#but whatever it's fine. if i do something new and fancy with it ill write it down. maybe. probably.

[happyk44]

Me, listing my regular work tasks as I've gained more because I'm supposed to keep track as I grow in my role for performance review purposes: *writes "You know what it is" under the one task I've had since I started working*

Me: *remembers how the recipe for Roman concrete was forgotten over time because they never specified the type of water used since everyone knew it was seawater so why specify*

Me: Hahaha, that's so funny. History really is just constant repetition of human behaviour. Neat 😊

Also me: *still doesn't specify because that's too much writing, my hand hurts, and I know what goes into this task so it's fine, lol*

[rusakkowrites]

For the DVD commentary, I need some details on the furnishings of Hartfield :D

“… I have been thinking over the arrangements upstairs, and I believe I have hit upon a fine solution. We shall do over Mrs Weston’s old chamber for a second dressing room. It is a very comfortable room, and I believe it will suit the purpose admirably. The wall-hangings must be changed, and I should like to order new curtains to match, but apart from that, I do not think much is required.”

“I am quite certain that you are correct.”

Mr Elton’s eyebrows shot up. The second voice belonged to none other than Mr Knightley, whom Mr Elton had quite expected to be at Donwell Abbey waiting for him. It was yet more evidence of Knightley’s recent peculiar absent-mindedness that he should be tarrying at Hartfield instead.

“I will send for samples to see what might suit,” continued Miss Woodhouse. Her voice was now so close that Mr Elton surmised she must be right on the other side of the shrubs surrounding his hiding place. “Mrs Weston has a very pretty pattern in her sitting room. I do not think the colour is quite what I should prefer, but perhaps something similar may be found in a different shade.”

It was just like Miss Woodhouse, Mr Elton thought ill-naturedly, to be so assured of her own importance as to blithely imagine that Knightley would give a fig about her refurbishment schemes. He rather wished that Knightley would set her right. Miss Woodhouse, if anyone, was in dire need of being taken down a peg.

“… As for the bedchamber, I think it will do as it is. Another bedside table might be needed, I suppose, but I believe the rest of the furniture will need no alteration – unless you perceive some overlooked flaw in my plan.”

“The furnishings of the room matter little to me,” came Mr Knightley’s voice. It sounded as if he and Miss Woodhouse were headed in the direction of the side gate. “My requirements will be satisfied as long as you may be found within.”

For an instant, Mr Elton thought that he must have misheard. Mr Knightley’s words seemed entirely incongruous. What business could he possibly have with Miss Woodhouse’s bedchamber furnishings, and why the devil was he speaking as if he would be making use of the room himself?

Yet Mr Elton’s hearing was proven quite intact by what followed.

“Oh,” Miss Woodhouse replied in a saucy tone, “I shall remind you of your words when you complain that the curtains let in too much light or that the bed is too narrow for two!”

Yay, another chance to talk about Emma and Mr Knightley! <3

This was a fic that I really enjoyed writing. The three previous fics I had written had been for a Big Bang event, a Reddit challenge and Fandom Trumps Hate, which were all a lot of fun, but afterwards it was really nice to write something with no deadline and no prompts or other rules to adhere to. Just something self-indulgent and a bit silly.

“… I have been thinking over the arrangements upstairs, and I believe I have hit upon a fine solution. We shall do over Mrs Weston’s old chamber for a second dressing room. It is a very comfortable room, and I believe it will suit the purpose admirably. The wall-hangings must be changed, and I should like to order new curtains to match, but apart from that, I do not think much is required.”

My impression is that both Emma and Mr Knightley are fairly practical people at heart. They're both used to being in charge of their respective households and to making decisions. I think they'd approach Mr Knightley's move to Hartfield in an organised manner and enjoy discussing all the details of their household management. (They'd also have plenty of time to plan due to Mr Woodhouse delaying the wedding.)

I headcanon Emma as having excellent taste, and of course she has the means to accomplish whatever decorating scheme that catches her fancy. Mrs Elton would no doubt find Emma's style disappointingly conservative and plain, but everyone else (including Mr Knightley) would feel that she she strikes just the right note: appropriate for her wealth and station in life but not overdone. However, she rarely makes many big alterations at once because Mr Woodhouse hates change so much. Just subtle updates a little bit at a time, preferably making a point of how each change makes their house safer and healthier to live in. Hartfield would have all the modern conveniences that Emma could get installed, but the rooms her father spends the most time in would not have anything too newfangled on view.

“I am quite certain that you are correct.”

Mr Elton’s eyebrows shot up. The second voice belonged to none other than Mr Knightley, whom Mr Elton had quite expected to be at Donwell Abbey waiting for him. It was yet more evidence of Knightley’s recent peculiar absent-mindedness that he should be tarrying at Hartfield instead.

I love dramatic irony in fiction, and I had lots of fun with Mr Elton's point of view in this story. Emma and Mr Knightley know what's going on and so does the reader, but Mr Elton is just grumpy and confused.

“I will send for samples to see what might suit,” continued Miss Woodhouse. Her voice was now so close that Mr Elton surmised she must be right on the other side of the shrubs surrounding his hiding place. “Mrs Weston has a very pretty pattern in her sitting room. I do not think the colour is quite what I should prefer, but perhaps something similar may be found in a different shade.”

The logistics of this whole scene gave me a bit of trouble. I wanted Mr Elton to be able to eavesdrop and even peek at Mr Knightley and Emma without being discovered. My initial idea was to have him just outside the garden gate, behind a tree or something, but I felt like he'd be too visible there, so I put him in a little nook in the shrubbery instead. I'm not sure how realistic it would actually be for a Regency-era garden to have a bench almost completely hidden by bushes, though if people had garden mazes, I imagine a little walled-off bench wouldn't be too hard to accomplish.

It was just like Miss Woodhouse, Mr Elton thought ill-naturedly, to be so assured of her own importance as to blithely imagine that Knightley would give a fig about her refurbishment schemes. He rather wished that Knightley would set her right. Miss Woodhouse, if anyone, was in dire need of being taken down a peg.

Mr Elton spent the previous autumn praising everything Emma said and did, but that's definitely over! Mr Knightley, however, is another matter. In canon, the Eltons seem pretty eager to build a good relationship with him (which is unsurprising considering that he owns basically all the land in the area). Unfortunately for them, disliking Emma is a pretty certain way to earn Mr Knightley's dislike. And he's very invested in Emma's refurbishment scheme!

“… As for the bedchamber, I think it will do as it is. Another bedside table might be needed, I suppose, but I believe the rest of the furniture will need no alteration – unless you perceive some overlooked flaw in my plan.”

“The furnishings of the room matter little to me,” came Mr Knightley’s voice. It sounded as if he and Miss Woodhouse were headed in the direction of the side gate. “My requirements will be satisfied as long as you may be found within.”

I agonized over what exactly Mr Knightley should say to finally tip Mr Elton off. I wanted it to be inappropriate for anyone except a husband or future husband to say, but I didn't want to make it sound sleazy - I think Mr Knightley wouldn't be one for dirty talk before marriage.

For an instant, Mr Elton thought that he must have misheard. Mr Knightley’s words seemed entirely incongruous. What business could he possibly have with Miss Woodhouse’s bedchamber furnishings, and why the devil was he speaking as if he would be making use of the room himself?

Yet Mr Elton’s hearing was proven quite intact by what followed.

“Oh,” Miss Woodhouse replied in a saucy tone, “I shall remind you of your words when you complain that the curtains let in too much light or that the bed is too narrow for two!”

I wanted to show Emma and Mr Knightley being comfortable with each other, and I think teasing and banter would be a big part of that. I also think that their long-standing friendship would make it easier for them to discuss topics that are very relevant to their practical arrangements but also skirting the edge of propriety, such as sleeping arrangements. However, they definitely wouldn't be talking about such private topics if they knew someone else was in earshot!

I think Emma has a pretty good notion of what to expect from married life. She has both Mrs Weston and Isabella to talk to, after all. I also believe that Emma is the Austen heroine who is shown to be thinking most directly about her future children:

It is remarkable, that Emma, in the many, very many, points of view in which she was now beginning to consider Donwell Abbey, was never struck with any sense of injury to her nephew Henry, whose rights as heir-expectant had formerly been so tenaciously regarded. Think she must of the possible difference to the poor little boy; and yet she only gave herself a saucy conscious smile about it, and found amusement in detecting the real cause of that violent dislike of Mr. Knightley’s marrying Jane Fairfax, or any body else, which at the time she had wholly imputed to the amiable solicitude of the sister and the aunt.

I feel that the "saucy conscious smile" could be read as implying that she has some idea of how those children will come about. :D

Thank you for the ask!

[mackerelphones]

Movies I watched lately

Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975): This is a movie about being out of your depth in a mysterious universe of frightening powers and Valentine's Day being on the wrong day

Perfect Blue (1997): Scarier than The Shining. Definitely much more uncomfortable, with all the sexual violence. But that might just be because pop culture spoiled every part of The Shining ahead of time, whereas in Perfect Blue I didn't know what to expect next. In a twist, Perfect Blue actually explains exactly what's going on with the disappointing "mentally ill murderer" trope. Here I expected only metaphors

The Handmaiden (2016): At first I thought this was going to be a period drama about polite people in fancy costumes, but then came the first twist and I was hooked. I don't know if this subverts the male gaze or whatever. But this film is definitely entertaining, well shot, the small cast of characters all well realized. Sometimes so over-the-top it felt a little like a cartoon. I wish the ending was more about what the leading ladies got up to besides symbolically playing with metal balls than about horrifying gore

Zardoz (1974): This film unironically engages with the concepts L. Frank Baum introduces in his later Oz novels, when he turns Oz into a dystopia hell world by accident. The Tabernacle is Ozma's Magic Picture. Not sure how to feel about having a habitual rapist as our protagonist, but it was the 1970s, so the actors probably just hated women that much in their daily lives anyway

Puella Magi Madoka Magica the Movie: Beginnings (2012): It's like a slightly worse version of the show. Took out three memorable bits: Madoka's dream in the opening, Mami's backstory, and Hitomi screaming about lesbians. The dream is an especially odd deletion since without that, the opening is boring. But you can't call this scene-for-scene remake a cheap cashgrab because the new visuals are baroque, sometimes to the point that it becomes ridiculous. Why the hell is Kamijo's hospital room a gorgeous palatial chamber full of books and a collection of the weirdest chairs that have ever existed?

Puella Magi Madoka Magica the Movie: Eternal (2012): Ditto

Puella Magi Madoka Magica the Movie: Rebellion (2013): This expands on the wrong things from the show until it develops into an avalanche of the wildest colors and visuals. Can't say it's not gorgeous though. The one new character is a little girl whose defining trait is that she is obsessed with cheese. With a fourth Madoka movie coming out, I do not trust the creators not to ruin the series. Have Homura kiss Madoka you cowards

Manhunt (1976): This film's original Japanese title is something like "You Must Cross the River of Anger!" Very Alfred Hitchcock vibe. It is most notable because of its surprise popularity in the PRC. I was glad that the writing was intelligent enough to recognize the main character would not return to the police force after what he goes through. On the other hand, it concludes extrajudicial execution is fine if the person is evil enough

Up Tight! (1968): Speaking of killing someone. A lot of people in this movie abruptly start shouting and wailing and attacking people and then have to be pulled off. It's a shame the gay character's homosexuality is treated as a sign of how he is an unreliable class traitor who loves cops

Do the Right Thing (1989): This is a really good movie about a hot day on a street where a lot of angry people scream at each other. Apparently, Spike Lee wrote the screenplay in two weeks. I am jealous. That got me thinking how many talented people it took to bring the screenplay to life. I don't know how Sweet Dick Willie's dialogue could be planned instead of extemporaneous, but that's the magic of cinema. The ice cube scene is weird

Total Recall (1990): I don't buy that Quaid and Melina could just get up and be fine after the air rushes over them in the finale. Their eyes were boiling! And whoever built the Mars colony in GLASS DOMES, brittle, ordinary glass, was so stupid that they could not possibly exist. This proves the story was a hallucination inside Quaid's head. Didn't expect the movie to feature a dwarf sex worker mowing down cops with a machine gun. They should have made a movie about her instead

[ask-vinyl-scratch]

10/26/2010

haha wow doin stuff with Tavi really took like two hours huh. is she training me to finally get my sleep schedule back on track???

ok ok i probably got like an hour before she calls me back so I gotta get as much writing done in my diary as I can before... oh god.

I, Vinyl Scratch, am not turning into a nerd, am I?

no. no im not. no im just writing in my about what I'm doing because Tavi gave me the advice and I like it and it helps me realize more what im doing.

Ok ill write about the days that led up to me being in Canterlot, in Octavia's old bedroom (or in her bathroom right now), rebelling against her parents in the best! way!! POSSIBLE!!!!!!!

22th: i slept all day through this one bc even though a ton of the ponies from Pinkie's party left before 2 am like a buncha normies, and despite everything that can be going wrong and lame be happening doing, Pinkie, Berry, and a cool new mare I met called Derpy raved quite successfully with me until Berry's filly and Derpy's foals hadda go to school and we decided to just end the party. i woulda liked to have a party go on from night till noon though...

though considering the fact that I only barely woke up in time for me and Tavi to make our train to Canterlot, maybe it was for the best. not how i wanted to spend Luna's glorious night, packing feverishly so i could get on a train to get closer to the Jealous Sun, but it was inevitable.

tbh dont tell Tavi but I totally forgot that we were even going to Canterlot and meeting up with Lyra and Bon Bon. train ride was fine, but strangely (not in a bad way) Tavi was a lot more affectionate, which was weird at the time but makes a lot more sense what with what was gonna happen later on.

23th: we finally met Lyra and Bon Bon in Canterlot. feel pretty bad for Lyra, gottin to have to go back and forth and back and forth between Ponyville and Canterlot and tons of other places just to do her concerts or whatever. I guess I can relate since Tavi usually has to go to Canterlot a ton. while Im stuck in ponyville. gets lonely a lot. luckily we both somehow get the energy to send letters to each other every day were apart, but i live in fear of a day when that might stop. i mean, are we fillyfriends because of some temporary physical attraction or because of who we are?

anyway we were goin around out. I was chattin with Bon Bon bout liquor candies. I told her id hook her up with a nice mare if she'd attempt to make some. (Spoiler alert: she and nope im not going to spoil it, I'll just talk about it on the 24th day section). I noticed that Tavi and Lyra weren't talkin much and were acting all aloof and uptight and not at all affectionate and like the snooty Canterlotians but I chalked it up to them being natives.

that was until Bon Bon saw my face and told me that theres like....... a whole thing in Canterlot about being a fillyfooler. Apparently they still think that Celestia only wants couples of one mare and one stallion, for making more foals for her glory or something. well what the buck does that make me then???????????? what's so wrong about me being with Octavia, and then adopting a couple dozen fillies that need the love and attention instead of making some that didnt ask to be made?????? whatever. more proof that Luna is based and C celestia is cringe.

Also apparently Bon Bon didnt know that Lyra was a fillyfooler, which was something I was going to soon rectify. we had donuts at Donut Joe's yknow and then we went to a few fancy bistros for their bars. I got Lyra drunk enough to tell me that old story that she was only able to get into her place on the orchestra because she 'befriended' the mom of the old conductor Allegro Accelerando and threatened to become his second mom if he didnt put her on. Bon Bon was real impressed with all the graphic detail and I was laughing my flank off at both Lyra's funny as buck story and Bon Bon's honest reaction but Octavia was mortified that someone might overhear us and throw us out, not to mention our reputations and careers.

Well not that us Ponyville mares had anything to be afraid of but in the interest of making Tavi feel comfortable I felt that I should take Tavi back to her hotel room while stealthily suggesting Lyra's drunk flank take Bon Bon to her own >:)

but when we got to the room Octavia broke down in tears. it was frankly disturbing for myy marefriend who didnt even cry that much when i was in danger of being overdose on cocaine. shes just... usually so calm and reserved.

i asked what was wrong but she just told me to love her and keep loving her, she begged me to keep loving her and being with her for all time, but most of all, she begged me to never stop being me. So i just hugged her and put her on the couchbed andtold her that she needs some of the Berry Punch/Pinkie Pie Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster to giver her some rest and she just laughed and shook her head goodnaturedly and it looks like that calmed her down. the weed brownie i also got her to eat probably helped too

i was really concerned for her and i didnt really know what to do. i remember having a lot of trouble with why she was so sad, since it seemed to be something more than just the dislike of fillyfoolers in Canterlot. of course, i know now that it was because we had to meet her parents the next day.

24th: yeah so we woke up pretty early in the day (noon) and we had a couple hours before the necessary dinner date with Tavi's parents that she finally told me about and I convicned her to take me with her. We were gonna hang out with Lyra and Bon Bon more since the 23thrd was a blast and tons of fun but unfortuantely they were a little preoccupied at the moment.

Lyra was having some trouble with her record player in her room (;<

and Bon Bon was having to make some liquor candies for me >:)

so we just went to a Barns & Nobles a little bit and then hung out at a ma and pa book store/coffee place for a few hours. Octavia seemed much better, much less uptight and even willing to hug me in public. I still could read her like one of the books and I knew she was conflicted about something but I wanted to give her some time to get through it. well imagine my surprise when she leans over and kisses me right in front of a passing old mare!!!!!!! an old mare who blushed and ran away from the two of us.

I was immediately freaking out since she coudl like lose her job right?? but she puts a comforting hoof on my shoulder and says somethign that I cant remember at the moment because sweet loving Luna did I go to sleep at a horrible time last night (8. BUCKING. P.M.) But it was probably something about not wanting to hide who we are, especially to her parents.

Then we met her parents.

This is not a discussion for the diary.

We did not fight.

(but you better believe I whipped their flanks!!!)

25th: lol haha today (or I guess last night?????????) was a blast. we just basically, y'know went on a sUPER CUTE FILLYFOOLER DOUBLE DATE AND GJKASVJSLKFJDC

AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

dont make fun of my hoofdrawing skills im getting better also

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Are we taking things too fast? I dont know if she's comfortable with it... I dont even know if me and Tavi are coming to the same conclusions. i mean nopony comes faster than Vinyl Scratch! . ok ok ok I just don't know if she's comfortable with it, I mean, she seems so uptight a lot of the time but that's just her, baby! Well. No, actually, she isnt' uptight once you get to know her but in the meantime... Though it seems like one part of her's not tight when I trot into the room! Hey-oh! i dont eeven know what that means.

ok ok ok ok.ok. So. Last night Tavi kinda maybe spilled the beans to Lyra and Bon Bon that... ok im not gonna put that in my journal cuz i feel like its memorable enough for me to remember and i dont want to take the chance that anyone actually reads these.

So idk idk i gotta discuss this with her tomorrow (OR LATER TODAY????)

fun fact: WERE DOING IT IN HER PARENTS HOUSE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

ok bye i dont need sleep i need a mare

[castexpectopatronum]

Liquid Amber - Part III [Remus Lupin x Reader Imagine]

Summary: You had been crushing on Remus Lupin for an eternity when you finally decided to ask him out. However, things do not go as planned and you remain wondering just what exactly is going on with this boy.

notes: reupload because the original got deleated

trigger warnings: none

word count: 1.9k

Masterlist

What was Remus Lupin hiding?

The question was burning inside of you ever since your encounter in the corridor a few days ago. And even though you knew that it was none of your business, you still were determined to find out.

Concerning this matter, it was fortunate you fancied Remus as that made you far more observant of him. Whenever you could, you shot glances at him, during meals and classes, and paid special attention to his behaviour. You did notice that he seemed rather sick, he looked pale and peaky and he seemed to be growing weaker by each day.

Then, he disappeared. When you stepped into the Transfiguration classroom one day, already late, only to find his seat empty, a deep frown appeared on your face. His friends, James, Sirius and Peter, were there, but unusually quiet and had black shadows under their eyes. Peter even fell asleep during the lesson; his soft snores filled the classroom until Sirius nudged him with his ellbow causing Peter to almost fall from his chair. You observed them carefully while pretending to listen to Professor McGonagall’s lecture. Perhaps the Marauders had pulled off an all-nighter of some sort but that still didn’t explain Remus’ absence. Maybe he had a hangover – although you failed to imagine Remus as some kind of party animal.

Remembering how sickly he had looked the day before, you decided to check the Hospital Wing for him and bring Remus some chocolate bars from Honeyduke’s which you knew he loved.

