hard button in circles and making her mouth fall open with a sharp inhale. He felt her squeeze down on his shaft, practically suffocating his cock in her tight heat. “Johnny, if you keep doing that I’m gonna-” She raked her nails down his back, his skin barely protected by the fabric of his hood. Her expression fell into a silent scream while she tossed her head back, arching her chest forward as she trembled with her orgasm. Her climax came swiftly, and he relented his hold on her now sore clit, but Johnny continued to pump her down on his hard length as she rode through her high. She babbled something akin to gratitude, thanking Johnny for making her feel so good, but he could hardly hear her from the blood rushing to his ears. She curled over him, pressing her cheek atop of his head and cradling his cheek, “I love you,” she moaned so tenderly that it made his heart leap into his throat.

It was enough for him to reach that peak and fall right over the edge, giving her a final hard pump and settling her on his hips as he came. He gasped, shoving his face in the crook of her neck while silencing himself with the skin of her throat. He wrapped his arms around her midriff and fully embraced her as he filled her to the brim with himself. His cum flooding her tight channel while they sat on the hayloft floor, a pair of young lovers with their legs tied up in knots. He didn’t think about the consequences of not pulling out, for now he was riding that high and soaking in her warmth until it became unbearable. He was suffocating in heat, evident by his blistering red face and sweat pebbling on his brow, but he didn’t dare move. 

Instead he clutched her, closing his eyes and pressing his lips into a fine line as he held her in place, effectively plugging her with his spunk as he remained fully seated inside her. Slowly the dizzying high fell and he was once again grounded, but he held still as she panted on top of him with her head bowed. He only sat in silence as the two of them caught their breath. He rested his cheek against her chest and turned his eyes up at her, admiring her as she basked in the afterglow of their end. 

“You feel better now?” she asked in that reposeful voice of hers, Johnny only grunting in response and nodding against her collar. She kissed the top of his head, smiling against his star spangled beanie. He reluctantly pried himself off of her, practically peeling himself off her body. She was a frazzled mess with the look of sex on her skin, he lifted her thigh and raised her up and off of his softening cock, watching as his length fell from her well-used cunt with a slick sound. He shivered, eyes falling on a trail of his cum running from her sore pussy and down her inner thigh. She whimpered at the loss of contact, the soreness quickly settling in between her hips. Riding horseback by tomorrow morning would be hell, but she could care less, evident by the bright smile she wore as she peppered Johnny’s hot face with kisses.

“We should get dressed.” She relented with a sigh, “Well, I should get dressed.” she corrected herself, knowing all Johnny had to do was tuck himself back into his pants while she was left mostly bare save for the shirt clinging to her shoulders. Johnny nodded though absentmindedly, instead favoring to hold her hand and fall in silence. He hummed, with one hand holding hers and the tracing stars and marks on her navel, he expected her to crawl off of him and get right to changing, but he should have known better as she soon leaned down and pursed her lips for another kiss. “One more?” she cooed, and he relented, succumbing to her affection and giving her a chaste peck on the lips.

That was when they heard the telltale sounds of Gyro grousing about outside. He called their names in a sharp tone, “Where are you two?” he called out, followed by his approaching footsteps. They both fell silent, heads turning towards the barn doors in panic as they could hear the jingling of Gyro’s spurs coming closer. “Shit, Gyro’s coming.” Johnny hissed beneath his breath, turning back to her and realizing she would have no time to fix herself and act as if nothing had happened. He should have stuck to just stripping her pants down. She bit her bottom lip anxiously, “Get down, behind the bale.” She whispered hastily, gripping his shoulders and pushing him down with Johnny assisting until he sank down to the point his head was hidden by hay. “You two in here?” Gyro called again, voice raising in pitch. 

She snatched her hat off the floor and tossed it back on, trying to put on as many layers as she could but realized it was pointless. Instead she favored to use the bale of hay to their advantage as she fixed her shirt, hastily and sloppily buttoning her blouse up until her cleavage was halfway hidden save for the skin that was exposed by her open collar. With The position of the hay Johnny was mostly hidden behind it, the face of the bale in front of the barn doors. She pressed her two arms down on the bale and covered Johnny’s body with her own, while he tried to sink into the floor but his head was crammed between her bust and the bale. They both fell silent with bated breath just as Gyro pushed open the heavy barn doors with his shoulder.

The tall blonde stood at the open mouth of the loft with a hand on his hip and the other resting on the wood egress, his eyes falling on the stacks of hay and noticing her sitting just behind one. He could barely see her head peeking over it. “The hell are you doing?” he asked, quirking a brow. An inquisitive frown settling on his lips. She offered an especially stiff smile to the italian, “I was changing.” she fibbed through her teeth, he took a step forward and she frantically stopped him, “Hold on, I’m not done!” she exclaimed. “I’m not decent.” She knew if he came closer he might see over the edge of the bale and see just what and who she was sitting on. 

Gyro froze, and took two steps back, much to her relief. “Sorry.” he apologized, glancing away from her now that he knew she was indecent. She swallowed the sigh of relief that was bubbling inside of her throat.

He looked around the loft, eyes searching around each wooden post. “Where’s Johnny?” he asked then, “He isn’t outside, Slow Dancer is still tethered to her post, and it’s not like he can just walk off.”  Johnny frowned against her stomached at that. “Oh, I don’t know.” She waved her hand, struggling to play it off as she sank down on Johnny to keep him down and hidden. Her hips straddling his stomach while he discreetly reached down and gripped the hem of his pants, lifting his slacks back up and over his waist without making a sound. On the off chance Gyro did come closer he didn’t want to be so exposed with his cum stained cock hanging out. “Maybe he just went out to the field to use the restroom?” she offered, trying to divert Gyro’s attention anywhere but the hayloft. “Could’ve just wandered out while I was sweeping.”

Gyro was silent, brows furrowed and lips pressed in a tight line before he shrugged. “I see.” He said, “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” He turned to his side, making relief flood into Johnny’s chest as he could hear his retreating footsteps. “I brought firewood, so when you’re done getting dressed you can help start up the fire.” His spurs jingled with every step he made. “You got it.” She said, and Johnny could practically feel her heart pounding in her chest as Gyro made his leave. He stood in the open doorway, pausing just for a second to turn back and look at her with a smirk on his green lips. “Oh, and Johnny?” he called out, making him become tenser than a wire underneath her. “When you get out from under her make sure to clean up.” Gyro said in a smug tone, “We’re supposed to be sleeping here, after all.” He closed the barn doors behind him and left the two in total mortified silence.

“God dammit.” Johnny groaned against her stomach.

[melodyalanaroster]

To answer some Fanfic Questions...

So, this is my response to @broxklynn‘s post... I decided to make this its own post... So that It can be properly answered.

1. How and why did you start to write? Is there some kind of story behind it?

I started writing in general when I was in elementary school... Back when I just had a Platform 9 3/4 journal, not many friends, recess, and a desire to immerse myself in the world of Harry Potter. I enjoyed writing, and even joined the Writer’s Club in High School (but I eventually left to join Anime Club and Divergent Thinking Society). As for writing MCL fanfiction, I began writing Sam’s and Alana’s stories as early as when I first got into the fandom, back in 2013. Alana’s story started out as “A Fresh Start”, had a one shot called “When I Wake”, then turned into “Let The Dawn Be Broken”, and is now “The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster”. The final product barely has any hints of the first 3... In fact, Sam’s story, “Fighting Darkness”, has been completely debunked due to what I’ve decided to canonize in “The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster”. Writing MCL fanfiction has been a major help in distracting me from the depression that was caused by family issues, severe abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, my mom’s disease and her death, as well as working at several shitty jobs. Writing has helped me escape reality and keep myself sane enough to not be a black hole of hate, anger, and sadness to my friends and boyfriend.

2. What do you struggle the most with your writing?

There are 2 major things I struggle with... 1 is Timing. I often set deadlines for myself that I never meet and it makes me so frustrated that I miss them... There are currently things in my drafts that were meant to be “Holiday Specials” for Valentine’s Day and Halloween 2020 that are still unfinished... It makes me feel like I’m letting my readers down, when its more of me letting myself down... The other thing is Inspiration. Because I hate my job, I often think about Alana’s story in an effort to not be completely consumed by the fact that I do hate my work... Due to that, I often come up with ideas for my story that I think are FANTASTIC for my story... But, by the time I get home, I’m either in too much pain or too tired to write, or I’ve forgotten the ideas...

3. What is your favorite genre to write?

I love writing Romance with a bit of Slice of Life and a hint of Action/Adventure... 

4. Slowburn or “Flame”/PWP?

Slow burn any day.

5. How do you overcome writer’s block?

If I absolutely can’t write... I work on other stuff I need to do... Typically, something around the house, or something online I need to do... I also look for cool stuff to add to wish lists... I’ll occasionally play videogames or read comic books... In an effort to subvert writer’s block, I like having multiple chapters in my drafts at once. If I’m not in the mood to work on one chapter, I can work on a different one.

6. What kind of thing you dislike the most, when reading a fanfiction? (for example: particular plot, grammar mistakes)

One thing that makes me upset (and it makes me madder when I do this) is misspelling... Especially when it looks like its almost blatant... You have autocorrect, USE IT! Or when a fanfic is so awful, yet the author acts like their work is a gift from god... I don’t mind a “bad” fanfiction... Hell, the concept of “My Immortal” is so bad that its hilarious... But Fifty Shades did a lot of damage and E.L. James acts like she’s bigger than Jesus... Seriously, she wrote Twilight fanfiction, changed some minor details and names, people who have no knowledge of BDSM ate it up, and she acts like she’s a “Sex and Relationship Guru”...

7. What’s the biggest issue for you, when writing a Beemoov fanfiction?

The biggest issue for me is finding out when to allow for Beemoov’s writing and placement to take place in my story. I don’t like a lot of the events of UL and LL, so I’m often finding myself in a position where I have to watch video playthroughs and go “Okay, how can I omit this character, but keep this scene?”. I’ve had to do that A LOT with Alexy and Rosalaya.... Although, to a certain extent, I’ll often cut their scenes out altogether. I really hate what Beemoov did to them. They were great characters in HSL, but became utter shit in UL and stayed shit in LL. To make up for Beemoov’s writing style, I’ve created my own characters, added in old characters (like Kentin and Armin), added in bits from the manga (like Viktor, Severina and their fathers), and gone off on my own storyline. The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster is close to MCL at times, but often veers off onto its own road.

8. Have you ever created a character based on person in real life? (celebrity, someone that you know, etc)

YES!!! A LOT of characters in my story are based on real people! Alana’s step-father, Nate Films, is closely based on Nathan Fillion. A lot of her family members are based on members of my own family, just changed a bit to fit the story. Lynne Roster, Alana’s mom, is what I had always dreamed my own mom would be... Hell, Alana’s cat, Sylvester, is based on my own childhood cat, Luna.

9. How do you feel about your own characters? Do you think of them as your babies or have rather love-hate relationship with them? (And, do you have favorite one?)

I love most of my characters. I do hate 3 in particular... But, you’re supposed to hate, or at least not respect, them... That’s why I poured my hatred into them... Those 3 are Carol, Kai and Azrael. Carol has aspects of my abuser in her. You’ll see more of her when I finally post the HSL related chapters... And understand what I mean... Kai is based on one of my real life cousins that I’ve not been happy with for years (the one who my bf has deemed “the family failure”). You mainly see him in the Cousin Mels chapters, and in the Christmas Special... Azrael is the one who is seen the most in the UL chapters, and she is a main adversary for Alana. She is the one who broke her the most, the one who ended Alana’s relationship with Nathaniel, the one who truly traumatized her. As for ones I love... The one I love the most is Alana... I know, she’s a reflection of me, so that’s kind of vain... But, she’s a part of me. When I do finish her story and am at the point where I need to say “Goodbye”, it will hurt....

10. Enemies-to-lovers or friends/bestfriends-to lovers?

Definitely friends/best friends to lovers. I also like toying with what happens when best friends turn to lovers, but circumstance parts them and one moves on...

11. Is it easy for you to get inside your character’s head? Can you empathize with them? Is there’s some similarities between you and your main character?

It is VERY easy for me to get into Alana’s head... Like I said in #9, she is a reflection of me. She looks and acts like how I’d like to in a lot of situations... Her life is more interesting, traumatized, and more well off than mine... But, she is still me in major ways...

12. Who has been the biggest supporter of your writing?

Definitely my boyfriend. He doesn’t really understand the game itself... But, he likes how happy it makes me and he respects how much of my heart, soul, blood, sweat and tears that I’ve poured into writing my story. He loves listening to me read passages from it to him while I’m working. He gives me advice and his opinion is highly valued... My family knows I’m writing a large story, and have seen some of the images that I’ve gotten commissioned, but they don’t really know or care about the game. They do respect the fact that I am writing. They love the fact that I’m slightly following in my mom’s footsteps in that regard (she wrote 3 books and several poems). My online friends have been very supportive as well! I’m constantly updating them on what I’ve worked on each day in my Discord Server and the words of encouragement always help.

13. How do you handle criticism?

Not well. Due to the abuse and family issues mentioned in #1, for a good amount of my life, I’ve gotten nothing but harsh criticism... So, now that I’m away from all that, at 26 years old, I’m just now getting to a point where I’m starting to take it better... But, I’ve got a long way to go.

14. Do you like giving your characters trauma? Why/why not?

I hate sounding like a sadist... But, I’m going to anyway, so fuck it... Yes. I have done awful things to Alana over the years. In A Fresh Start, she got sexually assaulted and ostracized. In When I Wake, she gets into a car crash, put into a coma, and in her dream state murdered by Francis in front of Nathaniel. In Let The Dawn Be Broken, the plan was for her to end a war. In “The Melancholy of Melody Alana Roster”, her childhood cat dies, her mom gets sick, she gets abused by Carol, her best friends get ripped away from her for a bit, she gets sent to a country halfway around the world alone, she gets assaulted and ultimately turned into a weapon of mass destruction.... I’ve even thought of killing her mom off at one point... But decided against it...

Now, granted, A Fresh Start and Let The Dawn Be Broken never saw completion, but happy endings were planned for them...

I do this, all while giving Alana happy endings in each story because “If Alana can go through utter hell and make it through, then so can I.”... I know, I’m “god” in that regard and I can control how Alana’s life is.... But, the fact that in my writing, she ends up standing tall, happy, with everything she wants, after everything she goes through does make me feel better.... 

15. Are you proud of yourself? When you look at first piece you wrote and compare it to the latest one?

Yes. If you look at A Fresh Start, you can tell it was written by someone fresh out of High School. There’s no real depth to it. Let The Dawn Be Broken isn’t much better... But, The Melancholy of Melody Alana Roster has become my magnum opus. It is the largest piece I have EVER written, and will probably remain the largest piece I write. I am very proud of what I have created... And when its last word is written, and I am ready to get it made for it’s place on my shelf, I will feel very bittersweet about it... That being said, my original plan for a sequel involving Nathaniel’s and Alana’s daughter, Aurora, has been discarded. I don’t believe Aurora could ever have as much of my heart that her parents do...

And there you have it! Some insight into my world, writing, and history!

[chestnuttoast]

Mint Coffee

2.2k words

horror, crime, gore

I never used to be wary of striking up a conversation with someone while standing in the queue at the coffee shop I frequented everyday. Now, though, I think twice. I keep to myself and keep my head down; take my coffee and leave.

There is - as you might expect - a story behind this change. And I intend to tell it. However, I must warn you that this is not one for the faint of heart, and certainly not for the squeamish. That being said, if you wish to hear it then I will continue.

My order was always the same. Iced americano with a shot of mint syrup. An odd order, I know. But once you've tried it you might find you enjoy it. This is an irrelevant detail but while I'm here I might as well recommend my favourite drink to you.

Anyway, I stand in the queue from just before eight o'clock every morning and wait for around fifteen minutes before I get served. I am a creature of habit, and so this suits me just fine.

All of the workers know me by now and will make my drink upon seeing me, along with a cheery greeting and the generic small talk as they get on with their jobs. Usually, I would pass the time by chatting with those around me. Naturally, there would sometimes be those who don't want to chat. I don't force them, and so on those days I stand and mind my own business. This particular day though, the gentleman behind me was more than happy to join me in conversation and we immediately got along well. We just clicked, as people sometimes do.

Before long, I would see him everyday in the coffee shop and we would chat. He had just moved to the city and was grateful to have met me. Said I made him a little less lonely on his morning commute. We gradually became good friends and would meet for drinks after work as well. when we were together a conversation never went dry and so we would spend long hours talking and drinking. Those days were a wonderful respite from the stresses of everyday routine and work.