However, when you entered the Hospital Wing, you found that it was already occupied. James, Sirius and Peter were huddled around a bed at the far corner of the room, hiding the person lying in it from your view. The expression upon their faces turned into one of surprise once they spotted you, mirroring your own.

“Sorry,” you said, taken aback by their presence – although now that you thought about it, you should have expected it. “I didn’t know you were here. I was just looking for Remus.”

The three of them exchanged looks, as if they knew something you didn’t, and stood up.

“No problem, we just wanted to leave, anyway,” Sirius said. Next moment, he groaned all of a sudden, leaving you to raise your eyebrows in surprise. James bent down to whisper something in Remus’ ear who looked rather alarmed. He replied something in a hushed voice but James simply gave him a crooked grin, patted him gently on the shoulder and barely gave Sirius and Peter the chance to say their goodbyes before he pushed them towards the door. Playing with your sleeves, you observed them with furrowed eyebrows.

“Y’know, if it’s not a good time, I can come back tomorrow or-”

“Nonsense, the time is perfect,” James interrupted.

“Just make sure to be gentle with him,” said Peter in a concerned voice. “He’s been through a lot.”

Your frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“Just a nasty flu, tha’s all,” said Sirius quickly, shooting Peter a warning glance. “Nothing to worry about. Give it a few days and he’ll be as good as new.” He turned to his friends. “C’mon, we best be going.” They shot you one last glance and Peter flashed a smile, then the door closed behind them, the sound echoing in the room, leaving you and Remus alone in the Hospital Wing.

You turned around to him and chuckled nervously. “Well, that did not quite go as I expected.”

Remus didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. He didn’t give any indication whatsoever that he was happy to see you. He simply stared at you, his eyes shining like liquid amber.

“What are you doing here?”

“I missed you in class today. Here.” You placed the chocolate bars on the nightstand next to his bed. “A little something to cheer you up. Thought you could use it.”

Remus nodded weakly. “Thank you,” he muttered and watched you sit down on a chair.

You smiled sheepishly. “So, the flu, eh?”

Remus shrugged and pulled the blanket up to his chin. “Happens to the best of us.”

You took in his appearence with furrowed eyebrows. Remus was whiter than the bedsheets, his face was hallow, and his eyes, usually so attentive and full of warmth, were now dull. Dark bags circling them, and he looked very thin and weak. You doubted he even had the strength to get up.

“How are you feeling?”

Remus turned his head away from you and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m fine.”

You cocked your head. “And Dumbledore isn’t two-hundred years old.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I don’t think he’s quite that old.”

“How would you know? Do you know when he was born?”

“No wizard gets that old.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Dumbledore did. The man is ancient.”

This finally evoqued a smile from him which you couldn’t help but return. But he remained silent.

“You don’t really have the flu, do you?”

Remus’ head spun around, and although he hid it quickly and put on a neutral expression, you did not miss the flash of panic in his eyes.

“Of course I have the flu. What else should I have?”

“Remus, you’re as white as a ghost. The flu is terrible but it doesn’t make you look as if you’re on the brink of death.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you knew you had hit a nerve. Remus’ jaw clenched and his eyes suddenly turned colder. He turned his head to stare at the ceiling, avoiding the worried yet piercing look in your eyes.

“It’s a nasty one.”

You snorted. “Sure. Don’t try and fool me, Remus. I know a flu when I see it and whatever it is that you have, it’s not that.”

He didn’t respond.

You sighed, regretting the harsh tone in your voice. “Listen, Remus... You don’t have to tell me what you have or why you get sick so often. But... I just want you to know that I’m there for you if you ever do want to talk about it. And whatever it is – I can’t imagine it could change my opinion on you.” You gave your best to give him an encouraging smile and stood up. “You should eat some chocolate. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

You knew he wouldn’t answer but still lingered for several moments to a least give him the opportunity to. When your conviction proved to be right, however, you gave him one last half-hearted smile and left the Hospital Wing.

A part of you had hoped that after this incident Remus and you would grow closer but instead Remus was more determined than ever to avoid you. Every time you passed him in the hallway, you felt a painful sting in your heart. However, the original issue of Remus refusing to go out with you became less and less important to you although your crush on him grew stronger by each day.

Your academic success was quite average but you weren’t stupid – to you there was no doubt that Remus’s illness was the cause of all this trouble, also considering he often looked pale and sickly. Every time you saw him looking particularly weak, your wish to help him grew even more urgent than before but you could only help him with his condition if you knew what it was – and trying to get Remus to open up about his sickness was about as effective as convincing James of writing a love letter to Snape.

It was two months of this slow torture and several stupid theories later that you realised Remus’s sickness was not only a frequent but also regular occurence. As far as you remembered, he seemed to be getting sick every once a month.

A deep frown appeared on your face and you turned around in your seat to look at Remus who was taking notes on Professor Flitwick’s words. His face was pale again with dark bags circling his eyes. A strange cut peaked out from under his shirt collor.

As if he had felt your intent gaze, Remus suddenly lifted his head. For one moment, is amber eyes burned into yours, then his intense expression turned into one of guilt and he quickly looked back down at his notes.

That day you merely picked at your food, your thoughts far away. Your friend watched in concern as you ripped a breadroll into tiny little pieces without eating any of it, staring absent-mindedly onto the wooden table.

“(Y/N), are you alright?”

Startled, you looked up, halting in your motion. “Yeah, I uh...” You hesitated, looking at the breah crumbs in your hand. “Actually, I still got something to do, uh...” Pushing your plate away, you stood up from the dining table, your friend watching you in confusion. “I’ll catch you up later,” you promised and left the Great Hall before your friend had even opened their mouth to protest.

The library was dead quiet as every student was at dinner which was very much to your liking. That way you could follow your suspicions without having to worry about anybody asking unwanted questions.

Pensively, you let your fingers brush over the back of the old books until you finally pulled one out, feeling the weight of it in your hands. You viewed the cover thoughtfully for a moment before you tucked it under your arm and continued to collect more books.

Half an hour later, you carried a great stash of books out of the library, carefully transporting them the long way to your common room as they didn’t all fit into your bag.

“What the hell is that?” your friend asked incredulously as you entered your dorm room and let the books fall onto your bed where they scattered all over your blanket.

“Books,” you answered.

Your friend raised their eyebrows. „Really,“ they said blankly. „Good thing you explained that, I had no idea.“ You threw them an half-annoyed, half-amused glance as they strolled over to your bedside and viewed the book titles.

“Magical Diseases and Epidemics,” they read aloud, “Dragon Pox or Measles? An Encyclopedia on Magical Maladies.” They raised their head to look at you, their eyebrows raised so high they almost disappeared in their hairline. “Are you sick?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, and started stacking the books on the nightstand, pushing your friend aside as you did. “It’s ... a new hobby.”

“A hobby?”

“Yes. That’s what you call an enjoyable freetime activity.”

“I didn’t know purulent dragon pox were an enjoyable free time activity.”

You threw her an annoyed glance as you put another book on the growing stack. “It’s an interesting topic as I have realised.”

“And you had to skip dinner to get those books?”

“Yes,” you said, avoiding your friend’s eyes.

You knew they didn’t believe a single thing you said but thankfully, they didn’t further inquire. Instead, they rolled their eyes and let themselves fall onto their own bed. “I always knew you were weird,” they said. “Just make sure you don’t actually get sick. I don’t fancy getting dragon pox.”

“No one is going to get dragon pox,” you replied, but a small smile was tugging at your lips. The two of you walked down to your common room to do your homework which, although you had quite some trouble concentrating on, you hurried to finish, so you could get back to your books.

Remus Lupin had a problem and you were determined to find out what it was.

[bittydragon]

The Ant King

Note: Huge thanks to Bittydragon for inspiring me to write this. I’ll be honest, this is the first fic I've ever actually written, as well as the only piece of creative fiction I've written in like two years so… fingers crossed it goes well hahaha.

TW: tight spaces, darkness, uh,,, bugs i guess. Near death experience

  There are things you have to know about ants when you get an ant farm. Basic fundamentals. What to feed them, how to keep them alive, what type of ants you have, etcetera. Even if your intentions were… torturous. After all, you need to know what makes something tick in order to make it stop.

One of the more common facts about ants is that every colony has a queen. She orders her ants to keep her alive so she can make more ants. Simple biology, the continuation of a species. Every nest has a queen, or it dies.

Apparently, this colony didn’t get the memo.

These thoughts buzzed in grumpy circles around Wilbur's’ head as he followed his ant companion, Tommy, deeper into the ant-farm. They had been wandering these tunnels for what felt like days now, in the center of the farm so there were no glass barriers to show the outside world. They were deep too. Almost at the bottom of the compound. Wilbur was not one to show fear, but even he was beginning to get claustrophobic.

Tommy, who up until now had been jabbering like a toddler the whole trip through the ant-farm had also gone uncharacteristically silent. The whole trip Wilbur had wanted nothing more than a few seconds of quiet from him, but now he missed the carefree noise.

They were on their way to see the ant King. A type of ant that, as far as Wilbur knew, didn’t exist. So either they were on a wild goose chase, or Will was way out of his depth.

The further they went, the more he was convinced it was the latter.

“Tommy do you-” Wilbur paused, his echoing voice in the tunnel almost felt like a taboo. An affront to the maddening silence that stalked them. He lowered his voice.

“Do you think… Will I ever get back to normal? Will the ant king change me back?” He hated that little quiver in his voice. He hated the uncertainty. The waiting.

Tommy continued to march forward silently, pondering the question.

“I dunno big man, I think you’ve changed heaps since you got here.” He turned his head to flash Wilbur a grin “Then you’ll be out there and all nice n shit. It’ll be poggers.”

The tunnel was dark, but not dark enough to hide the flash of uncertainty in Tommy’s eyes.

Wilbur's heart sank. “Thanks mate.” He mumbled, and they trekked on, once more in silence.

  By the time they saw light, it felt like they had been walking for days. Wilbur was almost glad he was about to meet possibly one of the most powerful ants in this colony. They rounded one last bend, and they were there.

Before them stood a huge double door set in the wall. Two vines with some kind of glowing fruit framed the door, shedding light on the small space. In front of the door, leaning on a spear made from a twig was another ant with a pair of large white rimmed goggles. 

“Well… This is it I guess.” Wilbur muttered. He cleared his throat “Hey, um. I-i’m here to have an audience with the King? If that's alright.”

The guard ant didn’t respond, continuing to stare at them with no discernible expression.

“H-hello?” Wilbur glanced at Tommy, who shrugged.

“Excuse me? Anyone home?” Wilbur snapped his fingers in front of the ant's face.

He seemed to startle slightly, before slumping down a bit and letting out a loud snore.

“What the fuck” Tommy said.

Before anyone could do much of anything, one of the massive double doors creaked open and a voice came through.

“George, I swear if you fell asleep again, I'm going to rip off your antenna and use them as- oh.”

Another ant entered the room, this one also carried a twig-spear and had a strip of white cloth tied around his forehead.  As soon as his gaze landed on Wilbur, his expression soured.

If looks could kill… Wilbur thought nervously

“It’s you” The new ant spat “Took your sweet time getting here Soot. Earthquake slow you down? Didja get a taste of your own medicine from your big pals out there?”

Wilbur pursed his lips, and the ant snorted. “Yeah. Thought so.” He walked forward and gave George a hard shove, sending the other ant sprawling with a startled yelp.

“Sapnap what the hell?!” He snapped, before spotting Wilbur and Tommy. “Oh hey. That guy is here.”

“Yeah he’s here, idiot.” Sapnap smacked George over the head with his spear “And we would have known a lot sooner if you hadn't fallen asleep on duty again!”

“OW! Sapnap stop! Get off me!”

Wilbur cleared his throat, drawing their attention “Sorry to interrupt, but me and my friend have been walking for a long, long time, so could we please have an audience with the King?”

Subpoena glared “Yeah. He’s waiting for you. Against my advice, he wants to see you.”

Oh. That… didn’t sound great.

Wilbur tried not to think about the implications of that statement as he approached the double doors. Tommy moved to follow, but was stopped by the guards.

“Hey!” He groused “Let me through dickheads!”

“I'm afraid the King only wants an audience with the great and powerful Wilbur Soot” Sapnap said with a smirk.

“But I want to go too! Let me in! You stupid ugly bitch ill fight you! You may have a fancy stick but just wait until I pull out my knife-gun!”

“Tommy its fine.” Wilbur interrupted “I’ll be fine mate, promise. Just wait here. I wont leave without saying goodbye.”

The last thing he saw was Tommy’s antenna drooping sadly, before the doors swung closed behind him.

  If Wilbur thought the tunnel was dark before, that was nothing compared to the room he was in now. The darkness was so thick, so absolute, that it made no difference if his eyes were open or closed.

“Hello?” Wilbur called “Uh… your majesty? I was told that you wanted to see me.”

His voice echoed slightly in the huge space, but there was no reply.

Wait. What was that? Something rasped ever so slowly across the opposite wall. Something big. As it moved, the moss where it had been standing glowed a dull green.

Bio-luminescence Wilbur reasoned. Trying to distract himself from the fear creeping up his spine. Touch activated, it seems.

He swallowed dryly “L-look, just tell me what you want. I’m not here to cause trouble”

The thing moved again, its raspy scuttle reverberated through the chamber.

“Wilbur Soot, not here to cause any trouble” A thoughtful voice hummed from the dark “Now that’s a first.”

The bio-luminescent moss was lighting up more of the room. If he squinted, Wilbur could make out a... leg. Probably.

Wilbur inches slowly to the side, the moss lighting up his own path. “Okay, I get it, I've done morally questionable things in the past, but I've learned a lot from my time here. I’m sorry.”

“For now” The voice replied. The thing was moving on the other side, matching him step for step. “What's to say you aren't faking remorse to get out of here? And maybe you really are sorry. How can I be sure you wont change your mind the second you're back to normal? It's too much of a risk.”

Wilbur continued to back away nervously “Your majesty-”

“Please, call me Dream. Everyone else does.”

“Right… Dream. I can say with 100% certainty that won't happen. I've seen people die in front of me. That’s enough to change anyone's stance on something.”

“And yet I'm still not convinced.” It was moving faster now, scuttling across the floor, walls and even across the ceiling. Wilbur's head spun with the motion. “And since we’re talking in hypotheticals, riddle me this: Whoever said I was going to let you out anyway? What if I just like to play with my food?”

Dream stopped suddenly, rearing over Wilbur, and with all of the lit up moss, he got his first proper look.

This ant was huge. Twice- no, at least three times the size of Wilbur himself. He looked a bit like a centaur, with a human torso connected to a pure white and thorax and abdomen.He also wore a strange white mask with a blank eyed smiley face drawn on.

Two huge claw arms- similar to those of a praying mantis- extended from Dreams waist and slammed into the dirt either side of Wilbur, startling him enough that he fell onto his ass. The king leaned forward with that lifeless grin, and Will closed his eyes, preparing for the end.

“But…” Dream said thoughtfully “A proper experiment should account and test for all variables, shouldn't it?”

“Y-yeah generally” Wilbur stuttered

“Oh good.” Dream hoisted him roughly to his feet. “I’m glad I asked you. After all, you know all about experiments, don’t you?”

Wilbur chose not to answer, glowering at Dream as the eyes on his mask briefly glowed a dull green.

A moment later, Sapnap and George marched in, dragging a cussing and struggling Tommy behind them.

“YOU STUPID MOTHEFUCKERS!!! Let me go or ill get married in rage!! Fuck you and-! Oh. wow that is a big fella.” Tommy stopped and stared in awe at Dream

“Sapnap, give Wilbur your spear.” Dream ordered.

A flicker of doubt crossed Sapnaps face but he obediently shoved the spear into Wilbur's hands.

“I’ll make you a deal, Wilbur Soot.” Dream purred, circling him. “I will let you go to your old life. You can do whatever you like; kill us, torment us, throw us away… it doesn't matter. All you have to do is kill one ant.” He gestured to Tommy.

“What?” Wilbur whispered.

“WHAT?!” Tommy roared “fuck you! I'm not your dumb-ass pawn, I'm going to kill you! Rrrrrrrrrrr!” he writhed, attempting to bite George who did a surprisingly good job of holding him still.

“Go on.” Dream cooed “It's just one insignificant ant standing between you and freedom. You've killed hundreds. What's one more?”

Spear in hand, Wilbur took a hesitant step forward.

Tommy's gaze snapped up “Wilby?” He asked, his struggling pausing for a moment.

Their eyes met, fear clashing with sorrow. Tommy seemed to see something in Wilbur's expression and hung his head in defeat. As if he had expected Wilbur to betray him.

Oh hell no. Fuck that. Wilbur angrily tossed the spear aside.

“No. I won't.”

“What?” Dream spat

Wilbur rounded on him “No! I won't kill him! Keep me here, kill me, hunt me for sport, whatever! Just leave him out of this! Tommy has been nothing but nice to me since I met him, even though it don't deserve it!” He rubbed his arm. “God knows I don't deserve it.”

“Hmm…” Dream hummed “Are you sure, even if it costs you your life?” One of Dream's massive claw arms grazed his side, a subtle threat.

Wilbur looked over at Tommy, who had a look of hope on his face.

“Yeah.” Will smiled, “I'm sure.”

I probably could have written more, but i wont. I hope you like this fic bitty! Thanks for reading :)

Edit: Fortune, this is amazing! Like, I hadn't really thought about this encounter in a lot of detail, but I honestly like this a lot! And Dream being a big boy since he's the king ant. Just yes. Thank you so much for this.

[chudleycanonficfest]

you belong with me

Day 11, story #1 is by @accio-broom

Title: you belong with me Author/Artist: accio-broom Pairing: Arthur Weasley / Molly Prewett Prompt:  Soulmate AU Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): None, unless Arthur Weasley trying to enjoy his birthday offends you.

When Arthur Weasley woke on the morning of the 6th February, nothing was out of the ordinary. He took his time, easing out of sleep like a man with nothing to do. He stretched out his body with a loud yawn, then pulled back the curtains of the four-poster bed, ignoring the attack of the winter air that filled the dorm room.

He was going to have a perfect day.

Wiggling his toes on the plush rug next to his bed, he greeted his fellow dorm mates.

“Morning, Ry.” Arthur tipped his head towards the Gryffindor on the bed opposite him. “How’s it hanging?”

Ryan was not a morning person, and he grumbled at Arthur before snuggling further under the duvet. Arthur chuckled and joined in the conversation about the latest Quidditch scores, trying his best to not lament too long on the disappointing Cannons scores. He gathered his wash bag, and made sure he had clean briefs with his uniform, then waved a cheery goodbye as he wandered off to the bathroom, whistling as he moved.

Today was Arthur Weasley’s birthday, and the day he came of age, although the notion was rather peculiar to him. He didn’t feel all that more responsible than he did yesterday, but according to Wizarding Law, he could now leave school, get a real job and get married, should he wish.

He scoffed as the thought of getting married flitted into his head, disappearing as quickly as it came. That would mean actually landing himself a girlfriend, something he hadn’t yet achieved during his six years at Hogwarts. He hadn’t even come close.

As he showered, Arthur mapped out his day in his head. If it all went to plan, he’d enjoy a big breakfast with the rest of his school friends. His classes today were straight forward—double Muggle Studies this morning, then Potions this afternoon. Between these would be lunch, and a free period, where hopefully, he’d be able to go for a fly, if the weather was okay.

If he survived the day, then he and his friends were planning a night of wizard chess, birthday cake and butterbeer, which hopefully Ryan was going to sneak from the kitchens for them.

Shower done, he dried himself off in front of one of the mirrors. As he did, he examined his body. He didn’t look any older than yesterday, there were no new lines or hairs on his body. He was still the same gangly lad with violent red hair and far too many freckles to count.

Arthur settled his glasses on his face, then loosened his towel. Without warning, a soft femine voice filled his head, taking him by surprise.

Merlin, I hate red hair.

Tightening the towel around his waist, he looked around the bathroom for the source of the sound. 

“H-hello?” he called out, but the only reply came from the echo of his greeting bouncing off the tiles. “I-is anyone there?”

I wish I were blonde or a brunette—anything but this. Nobody fancies redheads. 

His heart pounding, he checked all the nooks and crannies in the room, only to find that he was the only one there. The tips of his ears turned bright pink as he turned his attention back to his reflection. Dark circles sat under his eyes, and a frown covered his face. He was tired. It was the only explanation for the voice that was still filling Arthur’s ears with insecurities. There had been a few late nights in the library recently, as well as some early morning Quidditch practices. They must be catching up on him.

He’s no spring chicken, after all.

Hurriedly pulling on his uniform, he combed his hair then carried on whistling, hoping to block out the now persistent voice in his head.

⁂

The girl’s commentary didn’t stop whilst Arthur ate his breakfast. It filled his ears, dragging his shoulders down with negative thoughts and observations.

Everything is so greasy here, the voice wailed. No wonder I’m putting on weight. I’ll get spots if I carry on eating like this. I wish Mary wouldn’t wear so much perfume. It makes me feel sick.

The negativity depressed Arthur and was the last thing he needed on his birthday. He’d hoped for a nice day, full of presents, and easy lessons and time spent with his friends, but instead, Negative Nancy was ruining his time. He didn’t even fancy opening his gifts, which had been delivered by owl mail just as he sat down for breakfast.

Glancing down the table, he tried to work out the source of the interference in his brain, but the Gryffindor table was full of people, and conversations flew around them from every angle. He sniffed, wondering if Mary’s perfume could lead him in the right direction, but all he could smell was baked beans.

With a sigh, he shoved his second sausage into his mouth, letting the taste of his favourite breakfast food cheer him up, even if it was only a little bit.

Muggle studies was Arthur’s favourite topic, but he found it hard to concentrate as his head filled with arithmancy. He hated the subject, there was a reason he didn’t choose to continue the subject after their O.W.L.’s, so it irritated him greatly that the thoughts were disrupting learning more about muggle bridges. They were such beautiful contraptions, too.

Lunch was just as bad. Although the voice was annoying, Arthur was starting to get used to it. However, what was infuriating him was how familiar the voice sounded, yet he couldn’t work out who it belonged to. Whenever it filled his mind, it brought warm feelings and stirred something new deep inside his belly. Whatever was happening to him, he felt awkward that he was getting a very up close and personal look into someone else’s thoughts. Throughout the morning, he’d experienced such a vast range of emotions, and he felt like he might explode.

His birthday was going downhill rapidly.

By the time Potions came around, Arthur was exhausted. He arrived at class before the rest of his peers, and as soon as he settled into his usual seat, he folded his arms and rested his head on them. He was about to drop off to sleep when…

“Good afternoon, Arthur. Are you enjoying your birthday?”

Arthur’s ears pricked up. It was the same damn voice he’d been hearing all day, but this time it was loud and happening outside his head. Peeking over his arms, he watched as Molly Prewett sat down next to him and gave him a warm smile.

It was her, the voice inside his head. How had he not realised this before now?

Although he and Molly weren’t best friends, she had been his potions partner since their first year, and they often found themselves sharing a table in the library late at night. Could she hear his thoughts the same way he could listen to hers? Or was this all one-sided?

“Oh, yes, it’s fine,” he said, finally lifting his head from the desk. “Perfectly spiffing.”

Perfectly spiffing? He’s never spoken like that before, and definitely not to Molly Prewett. He usually chooses his words carefully around her, not wanting to look like an imbecile.

She giggled, and Arthur goggled at her. Was she only laughing at his choice of words, or was his internal commentary amusing her. His pulse started to quicken. There had been many thoughts throughout the day, some that would mortify him if anyone else heard.

Arthur checked on Slughorn, who was distracted writing today’s recipe on the board. Summoning the courage, Arthur took a deep breath then reached out with his mind. He crossed all his fingers and toes that this would work as he thought hard.

“Hello? Molly?”

All of a sudden, Molly sat upright in her seat. Her face turned towards him, and even through the smoke from their cauldron, Arthur could see that her eyes were wide, and her jaw was almost reaching the desk.

“Arthur? Oh Merlin, is that really you? Is it your voice I’ve heard all day?”

“Yes? I mean, I think so. I’ve been hearing your voice since I woke up, and I was curious to see if you could hear the same.”

A red blush crept from Molly’s neck and onto her cheeks, and Arthur was sure it wasn’t from their cauldron or the heat of the dungeons.

“How much did you hear?” Molly averted her gaze from him.

Arthur paused, weighing up his options. Should he lie and protect Molly from inevitable humiliation? Or should he tell her the truth? It was a difficult choice, and both came with a list of pros and cons. But Arthur wasn’t a dishonest man, and if this problem continued for much longer, Molly deserved to know what she was exposing him to.

Plus, if she was experiencing it too, then she probably had a good idea of what he’d heard.

Reaching a decision, he flexed his mind again. “All of it. I’m sorry, Molly. I tried my best to ignore it all, but it’s all I can hear.”

“What’s going on? Do you think we should go and see Madam Pomfrey?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle. The mind-reading was not an illness or spell damage, and they hadn’t been near each other recently, save for right now. 

It’s no coincidence that this started on the morning of his seventeenth birthday, and his brothers had mentioned something similar happening to them, although at the time, Arthur put it down to them yanking his wand. They often liked to tease him, as older brothers do.

It was Percival who’d mentioned it, while they were tinkering with a Muggle car in their father’s garage last summer.

“So, this school year is going to be fun for you, Arthur,” he’d said, a smile on his face. “Coming of age, you’re allowed to go to Hogsmeade without supervision, you’ll hopefully get your apparition licence too.”

Arthur had smiled, his stomach lurching with excited nerves. “If I pass.”

Bilius had piped up. “The family record is five attempts.”

“And Dad has never grown his eyebrows back.” Percival smirked at his brothers.

Arthur joined in with the laughter, relishing getting to spend time with Percival and Bilius. Percival had married almost straight out of school, and although Bilius remained single, he was always away on secret missions for the Order of the Phoenix.

Grinning at Arthur, Pervial spoke again. “Of course, apparition isn’t the hardest thing you’ll have to deal with. If the voices start, you’re in for a treat.”

“Voices?” Arthur fumbled with his screwdriver as a frown appeared on his face.

“Yeah, don’t you know?” Percival continued, adding oil to the engine. “When Weasley men come of age, they have a special way of finding their one true love.”

“What? No, you’re making this up. This is all fairy tale nonsense, surely? Bilius hasn’t met anyone!”

“How do think Perce landed his wife so quickly?” Bilius laughed. “Wasn’t his charm or good looks, that’s for sure.”

Percival and Bilius had erupted into giggles again. The tips of Arthur’s ears burned pink. There was no way this sort of thing happened, they were just having him on. But still, the thought had appealed to him. He was so unlucky in love, that the thought of being able to automatically identify his future wife had piqued his interest for sure.

Would he be like Percival or Bilius? Only time would tell.

⁂

Arthur hadn’t thought back on that conversation since it had happened. But if what his brothers had told him was true, then there were worse women in the world to be hearing in his head. Molly was kind and pretty. He’d always had a soft spot for her, but he’d never acted on it for fear of being rejected. Now, he probably didn’t have a choice.

Taking a huge breath, he reached for Molly’s hand and squeezed it. His grip trembled but felt it pertinent for him to try and be brave, given the enormity of what they were facing. In an attempt to distract himself from her internal panic, he wet his lips before finally whispering in a low voice, 

“What do you know about soulmates?”

[bump1nthen1ght]

Waltz of the Vampire (Vampire x Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Fat!Reader/Fem!Vampire

Genre: Fantasy (Vaguely Historical/Renaissance)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3469 words

Summary: You forcibly attend the ball of the rich family that has just moved to town, unexpectedly finding comfort with one of their daughters.

Request: Hey!! I love your writing a lot! Would you consider an elf or a vampire whatever suits your fancy with a fat fem!reader. I try hard not to hate my body but it can be really hard sometimes and I know a lot of people go through it not just plus size folks but... idk it’s my weakness and a huge comfort. Anyway I hope you have a awesome day!!!

A/N: I really loved writing this request, and after I finish Thicker than Water, I might make a part two.

Serena has been to a lot of parties. Too many, in her opinion, even over her 326-year span of life. Her matriarch, “Mother” as she is called by her and the coven, believes there is no such thing.

Every move they make is celebrated by a grand ball, invitations sent out to every available person. Mother claims it’s the best way for them to fit in, to hide in the crowd rather than the shadows.

Serena understands this, she’s seen it work wonder for their reputation time and time again, but she still does not like them.

Tonight is especially dreadful, a bad hunt the day before and a quick spat with her “brother” enough to sour the whole get together. Serena spends most of the night eluding suitors and dance partners, embracing a mysterious persona so she can enjoy some alone-time.

As she looks around at the dance floor, Serena concludes that she is not a fan of the new fashion statements of this era. A bit too strict, too formal, with precise lacings and starchy hoop skirts. It makes the dance floor too stuffy in her opinion, no room to twirl your fabric or move your limbs.

She sips on her special red wine, eye’s lazily perusing the hall for her siblings, hoping to gain some company, when she spots you. Selena is brought to a pause, mid-drink, as your embroidered skirt glimmers, catching the light as you twirl it across the room. Her eyes widen, determination peaked when she notices you don’t have a partner.

How beautiful.

----------

Oooh, I love this song.

You hum, unconsciously bouncing from side to side as your favorite piano piece begins to play. It’s a piece you have on your list to learn in the future, bubbly and cheerful with a bumpy melody and the option for a fun violin accompaniment.

The energy of the music quickly translates to the dance floor, where couple’s begin to giggle and improvise amidst the strict waltz and counted-steps. It’s a shame that it’s such a good piece because for the first time of the night, you really wish someone would ask you to dance.

When the news the MacArthur’s were throwing a huge welcoming ball had reached your household, your mother quickly began throwing together preparations for you to attend. You had sighed, set your feet in a preemptive ice bath, and ready for another boring night.

As a former socialite herself, from girlhood you were forced to attend party after party. While it had done as intended and transformed your sister into a perfect lady, it had the opposite effect on you. The stiffness of the hoop skirts, the suits, and all the damn people always stuffed up your throat and flushed your face. With your sister as the shining star, it was easy for you to slip into the shadows, and avoid the preening of your mother’s etiquette lessons.

Now, as a growing woman with more and more free-time, you used all of your abilities to avoid huge social gatherings. You found your place amongst small gatherings with local friends, sneaking wine from the cellar and telling stories in the freezing cold around a fire

But as the music increases it’s tempo, with flourishing skirts and plenty of laughter, you can’t help but lose yourself in the joviality of the gathering. The fancy dresses, the even fancier alcohol, and the decadent ballroom had you wondering if you had been missing out a bit.

If only Margaret and Min-Young were here, now that would be a party.

You giggle into your champagne, heels still tapping against the hardwood and hand slightly tossing your skirt back and forth. You easily fall back into your reclusive corner to avoid embarrassing eyes who may glance upon your solitude. But a tiny yelp escapes you when your heel accidentally digs into a foot. You whip around, faced already flushed red with embarrassment.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I didn’t look where...I was…”

Behind you, dressed in a dark purple satin gown, is Serena Macarthur herself. She stands a solid two heads above you, hair done up in an immaculate up do and two shimmering ruby earrings dangling from her ears. Her face is serene, lips curled up in a bit of a smirk. You quickly jerk away and give a half-decent curtsy, noticing her beautiful black dancing shoes which you just stomped on. “I apologize, Miss Macarthur, I can’t believe I acted so foolishly. I didn’t realize-”

“Oh, there is no need to worry darling. I’m alright, no harm done.” She says, her voice low and musical, almost like a thrumming bass line. Her gloved hand is placed on your shoulder, the other slides up your neck and tilts up your chin to meet her eye line.

My god, she is stunning.

Her eyes are a color you’ve never seen before, not dissimilar to the sharp gemstones in her earrings. Serena’s makeup, simple yet sharp, does everything to accentuate the cardinal-red of her irises. You can feel the simmering blush heating up your skin as she continues to stare. “I was actually coming this way to speak to you, flower. It’s my fault really, for sneaking up on you.”

You shake your hands, nearly spilling over the champagne in your glass. “Oh no, it’s no problem. Like you said, no harm done”. You force a giggle, hastily taking a sip of your champagne. “May I ask what you wished to speak of?”

Serena smiles, a smirk which is just as sharp as the rest of her, though her eyes betray no slyness or ill-will. “I was going to enquire about your dress. I noticed it from across the room and was stunned by how enchanting it is.”

“Oh! Well, thank you very much.” You blush, unconsciously rubbing your finger over the embroidered flowers on the skirt. “I actually-”

“Whoops!”

In less than a second, you find yourself right next to Serena, as a drunk dancer trips and spills his drink all over the floor. You blink, brain not even fully processing what just happened, as you notice Serena’s arm on your elbow and the red wine splattered where you stood just moments ago.

Did she move me? But when-how did she-

“Sorry! Sorry about that.” The man slurs, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. His partner, a distressed young woman, grabs his elbow and forces him to stand straight. “Guess I’ve had too much.” His embarrassed partner chokes out a laugh as he continues to sway.

“Yes, it seems you have. Make sure to fix that, soon.”

Serena’s tone is barely above talking volume, but holds a command like a powerful shout, Both of the dancers jerk with surprise, furiously bowing as the female drags the man out of the hall.

Serena sighs, rubbing her forehead with exasperation. She turns toward you, smiles back on her face.

“Would you like to take this to the garden? Seems the party is getting a bit too rowdy for good conversation.”

You nod, still a bit befuddled by Serena’s quick mood change and even quicker reflexes. But you link elbows when she holds hers up in invitation nonetheless, following her outside.

---------

The Macarthur estate is beautiful, as expected, and the garden fits that image to a T. Even in the moonlight you can see the finely cultivated roses bushes which decorate it, along with the gleaming marble fountain and sitting space under an ornately decorated gazebo. The two of your heels click along the paved path as you walk towards the center, your half-empty drink still in hand.

“You were sadly interrupted, but you were mentioning something about the dress?”

You nod, taking another long sip of your champagne, hoping a little alcohol may temper your thoughts.

“Yes, I was just going to say that I made it myself.” Serena’s eyes grow wide, eyes darting up and down your attire, and you feel yourself fluster. “It’s a tradition in my family, you see. My great-great-grandmother was very diligent when it came to teaching her kids how to sew, even the boys, and it became such an insisted upon skill that all her children ended up making their own evening clothing for special occasions. It ended up filtering down that every child makes one special outfit themselves, for what occasion it doesn’t particularly matter, but something thatt is uniquely you.” You pull up the end of your skirt, pointing out the flower pattern. “I’ve always had a fondness for gardening, so I tried to incorporate that into my dress. Plus,” You smooth out your skirt, “Most party dresses I’ve found are a bit too restrictive for my tastes, I wanted something I could really get into some fun with, y’know?” You force a giggle, immediately wondering if that comment was a bit too salacious for high-society talk. Serena simply smirks, letting out a low chuckle of her own.

“I wholeheartedly agree. May I take a closer look?” She gestures to your skirt and you hastily nod. The two of you take a seat by the fountain, Serena’s glove accidentally brushing against your calf as she picks up your skirt. You try and control your shiver from the simple contact. She hums admirably as she runs along your work. “Such incredibly done Sunflowers, the detail you put in is astounding. And these are forget-me-nots, correct?”

“Oh yes, those are my favorite kind.” Serena’s hands continue to run along the linework, following the bumps and dips of each flower petal. “As you can see I had trouble with the lavender, what with the petals being so small.” Serena shakes her head, a fond smile on her face. She looks up at you, forcing you to hastily act as if you weren’t admiring her face.

“The work you put in makes them twice as beautiful, mistakes be damned.” You blush even harder, throwing your hand and taking a final sip of your champagne.

“Thank you very much, but I have a long way to go.”

Serena’s hand hasn’t left your skirt, now resting on her lap as she continues to look at you. You swallow the last droplets of champagne down your throat, trying to fill the silence.

“The band is incredible, did you hire them locally?” You stutter, setting down your glass. Serena continues to fiddle with your skirt.

“Some of them, yes, but the violinist is actually my older sister, Marigold.”

“Wow! Make sure to give her my compliments, she’s very talented.” Serena nods, before her eyes dart down your toes. As the music echoes out of the hall and into the garden, you had unconsciously begun to tap your toes to the beat. When she glances at you, she can see your head slightly bobbing, a content look painting your face. A small smile forces one on to hers.

How cute. She internally sighs, noting how soft the skin of your cheek looks, the nice curve of your jaw, and your adorable noise. The pulsing blood which would run down your throat, the crimson looking devine against your exposed collarbone and dripping below your breast line.

She stands up abruptly, forcing those evocative thoughts out of her mind. You were quite cute and good company, someone Serena would like to get to know. Sometimes the crossed wires of her brain confused attraction for bloodlust, mistaking the butterflies for hunger pains.. She is almost embarrassed; It was one of the common hurdles new vampires had to overcome, a bridge she thought she crossed years ago

You startle, looking up at her with innocent doe eyes. Serena holds out her hand, ignoring how she can hear your steady pulse, unintentionally matching the beat of the music.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” She almost whispers, bowing slightly.

Your face flushes, nodding without a word, and slipping your bare hand into her glove.

Serena boldly grabs your hip and presses you against her, quickly taking the lead. Your brain fervently recalls all of your formal dancing lessons, pressing your head into her chest as she takes you along.

In her arms, following her perfected steps, that slithering self-consciousness sneaks back into your brain. Your logic tries to reason with it;

You wanted to dance, but now that this beautiful woman has gladly offered her hand, you want to stop?

But your insecurities are louder, screaming about every trip and every spare touch. This close, you can feel her firm musculature through the dress, spotting the hint of her bicep as she leads you. With her dainty and elegant hand on your side, you feel twice aware of your size underneath, every imperfection concealed by your dress.

You had fallen in love with this dress when making it, but had always been hesitant to wear it. You feared that once you put it on, that beautiful picture in your mind would shatter, leaving you forlorned of what could never be. Not with you wearing it, you had thought, avoiding your own mirror as you left.

“Something on your mind, flower?”

Serena whispers into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Your back jerks and contorts back into position, almost stepping your foot on hers. You shake your head furiously.

“Oh no! I-I just-” You stumble, trying to find an easy excuse, but are stopped when you take a look at her face.

She’s resplendent, even up close, not a hint of makeup to be seen. But across her cheeks, slightly faded from what looks like years away from the sun, are-

“My, you have such wonderful freckles.” You murmur, without a second thought.

Unbeknownst to you, if Serena could blush, she would. But the scrunched up look of embarrassment is telling, hinting that maybe this beautiful heiress has her own things she hides away.

“W-well, thank you.” She hastily utters, eyes averting from yours. It’s uncharacteristically shy and you can’t control the giggle that escapes you.

To give her some reprieve, you take your eyes off her face and trail them around the garden. They catch on the fountain, where the contrasting colors of your dresses stand out amidst the black. In the reflection, the two of you could not look more different. Serena stands a head above you, slim-fitted dark purple dress pulled across her curves, while your bright green dress cinches at the waist, flowing out like the flower's detailed skirt. It blows and beckons with every movement, brushing occasionally against your form and showing off the contours of your body.

Damn, you think, we look hot.

Just as fickle as it’s counterpoint, confidence quickly overtakes your mind, blocking out the noise of your doubt. You hold tight to your beautiful partner, in the beautiful dress that you made, and allow the happiness of this moment to exist uninterrupted, however short it may be.

The music increases its pace, the smooth line of a saxophone bringing up the energy. With a new burst of energy, you allow yourself to improvise amidst the  strict waltz. You lift your weight off your heels and try to glide from step to step, like the fast-paced tango dancers your mother once took you to see. Serena matches your enthusiasm, gripping your waist, even lifting you a few inches off the ground when a particular chord strikes. Her fingers slightly tickle your ribs, an ecstatic giggle escaping you and you falter a misstep. Your mind almost stops, embarrassed by your stumble and that insecurity sneaking back in, but Serena follows your new tempo with grace, urging you along with improvisation.

Your bodies follow the music with abandon, ordered steps devolving into impassioned stamps and twists, Serena twirling you around as the violin and piano sing from afar. Your heart and mind are running on adrenaline. It’s like when you were little, letting out your energy in any way possible. Serena’s laughter is magical and for once you don’t detest your awkward snorts and chuckles.

As the music slows, the two of you near-tumble back into the fountain, taking a seat with heaving chests.

“Whew, I haven’t danced like that in a while!” You say, brushing a stray hair back behind your ear. Serena nods, patting her stomach as she continues to laugh.