He was a slight gentleman, no more than his mid-thirties. He wore thick-framed glasses and I never saw him go to work not wearing a long trench coat. I never asked him about it. I just assumed this was one of his habits.

One day, he called me and said he wanted to meet me. It sounded like he just wanted to meet up for drinks as usual and so I readily agreed.

"There's a new bar that's just opened across town." he told me over the phone, "I've looked into it and I think it seems like somewhere perfect for us. It's aimed at those our age, rather than youngsters that just want to go out and get drunk out of their minds." he said with a tentative, dry laugh.

I agreed to meet him after he told me a bit more, and he said we would meet at the train station. When I got there, he was wearing his usual trench coat and we talked for a few minutes while waiting for the train to come. It didn't take long, and we stepped into the first carriage as soon as it arrived.

As it was the subway, it was pretty busy and there was nowhere for us to sit down. "Never mind." I told him. I could use all the exercise I could get if I was to be truthful.

My friend, on the other hand, seemed dissatisfied and walked over to one of the people sat on the seats opposite the door we had stepped into the train through. I assumed he was going to ask if there was any chance they would move. Not something I would have done personally, but I didn't interfere.

Once he was in front of the young man who was sat down, my friend just stopped. I was confused.

Moments later, the young man slumped forwards and my friend stepped to the side to allow him to fall face first onto his side. It took a second for everyone to process what happened. In the time that it took to process these events, the young man on the floor was slowly becoming surrounded by a dark red fluid that we all knew must be his own blood. I suppose none of us wanted to think too deeply about it, though.

I looked to my friend in horror. He must have known I was looking at him, because he turned around and flashed a smile so innocent you would not believe what he had just done if you had not been there.

He had moved faster than any of us in that train carriage had been able to see. Someone rolled the young man on the floor over and there was an obvious gash on his neck. His skin looked so delicate and the wound was so fresh it seemed the slightest movement would tear it further open, letting us see his throat.

By the time anyone had thought to take a look, his heart had long stopped beating and so the blood wasn't being pushed out of his body anymore. There was nothing we could do. This train was moving, and the man standing in the centre of the carriage was highly dangerous and capable. The poor young man was left to lie in that pool of his own blood.

"Take a seat." my friend said to me, still smiling.

Coming to my senses, I realised what he was saying to me. I pretended nothing had happened and politely told him that it was okay; he could have it.

At this his smile faltered and I was struck with a note of fear. There wasn't anything particularly menacing about the change in his expression, but instinct told me it was better to listen to what he was telling me.

"Then, I have to thank you." I said, politely again, as I stepped forward and sat in that seat the young man had previously occupied.

Once I was sitting, I wasn't quite sure what to do. My friend didn't speak to me further but something about him had changed. When he turned around, he brought a blade out of his pocket - this time slow enough that we could see, but still not slow enough to stand a chance of dodging - and drew a diagonal line along the torso of the gentleman that had been leaning against the opposite door when we got on the train, but had now come over to attempt to help.

From the way his shirt slowly coloured, the cut started just above his left hip and went all the way up to the right side of his chest. He looked down at himself lost and unsure what to do. As if he had lagged, he belatedly bent over and clutched his abdomen as if the try and keep the blood from pouring out of him.

Like the young man before - only slower - this gentleman was becoming surrounded by a pool of dark red. If it had been paint, I would have said the colour was beautifully stunning. Here, though, it was a horrific reminder of our fragile mortality and how precariously it sat in this man's hands.

"Hey what was that for?!" I shouted. That man hadn't even been in a seat. "He was just standing!"

My friend turned to face me and walked to stand in front of me. He bent down to look me in the eye, but didn't do anything else. It was odd, I was confused, but I didn't have time to be.

When my friend turned around he saw a woman kneeling beside the man who was bleeding. A moment later, dark red poured from her neck and she slumped forwards. His superhuman speed was impossible to defend against. She was stable on her knees, so when she fell she ended up just with her head on her knees, head rolled slightly to the side exposing the wound on her neck.

A violent urge to vomit rose up in me but I held back.

While this was happening, those who had shared a section with us had been trying to quietly back away or hide. I think there may have been people screaming, but I was so bewildered and out of it at this point that I could not say for sure.

After a few moments I came back to myself and looked around me. The carriage floor was now completely dark red. Very few spots remained the colour they had been when we boarded.

This train was one of the ones that didn't have distinct carriages although from the exterior it looked sectioned. From the interior it was just a long metal tube we all shared for the time being. By now, the rest of the people on the train had seen what was happening and were retreating to the other end of the train.

People stumbled over each other and I watched as a young child got pushed and trampled in the chaos. I could not watch. I was a coward. I turned around to pretend to look out of the windows, but nothing could prevent the screams from reaching my ears. Trying to block them out was useless, I was too aware of them now.

At one point I heard my friend speak. "Give it to me." he demanded. I turned to look and saw a mother with a young baby who had fallen and was too frightened to get back up. She had slipped on some blood on the floor and the lower half of her body was already covered. Unable to speak, she sobbed and clutched the baby in her arms closer to her chest, trying to protect it. But my friend crouched down in front of her and said something too quietly for me to hear. By the time he was done speaking, he was out of patience. Using that superhuman speed of his, he disposed of the mother and took the baby in his arms.

I could only imagine the plans he had for the tiny thing. A part of me wanted to believe he just couldn't bear to hurt it, but my gut told me that was far from the truth.

Despite now cradling a baby, he did not slow down. Once all the passengers reached the end of the train, they were trapped. He had all the targets he could get his hands on.

From where I was sitting I couldn't properly see what he did. The screams were louder for a short while, but very quickly died down. I only know that when we reached the next station, only me and him were left alive.

He never walked back up the train, mind you. Just stayed down there with the carnage he created. Before the doors opened, he looked back at me and winked.

When the doors opened I heard those on the platform scream. The train was in an awful state. Nothing could have prepared those poor souls for this. And I was in the worst position anyone could possibly imagine. Of course, everyone thought I did it.

Not one of them, though, seemed to notice the man cradling a baby that stepped off the train to reveal the pile of bodies he had left behind. It was as though he had not existed.

I had blacked out by the time anyone noticed me, and I woke up very confused and scared inside a cell.

I'd rather not speak about the next few months that passed, but they were hell. Eventually they had to let me go. It became clear that this was not my doing. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. However they could not say who did. There was a weapon left behind but the fingerprints on it barely resembled that of a human and were untraceable.

There was a blurry CCTV video of the doors of the train that showed my friend stepping out. No one on the platform noticed him though. When he got to the stairs he went out of view and seemingly vanished. Who or what he was, I may never know.

I did eventually find out through both the news and my own interrogation that at the other end of the carriage, the man had used what seemed to be a sort of whip made from something like barbed wire. Only, each barb was much larger than usual and much sharper. This was a home made weapon and extremely deadly. It could eviscerate a person in the span of a breath.

To this day I have no idea who that man really was, what provoked him or where he went, but I'm the one forced to live with the consequences. Some days I feel it would have been kinder for him to take me too.

That is why now, when I get my coffee every morning, I walk in, grab my drink and leave. I speak to no one other than the cashiers and the workers.

You just never know who you might run into.

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Attached - Sean Asa (3)

Pairing: Sean Asa x Reader

Characters: Sean Asa

Warnings: N/A

Request: Anon: “Dang count me in too. Could I get a Sean Asa x fem!reader? Angst that turns to fluff like they've been friends, but he's been ignoring her because of Emily but after his breakup with her he turns to reader for comfort, but they argue because she's tired of being his 2nd choice and realises his true feelings. After the last mob he asks her to dance the duet with her as an apology and confesses his feelings when they finish. They kiss? Sorry it's specific but I love him, and you write better than me”

Word Count: 769

Author: Hannah

When you had gotten to the docks your heart almost burst at the turnout that the Mob had gotten – they deserved every single person that was there.

They had worked their arses off for so long and they had all worked so hard that they deserved so so much more than what they were getting.

You hadn’t thought of how weird it was going to be to see Sean again, even though he was unlikely to know it was you, but whilst it hurt slightly to see him in the flesh you were mostly happy to see him doing something he loved.

When the mob ended you turned to leave but you turned around at the sound of your name.

As you turned you saw Sean standing up on the platform with the microphone in his hand as he looked straight at you.

“Please Y/N,” he spoke whilst staring into your eyes. “Please come up here.”

You looked around and saw everyone’s eyes drawn on you, quite awkward really, but then your eyes landed on Eddy who gave you a soft smile and a little thumbs up.

As you returned the smile you took a deep breath and started to walk over to the platform.

Sean’s shoulders sagged in relief when he realised you were actually walking towards him; he watched you drop your things at the steps before you walked up to join him.

The realisation he had when he looked into your eyes may have been too little too late, but he still wanted to try.

He fit the microphone back into the stand before holding his hand out to you. Cautiously you placed your hand in his and a familiar track began to play in the background.

It was the track for your dance, the duet the two of you had choreographed together but never performed and when Sean smiled at you you couldn’t help but smile back.

The two of you soon fell into the rhythm of the music and despite the duet having been choreographed over a year ago it was as if you’d performed it together over a hundred times.

It was so easy to lose yourself as you danced in general but dancing with Sean had always felt so natural, so easy that it felt like breathing.

As the two of you came to the end you felt like crying – it had been so long since you’d felt that close to Sean and you didn’t want to lose that.

Sean held you close as the music faded away and claps and cheers soon erupted all around. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered to you. “I am so sorry for everything.”

Just hearing an apology from him helped and you could tell how sincere he was.

“I was stupid, Eddy called me a dumb fuck and he was totally right,” he told you and Eddy’s phrasing caused you to giggle. “I was such a dumb fuck to not even realise what I’d lose if I ever left here, if I ever left you.”

His words confused you but also warmed your heart.

“It’s been me and you for years, it should always have been me and you,” he spoke with such emotion in his voice that you thought you were going to cry then and there. “If you’ll forgive this dumb fuck and work through my idiocy with me, I’d very much like to take you to dinner.”

You couldn’t quite believe what he’d just said to you, but you found yourself nodding anyway as a single tear slipped down your cheek. “Only if it’s at Ricky’s,” you joked with him.

He laughed and wiped away the tear, leaving his palm against your cheek whilst the pad of his thumb gently rubbed against the skin.

Sean kept his eyes locked with yours even though you were still surrounded by people – it was as if it was just you two up there, in your own little bubble.

Slowly Sean bent his head down to yours, keeping his hand on your cheek and you decided to meet him halfway by pressing your lips against his.

You felt him smile into the kiss as his other hand wound around your waist and pulled you flush against him meaning your hands wound around his waist, splaying out across his back.

When the two of you pulled away the smiles didn’t leave your faces. “Me and you?” he questioned trying to sound confident, but you could hear the slight nervousness in his voice.

You nodded, your smile growing and your hand gripping his shirt gently. “Me and you Asa.”

[mordoriscalling]

Homecoming

(A follow-up to my fic “Stay or Sail Away”, which is available on AO3 or here on tumblr). Jaskier sees Geralt for the first time after many months of Geralt's final deployment. It breaks his brain and dooms his heart. (Not that it isn't doomed anyway).

You can find this story on AO3 too.

The large crowd around them is full of noises: exclamations full of joy and relief, voices raised in excitement, loud calls of many names, hushed whispers and choked sobs. Small groups of people rejoice as they greet their loved ones returning from the long deployment while others still wait, their impatience almost buzzing in the air.

Jaskier stands amidst all the chaos, slightly dazed. He’s quite sure he has never witnessed such magnitude of sheer emotion ever before in his life, even during his own concerts. Motion, tears and happiness are everywhere around, mingling with smiles and embraces, which creates a certain feel that is just so deeply touching – it strikes the very core of it means to be human, Jaskier thinks as he tries to memorize it. Weren’t he distracted by other thoughts, he would write down the words in his head right away; the moment is more than worthy of a song.

He’s restless, anticipation and anxiety both twisting his gut. The wait drags on and on, torturously so, while the crew keeps disembarking. Rationally, Jaskier understands why this is taking so long – the ship (a destroyer, Ciri explained) is pretty damn big, so the crew is obviously large as well. However, reason is now more out of his reach than usual, which equals considerably far away, and he fidgets. Cirilla at his left isn’t still either, but her movements show only excitement. Yennefer at his right just stands in place, seemingly unaffected, her dazzling eyes observing the top of the platform steadily. Jaskier lets out a shaky breath, envying her the confidence a bit.

Ciri must’ve sensed his distress because she grins up at him and reassures, “Don’t worry, Jaskier, dad is coming. He just always deboards last.”

Jaskier nods with a bit of a forced smile but says nothing. Yen glances at him but appears to withhold a comment about his uncharacteristic silence. Normally he would boast that Geralt’s dearest witch of an ex-wife is growing soft on him but nervousness constricts his throat too much.

The problem is, the things he’s afraid of make little sense. He has evidence to disprove his fears, and lots of it; every video call with Geralt showed him as much. Throughout the goddamned eleven months of Geralt’s deployment, may they ever be cursed, the two of them always arranged a video call at least once a week. Jaskier was busy with a tour and Geralt had a lot of duties, but they both made an effort. The video calls quickly turned into a precious time that allowed them to get to know each other better – the few weeks of knowing each other in person before the deployment weren’t enough to keep their resolve alive – and Jaskier found himself falling in love so fast it was foolish even to himself. His silly heart was defenceless against Geralt’s caring nature, dry humour and sharp wit, though. He wrote Geralt a song only a month after his departure. Others quickly followed the first one. After he sent each recording to Geralt, the man would thank Jaskier so very earnestly during a video call. The “thank you, siren” murmured with those searing eyes looking at him had Jaskier fucking swooning every time. Geralt’s words fuelled Jaskier’s creativity even more and, at this point, he has enough songs for a whole album that should probably be titled “Lovesickness, Pining and Longing: Please Don’t Fall for A Sailor”.

And yet, for all their bonding over conversations, the growing repertoire of inner jokes and shared stories, the very satisfying and never-too frequent phone sex, the warmth in Geralt’s gaze and his reassurances with actual words that “I want this, Jaskier”, Jaskier still doubts. As he waits among the bustling crowd, awful what-ifs keep replaying in his head: what if Geralt has, in fact, changed his mind? What if Jaskier only dreamed the fondness? What if Geralt leaves him after he discovers all Jaskier’s flaws? What if –

“Dad!” Ciri shouts at the top of her lungs.

Jaskier winces at the deafening shriek (Cirilla has quite a set of lungs). When he looks up, he... oh.

There Geralt is, beautiful like a vision from Jaskier's dreams. He descends from the platform a step behind two other men, no one else following him. Geralt carries big bags in both his hands as if they weighed nothing, and Jaskier almost cries because of the sweet relief and heady joy of actually seeing him. Geralt isn’t wearing the ceremonial uniform that Jaskier knows from his Facebook profile picture. Instead, it’s the uniform for general duties. The black trousers and the navy jersey with shoulder pads hug his body beautifully. A white collar and a bit of a black tie peek out from under the pullover, and the white cap on his head looks criminally good on him. Jaskier knows that he's probably one of the most thirsty people on the planet but this, the sight of Geralt wearing all that, leaving a huge ship with a crew more than a hundred people strong that he commanded for almost a year, takes his libido to a whole another level.

There’s nothing like discovering you have a competence kink as you stand between a certain very competent person’s daughter and ex-wife, Jaskier thinks.

Since his brain is broken, Jaskier can only wait and stare, drinking in the sight of him. It soothes the powerful, throbbing ache in his heart after so many months without Geralt. Jaskier watches him reach the bottom of the platform, where he’s stopped by the two men walking before him. They salute him, then start clapping. Suddenly, all the members of the crew scattered in the crowd break into cheers and applause.

“Why are they clapping?” Jaskier asks, bemused.

“I think they’re thanking him for his service,” Yennefer replies as she claps too, a rare warm smile lighting up her face.

Jaskier and Ciri immediately join the cheering as loudly as they can (and they do make a lot of noise, considering that he's a singer and Cirilla has the ability her voice into a megaphone). Jaskier has to fight down a laugh as he applauds; from a short distance away that the platform is, he can see Geralt’s grumpy expression. It's so endearing because it's so Geralt - he isn't the type of man to be happy with this kind of recognition.

When the cheers finally die down, Geralt nods in thanks and a few moments later, his feet finally touch land. As if on cue, Cirilla darts off, making her way through the crowd with what seems to be practised ease. The people standing around him and Yen obscure the view but Jaskier can clearly imagine what’s happening: Ciri calling for her father until she sees him, him opening his arms for her, her rushing to his side, the two hugging tight.