“Me as well. I forgot how fun it could be, when you’re not counting your steps.”

“Oh good, you do that too. I always wondered how no one got dreadfully bored just saying 1-2-3 over and over.” You mutter, taking in a deep breath and patting her thigh. Your other hand drifts down to the fountain water, letting your fingertips brush across the top and inadvertently catching your reflection once more.

It’s not the most flattering angle, your shoulders slump and the water slightly distorted, and those intruding thoughts try to slip in once more.

Oh shut up, let us have this.

Your logic sighs, batting it away without another second thought.

As the two of you sit, your energy eventually begins to drift back down, your muscles slightly tired from that short burst of impact. You sneak a glance at Serena.

While her outfit is still immaculate, her updo shows the smallest signs of dishelevement, curly black hairs falling down above her ears. In a way, she’s more beautiful than ever.

“Me and some friends are actually getting together next week. The shepherd's daughter, Violet, is getting married and they are throwing a little shindig at the barn to celebrate. Do you want to come?”

Serena looks up at you, slightly surprised, face furrowed with that hidden bashfulness. But she nods nonetheless, shooting you a bright smile.

Still high off your dance, you just barely miss her large fangs, which glimmer under the moonlight.

You smile back, only startled when the large bell tower from  the center of town chimes. Your head looks towards it’s large face and back towards the moon position. You’d guess it was midnight. Seems the two of you had lost track of time while dancing.

“Well, I should probably be going.” You say, standing up and brushing off your skirt. “I do have some gardening to attend to in the morning, going to need a solid amount of sleep. But,” You say, eyes demure and locked on your toes as Serena stands up, “I had a lot of fun tonight. More than usual, I would say.” You giggle, twirling a strand of your hair. Serena hmms in agreement.

“Me as well, flower. Your company has been the highlight of my night.”

In a bold move, Serena grabs your hand and lays a kiss on the back of it. Her eyes radiate that power and certainty from before, crimson irises shining in the night. Your blush crawls its way back up your neck.

“I-I can say the same.”

The two of you stay in that position for a moment, Serena pulling away her lips but keeping a lingering hold on your hand. Your heart thrums in your chest, while hers is deathly silent. Neither of you wants to be the first to pull away.

“I-uhm.” You stumble, hand still locked in place.

Now’s as good a time as any. You suppose.

In a quick movement, your hand loosens from Serena’s grasp and you give a quick peck on her cheek. In another, you have pulled away, sprinting towards your carriage.

“I-I’ll see you Saturday!” You shout, nearly tripping over a rose bush.

Left behind in the garden stands Serena, cold hand pressed against the burning skin of her cheek. Your kiss shot through her body like a lightning strike, almost jolting her frozen-heart alight.

That night, Serena goes for a hunt. She barely takes the time to change out of her formal clothes, nearly tearing the delicate lacework of her dress. Her claws catch on her gloves and almost rip apart, her heels scuffing the floor as she kicks them off and to the side. Her undead body is thrumming with life, untapped energy that longs to get out.

Her thoughts run a mile a minute, forcibly distracted by the Grizzly bear she currently has in a choke hold. It puts up a good fight, but Serena is running off of pure bloodlust.

At least, she thinks it’s bloodlust. A deeper part of her knows it's something else; The sparking fire of something new and a little bit frightening.

The last time she was personally invited to a ball, an event, a ceremony was less than a couple months ago. When you hold a position such as hers, look like her, they are common occurrences.

But to a party? Not a politically motivated meetup, but a genuine, let your hair down, party? Well, she hadn’t been to one since she was a youngling of 150.

And for the first time in a while, she is excited.

[plounce]

what if gay CATS........... were gay PERSONS

(info on this au under the cut)

theyre all shitty young adults just kind of. getting through their early 20s as best they can. or as much as they can. maybe things will get better someday, but right now they’re kind of spinning their wheels

magic exists but like eh it’s not a big thing don’t worry about it. it’s around but like whatever. not many people have it and it’s mostly just like. a curiosity or a party trick

demeter and bombularina are together, tugger and mistoffelees are together, bombularina and tugger occasionally fwb, it’s cool and aboveboard and it’s all fine

demeter:

bisexual with a preference for women. 24 years old

semi-psychic (not as powerful as tantomile or coricopat). tends to have vague and confusing prophetic dreams

dropped out of grad school for sociology due to trauma and ensuing intensified mental illness. kind of bitter about it, but tries to get through every day. general anxiety disorder even before all that

very nervous around most men she doesn’t know & trust

currently working at a barnes & noble starbucks, which sucks. she recently became the assistant manager, which turbo sucks because now she has more work for only like a buck raise, but at least she’s getting reliable shifts

her go-to therapy is cutting her hair with scissors. her hair is fried to all hell from regular bleaching

she’s learning how to crochet because she’s decided she needs to do something physically productively creative with her hands to distract herself from Stuff

bombalurina:

bisexual. 24 years old

got her bachelor’s in english two years ago and hasn’t found a job in her field and has kind of given up on it for now

she’s been bartending for like four years, does freelance editing work on the side. will occasionally write listicles for clickbait sites if she needs extra cash

literally any extra money she can save goes to tattoos. her right sleeve’s almost done

has natural red hair but dyes it cherry red

a hedonist to cope but is also just a natural hedonist. likes a good bath

i know that like the typical thing fandoms say about female characters is “doesn’t take shit” for the girlboss points but she truly does not take shit anymore. she used to take people’s shit sometimes but at this point in her life she’s tired and she has a girlfriend to be protective of. she has a couple people whose shit she will take (mostly just tugger) but besides them (and having to practice basic customer service to keep her job) she’s tired of other people’s shit! enough!

my personal take on bombalurina is a mix between the riot grrrls of the 90s and 80s punk girls, and then a dash of the greaser chicks from grease. i saw that spiked collar and my brain went OH okay i can run with this somewhere fun. same for demeter, but less so - she just has the piercings.

demelurina:

bombalurina met demeter in college at a women’s activism club, noticed her because of her dimple piercings and was like “oh someone else with a lot of metal in her face, i’ll sit next to her”

they were each other’s first off-campus roommates and were close friends. made out a couple times, but it was mostly a lot of sexual tension. there was a lot of bombalurina staring at demeter while she or demeter made out with someone else

demeter was on and off with her high school boyfriend munkustrap and bombalurina was like “oh he’s so much more stable/calm than me and she needs that, i party a bit too much for her, i shouldn’t try anything” so she just sort of. lets their almost-there peter off

(this is all bombalurina’s internal thoughts - demeter always was interested in her, but thought she was too boring for bombalurina. so neither of them thought they could pursue it)

bombalurina graduated and moved somewhere cheaper further away from campus. they kind of drift apart

munkustrap and demeter peter off and he moves away for a job (they’re still good friends, it was a very amicable breakup) and then demeter gets with macavity, which is a deeply toxic situation for her and sucks hugely and throws her whole life really off track. won’t go into further details

she finally manages to break up with him and calls bombalurina at like 2 am asking if she can pick her up, and also if she can sleep on her couch, it’s okay if that’s not okay, she just. really needs a place she feels safe, and her gut is telling her to. and of course bombalurina says yes

bombalurina also knew macavity and had also made out a couple times with him at like parties and stuff (see: staring at demeter as she makes out with people). something about transference of feelings - bombalurina was into him for a couple moments because he and demeter had a thing.

this is due to me interpreting the song “macavity” as actually about bombalurina wanting to fuck demeter and her singing as a half-repressed expression of that. i use my really good wlw brain to reach that conclusion. it’s kind of a non-competitive version of eve sedgwick’s take on the love triangle. (<-- normal thing to say)

but anyway demeter stays on bombalurina’s couch and she tries so hard to stay on track but eventually she just has to drop out. bombalurina helps her with that too. she’s just really supportive even as demeter’s life is at its lowest point. when she gets home from bartending she gets demeter to go to sleep

she just Stays with her and makes her smile and reminds her that her life isn’t over, there’s still things in her day to enjoy, to keep her trudging forward

bombalurina is roommates with tugger at this point - he also recently dropped out and demeter knows him because he’s munkustrap’s brother, so he’s Trusted and also is like “hey it’s okay that you dropped out, im here and im chilling and you like me and respect me at least a little, and you have a bachelor’s degree at least!” (more on him later)

demeter is like “oh god ive been crashing at their place for so long not paying rent, theyre gonna ask me to leave, im such a freeloader, they wont take my attempts at paying rent” but then bombalurina and tugger are like “hey! the lease is almost up! we found a pretty good 3 bedroom, do you wanna have your own room for real?” and she nearly cries because 1. the RELIEF 2. oh my god you want me around???

cut to bombalurina helping demeter put together an ikea dresser (tugger got banished to the kitchen to make crystal light lemonade for them because he’s useless with a screwdriver) and demeter has two epiphanies:

1. i thought i was ready to d*e four months ago and here i am making a dresser to put clothes into in my new apartment where i live and feel safe and loved. im still not happy but im still alive and im making a dresser

2. holy fuck im back in love with my best friend, and ten times more than i was back then.

so she like kind of freaks out because she’s already imposed so much on bombalurina, how could she impose her FEELINGS on her like this, oh no oh no oh no

meanwhile bombalurina’s back in love with her even MORE and she’s also like no... she’s already dealing with so much... i don’t want to make her uncomfortable or feel unsafe in her own home especially after her recent relationship trauma... i just want her to feel safe around me...

you might think tugger as their roommate would be like “JUST KISS” but he is in fact pretty oblivious because he is self-absorbed. mistoffelees on the other hand..

eventually they do have a big confession of feelings after demeter has a bad day and it’s very dramatic and they make out in the rain. and it’s like. well this is a movie scene. but also im cold and damp. let’s head inside our home and get warm and dry :)

and then they go inside and and talk through everything, all their feelings (not just their romantic feelings but like ALL their feelings) and their shared histories and bombalurina is like “do you think you’re... ready for a relationship right now? like that would be a good thing for you?”

and demeter considers it. she does stop and think. and then she says, “with anyone else... probably not. but it’s you. and i feel so safe around you, and we’re already so close. you make the future feel more worth it. you make more days alive feel not just tolerable, but something to look forward to. and knowing you’ve loved me all this time... it’s nice. it’s good. i’m - i’m understating it so much, it’s more than nice, it’s just - it’s a lot. i wish i had noticed back then.” “hey, hey, don’t blame yourself. i’m the one who never said anything.”

anyway. everything works out, and they start dating for real :)

tugger:

bisexual. 22 years old

dishwasher at the same bar bombalurina works at. she got him the job. he keeps bugging her to teach him bartending tricks and on slow nights she will agree to

he dropped out of their four year, but he managed to secure an associate’s in communications before he dipped

trying to be an ig influencer hotboy and hopefully get modeling jobs from that but his phone’s camera sucks shit so his account isn’t really going anywhere. but he continues to post his low resolution shirtless selfies

trying to cope with being the failure son who does not have a fancy nonprofit job with a salary and healthcare by being self-absorbed and self-aggrandizing

it works about 60% of the time and 60% of the times that it doesn’t he’s able to hide it

he dropped out right around when bombalurina graduated and he was like HEY! ARE YOU LOOKING FOR A ROOMMATE WHO DOESN’T CARE IF WE LIVE TEN MILES AWAY FROM CAMPUS? WELL HAVE I GOT A SOLUTION FOR YOU: ME!

to which bombalurina (who has fooled around with him here and there and thinks he is funny little man and genuinely goodhearted, and also he has rockin abs as a plus) says munkustrap already asked me if i need a roommate and if i do to consider you, because you don’t want to move back home. in other words: yes, you little idiot

they do fool around with each other but they are both very understanding that it is strictly platonic and for fun, especially once they become roommates. they both do not desire each other for anything serious

he did have a bit of a crush on each other when they met (hot punk older girl who’s friends with his brother) but 1. it dissipated pretty quick after they fooled around for the first time because it was not a very serious crush 2. she was in the middle of being in love with demeter so she was focused on that, emotionally

he got his ears pierced a couple times in high school but bombalurina inspired him to get a couple more. she went with him when he got his nose pierced

demeter has always understood that him and bombalurina are strictly fwb, has never been an issue.

she and him like to bleach their hair together when their hair schedules line up (he bleaches his way less often then she does), but she refuses to use his fancy conditioner that keeps his hair unfried because it’s expensive, even though he tells her to go ahead and use it, please, the health of her hair is giving HIM anxiety, demeter please. please demeter

mistoffelees:

gay. 20 years old

has magic. it’s pretty good magic but again: magic is not a big deal in this concept

a bit spooky. skulks around. a bit of a bitch but also very very nice. chooses when to speak

he has postings on craigslist and fiverr about finding lost objects and people with magic. like a gig economy private detective

side job is a waiter at a fancy restaurant

sometimes he gets paid VERY well from the private detecting, depending on the client. he does ask his psychic friends (tantomile & coricopat) to give a quick glance over on some of the more suspicious clients just to make sure he isn’t finding someone who should not be found by that person.

doesn’t go to college. is roommates with his sister victoria, who’s a freshman and studying dance. moved into town with her so she wouldn’t have to live in the dorms by having a guaranteed roommate.

tuggoffelees:

the general vibe i want for these two is mistoffelees walking around town or driving around in his shitty toyota camry while tugger tags along because he’s bored and thinks this is cool as shit

the general tone of the au is “magic isn’t a big deal” except for tugger, who thinks mistoffelees’ magic and his magic freelancing is the coolest shit ever. this is mostly because he just likes mistoffelees. “there are people who can do cooler shit than me, tug” “yeah but i don’t KNOW them also theyre not as COOL as you” “you had to explain to me how instagram reels work”

idk how they met i just think tugger shows up at his and bombalurina’s apartment one day (this is when demeter has moved in but they havent moved to the 3br yet) with this dude to dash in and pick something up and bombalurina is like “uh. who’s this” “oh this is mistoffelees he’s SO GOOD AT MAGIC” [mistoffelees nods hello] “okay bye bombalurina see you at work!!!” “uh. later”

after that he just shows up a lot. sort of ambiguous if theyre dating or what for a while before bombalurina straight up asks like “hey does the dude you’re dating know we fool around” “the dude im - what?” “... the little magic guy who keeps using our hot cocoa mix. misty.” “oh. uh. we aren’t dating.” “... do you want to? because you’re kind of all over him constantly” “um. well! haha, if i wanted to, i could! haha!” “yeah get back to me on that”

tugger trying to use his ig clout to get mistoffelees more work even though 1. he has no clout 2. mistoffelees has a very stable client base. but mistoffelees appreciates the effort. the self-promo guy promoing someone other than himself... the highest expression of love...

mistoffelees is A Nonthreatening Man plus he’s pretty obviously gay so demeter is chill around him pretty quickly. when mistoffelees is over they’ll sit on the couch where demeter sleeps and watch documentaries quietly while she crochets

they both occasionally say spooky shit at the same time because magic stuff. bombalurina and tugger are both torn between “that was cool as fuck” and “god that’s unnerving”

just a lot of tugger following mistoffelees around on his jobs and mistoffelees letting him because he’s fond of him and them occasionally getting into minor peril and interesting shenanigans, but it is 90% fetch quests

i think the first time they met tugger was taking selfies in front of a hydrangea in a public park and he saw mistoffelees walk up with a shovel and start digging in one of the flower beds and he thought he was hot so he went over and offered to take over on the shoveling to look strong and masculine and he ended up digging up a skull, which mistoffelees picked up and said “thanks” and then walked away

mildly terrifying but also very interesting and tugger’s days are kind of boring and dishwashing kind of sucks as a job to do like every night and he is a person who thrives on novelty so. moth to a porchlight

i think they do start making out for fun here and there and then a while later theyre out on one of mistoffelees’ jobs and someone asks “who’s the guy with you” and mistoffelees replies “oh that’s my boyfriend, don’t worry about him” and then it’s like. “HUH? I’M YOUR BOYFRIEND?” “uh. yeah? i assumed. is that okay?” “i mean yeah of course i think you’re great! how long have we–” “oh like a while.” “oh. uh. cool!!”

they just hang out a lot. mistoffelees enjoys teasing him and enjoys his warmth and bombasticity and tugger likes watching and helping him solve little mysteries around the county because it’s always something new. they’re kind of a comedy duo. they just enjoy spending their time together and following mistoffelee’s internal magic gps to find lost dogs and lost necklaces

yeah right now this au is just vibes and just sort of. continuing forward with your days and your weeks and your months. just young adults hanging out

[mongooseblues]

Bless You Father for I Have Sinned (Fleabag, Hot Priest) 1/1

Did anyone watch Fleabag and/or want to read about a hot priest sneezing?

This works just fine as a standalone if u haven’t seen the show but for context: Hot Irish prob alcoholic “cool swear-y” priest and recovering sex addict and all-around hot mess main character (who doesn’t have a name) strike up a “friendship” that is just a poorly veiled excuse for spending time with someone they want very badly to fuck but can’t bc priesthood vow of celibacy and whatnot.

Here’s ~2k words in which I continuously get off on the idea of blessing a priest and unresolved sexual tension I also don’t resolve.

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

“Fuck you, calling me Father like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it…”

It happens for maybe ten minutes before it starts to stick out to her. Because it’s cold, as it always is on early-spring nights in London, and while they’re both fully dressed (unfortunately), neither is probably quite dressed enough to be out in a garden at this hour. And they’re a bit drunk—not that drunk, they’re both pretty practiced—on the G&Ts he’s so fond of for whatever reason. He specifically likes the kind you get already mixed in a can, which are especially shit, but it’s almost endearing that he likes those in particular. Well, very endearing actually. Goddamn this man—or… hmm, poor choice of words.

It doesn’t really grab her attention until he combines the sniffling with pinching his nostrils together.

“You alright, you’re quite sniffly?”

“I know, I dunno what’s going on,” he says, and punctuates it with a harsher sniffle than the ones previously unacknowledged, “Think ‘m just cold.” He zips his sweatshirt up a bit as if to illustrate.

“We could get you a blanket and swaddle you up like baby Jesus.”

He laughs. She extracts from her coat pocket a pack of cigarettes, takes one herself and angles the carton toward him in offering. Mostly because she wants him to scoot closer to her on the bench as she flicks the lighter for him. The flame illuminates the angles of his face in orange, the back of his fingers grazing her hand by happy accident, and yes, it’s a little pathetic that this momentary skin-to-skin contact is as erotic as it is to her, but that’s what you get when you fancy a priest isn’t it?

“They’re always describing him as being swaddled. Odd word, swaddled. Sounds kind of violent.”

“It does kind of,” he agrees, leaning back against the bench and exhaling a stream of smoke into the night air. Her plan worked, he’s ever so slightly closer to her now, post cigarette exchange, close enough that when he sniffles she can feel the slight vibration of his shoulders through the loose fabric on her coat sleeve. It unites them like an accidental spark of electricity she can sense just faintly enough to feel jumpy. Or turned on. Or both.

She really shouldn’t be this shameless about trying desperately to corrupt a man of the cloth she wants to get under. Maybe she’d feel properly guilty if she wasn’t quite so fucking horny.

“So you did read more than just the passages I marked for you?” He asks, at once surprised and pleased and maybe nervous, grinning but also looking away for a moment as if he could disguise all of that.

“Not really, just the birth of the ol’ lord and savior. It seemed like it’d be climactic.”

“Was it?”

“Can’t say I climaxed reading it, no,” she says with a cheeky look that elicits the laughter she’s looking for, “No offense but it’s really quite boring, this book you love so much.”

“Yeah… that’s a tragically common sentiment among reviewers.” He’s scratching at his nose with the back of one wrist with such intensity it’s unmistakeable how much it’s bothering him.

“Don’t care much for the writing style either, I have to say.”

If the irritation could be resolved with a mouse-like scrunch of the nose he’d have figured it out by now, and clearly he hasn’t because he still has to shrink into his crossed arms like an accordion with a fairly high-pitched, vocal and thus somehow Irish-accented, “Hehh-ishhYUE!”

“Bless. The only way I was able to get through it was by imagining you in every speaking role.”

It’s a sentence meant to provoke him, not unlike most of her sentences, and for a minute as her eyes are on her own exhaled smoke and he fails to respond, she wonders whether it sounded even weirder than she meant it, but as it turns out he’s just about to sneeze again — squinting into the distance and bringing an arm to his face in slow motion.

“Mmff-SHOO!” He blinks in surprise as he resumes his previous position on the bench, now shifted just a bit farther away from her. Damn.

“Ugh, sorry. Every speaking role?? Ohfuck— ahh-ishSHEU!”

“Jesus.”

“You imagined me as Jesus??”

“No I mean Jesus, are you okay, did you catch something?” Of course she imagined him as Jesus.

“Ooh I hope not,” he says with a nervous look, “that’d be lousy timing.”

“The lord works in mysterious ways.”

“Thuh-that he does—” A sudden inhale, a crooked arm rising at a much hastened speed. It begins in a manageable way, somewhat controlled, but then it seems to get away from him.

“Hh… hehd’SHHUE!”

“Bless you, Father."

He mumbles a thank you bookended by soft snuffling.

“Maybe he’s sent you a plague of sneezing. He does that sometimes doesn’t he? Send plagues?”

His face just scarcely conveys amusement before it’s hijacked again by the same expectant expression, but he still attempts to talk through it, even as irritation becomes evident in every feature. “S-sometimes…”

She thinks about saying bless you in advance but decides instead to just wait for him to succumb to it. A flicker of lashes, a reveal of the very tips of canines, his entire face crinkles around his visibly twitching nose. It pulls him downward and then forward in that order, as he collapses into a crooked arm as if stumbling despite being seated.

An especially desperate, “hehhSCHOO!” that begins quietly but certainly doesn’t end that way.

“God bless you, Father, again.”

“Wow,” he says with a sniff, knuckles swiping under his nose in a single smooth motion, “Maybe I’m allergic to you. My body’s having a reaction.”

“Is it?”

An eyeroll and a grin, and then he goes back to scratching at his aggravated face in a manner that’s becoming aggressive.

“Well stop manhandling your nose that’s clearly not working.” Before she can think better of it, she takes his elbow to pull the offending arm away from his face. She can feel his muscles tense with the movement, but when she looks up at him there’s only a blurry-eyed smile chased by a nervous huff of a laugh. Another line she can’t uncross but doesn’t particularly want to.

The therapist hadn’t needed to point out that her all-consuming attraction to someone she couldn’t have was probably a healthy coping mechanism of her recently adopted abstinence. She hadn’t really expected this though — for her advances to not be rejected entirely. She hadn’t planned for hope to cease feeling like such a daft, one-sided notion.

“Should I even be blessing you or is that overkill? Or am I even qualified to bless you? Can one bless a priest if they’re not like, anointed or something?”

“You can bless me,” he confirms, looking like he’s barely got a handle on controlling his own eyebrows. Or lips for that matter. God, that mouth, those lips. Parting by accident the way she’d like to make them open on purpose.

“Little greedy of you. You’re not blessed enough as is?”

“Neh—neverhurts…” He pitches sidewards with a slurred, tellingly tipsy, “hehh-ESHHyoooo!”

“Bless you…”

“Thank you,” he sniffles with embarrassed necessity, bringing the back of a sleeve to his nose.

“Hold on, I think I have some tissues,” she says as she feels around in her bag in the darkness, “Well, cocktail napkins at least.” Another knuckle brush as she hands them to him. How arousing. How pitifully arousing. She really should come up with ways to hand him things more often.

“Ahh you were holding out on me,” he says, and then after a gentle blow, “Sorry.”

“You are coming down with something aren’t you?"

He thinks about it, bringing the napkin away from his nostrils with a final follow-up dab. “I dunno, maybe?”

“Do you feel ill?”

“Mostly just very itchy.”

How many other chances will she get… She reaches a hand to gingerly press the back of her fingers against his forehead. He blinks a few times in response, rapidly and reflexively, and swallows back a smile. There’s a burning in her stomach that’s neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

“Um, you feel okay I think?” She says, attention course-corrected back to the cigarette crumbling in her hand, but still glancing at him to measure the aftermath of the relatively bold gesture and they lock smiling eyes in the process.

If he really wanted to ward her off he’s doing a phenomenally shitty job of it. She knows he wants her. God if only that was enough, to know he wanted her.

“I think you’re right I’ve been sent a plague of sneezing. Probably trying to tell me something.”

“Something about how your new friend could take care of you?”

He grins with half of his mouth. “Or something about how I probably shouldn’t be drinking G&Ts in the middle of the night with my new friend who I like a little too much.”

Oh he… really shouldn’t have given her that.

“ExxSHHUE!!” He shakes the whole bench with this, then straightens back up, not looking entirely recovered, and says almost to himself, “And about how I probably shouldn’t tell my new friend that I like them a little too much.”

“But you did anyway and he hasn’t, I dunno, smote you down yet.”

Irritation is still etched into his features, his chest slowly swelling with air, hastily fiddling with the napkins.

“Are you actually going to sneeze again? You haven’t finished?”

He shakes his head as his eyes close and seizes into a rushed, “hehESHHyue!"

“It’s a plague I can’t stop! Snf, it’s out of my hands."

She knows the night’s over, she does. She gets the sense that she’d been invited to overstay her welcome, but it’s getting past that point now. Whenever she leaves after being around him her face hurts from smiling like an idiot the whole time and she comes away aching in more ways than one. That ache is starting already, another sign they’ve stretched this interaction too long once again.

However, alcohol. “If you tell me to leave and you sneeze again perhaps we’ll know whether or not it was divine intervention.”

“He might just be punishing me now anyway,” he sighs, remembering a cigarette he may not have taken a single drag from, neglected and foreshortening in his fingers.

“We haven’t done anything we’re just talking. I’m a—what is it, parishioner?”

“That is a word, yes. Snf! Though it implies someone who’s actually going to church to, you know, practice their faith."

“I’m a parishioner here to…” she’s not even sure what to say, she still doesn’t know shit about Catholicism aside from the fact that it’s a massive cockblock, “seek your… counsel? Guidance? Guidance counseling.”

He puts a hand over part of his face, tired but amused. “You can’t act innocent even when you’re trying your best, can you?"

She almost snorts. Is this what he thinks trying her best looks like?—No, don’t actually say— “Who said I was trying my best?”

Why can’t she stop herself from saying things like that to him? The only thing that’s going to stop her now is a ‘no’ that’s actually firm enough not to give way when she presses against it relentlessly. He honestly needs to just get it over with before he really gives her too much to hold onto. She’s not going to win out over God, the guy’s pretty fucking stiff competition.

Goddamnit, just break her heart already, what the fuck is he waiting for? This should have ended ages ago, and now it’s getting dangerously close to too late.

Was it unfair to assume he’d be stronger than her? Or is he trying to hurt himself too? A duetted exercise in masochism, mutually assured destruc—

“—ESSHHYUE!” He looks at her through wet lashes, bleary and sheepish and drunk and cute and fuck.

She sighs loudly, looks skyward and says, “Right, you’ve made your point! I’m leaving!”

[gaalee-events]

What is GaaLee Hallo-week? How does it work?

GaaLee Hallo-week is basically a Halloween-themed ship week for the pairing Gaara/Rock Lee. Each day from Oct. 24 - 30th, there will be different prompts to fill. There are (at least!) two prompts per day: a spooky prompt and a sweet prompt, riffing off the idea of trick-or-treat. There is no sign-up and no obligation. Creations for this event can be fanfic, fanart, playlists, icon sets, panel edits, moodboards, memes, closet cosplay, or any other fannish pursuit you can think of! As long as it features the GaaLee pairing and fits a prompt, it counts!

Sounds great! How do I participate?

There’s no sign-up for this event, and it’s open to everyone. On the appropriate day, simply post your creation on Tumblr, indicate which prompt you’re filling, and tag the @gaalee-events blog! You can also use the hashtag #gaaleehalloweek, but be sure to tag the blog as well to ensure your creation doesn’t get lost. The GaaLee events Tumblr will then reblog your work for all to see! If you don’t have a Tumblr or would prefer to participate only on Ao3, that’s also fine. When you’re uploading your work, you can add it to the GaaLee Hallo-week Collection by typing ‘GaaLee_HalloWeek’ (without quotes) into the ‘Collections’ box. For people who choose to participate just on Ao3, the organizers will create a link post on Tumblr with a link to your fic. If it’s been 24 hours since you posted and you haven’t seen your contribution reblogged, please send an ask to @ghoste-catte, as it may have gotten lost in notifications.

So, what are these prompts you’re talking about?

Each day has a scary prompt and a sweet prompt associated with it! For a handy rebloggable visual guide, check out the prompts page!

Day 1, Oct. 24 - Haunted House -or- Hallowed Ground

Day 2, Oct. 25 - Demons -or- Deities

Day 3, Oct. 26 - Nightmares -or- Sweet Dreams

Day 4, Oct 27 - Fear -or- Wonder

Day 5, Oct 28 - Movie Night! (The Amityville Horror -or- The Addams Family)

Day 6, Oct 29 - Scary Stories (“I do not love men. I love what devours them.” - Prometheus Illbound, Andre Gill -or- “People don’t want to see what can’t possibly exist.” - Mort, Terry Pratchett)

Day 7, Oct 30 - Trick-or-Treat (free day!)

How do the Movie Night / Scary Stories / Free Day prompts work?

In the second half of the week, let your imagination run wild! You can be inspired by the suggested movies, images, or quotes, or you can create something for the overall theme of “Movie Night” or “Scary Stories”. For the final day of the event, you can create whatever your heart desires, as long as it’s scary or sweet, and GaaLee-themed! As with the previous days, you can also use “Trick-or-Treat” as your prompt and create something based on that.

What are the minimum requirements for a prompt fill?

This is left open to the individual participant’s discretion. If you feel that what you created meets the prompt, then it counts! A single creation can only count for one day, but it may be inspired by one or both prompts on that day. (For example, you could create something for October 25th to fit the prompt “Demons”, or “Demons and Deities”, but not “Demons” and “Nightmares”.) You can create multiple creations for a single prompt or a single day. If you make something that has multiple components, like a multichapter fic or a multipage comic, each chapter/comic page/etc. can be counted towards a different day/prompt, as long as they’re posted on the correct day and fit one of the prompts for that day.

Do I have to participate in all seven days? Do I have to fill every prompt?

Not at all! You can fill just one prompt on just one day, you can fill multiple prompts across multiple days, or you can fill all the prompts on all seven days. Think of this event like that bowl of candy on your neighbor’s porch that’s labeled ‘Take One’ -- you can do whatever you like with it; nobody’s going to stop you. That being said, if you do create something for all seven days, you’ll be in the Monster’s Ball, which sounds very cool but really just means that your creations will be listed at the top of the event wrap-up summary in a fancy text box.

Does everything I make have to be Halloween-themed?

Nope! While we’ll all be getting in the mood for Halloween, ghosts, ghouls, and pumpkins don’t need to feature in your creation. As long as you feel like your creation fits one of the prompts, it counts. That being said, we’d love to see the fandom flex their horror muscles and go full Spooky Season on us. Bring on the blood and guts!

I have something I’m already working on that fits one of the prompts, can I use it for this event?

Yes, with a couple of caveats! The creation must be new and posted on the date of the prompt that it was created for. If you already have a partially published project and something new you’ve created for it fits one of the prompts, that can absolutely count. For example, if you’re writing a 20-page comic about a haunted house, and you post a new page on Oct. 24th, you can count that for the prompt “Haunted House”. If you say you created something with this event in mind, we’ll take your word for it. The only other restriction is that if you’re creating your project for a different event (such as an exchange, ship week, theme week, big bang, etc.) and it also happens to meet one of the GaaLee Hallo-week prompts, you should check the other event’s rules to ensure they don’t have any restrictions on counting a single work towards multiple events.

Are there restrictions about what kinds of content can be created for this event?

Because of the Halloween theme, it’s to be expected that some works might be transgressive, upsetting, or triggering. However, we want this event to be enjoyable for as many people as possible! We ask that you use caution and consideration in your creations and be mindful of the ways that traditionally ‘scary’ tropes have been used to harm marginalized groups. Tag judiciously and use your best judgment. Be wary of ableism, such as using a person’s mental illness or physical disability as a scare factor or to make them seem more monstrous or mysterious. This does not mean you can’t create works with or about disabled or neurodivergent characters, simply be mindful of how those characteristics are portrayed and the role they serve in your work. Avoid transphobia, such as portraying a male character in a woman’s costume for laughs or using a character’s trans identity to make them seem villainous. (Lookin’ at you, Buffalo Bill.) This doesn’t mean your characters can’t explore gender roles! But it’s important to be thoughtful and intentional about how you portray transgender characters in a horror setting. Also, please be aware that the word ‘spook’ is an anti-black slur, and should be avoided in the creation of your works. (‘Spooky’, the adjective, is fine.) This is not a comprehensive or exhaustive list, and your judgment as an individual creator is important! If you have concerns about something you’re making, you’re more than welcome to message either of the organizers (@ghoste-catte or @puregaalee) for feedback. The organizers reserve the right not to reblog or republish work that is not appropriately tagged or that may not fit the spirit of the event.

What about sexually explicit (NSFW) content, is that allowed?

NSFW content is more than welcome, with some guardrails. NSFW content posted on Tumblr should be appropriately tagged and behind a ‘Read More’ cut. Any NSFW content hosted off-site should likewise be clearly labeled. If you choose to create NSFW images, be aware of Tumblr’s content guidelines. You may want to consider posting a cropped or censored image on Tumblr and linking to another site (Twitter, Privatter, Pixiv, Imgur, etc.) for the full image. Individuals under the age of 18 may not create sexually explicit material for this event.

I’m so excited, I just can’t wait! Can I post my creations early?

Please wait until the assigned day to post your creations for that prompt. Creations will not be reblogged until the assigned day for the prompt that inspired them.

Eek, I’m running behind! What if I created something for a specific day, but I didn’t get it posted in time?

Late postings will be accepted throughout the week, so if you created something for October 25th’s prompt but didn’t get it uploaded until October 28th, that will still be reblogged. The two weeks following the event will be reserved for ‘late posting’, during which time you can still upload your creations and tag the blog to have them reblogged. An event wrap-up will be posted after the end of the late posting period.

There’s an awful lot of words on this page, but none of them answer my question!

Please send an ask to @gaalee-events and we’ll get it answered as soon as possible!

[jubesy]

Hi! Ill ask... 29, 37, and/or 44 for the prompt meme. Do whichever fandom/pairing speaks to u ^_^

Thank you, my friend!! I’ve really been wanting to write for the Sk8 the Infinity fandom, but I wasn’t sure if I should jump into a whole fic when we’re only halfway through the show, so...this is a perfect way to sink my teeth into Matcha Blossom without committing to a whole fic (yet).

Matcha Blossom #44 “Close your eyes.”

Also available on Ao3.

Request a drabble here!

“Are you quite finished yet?” Cherry’s deep, grumpy voice drifted into the kitchen and Joe did his best not to snort.

Normally, Joe would whip him up something quickly. Be it whatever was left of the night’s special or just something easy that he knew Cherry would like. But tonight, he had plans. There were a few new menu items he was thinking about adding and he needed his favorite taste-tester’s opinion.

“At least pour me a glass of wine, you inhospitable--”

“C’mon, Kaoru, you’ve got water and a cup of lemon sorbet,” Joe offered, still finishing up his last plate.

“I’m not eating dessert first, you heathen,” came Cherry’s snippy reply.

Joe did laugh this time. “It’s not dessert,” he began as he breezed into the front of the house. “It’s a palate cleanser.” 

Cherry was seated with his arms crossed over his chest. He quirked an eyebrow. “And I’m meant to cleanse my palate before I’ve eaten anything?”

Ignoring the question, Joe placed the first of four plates in front of his habitual free-loading cheapskate of a childhood friend. But he didn’t remove the cloche covering it. “Close your eyes.”

At that, Cherry fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Kojiro--”

“Humor me,” he urged with his signature smile. The one that made girls swoon, but only caused his current guest to roll his eyes.

“Fine.” Cherry did as he was told, letting his eyes slip closed. His nostrils flared as Joe removed the cover from the plate. “It smells good, at least.”

Joe clicked his tongue. “Like you’ve ever had a bad meal here.” Then he added, “Plus, you always eat for free, so…” 

“Yes, well, at least it’s worth the price.” He titled his head slightly. “May I open my eyes now?”

“Not yet.” Joe bit his lip to hold in a chuckle at the little growl he received in response. “I want you to taste it first.”

“Kojiro…”  

“I know, I always say you eat with your eyes first, but this time--” 

“Very well,” Cherry harrumphed. “Pass me the fork or whatever I’m supposed to use for this.”

Joe grinned and reached for a spoon. “First course, soup.” He handed it over.

“I’m supposed to eat soup with my eyes closed?” Cherry asked dryly.

“What’s the matter?” Joe questioned. “Afraid you’ll miss your mouth and spill it on your fancy--”

“Master,” Carla’s robotic voice interrupted. “Your heart rate has slowed, indicating that your blood sugar may be low.”

Joe started to laugh, but covered it up with a cough into his fist. “Okay, I’ll feed you if you’re worried about making a mess.” And he couldn’t be sure if it was because of what he’d said or being called out by his board’s A.I., but he noted the way Cherry’s cheeks had tinted pink. 

“I can feed myself,” Cherry snapped and scooped a spoonful, giving it a blow and a tentative sip -- as if Joe hadn’t taken his cat’s tongue into account -- before shoveling it into his mouth. The pink hue spread across his face as Cherry’s eyes fluttered open. “This is...delicious.” 

Joe had to turn his head as his own cheeks warmed. “Yeah? Not too much salt?”

Cherry shook his head. “No. Perfect ratio.” He looked up at Joe, his expression soft. “It’s wonderful.” And Joe’s heart skipped a beat.

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “That’ll be our new seasonal soup, then.” He grabbed the next covered plate and replaced the bowl and saucer. “Try this next.” But just as Cherry was about to remove the cloche, Joe tutted. “Nuh-uh. Eyes closed.” 

The glare he received in response would have sent anyone else packing. But Joe was immune. 

“Just humor me, Kaoru.” 

A pause and then, “Fine.”

Request a drabble here!

[if-you-built-yourself-a-myth]

Check Ignition: Part IX

That Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts au that one person asked for and I dove into headfirst

First part // Previous part // Next part

This fic is wrapping up and I love writing longform, so send me your new requests! (or ideas for oneshots, I love those too)

Robbe was ashamed to admit many of the things that made his apartment home. Here it was, the truth of it: everything here was in some way tainted by sickness. He didn’t talk about it while he was at school. He didn’t talk about school while he was here. It made sense to keep the two lives distinctly separate, save from a few consolation sessions with Jens and the occasional fact for Sander.

He bumped his shoulders on the narrow doorframe as he lugged his trunk inside, his mother right behind him. In the entryway, on a tiny side table, three bottles of prescription medication waited their arrival. Each had a sticky note designating the time of next dose. Past that, the hall led straight to a kitchen at its end. Three rooms—two bedrooms, one bathroom—broke off before then. Their living room branched from the kitchen, big enough for a couch and a flatscreen TV as well as a small-ish Christmas tree.

This apartment worked in a way that his friends’ magic-filled homes did not. Sure, when his father was around, they never did the dishes manually or resorted to blankets when the heating went out, but it wasn’t what Jens had. Perhaps that was why Robbe did not see Jens much over the holidays.

Robbe crossed the threshold to his bedroom and dropped his things on his bed. His thoughts returned, as they were wont to do, to Sander. Sander must be all alone at Hogwarts right now. Robbe didn’t know what to make of him.

“It’s Christmas,” said Robbe aloud to jar himself from that rabbit trail. He put away everything that mattered. Scattered everything that didn’t across the floor. There, now it felt like his dormitory at school.

Against his better judgement, he scrawled out something on a scrap of paper. Maybe if he could contact Sander, things would make more sense. Or maybe he was stupid. Either way. A simple tracking spell, an open window, and it would zip its way to its recipient at Hogwarts. He doubted he’d get in trouble for such a simple use of underage magic.

Happy Christmas. Sorry you have to spend it alone. Yeah, it totally didn’t sound sarcastic.

Robbe let the message go. He watched it disappear over the London skyline, dancing above the twinkling lights of the city. This view had nothing on the view from Hogwarts. After that, he was exhausted from exams week. He curled up on his mattress—the sheets on this one were a nice touch—and went right to sleep. There was time for life to happen tomorrow, and he didn’t fancy making conversation with his mother so soon into their two weeks of forced proximity.