It takes a few minutes for Ciri to bring Geralt to them. When the man appears, Jaskier’s does shed a tear this time. Eleven fucking months and Geralt is here finally, ending the nightmare of such a long wait. The endless, empty, hopeless days filled with longing and worry are over - Geralt is back for good. Jaskier wants to hold him and never let go again, but it’s Yennefer who gets to go to him first. She has every right to it, after all, as Ciri’s mother and Geralt’s former spouse. Yen strides towards Ciri and Geralt, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. The people around observe the commander with his family as the three talk with smiles on their faces.

Jaskier looks at them, too, and wonders, not for the first time, if he has any place in this beautiful family at all. Two gorgeous parents and a lovely teenage daughter – where would he fit?

(Now that he looks at Geralt and Yennefer, his raging bisexual soul wails in want and utter confusion over which one of them he finds hotter).

Then, Geralt’s sun-like eyes are on him, and all is silent. Time slows down as Jaskier sees Geralt walk up to him until they’re not even a foot apart. Jaskier doesn’t touch him even though he so wants to, too afraid he’ll find this is all a dream. He takes in all of Geralt's wrinkles, his slight stubble, the cleft oh his chin, and more tears escape. When Jaskier looks back into his eyes, Geralt's gaze is burning with so much emotion reflecting his own that all the air is knocked out of his lungs.

“Hey,” he greets Geralt breathlessly.

There’s a tiny, precious smile on Geralt’s lips, and his eyes crinkle at the corners in the way that Jaskier adores. “Hey, my siren,” he replies in a murmur.

At the nickname, warmth blooms in Jaskier’s chest and his tears start flowing freely. “I see you answered my call at last, sailor,” he teases, grinning and crying simultaneously like a mess he is.

Geralt huffs a little laugh, then reaches out and brushes his knuckles against Jaskier’s tear-stained cheek. Jaskier almost falls apart at the contact - it proves this is real. Quickly grabbing Geralt’s hand with both his own, he steadies it so that it keeps touching his face, grounding him. Geralt starts brushing his thumb over his skin and Jaskier has to close his eyes, overwhelmed, breathing in and out. So many words are at the tip of his tongue that he says nothing.

“Yes,” Geralt answers. The low, husky rumble of his voice reaches Jaskier’s ears, enveloping him like a warm blanket. “Now I’m home.”

[arcticdementor]

There were rumors in the summer of 2018 that an audiotape was circulating that would send shockwaves through the think tanks of Washington and the conservative intellectual movement in particular. A top Google executive had been recorded telling his fellow employees that Google generously donated to conservative think tanks and magazines to dampen criticism of their anti-conservative bias. In essence, Google was buying off Conservatism Inc. and the GOP establishment to stay silent while Google monitored, harassed, and excluded Trump supporters. If true, the tape sounded like a smoking gun: incontrovertible evidence of the corruption and double-dealing of Conservatism Inc. that would permanently discredit it with Republican voters.

…

My hope was that it would shake the Wall Street Journal out of its lethargy: either publish the contents of the tape or let someone else use it. It would also sow panic among the guilty — who would want to get out ahead of the story in order to spin it. So it was not surprising that one of the first people to attack my story was Jonah Goldberg, one of the chief editors of the National Review. (It's important to note that my tweet had not named his magazine as one of the guilty parties.) Goldberg was dismissive of my reporting on Twitter: "LOL. Love the idea you have sources."

Jonah Goldberg had, once again, given himself up at the first sign of shooting.

…

So I had basically caught the editors of the National Review in bald-faced lies about taking money from Big Tech companies like Google to remain silent while those same Big Tech companies censored and de-platformed other conservatives. This was, of course, an unconscionable betrayal for The Flagship Conservative Magazine to commit against its own readers — but they did it anyway. Meanwhile, I was hearing from sources close to the National Review Board that the loss of donors and subscribers was so serious that drastic action would need to be taken. (The magazine had lost about half of its subscriber base in less than two years.) The board was also adamant that Jonah Goldberg and David French were the main culprits behind the astonishing collapse of the magazine's influence, and that they needed to go. Everybody wanted them off the masthead in order to survive.

A month later, Hayes and Goldberg announced the launch of their nameless magazine with no investors by sending out tweets on their personal accounts that people could get "more info" by emailing them at HayesGoldberg2019@gmail.com. A few weeks later, they were soliciting strangers to give them $1,500 a year to get a newsletter.

In February 2019, Axios ran a story about "a new conservative media company" (that didn't even have a name!) with the news that Jonah Goldberg would be "leaving the National Review in the coming months" to join forces with the recently fired Stephen Hayes. Axios added that Goldberg and Hayes were "seeking investors." It also contained the curious reminder that he would remain at some offshoot called the National Review Institute. In other words, the National Review was happy to pay Goldberg from its sister organization for the privilege of not publishing him anymore at the National Review!

You just can't quantify that kind of popularity.

Goldberg was very touchy about the idea that he had been removed from the magazine. He wanted people to know that it was his idea to leave the National Review to fax out a newsletter from his basement (with no name and no money) along with Stephen Hayes. The Drag Queen Story Hour enthusiast David French even tweeted: "There's news. There's fake news. Then there's the absolute premium-grade BS I'm reading on MAGA Twitter and elsewhere claiming that Jonah Goldberg was pushed out of National Review. Completely, totally false."

What made this so funny was that David French was himself removed from the magazine a few months later! Where did he go? Well, he went to work for Jonah Goldberg and Stephen Hayes and their little newsletter of course. The three of them were now free to plummet into new depths of unpopularity together. The most intellectually bankrupt and vitriolic of the Never Trumpers had finally been thrown into the dustbin of history.

Did the editors of the National Review learn anything from this debacle? Of course not. The feckless Rich Lowry recently handed the magazine over to the world’s only living Evan McMullin voter Ramesh Ponnuru — who was absolutely nobody’s choice to steer the magazine back to popularity. (If anything, Ramesh Ponnuru represents an even greater slide into snide effeminacy than Lowry, and few thought that was possible.) Defeat seems to be the brand for these boys. In any culture war, Rich Lowry and the gang have always been the first to stand athwart history, crying: "We surrender first!” They’ve been so weak and defeatist during the Trump years that a year's subscription to the magazine could be marketed as an estrogen supplement.

Meanwhile the funding of the magazine now relies even more heavily on Big Tech money: the back page of the June 1, 2021 issue was a full-page Facebook ad. Inside the same issue, in case you missed the point, there was a two-page ad from Google. The National Review didn’t bother trying to win back its old subscribers by becoming more conservative. Instead, it flipped them a giant middle finger. This final insult might lead us to think the unthinkable about the soy boys who sank Buckley’s flagship. The same feeble metrosexuals who attacked the Covington Catholic boys, and printed pro-Jeffrey Epstein articles, and tried to discredit Carter Page, and pushed the Russia Hoax might not actually be conservatives after all. Their role does not seem to be halting the Left. Their role seems to be: pretending to be conservative in order to persuade actual conservatives to lose gracefully to the Left.

Conservatives must finally recognize something that’s very depressing and very important: the conservative intellectual movement in America didn’t just fail. It aided and abetted the Left for money. The Left bought off the Right’s leading conservative intellectuals. And its think tanks. And its “flagship” magazines. This is not hyperbole or conjecture. I’ve got the receipts. Until conservatives understand the depth and breadth of that betrayal, they won’t have any chance of rebuilding that movement out of the ashes any time soon.

[corpsentry]

LAUNCHING MERRILY DOWN THE PATH OF SIN AGAIN

ao3 mirror pairing: atsumu/hinata rating: teens featuring: post-timeskip, side bokuaka, black jackals dynamics, sakusa suffering, author’s weird oral fixation

Hell yeah. Miya Atsumu is in love.

“Shit. I think I cut my gum.”

They’re having dinner together for some reason. Bokuto probably roped them all into it to stave off his boredom, but he offered to pay, so Sakusa went along with it, and because Sakusa went along with it, Hinata went along with it, and because Hinata went along with it, Atsumu went along with it. He suspects Hinata would’ve said yes from the start, but Sakusa started lecturing them on the perils of Korean BBQ restaurants, so Bokuto staved him off too with the cash thing. Sakusa is a practical person. Sometimes.

Anyway, Hinata winces as he says shit I think I cut my gum. Then he smiles like he’s really happy about it and Bokuto’s eyes go all round like volleyballs and he slams his hands on the table. Sakusa tells him not to put his hands on the table. Bokuto ignores him.

“Are you okay?” Bokuto asks.

“Yeah,” Hinata says, making a weird face while he feels around in his mouth with his tongue.

Atsumu tries to think of something intelligent to say and draws a blank. “Let me see,” he says instead. He’s sitting next to Hinata because Sakusa doesn’t trust Bokuto to share a grill with him. Bokuto is sitting next to Sakusa because he can’t share a grill with him but he wants to either try to get to know him better or piss him off. If nothing else he’s definitely succeeded at the latter.

“Huh?” Sakusa stares at Atsumu like he thinks he’s stupid, which he probably is. “The fuck are you trying to see?”

“The, uh,” Atsumu begins, but Hinata opens his mouth for him for some reason and he forgets to finish his sentence.

“I can taste blood on the right side of my mouth,” he offers.

“Uh,” Atsumu says again.

Bokuto stands up and leans over the table because Bokuto is immortal and will not be wounded by the likes of a Korean BBQ grill. “Do you need a flashlight? My phone has a flashlight.”

“Who the fuck doesn’t have a flashlight on their phone,” Sakusa says, staring at Bokuto like he thinks he’s stupid.

“Me,” Hinata offers. Hinata is using an iPhone model from the Stone Age.

“Stop talking and let me look at your gums,” Atsumu says, looking at his teeth. He has made a discovery: Hinata has very nice teeth. This aligns nicely with the other nice things he has noticed about Hinata’s face, like his eyebrows and the softness of his mouth. Hell yeah. Atsumu is in love.

“You’ve been looking at his gums for over a minute, Atsumu. Have you found anything.” Sakusa.

“Yeah,” Atsumu confirms. “There’s a cut.”

“Shit, where?”

“There.”

“Can you show me?”

“Oh, no.” Sakusa pushes his chair away from the table. “Atsumu. Don’t do it.”

Atsumu is really fucking confused. “What am I supposed to not do?” He’s still thinking about Hinata’s face. You have to get really close to someone to look inside their mouth. Close enough to kiss them. Is this what intimacy looks like?

“Are you gonna put your fingers in his mouth?” Bokuto, in a moment of clairvoyance, has caught onto the source of Sakusa’s terror. He sounds proud of himself.

“Are you?” Hinata looks at him innocently.

Atsumu puts his fingers in his mouth.

    ::

    Sakusa Kiyoomi followed Inarizaki’s match against Karasuno in his second year of high school from a livestream on his phone because he wanted to minimize contact with the crowds in the gymnasium as much as possible. The match being an Inarizaki match, had attracted an especially large and diverse crowd of spectators. Nonetheless, they were united by the fact that they were all screaming. At first they were screaming because the Miya brothers were winning. Later they were screaming because the Miya brothers were losing. Then they finished losing, and Kiyoomi scoffed at them behind his mask while he wondered how Miya Atsumu was taking the fact that he had blown his first match at the Spring High.

Later he would recall the way Atsumu had looked at Karasuno’s orange-headed number ten. Kiyoomi, being the calm and logical person he is, would detect the complex twist of fascination and admiration that lay behind the twins’ duplicate of the freak quick. He might even begin to form a coherent thought about Atsumu’s motivation for executing such a shaky attack. This would involve a careful perusal of the few years of friendship between them and an evaluation of Atsumu’s taste in sports, men, and sportsmen. Then someone would cough in his direction from thirteen meters away, and he would get so mad at them he would forget all about it until he met the two of them again as teammates in the MSBY Black Jackals and Atsumu put his fingers in Hinata’s mouth.

    ::

    “Dude you have to tell me why you did that,” Bokuto says. He’s leaning on Atsumu’s shoulder because he’s drunk and it’s a Friday. Bokuto only drinks on Fridays. This is a fact of life. If he could have it his way he would apparently drink on several days but Akaashi the shounen manga editor vows to wipe out seven generations of his family if he does. Therefore he abstains.

Atsumu wishes he would abstain from leaning on his shoulder. “I do?” he wonders aloud. He is drunk as well. Luckily Bokuto is more drunk so Bokuto cannot admonish him. Atsumu holds all the power in this situation.

“Yeah dude you were blushing like crazy.” Drunk Bokuto doesn’t use punctuation. It does not register on his list of things that exist in the universe. One time Atsumu made a bad life decision and crashed at his apartment; that night he overheard Bokuto talking to Akaashi the shounen manga editor on the phone, sounding like a bullet train with a caffeine addiction. Every once in a while Bokuto would fall silent. Then he would make an abrupt sound like a deflating balloon, presumably interrupting whatever Akaashi was saying, and there would be no more silence to be had for the next thirteen minutes. Atsumu felt very sorry for himself all night. He also felt very sorry for Akaashi, but less so since he had chosen to saddle himself permanently with Bokuto unlike the rest of them.

“Dude.” Drunk Bokuto says dude a lot.

“No,” Atsumu says.

They have almost reached the train station. Atsumu can see it blinking in the distance with its glowing signs and other artificial shit and he is so fucking glad for it. He manhandles Bokuto into the station and props him up against a pillar once they reach the platform. Bokuto’s coat is slipping off his shoulders. Atsumu pulls it back up.

“Do you think he was weirded out?” he asks later on the train. The soju he chugged after sticking his fingers in Hinata’s mouth is wearing off and primal fear is starting to set in. Suddenly he finds himself deeply regretting everything he has done since Hinata joined the Black Jackals. Spending so much time practicing that quick attack with him was a mistake. Buying him chocolate as a joke for Valentine’s Day was a mistake. Walking back to the train station alone with him after spending too much time practicing that quick attack, watching the way Hinata had laughed at his dumb jokes as they moved through the neon blur of the city was a mistake. Now he's in love and Sakusa's going to make fun of him. Sakusa has alien-like sensors installed in the back of his head which allow him to notice everything important in life before Atsumu does. Ah, Atsumu’s drowning in regret. He’s going to die.

“Nope,” Bokuto says cheerfully. “Hinata’s a good guy.”

Atsumu broods. “Good guys can be weirded out too, y’know.”

“Nah. He likes you.”

“What are you, psychic?”

“Hell yeah I’m psychic.”

    ::

    Bokuto is not psychic. He’s just a fundamentally nice human being who gets an endorphin kick out of supporting every single person who comes within a hundred-meter-radius of him. Okay, Atsumu wants to say. Okay, so you want to support your teammates and your friends and shit. That’s great. But what if two of those teammates are At Odds with each other. What if you have to pick one.

Atsumu and Hinata are At Odds with each other. On the bright side, they’re both old enough to draw the line between work shit and personal shit so it doesn’t spill over into their professional lives. They are alarmingly civil during practice. The Black Jackals continue to get their ass handed to them by the Adlers. On the dark side, Hinata won’t so much as breathe in his direction off the court, which is pretty fucking miserable.

The best part is Atsumu doesn’t even realize he’s being ignored until Sakusa points it out to him. He’s spent the last week in denial and is actually growing kind of comfortable with this new lifestyle. He doesn’t have to deal with the fact that he has feelings for the guy who pissed him off in his second year of high school; he also doesn’t have to deal with the fact that he stuck his fingers in his mouth last Friday. Maybe Atsumu should just end his friendship with Hinata Shouyou. They can start over as business partners. Make a joint venture.

But of course, Sakusa points it out to him. “I know you think you’re being really fucking slick by ignoring Hinata all the time, but I must sadly inform you that he’s actually ignoring you as well,” he says, examining his nails absently. “Plus I think he’s trying harder at it.”

Sakusa smells like eighty-five different brands of shampoo. “I hate you,” Atsumu says.

“Your hatred means nothing to me,” Sakusa replies, unfazed.

    ::

    The first time he and Hinata played together in an official match, Atsumu remembers thinking that he was glad he let Osamu set up his onigiri shop and pushed ahead with volleyball alone after all.

He figures he’ll always be a little bitter about how his high school volleyball career ended. It’s like how he still hates the everloving shit out of spicy food but has developed a tolerance for it due to his teammates’ dietary preferences. The sensation will never be pleasant, but he gets through it. He drinks a shit ton of water. After their meal he treats himself to dessert from a nearby convenience store and makes someone else pay for it out of spite. Sometimes they agree. Other times he winds up paying for his souffle cheesecake himself. But fuck it, whatever, it’s sweet.

The first time he and Hinata played together in an official match they unleashed their new freak quick in front of Kageyama Tobio and like half of Japan’s previous high school volleyball circuit. At the moment in which the ball he set went up in the air and Hinata made contact with it, Atsumu had the distinct sensation that the rules of the world had been quietly rewritten. It was akin to having a fully-grown deer ram its antlers into your chest, shattering your ribcage instantly. He couldn't hear himself anymore. Just the crowd.