***

Robbe spent most of the next days hiding out in his bedroom. Jens took care of his required communication rather early in their separation; the owl arrived at Robbe’s window before lunchtime the second day: Robbe, my parents invited Jana for Christmas dinner. She'd going to be there. Please inform me of your plans as soon as possible, so I can join you instead. Not really. I honestly think we're going to get back together. Wow, it sounds dumb as I write it. Have a Happy Christmas, if I don't write again before then, and make sure you eat all your vegetables. Love, Jens. Robbe hastily scrawled a reply and sent it right back: Jens, I never have any plans. You can come whenever you want to. Love, Robbe.

Around dinnertime on the fourth day, Robbe walked back into the hallway and down to the kitchen, where his mother poured hot chocolate powder in two mugs. She dumped a can of soup into a pot and set it to simmer on the burner, stirring occasionally, while she microwaved a measuring cup of water. Something rammed into the window at full force, startling her into dropping her spoon.

She put a hand on her forehead as if checking for fever. “Robbe, what was that?”

“Owl, Mom,” said Robbe. He tried not to be frustrated with her. There was just so much on his plate, and he wasn’t supposed to be here, because he was supposed to be with Sander at school. If Sander was doing okay.

Robbe’s mother had never gotten the hang of a magical household. Robbe didn’t have the right to be bitter about it.

“Should I open the window?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

His mother slid the window open. A barn owl flapped into the apartment building, despite their landlord’s explicit animal-of-any-kind prohibition. It landed on top of their refrigerator and ruffled its brown and white feathers. Clutched in its beak was a folded piece of parchment, tied with a long twine thread, sealed with a stamp of red wax. Robbe recognized the owl from the Hogwarts owlery. They were general-use.

He jumped up to take the note. Jens did not usually send two owls in one day. Aaron’s owl was white.

“I’ll never get used to that,” said his mother as the owl flew back out the window. An alarm on her cell phone beeped several times. “Oh, pills. I’ll be right back.” She rushed into the foyer.

Robbe surveyed the apartment in her absence. A sprig of mistletoe hung over the space connecting the kitchen to the living room. Several wrapped presents rested beneath the tree, one or two with his name in brightened cursive that he could see from this far away. He spotted the special picture ornament he made for his mother when he was little, the photograph of her and him riding on a swing in a public park. They used to get along.

He looked down at the paper in his hands and broke the seal.

There were no words written. Only a telephone number. Jens and Aaron did not have phones in their houses; muggle technology was useless in areas permeated with magic. Moyo owned one for clout purposes, sometimes, and this could be him—except, he did not use the school’s owls if he could help it. He borrowed from Jens.

That left one person who might want to contact Robbe.

“Alright, soup,” said his mother, reentering the kitchen. “Tonight, I was thinking we should catch up on TV. Honestly, I don’t know how you survive without it at Hogwarts.”

“There are other things to do,” said Robbe.

“Maybe, but not as exciting.” She took the soup pot from the burner and poured it into two bowls, which she then carried into the living room. They stored a small folding table under the couch. She set it up like a coffee table and left their bowls there. If they had any class, they might have the money to afford something made of wood, at least.

“Can I actually—” Robbe began. He gestured to the phone number.

“You’re spending your quality time with me,” said his mother. She patted the spot beside her on the couch. “C’mon. I’ve been recording everything. Oh, hang on.” She waited until he sat down to lean over. “What’s been going on at school. Tell me all about it. You never write.”

“You never got used to owls.”

“That’s an awful reason.”

“Nothing important happens,” he assured her. “I’d write if it mattered.”

“Nothing? No one special?”

“No, Mom, nothing you’d want to hear about.”

“You know I don’t believe that,” she said. “Handsome boy like you.” But she sat back and turned on the television. Christmastime here was TV shows, silence, dancing around one another. This was why Robbe would’ve liked to stay on campus with Sander, when Sander still wanted him there. If Sander ever wanted him there. They watched three whole episodes of Call the Midwife without saying a single word to each other.

Robbe’s mother was a good person. He knew she was a good person. She tried so hard to be things for him, to be involved in his life. He understood her illness wasn’t her fault at a basic level. He understood that he was wrong to be angry about an innocent, poking question that any parent would have likely posed.

But there was a part of him missing that she couldn’t give back after she’d taken it. What kind of parent leaves their fourteen-year-old in the house to care for everything while she lies in bed all summer? What kind of parent—

There was someone special, there was Sander. Sander and his mother were apart because they needed to be, because school and home did not mix.

Robbe rose from the couch during the credits of the third and motioned apologetically to his mother. He pointed toward the bathroom. On the way there, he snatched her phone from the kitchen counter. His fingers shook as he dialed the number.

Someone picked up on the second ring. “I just got home,” said Robbe. He didn’t know why he felt so bad about not calling sooner.

“You got my letter,” said Sander. Robbe’s heart turned into a dozen origami butterflies. He tried to catch them in a net and stomp them underfoot.

“Owls are cool,” Robbe said.

“How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.”

“Good.”

The line went silent. Was that it? Did Sander send a whole-ass latter to hear Robbe’s voice for two seconds? Kind of romantic, yes, but it didn’t do anything to fix anything. Robbe couldn’t reconcile the way Sander spoke to him with the way Sander acted around him, the way Sander acted around other people.

This could have been their time. Two whole weeks of kissing, or whatever it was couples did went they were unsupervised.

“Listen,” said Sander. “I’ve been thinking.” His sentences took on a sort of pregnant quality, as if each contained multitudes more within it. Sander was fighting down dozens of others to say each one.

“About what?”

“About, um, you. I guess.” Sander cleared his throat. “You really liked me?”

“I guess so.”

“How is—how’s your mother?”

Robbe didn’t know where something like that would come from. “She’s fine for now. We’re watching Call the Midwife.”

Sander’s laugh sounded forced. “My mother likes that too. Is it… not good to be there?”

“Well, she hasn’t drowned me in a bathtub yet. You sound like you have something to say.”

“I was thinking we could just—talk.”

What the hell was this? “Sander,” said Robbe, doing his very best to sound like a prefect. “It was a Christmas card. If you have something to say—” He tried to channel the voice Jens used when he was disappointed after a Quidditch match, the kind of steely cool that could only come from a place of care. As it was, he knew Sander could hear the hope festering beneath his skin. He wants to tell me he loves me.

“I—I don’t have anything to say,” said Sander, but it was an obvious lie.

“Then I’ll hang up.” Robbe braced himself against the bathroom counter. Polished marble reflected his face almost as clearly as the mirror ahead. “I said I didn’t want to be friends. I can’t handle being friends yet.”

“No, don’t hang up.”

“Any more questions about Mom?”

Sander’s breath caught. “You don’t like me.”

“Not this again.”

“No, really, you don’t.” Sander spoke faster. “You said so. I don’t know, when it was fake, I thought—” He coughed. “I can’t go back to nothing.”

“I said I liked you,” said Robbe. “You don’t make any sense.”

“Yes, but—”

“Did you really send an owl back to talk me out of a crush? Or are you in love with my mom?”

“No, I—”

“Good.” Robbe knocked his toothbrush cup off the sink, sending it clattering to the floor. He heard his mother shifting around in the living room, poised to come check on him any minute. This conversation would have to end sooner rather than later. “I have to go. If you’ve still got something, spit it out.”

There were a few seconds of silence. Robbe could hear the beginnings of a sentence several times, nothing quite reaching the air.

“Okay,” he said. “Goodbye.” He tapped the end button. That might have been a little harsh, yes, but it was Christmas. The couch and Call the Midwife awaited. He rejoined his mother in the living room, leaving her cell phone plugged into its charger beside their toaster.

They watched another whole episode. It pained him to think of her loitering about the house while he was gone, rearranging the cabinets and recording television shows, even if he hated the thought of staying with her more. He didn’t get Sander’s interest… come to think of it, Sander was concerned about her during their make-out session in the workshop.

The phone started ringing.

“I’ve got it,” said Robbe, before his mother could get off the couch. This time, he took it all the way to his bedroom and locked the door to answer it.

Sander was quieter this time. “You called the number.”

“It would have been rude not to. You didn’t sign it. It could have been anybody.”

“You knew who it was.”

There wasn’t much to say to that, so Robbe waited instead of responding. Sander filled the gap after a while, in something even smaller than a whisper, something that sent shivers down Robbe’s spine. “I miss you.” A whistle sounded somewhere in the distance.

Too much. Ugh, why did Robbe think he could handle something like this? He did what he always did when Sander was involved: he was honest. “Look, you don’t make any sense to me. I hear from Noor that you’re head-over-heels in love with me, I hear from you that you’re back with Britt. Well, you’re not, so I’m hearing you’re a liar, too.” Robbe bit his lip to keep from getting choked up. “We barely even had anything, Sander, but I loved every second. You can’t keep pulling on my strings, okay? I can’t handle it.”

“I don’t mean to be pulling,” said Sander. Something ruffled against the receiver. “Your mother, though, she—”

“Good, then don’t bother calling again unless you have something new to tell me. Goodbye.” Robbe smashed the end button this time, scratching the screen protector with his nail. He promised himself he’d fix it later, provided no one got him trouble for his magical Christmas card to Sander.

Back into the living room. His mother lay down across all the cushions and monopolized the space. She pulled a crocheted blanket across her legs, her eyes glassy as she stared at the TV. Robbe flashed back to his worst year again—getting up for school and seeing her there, unmoving.

The last Christmas they spent together, her medication mixture made her violently ill at the slightest hint of indigestion. That could happen this year, it could. There was too much going on in Robbe’s life to deal with her right now.

They’d make blueberry pancakes together. She’d microwave soup for dinner. This was his life.

The phone screen lit up once more with an incoming call from the number as before. Robbe let it ring out. Another came. When he let that ring, another. He answered on Sander’s fifth attempt.

“Please don't hang up this time. Your mother is sick,” blurted Sander on the other end, almost as if he read Robbe’s mind. If his speech was unhinged earlier, now it was a runaway train. “She’s sick and you hate her and I’m sick so you’ll hate me. That was it.” He took a deep breath and the phone line crackled—Hogwarts wouldn’t have the best reception, would it? “I have liked you for forever, okay? That’s my something new.”

Wow. Okay. What the fuck.

“What?” managed Robbe.

“That’s what I needed to say. Before. You don’t like me because you can’t. It has to be over because it can’t ever happen.” Sander’s voice lowered. “I thought it might hurt you less if you knew. But I also can't sit around and pretend that nothing's wrong.”

Robbe rehashed every conversation they ever had in a second. He did not talk about his mother much in any of those—he tried to keep her out of it. She frustrated him to no end. Her stupid pills, the stupid genetics that doomed him to a future of dealing with the same problems, his stupid father walking out. If it wasn’t for her, everything would be fine. But he didn’t—he didn’t hate her.

Why would Sander think he hated her? What was going on?

The library, the offhand comment on Lexapro. The workshop, how he said he didn’t want to return to her because she’d ruin Christmas. The way he referred to her on his and Sander’s second astronomy tower rendezvous: “sick in the head.” Every little thought he had about her.

“It was always going to be like this,” said Sander. Wind blew against his end of the phone; Robbe had to strain to hear most of the words. “I thought when it was fake, it could be okay, because, well, you know, but then you kissed me and I just—There’s no hiding it forever, is there? It's got to come out.”

“What did you say about my mom?” Robbe demanded.

“I stopped it because it isn't what you want.”

More than that. Britt came to Robbe in the astronomy tower with a slip of paper and a warning of sorts—He isn’t going to tell you. And what had Willem said to his friends, when Sander was asleep the day after they kissed? Was that something that just happened? Were there times that Willem couldn’t wake Sander up?

Robbe knew what that meant. Britt’s voice echoed in his head. It’s hard to tell between what he wants and what’s a symptom. He’d thought it controlling at the time, and it was, but he also understood the feeling. When you loved someone, you wanted to keep them safe. Robbe was a certified idiot. Puzzle pieces falling into place.

Sander did not slow down. “You were going to stay here with me to avoid being there with her. But we’re the same. We’ve always been the same. It’s bipolar, Robbe, and it’s fine that you don’t want it. What matters is that I can’t live with nothing from you, okay? We can’t just not talk.”

Robbe’s hand went numb from gripping the phone so hard.

“I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want you to hate me like you hate your mom.”

“I don’t hate my mom,” said Robbe. “I won’t hate you—don’t hate you.” He felt bewildered, standing in the middle of his living room, with this crisis happening a whole train ride away. What the fuck was going on? His mother raised her eyebrow at him from her position on the couch.

“You do, you said so. And you’d hate me. I didn’t want to upset you, I didn’t—” Something in the background blared, loud enough to mask the rest of Sander’s sentence. Wind? Rain?

“Where are you?” Robbe asked. Britt’s piece of paper—what did it say? He should have taken the time to set it aside, stupid stupid stupid—

“This was stupid,” said Sander, suddenly even more rushed. “I’m sorry. I should have sent another letter. I let Jens talk me into it—” Robbe waved his wand in the general direction of his bedroom—the Ministry of Magic could expel him for underage sorcery—and summoned Britt’s paper. Still a mess of cursive lines. Still blurry.

His mother made a face like, is everything okay? He nodded back.

“I’m putting too much on you,” Sander continued on the phone. “I don’t want to be another thing you have to worry about. That’s why it has to be over. We’re over. But I don’t want to never hear from you again. That’s not what I want.”

“Are you alright?” Robbe whispered.

“I’m fine. I’m, out--” Sander sounded a million miles away in a snowstorm. The end of the sentence got lost. "Moyo and Jens said you'd be here, and free, so...I'm in love with you. This is my something new." The line clicked dead, although Robbe couldn't tell if it was Sander's decision to end the call or fate had intervened. His arms dropped to his sides, the phone to the floor. Something sounded at the door to the apartment. A knock? Robbe remained rooted to the spot.

There wasn't a list he could put together for this situation. He did not hate his mother. Sometimes he hated her. He hated what her disorder did to her. He hated coming home and finding her somewhere, not doing anything, holding a glass of water without the will to bring it to her lips. He hated having to search all the cabinets for bowls when she reorganized their kitchen at three in the morning. Everything he said to Sander, he meant. Everything about her. That could be number one on the list. Number two, he loved Sander. Sometimes he convinced himself he didn't. He thought of his mother wasting away on their couch, lying about taking her pills, camping out on the bathroom floor during rough weeks. Home and school were supposed to be separate. He did not want to think of Sander throwing up blueberry pancakes after taking a handful of pills. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He needed time to think.

The knocking came again, harder. Robbe walked over as if in a dream, barely touching the floor. He vaguely remembered Jens saying something in his letter about visiting, though this seemed short notice. He only said yes to the proposition because he knew Jens would never actually make good on the offer. Robbe opened the door to Sander, hair ruffled, eyes wild. Fucking Sander. What the fuck. Sander's brown roots were more visible than the bleach blond, even though they did not seem to be any longer. He wore the same leather jacket as their first date wrapped tight around his shoulders. In one hand, he held Moyo's broomstick— Robbe could recognize it by the scrapes on the wood. He had the same look on his face that he had that night in the dormitories when he was drunk and reaching out for Robbe. This wasn't happening. What the hell was happening?

"We need to talk to each other," said Sander, without pause for breath. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about everything, and I'll ruin anything else, I know I will, but you have to tell me we can."

[allandoflimbo]

Take It Back (Chapter 34)

Finally. ‘Last’ chapter. Also up on my AO3. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  About five years ago, a one night stand with Y/N tore Bucky’s life apart. It was also the night before his wedding. Now he’s married to her sister and she needs a place to stay.

Take It Back Full Masterpage |

Five years ago

“Yeah, no problem, I missed this little boy.” Bucky says in an adorable baby voice as he squeezes the little baby’s nose, “Oh my god, you are so cute.”

The baby grabs Bucky’s pointer finger with his tiny hand and your heart melts instantly.

Your heart flutters and you recognize the emotion that follows that flutter - fear.

That’s what you feel because once it hits you what it was that was happening, you realized you were eternally and completely fucked.

Bucky’s eyes flicker up to meet yours and they burn in ablaze. Neither of you are smiling as you look at each other, the little baby still holding onto his finger like he didn’t want to let go.

You quickly look away, doubting every emotion coursing through you.

It couldn’t be.

Your head is a swirl and you’re seeing tunnel vision as you feel yourself slowly start to step back from the scene in front of you.

But it was too late.

Your eyes flickered up the second you felt the heat of his presence right in front of you.

Suddenly, something seemed to have shifted into something even deeper, the second your eyes met.

Bucky was holding the baby tenderly in his arms, but his eyes seemed to have been calling out for you.

A weird feeling of came over you.

Presque vu.

Bucky seemed to have been feeling the same because he probably looked just as intense as you felt.

“Do you want to hold him?” He whispered, looking down at the little boy.

Your chest felt tight and you should have said no.

Instead, you nodded slowly.

Bucky maneuvered his arms into an embrace where he could pass the baby safely into your own arms.

Your eyes caught during the slow exchange and you diverted your gaze back to the boy, not being able to bear that heat in your face and your fucking heart.

“Just like that,” Bucky said softly.

The baby cooed.

You couldn’t help it, you giggled.

Bucky smiled a little at both sounds, and he softly touched the top of the baby’s head.

He looked up at you and your eyes met…

again.

__

4 months later (from present time)

The setting sun shined down on the west village.

The sky was turning from an intense pink and purple hue to dark blue.

You looked up towards the clouds and sighed.

You had just enough time to take the last few things inside before it was too dark.

You grunted, lifting a brown box that read ‘Books’ in black sloppy writing on the side out of the truck.

You took it with you up the steps of the beautiful brownstone.

The trees, that lined the quiet street, had an amber glow from the almost-gone sun as it peeked in through their changing leaves.

Reds, oranges, browns, and yellows.

You let the soft breeze flow against your face and you smiled.

The last four months had been the best you had experienced in a very long time.

For the first time in what felt like forever, everything seemed to finally be right in the world again.

You were able to keep your job at the bakery, even though you hardly kept touch with your sister - mutual respect still present - you had heard through Steve that she was doing fine.

She had picked up an office job for an online newsletter at the trade center and went back to school to study editing.

Something low profile.

Bucky’s company donated a quarter of a million dollars to a charity for National Alliance on Mental Illness and also to Wounded Warriors.

Wanda and Nat were occasionally still around, sometimes meeting you and Bucky for lunch at your little hangout spots on the east side.

Everyone who had been involved in the fiasco had built a sense of trust around each other, and it was all any of you needed, regardless of what any bullshit tabloid said.

No. This was real life.

And then, there was you and Bucky and your private love life…

You backed into the ajar doorway with your butt, spinning around quickly back towards it to hold the door with your foot so it didn’t hit the wall behind it.

Shutting your eyes briefly, you let out a long deep breath at the close call.

You haven’t even lived there a day yet and you didn’t want to start by leaving a dent in your brand new wall.

With a soft smile, you turned and continued your way down the gorgeous foyer, past the wooden stairs, and into the living room through the archway.

All the walls were white and the wooden floor was a golden brown.

New. Fresh.

From the large window looking out into the street, the dim light from the setting sun created a peaceful halo that gleamed off the floor and directly into your eyes.

You placed the box next to the ones you had already brought in before and then looked around.

It was still pretty much empty without any of the furniture in place.

The couch hadn’t come in yet.

All that was available was the floor, the walls, and the tv on top of the remodeled very-white working chimney.

You walked up to it, letting your fingers trail slightly over the white detailing of the crown molding that surrounded it.

You didn’t want anything too fancy, and neither did Bucky. This chimney was probably the grandest thing in the home.

You took a deep breath as a car drove down the street and as your sneakers squeaked against the floor.

After Bucky had asked you to move in with him, it wasn’t surprising. Nobody expected any less.

Even Steve helped pack your things out of his place and into yours and Bucky’s’.

It was all so strange and surreal.

Bucky had wanted to stay on the island, not Brooklyn or upstate, but he insisted he would keep the house out in Montauk for your summer activities.

You had argued with him to find something at least affordable because you wanted to be paying half the rent.

He had just looked at you like you had two heads and continued skimming through apartments, price filters untouched.

It took a bit of time, but the second both of your eyes landed on it, you just knew it was the home for you.

It was a brownstone; two bathrooms (one master), three bedrooms, all in the heart of west village.

It was newly remodeled and on a quiet street, perfect for riding your bike or walking a dog if you ever wanted one.

You wonder how Pebbles would feel about another companion, not Brodi.

Around the corner, there were great restaurants, something you couldn’t pass up.

You took in a deep breath and closed your eyes tightly together as you thought of what else the future possibly had in store for you.

You had barely taken in the feel of your new home in serenity when you felt a chin on the back of your shoulder, followed by a groan.

You smiled.

Shit. How couldn’t you?

Next, you felt strong hands on your upper waist and a chuckle against your shoulder.

It rumbled up his chest and you felt it against your back.

You stretched your hands out on either side of you to bring his arms from your sides to across your front. You leaned back against him, letting the back of your head lay on his hard chest.

Your eyes looked over at the window. It was getting even darker.

It was so peaceful. Deserving.

“This is amazing. Just you, me, here like this.” You said softly.

He sighed and made a sound in agreement.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, “maybe we can just stay like this forever?”

You giggled.

“Well, we would have to go to the bathroom, sometime.”

He scoffed.

“Bathrooms are for pansies.” Bucky retaliated.

“Also, an essential to life.”

“You’re essential to life,” Bucky tilted his head down and kissed your shoulder. He tightened his arms around you, “mylife.”

You took in a deep breath and closed your eyes.

Was this even real?

“We’re so cheesy sometimes, don’t you think?” You ask.

He doesn’t take longer than a blink to answer.

“No. We’re in love.”

You sighed contently, holding him tighter against you.

Eventually, you both began to just sway, holding each other, looking out into the street.

You were caught off guard when he unraveled his arms from around you, grabbed you by the hip and turned you around to face him.

You were suddenly so cold, his embrace having been so cozy and tight.

Your face fell at the look he had.

He was staring down at you, face hard and unreadable.

“What is it?” You asked, slightly afraid.

“Nothing, I just can’t get over how pretty you are.” He said seriously.

You chuckled, your chest feeling light again.

How did he always do that?

Your eyes darted to the still-open doorway and then to the light fixture above the both of you.

A chandelier, but beautiful and delicate.

“We should close the door, it’s getting late.”

“No,” he says, “I like it like this.”

“Bucky,” you moaned as he leaned into you and peppered kisses from your jawline to the crook of your neck, “Bucky...”

He didn’t say anything as he continued down your body.

Your hands gripped his hair as you guided his body down yours. He continued kissing you down until he eventually stopped and was on the floor in front of you.

You gulped as you watched him lean forward, leaving a kiss on your inner thigh.

You’re remembered of that day in Montauk and you wonder in the back of your mind if he was really going to do this with the entire house open.

You felt his lips on your hot skin and you moaned at the feeling.

But that was short-lived as he pulled away leaned his forehead there.

You tilted your head and ran your hands up his hair.

“Bucky?”

He shushed you.

“I don’t think you realize what you do to me, what you do to my heart,” his blue eyes looked up at you, almost pained. There was so much emotion in them that your heart skipped a beat. You wanted to comfort him, “from the moment I laid my eyes on you, I just couldn’t shake your presence. I could never shake you. And you drove me insane,” you smiled at the distant memories, “you hated me and I wanted to change that so bad—“

You sighed.

“I didn’t hate you, I just had doubts.”

He shook his head.

“Whatever it was, I’m just glad that was short-lived. Because then you became my friend, then my best friend,” he kissed your thigh again, but still looked up at you, “my best girl. I fell in love with you and I wanted you to be more than my best friend.”

Your heart was in your throat as you continued to touch his hair, “What did you want?” You whispered.

“For you to be my girlfriend, my lover.”

You broke out in another soft smile.

“I’m all those things now. We made it.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped as he kissed your skin more time.

“I still want more,” your brows came together in confusion. You couldn’t tell if what he was saying was good anymore. His voice was distant as he continued to talk, “I want to do so much more with you. I want to build memories in our home. I want you in my arms every morning and every night. I want to make love to you on every surface of this house. I want to make sure you know how much I love you. I want to have a family with you in this home, where we can have all our little tiny babies. I want you to be the mother of my babies,” you felt your throat tighten as his words, your tears begging to spill. Bucky continued to lean his forehead on your thigh.

“But I still want so much more.”

You watched stunned as he leaned back on his toes until his one knee was on the ground.

You watched as he dug around in his back pocket.

You were certain now that your heart was in your ears as you watched him pull out the little black velvet box in front of you.

You met his eyes.

He looked so raw and sincere that you wanted to cry out for him, but you were shaken.

You couldn’t move.

“You’re my best friend, my sweetheart, my absolute sweetheart,” his voice trembled.

You felt your eyes swell up with hot tears at the sound of the little box clicking open.

You get the image of little eight years old you, imagining this moment to happen one day.

And here it was, and you felt like crying.

“Will you be my wife?” He asks you, not missing one beat.

Your hands shook as they sneaked around to hold his hand.

He was shaking just as much as you.

“Bucky—“ you cried.

He cut you off, quickly.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

Your tummy exploded into a pool of butterflies as you gripped his hand.

You couldn’t see anymore as hot tears clouded your vision.

You quickly nodded your head, gripping his hand tighter.

“Yes, yes.” You answered through tears and a big smile.

Bucky’s face broke out into a gorgeous and bright grin as he slid the diamond ring onto your finger.

When he was up on his two feet, you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and continued to chant yes as he spun you around, chuckling into the crook of your neck.

When he pulled away, he stared down at you with a smile that you would never forget.

He grabbed the sides of your face.

“We’re really doing this.”

You chuckled, a few tears running down your cheeks as you do so.

“We’re getting married.”

Bucky answered your question with a soft kiss.

And then another.

You had everything you needed, right there in your arms.

_

@wxntersoldxer16 @void-imaginations @heykarsyn@avashroom@sarcastic-and-cool @lunaticbarnes @benhardygalileo@wildmavs@runaway-escape @stevieboyharrington@kimvmarvel@chipilerendi @hardygal69  

[groovybaybee]

Greener - I

cw: mentions of abuse (not this chapter and nothing too intense but better safe than sorry) also alcohol consumption

(6k)

Spago, 7pm, reservation under my name, have fun saucy xxx 

Oh, Lucy. Lovely, wonderful, maddening Lucy. Not only would she select my date for the evening, she, of course, would make a decision about when and where.

 In all honesty, I do not mind. I would gladly allow that girl to run my life, she pretty much has made all the big decisions for me anyway. Lucy had been the one who forced me to enter our school’s talent show and sing in public for the first time. I lost hard, unable to compete with Anthony Piaz’s flaming diabolo tricks, but I was grateful to her, nonetheless. Lucy was also the one who made me move out to Los Angeles with her, telling me we needed to be with the stars if we wanted to be like them. It might sound cheesy, but that girl can be very persuasive when she wants to be. Since we were teenagers, she told me all about how we were going to make it big, I would be a singer and she would produce all my music.

 Lucy has always been a dreamer, but she is the most dedicated and ambitious person I know, plotting out every detail of every day to make sure she could get to where she wanted to be. Her and I had understood that we could not just rock up in America and instantly start working for record labels. We would spend hours in her room, writing and producing songs every weekend, sending them to local and national radio stations, record labels, anyone we could think of.

 Then one day, the universe fell into place. Our song, Penny, started to gain some traction. I will never forget the day we heard our song played on the radio for the first time. I never could forget it with the video of the two of us screaming and crying and laughing and hugging being sent to my phone every time I get frustrated.

 ‘They never gave up, and neither will we’

 Luce has always been good like that, putting things in perspective when I start spiralling out.

 Truthfully, Lucy has always been a bit of a hero to me. The voice of reason, even when I did not want to hear it. I trust her with my life. So, when I was offered a contract with a record label, I had insisted that she aid in the production, knowing that once the world could see her talent there would be no stopping her. And there never has been. Though we still work together on projects and tracks wherever we can, both of us have been blessed with opportunities to work with some of our idols in the music industry. However, it still feels the most special when it is just her and me working together.

 Knowing that she always has my best interests at heart, agreeing to be set up on a blind date by her was easy. It was only afterwards that the doubts had started to creep in. Of course, Lucy knows me well, probably better than anyone, and so her choice of date for me would undoubtedly be my type. I know that they will be charming and funny and most likely have a smile that makes me want to swat them directly in the face for being so cute. However, it would be impossible for her to know the other person so well, so me showing up may not be what they had hoped for.

 They could want to meet someone girly, polished, calm. While I can be those things sometimes, pretending to be anyone but myself would only lead down an unfortunate and embarrassing path in the long run. This self-assuredness, in theory, is lovely, but does not stop the nagging feeling in my stomach that whoever I am meeting at the restaurant will not be pleased to see me.

 Trying my best to shake this thought, I get ready for my date. Landing on a simple black dress (knowing my tendencies to spill anything in my grasp), partnering it with a silver chain necklace, a few matching rings, and some thickly heeled silver boots. I put on a touch of makeup, style my hair, and spritz myself with perfume before grabbing a coat, stuffing the pockets with my necessities, and getting in the Uber I had pre-emptively ordered. I am going to be early but that suits me just fine.

 Arriving at the restaurant, nestled beside Rodeo Drive, I thank the driver and exit the car. Spago is far too fancy for me to feel fully comfortable, a small part of myself always believing that my life is some sort of coma dream and one day I would wake up back home, older and having done nothing with my life. Despite my instinct to run and feign illness, I enter the restaurant and tell the matre d’ Lucy’s name. He gives me a pleasant smile and leads me through the bustling restaurant to an empty table on the patio outside. Thanking him, I seat myself at the table beside a sheltered, freestanding fireplace, taking a second to appreciate the warmth of the toasting embers against the slight breeze of the evening under the dwindling sun.

 Looking out to the chair across from me, panic and excitement swirl around in my stomach. Wondering what they will be like and whether we will get on has me desperately searching around the quiet outside space for anyone who works here to urge them for a glass of wine. I manage to locate someone, but the thought instantly leaves my mind when I notice a person trailing behind them. They head straight in my direction and my head snaps back to the table, trying not to have their first impression of me be my crazy wine-hungry eyes. I take a deep breath, and a second to remember Lucy’s message: ‘have fun’.

 Turning to meet my date as they stop at our table, a smile slips across my lips without my telling it to. Yep, Lucy definitely knows me. The man in front of me is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, but with an added dash of unreservedness, dressed in a black dress shirt, the collar of which pokes out over a baby blue suit jacket, trousers matching. My eyes land on his hand, ringed fingers clutching a bouquet of yellow roses. I cannot deny it, the sight sends a little zip of happiness through my body. Travelling upwards, I land on his face. And pause.

 If this is a very elaborate prank, I have to give it up to Lucy. This is incredible. I remember her telling me that she was working with him on a track for his second album, but I would not have thought they were close enough to discuss love lives. If so, surely she would have snapped him up for herself. The amount of conversations we had spent discussing our celebrity crushes and he always popped up on both of our lists. There is no way this is happening. This just proves that I am, in fact, comatose.

 “Hi,” he speaks with a tentative smile.

 On the off chance that I am not in a simulation, I stand up and greet him, still unable to form words as he presses a kiss to each of my cheeks.

 “Lucy said you liked yellow,” he says almost sounding nervous, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hand.

 “I do,” I say softly, shaking my head to bring me back to reality while he is looking away from me. “They’re, uh, they’re beautiful.”

 He hands me the flowers and my brain almost completely malfunctions, unable to comprehend that I am sat, on a date, with a man I have been fawning over from afar for over a year. Sure, I have always known of him, but something about him kicking off his solo career and dressing differently, acting differently, it was all just incredibly attractive. Something so sexy about his confidence. An opinion I had expressed to Lucy many times in varying degrees of enthusiasm, her use of the word ‘saucy’ in her text to me suddenly making a lot more sense.

 “Thank you, really,” I say, looking up from the flowers to him, a full head taller than me. “Sorry, I’m being weird, Lucy just… is full of surprises,” I admit, meeting his gaze as he observes me cautiously. He must think I am crazy, or incredibly rude, most likely both.

 “I’m Violet,” I quickly introduce myself and gesture for us to sit. He does, with a relieved smile which I mirror.

 “Harry,” he says gently.

 Duh.

 Harry Styles. I am on a date with Harry Styles. The man I had admitted to wanting to let ‘break my heart and sex me back together’. Not one of my best lines, I will agree. And he is even better looking in person. His hair is kind of messy in a very put-together kind of way. His eyes are deep and their hold on me is strong. And his lips kink up at the edges, pulling joy out to his cheeks as he watches me, almost assessing me.

 “Yeah, I’m actually a fan of your music,” I admit shyly, hoping that he finds it endearing rather than psychotic.

 “Likewise. To be honest, I can’t believe I’m sat here with you,” he speaks deeply.

 This has to be a prank. No way on Earth did Harry Styles, Harry Styles, just say that to me.

 “I didn’t realise you and Lucy were so close,” I confess, allowing my confusion and curiosity to spill out of my mouth at lightning speed.

 “Oh, yeah, first day we met it was like instant sibling rivalry, you know? Straight away bullying each other,” Harry explains with a low, breathy chuckle. God, even his laugh is sexy.

 I will admit to being relieved to hear that their feelings for one another were strictly platonic, not wanting to step on Lucy’s toes even if she had been the one to set us up. Something about hearing this new information allows my most recent conversations with her to make a lot more sense, her being the one to let me explain in detail all the disgusting things I would let this man do to me while she just laughed. That sly devil.

 “How long have you two known each other?” he asks, sipping at the glass of water on his side of the table.

 “Oh, since we were kids, think our souls are melded at this point,” I tell him, earning a captivated smile that reaches up to his eyes. “Do you do this thing a lot?” I ask, fascinated as to how I ended up in this situation. When he looks at me blankly, I hurriedly add, “Blind dates?”

 “Not really, only one other time and it was… interesting,” he says, eyes glazing over as his mind flashes back.

 “Me neither,” I start, bringing his attention back to the present in hopes to prevent him from reliving whatever terrible memory I had just triggered, “I do have a very important question for you though,”

 “What’s that?” he asks with a grin that matches the one creeping on to my face.

 “Are you a wine person?” I ask, faking sincerity.

 “Oh, yeah,” he nods, laughing at my intensity.

 “Good, ten points to you,” I smirk as we both glance down at the drinks menus, after a moment of reflection I speak up, “Want to just get the cheapest? Don’t think my palette could tell the difference.”

 Harry lets out a small laugh and agrees happily, ordering a bottle of chardonnay for the two of us when the waiter circles around to us. My mind begins to spiral as I watch Harry pour us each a glass, wondering how I ended up here, what I think of him, what he thinks of me. Brain almost about to short-circuit[AH1] , I cheers my glass with his and take a long sip of white wine, desperate for a touch of Dutch courage.

 We sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, eyes locked as we drink in our surroundings, allowing the madness of the evening to sink in for our brains to process. There is a gentle smirk on each of our faces, enjoying the mischief of our mutual friend.

 “I really loved the album by the way,” I confess to him, only to be rewarded with a bright and grateful smile.

 “Thank you,” he says softly, an excited buzz coming from him as he shifts in his seat to lean his elbows on the table, chin resting on his interlaced knuckles. “I listen to The Lady Grey Project at least once a week,” he admits, and if I look closely (which I do) I can see a light rosy flush appearing on his cheeks.

 At this point I reckon a rhinoceros could stampede into the restaurant and I would not bat an eyelid. Of course, he listens to my album regularly, this is a dream, in all honesty I am just shocked he does not have a tattoo of my face on his body somewhere. I say a silent prayer that I will be allowed to remain in whatever simulation I am in.

 “You’re too kind,” I smirk, having to use my wine glass to hide as much of my blushing face from him.

 “Can I ask where the Lady Grey name came from?” he asks curious about my stage-name, watching intently as I swallow and place my glass down. “Sorry if I’m being too nosy by the way, tell me to fuck off if you want,” he says, causing a light laugh to tumble from my lips.

 He watches me with a soft gaze that makes me want to melt into a puddle underneath the table. Does he like me? No, he is probably just being polite.

 Calm down crazy.

 “Um, well, Lucy and I used to spend days in her room making music, and all we would eat was Cadbury’s Fingers and all we drank was Lady Grey tea, it was kind of our fuel you know? And then it just kind of stuck, and we used to joke about who Lady Grey was and I don’t know, I sort of idolised the character we created,” I explain as best I can.

 “So, you became her?” Harry asks softly, his smile never faltering once while I spoke.

 “Yeah, Lady Grey and Lucy Hind were going to take on the world together,” I say, looking down at the tablecloth, a slight feeling of embarrassment for oversharing my childhood dreams. It probably seemed so silly to him.

 “And you are,” is all he says.

 When I look up at him, his eyes are so gentle and comforting, and staring into them feels like stepping into a warm bath.

 The waiter arrives back to our table to take our orders, preventing me from drooling over how idyllic this date is becoming. Harry apologises for the two of us, neither having even looked at the food menu yet, and asks for another minute. Eventually, we order our food and the conversation continues to flow easily, finding out about each other’s passions for not only music, but art in general, both discovering that the other loves to draw and paint despite having very minimal talent for it.

 We talk about what we are working on, both giddy at gaining secret information about the other’s new projects. He whispers to me that he has a new album coming out at the end of the year, in return I tell him I have a small tour happening in a few months, a few intimate venues across the country. He tells me he would love to come to a show. I mentally let out a scream.

 We discuss our hometowns throughout the main course, both hailing from the north of England, giggling over the surprising culture shock of living in LA. Conversation moves to talking about our families and still feeling homesick.

 “I’ve been writing about home a lot recently,” I admit, finishing my second glass of wine, “I miss the colour green so much,” I laugh honestly, missing the miles and miles of fields and trees I could see from my family home.

 “I get that completely,” he says, refilling my glass without me even having to ask, “I miss my little village and knowing everyone there. LA can feel a bit lonely at times,”

 There is a pregnant pause, silence falling over the two of us as I give him a small nod, understanding wholly the feeling of moving across the world. It is scary and isolating and you really have to push through and commit to your work to ensure it was all worthwhile. However, that does not leave much room for forging any kind of relationship other than professional. Harry is right, it can be very lonely sometimes.

 I find myself watching him, eyes a little bit softened by the wine and the evening light. Seeing his face flicker under the crackling firelight feels like I am seeing him for the first time, as though his features are completely new to me and I get to meet a whole new person. He really is breath-taking. Something about getting to know him allows me to see his personality in his physicality; patient eyes and dimples that deepen every time I nearly knock over my glass and insist that I am not drunk, that this is just how I am. Finding myself smiling while I watch him, I remind myself to act like a normal human being and sip at my wine.

 But he watches me right back.

 When desert rolls around, both of us are too full to appreciate anything fancy, sadly deciding to call it a night. After insisting that we split the bill, threatening to get his bank account details somehow and send him a direct deposit, we leave the table.

 “Man, I shouldn’t have worn this dress, looks like I’m smuggling a watermelon,” I say, rubbing my bloated belly slightly as we walk through the restaurant, now significantly emptier than when I had arrived nearly three hours earlier.

 “I like it,” Harry tells me, biting back a smirk, “Wrote a song about watermelons, actually,”

 “Really? You’ll have to let me hear it sometime,” I say, thanking him as he holds the door open for me to walk through.

 “Do you, uh, do you need a lift home?” Harry asks once we are outside, wrapping our jackets a little tighter around ourselves in the early autumn air. I pause to look at him and assess the sincerity of his offer. When he looks at me with nothing but kindness and caution, I nod, finding his trepidation incredibly endearing.

 “That would be great, thank you,” I say softly, failing to mention that I would say yes to any offer he made so long as it meant I could spend longer getting to know him.

 “Cool!” he says with so much enthusiasm that I have to bite down on my bottom lip to keep from smiling too big, utterly smitten with him. Harry clears his throat and pulls out his phone, calling his driver to come and pick us up. “He’ll be five minutes,” his voice is back to its low rumble when he turns to me, a light flush spread across his cheekbones. I pretend not to notice, instead fixing my attention to the roses in my hand.

 “I’ve had a really nice time,” I tell him, hoping that in showing some vulnerability it will ease his embarrassment. It works. As I look up at him, he meets my gaze and smiles down at me gently.

 “Me too. I think you’re really cool to be around,” he says tenderly, taking a step closer to me so that he is less than an arm’s length away. “More than exceeded my expectations for tonight,” he teases.

 “I think part of me still thinks this is a prank,” I admit, breathing a laugh as I find myself gravitating closer to Harry, silently praying that he will kiss me.