Take that, he said with his eyes after Hinata scored that first sweet, sweet point, smiling at Kageyama like a switchblade. Hinata’s ours now.

Upon closer examination, what Atsumu actually meant to say was: he’s mine.

    ::

    Why didn’t he say that, you ask? Because he’s a fucking idiot, of course. By this point Sakusa had already caught on to his feelings. If you had looked carefully at the background you would have noticed him squinting at Atsumu at various points throughout the match with three percent more intensity than usual. The rest of his attention was reserved for the ball, but he devoted three percent to Atsumu. This is Sakusa we’re talking about. Three percent is significant.

    ::

    There is a boring romantic subplot in one of the manga that Akaashi’s magazine serializes. Unfortunately it’s about a boy and a girl, so it was probably destined to be boring from the start. But the brilliant thing about it is both the girl and the boy realize they have feelings for each other in chapter thirty and then proceed to make zero progress in their relationship for the next two hundred chapters.

“Why don’t they just get together?” he asked Akaashi once. They were having hotpot in Bokuto’s apartment. Because it was Bokuto’s apartment they got Akaashi as a freebie. Akaashi had brought wagyu beef.

“The author doesn’t feel like it.” Akaashi’s glasses kept getting fogged up by the steam. He looked like a character from a detective movie.

“Oh. Is the author single?” asked Atsumu, who was single.

“Yes,” said Akaashi, who was not single.

“Are you hitting on my boyfriend?” Bokuto called from the bathroom. They ignored him.

“Aha,” Atsumu said triumphantly. “I knew it. The author clearly has no experience. It pisses me off that they keep hinting at their feelings without getting to the point.”

“That is fair.” Akaashi had decided to take off his glasses at risk of stabbing someone in the face with his chopsticks.

“Alternatively, you could remove the romantic subplot altogether. I doubt much would change.”

Alternatively he could chase Hinata down after practice on the way to the train station. It would be snowing, because snow is pretty and makes everything look soft and cinematic. Atsumu would call out Hinata’s name as he approached him from two hundred meters away. He would be out of breath because everyone’s constantly out of breath in romantic cinema. Hinata would telepathically know that Atsumu was here to confess his undying love for him and hide his blushing face in his scarf.

Alternatively, they could have dinner together at a stuffy candle-lit restaurant. Only this isn’t a manga, and Akaashi isn’t the editor, so Hinata is still practicing serves in the gym when Atsumu appears in the doorway, still reeling at the realization that he’s been ignored for a week.

Well then. He scrolls through Instagram to pass the time.

    ::

      When he’s done, Atsumu offers to help Hinata with clean-up. “Thank you,” says Hinata rather reluctantly, still not breathing in his direction.

“You know,” Atsumu says, feeling very tired. He’s too tired to beat around the bush. He has decided to eat the bush. “I can tell you’re ignoring me.”

Hinata creates distance under the guise of picking up loose balls. “Mm.”

“Why?”

Hinata squats down in front of a ball. Atsumu walks over and squats down beside him. The ceiling lights are fierce and bright above them, and Hinata’s face is tilted away from it. Atsumu can’t read his expression but he can see his ears, which are pink, and the side of his neck, which is pink as well. In this position, from this angle, Hinata’s musculature is even more stunning than usual; biceps, shoulders, back. This shouldn’t be a surprise given that they’re all adults now instead of petty high school kids with grudges as big as clenched fists. But if asked right now what the prototypical volleyball player should look like, Atsumu would point at Hinata and say: that guy.

“Sorry about sticking my fingers in your mouth,” he says quietly, folding his arms together over his knees and resting his chin on top. And then, in a flash of inspiration: “Also, I’m in love with you. I hope your cut healed properly?”

Hinata finally lifts his face up into the light, and Atsumu is reminded of watching the rising sun spill across the surface of the sea in a NatGeo documentary. For a second he looks absolutely lost. Then he knits his brow, stares hard at Atsumu like he’s trying to do calculus in his head or something.

“About the cut,” he says, hesitating. “Why don’t you find out for yourself.”

Atsumu chokes.

    ::

    It’s not like he hasn’t been in love before. In high school he had a crush on Kita Shinsuke that was so debilitatingly bad, he never even told Osamu about it. But Kita Shinsuke didn’t have a debilitating crush on him and he never went pro. They didn’t wind up as teammates again several years later when Atsumu finally figured out how to style his hair properly with gel. Kita vanished off the radar after high school with that unnerving smile of his. They haven’t seen each other since.

Anyway, Atsumu has a lot of complicated feelings for Hinata. At first he was pissed at him for teleporting off to Brazil for two years, and thinking that he could still brute force his way into a Division One team immediately upon his return. Then Hinata actually did that, and Atsumu spent several weeks sulking about their new teammate by refusing to so much as breathe in his direction. Eventually Sakusa sat him down in the empty locker room one morning and looked him straight in the eye from two meters away and said you want to set for him don’t you. After thinking about it for a while he realized that Sakusa was right. He wanted to set for Hinata Shouyou. Back in high school the feeling had arisen mainly out of spite and childish frustration. Now it was genuine.

So fine, maybe he likes Hinata a little more than he should.

They’re not high schoolers anymore. They’re old enough to know where to draw the lines between work shit and personal shit and risk-taking and stupidity. They’re supposed to know themselves better by this point. Like what’s your favorite alcoholic drink. What’s your taste in men and sports and sportsmen. Do you believe in miracles.

Do you believe in—?

“—This,” Hinata says. Atsumu realizes belatedly that he had missed the first part of his sentence but before he can try to figure it out Hinata fists a hand in his shirt and yanks him forward.

Oh no, Atsumu thinks. Hinata’s smiling. All crooked like a semicircle of sun. All pretty-like.

“Since that’s out of the way,” he says brilliantly, warm breath fanning out over Atsumu’s cheeks, moving closer still. “I hope you don’t mind if I just—”

Atsumu closes his eyes and lets Hinata pull him in. He’s old enough to know where this leads.

    ::

    They’re having dinner together again for some reason. Bokuto roped them all into it to stave off his boredom because Akaashi the shounen manga editor is in Hokkaido on a business trip, but he offered to pay, so Sakusa went along with it, and Sakusa went along with it, so Atsumu went along with it, and Atsumu went along with it, so Hinata went along with it. The truth is they almost always go along with Bokuto’s whims because Bokuto’s a fundamentally nice human being and Akaashi brings the fanciest ingredients to their hotpot parties. It doesn’t actually matter if Bokuto offers to pay. Someone will start the reluctant-yes-train and then the rest will join in and before they know it, they’re all ducking into the doorway of a restaurant together.

“So was anyone gonna tell me that two of my teammates are dating,” Bokuto says, waving his chopsticks around grandly while Sakusa attempts to shield his risotto from the onslaught of loose rice grains. “Or was I just supposed to find out from Omi-kun here?”

Hinata’s eyes go wide. Atsumu, who had been chewing on a fry, doubles over coughing.

“ATSUMU. ARE YOU OKAY.” Bokuto’s feet are on the table. Sakusa is seeing God.

“Shit.” Atsumu winces, feeling around in his mouth with his tongue. “I think I cut my gum.”

“Let me see.”

“Uh, Hinata, you don’t have to do that, actually—”

“Are you going to do that thing again?” God bless Bokuto and his endless store of curiosity towards all things chaotic and doomed in the world. God bless Sakusa who has ascended to the next dimension. God bless Atsumu's poor gums.

Hinata beams at Bokuto. “No,” he says slowly, bright as a bonfire. “I’m going to kiss him.”

God bless them all.

[stevenuniversetanzanite]

Fallen Angel (Venable X reader) Part 4

So, I went back and read the past instalments of this series and oh my I enjoyed it. I swear I enjoy my Venable stories the most out of any of mine ever. Also realised I left out details that I need to include in my sequel and some I need to add to this one so... I fixed the minor problems and might have fixed another. I mean no one is analysing this but I like to have details correct. The only issues I saw was that I mentioned in part one was the character used to wear glasses so I have to add that to the sequel and that I said that the character was an inch shorter than Michael (in my head Michael’s about 5′10) but I forgot to mention like in the sequel the character wears four inch platformed boots (similar to the ones that all the cool goths wear) I added that in to this part but it might be forced. Oh well. 

I hope this chapter isn’t two jumpy. 

Prequel Link: The Angel Among Us (Cordelia x reader) Plot: The event’s leading up to Y/N joining Michael and the Cooperative.

Summary/idea: Two strangers come to ‘save’ the occupants of outpost 3. Neither are what they seem.

Warnings: N/A

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5 (Will add as I go)

“When was the last time you took a break? Had some fun?” You splayed yourself out on the chair in front of her desk, one of your legs flung over the armrest. The fabric of your skirt flowed perfectly down the gap between your legs. The material outlining where your frame ends giving Venable a rough idea of your body's frame while unfortunately still being clothed. Her eyes stared at you with an unquenchable level of thirst. She cursed you for wearing that long skirt.

“I have fun-” 

“I bet you do.” You rose from your chair, your skirt elegantly falling back into place without the need of adjustment. You prowled closer, eyes drifting around the room, refusing to give Venable the attention she deserved.  “Torturing the residence.” Your hand swept against the surface of Venable’s desk. “I had to stop myself from laughing when I heard about your little ‘incident’ with Stu.” You turned to her, smirking. “So clever, I would never have thought of something like that.” You were so close to her; she was forced to look up at you. She didn’t feel the urge to stand or push her chair back, that would show weakness (and standing wouldn’t help since you were taller) but not only that, she didn’t want to. “But have you ever thought about your wants? Needs? Desires?”

“What are-” Your close proximity froze her in place as if your coldness had spread to her. She memorised all your details, the alluring smile that tugged her closer to your presence without having to move. She found your temptress ways magnetic. 

“Come on V,” you purred. You elegantly found your place on her lap. When had you gotten there? Her hands were clenched tight around the armrests of her desk chair in an attempt to ground herself. Her mind was in heaven, but her body remained on earth. 

“-It’s Ms Venable to you.” She stuttered. You chuckled, it was deeper than your normal, forced high pitch voice. This was natural. You were yourself? Must be an act, Venable would have thought if she hadn’t already fallen for it. You leant against the edge of her desk, peering down at her.

“Are you sure about that?” She couldn’t speak so she nodded. You chuckled. “Alright, Ms Venable. Is there anything I can do for you?” Your hand found its way to the waist of her skirt, pulling it away from her body to only to play with the fabric.

“Y-Yes, you can-”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

FOR FUCK’S SAKE.

Venable’s eyes flew open. She huffed before easing herself out of bed. The knocking continued, Venable yelled out that she heard the first time. Who dare disturb her slumber? Mead stood at the door; the woman apologised before informing her of two purples breaking the copulation rule. Those two purples were going to pay for interrupting her dream.

She found the two in the chamber they use to clean the exposed and execute the ill-behaved. The two purples, Timothy and Emily stood their ground, confronted Venable about her made-up rules. She pulled Mead to the side and requested for her to make it as painful for the pair as possible. Mead happily agreed. Venable exited heading back to her bedroom to relieve some stress. 

Disturbed once that night was enough. Twice that night when trying to make up from the tension build for the first time was ridiculous. She didn’t expect to find a shot Mead expelling white fluid from her wound nor the damaged circuitry. The woman wasn’t even human. Her closest resident/worker was a robot, that’s got to be some cosmic joke. She’d spent a large amount of years working for those dim-whits at Kineros Robotics but for god’s sake she has HR not a robot scientist. 

She did the best job she could, “I think there’s a damaged cable and I can’t tell what it’s connected to-” she sighed. Weren’t you working on the generator, you’d have to have some experience in order to do that right, or at least have a better clue than her? “Stay here, I’m going to get some help.”

You weren’t in your room, Michael’s office or her own. She checked your secret getaway. The lights in the main room were already on. She closed the door behind her before calling your name. She didn’t gain a response forcing her to continue the game of hide and seek. 

She found you in the generator room tinkering with the machine. You had stripped down to your undergarments to avoid getting oil on your clothes. Venable’s eyes widened, her cheeks tinting to a shade of red as she didn’t expect you to be lacking clothing.

“You work in the nude?” You jumped at the sound of her voice. “You’re barely covered, you might as well not wear the additional fabric. It hides your best features.”

“If I knew you were stopping by, I would have worn less.” You wipe your hands on a rag.  You thought about what she said, “Wait- how do you know they’re my best features if you haven’t seen them?”

“You could always prove me wrong.” 

You smirked. “That’s not why you're here.”

“I need your assistance and not in that way.” Unfortunately. 

“Can I go like this?”

“And risk someone else seeing you like that? Get dressed, I’ll fill you in on your task on the way.” Once dressed, Venable walked you to her room, filling you in on the night's events. “I thought you’d ask more questions.”

“It’s not surprising.”

The damage wasn’t too bad, nothing that could be fixed by soldering the metal together. Venable observed the whole process. You checked in with Mead as you worked as she was sentient and most likely felt pain. You extracted the bullet placing it into an empty candle holder. You hid that of view as you fused the broken cable. When the bullet was seen again it was a mouldable putty constancy that you covered and blended over the entrance wound to stop anything from getting inside. The only problem was you couldn’t cover up the patch she was shot, a silver ‘wound’ would remain. 

“If you experience any problems” you said to Mead. “-or you notice any problems,” that to Venable. “Notify me immediately.” You pick up your gear and back them away. “Night Ms Mead, Ms Venable.” You exited before Venable could say goodnight back. You called her Ms Venable, that’s odd. As much as the woman would have loved to join you back in your secret getaway, she had to stay and catch up with Mead. 

You hadn't been spotted wandering about in two days causing Venable to grow nervous. She scoured every corner of the fallout shelter three times before she found you curled up on your bed in the least amount of clothes you could wear in winter. You hadn't bothered to climb under the covers, nor undo your hair from the style it was done up in. Your clothes tossed to the floor; an outfit she hadn't seen you wear before. She was unsure where you obtained your clothing but put it down to you having put it aside until you came here. 

Venable ventured closer to your bed, moving as silently as she could with her cane. She stilled when she reached the closer side to the door (saving her the unnecessary effort of walking further than needed). Your back was fully exposed to her, the faint markings of a white tattoo gone wrong, resembling more of a removal of a piece than a work done itself. It left your skin with a scarred embossing in the shape of wings.

She reached out to run her fingers over the scarification. Were the markings an attempt of beauty gone wrong? Intentional? Or a memory of a time you’d tried to forget? She was surprised she hadn’t noticed it when she last saw you lacking coverage. She hadn’t had long to take in your physical body before you noticed her presence.

You stirred causing the red head to stiffen. Her gaze darted to you; afraid she’d awoken you. You mentioned you’d spend your days in your now shared secret location. You avoided answering how often you spend your days there. This could have been one of the potentially rare times you slept and she dared to disturbed you.

“Hmm~” You wiggled under her touch, moving into the warm hand. “It’s too early,” you mumbled in a soft but childlike voice. “Five more minutes.” Venable chuckled a deep, throaty laugh at your response. You felt over your body trying to find the woman’s hand. Once you wrapped your hand around hers you smiled sweetly. 

“I missed your presence.” What did she just say?

“I haven’t been anywhere Dee.” Venable pulled away from your touch. ‘Dee?’ No that couldn’t be right. She must have misheard. She a hundred percent said ‘V’. Who would ‘Dee’ be anyway? “Baby?” You weren’t talking about her. No one called her baby.

“Dinner’s in an hour, if you aren’t dressed and there in an hour, I’ll send a grey to drag you there.” You tensed up, your mind realising your mistake. You spun around to stare at the outpost leader with a look of pure horror. She refused to acknowledge you as she left your room shutting the door behind her. You cursed under your breath.

The woman held herself together as she ventured down the corridor. She passed a few greys and two of the purples on her way to her quarters. Coco and Gallant knew something was up when they passed her, and she didn’t make a snarky comment.

For a moment you gave her hope, that someone was capable of showing interest in her. She was wrong. Tricked into having feelings for someone then- no, don’t think about it Wilhemina. She crumbled on her bed, allowing her emotions to get the better of her. 

You got changed putting on a black blouse with ruffled sleeves and collar. The collar had a dark purple and red brooch in the centre appearing like a choker over top of your clothing. Paired with the same long black skirt and shoes. You felt ridiculous, not understanding Venable’s' thing for Victorian clothing (or a slightly modernised version of it).

You made an effort to show up to the dinner 15 minutes early. Five minutes you were expected to have taken you place at the table; Ms Mead requested a word. You moved off to the side, to ensure you had complete privacy. 

“Ms Venable will not be attending dinner this evening.”

“...Okay~ Why does this concern me?”

“You're the highest ranked member present, you’ll take her place this evening.”

“What about Mickey?” He wasn’t there but you assumed he’d be considered the highest in rank in the outpost and have the rule offered to him.

“I was given explicit instructions from Ms Venable that you were to take her place in the unlikely chance she couldn’t attend.”

“Alright~” This had to be something to do with earlier. That’s why she wasn’t here. “I’ll be at the head of the table. Uh~ Can you tell the greys to place her dish aside? I’ll see it gets to her later- personally.” Mead nodded before leaving you to command the purples into a night of wonder. How hard could this be?

“Where’s Venable?”

“Are you our new outpost leader?”

“Are you here to announce who got in?” God, this was going to be a long night.

Venable couldn't wallow in her own self-pity all night. You showed her a room you used to escape, maybe she could use it two. You were bound to search for her, she'd only be delaying the inevitable.

Once there, she didn't know what to do with herself. She recalled what you’d said to her, “I’m not telling you what to do...it may be good for blackmail or getting to know your residents, guests or workers. Again, it’s down to you.” The cursor on the search button, who to search up? Start with someone simple… boring, to test the waters. Jumping to the guests would be too risky, Venable thought. It was your machine so she could search you up and who knows what Michael knows about this room. A resident would be fine, but who?

She typed in Coco’s full name into the search bar and pressed enter. She was easy enough to find, she had an Instagram page with 5k followers, not as much of an influencer as she claimed to be. The further she scrolled the more she sees the woman’s desperate attempt to become famous. The earliest photos from late 2018. She turned to the book you’d told her about to see if there was anything interesting in it when she caught a glance at the monitor to her right. She noticed the option to log in bold lettering. She doubted she’d find anything interesting, maybe a deleted photo where she thought she looked back or didn’t get a lot of likes. She clicked on it, the computer automatically filling in the details for her. You must have done some programming since then. 

Venable now had access to all her deleted and archived photos. The left monitor gave her all the details to Coco’s account, especially when it was created, 2012 which means there are six years of photos missing. Venable scrolled through all the photos again, the occasional new photo with less likes than the rest.

She reached the photos from 2018. Things got more interesting. The whole layout of her. There were photos of her and a group of young women who all appeared to be having a fun time. Unlike the others these women were stereotypically beautiful, they were normal, everyday people, something her page lacked prior. She was curious as to why Coco suddenly changed her entire page. She recognised the grey the girl ordered around. In this photo they were pals.  She kept scrolling down, slightly more interested than before. 

She stopped on one with the caption, Hands down the best teachers ever. A group of women posed for a photo, the younger ones (including Mallory and Coco) from before messing around. There were multiple photos in that post, but it was the first that caught her eye. To the left of the women mucking around was two women, an older blonde woman and- you?  Your arms loosely wrapped around the significantly shorter woman, holding her close to your person. 

Your voice popped into her head and that out of place question with it, ‘Have you ever been in love?’ You had asked when you’d been brooding. ‘You aren’t missing out on much... I thought I was in love once. I wasn’t myself... We had a falling out. Conflicting morals.’

So, there she was, the ‘love’.

‘...-and Coco's assistant Mallory- I know all about her...I'm sure it was pure coincidence that Coco's family were on vacation at the time of the apocalypse and not some external sources doing.’

You knew them and you never mentioned it to her. You must have had a falling out with the lot of them- you mentioned moral differences, was Michael that? Or was it simply a parting of ways? None of them acted like they knew you; they couldn’t have forgotten you if what Coco’s caption stated, were one of the best teachers, how do you forget the best? There was more at work than you were letting on and she’d get to the bottom of it. 

You were stunning as usual. You were a natural beauty even in the layers of clothing you drowned in. Golden wire framed glasses that perfectly framed your e/c eyes and made your face more adorable. From the height you were compared to Coco, Venable assumed you wore your staple platform boots that you’ve worn religiously since your first day. You’d told her that the only reason you hadn’t warned them was that day was because walking on rocky ground in four-inch platforms and spraining your ankle wasn’t the best introduction. Venable detested that you were naturally taller than her and then still decided to wear those ridiculous shoes. She guessed the world wouldn’t be able to handle you if you were short, it might explode from you being too cute. Venable chuckled, blushing as she thought about you. Wait-she’d meant to be angry, upset. She couldn’t be upset at you. She blamed that blonde who infected your mind.

The blonde you had your arms around looked familiar. Was she active in the public? Venable took a screen clipping of the woman before running it through the computer's search engine. An interview popped up along with a collection of articles about a school of witches in New Orleans. The blonde lady you were more than comfortable around was the head of the coven, the supreme as she called herself. Venable knew she wouldn’t like this woman. She was gorgeous and if she was as powerful as she claimed, she could understand why you would like her.

Meanwhile at the dinner, you had to listen to the purples complain about Venable for half an hour. Mead hadn’t stepped in which surprised you, maybe she expected you to say someone or order her to stop them.

“Alright, just because the woman isn’t here doesn’t give any of you the right to speak about her,” You projected your voice to the purple’s. “I thought you guys wouldn’t be dumb enough to speak about anyone negativity especially since she has the power to kill you all and no one will be stopping her this time,” the last bit directed to the young lovers who got their arse saved because Michael stopped them from getting killed. “The saying ‘the walls have ears’ exists for a reason. Did any of you notice that Mead or any of the workers were listening? One word of what you’ve said tonight gets back to your leader and you're done for. So, you best all apologise now.”

“She’s not even here-” Coco said. 

“Do you want me to bring her here and have to explain why I am making you all apologise?” That would be worse off for all of them. The blonde ‘influencer’ shook her head. They all apologised. “Good. Now once you're done you can wash your dishes. The greys on dinner can take the rest of the night off.”

“What?”

“My orders were clear. What do you not understand?”

“You want us to work?”

“Yes, Gallant. Need I remind you the only reason you're a purple is because Vanderbilt was kind enough to persuade the woman you’ve all been insulting tonight to allow you to be a purple.” You settled back down in your spot. “Mallory you too can have the night off. I know Coco will end up making you do her work. During the next hour while they are working, you can use the hot water in my quarters to freshen up and relax if you like. I know the greys don’t have good showers.” Mallory thanked you.

“You have hot water?” Coco asked peeved that they had access to hot water this whole time and she didn’t know.

“Yes, and if your behaviour impresses me, I may allow you to use it two,” You said to Coco. “However, Mallory would you be kind enough to fetch me the last plate before you take your night off.” She nodded and left to retrieve the plate for you. You looked at all the purples in front of you. “What are you waiting for? Get to work.” Everyone stood up and tucked their chairs in. “Oh, Dinah, you don’t have to help, you didn’t do anything.” Once you had Venable’s plate you left to find the woman. 

"V?" You called out into the darkness. Down the other end of the auditorium, you saw a small pinhead-sized light where the piano was. A low-pitched sound echoed through the auditorium. You crossed the floor to get to her. "I brought you your dinner."

"I'm not hungry." She pressed another key. Similar in sound to your tone death ears. 

"Come on please eat. It's only one meal a day, I'm sure you're hungry." She shook her head then played another key. You gazed followed her left hand to the keyboard. You nudged her to move over on the bench to make enough room for you to squeeze on.  She did it without complaint. She’s never been this deathly silent. You guessed you’d have to be the one to initiative the conversation. "Do you play?"

"I used to as a child. My mother forced me to play the instrument to show off to her friends,” She told you. She refused to look in your direction, not that you minded- at least she was talking. Venable avoided thinking back on her past. She was the only child of two not so loving parents. Venable learned from a young age to keep a good appearance. Her mother made the family to appear far wealthier than they were. Her mother’s circle always chatted about luxuries that they couldn’t afford- not to say they didn’t have them; they were in deep debt as a result. Her father- well Venable couldn’t remember much of the man; he was always out. She didn’t blame him, the moment she could she was gone too. Wilhelmina was deemed the family disappointment in her mother's eyes. Her back along with an assortment of other health issues she had as a child made her an easy target. As a result of her ‘shame’, she was forced to make up for her deformity through her grades but as always, they were never good enough. Her mother forced her into learning instruments, started with the piano, then moved onto the violin. If you could name it, she knew how to play it. Go to school, come home practice, do homework, sleep, repeat." She said. "I used to loathe the routine. I haven't played since I was a teen." Venable pressed another key. "I tried out your computer."

"-and?"

"You lied."

"About what?" She remained silent. "V, what did I lie about?"

"You don't care about me." Who could, she was unlovable.

"Why would you think that?"

"You said her- your ex's name- you still-"

"Mina- '' you try to take her hand, but she moved it away. "I do still- hold feelings for her but by no means am I not into you. I- love is crazy. I wasted years on a woman that couldn't see that I loved her, did that stop me? No. I waited. Far longer than I should have. I got the girl, but I don't think I ever rightfully had her. I was hyper fixated on my work, she on hers, it wasn't the right time. She's dead now. Killed by the man I work with. Do I still love her? Yes, but it's the idea of her I am. The reality was never really, truly mine."

"I don't get-" what you are saying?

"You won't get it. I don't even."

"Oh, god, my mother was right, I am unlovable."

"No. You are loveable." You pulled her so she was forced to face you. "Mina you are loveable."

"No one else would agree."

"Then they are wrong."

"Who do you know the others?"

"Who? What?"

"The Vanderbilt girl and her grey."

"How-is this relevant?"

"Answer the question."

"I can't- it won't make sense."

"Your ex was supposedly a witch, that's hard to believe."

"So am I." You guessed, it was more of an identity and you had to choose to identify as one, but the power wasn't a choice. If the witches counted Michael as a warlock then you could bend the imagination for you. Venable didn't believe you. "We'll, that's actually a human thing. But for your understanding, let's just say I am."

Now were belittling her? Human thing? Can’t you give it to her straight. She can take it. 

"I knew you were full of nonsense but this-"

Nothing added up about you. You spoke about times that would have occurred before you were born. Now that she thought about it, you’ve never mentioned how old you were. You’ve spoken so little of yourself, she hadn’t the slightest clue of the person you were before.

"I'll prove it,” You said.  “I'll … correct your spine."

This caused her to look at you properly for the first time since you joined her. "What?"

"Yeah,” You leapt up and faced her. She turned her body to face you. “It can't be too hard, I read about this sort of thing a couple years ago. I have my power back so it's safer to do."

“You would- why?”

“It will prove I’m not lying, and wouldn’t it be nice to relieve the pain it’s caused.” Venable teared up. “I’ll fix not only the physical pain but emotional- if you let me.” She considered it. No one had been able to fix it, the doctors- “Doctors are limited to their equipment Mina. I may not be a Doctor and you won’t ever need one again.” Who did you know what she was thinking? 

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“I-I tr-ust y-you,” she choked the new words out. “What do I need to do?”

“First of all, relax, I hate to see you like this.” She took a deep breath. “Second, eat your dinner. Once done, go to your room and change into a dressing gown.”

“I don’t have a dressing gown.”

“Oh... I’ll get you one.” You said. “I’ll be at your room in an hour.” After your final words you headed into the generator room and shut the door behind you.

When Venable made it to her room, she found a black dress gown laid out on her bed. You hadn’t left the generator room, when did you place that there? Magic, she thought, forcing herself not to roll her eye at the concept. She locked the door behind her to ensure that she was not interrupted. No one ever busted in, but it still felt safer to do so, she didn’t want anyone to see her less than perfectly put together.

She imagined the gown to be yours, the fabric was a fine silk. The lightweight material wasn’t something she pictured you wearing but it was on her bed. The fabric was a good insulator and your cold body would have to retain heat somehow. The gown was smooth against her skin. The scent of honey engulfed her. A lovely scent but not yours. Yours was distinct and yet indistinguishable, yours melts her brain making determining the fragrance impossible. There was a hint of smokiness, but it was an underlying due to the potentness of the honey aroma. 

With the remainder of her time, she didn’t know what to do. She rested down on her bed, pulling out the current book she was working through from her nightstand. She propped her cane against the table for easy accessibility. She didn’t know how long you would be or how long it would seem once she got started with her book. She tended to get engrossed the the novel having hours past that only seem like minutes.

Venable yawned, tried from her emotionally driven night. She didn’t understand how you managed to be upbeat all day, she assumed that would be just as tiring as being sad. Her eyes were heavy and after fighting through a few pages she decided to rest her eyes for a bit. She’d be woken up when you knock. You’d have to knock loud to get her to open the door.

The woman felt her hair fall on her face; she went to brush it off when she was beaten to it. The realisation that someone was in the room with her snapped her out of her slumber. Her eyes locked onto you leaning down looking at her fondly. 

“Morning,” your voice was as sweet as the scent of the robe she was wearing.

“What? It’s morning?” She rasped out. Her throat had gotten dry during her sleep. You chuckled, turning to get a cup of water from the bed stand. You must have brought that with you. 

“I’m only messing. It’s only been three hours.”

“You should have woken me.” How did you even get in?

“But you looked so peaceful,”

“I doubt that.”

“Also, it made it easier to work-”

“-You didn’t-”

“I didn’t touch you, in any way. I’m not a beginner,” You informed her. “Also, I would want you awake for that.” You had to turn it into an inappropriate comment. "So, how do you feel?" You helped her up.

"Did- did it work?"

"Why don't you take a look?" She looked at you. You gestured to her bedroom mirror. She grabbed her can on instinct. Slowly she unveiled her back to see no sign of her once curved spin. "You-"

"I did." You said. "It will take a few hours for you to gain your strength then you'll never need your cane again.”

She moved around getting the view of her back from as many angles as she could. "I can't believe it." Venable beamed out of pure joy. Normality at last. It shouldn’t be possible. She would no longer be in constant pain by the reminder of it. At the end of the world, with a goddess of sorts interested in her, is this making it? Had she done something right?

She had turned around fully to take herself in for the first time, she was content with what she saw.

"Believe.” You snuck up behind her resting your head on her shoulder and your arms wrapped around her waist.  “Please.” She didn’t care about your closeness or the fact that your body was pressed up against her back. She couldn’t care. “In me, you and us. "

Venable lowered her gaze. “You’re asking for a lot Y/N.”

“I know but we’re running out of time. It’s only days before Michael’s done with his results.” You spun the woman around and eased her chin upwards forcing her to look at you. “I’m afraid we won’t make the cut.”

“You work for him.”

“For purely selfish reasons. He killed everyone I knew, or so I thought. A fog had been lifted from me. I made some stupid mistakes. I mean I helped him kill everyone. For the end times, wouldn’t you stick with the winning team.” You couldn’t begin to comprehend why you helped the boy. “Oh, and there's the fact that I’m kind of related to him.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m kind of his father’s sister. Not his father on earth but huh~”

“You lost me.”

“Umm~ Okay,” you sighed trying to figure out a way to word it. “He’s the antichrist.”

“You’re the devil’s sister?” You nodded. “That makes sense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No one has that level of confidence, knows everything about everyone, can get their way and be human.”

“When have I gotten my way?”

“You’ve strutted around the place, gaining everyone’s trust unlike your nephew which seemed to be your plan. You forced yourself onto me, got me and you still think you haven’t gotten your way?”

“I got you?” You smirked.

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said.”

“Don’t get any ideas-”

“Too late,” you chirped. 

[overdrivels]

Even more unsolicited resume advice

Corona has probably hit a lot of people hard and it has been a tough time for everyone, especially people who just left college to enter the work force or have been out of a job and had been looking to get back into the force. While this might not solve much, I want to provide some additional advice piggy-backing off a previous post.

<Previous Resume Advice Post>

Again, Your Mileage May Vary (YMMV) since this is entirely subjective and very US-centric. A lot of the resumes that come across my desk are for specialized jobs and higher-levels, so I’ve had a bit of a disconnect with entry-level and recent grad-level resumes. Regardless, I still want to help answer some questions that people have and hopefully give a bit of a push to help you into the jobs you want.

There’s more of this sort of stuff under the tag: ‘adult drivels’.

"What do I write for my Objectives/Summary of Qualifications?"

To be very honest, I only ever see Objectives from people trying to switch careers or from internship/entry-level resumes. At least 98% of the time, we know what your objective is. It's money. I don't care if the objective is to help save the world--believe me, I've seen enough resumes that say something along those lines (worked at a place that kind of championed that and boy is the reality nasty).

Anyway. Write a short paragraph (usually 2-3 sentences, but no longer than a full paragraph) about your skillset. Give me enough detail to want to read the rest of your resume.

Examples:

Finance student with 2 years volunteer experience in business accounting, correspondences with the Federal Reserve, and federal financial law. Specializes in XYZ, etc.

I couldn't make this any more detailed, but you get the gist of it. If not, here's another one.