 “I know, I was listening to Penny on the way here to keep me sane,” his voice has dropped to just above a whisper, his face less than a foot from mine.

 “As if,” I laugh incredulously, finding myself stepping back slightly so I do not deafen him.

 “I was!” he defends with a chuckle, “I love that song,”

 “Sorry,” I breathe, “I just didn’t think anyone really listened to it, except maybe my parents,”

 “It was the first song of yours I ever heard,” he says, closing the gap between us again, “Thought how talented you were, even wanted to cover it.”

 Back into the simulation you go.

 “Wanna make sweet music together?” I tease, my voice a little low and breathy as the space between us rapidly reduces.

 Harry exhales a chuckle, eyes flitting between my own and my lips.

 He is fully going to kiss you.

 Or at least he would, if that had not been the moment Harry’s driver decides to pull up to the curb, startling us both. Gaze fixed to the ground to hide my certainly bright pink cheeks, I shuffle into the car when Harry opens the door for me, sliding in shortly afterwards.

 “Where to?” Harry asks, clearing his throat slightly.

 I tell him my address, watching as he and his driver share a small nod before we set off.

 The first few minutes of the ride are, I will admit, awkward. The only sound to be heard is the crinkling of the paper surrounding my flowers, my hands fidgeting nervously.

 He was going to kiss me. He totally would have kissed me if we were alone for just one more moment.

 An assertive person would kiss him now.

 Would he want that? Would I want that? For our first kiss to be in the back of his car as we drove through my neighbourhood. I’m not so sure. Harry feels special, like he deserves a bit more romance than that.

 I continue to fiddle with the paper in my lap.

 “What’s your favourite flower?” I ask curiously, eyes fixating on the bright yellow petals.

 “Quite like apple blossoms,” he tells me. His voice is soft, and I can tell his head is turned to look directly at me.

 “See, I never would have guessed that.” I confess. Upon hearing him breathe a laugh, I follow it up with a mirrored tone, “What? You’re a mysterious dude.”

 “Very mysterious,” he jokes as I look back up at him. There is a warmth in his eyes as they shimmer with laughter. It is almost as though the small amount of time focussing on something other than him has erased all memory of his face. Suddenly, excitement courses through my body. His stupid, happy face making my stomach squeeze itself.

 “A real enigma,” I smirk after gathering myself.

 There is silence again in the car, our eyes softly locked on the other’s, even as we pull up beside my house.

 “This is me,” my voice is barely louder than a whisper.

 “I’ll walk you,” Harry says, our gaze still unmoved.

 For a moment, my mind drifts to Harry’s driver. I wonder what he makes of us sitting in the back of his car despite reaching our destination. Perhaps he thinks it is sweet, two kids still so nervous enough around one another that we both refuse to make a move. Maybe he thinks we are crazy and should just get out of the car like normal people would.

 I nod my head slightly, more so trying to encourage myself to get moving rather than Harry. In all honesty, I would love little more than to just sit here and look at him, to feel whatever tension there is between us for a moment longer. But I steal myself away from that thought and open the car door.

 Harry, ever the gentleman, sees me to my front door. It is a little old-fashioned but incredibly charming, nonetheless. I turn to face him once we reach the doorstep, craning my neck a little to meet his eyes.

 My gaze lingers a moment on his lips, and I wonder if I should kiss him. Or would he not like that? He seems like he would not be opposed to a woman making the first move, but he is also the type to open doors and walk people to their homes. What if he wants to be the one to initiate? I doubt he would find me kissing him to be emasculating, but what if he recoiled at the thought? Maybe I shouldn’t kiss him. Maybe I should invite him inside. I will admit, the idea of ending the night with him sounds idyllic, but what if that gives the wrong impression. What if he is the type of guy who cares about a woman’s sexual habits? I never would have him pegged for that sort of person, but you never know.

 Nerves and paranoia form a whirlpool in my brain, sucking me in until I am so overwhelmed that all I can physically do is stare at him, trying not to allow my eyes to widen too far in fear of looking like a maniac.

 He looks down at me with a gentle gaze, his right hand lifting and fingertips gently grazing the side of my left hand. His thumb brushes across my wrists, his eyes flitting across my face until I am convinced that he has stopped on my lips. The palpable energy from outside the restaurant returns.

 “Can I—” Harry starts but I interrupt him.

 “Yes,” I say hurriedly, my heart beating a little louder in my chest at the thought of his lips against mine.

 Thank goodness he’s making the first move. If it were up to you, you would be standing here for days.

 “Great,” he smiles broadly, quickly retracting his hand from mine and reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, “Lets make music sometime.”

 Harry hands me his unlocked phone.

 You absolute fucking idiot, V.

 I quickly input my phone number and hand it back to him with a small smile.

 “Great,” he grins, part of me hating how adorable he is, the majority simply hating how dim-witted I am.

 He wasn’t trying to kiss you.

 “Hang out again soon?” he asks brightly.

 I just nod and return a polite smile. He beams down at me before bidding me goodnight and walking back to his car.

 As quick as physically possible, I unlock my front door, dash inside and shut the door behind me.

 Idiot, idiot, idiot.

 I sink to the floor, back pressed to the door. He wants to work together. While that notion alone would have had me fainting before tonight, I cannot help but feel a little disheartened to have misread the situation.

 He didn’t want to kiss you.

 My mind quickly scans through the whole evening, wonder at which event I began to misinterpret the signals. Maybe he was going to give me a hug outside the restaurant. Maybe he actually was going to kiss me, but then I laughed in his face and stepped away from him. Did I put him off me that quickly?

 Pulling myself off the floor, I put the flowers in a mug of water, telling myself I will deal with them tomorrow once I am over the embarrassment.

 * * *

 I barely sleep, tossing and turning and reliving every stupid detail and mistake I undoubtedly made.

 “You absolute cow!” I shout with a laugh when I spot Lucy walking towards me.

 She just laughs along with me, a slight bashful blush arising in her cheeks as she steps closer to me.

 I had text her when I got home last night, asking her to meet me first thing and she had agreed. Meeting at the dog park between our houses had been my idea, desperate to see her new Dalmatian puppy, Pip. I had arrived early, pre-emptively getting Lucy and I lattes, knowing fully well that no matter what time I got there I would still beat her by at least ten minutes.

 “Thanks, gorgeous,” Lucy greets, taking the coffee I had extended to her.

 “Hello, sweetpea,” I say in a higher pitch than my natural tone, crouching to welcome the excited dog. Pip wags her tail aggressively, desperately trying to lick my face. I giggle as my face scrunches at all the attention she is giving me, “I know, I know, it’s been a whole two days since I saw you, how could I neglect you like that?”

 “She pissed on my shoes. Right little dickhead,” Lucy muses as I stand up, giving the pup one last scratch behind the ears. My eyes drop to her feet as we begin to walk through the park. “Not these ones, idiot,” she laughs.

 “Don’t call me an idiot, I have a bone to pick with you,” I reply, trying my very hardest to chastise her but just giggling through it, faking sincerity always having been difficult for me, “What was it you told me? ‘Its just a date, no biggie’?”

 “Something like that,” she mumbles, feigning shame but smirking as she looks at the ground.

 “Harry Styles,” I mock, “Harry fucking Styles. You could have warned me, mate! I thought about him in the shower before dinner, thought I must have slipped and bumped my head when he rocked up,”

 Lucy laughs as continue through the park, walking out on to the open expanse of the field. Pip excitedly yaps at the dogs playing in the distance, a little too young to join them just yet. We walk in bemused silence for a moment until we find a bench and take seat on it, sipping intermittently at our cooled down coffees.

 “How was it then? Complete disaster or did you hold it together?” Lucy asks.

 “Well, I thought I was holding it together, we were even kind of flirty,” I begin. Remembering last night stirs up excitement in my stomach, contrasting my skin crawling with embarrassment, “But he never kissed me. He walked me to my door, got me to give him my number and left,”

 Luce nods, letting me give her the gist of the previous night, not pushing for more information as I bounce one of my legs anxiously. “He got your number though?” She offers, always looking on the bright side.

 “Yeah, because he wants to make music together,” I say, a small smirk interrupting my words.

 “Make music or make music?” She teases, wiggling her eyebrows dramatically.

 “I don’t know!” I laugh, giving her a gentle push when she keeps leaning closer to me and putting her creepy moving eyebrows in my eyeline, “We complimented each other and stuff, and it became a bit of a joke but now I’m worried he was serious and I just made a fool out of myself… I did have half a bottle of wine,” my tone more serious now.

 “One, you’re a delight when you drink. Two, I bet Harry was such a fucking flirt, ‘Oh yeah, baby, lets make symphonies with our bodies’,” I cannot help but crack a smile at her, surprisingly accurate, impression, “And three, even if you did misread things, it sounds like he would be up for working with you, and if I remember correctly, you said you’d give your left kidney to sing a duet with him,”

 “I’m never drinking sambuca again,” I mutter, shuddering at the memory of that night, drunkenly screaming as Sweet Creature played over the speakers of the bar.

 “I say text him,” Lucy shrugs as if the solution is so obvious that she cannot understand why the two of us are even having this conversation.

 “Ah,” I breath, “That’s another thing. I was a bit distracted by the whole ‘not wanting to kiss me’ thing that I forgot to ask for his number.”

 “Idiot,” Lucy giggles, picking up Pip as she paws at her leg and setting her between the two of us on the bench, allowing me better access to pet her freely, “I’ll text it you,”

 “I can’t text him out of the blue, won’t that look psycho?” I stress.

 “No,” Lucy says, again so plainly it is as though she cannot believe she is explaining something so simple, “Pretty sure Harry likes confident people anyway.”

 “Why would he want to date me then?” I mumble, eyes fixed on Pip’s as her mouth hangs open, tongue rolling out happily as she gets attention from the both of us.

 “Maybe because you can throw it back like no one I’ve ever seen,” Lucy teases.

 “Fucking hate sambuca,” I grumble half-heartedly.

 The text from Lucy arrives on my phone a few hours later, just as I step out of the shower. I have to wipe a few droplets of water from the screen before it allows me to unlock it.

 Don’t puss out x

 Underneath is what I can only assume is Harry’s number. I stare at the white screen for a while, contemplating whether or not to text him. Should I? Luce said he liked confidence, and I wanted him to like me, or at least not think of me as some blob of flesh he sat through dinner with. What would I say? What possible message could I send that did not make me sound like a creep?

 Hey it’s Violet. Lucy gave me your number, promise I didn’t ask for it

 No, that sounds rude.

 Hi, it’s Violet from last night. Lucy gave me your number, hope you don’t mind. I’d love to make sweet music with you

 He could read that two ways. Either he would read it as me just wanting to work together, or that I wanted to see him with no clothes on. Neither option appeal despite both being shamefully accurate.

 The condensation on my bathroom mirror has almost vanished by the time I set my phone back down. Desperate to go about my day without worrying, I head across the landing and into my bedroom.

 Despite having lived here for well over a year, the Los Angeles heat never fails to stifle me, even as autumn creeps into view. The humidity seeps into my bare skin as I flop back on my bed, urgently searching for a reason to get back up and be proactive with the work I need to get done today. That in itself should be reason enough, but the temperature in my room seems to counter any sensible thoughts in my brain. So, I let my eyes close for a moment.

 However, Lucy’s words keep circling around in my mind.

 ‘Don’t puss out’

 That is what I always do. Deciding to grow a backbone, I stand up and march back into the bathroom to pick up my phone. I quickly unlock it, ignoring the notifications on my lock screen, assuming its just my manager prompting me to get my act together. I quickly copy the phone number from Lucy and make a contact for Harry, set on typing a message to him and pressing send before I can overthink how keen I will most likely come across.

 You are keen.

 Selecting his contact, my phone takes me to a chat with him, however, it is not blank like I had expected. Instead, there is a white bubble of text, a smaller bubble beneath it, both timestamped seven minutes ago.

 I know films and tv shows always say you should wait at least three days before messaging but I reckon it’s all bollocks. I had a really good time last night and would love to hang out again. I understand if this seems a bit eager so I’ll leave it up to you. Whatever you fancy I’m up for – Harry

 Also I don’t know why I signed that off like it’s an email but I’m going to stick with it so I seem confident – Harry

II

[yanderecandystore]

Yandere Ocs dream date hcs please?

Hi!

This seems fun :3

Also, oh my God, I haven't started writing for Prey chapter 2, I'm sorry!!! ;-; ;-;

I didn't have enough time to write it. Neither did I write for A Vixen Walking Around At Night yet.

Sorry ;-;.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Our first moment [Yandere OCS x Reader - Headcanon]:

🍒 Bullies 🍭:

→ Alexandra Coldwell:

Well, what can I say? She is a little princess, and you'll need to treat her as such.

She is pretty mean, and would totally be expecting you to make her the perfect date. Yes, that also means that you should be the one to ask her out, and if you do, she will talk as if you're the one that should have planned this out.

But don't worry, she knows that she is the one that has to fix everything. Going out is her favorite thing, so why just go around a mall while you two find something to do? Maybe even make you buy things for her.

Alexandra is mostly fucking with you though, I mean, she really wants you to treat her like a princess, but she knows you don't have enough money to buy anything for her (don't worry about buying anything for her boo, she only wears really expensive brands :D).

A movie is cool and all, but even if she is watching something she really likes, she would still find out she is missing something. This date wouldn't feel complete.

Alexandra does like to stay active, and although it sounds really niche, if her darling dares her to run faster than them, she'll totally do it. No questions asked.

Heels or no heels. It's on now. If you bail out though she is going to make fun of you, cause of course she would.

If you win then, well, she lost, is there anything you would like to get as a reward, Ms/Mr. Winner? Does a kiss from her majesty suffice?

Alexandra can be a little bitter sweet, but she does really care about her darling, in her eyes, your just as much royalty as her.

Her dream date would probably be going around a national park, princesses with heels can still do some hiking. Watch her act like a nerd at every single cute animal she spots. Turns out she knows quite a lot about biology, the absolute goof.

→ Adrien Coldwell:

I know that he may seem boring as hell and absolutely "0 fucks given" all the time, and believe me he is, but give him some credit.

He can be probably one of the chilliest out of the two. He does make a couple of ill comments here and there, but he doesn't mind going along with you and doing things you like.

He may comment something along the lines of "not expecting you two to have a great date, because it's impossible to have fun with someone that sucks so much", with yeah, he went full on out with that one, but he is mostly picking on you.

Just seeing you being yourself is pretty entertaining. I guess that's why he keeps picking on you, trying to get different reactions.

Adrien likes to binge watch cartoons, and although he likes music concerts he can't be bothered to move one inch most of the time.

He lets you do what you like to do, but, to be honest, something that you two can do and create sounds a lot better. Maybe he wants to find an active that you two can do while still having fun and bickering at each other.

Would you like to bake with him? He can do just fine on his own, but if you want to, he would really, really appreciate some help.

Even if whatever you baked was a mess and probably burned, you two would still have fun. You'll probably see him smiling for once.

Adrien's idea of a dream date is being able to have fun with you while crafting something, being that baking or even just a silly project. The project may not turn out really well, but throughout the experience, you still get some good laughs.

🍎 Teachers 🥧:

→ Matthew Robinson:

Oh this, suit and tie boi. This sweet, sweet boi.

What can he say? He doesn't have enough experience in the dating department, at least not the most fun of experiences.

He isn't really that lucky, you know?

Maybe show him a little bit of what you're into. That would help him understand how dates are supposed to go.

He is afraid of his ideas being pretty cliche, honey. He would love to take you to eat at a fancy restaurant, or maybe a picnic, just the two of you.

He can be a bit of a glutton. He does enjoy musicals, but he understands that is not exactly everyone's taste.

He is getting old, isn't he? He has even thought about going into a cafe, reading books or something. But can you two just stay home and read? Wait, why would you two even be reading, weren't you two supposed to interact?

Why would he even offer that? God, he probably needs to interact with people more.

His perfect date would probably involve nature, to his own surprise though. Probably taking you to his own home in the countryside, or maybe just being in touch with nature. Getting lost in the woods with you would be, quite the interesting experience.

→ Madeline Allen:

Do you like staying in home and binge watching series/cartoons? Cause she really doesn't like getting out of her house much.

She loves staying at home and simply having a more comfy day. Watching nostalgic movies, eating only the best snacks and having just a great time.

The only other thing that she likes to do is visit the beach whenever she can. She likes collecting shells and she'll probably show you her favorite ones. Her collection could be bigger, if her visits to the beach would be more frequent.

Actually, when she was younger she discovered the best spots to hangout when she wanted to be alone. Well, there are other people that go around that place, but not many actually enter and stay inside for long.

She would absolutely love to bring you inside the hidden grotto she found. It's really spacious, and the view is amazing, but her favorite part is watching the fishes swimming in and out of this little paradise.

The best moments to visit are when it is sunset and when it's a full moon night, it is absolutely amazing, you'll love it!

At least, she hopes so!

🍋Delinquents 🐍:

→ Jackson Macnee:

Jack doesn't really seem like it, but he kinda enjoys reading about romance, even if it's the most cliche bullshit he has ever heard.

I guess it makes sense for him to have a couple of ideas of the perfect date, he used to love reading this shit when he was studying at that snobby school.

But he is a different person now, I mean, yeah he has some ideas on where to take his darling, but he doesn't really think he will ever use his knowledge.

… But, if he ever found someone he actually has a thing for, maybe… A movie?

I mean, he could elaborate on a perfect date and all, he actually would love to elaborate on his perfect date, but- He feels like It would be pointless.

Eh, why not keep things simple? He doesn't want to sound like a dork. At least not to his darling, he would only feel self-conscious about it.

His actual idea of a perfect date is to bring his darling to watch a movie and show them his favorite part around town. He knows how to access some abandoned docks and believe, although it doesn't sound like much, the scenery can be pretty neat.

Two dorks hanging around at some docks while the sun is setting, talking about feelings and shit like that, sounds like something he read about.

→ Janette Sartorius:

Honestly, not even she knows what the fuck she wants.

Her hopeless romantic heart can only take so much love!

Every single idea sounds like the right idea. Stay at home, go out to get something to eat and drink, see some movie or concert, vandalize some shit like you're both Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy or something, find somewhere secret that only you two know how to get there and write your initials together, like-

I mean, she would probably be thinking of doing all of these.

All. Of. These. Every time you hangout she'll be already thinking of the next date.

Something she would totally love to do, would be just playing games with ya. In her house or in an arcade.

Maybe after playing some games, getting some ice cream and walking around the park. But she will always, and I mean always, stop whatever she was doing to pet the dogs along the way.

I guess what she wants is to spend time alone with you, with you two lost in each other's eyes, while she can also show the entire world how beautiful her darling is and how her darling is only hers. Her dream date would totally be in a place like an abandoned haunted house where she can hold you while your scared (and probably scare you whenever she can).

👾 A.I 🍈:

→ Yuma Soma:

Oof, oh dear. Are you the type of person to go out and eat a lot? Cause Yuma is a 100% that person.

What I mean is, they only like going out if it means being able to eat. There are so many human foods that they didn't even know while they were inside the game.

In the food department, there are a lot of things they didn't know, wait until they see the rest of what they don't know about, like other countries and other culture's cuisines.

Maybe that's what they like, going out and discovering new things. Maybe they would like making a trip around the globe with you, or just visiting local restaurants because that's way less expensive lol.

I guess their dream date would be whenever they can go out with you without being trapped inside the game, preferably if you don't run away or start yelling at them for imprisoning you.

But until then, they'll keep you in their hands and bring you to do all the things that real human couples do!

Just stop screaming from inside the game, will you?

🦊 Kitsunes 🍬:

→ Tatsumi:

Tatsumi is an absolute couch potato. He hates having to get out of his room.

But if it's a date with you, then of course he'll go! It's not everyday that the love of his eternal life asks him to go on a date!

But… Where would you go? He kinda doesn't know what to do. Most of his dates end really prematurely.

Get some drinks, have sex and take their energy and leave. He doesn't know what else he can do, love.

When it comes to his darling, sexual interactions don't really come to mind as much as he thought it would. I mean don't get me wrong, he can be a little pervy, but anything with you is already amazing darling.

If he could, he… Wishes he could have a normal day with you. Ya know? Without him being… Him. His dream date would be a day where he can do many of the things he and his darling likes, it may sound clichê but-

Whatever you do together would be wonderful either way.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