Recent college graduate with experience in freelance computer repairs for Windows, Mac, and RedHat Linux. Customer-oriented from # years in customer service, and willing to learn new things especially more about network infrastructure and engineering. Currently studying to pass Network and looking to pass Security+ within the next year.  

This is just a personal nitpick, but be careful with very subjective character traits like ‘loyal’ or ‘hard-working’ or ‘effective leader’. Anyone can put that on a resume, but I need you to prove it in your resume. Some industries like this sort of self-description/self-evaluation, but I really don’t trust when people write that stuff down.

(Ex. Someone wrote they were detail-orientated and their resume was littered with typos. Mm, don’t trust like that.)

"I don't know what to write for my job experience. I don't have sales numbers or percentages like these websites are telling me."

You do. You have them, just not consciously.

You worked at Starbucks and trained newcomers? Fine.

"Trained ## new hires on all store procedures, safety, and customer service, and one was promoted to store manager with # months/one new hire won Employee of the Month/and I received formal recognition from corporate."

Or

"Created new training plan/procedures/whatever and implemented it over the course of # months, reducing the time needed for training and increasing effectiveness."

Didn't work at Starbucks? Just joined a club and helped organize a bake sale? Cool.

"Sold $# worth of merchandise for [school club] [sale] which contributed to #% increase in funding for the year's activities, allowing the club to do XYZ.

Don't have the percentage? Do a reasonable guess, or ask. Or just say it helped you guys earn your field trip to wherever. Whatever it helped do.

Didn’t do anything involving cash or numbers? No problem.

“Tutored # students at least # times a week in [subject], working with them using different teaching methods such as [example] and [example]; # students were able to pass their courses with satisfactory grades (insert grades somewhere, if you’re proud of that).”

The point is: [Action] --> [Result].

What did you do, specifically? And what was the direct result? That’s what I’m looking for.

“But I’ve never held a job. This’ll be my first one. How do I write my resume?”

That’s always tough. In this case, you’ll have to play on anything you do have. Volunteer work, school activities, extracurricular activities, personal projects, awards, personal achievements, etc. Sometimes people go for a skills-oriented resume which I don’t actually see a lot.

Basically, standard resumes have your regular stuff:

Personal Information

Summary of Qualifications/Objectives

Education

Job Experiences in chronological order

Extracurricular Activities

Skills

Awards/Certifications

Whatever else

A skills based resume usually replaces the ‘Jobs’ section with a huge-ass ‘Skills Set’ section which contains several main skills you want to highlight for the job and examples of how you demonstrated these skills.

Communication

- Corresponded and tutored students struggling in [subject] class, restructuring and explaining lessons using easy-to-understand anecdotes, resulting in students passing the class with scores of no less than a B. (This is lengthy as fuck, but you get the idea.)

- Successfully led one 24-person raid a month for 2 years in an online game where quick and clear communication and timing was vital.

So, that but multiple times until it fills out your resume.

This goes against my personal opinion about subjective traits, but if it works, it works. 

“Anything else?”

I turn my entire Word document into a table for formatting and then just hide all borders when I’m done.

Always, always export to PDF and do a test print. You never know how it’ll look on someone else’s screen or program. (Especially if you have LibreOffice or something, that really messed up the formatting sometimes.) 

I kind of like Google’s resumes, the one they have in Google doc templates.

To make different things stand out, I mess with fonts. Like sans serif for section titles and with serif for body text. Sometimes I just start going nuts with them, but not too nuts because again, it might not be a font on someone else’s computer.

To test the visual appeal of my resume, I’d usually print it out, paste it on a wall, walk away, turn around, and try to see if I can spot my name and the different section breaks instantly from a distance. If I can’t, I know I fucked up. If I can, great, formatting is clean. One thing I hate as an interviewer is searching through walls of text for important info or section breaks.

If you can, only submit as PDF. I swear, half the time, the Word doc gets mangled by the application platform that people send them through (you know, the automatic uploading thing?) It had definitely cost a few good candidates a job simply because the program mangled the resume’s formatting.

Following these steps still won’t necessarily get you the job. This is cruel, but reality. It could be your resume. It could be just because the role is meant for someone else with a different skillset. It’s not personal. You have to keep trying.

For the last time, TAILOR, TAILOR, TAILOR. You’re fighting with about 30 other people who have put in a hell of a lot of effort to get jobs. They also want the job and have been searching just as long or longer than you. You have to give yourself an edge by not blasting a generic version of your resume at the recruiter. That’s wasting our time and your own time.

Again, all of these opinions are my own and should be taken with a handful of salt and two handfuls of personal judgement.

Good luck on your searches and may the job you want be yours.

[soopersara]

57 and/or 76!

Me? Finally filling a request I got 5 months ago? You’d better believe it! (I’ll do both prompts eventually, but for now): 

Dragons

AO3 | FFN

Prompt #57 from this list, originally Day 1 of Zutara Week 2016

Zuko and Katara revive a forgotten Fire Nation tradition to solidify their engagement.

⁂

"Come on, Zuko. I'm sure this will be fine. Druk loves me."

Zuko let out a gusty sigh. He should have known better than to let Katara waste her time digging through the royal archives. Little good had ever come from his family, even before Sozin's time.

"That's different." He watched the flame in his hand rise and fall in time with his breathing. Steadier than the last time he was here, steadier and brighter and more fluid, more alive. "Druk thinks you're his mother."

"Or maybe I just have a way with dragons. You don't know."

"All I'm saying is that you don't have to go through with this. There's a reason why my family stopped asking Ran and Shaw for approval before marriage."

"And all I'm saying is that you can't change my mind." Katara paused long enough to cup her free hand around his scarred cheek, and gave him a dazzling smile. "Nice try, though."

Zuko groaned as she marched on ahead. "You know you don't have to prove anything," he called after her.

"I'm not trying to prove anything," she called back.

Zuko rolled his eyes and took the steps two at a time until he caught up with her. In the pale light of predawn, her hovering tendril of water gave off enough light that he could almost convince himself that it was a flame.

Almost.

The records had been a little unclear about what the dragons expected in this situation—firebenders seeking instruction had to bring an offering from the eternal flame, he knew that from experience, but marriage blessings? No matter how hard they looked, neither of them had been able to find the specifics of the old ritual.

But Katara wasn't a firebender anyway, and she insisted that a gift of water from the Spirit Oasis at the North Pole was just as good as a piece of the eternal flame.

It wasn't that Zuko disagreed necessarily. Katara was usually right about things like this. But they weren't here for lessons, and even Druk was unpredictable. Ran and Shaw—they had roasted people alive. Including a few generations of Zuko's ancestors. He couldn't decide whether he was glad that information had made it into the old royal scrolls or not.

"You remember everything we worked on?"

Katara pursed her lips. "Zuko. Master waterbender, remember? Best in the world? Of course I remember." She smiled and bumped him with her shoulder. "Hey. You went ice dodging for me. And did the midwinter spirit vigil. I can handle this."

"It's not you I'm worried about," Zuko muttered.

As they climbed higher, the sticky summer air gave way to the chill of the sky, and Katara's step lightened despite the thinner air. She thrived on this.

Zuko trailed along beside her, wordless as the valley fell away beneath them, the remains of the Sun Warrior's ancient city shrinking to doll-like proportions. They crested the stairs together and stepped onto the platform at the same instant.

Katara paused, the early morning light casting a silvery sheen over her face as she looked back down the way they'd come. Her gaze turned back to Zuko.

"This is it," she said, her tone a little breathless, her eyes bright. Her orb of water twisted itself into a spiral before she shaped it back into an approximation of a flame.

Zuko nodded, drawing a steadying breath. "This is it," he agreed.

"Hundreds of generations before us—" She turned on the spot, her loose curls catching the breeze. "It's like I can still feel them here." She turned back to Zuko. "It's so beautiful."

He nodded again and tried not to stare too hard at her. The scenery was nothing in comparison with her. He pulled his eyes away and they landed on the faint, smoky marks that years—centuries—of rain had yet to wash away from the ornate platform. That wasn't entirely helpful. Seeing ancient evidence of the dragons' wrath was a far less pleasant form of distraction.

Zuko pointed to a mark on the ground. "You stand there." He crossed the platform to the matching symbol and gave a silent prayer to all the spirits he knew that they hadn't been too far off in their guesses about the ritual. "The second the sun touches the horizon—"

She nodded and settled into her stance. A mischievous smile flashed across her face. "Sure you're ready for this, Fire Lord?"

He felt the corner of his mouth twitch despite his best effort to keep it still. "More ready than you, Master. Remember I've done this before."

Katara gave him another quick smile before she turned her concentration back to her water.

Zuko broadened his stance and dragged his attention back to the flame in his hand, to the tiny, endless pulse that echoed his own. He exhaled, slow and steady, and felt the flame swell in response.

He was ready.

He felt the sun reach the horizon before he saw it, and the flame in his hand blossomed into a burning globe. Across the platform, Katara mirrored him, shaping her water into a shimmering sphere.

Inhale. He stepped forward, his back turned toward the center of the platform, and pulled the flames in near his chest. Exhale. Another step, and he pushed the flames up and out.

This wasn't firebending in the usual way. This was nothing like what his childhood tutors, or Uncle, or even the dragons themselves had taught him. It couldn't be. Water didn't behave like fire, and fire didn't behave like water. But there was a point of balance between the two, a point where the two disciplines intersected, where Katara's water would flicker and dance along with his flames, where his fire would flow, smooth and steady, along with her water. It was a well-practiced dance by now, and the movements came as naturally as breathing.

When they were halfway through the sequence, there was a rumbling from the caverns at either end of the platform, a rumbling that cut straight through to his core. He didn't flinch, and across the platform, he caught a glimpse of Katara, equally unshaken. Despite the approach of the ancient dragons, it felt like their weeks of practice at the palace, moving in a careful sequence around the edges of the gardens while Druk pranced between them, rearing up and trying to catch stray water droplets and sparks on his forked tongue.

They worked their way clear around the rim of the circular platform, then inward until they met in the center and came to a stop. Zuko twisted his flame into the shape of a dragon, and Katara did the same. Together, they sent both dragon-shapes whirling in an upward spiral, higher and higher until they reached the limits of their bending and both dragons broke apart simultaneously.

Katara beamed up at him, her hair lightly mussed by the wind, and a wide, breathless smile on her face. For a moment, Zuko forgot Ran and Shaw. He wanted to kiss Katara, to cradle her face in his hands and lean in so close that he could feel the soft warmth radiating from her face. He wanted to be so close that he could bask in the glow of her exhilaration.

Instead, Zuko smiled back, and with a small nod, they both turned outward, bowing low to the dragons. Then they faced one another once again and bowed a second time.

For a long moment, everything was silent. The dragons waited, watching them from the bridges that led back to their caverns. Even the wind seemed to still.

Drawing a deep breath, Zuko closed his eyes. Calm settled over him, and he found Katara's hand. Ran and Shaw were about to make their decision, but they were together. That was what mattered. As long as they were together, nothing could go too wrong.

The silence shattered with a roar from both sides, and Zuko opened his eyes to see the dragons—both of them—bearing down of the platform. Zuko stepped instinctively closer to Katara, bracing himself to shield her. She stepped closer too, and her free hand raised ever so slightly, ready to pull a deluge straight from the air.

But as the dragons came closer, they never attacked. They never threatened to. Instead, they crawled around the rim of the platform, massive claws scraping against the stone, eyeing the two of them and tasting the air.

The blue dragon was the first to break out of the circle and approach. It kept its head low, gliding just a few feet over the ground until it was near enough to sniff Katara's hem. Its tongue flicked out the same way Druk's did when he was curious.

Zuko tightened his grip on Katara's hand, and she squeezed back. Neither of them wavered as the blue dragon continued its investigation, as the red dragon slowly crept forward to join its curious mate. For a while, they both circled close, inspecting Zuko and Katara from every possible angle.

Then, as the sun rose higher in the sky and the shadows began to shrink, both dragons halted their circling and came to stand side by side in front of Zuko and Katara.

Katara moved first, a small step forward with her free hand outstretched.

The blue dragon bowed its head just enough to allow Katara's hand to rest on its snout.

"I'm not a firebender," she said quietly. "I never will be. And I know I'm not the person the rest of the world had in mind to rule beside Zuko."

The blue dragon puffed out a gust of hot, moist air, and its enormous golden eyes bored straight into her.

"But a long time ago, you decided that Zuko was worthy of knowing your secrets. Now he's chosen me, and I've chosen him. I hope you can trust our choice enough to give me your blessing."

Ran and Shaw looked at one another as though conferring, and Zuko kept his grip on Katara's hand firm. He would fight for her if he needed to. He would use his body as a shield—he'd done it before, and he'd do it a thousand more times. He had chosen Katara. He would always choose her.

In tandem, both dragons turned their faces to the sky and unleashed a roar of what sounded like triumph. Plumes of flame erupted from their mouths, but it was nothing like the first time Zuko had faced them—this time, the flames from each dragon remained distinct, two ropes of colored fire rotating around one another, whirling outward until they nearly eclipsed the sky.

When the flames finally dispersed, Zuko glanced down at Katara. She was smiling, eyes bright. He was smiling too, he realized. He couldn't help it.

Ran and Shaw lowered their heads again and lumbered back toward their respective caves, and Zuko felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

Wide-eyed, Katara watched until the dragons were gone, then laughed and threw her arms around him. "It worked! Just wait until your council hears about this!"

A startled laugh burst out of Zuko too as he returned her embrace. "I thought you weren't trying to prove anything to them."

Katara pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes. The glow of the morning sun turned her skin to copper and glinted off the beads in her hair—both blue and gold now. "I wasn't. But if you think I'm not going to gloat, you don't know me very well."

He let his arms tighten around her and leaned his cheek down against the top of her head. "I can't wait to see their faces."

Katara pulled away and found his hand. "Come on, Fire Lord. Let's go tell them the bad news." Even without seeing her face, he could hear the smile in her voice. "They're stuck with me now."

"You're going to be the best thing that ever happened to the Fire Nation," he told her. When she looked back over her shoulder, he couldn't help but smile again. "You already are."

[reciprocityfic]

when there are no wars to fight

title: when there are no wars to fight fandom: wonder woman, dccu pairing: steve trevor x diana prince rating: T summary: so she goes to america, the comforting weight of his watch constantly weighing down her pocket, a crumpled piece of paper clutched tightly in her fist that bears a single address, written in etta's neat script.

trevor ranch 1202 owl creek lane meeteetse, wyoming

(diana goes home for steve after the war, desperately searching for more answers about the man she loved.)

author’s note: yay for my second wondertrev fic!

i started this awhile back, but finally got the inspiration to finish it because wondertrev love week put my butt into gear. i wanted to finish it in time for their day three writing prompt: trevor ranch.

hope you all like it! let me know what you think.

xoxo, rebekah

read on archive of our own

when there are no wars to fight

Etta asks her, one early, gray London morning in a quaint cafe, over tea and baked goods that somehow pass as breakfast, rather than dessert, in this strange world of Man.  It’s been awhile, now, since victory was announced.  Celebrations have come and gone, soldiers have returned home, and life has become fairly mundane again.

And her - she’s been waiting for some sort of sign telling her what to do next.

She’s thought of trying to go back to Themyscira - at least, for a little while; she made a promise to herself that she would not abandon this world, and it is something she intends to keep.  A goal towards which she will strive for the remainder of her existence on this earth.  But she decides against it, not wanting to mar her bright, shining memory of home with the burden of reality she now carries.  Plus, she doesn’t want to have to say goodbye again.  She fears it will hurt even more the second time around.

So she’s been in a sort of suspended state, neither here nor there.  And it’s Etta, who finally asks her.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she begins, peering at her over the rim of her teacup, “what are you going to do now that you’re not...y’know, fighting on the battlefield, saving the world, and the sort?”

She doesn’t answer right away, and Etta - perpetually polite to a T - puts down her cup, and begins apologizing.

“It’s not that I don’t want you around.  The opposite, actually - I quite enjoy your company.  I’m just wondering what someone...like you does when there are no wars to fight - “

When there are no wars to fight.

The rest of Etta’s words fade away until that phrase is all she can hear, ringing over and over in her ears.

“Is this what people do when there are no wars to fight?”

“This, and other things.”

“What things?”

She supposes that’s what she must now figure out.

“Oh, dear.  I’ve offended you, haven’t I?” Etta humphs, before taking a large bite of a scone and rolling her eyes at herself.

“You haven’t offended me,” she assures her, smiling softly.  Etta sighs in relief, and then cracks a joke that she doesn’t quite get because she’s still trying to figure out the ins and outs of society.  Humor will be one of the last things to come.

“Where would he have gone?”

She’s dodging Etta’s question.  She doesn’t want to think about the future and all the unknowns that it presents.  They’ve been gnawing at her brain enough recently, and she doesn’t wish to talk about them.  At least not now.

But that doesn’t mean her curiosity isn’t genuine, her inquiry insincere.  It’s been one of the main things on her mind, in fact.  What was his life like without war?  Who was he when he woke up to peace instead of fighting, safe in a bed instead of huddled inside a tent in some foreign land?  What would he have shown her, taught her?

What could they have been together?

“Home, I suppose.”

Etta’s answer pulls her from her thoughts.  She looks at the woman,  who stares back at her with her lips pressed together in a sad smile.

“Did he miss it?” she asks.  “His home?”

He never spoke to her of home.  She remembers his anecdote about his father, back in Themyscira.

“My father used to say, you see something wrong in the world, you can either do nothing, or you can do something.”

His father, whose watch now sits in the pocket of her coat.  She hasn’t let it out of her sight since she found it after her battle with Ares, sitting on a piece of broken concrete.  Somehow, it remained in perfect condition, just as it was as he placed it in her hands before marching off to sacrifice himself.  She ran her fingers over the leather of the band, the glass covering the face, watched the tick tick tick of the second hand, and vowed to never let it out of her sight.  

It was now the most important object to her, more valuable than any shield or sword would ever be.  She will protect it with her life.  And the constant weight of it has been one of few comforts over the past weeks.  A piece of him to carry with her, always.

And she can’t help but wonder what other pieces of him might be left behind.

“Where was his home?” she continues.  “His family?  Did he speak of them with you?  Have you met them? Have - “

“My, my,” Etta interrupts, “you’re like a question machine.”

She pauses, mouth still open around her next inquiry.  Feeling herself begin to blush, she closes her lips, bites down on the bottom one.

“I want to know him,” she explains softly, looking down at their table, fingers playing with the edge of the ivory lace tablecloth.

“And that’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Etta assures her gently.  “Of course, I’ll tell you what I know.  It’s not much, to be honest - just bits and pieces.  He was a spy, after all.  But all the information I do have is back at the office.”

She nods, takes one more short sip of tea and then rises.  Because now she’s decided.  Her next steps in life are no longer murky; rather, they shine brightly in the surrounding darkness, beckoning her forward.  She doesn’t want to wait now that she knows where she’s going.

She’s going home for him.

Etta hurriedly gathers herself and rushes after her.

“You certainly don’t let any grass grow under your feet, do you?”

She smiles at Etta’s mumbling as she pushes the door to the cafe open.  She doesn’t quite get it - more humor and quirks in language that go over her head - but she suspects it’s supposed to be funny.  She’s about to ask Etta what it means when she’s nearly knocked over by two people passing on the sidewalk.

“Sorry, love!” the man shouts in apology, before laughing alongside the woman besides him.

She watches them as they continue together, their joined hands swinging between them.

“Why are they holding hands?”

“Probably because they’re together.”

She remembers the way her heart stuttered when she took his fingers between hers, so innocently that first time.  And then later, not so innocently - that night in Veld.

Her heart had skipped that same beat.

Now, her heart contracts, breaks for the one thousandth time over missing him so profoundly.  Cries as it watches the strangers turn the corner, moans miserably as the memory plays in her head.

And her smile slips.

* * *

She goes to America.

That’s where he’s from, after all; she’d known that much.  Etta confirms this for her, and soon after her tickets are booked and her bags are packed.

There’s no one there to see her off as she boards the ship to New York City.  Etta was starting secretary work for someone new the morning she was set to leave, so she made her dinner the night before and then said goodbye with a warm hug, grasping her hand as she walked out the door.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Diana,” she murmured.

She smiled, squeezed her hand back before letting go.

“I hope so, too.”

There’s no one to see her off, but she stands on the ship’s deck anyways, staring down at the crowd gathered onshore. She watches the people leaving wave to the people staying behind, shouting goodbyes and words of love that surely the other won’t be able to hear.  But they shout anyway, continue to wave even as the ship pulls away and those on land become dots on the horizon.

She goes to America, his watch always on her person, a crumpled piece of paper clutched tightly in her fist that bears a single address, written in Etta’s neat script.

Trevor Ranch 1202 Owl Creek Lane Meeteetse, Wyoming

She takes a train from New York to Cheyenne, and then takes a different, smaller one - one she’s sure isn’t really meant for passengers - to the town the paper in her hand denotes as his.

Meeteetse.

That’s all the sign outside the small train station says when she reaches her destination, painted in blood-orange capital letters against a dark wood background.  The only thing to signal that she’s in the right place, along with the railway worker’s word as he escorted her from the train.

“Yep, this’s Meeteetse,” he assures in a slow drawl.  “Doesn’t get many guests.  They’ll prolly throw a parade for you.”

He laughs at his own joke.  He’s a good deal shorter than her, his face covered with a thin layer of dirt.  She smiles back politely, but moves herself onto the station platform quickly.  She is ready to leave traveling behind.  Ready to get where she was going.

She’s ready to find his home.

She turns on her heel, starts towards the dirt path that leads to the tiny town, and the worker shouts as he reboards the train.

“Hope you find what you’re looking for, sweetheart!”

The words make her pause.  They’re the same ones Etta had told her as she left her apartment that last night.  She finds she misses the woman already.

She continues on, every step she takes kicking up a cloud of dust beneath her feet.  By the time she gets to the center of town, there’s a significant amount of dirt covering her black boots, just as there was on the railway worker’s face.  Just as there seems to be on everything in this town, at least from the outside.

It’s so different from London or New York, or even Cheyenne.  So quiet.  So full of nothingness.

She looks around, sees a car parked in front of a general store, a few horses tied up alongside a building that says ‘Saloon’.  She looks for some sort of center or government building - a town hall, perhaps - but finds none.  She chews on her bottom lip, not sure what to do next.  She turns to the other side of the street.

A single building stands in front of her, made of the same dark brown wood that seems to be the building material for every structure in town.  A sign, much like the one outside the train station, hangs over the door, painted with blood-orange letters that spell out ‘HOTEL’ this time, instead of the town’s name.

She decides it’s her best shot, and walks to the door.  As she opens it, a bell rings, alerting the man she sees sitting at a desk in the corner of the small lobby to her presence.  He looks up from the book he’s reading, a cigarette hanging between his lips.

“You need a room?” he inquires, voice low and raspy.

“No,” she answers quickly.  “At least, not right now.  Maybe later.”

The man at the desk tilts his head slightly.

“What can I help you with, then?”

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out right away.  Instead, she realizes she’s still standing in the entryway, door swung open.  She steps inside, letting the door go.

“I-”

The door slams behind her, cutting her off, and she flinches at the loud sound.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” the man asks.

She smiles shyly, and shakes her head, twisting the toe of her boot into the floor.

She’s nervous.  She’s in a new place, with no one to guide her this time.  And it’s so different from all the other places she’s been in this world.  If anything, it reminds her of Veld.  A bit smaller, perhaps.

“Can you tell from the way I’m stuttering and stumbling about?” she jokes, hoping it will break the tension in the room.  She looks up at the man, and he puts on a friendly smile.

“That.  And there’s the fact that I know everyone in this town, and you’re not anyone I know.  Don’t get many visitors, either.  But when we do get ‘em, they don’t look nothing like you.”

He drops his cigarette on the ground, stubs it out with his shoe.  Then, he takes an extra one from behind his ear, rummaging around his desk and grabbing a box of matches.

“I am wondering,” he begins, as he strikes one and uses it to light his cigarette, “if I can’t get you a room, what it is I can do for you.”

“I was hoping you could help me find something.  A place,” she tells him.

He shrugs.

“Not many places ‘round here, but go ‘head.”

She clenches the slip of paper, still in her fist.  However, she doesn’t need to look at it.  She’d memorized the address only moments after Etta gave it to her.

“Trevor Ranch,” she begins. “1202 Owl Creek La-”

“I know Trevor Ranch,” he interrupts.

Her eyes light up, and she takes a few steps forward.

“You do?”

“Yep,” he confirms, sticking his thumb out towards the left.  “‘Bout ten miles down the road thataway.”

Ten miles.  A little far to walk, though she could manage, of course.  But if there was another way.

“Do you know anyone who could take me there?  Or…” she thinks, “a horse!  If you had a horse I could borrow, I could ride it there and -”

“Whoa there, slow down,” he interrupts again.  “Listen, I don’t have a horse for you to borrow.  But I see out the window that Johnny’s car is across the street in front of the general store.  He’ll drive you to Trevor Ranch.”

“He will?  How much does he charge?”

“He won’t charge ya anything,” he says, laughing.  “Jee, you’re really not from around here.  Just tell ‘im you want to go to the ranch, and he’ll take you.  Tell him Stu sent you.”

“Thank you so much,” she tells him as she turns to leave.  “Really.  Thank you.”

He laughs again, and waves at her as she exits the building.  She marches across the street towards the store, newfound confidence and excitement radiating through her.  There’s a man at the back of the now, loading something in.

“Excuse me!  Are you Johnny?”

“Jesus!” the man exclaims, jumping slightly and spilling a crate full of corn onto the ground.  “Warn a guy, won’t ya?”

The man turns around with a startled and slightly annoyed look on his face.  His eyes widen for a moment when he sees her, but then his brow furrows.

“Yeah, I’m Johnny.  John.  Who are you?”

“My name is Diana,” she begins, and motions towards the hotel.  “Stu, from the hotel - he said that you could drive me to Trevor Ranch.”

He frowns, and then bends down to put the corn back in its crate. He loads it in the back of the car, and then shuts the door, turning towards her.

“What do you wanna go there for?” he asks, looking her over suspiciously.

“I, uh -”

She pauses, looking down at her feet.  She’s still not good at lying.  She steadies herself, planting her feet in the ground and putting on a sweet smile before looking up.

“I know them.  The Trevors.  From a long time ago.”

“Huh,” he says.  “Like an old family friend?”

“Yes.  An old family friend.  Exactly that.”

He nods, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Get in,” he tells her.

“Thank you,” she says, breathing a sigh of relief.  “Thank you so much.”

She can feel her anticipation build as she gets in the car, as the vehicle starts and drives away.  Ten miles, he said.  Ten miles until she would be there.

She sits in the car, looks out the window at the scenery zooming past.  She can’t concentrate.  She feels jittery, but in a good way.  The way she felt the night before her first training with Antiope.  Her stomach turns in the same way it did in Veld, when he took her to teach her to dance.  She can barely sit still, bouncing her knees up and down, up and down.

Suddenly, John pulls off the road, and the car screeches to a halt.

Her face scrunches in confusion, and she looks at the man beside her.

“What are you -”

“I know you’re not an old family friend of the Trevors,” he begins rapidly, crossing his arms in front of him.  “I’m an old family friend of the Trevors, so I would know you, or at least have heard of you if you were.  Plus, because I’m an old family friend, I know for a fact that Dorothy and El have never been fifty miles from the ranch in their whole lives, and you sure as hell ain’t from around here.”

She gapes at him.  She’s been caught in her lie, and she doesn’t know how to escape now.

“Look, I’m not trying to be mean or nothin’,” he says with a sigh, “but I gotta be there for them now.  I gotta protect them.  I have been the past few years, and now that...now that Steve’s not comin’ back -”

The breath leaves her chest at the mention of his name.

“You know Steve?” she whispers.

“Yeah, I know Steve.  I’m an old family friend, I told you.  You know Steve?”

“Yes,” she breathes, nodding her head slowly.

“How?”

“We fought together in the war,” she answers, without thinking.

He stares at her like she’s just grown a second head.  She clears her throat, falls back on a lie they’d used before.

“He fought,” she says.  “I didn’t.  Obviously.  I was his secretary.”

John hums, and looks out on the road in front of them.

“What did you say your name was again?”

“Diana,” she says, swallowing once, praying that Steve had never mentioned Etta’s name.  “Diana Prince.”

“Diana Prince,” he says slowly.

He stares out of the front window for a few more minutes, a frown on his face, and then turns the car back on.  He pulls back out onto the dirt road and starts driving again, and she closes her eyes in relief.

“Do you have something for Dorothy and El?” he asks.  “For their dad?  Is that why you’re here?”

“No,” she says hesitantly, thinking of the watch in her pocket briefly before banishing the thought from her mind.  The watch was hers.  He gave it to her, and it was all she had of him - at least for the moment.  No one could take it from her.

“Then what’re you doing here?”

She doesn’t answer right away, carefully choosing her words.  Trying to convey her purpose without giving everything away.

“I was very...fond of him.  Steve.  While we worked together, we created a great friendship.  And I guess I just wanted to...get to know him better.  Even better than I did.”

“That...makes sense, I guess,” he tells her, still frowning.

She nods, smiling quickly when he glances over at her.

The rest of the drive is quiet, the car the only thing filling the space with noise.  She continues to stare out the window, but she doesn’t really see any of the scenery.  She’s too nervous now, the feeling churning in her gut closer to fear now, rather than eagerness.

The car begins to slow, and she sits up straight, becoming more aware.  Something outside catches her eye.  Another sign - made of the same wood as the town, but this time with white letters, instead of red.

TREVOR RANCH

As the car turns into the long dirt driveway, her heart stops, then starts again in double-time.

“Do they know you’re coming?” John asks her.

“No,” she answers.  “I didn’t...I didn’t have a number, or I would’ve called.  Is it okay?  That I’m here?”

“It’ll be fine,” he sighs.  “Just...be careful.  Be nice.  They’re not really in a good place right now, with everything that’s going on.  Especially Dorothy, and I don’t even want to think about Mr. Trevor.  El is okay, because she’s young, I think.  But the rest of them…”

He trails off as he stops the car next to a red barn.

“I just don’t want your visit to get ruined because someone gets offended or says the wrong thing.”

He turns the engine off and they both exit the vehicle.  She closes her door, looks out in front of her.

There’s a tiny white house about a stone’s throw away from them.  Her eyes widen as she takes it in - his childhood home.

She can’t help the grin that breaks out onto her face.  The fear in her stomach has swirled back into excitement, and she takes off towards the house, trying her best not to run.  She notices after a moment, though, that John isn’t following her.  Instead, he’s walking towards the barn.

“You’re not coming with me?” she shouts over her shoulder.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head.  “Got work to do.”

He walks off, and she watches him as she prepares herself to continue towards the house.  He disappears into the barn, and her heart drops the smallest bit.

She’d become sort of attached to him in their short car ride - attached to someone who knew Steve like she did.  Plus, he seemed to believe her story.  She expected he would vouch for her when she met with Dorothy and El.

Dorothy and El.

She doesn’t know for sure who they are, but she suspects they are his sisters.  She wonders what they will be like.  If they’ll approve of her.  If they’ll believe her story.

If they’ll be anything like Steve was.

She starts off towards the house again, determination  in her every step.  Her heart pounds as she steps onto the front porch.  She stops in front of the door.  Before she knocks, she reaches into her pocket, runs her fingers over his watch.

Then, she steps forward, and pounds her fist gently against the door.

No one answers for a while.  In fact, she’s just raised her hand to knock again when the door creaks open with a soft creak.

A girl stands before her.  And that’s what she is - a girl, not a woman.  She can’t be any older than eighteen, in her best estimation.  She’s a whole head shorter than her, with long blonde hair and hazel eyes that look up at her curiously, her brow furrowed.

“Who are you?” she asks, her voice light and trilling.

It takes her a moment to respond.  She’s caught off guard - this isn’t who she expected to answer the door.  By the time she gathers herself and opens her mouth, someone else appears in the background.

“El, why are you standing there with the door wide -”

The other person - a woman this time, just as tall as her and seemingly around the same age - stops speaking when she sees her, walking up behind the girl and putting her hands on the girl’s shoulders.

“Who are you?” she asks, echoing the girl’s question, but not mimicking her curiosity.  Instead, she seems annoyed, almost.  Upset that someone is there, bothering them.

Again, it takes a moment for her to say something.  She’s taken aback again, this time for a very different reason.

This woman - she looks just like him.  Light brown hair, baby blue eyes.  She even has the same nose, and she’s taken back to when she first met Steve, hovering over him on the beach as he regained consciousness, studying his face.  He was objectively beautiful, she determined quickly, and this woman is, too.

Steve had only become more and more beautiful to her as she got to know him, as she learned his heart and soul.  She remembers that night in Veld, running her fingertips gently down his face, cherishing him as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

“Hello?  Hey, lady!”

She’s pulled out of her memories by the woman’s voice.  She looks visibly bothered now, the impatience in her voice now displayed in the expression on her face.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes quickly.  “I just…”

But she trails off again, not knowing what to say.  Should she be plain with the two people in front of her, and simply tell them the truth?  Should she attempt to play a part, like she did with John?  She wishes, again, that he had come to the door with her, that he could explain why she was there.

The woman, meanwhile, rolls her eyes.  She’s about to say something, but the girl cuts her off with her gentle voice.

“How did you even get here?”

She smiles softly, trying to convey some sort of friendliness.

“I met John in town.  In Meeteetse.  And he agreed to drive me here.”

“I’m gonna kill that guy,” the woman mutters under her breath.  “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but we’re not really in the mood for visitors right now.  So if you could just...go, we’d really appreciate it.”

She turns, then, pulling the girl along with her, going to shut the door.  But she reaches her arm out quickly to stop the woman from closing it, utilizing some of her extraordinary strength to ensure the door would stay open.

“Please,” she begs.  “This is important!  I knew your brother.”

She feels the pressure on the door lessen immediately.  The woman’s face softens the tiniest bit.

“I knew Steve,” she says again.  “He was your brother, right?”

The two don’t answer, just stare at her.  So she keeps going, looking down at the girl.

“And you’re El,” she tells her, and then looks back at the woman.  “Then you must be Dorothy.  John told me your names.”

“How did you know my brother?” the girl - El - asks.  Her face is brighter now, and the interest in her eyes has grown tenfold.  “Wait - do you want to come in?”

“El,” Dorothy sighs.  “We don’t even know if she’s telling the truth.”

“She is!” El insists.  “I can tell.  You always say I’m good at reading people.”

“We don’t even know her name.”

“Diana,” she supplies quickly.  “Diana Prince.”

“And now we know her name,” El announces, turning to her sister.  “Come on, Dot, please?  Let’s just...talk to her.”

Dorothy hesitates, eyes darting between her and El.  Finally, she sighs heavily, rolling her eyes again.

“Fine.  Come in, I guess,” she says, opening the door wider.  Then she looks at her sister, mutters to her, “Don’t call me Dot.  You know I hate that.”

The two sisters disappear inside.  Before following them, she closes her eyes, lifts her head up towards the sky.

“Please give me the words to say,” she whispers to him.  “Please help them to like me.”

* * *

They lead her to a table in the corner of a tiny kitchen, newspapers scattered all over it.  Dorothy offers her coffee, and she accepts to be polite.  She doesn’t really like coffee; it’s too bitter for her taste.

She sits down with El, and Dorothy comes over a moment later, handing Diana a red mug full of the hot, brownish-black liquid.  She pulls out her chair and sits down, gathering up the newspapers and tossing them onto the black and white checkered linoleum floor.

“So,” El begins, smiling at her.  “How did you know my brother?”

She smiles back at the girl, glances at Dorothy out of the corner of her eye.

“Well, I was his secretary during the war,” she explains.  “We worked closely together on many occasions.”

Dorothy hums, and takes a sip of her coffee.  She looks over at El, and sees the girl’s face has fallen just a bit.

“His secretary?” she asks.

She sounds confused by this, and Diana feels her palms begin to sweat, fearing El has somehow caught her in her lie.

But before she can try and answer, Dorothy speaks.

“Yeah, El.  Remember he wrote about a secretary in one of his letters?  She would organize his missions, and stuff like that.”

El still hesitates for a moment, staring at her strangely, before plastering on a pleasant smile.

“Oh yeah,” she murmurs.  “I forgot.”

“He would write us letters,” Dorothy tells her quietly, “especially at the beginning, when he first enlisted.  But then the war dragged on and on, and the letters came less often.”

“It’s not because he forgot about us, or missed us less,” El chimes in.

“Of course it wasn’t,” Diana agrees.  “He was just more and more busy as the war continued.  And he was a spy, of course, so it’s not like -”

“He was a spy?!” El shouts, half-standing from her chair.

“El!” Dorothy reprimands.  “Stop shouting.”

“Oh!” Diana exclaims lightly.  “You...you didn’t know that?”

“No,” El humphs.  “They barely told us anything.”

Diana looks between the two of them as they quietly absorb this new information.

“Well, at least we know why, now,” Dorothy murmurs, then turns to her.  

“Was he...good at it?  Being a spy?  I can’t see him as a spy,” she says, a slight smile appearing on her face, memories of her brother flooding her mind.  “It seems like he would be...too virtuous, or something.  Too earnest.”

“He was virtuous.  Eager to do the right thing,” Diana agrees.  “But that meant he was willing to do anything to make the war end and bring peace, even if that meant being a spy.  And he was a brilliant spy.  An admirable soldier.”

She hesitates, not knowing how much she should tell them about his death.  She doesn’t know if they’ll want to hear about it, nor does she know if her heart can take speaking about it again - it seems to be getting harder, rather than easier, with time.  However, she feels like she needs to tell them.  They must know truly how admirable he was.

“I don’t know how much they told you about his...death,” she begins softly, “but I want you to know that he sacrificed himself to save many people.  Thousands, perhaps.  And that is the most honorable sacrifice one can make - to give their life, even for people they do not know.”

The room is quiet for a moment, as they remember their loved one - his life, his death, and his legacy.

“He was a very good man,” El says quietly.

“More than that,” Diana counters.  “More than good.  Extraordinary.”

“They sent us a letter when he died,” El explains, “but again, it didn’t say much.  The only other thing we got was the story in the paper.”

She reaches down onto the floor, picks up one of the newspapers that Dorothy had gathered up earlier, and flips through the pages.

“These are from Cody,” Dorothy explains.  “Mr. Stewart from the hotel picked some up for us when he was visiting relatives.”

“Who is Cody?” Diana asks, as El finally opens to a page and hands the paper to her.

“Cody is just another town.  Bigger than Meeteetse.”

Diana doesn’t respond, because she’s too captivated by the newspaper in front of her.

VFW HONORS LOCAL HERO

There’s a picture of him staring back at her, a smile on his face.  He’s young in the photo; it must have been taken when he first joined the army.  She can tell not only by his physical appearance - there are less creases around his bright eyes - but also by the expression on his face.  It’s innocent, almost. Naive.  One that hasn’t witnessed the horrors of war and man.

She imagines it’s an expression similar to the one she wore, when she boarded the boat to leave Themyscira.  Brave, but unsullied by the realities of the world.

She runs her fingers over the photo in front of her, traces the planes of his face and body with the tip of her index finger.  She wishes that she’d know him then.  That they’d grown up together.

That she’d been there for every moment of his life.

She smiles, but she can feel the pressure of tears start to build behind her eyes.

“You can keep that if you want,” El offers.  “We have extras.  Mr. Stewart brought us a lot of copies.”

“Thank you,” Diana breathes.  “I think I will keep it.”

El smiles kindly.

They’re all quiet again for a minute.  Then, Dorothy gets up.

“I have to get started on supper,” she says.  “Dad will be getting hungry.  El, why don’t you take Ms. Prince and show her around the ranch?”

“Please, call me Diana.”

“Alright then, Diana.  Come on, let’s go!” El tells her as she gets up and walks out the front door.

Dorothy chuckles.

“She has too much energy for her own good sometimes.”

“How old is she?” Diana asks.

“Seventeen.”

“So young?”

“She was a unexpected surprise,” Dorothy explains, “long after Mom and Dad thought they were done havin’ babies.  I was seventeen myself when she was born.  Steve was fifteen.”

“May I ask where your mother is?” Diana inquires.  “John said something about your father being here, but he didn’t mention your mother.”

Dorothy looks out the kitchen window for a long moment before answering.

“She died during childbirth.”

“I’m so sorry,” Diana murmurs.

“At least we have El - Eleanor.  That was my mom’s name.”

A silence settles over the kitchen - Dorothy remembering her mother, Diana thinking of and missing her own mother - before Dorothy eventually speaks again.

“You better get out there.  She’ll come looking for you soon.”

Diana smiles, and rises from the table, tucking the newspaper in her coat pocket alongside his watch.

* * *

El gives her a brief tour of the grounds - shows her the cattle and the corn crop - before losing interest, and leading her to what she calls a “very special place”.

After about five minutes of walking, Diana speaks.

“Where are you taking me?”

“We’re almost there,” El promises.  “And I told you, it’s a special place.”

They walk for a few more minutes, and then come across a small river.

“What is this?” she asks.

“Owl Creek,” El tells her.  “Me and Steve used to come here when I was little and play.  It’s not deep enough to swim, but we would wade in it when it was summer, and he taught me how to skip stones on top of the water.  Do you know how?”

“I don’t.  Will you teach me?”

“Of course,” El says, and gets to work finding smooth stones to try and throw.

The talent comes rather easily to Diana, as most physical capabilities do to her, but she tells El it’s because she had such a good teacher.

El shrugs.

“Well, my brother taught me, so that must mean he was a good teacher.”

Diana smiles softly, and nods her head.

“Yes, it does.”

They spend a few minutes like that, quietly skipping stones together, memories of Steve running through their minds.

“I know you weren’t my brother’s secretary.”

Diana freezes.

“In one of his letters,” El continues, still skipping stones, “he said the name of his secretary.  Dorothy must not remember, but I do.  Her name was Etta something.  Candy, maybe?”

Her stomach drops.  She doesn’t know what to do, so she waits.  Waits for El to yell at her, to scream for help, to run back and tell Dorothy.

But she simply stands there, looking out over the river.  Diana decides to mimic her calm behavior, and skips the next stone in her hand.

“Why didn’t you tell you sister?”

“Because I knew she would tell you to leave,” El says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Maybe she should have made me leave,” Diana tells her, panic beginning to creep into the edges of her voice.  “Maybe that’s not all I’m lying about.  Maybe I never even knew - “

“You knew him,” El interrupts.  “I know you did.  I can tell.”

“How?” she asks.

“By the way you looked at that picture of him in the paper.”

She feels the pressure of tears behind her eyes again.

“How did I look at him?”

“Like you love him.”

She closes her eyes, but a tear still manages to escape the corner of her eye, falls down her cheek and catches the line of her jaw.

“I did love him,” she whispers.  “I still do.”

“And that’s how I know you’re a good person.  I mean, I could tell even when I met you, because I’m good at reading people.  But I can tell even more now.  If you knew my brother, and love him, you have to be a good person.”

Diana opens her eyes, and the liquid in them shines in the early evening sun.

“I knew if I told Dorothy you were lying,” El says, going back to skipping stones, “there’s no way she would’ve let you stay.  Even if there was a good reason for your lying.  Maybe you were a spy, too.”

“I’m not quite a spy, but I did fight alongside your brother in the war,” she reveals.

“How?  I thought women weren’t allowed to fight in the war.”

“Where I come from, girls are trained in fighting from childhood, to prepare them to defend themselves and the people around them.”

El considers this, tilting her head to the side.

“That sounds pretty amazing.”

“It is,” Diana confirms, a light laugh escaping her chest.  “It’s pretty amazing.”

They look at each other, an understanding forming between them.

“I won’t tell Dorothy that you’re not Steve’s secretary.  It’ll be our secret.”

Diana nods, placing a finger over her lips.  El chuckles.

“Besides, she’s taken a liking to you now.  We don’t want to ruin it.”

“I didn’t think she was going to let me in the house when I first knocked,” she admits.

“Nah, Dot’s not that tough,” El tells her.  “She pretends to be, especially since Steve died, but inside she’s a softie.”

“I thought she hated when you call her Dot,” Diana teases.

“No,” El says, getting quiet.  “That’s just what Steve used to call her, so she’s...sensitive about it now.”

“Oh,” she murmurs.

El smiles slightly, and turns her head down, her long blonde hair falling into her face.

“He used to call me Ellie.”

Diana takes a step towards her, reaches out her hand and gingerly places it on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, El.”

She feels the weight of his watch in her pocket, more heavy than normal.  Hesitantly, she takes it out, looking it over, swiping her thumb over the glass.

El looks up, sees the watch in Diana’s hands.  Her eyes widen.

“My dad gave that to my brother when he left for the war.  How did you get that?”

“Before he died,” she begins, “your brother gave it to me.  And I cherish it.  I always keep it with me, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.  It reminds me of him and everything he showed me.”

“It’s important to you,” El says.

“Yes, but...you can have it, if you want it.”

“Don’t you want it, though?” she asks, confusion coloring her features.

“I do,” Diana admits, “but you were his family.  His sister.”

El looks up at her, and then reaches out and takes the watch.  She turns it over in her hands, and then hands it back to Diana.

“No,” she tells her, shaking her head.  “You take it.  He gave it to you, which means he cared about you a lot.  Probably loved you.  Which means you’re his family, too.  Plus, you need something to remember him by.”

Taken aback by the young girl’s kindness, Diana takes back the watch.

“Thank you, El.”

“You’re welcome.  Now, come on.  Dorothy’s gonna be looking for us.  Supper is probably almost ready.”

She takes off towards the house, and Diana watches her leave.  She places his watch in her coat pocket once again, feels comforted by weight and how it balances her.

Then, she follows El.

* * *

The three of them have a nice dinner together - steak and mashed potatoes and corn.  They speak on and off, the sisters telling her stories of Steve when he was young and mischievous, causing trouble on the farm.  Letting the cows get loose.  Almost ruining one year’s corn crop.  So much.  So many memories.  They spend more time laughing than they do crying, although the tears do come.

She asks if they have pictures, but they don’t, unfortunately.  They never owned a camera growing up.  The only ones of him that exist are the ones taken by the military, and that one taken of them in Veld.  She doesn’t tell them about that one, though.  She doesn’t know if she’ll ever see it herself.

By the time they’re done talking, John has come in from his work, and Dorothy prepares a plate for him.  After he’s finished, the four play cards until the dark of night settles outside.

“I really should be going,” Diana says, regretfully.  She really doesn’t want to leave.  She feels closer to him here, and feels a kinship with all of the people here.  A sort of bond formed from the light Steve carried with him through life.

“I’ll drive you back to town,” John offers, and stands up, going outside to start the car.

“Will you come back someday?” El asks hopefully, as the three of them rise from the table.

“I think I will, if that’s alright.”

El nods eagerly as she looks to Dorothy for conformation.

“Yes, you may come back,” the woman says.  “We’d be happy to have you.  I’d offer for you to stay tonight, but we don’t have an extra room.  I don’t want to make you sleep on the floor.”

Diana laughs with Dorothy.  The truth is, she would sleep on the floor - even in the barn if they insisted - but she doesn’t want to push her luck this time.  There will be other occasions, more visits.

She looks at El.

“And I’ll bring a camera with me next time, so that we can take pictures of all the memories we make.”

She expects El to laugh, or smile.  But instead, she rushes forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Diana’s waist.

“Thank you so much, Diana,” she murmurs into the fabric of her shirt.

She smiles gently, hugs the girl back, runs a hand over her long blonde hair, smoothing it.

And she feels a tiny bit of the gaping wound in her heart begin to heal.

“Always,” Diana murmurs to her.

“Okay, El,” Dorothy groans playfully, “let her go.”

El squeezes her tighter for a moment before letting her go.

“Why don’t you go get Diana’s coat from the bedroom?” Dorothy asks the girl, and El turns with a drawn-out ‘fine’, taking off down the hall.

“I’m sorry that my Dad couldn’t visit,” Dorothy says as the two walk towards the front door.  “He’s just...really sick right now, and Steve’s death has only made it worse.”

“I understand,” she assures her.  “I wish him good health and prosperity.”

They reach the entryway, and Dorothy leans against the doorframe.

“El told me about the watch,” she begins.  “And I agree that you should keep it.  Dad told Steve to die with that thing - to take it down with him.  If he knew he was going to die, and gave it to you instead - that means something.  He wanted you to have it.”

“Thank you,” Diana says quietly.  “You truly don’t know what that means to me.”

Dorothy hesitates, and then reaches and takes her new friend’s hand.

“Be well, Diana.”

“You too,” she tells her, tightening her hand around hers for a moment before letting go.

El reappears with her coat.  She shrugs it on, reaching into her pocket, where she finds her two treasures; his watch, and now the rolled-up newspaper with his picture in it.

She walks down the steps to the porch after one more hug from El, across the way to the car, still parked next to the barn.  She climbs in, where John is waiting for her.  The car starts off down the driveway, and she watches the two sisters standing side by side on the porch until they disappear over the horizon.

“You have a nice visit?” John asks her.

“I did.  Very much so.”

She puts her hands in her coat pockets when they pull out onto the road, finds the watch and newspaper of course, but she feels something else in the opposite pocket.  She pulls it out, looks down, and smirks.

It’s the piece of paper Etta gave her, with his address.  She unfolds the paper, now crunched into a ball, and reads the words and numbers written on it one more time.

Trevor Ranch 1202 Owl Creek Lane  Meeteetse, Wyoming

“You find what you were looking for?”

She smiles fondly.

“Yes.  I think I did.”

A/N:  there might be more chapters to this? i'm not sure though. again, let me know what you think!